“Name?” The donation attendant asked without looking up at me. His clothing told his story with the ill-fitting pants and shirt with several holes in it.

He wore a jacket that appeared to have been a donation with a ripped pocket and the letter “G” which had no apparent significance at the moment.

His rugged face was partially obscured by a poorly trimmed beard.

His nose was bent in an odd position indicating that it had been broken at least once, but my guess was that it had been broken more than once.

“Henry.

Henry Hillman.” I answered as he misspelled my name on the receipt.

“Two bags?” His voice sounded like sand being ground into glass.

“Yes, yes.” I nodded as he wrote it down on the receipt. “We thank you for your donation.” His smile seemed forced as he tore off the paper and handed it to me.

In the bags I had brought with me was clothing that no longer fit me.

Some of the items in the bags were clothes I had since high school, but I got my diploma over fifteen years ago and I doubt I could button three buttons in my present shape.

Donnie, one of the guys I worked with at Duplix Design, was a fitness nut who was always trying to get me to go to the gym with him. “C’mon, Henry, it will do you some good.” He would slap me on the shoulder. Since college, I had not exercised very much. Not at all to be exact.. Most of my focus had been on trying to climb the corporate ladder in the computer graphics design department where I had been employed for the past ten years.

That shirt was the one I wore to the prom in my senior year.

He dumps the first bag of donations into a cart.

I see the flannel shirt I wore when I went hiking with Bethany, my first real love.

We met in my sophomore year in college.

She was a real outdoor soul who did not shave her legs or armpits.

She had piercings and tattoos in the strangest places I had ever seen, but the more I saw them, the more I desired her.

When she found out I was afraid of heights after suggesting we go rock climbing, she dumped me for an ape-man named Derrick. The musky smell of the forest still arouses me at times, but it has been a while since I have ventured into the wilderness.

I see my Superman t-shirt fall from the bag.

I wore that during the keggers we had when I lived in the dormitory.

Life in the dormitory sucked about ninety percent of the time, but on Saturday night we’d all chip in for a keg and chips.

Once the keg was tapped, the yard would fill with all kinds of undergraduates in various states of inebriation.

Sometime around midnight, the cops would show up and tell us to turn the music down.

We would comply, but as soon as they left, we’d turn the volume up again. Memories.

I can just about hear Streisand’s voice as I watch my donated clothes cascade into the blue bin. “Hey there, are you Superman?” One of the girls would ask me as I held my plastic red cup sloshing my beer all over the place. “I am.” I nodded. “Can you fly?” She ran her finger down my chin line. “Les’s find out.” I slurred my words.

There

was a shed on the grounds where the ground crew stored their equipment. With a boost from some of my buddies, I was on top of the roof of the shed.

Striking a superhero pose, I dove off the roof, landing in the shrubbery. I was lucky I did not break any bones,

but my entire torso was covered with scratches from the shrubbery and when I removed my shirt, I looked as though I had been attacked by a flock of cats.

The girl I was trying to impress with my super powers had moved on leaving me covered with scratches. The shirt had been nearly ruined in the process, but sentimental value cannot be truly measured, not can it?

“There comes a time, Henry, when you must part with the things you love, because they no longer hold the value they once did.” My mother told me when she went through my closets as I got ready to go to college.

“Ma, I like having these things around.

They give me comfort.” I insisted. “Seriously?” She laughed as she put some things into a bag for donations.

Once she had left the room, I seized some of the clothing that was on its way to Goodwill and stuffed them into my suitcase. She never questioned why the donation bag was half the weight it was when she left my room. So when I got to college, I filled my closet with the clothing I had rescued from the donation bag, but my closet size had shrunk a great deal when I unpacked my stuff in my dorm room.

I hate to admit that some of the clothing that would not fit, I stuffed in my mattress liner.

I am a hoarder.

Admitting it is half the struggle.

The other half is actually getting rid of the stuff.

This is the part I could not seem to master. There are those who say the reason we hold on to our possessions is because we are afraid of death.

I’ve heard a lot of doctors of psychology claim that.

Having possessions gives us comfort and assurance about our existence.

For me, however, it’s more of a memory thing.

When I hear a song on the radio, it takes me back to the place I was when I first heard it.

When I see a shirt hanging in my closet, I have the same feeling. Gina, my wife, tells me I have to learn to part with the clothing, but keep the memory.

I’m not sure what that means, but it’s not where I shine.

I have been known to come back to the Goodwill and purchase some of the items I donated.

I know that this is some kind of mental disorder, but I’m not going to ask anybody who might know what the disorder is.

Gina has a few ideas, but each starts with a profane word.

This time I promised not to go shopping and buy my stuff back.

The donation attendant just throws the clothing into a heap.

There is no rhyme or reason as to what goes where.

I see my gym shorts somewhere in the random stack.

That was my bodybuilding phase.

I saw some documentary on bodybuilding and I decided this was for me.

That’s where I met Gina.

She was an aerobics instructor and still is.

Something about seeing her in tights, but my interest in actual physical exercise did not last as long as my trial membership at the gym.

I was wearing those shorts when I met Gina after I had done a few reps and felt quite pumped at the time. I doubt I will ever see the inside of another gym so, I guess this is for the best. “Whadda you still doin’ here?” The attendant walks over to my car.

“Just taking a stroll through memory lane.” I shrug. “If you don’t vacate these premises, I’m gonna call the cops.” His voice is so low, it sounds like a growl of some carnivorous animal.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” I snarl as I put the car in gear. “All you guys who come here to drop off the stuff you don’t want any longer and think that there is a special place in Heaven for you, well I got new for you.

There ain’t.” His whole body language is hostile, so I know it best if I move along. His words are like arrows, piercing my heart in several places.

He has no idea what that stuff means to me.

He’s right though.

Most of the people who drop off stuff are getting rid of junk they no longer need so they can go shopping and get more stuff that will end up here one day.

I drive to the strip mall nearby where they have stores that sell cheap crap.

Stuff my son Marvin goes crazy over.

Stuff I always step on in the middle of the night when I have to go to the bathroom.

Despite all of our good intentions and all of who we profess to be, we still have become a throw-away nation.

Boxes with big smiles come to our doorstep.

Stuff we have to assemble ourselves that never quite goes together the way the directions say.

Thank goodness for the Goodwill so we have a place to discard all of our unwanted crap.

I walk by a store with a very eye-catching lamp.

It would look good in my home office.

It is a ceramic figure of one of those Disney characters.

I look at the price tag.

It is reasonably priced, so I pull out my debit card and buy it.

Just like that. When I get home, Gina eyes this masterpiece and says, “What did you buy this for, Henry?” “My office.” I answer. “Lovely.” She scrunches her face. “Keep the door closed. Marvin will think it’s a new toy.”

Marvin just looks up at me and smiles.

His grasp of language is still pretty rudimentary, but the expression on his face leaves no doubt that this item interests him.

“Don’t you feel better, hon?” She asks me after whisking two-year old Marvin off his feet and into her arms. “A good cleansing does your heart good, right.”

“Right.” I nod as she leaves with Marvin in her arms to feed him his lunch.

I do not feel any better. I do not feel cleansed. It was like when I used to go to church with my parents and the priest would talk about absolution, but then after that I would go out and commit the same sins I had just been given absolution.

I began to wonder if maybe Heaven was really just a Goodwill in the sky.

My dad would put money into the basket they passed around.

A five dollar bill here, maybe an occasional ten, but it always made my mother smile.

When I confessed that I no longer went to church, my mother threw a fit.

She begged me to reconsider my decision, but I never did.

My father’s reaction was not as emotional, but I could tell he was not happy with my lack of religious conviction.

Three years later, Royce Bannock Hillman passed away from a major heart attack he had while at work.

He was only sixty years old.

I spent the week with my mother going through his things.

It was not a pleasurable experience, but I wound up with his Hawaiian shirt from his vacation the year before.

He and my mother went to Honolulu when he turned sixty.

All they talked about was the food they ate.

Nothing about the sun and the fun of Diamond Head. It seems to me, we sometimes miss the best part of our lives focusing on things that don’t really matter. I told him I loved him when he left.

He just smiled and waved as the driver took their bags to the shuttle. When mom called me a few months later to tell me what had happened, I sat there stunned. “I love you, dad.” I whispered when I hung up the phone, but all I could see was him wearing that silly Hawaiian shirt waving as he left.

Love was not a word that crossed his lips that often. I put that Hawaiian shirt in the bag.

I put it there, because I knew that I would never have the chance to wear it.

I put it in the bag, because all he did was wave to me.

How was I to know it would be the last time I’d see him in this life?

We talked on the phone when he came home. “Hey Henry, how about coming over next Sunday for dinner?” He asked. “Sorry dad, I’m in the middle of a big project.” I answered. “Project?

Son, we are going to have a feast.

Father McGinty will be there.

He gave you first communion.” He sounded hurt at my refusal. “Sorry, gotta do this.” I closed my eyes and the image of him waving to me as he left filled my head. “Mr. Hillman.” A voice sounded over my cell phone. “Ah Ms. Rockenby.” I rubbed my forehead with my hand. “I have a buyer for the house.” She sounded pleased. “Great, great. "I did my best to match her mood. “We are going to need you to do a few minor modifications.” Her voice grew serious. “Alright, could you fax me a list?” I requested. “Yes, that will be fine.” Her voice lightened. “Good.” I sighed. “You will really appreciate the closing costs.”

“I’m sure I will.” I pressed the “stop” button and slid my phone into my pants pocket. As it turned out the list was a bit more extensive than I had planned on, but I had hired some help and I figured we could do what was required. “Are you alright?” Gina asked me as she returned with Marvin still in tow. “I’m fine.” I bowed my head so she would not see I had shed some tears. “I’m putting him down for a nap.” Gina replied as she put her hand to my face, “Do you need to talk?” “No, I want to drive over there and have a look.

Ms Rockenby gave me a list of things.” I held up the list she had faxed over.

“Alright. If you need anything…”

“I’ll text.” I finished her sentence as she kissed me on the cheek. I drove by the Goodwill on my way over. There were all sorts of customers walking out with treasures someone else had once owned.

I stopped in the parking lot to catch my breath.

I saw someone hold up the Hawaiian shirt that I had brought over just a few hours ago.

It was silly and sure to draw attention, but upon seeing the happy customer, I felt empty inside.

I wanted to run over and grab it from him, saying, “You can’t have this.

This is mine!”

But I restrained myself as I drove out of the parking lot and onto my destination.

In less than an hour, I was at the destination. This was the house I grew up in, but now it was empty of people and filled with memories. Cancer is a word I wish never to hear again. Marcy Eckerley Hillman had passed away peacefully in her sleep according to what her Oncologist told me, but I knew in her final hours the agony of her cancer was unbearable.

I was in Tokyo when the doctor called to tell me she only had a few hours left.

I did not make it in time.

She was already gone when I was able to fly home.

I was there for the funeral. It was a wonderful service conducted by Father McGinty who spoke of her as a true friend.

She was more than that to me.

She was my mother.

She was never afraid to tell me that she loved me. I walked in the door and looked around at the familiar furnishings and decor that I recalled so vividly.

The feel of the carpet as I walked across it, the smell of the kitchen, the checkerboard floor tiling, the fluorescent light that always flickered when you turned it on, the marks on the wall that marked my growth with the year written on each line, the photographs that hung from the wall as reminders of happier times, the creak of the third step on the stairs to the upstairs rooms.

My room was the second on the right.

Dad had turned it into an office, but for the most part my old Star Wars Posters were hanging where I placed them years ago.

We would do whatever was on that list, so the new owners could have things the way they wanted them without regards to how things once were in this house that once was my home.

In the morning I would have my paid helpers show up and put things where they belonged, but for the time being, I would spend one final night in the place that was so familiar to me before turning it into another good will gesture.


The light panned over the coast, gutting the night like a blade through a fish’s belly. Emerson Leighe sighed. From experience, he knew the storm would be raging well into the next day. But he’d be safe here; this lighthouse had weathered many storms before this one. And it would weather many more after, too. It had stood here since before he was born, and it would stand long after he was dead, which wouldn’t be long now, he reasoned. He raised his metal cup to the windows, which looked out onto the frothing midnight ocean. He offered the night his cheers, then sipped his neat rum. Lightning lit up the abyss, burning his retinas white for one faltering heartbeat. The wind whipped and whooped around the edges of the lighthouse. The rumble of thunder came three seconds later, reverberating through his bones. Emerson blinked. The ocean was a cruel mistress, sometimes. He knew that more than anybody. He’d spent much of his life aboard fishing vessels, at sea for months. He felt more at home on the open sea than on dry land. That was why he’d taken on the task of lighthousekeeper after retirement. But it seemed that people had lost their respect for the water. Kids rode inflatable beds out on riptides and needed rescuing. Rich yuppies took their boats out in unsafe conditions and needed rescuing. Partying youngsters went for midnight swims whilst inebriated. They drew the attention of the sea beasts, which they then hunted for revenge. And thus, the creatures needed rescuing due to their dwindling numbers. Companies dumped their foul excretions into the blue, so the sea needed rescuing, too. Emerson growled and scowled out. The thunder and lightning lashed from the heavens once again. The rain pelted sideways at the window, rattling against the glass. The gale screamed like a dying creature wounded by a harpoon. Another sound chimed throughout the lighthouse. But this had nothing to do with thunder. He grunted. Somebody had rung the lighthouse’s doorbell. Who on earth could that be? The lighthouse clung to a rocky piece of coast that jutted out into the ocean. It was far from any town or village, as Emerson liked it. The only company he usually had came in the form of passing boats and hungry seagulls. Emerson took another swig of rum and set his cup on the table. The wood bore the marks of a million condensation rings from the rum mugs of history. He grumbled to himself and passed through the door to the spiral staircase. The doorbell rang again as he descended, with care, the final treacherous steps. He threw the door open to the howling wind. ‘Yarr, I’m coming, I’m coming! Hold your seahorses.’ On the stoop, two kids huddled together, no older than eighteen. They clung to one another as the wind whipped at them, and the storm soaked them to their bones. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said the boy, raising his voice over the gale, ‘but our car broke down and we’re stranded. Can we please hold up with you until the storm has passed?’ Emerson was not a people person. But he was also not a heartless monster, either. He opened the door to the boy and the girl and guided them up the staircases. ‘Yarr, come in, come in! Yer wetter than water! I got some blankies upstairs. Come, let’s get you and your lass dry. Me name’s Emerson.’ The boy smiled and offered his hand despite the chill that shook him. ‘Thanks, man! You’re the best. Harry. And this is Skyla.’ Emerson led them up the winding staircase to the lighthouse’s upper room, lit by the beacon. He got some dry towels – stale and motheaten, but dry – and put the kettle on for warm tea. ‘Arr! You must be pretty frightened! What with you stranded in the dark and the rain while the sea beats her chest like King Kong! She can be mighty fierce.’ The boy pulled a face and shook his head. He wrapped a towel around Skyla’s shoulders before he tended to himself. ‘Err, no. Inconvenienced. And uncomfortable. But not scared.’ Emerson frowned but bit his tongue. He guided the youngsters to his couch – it wouldn’t be the first time it got wet – and handed them mugs of steeping tea. He sighed and sat down opposite them on his old rickety chair. ‘And what, if you don’t mind me askin’, were you two doin’ out here this late at night?’ The boy and the girl blushed. Harry started to say something, but then Skyla interrupted. She shoved her left hand into Emerson’s face. A diamond glinted on her ring finger. ‘Harry proposed to me tonight! As the sun set over the water, staining it red. The colour of love! Isn’t that romantic?’ To Emerson, red was the colour of blood once you’d chummed the waters to lure in the big fish, but he didn’t say this. ‘Yarr, it do warm this old sea dog’s heart to see young love in bloom. Why, my Bathilde and I, we shared quite a torrid love affair, we did! But she’s been sleeping with the fishes for longer’n you been alive. I still carry her picture in this old locket here, which I wear around me neck at all times. Here! Take a look at this beauty, lad. But don’t lose yer eye for the young lass, now, aye?’ The boy blinked at the picture in the sea-air-rusted locket. He did a double-take. He seemed to struggle for words; his eyebrows knotted together like a bowline. ‘Sir… that’s a manatee.’ Emerson recoiled. ‘Arr! You youngsters and your unrealistic Hollywood beauty standards! You shouldn’t perpetuate such unhealthy attitudes towards appearances. It only fosters anxiety and insecurity. Yarr! You might be young and lovely now, but see how pretty yer look in sixty years. Let’s see how yer are once the sea’s done rusted yer lungs, and yer legs been took by an orca and a great white workin’ in cahoots!’ The girl reached over and rapped a knuckle on his shin. A smirk touched the corners of her lips. ‘But sir, both your legs are still attached.’ Emerson yelped and tucked his legs back under his chair. ‘I jumped into the blood-stained brine, I did! Wrestled me legs back from the bellies of the respective beasts at the same time. Fought them both off. Using nothing but me bare hands. I sewed them back on, I did! Using nothing but a bit of old gut fishing line. I cleaned the wounds by spitting on ‘em, then patched meself back up. It hurt fer a while, but it didn’t affect me well-trained balance on the deck. Yarr, at sea you needs good sea legs. Especially whilst Poseidon’s throwin’ you about like a dusty old rug that yer mama’s trying to clean!’ The kids exchanged a glance and snickered. ‘That didn’t happen, did it, sir?’ asked the boy. ‘You’re having us on.’ Emerson bit his lip. He knew how to get through to these young’uns, to teach them the proper respect they ought to have for the ocean. Emerson had seen waves taller than buildings and fish bigger than elephants. He’d seen currents sweep sailors to their doom in seconds. Emerson had seen men sink into the abyss as waves pummelled them like a boxer in a match with no referee to ring the bell. These kids had been on dry land, but the ocean was hungry. She could reach out and snatch you from the shore if she wanted. They had gotten lucky the midnight tide hadn’t pulled them out to see whilst the boy popped the question. Emerson got to his feet and slipped out the door to the spiral staircase. ‘I ‘ave somethin’ ter show yer. You wait right here, my lovelies.’ Confused whispers came from behind him. Outside, the storm continued to rage. The wind screamed, and the rain lashed. The ocean roared and threw itself against the lighthouse’s base. The foundations shuddered. Emerson found the switch – covered in warning stickers – and flicked it. The lighthouse went dark. A small shriek came from above. He ascended in shadow, grinning at the panicked voices. He barged through the door and clicked the torch on. He illuminated his haggard face from below and bellowed. ‘IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT!’ Harry and Skyla screamed and clung to each other; their faces pulled in a rictus of terror in the torch’s beam. ‘What the hell—’ began the boy, but Emerson cut him off. ‘THE OCEAN WAS RAGING! THE NIGHT WAS BLACK! YOU COULDN’T TELL WHERE THE SKY ENDED AND THE WATER BEGAN! AND WE ALL KNEW THAT SHE, THE CREATURE, WAS OUT THERE HUNTING US! THE HUNTERS HAD BECOME THE HUNTED! WE—’ A foghorn shattered the tension, deafening them all. Harry jumped up, knocking his chair over backwards. Skyla shrieked and threw her hands up to her face. A flick of a fish’s tail later, the lighthouse shook around them. A great, wrenching metallic crunch rocked the world. Ice froze his limbs. He broke through the paralysis and staggered to the window. He shined his flashlight onto the rocks below. ‘Good God,’ whispered Emerson. The jagged stones had acted like a shark’s teeth, puncturing the ship’s hull. It leaned, like a drunken sailor, 45 degrees to the side. On top, seamen clung to the rails whilst others tried to scramble about the rain-wet deck. Baffled shouts punctured the storm’s wailing. Boxes of cargo crashed into the surf. Some sailors tossed life rings into the brine to rescue men overboard. Emerson whimpered. This lighthouse had not had a single accident for almost a hundred years. And now, in one swift hour, he’d caused a disaster. He should never have exaggerated the truth to impress these kids. The ocean was scary and beautiful enough as it was. It didn’t need cheapening with manufactured myths and legends. But he’d tried to scare them into respecting the fierce hand of nature, tried and failed. They thought he was an old coot who’d messed up on the job. And they wouldn’t exactly be wrong, now, would they? He’d forgotten the very lesson he’d been trying to teach. His shoulders slumped. ‘Yarr, I’m not the brightest bulb, methinks.’


Having worked in several law firms, I was so looking forward to the new position that I was offered. The top law firm in state, offering superb salary and benefits. Was it all a dream? I was eager to find out. The interview progressed smoothly with a good-looking senior partner, whose description of my duties were exactly what I was seeking. More responsibilities as a real estate paralegal would enable me to handle real estate closings from day one right through to attending closings and making the transfer of property.

Day One - Dressed professionally in a black suit with white cotton blouse, I appeared a half hour before starting time to get acclimated to the office before tackling the workload that I expected to be given. However, the Supervisor, who was to accompany me for the day, had not arrived. Someone, who didn’t identify himself, suggested that I take a seat in the reception room. The gold and silver striped wallpaper gave it a classy appearance. A couple of VanGogh paintings, comfortable padded chairs and sofa in a green and gold print against an accent silver wall added to the ambiance.

The Supervisor, a young woman, perhaps half my age, appeared in jeans and an oversized sweater. Sticking out her elbow for an elbow greeting, she introduced herself as Amy and led the way to what would now be my office. She suggested that I take inventory and notify her of anything that I would need additionally. She would return in a few minutes to review the systems the firm had in place, sign me up for benefits and take me on a tour of the entire office and making introductions. So far, it all was going smoothly. My office had one side that was entirely floor-to-ceiling window, which faced the Northeast direction. Vertical blinds would block out the morning sun. The mahogany desk looked like new. A mat with white paper for notes or doodling protected the writing surface. A box containing my business cards was set above the mat awaiting use with my first client. I felt like I was welcomed and belonged to this highly respected law firm. Let my day begin. Upon further checking of desk drawers, I found that I had a stapler, staple-remover, note pads, telephone message book in duplicate, scissors, paperclips, and plenty of hanging file folders. A wire-rimmed waste basket was appropriately placed under the desk.

The only thing that I could immediately think I’d want was a desk lamp with soft lighting, so I could turn off the fluorescent lighting when I chose to do so. Sometimes I find that it is simply too bright. I’d bring my lamp from home, which I noted in my cell phone. When Amy reappeared, she suggested that we venture to the break room for coffee and to fill out the necessary new employee paperwork. Coffee was definitely a must, as I hadn’t taken the time to pick one up on the way in.

Getting used to new co-workers is never comfortable. For I learned years ago that how they appear at first meeting is usually not their working personality. In all fairness, my first presentation is not how I function either. It’s a matter of being uncomfortable and attempting to adjust to newness on both parts.

Amy gave the impression that she truly cared about my comfort level and that she was genuinely pleased to have me join their team. Her presentation of the paperwork gave the impression that she ran the firm. “If you have any questions or problems, I’m the one that you need to come to see. The attorneys are busy with clients, and they leave the employee matters for my handling.” The usual government required papers were signed, as were the benefit forms. Instead of providing me with my own expense account, like I was used to, Amy informed me that I was to bring her and statements to pay and I would be reimbursed for out-of-pocket expenses upon presenting a receipt and/or invoice for any kinds of purchases made that were on the approved expenses sheet, which she provided me with.

Being that no mention had been made as to my client list, I inquired, “When will I be assigned clients?” Appearing a bit miffed, Amy stated, “Well, you will work with partner, Mr. Wiseman, for the first month. At the end of your first week, he will determine how to proceed from there.” Not quite the answer that I was expecting, and feeling a bit insulted, I swallowed my pride and simply nodded. What other surprises would be in store , I wondered. My first disappointment of the day. With that, I returned to my office to study the firm’s handbook that Amy provided and to check what contacts the firm used for various business needs. Awhile later I jumped as I heard a loud, screeching voice demanded immediate attention. “I want those survey and title reports on my desk within the hour. Do you hear me? I told you to have them ready at 9 AM!” I looked out the window on my office door to see that it was the managing partner, who was obviously annoyed with someone. Not used to such inappropriate office decorum, this was the second disappointment, and hopefully, the last one. While I had been introduced to staff, there was no way that I could remember everybody’s name upon first introduction. Therefore, I didn’t know who it was scurrying by, obviously the one being chewed-out. Tension filled the atmosphere from then on. A middle-aged looking gentleman knocked on my door. Upon my wave in, he entered, introducing himself as being Ben Benone, a partner. “I know that we met briefly earlier, but I want to say what a pleasure it is to welcome you. Your resume and references are superb. Indeed, you are a fine addition to our team.” What a relief to hear this. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your kind words.” With a shake of the head, he continued, “Please, call me Ben. I saw the look of horror on your face when John Wiseman chewed out Walt. He has a short fuse that we all just ignore. If we let it get to us, we’d never accomplish anything.” “Well, Ben, it was quite unnerving. I’ve never worked in any business where there was such disrespect for the employee and screeching. It is a huge disappointment to me and one that I’m not confident will be conducive to my best efforts. I feel that I may be doomed before I even start.” Being so honest to a co-worker, who was yet a total stranger, was not like me. But, then, neither was the situation like in my lifetime. Even my parents didn’t shout or scream like that.

Ben said that he understood and he hoped that I could drown-out John’s tantrums. “Please come and speak with me, when you are disturbed by them. Believe me when I say that you won’t be the first one, nor will you be the last. I’ve worked with John for 20 years. He has never changed. I had to be the one to make adjustments. Ear plugs are a huge help!” He chuckled as he shared this bit of advice. “Thank you, Ben. I sincerely appreciate your recognizing my discomfort and advice. I promise to do my best to not be so sensitive. I will purchase a set of high-quality ear plugs, if there is such a thing.” With a nod, he returned to his office across the hall.

Day Two - After visiting several stores, I was able to locate what the store clerk said were, “The best ear plugs made. They are guaranteed to block out all sounds.” That sounded perfect. With the set in my briefcase, I arrived for my second day on the job. The door to Ben’s office was opened, so I peeked in my head showing him my new purchase. He gave a thumbs up, as I proceeded to my office. Sure enough, after lunch, John was on another tirade directed at one of the female paralegals this time. At the first rise in tone, in went my hearing aids, and I continued reading my first client’s proposed Purchase Contract, which had been emailed for my review. The hearing aids blocked out the unpleasant sounds.

Still not sure that I would be able to persevere under such conditions, and that this remained in my mind to be a dream job from hell, I was giving it my all. A month later - Whether it was my being in my paralegal trial period or not, as of yet, I had not been the one for whom a tirade had been directed. There was little doubt that my day would arrive. With each week, my endurance was building, as was my confidence. I could only hope and pray that when my turn came, I would be able to have a respectful response that would stop John in his track, making him offer an apology. What was that saying, “You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.” Well, I was about to prove it to be true, and maintain my career.


Denise was just leaving the band room when the siren went off. Because she was alone, she didn’t realize that no one else heard it. Looking around, she saw nothing that seemed out of place; she couldn’t identify where the sound came from. She threw her drumsticks into her backpack and headed outside. There she saw her Aunt Carol looking worried. “You heard the alarm?” she asked Denise. “Yes, but what does it mean?” Denise threw her backpack over her shoulder. “A Well has been stolen.” Denise looked up. “Well what? What well?” she asked. “Not a well small ‘w,’ a Well with a capital ‘W’,” Aunt Carol explained. “Follow me, Denise.” “What?” Denise had no idea what a Well with a capital W was. “You’re needed. I knew this would happen someday,” Aunt Carol said. “I had hoped that when it happened, you’d be older.” Denise had just turned sixteen. “What are you talking about, Aunt Carol?” Denise, totally confused, climbed into Carol’s Subaru. “The Wyvern Queen needs you to help find it. It’s your destiny.” “Wyvern Queen? Like the two-legged dragon with a barbed tail? That kind of wyvern?” Denise was totally lost. “Yes. She’s responsible for the Wells.” “Okay, I’ll bite. What are these Wells?” “Portable, potable water. Water is essential to the multiverse. The Wells provide water to everyone. This missing Well is assigned to Earth. Without it, all life dies. They are tightly controlled because they are so valuable. That’s what the siren was about.” “Okay,” Denise said. “But what has that to do with me?” “You are the chosen one. You’ve spent your whole life learning about swords, aliens, and space. You know Star Wars, Harry Potter, and Lord of the Rings . You’ve been trained. Now’s the time for it to pay off.” “What am I supposed to do?” Denise asked. “The Queen will tell you.” Aunt Carol pulled into her garage and rushed into the house, Denise on her heels. “Here’s the Wyvernian computer. Sit down.” “The what?” Denise asked as she sat in the desk chair, putting her backpack on her lap. “What do I do now?” Aunt Carol fired up the computer. A huge eye covered the entire screen. “Hello, Carol. Good to see you. And this must be Denise?” “Yes, Queenie. She will obviously need guidance, but she’s ready.” Aunt Carol smiled at the eye. “Wonderful, my dear. Let’s not waste time then.” Denise’s world disappeared in a swirling fog. She felt sick and exhilarated at the same time. After what seemed like ages, but might have been seconds, the girl found herself sitting at a large table in front of a huge wyvern and a garbage-sized tin can out of which a man sat (she thought), looking intently in her direction. “Hello, Denise. This is Bob,” the Queen gestured towards the man in the can who reached out and shook Denise’s hand. “We have no time to waste but we must finish tea before we go.” The Queen handed Denise a china cup full of dark liquid. “Tea?” she asked. “Not a big fan.” “It’s okay, Denise. Yours will taste like your favorite drink.” Sure enough, the drink tasted just like Pepsi. “Yum,” she said. “All right, team. Time to go. We’ll need to pick up the Terriers on the way.” The Queen leaned towards Denise. “They’re the best warriors in the multiverse.” The other stood up so Denise followed them. The Queen stood about fifteen feet high. The room was twice that, the walls covered with luxurious rugs and paintings of strange creatures. A few minutes later, Denise found herself on a long tarmac. The Queen was putting on what looked like an enclosed saddle. “It’s a Bubble,” Bob told her as his can hovered beside her. “Uh, thanks, Bob,” Denise said. “Is it polite to ask …” “It’s not. It’s my whole life but that’s all I can reveal.” “Ok. Bob, why me?” “You were born for it, Denise. Sometimes destiny doesn’t show itself for a while, but it’s been watching you. You are strong, brave, and pretty fearless. It’s just your time.” Bob pointed to footholds that had appeared on the Queen’s flank. “Go ahead, Denise. That’s how you get into the Bubble.” Denise climbed up as Bob hovered alongside her. At the top, he pushed a button that opened the Bubble. He floated in and settled in what looked like a big cup holder. Denise sat on a wonderfully comfortable overstuffed sofa, putting her backpack into a luggage rack overhead. “Wow,” she said. “This is very cool. Is all intergalactic travel this comfortable?” “Not all. But the Queen goes first class.” The same huge eye appeared on a screen in front of the sofa. The. “Be sure to buckle up,” the Queen instructed. Denise looked for a seat belt. She saw something buried in the cushion. “Glad someone figured out that seat belts are a good idea,” she said. “Good for you,” said the belt as it fastened itself around her. “A pain for me.” “Be quiet!” Bob growled. “These belts are a grouchy lot.” “Everyone secure?” the Queen asked. “We’re good, Your Majesty,” Bob answered her. Denise marveled at the Queen’s speed as she began to run. Effortlessly , they took to the air. “That was amazing,” Denise said breathlessly. “She’s the best transportation I’ve ever been on,” Bob told her. “You might as well take a nap or something. It’s a long way to the Terriers.” Bob disappeared into his can. Denise found herself tired and groggy. Before she knew it, she was asleep. She woke when the Queen landed abruptly. The Bubble opened just as Bob emerged from his can. “Time to meet our warrior friends,” he said, gesturing towards the steps on the Queen’s side. Denise made her way down to the ground. Once she had disembarked, the Queen suddenly shrunk to a size closer to her own. Bob leaned over. “Make Me Small pills. Very useful.” A creature about half Denise’s size came bounding out of a nearby building, making what sounded like barking noises, its small tail wagging madly. “Welcome, grrrouff, to our home,” growled the creature, standing up on its hind legs, its face almost eye level with Denise. It had smooth brown and black fur an inch long all over its body as well as a beard and mustache. Denise thought it handsome even though she personally preferred cats. “Hello, Macduff. Good to see you.” The Queen smiled as she put her hand out and shook Macduff’s paw. They followed him into the Hall. “They seem awfully carefree and silly for a group of warriors.” Denise pointed to an area full of Terriers jumping up and down for no apparent reason and another group playing tug of war. One chased its tail. The Queen laughed. “Yes. They do like to play but they can catch a Gopher faster than any other creature in the universe. That’s Gopher with a capital G, Denise. They stole the Well.” All these capitals , Denise thought. It must be a really big deal. That’s scary. The Queen walked to a small platform at the far end of the Hall. “Terriers. We need your help. You know me and you know my Pathfinder Royale Bob. This is Denise. She’s the one.” The Queen pointed to Denise and with all the Terriers’ eyes now upon her, she swallowed hard, bowed and smiled awkwardly. An approving growl swept through the room. “A Well has been stolen from the Vault. We need to find and return it.” The Queen waited until the Terriers finished leaping and howling. “We believe that it has been stolen by a giant Gopher from the planet Broke. You are the best Gopher hunters in the multiverse. We need you to keep them occupied while we recover the Well. Will you join us?” An exuberant howl went up around the room. “Gopherrrrs! Gopherrrrrrrs!” Coming from the Terriers, the word had a menacing and growly undertone. “Just one thing,” the Queen continued. “You can’t kill the Gophers until we find the Well.” The Terriers growled. “Once we’ve secured it, you may kill or capture any you can.” The Hall went wild. After meeting with MacDuff and other Terrier leaders to formulate a plan, the Queen took flight once again. Denise lost track of time as they hurtled through space, the Terriers’ Mercedes Bones ships scattered in front and behind them. The Bubble provided everything she needed: food, drink. Internet and a bathroom. This is amazing , she thought more than once. Finally, she noticed the Queen beginning to descend. Looking out of the Bubble, she could see a planet below. It was quite blue, like Earth appeared from space but even more so. “Bob is that Broke?” she asked. “And why is it so blue?” “Yes. It’s covered mostly with water. There’s land although it’s tricky to find sometimes. It’s the perfect place to hide a Well.” Bob began to close the top of his can. “Grab your backpack, Denise. We’ll be landing soon.” “What about air?” she asked. “No worries.” Bob handed Denise a small face covering. “Once we’ve landed, just put this on for a few minutes. It’ll fall off on its own. It adjusts your body to whatever breathable air is available.” Denise looked at the mask. “Wow,” was all she could think to say. “This space travel is a whole lot more amazing than in movies and books. And that’s pretty amazing.” “Don’t forget we’re on a mission,” Bob said. When they were on the ground, the Queen slid the Bubble off. Terriers had gathered around them with MacDuff at the front. All were armed and covered in chain mail. “All right, troops. Westies head west. Yorkies go north. Fox terriers – stay on the dry. And the rest of you spread out. When we find the Well, we’ll let you know.” The Terriers disappeared. “What do I do if I find it?” Denise asked. “My dear girl, you have more knowledge of space travails than many of us do. You’ll just know.” With that, the Queen took off, leaving Denise and Bob at the landing site. “Okay, Bob. What now?” “I’ll stay here and guard the Bubble. You can wait with me,” Bob added. “That wouldn’t be right. A space adventure where we just wait? No way.” Denise stood up and started off along a trail of grass with water on both sides. “Come back when you find the Well,” Bob called out as she walked away. The planet was indeed wet. By following the trail, she was able to find dry areas to move across. It’s a trail. It must lead somewhere. After a while, she noticed that the hill to her right had grown bushes along its bottom. She pulled them aside and found herself in the mouth of a cave. Moving inside, she was surprised to find incandescent moss lighting a path lined with rocks. A small rock rolled itself up when Denise approached. “Who goes there?” it asked. How can I understand that? Denise wondered. “I’m Denise. We’re looking for a Well that’s been stolen. Probably by your Gophers.” “Ah, yes. We know about that. And definitely not our Gophers,” it said. “I am Wequt. Follow me.” Denise did as she was told and found herself in a large cavern that was lit by holes in the mountain. Several large rocks sat in a line. They didn’t move as Wequt and Denise arrived. “These are our elders,” Wequt told her. “You seek the Well?” a zircon asked. “We are the Counsel. What will you do with it if we reveal its location?” “We’ll return it to the Vault and lock it up safely,” Denise told them. “And increase security so none get stolen again.” “As you can see, we have no need of a Well. But the Gophers stole it to sell. They hid it in our caves, stepping on many of us as they came and went. How do we know we can trust you?” Denise thought for a moment. “I have profound respect for the Well. My planet, which we call Earth, is having water problems and may need the Well someday. People fight wars over water. I promise to return and respect it.” The Council of Elders rolled together to confer. At least that’s what Denise thought they were doing. After what seemed like a geologic time lapse, they rolled back into a line. “We will show you the Well. Wequt and Elder Adnal will go with you.” “Thank you all.” Denise bowed. She wasn’t sure why; it just seemed appropriate. The two guides rolled down a hallway in the cave with Denise following closely behind, carefully watching where she stepped. Eventually, they came to an opening. Peeking around the wall, she saw a pulsing blue dot sitting on a boulder surrounded by stalactites and stalagmites. Wequt and Elder Findal stopped. “The Well,” the Elder said. Denise stared at it. She had never asked what it looked like. “That’s it?” she asked, just to be sure. Wequt giggled. “That’s it. New to you, is it?” “Yes.” Denise walked around the boulder. “Uh, how do I carry it?” Wequt shook his head. “In your pack, Denise. It doesn’t leak.” “Of course. Sorry. I am new at this. But I should have known.” At that moment, they heard a deep growl. As Denise looked in again, a huge beast with big teeth and sharp claws appeared at the other end of the opening. That must be one of the Gophers , Denise realized. It was huge, almost eight feet tall. It hovered over the Well protectively. Denise shrunk back. “How do you kill … or at least disable these things?” The Gopher heard her and turned in their direction. “Crap,” said Denise. She thought for a moment then took the drumsticks from her backpack, which she left with Elder Adnal and Wequt. “That is not your Well,” she shouted at the creature. It looked surprised. She wasn’t its usual adversary. Denise raised the drumsticks over her head and began banging them together. “You. Gopher. Get away from our Well.” She shouted at the top of her lungs. The Gopher hesitated and then moved back a step. “These are magic sticks from the planet Earth, and you cannot withstand their power.” All of her years watching sci fi were paying off. “Now get away!” She flourished the sticks and started drumming on a nearby boulder as she moved closer to the Well. The Gopher looked surprised but only for a moment. Then it began moving towards her, growling and gnashing its huge teeth. Denise struck the protective minerals which crashed to the ground. The Gopher stopped. “Dinna ye know not to bother t’ one, ye wee beastie.” MacDuff appeared at her side. Before she knew it, he was on the Gopher. She made a run for the Well, grabbed it and ran back, putting it into the backpack as she went. The guides led her out of the cave and pointed her back towards where the Queen had landed. When she got there, Bob was gone. She could hear battle sounds and followed them to the top of a hill. Looking down, she saw a slightly familiar gory sight. The Terriers and Gophers had been fighting, that much was clear. She saw Bob, holding a sword and hovering over a huge Gopher. Denise put her fingers to her lips and let out a loud whistle. When Bob looked up, she waved. He threw a chain over the neck of the Gopher and hovered up the hill, dragging the beast behind him. “Denise, good to see you,” he said. “This is the ringleader. But he won’t tell us where they put the Well.” “It’s okay, Bob. I found it.” Denise grinned broadly as she pointed to the backpack. “But a Gopher came. MacDuff went after it. I didn’t see him again.” “He’ll be fine, Denise. He cut his teeth on Gophers, so to speak. She was right, the Queen. You are the one.” They found the Queen was waiting for them at the landing site along with MacDuff who was unscathed. Denise gave him a hug. “You got it,” the Queen pronounced. “I guess all my role playing and movie watching paid off. But MacDuff saved the day when the Gopher came. And I admit that being on a quest is a lot different than watching it.” The Queen put a wing around her shoulder. “It is and it isn’t, child. Clearly you benefitted from all that watching.” She turned to MacDuff. “We’re taking this one back. Can you fit it on one of your Bones ships? You can let your fighters go after the rest.” “Surrrrre,” MacDuff assured her. He took the Gopher’s chain and growled. “Don’t even trrrry to get away.” When the Queen had put the Bubble back on, Denise and Bob settled in for the flight back to the Queen’s home on Wyvernia. “You have done the multiverse a great service, today, Denise. We won’t forget it.” “Thank you, Your Majesty. I won’t either. Won’t I have been missed, though?” “Time is relative, my dear Denise. But it is time for you to return home. Your Aunt Carol is waiting.” The world fogged over. Denise found herself in Aunt Carol’s car, leaving her school. “Have a good day?” her aunt asked with a wink. “Interesting, thanks. Did I just sort of save the universe?” Aunt Carol grinned. “Sort of, yes. Stay tuned.”


There are some feelings, some deep personal feelings, that are unexplainable. The ones you can’t really share with anyone, even if you did want to; even if you did try to put them into words. The same ones that seem to always last longer than all the others. Alice was experiencing a fair dose of a mix of them at the same time. Sitting at the edge of the rooftop of a two story building, she felt anxious, sad, angry; but not quite. It was as if someone had had a recipe that required all of the above, but had somehow mixed up the doses. Not to mention the sprinkle of hope and happiness that didn’t quite fit in, that she was trying really hard to put out of her mind. That was proving more difficult than usual. Today was supposed to be a good day, after all. The day. Why shouldn’t she be joyful? Because she had been in this spot before. And not just the one where she was sitting, swinging her feet back and forth. No, where she had been already before was in this state of limbo, waiting for those five words she had been longing to hear all of her life. ‘You have been officially adopted.’ Answer to a question she had stopped asking a long time ago. ‘Has anyone come for me yet?’ The actual, real answers she had been used to so far had ranged from sweet at first to plain rude later on. Or as she called them, in her head: “Mr. not today honey;” which was closely related to — in the same way that fire and water are both elements — “Mrs. if there were any news I would have told you by now.” Because, you see, the two story building was a place for kids like her. Kids that had no idea where they came from or who their family was. Alice had been there most of her life: eleven years out of sixteen. The first five years, she had been told, she had spent somewhere ‘people actually come and adopt you.’ That, of course, had not happened to her. The sadness, anger, and anxiousness concoction came from that. From never being the kid potential parents actually brought home for good. A few had tried, especially when she was in middle school, because they fell in love with the way she looked with her curly hair and the glasses too big for her face. They all thought they would bring home a quiet, studios girl. Which she was not. Well, she was studios indeed; she was top of her class and read as many books as she could get her hands on. But she was also very active, climbing every tree in every backyard she was brought to. She also wanted to sign up to every possible sport, even the ‘most dangerous’ as the potential parents put it. It wasn’t her fault that they painted a picture of her in their head that was far from the truth. During that period, the longer she had spent in one of the potential homes had been a whole month. Then puberty hit and she was chosen less and less. The sprinkle of hope and happiness came from the fact that, a little under a year before, she had met what she thought were the perfect parents . They had picked her over everyone else, even the cutest six year old she had ever seen. When they had been asked if they were sure of their choice because ‘that one is not at all what she appears to be,’ the potential father had replied with a: ‘good thing we don’t make assumptions about people’s personalities only based on their appearances. Or at all.’ That had been met with a tight smile from the headmistress, who didn’t argue only because she couldn’t wait to be rid of Alice. Stephanie and Eric, aka the perfect parents , had brought her home that same evening. When too in awe of the tall trees in the backyard, she had instinctively asked if she could climb one, before she had brought a hand to her mouth fearing she had already ruined everything. She hadn’t witnessed the conversation with the headmistress after all. Stephanie had replied, matching her initial enthusiasm, ‘not if I climb it first!’ Later, at the dinner table, she had cautiously asked how come she hadn’t been scolded for wanting to do such thing. Eric had answered her. ‘Because we want you to be safe in whatever you decide to do. That’s why you are not allowed to climb unless one of us is there with you. We don’t want to tell you what you should love, though.’ Stephanie had nodded the whole time. That seemed like a great compromise to Alice. It also made her feel warm inside, the fact that someone worried for her safety. ‘If that was day one,’ she had thought to herself that night in bed, ‘what could possible go wrong,’ ‘Nothing,’ had been the answer for the most part of the first four months she had spent there. The three of them had gotten so in sync with each other that it had felt like they had been a family for her entire life. Eric shared her love for books and taught her everything he knew, from science to sci-fi movies. Which was also where he got his best — and worst — dad jokes from. With Stephanie, she shared her love for climbing and sports in general. Every weekend, they either went rock climbing or to yoga. Yoga, as Stephanie pointed out, was just as important as any other activity. ‘You want to be flexible enough, and relaxed enough, if you want to kick people’s butts,’ she had told Alice one day when she had admitted she didn’t know what she wanted to pursue next: kickboxing or martial arts. They even gave her the best birthday party of her life that far. She had pointed out that she didn’t have many friends at school, only a couple, so the big party wasn’t necessary. They had invited the two friends and all their relatives. The latter, being eager to meet her, had actually treated her like family. They had also brought her lots of gifts. The dream had come to a crashing halt when they tried to finalize the adoption and were prevented from doing so. The perfect parents had tried not to worry her too much about the details. One day, though, she overheard them on the phone: someone hadn’t filed the foster form; either deliberately or by accident. It had looked like the whole time she had been with them she had actually spent back at the orphanage. There was no way forward, only backward. They had been forced to bring her back; with tears in their eyes, they promised to find a solution. Even with all the past experiences and a lifetime of disappointment, she had believed them. That was seven months before. Her hope had risen again, against her better judgement, the day before. She had walked into the headmistress’ office, after she had been summoned there, trying to figure out what she was going to be punished for this time. She had walked out of it, almost skipping, after a phone call with the perfect parents . They had promised, again and again at her request, that they had solved all bureaucratic problems and were going to pick her up the next day. She had been waiting for them on the rooftop since right after breakfast. She had even skipped lunch, not that she was eager to eat the watery soup of the day. Next to her was the book she was currently reading, which had been left untouched that day. It brought her comfort though; it was one of the many she had received on her latest birthday. When she heard footsteps behind her, she didn’t dare turn around, she couldn’t face more disappointment. Or the thirteen year old that was always mocking her. “Hey!” It was Stephanie’s voice. “We have been looking everywhere for you.” Which didn’t feel like it related only to that particular day, but their whole lives. Only then did she turn around, tears in her eyes. “You came?” “Of course we did,” Eric replied, tears welling up in his eyes as well. “Stop it, you two, you’ll make me cry as well.” But Alice didn’t hear her: she was already jumping to her feet and running toward them. She hesitated just a moment, one foot in front of them, before she threw her arms around them for a tight hug. They immediately hugger her back just as tightly. “Is it for real this time?” she asked, as she let go after what felt like an eternity and a moment at the same time. “Yes, Alice. I am y—,” started Eric. “Don’t you dare,” she interrupted him, half laughing half crying. She then hugged them again. Because she could. Because she wanted to. Because she had missed them. Because she was experiencing all those feelings you never know how to explain to others. Feelings she knew they were experiencing as well, her new parents. She couldn’t put them into words, but she was sure all three of them were feeling one thing: love.


Beyond the tips of outstretched fingers, a beautiful ripe fig twisted in the breeze. Andrea’s foot began to numb as he wedged it deeper between the trunk and the cliff. He had nothing lose; he told himself. There was no other time this could ever be done, therefore climbing back up empty handed was not an option.            ‘Andrea! Just give up already!’            ‘Everyone knows Lolo is the only one who can bring one up,’ a shower of gravel fell between the fig leaves and was lost to the water below. Andrea withdrew his foot and began to edge further down the trunk.            ‘Andrea, come on, we have 5 minutes then it’s done.’ An excited chanting of his name began, but the shouts and laughter were lost to the sea breeze. 5 minutes was more or less exact however, and given the slow 600-year history of the tree, it seemed unfair that Andrea had just 5 minutes to grab his fig. But the reality was that in just under 10 minutes, the tree was being burnt out the side of the cliff.            Over the last hundred years or so, much time had been spent over the issue of the fig tree. It was widely acknowledged by the locals on the island of Sabranio that the figs from this particular tree were some of the sweetest, if not the sweetest in the world. However, few members of the community had ever tasted the figs and by and large as many still wanted to taste them. And moreover, the tree and its figs had become something of metonym for evil.            As with any good tradition, its roots lay in age-old misunderstandings of the world. The condemnation of the fruit was founded on two essential facts. 1) The inordinate number of youths throughout the centuries who have fallen to their death whilst climbing down to harvest the romanticised figs. 2) A small species of turtle who had turned their shells pink over the centuries by visiting the tree in the summer months and feasted on the fruit. The tree, and therefore its fruit, was found to be guilty of a double association with the malevolent: death, and devilishly coloured turtles.                                                         +++ Signor Conte appeared not to have read the words Private Meeting; No disturbances; Quiet please sellotaped to door as he entered the meeting room holding a pink turtle above his head.            ‘End this nonsense!’ he said, rapping the shell until the room fell silent. ‘Do you see what you want to put an end to! 600 hundred years!’ persisted Conte, sliding a piece of cucumber under the turtle’s mouth.            He searched the room for the effect of his bold entrance. The patchy crowd seemed unaffected by the accusation, and the elderly gentleman leading the meeting sighed and re-centred his pencil.            ‘Look Conte –’ began the man.            ‘How many children do we have to lose to save these ridiculous turtles?’ started a lady from the side.            ‘13 children in as many years! Countless over the centuries, all for those demonic terrapins,’ put in a man from beneath large heaped cotton shirt collars.            ‘You know as well as any of us,’ said Conte ‘you can’t go ahead and burn out that tree.’            A chorus of old chairs squeaked violently in response, and the man’s head craned up out of his stiff shirt in disbelief. ‘We have no interest in the university or any of that claptrap,’ he snapped. ‘The turtles can live off anything! It’s eating cucumber right now.’ The meeting agreed with its impromptu orator with more squeaking of chairs and nodding. 'And what's more, it might put an end to their ungodly shells,' the nodding exploded into a round of yeses.            Signor Conte turned to the door, ‘Chiara Maio is here from a university on the mainland, she’s been studying the effect the figs have on the pigment of–’            ‘Stuff your turtles’ shouted a straw hat from the front row.            ‘She’s here to explain to you all the –’ A paper folder came flying straight for Conte.            ‘We’ve heard your side Conte,’ said the elderly man, standing slowly and flapping his arms about for quiet. ‘You’ve had your say, but the vote speaks for itself.’            ‘I’ve lodged a complaint with police on the mainland, they’ll be–’            ‘Let it go,’ said the man raising his pencil with authority. ‘It’s as good as done… Anyone who wants to bear witness to the burning should follow Ciro and myself up the hill, all others, I thank you for your time…’ News of the mob’s approach preceded its elderly march up towards the fig tree. The gaggle of children scrambled as the group abandoned the idea of a tasting the figs, and Andrea.            ‘Hey,’ shouted the Conte, grabbing an evacuee by the arm. ‘Where are you going? Have you been playing up by the tree?’ the child gave a horrified guilty shake of its head and slipped away. From Conte’s position in the half circle around the edge of the cliff, a gnarled fig branch could be seen reaching out to sea.            ‘Alas, it is a shame,’ began the elderly man, seizing the plastic can of oil from Ciro. ‘It’s a shame that maybe the very oldest tree on our bright little isle chose to grow not on the island but shooting out the side.’ To which there was a round of inaudible agreement. ‘But the greater shame is the many who have lost their lives in the dumb search for its fruit.’ At this Ciro began to sob. The elderly gentleman doffed his cap and began to soak the fig tree emptying the petrol out over the cliff edge. ‘I can’t let this happen,’ blurted Conte, grabbing Professor Maio by the arm, ‘we will stand in the way, you’ll have to burn us along with it,’ at which Professor Maio began to back away.            ‘Look,’ she started.            ‘Gladly,’ boomed the elderly man splashing the remains to the petrol can in their direction.            ‘Ok, Tommaso, you’ve made your point,’ said Conte moving sheepishly back into line.            ‘Anyone else!’ he said, withdrawing a flare from his jacket. He raised the burning rod above his head with a surprising alacrity – savaging the cloudless sky with its smoke. ‘Anyone else!’

           ‘Stop,’ cried a child stumbling into the centre, ‘stop, we need to–’            ‘Shut that child up,’ shouted Tommaso, and dropped the flare over the cliff edge.


This is an adult story, with language and content which may offend those easily offended. I can remember the sparkles. Sunshine on water. At the river, that warm day in late spring. I remember the droplets on her skin and I remember her eyes. Her huge childlike eyes, deep brown and clear and innocent. Still unaware of her beauty, a child. Her perfect sun kissed legs. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. I thought , how long do I have, how long will it take her to finish her drink, lips pouting round the rim? I didn’t want it to end . A face like one of those perfect golden ratio faces that artists paint. Every single freckle was perfect, but she was real and was so beautiful it could have made me cry. And when she dived into the river, swam, ran on the bank, I watched her and I wanted her. I have skills, talents. Everyone knows I can charm, manipulate, lead them where I want them to go. Call me a wolf, but all wolves aren’t the same ; there is one kind with an amenable disposition – tame and gentle, following the young girls in the streets, into their homes. The young girls don’t know that these gentle wolves, out of all the wolves, are the most dangerous! Yes, I have skills. I know these girls. They go for the bad boy and I am the likeness of a devouring wolf, strong and mighty, with great, large eyes, which in the night sparkle like fire, and a wide mouth, with most sharp and cruel teeth, a strong body. They want me. They want the dangerous man. All the girls are racing to be the first. The first to bleed, first to kiss, first to touch, first to fuck. It’s not that they especially want any of these things but they are terrified of being different, of being left behind. Stay with the flock, keep in time. She, as much as the others, terrified of not being the perfect girl, the girl who speaks quietly and calmly, who is always kind and nice, never mean or bossy. She, who wants to fit in; not lead or lag. So, yes, I could have had her. Led her there, like any of the others, but this one was different. I had imagined, her and I, something real. I could have shown her things, many beautiful things and excitement too. It was a dream, I know, I know it could never happen. Eventually I’d change and it would all go bad. The moon or the season would call me and I’d hurt her, knowing I didn’t want to. It’s too hard when it comes. Not something you can fight. It just happens. They know that, the ones who choose the girl to wear the hood. In the end, they all know that in the end, the bloodlust prevails. Yes, I’d eat that heart, panting hot and raw, eat that sweet dainty morsel. I don't know why they had to send her. Why they had to send this girl. Any girl would have been OK. Any young girl. Fresh, you know. They knew. I think they knew my feelings for her. They must have known when they chose her. When they gave her the robe and the hood. Chose her as the virgin. And they knew when they sent her out, they knew she had to die like the others, like every year

Did that make it better, stronger? They for sure didn't think of me. Why would they? None of them ever cared about me. Here we are on the path. Her rich cascade of auburn hair tumbling out from her hood. She’s skipping, smiling. With that basket full of wine. Some bring cakes, bake things, but she knew her grandmother. And her grandmother, old hag, crept away. She knew what was coming. She left the door unlocked and sneaked into the forest. Kept herself safe. That’s not as she’ll tell it, but that’s how it was. Her name doesn't matter now, she is the blood, the offering. They've dressed her in the robe, the hood. She's on the path. Everyone knows where this ends. Everyone but her. They will speak of her by her robe. She had a name. Dyani. Sweet soft Dyani. Dyani, always with a smile, and so generous it was close to foolish. Her name meant deer. Fitting perhaps, now. Now she is just the girl in the red hood. If she wasn't here, now, sometime later she would have taken my hand and drawn it on to her breast. And it would have been sweet. In that cottage, on that bed. And she’d love the soft skin of my penis on her lips and she’d smile when I shuddered as I came inside her. Like a child given a gift. But this afternoon isn't going to end like that. I hate them for that. I want to call a pack and hunt them all down. They should fear me now. Those cruel men, choosing her. Making me do this. The worst thing. the worst part of this nightmare, what is destroying what soul I have left is I know she will taste good. Good as she looks. I have always loved the way she looks. pale skin and that mass of dark hair, tumbling out from her hood. Those child eyes. Too big really, those dark brown eyes. A beautiful child face on a woman. I want to look into them and for her to see me. The real me, you know. Not just the teeth. How long has this gone on. Thousands of years. I have read - yes I do read, I am educated – I have read, the Greek, Pausanias knew the how and why. Told the story, in which, each year, a virgin girl was offered to a malevolent spirit, offered as a sacrifice. And this spirit, dressed in the skin of a wolf, raped and ate the girl. They will tell another story. One that ends well. The girl will be rescued. Wishful thinking. A better story for their guilt, a happy fairy tale. Keep out of the woods, don’t speak to strangers. No one will mention Dyani. They will agree, without words, not to mention her. They won’t admit they chose the story, they chose the girl. I will be the malevolent spirit. Everyone believes there’s a malevolent spirit. What does that mean, malevolent? I don’t hate her. I do what they want. I do it for them. Someone has to. Someone always has. A thousand girls, a thousand innocent young girls, a thousand virgins. So their crops will grow. So their gods will smile. I don the skin, the rank smelling skin and pull the fangs into my mouth. It will haunt me. Next year and the years after, all I will see is her eyes. I will see my teeth in her eyes. Watch her last moments, her confusion and the rising fear. Her scream as I take her. Remember her hair tumbling from her hood. Remember the soft sweet taste on my lips. As we stroll through the woods, the flowers mock me. They cover the peaceful, sun-dappled glades. Bluebells crowding round the base of the trees like flirting girls, sweet smelling columbine in the glades, the dog violet line her path; Bow as she walks to her sacrifice. “Take your time, pick some flowers” I say. “It’s a lovely day.” I know I’m going to do this. I know the flowers will cover the smell of your fear and your blood when I take you. Will help cover the stench when my teeth rip open your stomach. The gods will smile. Their bastard smiling gods. And the villagers, they all know it’s happening. Duplicitous, lying, cruel bastards. They will cover it up, again. They will tell their tales, like they always do, but they know. They know, they all know, what big teeth I have and who I’m going to eat.


Day 1:

So, a gratitude journal is supposed to make me feel better? Fine. Here's my first entry: GO FUCK YOURSELF!! Day 2:

Seriously? Writing instead of talking during therapy? Feels like a punishment. Great, another reminder of how much my life sucks right now. Day 3:

So now, daily prompts? Whatever, it's easier than pulling this shit out of thin air.

Today's prompt: Describe a random act of kindness you saw.

Val, the therapy dog, knew who needed her today. She sat with the quiet girl, who smiled for the first time since I got here. Guess that's something. Day 4: Prompt: Describe the funniest moment from your day.

Funniest moment today? A nurse totally wiped out trying to dodge Val's toy. It felt weird to laugh again like I was laughing at a funeral, but it happened. Maybe things aren't all bad here, or maybe I'm just getting used to the chaos. Day 5: Prompt: Write about your outfit and why you chose to wear it.

I'm wearing my oversized Nirvana shirt again today. My mom's from the '90s. She loved them, and honestly, wearing this shirt comforts me. Dr. Wade noticed and said he saw them live back in the day. We chatted about music for a while, and it felt surprisingly good. Day 6: Prompt: Describe a place that makes you feel calm and content.

The garden here is my escape. It's quiet and peaceful. Today, I just sat and felt... normal, like I wasn't trapped in this place. Day 7: Prompt: What skill do you have that you're proud of?

Today felt different. I showed the group some American Sign Language, and they truly got into it. It was weirdly uplifting, like I was actually good at something. I know ASL because my older brother is deaf. Everyone got really excited about learning more.

Day 8: Prompt: Reflect on a conversation that changed your perspective.

Dr. Wade got deep about my mom’s Nirvana shirt, saying, 'Memories can be sanctuaries or prisons.' That hit me hard. I've been clinging to the past, but maybe it’s time to start living for now. Day 9: Prompt: Write about something you're looking forward to when you leave.

I'm looking forward to teaching my friends ASL. It's part of who I am, and it feels good to share that. I’m also looking forward to spending more time with my brother. I miss him. He’s all I have left.

Day 10: Prompt: Describe a moment of accomplishment today.

When I taught Val a new command in ASL, she nailed it! Everyone was impressed. The handler said I have a gift. Getting that nod made me see things differently. Like, maybe I’m not just a mess of problems. Maybe I’ve got something real to offer.

Day 11: Prompt: Describe someone who inspires you.

A therapist here, who's also battled depression and came out the other side, talked about how working with animals helped her heal. It's inspiring to think I could turn my pain into something that helps others. It made me think that maybe there's a future in combining ASL with animal training. Day 12: Prompt: Discuss the most challenging part of your day and how you handled it.

Group therapy was tough today. It cracked something open in me. We talked about why we're here, and I shared a bit about my mom's death and how alone I felt after. Talking about my mom was painful, but it also helped me realize how much I've bottled up. Needed to use some breathing techniques to stay calm. Dr. Wade keeps reminding me that sharing might be the only way through my grief. It was hard, but I survived.

Day 13: Prompt: Consider a new hobby you might want to start.

Been toying with the idea of starting a vlog about ASL. You know, showing what it’s like living with my deaf brother. ASL isn’t just a skill for me; it’s part of who I am. Starting this vlog feels like I’m taking all the crap I’ve been through and flipping it into something big that could actually matter. Day 14: Prompt: Write about a moment today when you felt hopeful about your future. Dr. Wade suggested volunteering at an animal shelter or joining a program that trains therapy dogs. Merging my ASL skills with my love for animals could really be something. I never really thought about what I wanted to be when I grew up because I wasn’t planning on growing up. But this could be a plan. This could be something. Day 15: Prompt: Reflect on how you've changed since arriving here. I've changed a lot since I got here. This journal started as a punishment, but now it's helping me see a future where I can use my experiences to do something meaningful. Who would have thunk it? lol Day 16: Prompt: What's something new you've learned about yourself? I've discovered I'm stronger than I thought. I can handle a lot more than I gave myself credit for, like facing tough talks, finding reasons to laugh, and learning to share parts of myself. Before I came here, I couldn’t even function, and now I have a routine, therapy, and the tiniest sliver of hope.

Day 17: Prompt: Write about a fear you've overcome. Taught the group basic ASL today. I was nervous they'd laugh, but they were super into it. It feels incredible to share something I love and see others appreciate it. Day 18: Prompt: Reflect on a moment today when you felt connected to someone else. I connected with a younger girl in the garden today. I shared some ASL signs with her to help her express her anxiety when she can’t find the words. And, you know what she did? She thanked me! It's moments like this that make me feel like I could really make a difference. Day 19: Prompt: Reflect on a moment of laughter today. Laughed out loud with others over lunch today. It felt good to really laugh. Some kid made a joke about the

"mystery mush," and it felt like it was a typical school day with friends. Later, I started thinking about home and mom and how it used to be, and it made me feel lonely and sad. I let myself be sad for a little while, and then I got up and went to dinner with everyone else. I know I still have far to go, but baby steps. Day 20: Prompt: What did you do for someone else today? I helped a new patient understand how things work around here. Remembering how lost I felt when I arrived, it felt good to make her first day a little easier. She sat with me at lunch, but she didn’t say much. I hope she’s okay. Day 21: Prompt: Write about advice that has helped you. Dr. Wade's advice today hit home: "Change means finding new reasons to live." It's got me thinking about all the reasons I've found here to live.

Day 22: Prompt: Describe a challenge you faced today and how you dealt with it. Faced a tough session today without losing my cool. Using breathing techniques, I talked about my hopes without anxiety taking over the conversation. Day 23: Prompt: What are you grateful for today? I'm grateful for Val today. When I was feeling down, she just came and sat by me. Her presence is a constant comfort. Day 24: Prompt: Write about a moment you felt proud of yourself. I led part of today's group mindfulness session in ASL, making it accessible for everyone. The positive feedback was overwhelming. I love to see how much this can help. Day 25: Prompt: Reflect on a lesson you'll take from here.

It hit me today. This therapy stuff, the breathing techniques, the journaling, it all seems to be working. There was this moment this week when I would’ve totally lost it before. We were in group, and someone brought up losing someone they loved. Old me would have shut down or stormed out, but I stayed. I used those stupid breathing techniques, and it helped. I even felt calm enough to share something about my mom without flipping out. I'm starting to handle things that would have wrecked me just a month ago. Day 26: Prompt: Discuss a realization you had about yourself. Realized today that my difficult days don't define my whole story. I have so much to offer, and I'm ready to use my experiences to help others. It’s like I’m not just the girl who lost her mom or the sister to a deaf brother. I’m someone who can make a difference. Day 27: Prompt: How do you feel about your progress in therapy? Looking back, I can see how much I've grown. Remember when I could barely sit through a session without wanting to scream or bail? Now, not only am I sitting through them, but I'm contributing and helping others open up. It’s weird, but sharing my stuff about losing Mom and dealing with everything at home has made me stronger. I used to think this place would keep me away from my problems, but it's given me ways to face them head-on. I’m ready for what’s next, and that’s something I never thought I’d say. Day 28: Prompt: Discuss how you might continue your journey after leaving here. Thinking about volunteering at the animal shelter and taking some animal behavior classes is kind of exciting but also a bit nerve-wracking. Is this really going to be my thing, or am I just fooling myself? But hey, learning to train service dogs is worth a shot. I can’t think of anything else I want to do, so why not. I can take risks. I am tougher than I was before. Day 29: Prompt: How do you feel about going home tomorrow? I'm so nervous but also excited about going home tomorrow. Initially, this place felt like jail. But now, it's like I'm taking off my parachute as I'm about to jump out of the plane. I've changed a ton here and figured out things about myself I didn’t even want to admit were real. I keep imagining walking through our front door, seeing all the old familiar stuff, yet feeling totally different inside. And then there’s seeing my brother. We’ve texted, but F2F is going to be different. I’ve got so much to tell him. I really want to make him proud and show him I’m okay. Day 30: Prompt: Write a letter to yourself about your hopes for the future. Dear Me,

You made it through this mess and found something you’re passionate about. Remember how far you’ve come, and keep that fire inside you. The road ahead might get bumpy, but you’re more able than you think. Stick with it.

You've totally got this!

Love, Me Day of Discharge: Today, my brother couldn't stop talking about how different I seem. The ride home was all about the future: starting an ASL club at school and volunteering at the animal shelter. It feels good to have plans that aren’t just about getting through another day but sincerely looking forward to tomorrow.

I've decided to keep writing in this journal—not because I have to, but because I want to. It's my way of remembering where I've been and seeing where I'm going. I started this journal with a big 'fuck you' to everyone, and now here I am, not wanting to stop writing. Shows how much someone can change when they find the right reasons to.


(July 22nd, 2018) I heard a ton of loud buzzes from my phone and opened my eyes. I rolled over and checked the time 1:34 am. I had to check these texts, they must be important. Blake texted me, “I love you, I’m sorry.” I texted back and called about a million times. I can’t stop thinking my heart is racing and I call his mom and she doesn’t answer. I call his dad and he doesn’t answer either. I run out of my house, grab my bike, and speed off to Blake’s house. It’s about a 10 minute bike ride. I continue to spam all of their phones until I get to his house. I get there at 1:45, throw my bike down and run to the door. I scream as soon as I get to the door. I bang on the door as hard as I can. I think and think and finally I remembered the code to his house. 1134. I get in and his mom runs out of her room in a bathroom.

“Meghan what happened why are you here right now?’

“Blake, Blake, Where is Blake?” I run to his room, he's not there. I ran to his bathroom. He isn't there either. I run to the bathroom downstairs and he isn't there either so I run to the basement where I see my lover. Hanging. Soulless. From the garage door. Dead. He’s dead. I remember it like it was yesterday. The worst day of my life. The worst birthday of my life. I thought he was my future. How can I picture my life without him? These thoughts flood my head every single day as I cry myself to sleep.

His funeral was the second worst day of my life. I walked up to his casket with blurry vision from all my tears and just stared. This doesn’t even look like my Blake. He looks pale and unhappy. He died unhappy. How how does a 15 year old girl handle her boyfriend suicide.

Months pass and it just doesn’t get any easier. My antidepressants just make me feel numb. I’m sick of hearing my therapist tell me things get better over and over when they just clearly don’t.

Finally a year passes by. 1 whole year without my best friend/ boyfriend. My sweet 16. I was supposed to have a big party and have him wear the same color as me and we would look so cute, canceled. This was supposed to be our year, he would be turning 17 and could finally drive me around. We were so happy. Or at least I thought we were. I talk to his mom on a daily basis. The only thing I asked her for my birthday was to allow me to sleep over and stay in his room for the day. She said yes of course.

I got to his house and nothing has been moved or touched since that very night. It’s almost spooky. I feel something under my back as Iie down. A journal. The front cover says “FOR MEGHAN ONLY” I start reading. (November 2nd, 2015)

I asked her out. The prettiest girl in school I finally asked her out. SHE SAID YES! I can already tell it is going to be Meghan and Blake forever, or Blake and Meghan forever I can’t tell which sounds best. I’ll update you tomorrow I’m going to hold Meghan’s hand at school and give her a hug.

(November 3rd, 2015)

I hugged Meghan today. It was like an instant spark, a connection if you will. I think I love her already.

(December 24th, 2015) Meghan came over for Christmas today and met the rest of my family. They all loved her and grandma even said she “Is as polite as a church girl and sweet as pie.”

Whatever that means she loves her. Grandma’s opinion is the only one that is ever going to count when I marry someone so we are starting off amazing.

(February 22nd, 2016)

I kissed her. I finally did it. I have been waiting so long to kiss her. I feel amazing. (July 22nd, 2016) For our one year I took Meghan to my favorite spot at the lake. I brought a blanket and a basket and we ate dinner together. It was so romantic. I mean as romantic as peanut butter and jelly can get.

Mom and Dad are out of town and I can’t cook for the life of me.

(September 1st, 2016)

It’s the first day of 6th grade and I think Meghan is kind of mad at me. Or she just got her first period. I can’t really tell. I don’t understand women at all. All I know is she looked gorgeous in the dress she wore today.

(December 24th, 2016)

Another good Christmas together. P.S grandma told me to marry Meghan so, that’s the plan.

(July 22nd, 2017)

2 years together. WOOHOO. This time I took her for a real date. Dad gave me his credit card and Mom dropped us off at The Cheesecake Factory. Meghan’s favorite place. I made sure to open and shut the car door and restaurant door for her. And I let her order for herself because I know she wants women to be equal and I agree. She is so inspirational and powerful. She is going to be such a good wife and mom one day. I can’t wait.

(June 14th, 2018) It’s been awhile since I wrote in this. Grandma died yesterday. I don’t know how to live without her. I am so hurt I don't want to do anything anymore. I can’t handle this. (June 16th, 2018)

Meghan came to the funeral with me. I needed that. I love that she is always there for me. She has no idea how much she means to me. I look into her eyes and she gives me a reason to stay alive. (June 30th, 2018)

Meghan is still on vacation with her family and I am just so upset all the time over grandma I don’t know what to do. Last night I cut my wrist and it felt kinda good.

(July 14th, 2018)

Meghan got back today. She noticed my wrist but I told her I fell off my bike but I don’t think she believed it. I just feel so weak I don’t know how to tell her. I feel like the only way to fix my feelings is death but I don’t want Meghan to ever feel the way I did. So I am pushing through for her.

(July 20th, 2018) I tried to overdose today on Advil but it didn’t work. It just made me throw up and feel sick. I told my mom and Meghan I just have a small stomach bug.

(July 21st, 2018) I can’t do this anymore. It is 11:33pm and I need to die. I want to die. I can’t control these feelings anymore, I just can’t.

I’m still up and it’s 1:30 am. I found a rope in the garage. I am ending this pain now. I just texted Meghan and told her I love her. This is it goodbye.

Meghan, if you're reading this I am so sorry. I hope you know I am happier now than I was. Don’t be upset please I want you to grow up and be an amazing wife and mom. I’ll be at your wedding watching your own making sure everything goes perfect. Somehow someway I will make it known to you that I am there. Until we meet again. I love you. I closed the journal with tears rolling down my face. I can’t stop thinking about those cuts. I should’ve known. If only I just didn;t go on vacation, he needed me and I wasn’t there for him when I should have been. This is all my fau- I get a call from a blocked number.

“Hello” “Hello. Is this Meghan?” “Um yes this is who is asking?” “Come outside of Blake’s house right now” “UH-WHA-” They hung up. I threw the journal aside and dialled 911 just in case anything happens. I tiptoe down the stairs in hopes that nobody hears me. I quietly shut off the alarms and opened the front door. There he is. It’s Blake standing in front of me. There in the middle of the streets. Blake Woodlock. Smiling. Breathing. Alive.


I awoke in a hall of mirrors with the strange sensation that I'd been asleep for a long time. Moreover, I had no idea where I was, or how I'd gotten there. My head felt like a snow globe filled with dust. Conversely, the mirrors that surrounded me were so clear, that they could have been carved from slabs of crystal. Even the floors were made of brilliant glass that reflected off a glimmering mirrored ceiling.

I got the sense that this was the first of many chambers. It was shaped like the inside of an igloo, leading to an archway, that would take me to the next station.

I went through the passage without thinking, never stopping to look at my reflection in the initial chamber.

The second room was far larger than the first; the collage of mirrors stretched for the length of at least four football fields.

I was surprised to find that I was a young boy. A freckled face, with curly orange hair, and a mouth full of crooked teeth gazed at me from every direction. I had the sudden urge to cry. I wanted to call out for my Mom and Dad, but I knew I was alone in this house of mirrors.

Panic quickened my small feet, as I hurried across the shiny path. If I was older, the walk wouldn't be so hard, but my tiny feet made every foot a yard.

When I started to cry, the glass became slick and I tripped hilariously. I thanked my lucky stars that no other kids were around to witness my calamity. I remembered how we all laughed at Onion Breath Tim when he slipped off the jungle gym. Tim bawled like a baby and his Mom had to come pick him up early. Somehow it didn't seem that funny to me anymore.

I realized if I focused, I could see the jungle gym in the mirrors like I was projecting the image from my mind. It was both bizarre and perfectly reasonable to me.

I beamed at the sight of the rusty red slide that I married Katie Bishop under. We didn't kiss because I thought girls were gross. I only agreed to marry her under that slide because she asked me to and it was recess. I was surprised that she didn't think boys were gross.

When I finally reached the end of the long field of mirrors, I was greeted by an archway that looked like the mouth of a giant cave.

I wanted to rush forward and discover what wonders resided in the next chamber, but I stopped for a moment. One of my feet was in the mouth of the cave, while the other lingered in the field of mirrors. I knew I had to go forward if I ever wanted to see my parents, Katie Bishop, or even Onion Breath Tim again, but I also knew I would never be able to return to the field. I knew that in the same way that I knew how to breathe or make my heart beat. I stayed in that purgatory for a long time, but eventually, I moved forward. The next chamber was different in several ways. The ceiling was way higher and domed at the top. Instead of one path, there were several skinny ones, each cordoned off by tightly packed walls of reflective glass. Lastly, the mirrors themselves were less shimmery, yet the images were more defined. This irked me, why make it so I can see better but the image is uglier?

The stubbly face of a man in his late teens followed me through the maze of mirrors. I wondered what happened to that cute kid from the last chamber. How had the adorable freckles given way to a mess of multi-colored blemishes? I badly wanted to turn around and return to the first chamber, but I could see it was walled off.

I had to keep going if I ever wanted to make it out of here. I wasn't sure which path to pick; I walked by a few to see if any called to me. No such luck. Finally, I decided to close my eyes and randomly pick a direction. The path I landed on was tucked between two tightly packed glass walls. I squeezed through them, nearly bonking my head on the deceptively low ceiling as I went.

To my relief, this path was straightforward and well-lit. I broke into a light jog, desperate to escape and find out what was happening.

My memory was still a mess, but I knew that I was a senior in college. I hoped I wasn't missing an exam or a party. To be honest, I was more concerned with the latter.

That's when I remember Annie. I hoped she wasn't worried about me, but more than that, I hoped she wasn't with some other guy. Annie was my first real girlfriend, although I was not her first boyfriend, not by any stretch of the imagination. I believed I loved her, but how could I know? My Dad used to say he fell in love with my Mom at first sight, but they got divorced last year; so seriously, what did I know?

The path started to narrow, to the point where my shoulders were rubbing against the mirrors on either side. It became so uncomfortable that I changed my walk to a slide, where my shoulders were vertically aligned.

I suddenly remembered that I'd be graduating soon, and abandoned my sliding method. Squished shoulders or not, I had to find my way out of this strange place.

Faster than I could have imagined, I arrived at a solid glass wall, with a cubby-sized hole chiseled at its base. As I wriggled through the hole, I shivered as the cold glass pressed against my skin.

I crawled out of the space and into the next entranceway. This time, it was a rectangular doorway, that resembled a parking garage. At least twenty other tiny crevices ran adjacent to the one I'd come through, all leading to the singular nexus.

Without looking back, I went through the doorway. The next chamber was vast and hilly. I silently applauded the creators of this establishment because their work seemed to defy physics.

A rolling floor of mirrors stretched further than my eyes could see. I had no idea where the boundaries of this chamber were, and the ceiling was so high that I couldn't tell if it was made of glass or the real sky.

Unlike the first three chambers, the glass here was of inconsistent quality. At times, the panels were crystal clear, while other sections were dusty or cracked. I feared if I stepped on a broken mirror I'd be impaled by a shard of glass. Luckily, only a few of the spots were shattered, so avoiding them was simple.

I started to climb a steep hill, that reminded me of an ice luge. I could only see my reflection on the floor, and it wasn't pretty. I'd aged at least 20 years since the last chamber. My red hair was now reduced to wispy strands, that refused to be commanded by a brush. I still had no idea what kind of place I was in; if anything, I was more confused than I'd been in the first chamber. Yet, I was no longer frustrated by the lack of answers. Instead, I decided to marvel at the awesomeness of what unfolded before me.

As I ascended the seemingly endless hill, I remembered I had to call my Mom. I'd promised myself after Dad died, that I'd appreciate her while she was here. In some ways, I think I'd blamed her for the divorce, but being older, I realized that was pointless.

Of course, having a divorce of my own colored my opinion on the matter. Even though Ellen and I had no kids, the process was still agonizing. I'd take a glass shard in my foot over that ordeal any day of the week. It must have been doubly tough for my parents, dealing with my whiney self.

My legs started to groan as I hiked up the forever hill. The joints in my knees started to feel like strands of jelly, that could snap at any moment. To make matters worse, much more of the glass was now cracked or uneven. At one point, the entire floor was comprised of jagged glass, meaning I couldn't avoid it. I attempted to gingerly pass through the razor-toothed floor and was rewarded with stinging pains on the soles of my feet.

When the hill finally plateaued, I was so elated that I yelped for joy. There was no new entrance, but the glass leveled out until it resembled the second chamber. My knees ached horribly, and from the reflection, I could see my back was arched like a candy cane. I crept forward, sensing that this was the final stretch of the hall of mirrors. I was excited to learn who was behind this wonderfully bizarre contraption.

The temperature had dropped significantly, and I could feel the cold in my bones. I knew that was a harbinger of the end. Up ahead, I could see a lone turnstile, next to an empty attendants booth.

I slowed as I approached it, thinking of Onion Breath Tim, who was now Secretary of Education Tim.

I wondered what happened to Katie Bishop. The last I'd heard she'd found someone to marry her for real and it wasn't a man. I guess she thought boys were gross after all.

I was close to the turnstile now, and although the mirrors on the floor were dusty and cracked, the metal turnstile was iridescent. When I looked into it, my reflection was split into a kaleidoscope of colors and images. Pieces of freckles, interspersed with streaks of violet, ruby, and emerald, with a balding head, hunched shoulders, and wide eyes, were all weaved together by this seemingly magical instrument.

A few final memories returned to me. Ellen and I had remained lifelong friends. Neither of us remarried or had kids, and that was ok. Mom and I talked nearly every day for ten years, until... I'm not sure.

I felt the cool steel of the turnstile and realized that it was time to leave. No more memories would come to me here.

I smiled and pushed through. I looked back one last time and saw that the glass floor was shimmering like the sea at sunrise. I swear it was winking at me as I left.