“Can you keep a secret?”, whispered the lady in his ears. She was dressed in a shimmering little backless black dress with high boot heels and wore rosy pink lipstick and let her short hair loose dangling over the back of her neck and pinned on the left. He had his eyes on her from the moment he saw her at the bar counter early that night. At first, it seemed to him that she was with a group of friends, but he later realized that she was by herself and just hanging around with some young boys and girls. It was Friday night and the crowd could not have been more than this. Sly Bar is his go-to over the weekends with colleagues but today was just not the day he wanted to hang out with his usual buddies. In fact, he ditched them and his usual hangout spot just so that he could spend some time on his own. He made his way to The Secret Alehouse for sheer reasons of not having to encounter known faces; after the video of his infamous tussle with his boss over the overdue promotion went viral in the entire office, he was sceptical of his friends and foe! After all, it was his most trusted friend at work who shot and circulated the video. He was in an unsettled state of mind and tried avoiding anyone and everyone. The lady’s words startled him, his thoughts started to go haywire, “perhaps she has seen the video too”, “is she here to mock me too?”, “Oh Gosh No. I should not have come here tonight.”, he thought to himself and before he could gather his thoughts right, the lady sat on the stool next to her and apologized, “I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you – This is Zoe and you?” He was still cautious, but Zoe’s pretty smile started to make him feel a bit comfortable. “Daya,” he answered. Although the music was excruciatingly loud yet there was this awkward silence between them until Zoe tried breaking some more ice when she uttered, “Haven’t seen you before here”. “Yeah, I live on the other side of town and there are quite many pubs on that side of town so I barely hang out here. In fact, it is my first time to the Alehouse. You seem to be a regular, aren’t you? “asked Daya. “Absolutely, The Secret Ale is my favourite Friday nightspot, and I live nearby so I can just walk down without having to bother about a ride. But what brings you all alone here tonight. Are you waiting for someone?”, enquired Zoe again! “Oh no, not waiting for anyone, just wanted to spend some time alone, “explained Daya. “Alone? Huh, break up?” curiously questioned Zoe. “No, nothing like that,” Daya tried to brush off. “Okk! Looks like you aren’t comfortable talking about it, so I leave it up to you. If you would like you may buy me a drink”, smirked Zoe! “Oh yeah, sure! I am so sorry I didn’t even ask, “apologized Daya. Daya turned to the guy across the counter and said, “Excuse me! Could you suggest and get us the drink for the day?” “For you sir or the lady?” inquired the bartender. “One of each for us?”, answered Daya. “Sure Sir, let me get you our special”, replied the bartender. “Thank you “, acknowledged Daya. “Impressed!” Exclaimed Zoe, “So what do you do?” “I am an architect with a construction company, what about you?” “Oh, I am a freelance writer currently working on a story for one of the popular monthly magazines and looking for some inspirations around for an interesting story! answered Zoe, “you never know, maybe you gonna be the inspiration for my next protagonist! “chuckled Zoe. They soon got quite comfortable with each other and Daya no longer felt that he was meeting Zoe for the first time. After a couple of rounds of drinks, they moved to the more formal dining section of the resto-pub with an outer sitting arrangement away from the loud music inside. They were both drunk and Daya could not help but try his best to keep the night as long as possible. It wasn’t long before he started talking about his family whom he hadn’t seen in about 2 years since he moved to the city,  about his not so lively life in the city, his well-paying job but his horrible boss who choose to give his girlfriend a promotion instead of him although him being the most deserving one and how it got him into a scuffle with his boss over the same which left his boss with a broken nose and arm, eventually getting Daya arrested and stay behind the bars for 2 whole nights until the police found a phone recording from the boss’ office, “Of course darling! You are the one getting the promotion to the senior architect! and business partner” telling his girlfriend, over the phone. Daya was planning to use this evidence to file a lawsuit against discrimination and abuse of power & conflict of interest in promoting his girlfriend but he had to cut a deal with the boss who in turn dropped all charges against Daya for the scuffle and Daya chose to let go the lawsuit, but only this time. It was a win-win for both. “That turned out not so bad after all! I can imagine you breaking his nose in front of the whole office”, exclaimed Zoe. “Ah, It was a satisfying moment but ah, I don’t want to talk about it anymore, I got into enough trouble for it already!”, Daya continued after a pause, “looks like I am doing all the talking,“ concluded Daya. He was all too excited and overjoyed on the turn of events and seemed to have already fallen for Zoe. “I am just too famished right now, shall we order something to eat,” replied Zoe. Daya addressed the waiter and placed an order for some quick bites. The meal was hearty over-filling and before they knew it was already midnight, they realized it when the waiter came to the table to enquire if they would like to order anything as it was the last set of orders to be taken by the kitchen before they call it a day. “No thanks”, called out Zoe. “Cheque Please!” added Daya. “Let’s split,” proposed Zoe. “No Way! I am grateful for this lovely evening, it was my pleasure, let me do the honours”, expressed Daya! Zoe couldn’t help but blush. Daya swiped his card on the payment machine and walked out of the pub with his newfound crush. “Gosh, I need to book in a cab, drinking to the other side of town wouldn’t be a safe thing to do, Do you usually have cabs available in this area at this hour?”, enquired Daya. “Yeah, but my condo is just around the corner, if you don’t mind, we can walk over and you can leave first thing in the morning, “suggested Zoe. “what if I don’t want to leave?”, flirted Daya, “Hahhaha..by the way I got my car parked in the next lane, do you have parking available near your condo? “Oh yes, absolutely, let’s go” While walking down the dark lane right before the car, Zoe suddenly leaned over Daya and started to kiss him, he was baffled but gave in and soon it turned into a passionate moment. “get into the car”, commanded Zoe, taking a break from their passionate canoodling. They hopped on to the backseat and started to caress each other - both were wildly turned on and the effect of alcohol was visible. Zoe brought her lips closer to his ears and whispered in a chilling tone, “Can you keep a secret?” Suddenly a flashback of the evening started to play over Daya’s mind which was a couple of hours but replayed over within just over a couple of seconds and he recalled that was the first thing she asked him at the pub. “yes, what’s the secret?”, urged Daya curiously. “I am a serial killer!” declared Zoe, before bursting into a peal of hysterical laughter. Before Daya could collect his thoughts, Zoe pulled out a sharp bend pin from the back of her hair and slashed his left carotid artery and before he knew what had just happened to him, he lay there dead. “Now it’s a little secret between us,” whispered Zoe in the ears of dead Daya, She straightened her dress and strode away into the dark lanes.


Our story begins on East 30 th Street, over which we go down to the sea to get ships, helicopters, the seaplane to the Hamptons, the ferries to the outer boroughs and the Mets and tennis games, gasoline at one of the few stations in lower Manhattan, parking for the desperate and chintzy. For a narrow, one-way street, it does a pretty good job of getting people out of the city. I cross it every day on my Citibike commute to work. Neither snow nor rain, you know. Not much chance of gloom of night; I’m out of my office like a shot. A random timing of the lights from the East 29 th street bike lane to the mighty uptown-headed Third Avenue, formerly under the Third Avenue EL—we scrapped it, and sold the steel to Japan in the 1930s; they sent it back to us on December 7 th , 1941—caused me to notice a gleefully smiling one-legged man in a snazzy Drive wheelchair in traffic on the west side of East 30 th . After another few yards, I saw the cup. The Bible tells us that when someone asks for food, give it to them, or give them money to get it. The Talmud expands this; if someone is begging, they have humbled themselves and have created a debt from the begee to the beggar. This holds even if it is likely that the panhandler has a Section 8 housing voucher, disability checks, and Medicaid and is fishing for money for smokes or whisky. I gave him a buck; he thanked me profusely and wished me to “Be safe out there.” I waved and said, “And you as well” and saw him resume holding his cup to as many as possible of the cars stopped for a red light, most of them app-ride vehicles, most of the drivers Middle Eastern, who have a similar charity paradigm similar to the Hebraic. Some of the drivers would listen intently as the disabled man, Isaiah, as I would learn, spoke with deliberation into their car windows. After six weeks, I finally learned the secret of the red-light conversations. As I handed Michael a fin—I was out of singles—he told me to take 47 th westbound, that the docking station closest to my office was full and would remain so for a few hours. How did he know where I worked, which docks I used? It was a pain in the ass, on top of the ordinary pan in the ass of riding a bike 45-pound bike with nitrogen-filled tires, to stop and use the app to pick the best station. Did Michael’s phone have the Citibike App? Was he giving traffic information to the drivers as well? Take Second down instead of the FDR?

Every working day I would give him something. When I volunteered to take over Thursday bagel duty for my office, I’d give him a buck and a hot, fresh-out-of-the-oven New York bagel. Everyone I passed sufficiently strapped to beseech alms got a Bagel on Thursday. It became a routine with Isaiah.  I would ring the bike bell and he would swivel from the traffic lane to the sidewalk so I could duke him without stopping. Expiation of sin, accumulation of Karma, or just being human, we were both happy. One day, I needed a quick equipment adjustment while at the same time 30 th was empty due to a tractor-trailer totally blowing the turn from Lexington. Once, I had been in a cab heading across 30 th , Michael probably didn’t recognize me without my bike outfit. I clearly heard him tell the driver to take the Willis avenue bridge instead of the RFK. I approved the change of route with the driver. Twenty minutes after the light turned green and we headed uptown, 880 CBS traffic had a “Breaking News, This Just In” about major collision on the Triboro, what they’re now calling the RFK. Spooky. I spilled the beans to my wife. Harmony told me that I absolutely had to invite Michael over. If we had taken the RFK, the cab would have been in or near the collision. She said he might have saved my life. And that there would probably be a value to my friend’s talent. She was right, of course, but every value has a cost. Harmony was likely the cause of the major uptick in GrubHub’s stock price. Well, her and maybe the Corona Virus. We didn’t know what Michael liked, so we got some of everything. We put the middle leaf in the dining table, cleared the clothes off of the conversation pit in the sunken living room—yup, we had a pre-war Art Deco apartment in Manhattan. Moorish arches and everything. Fortunately, the recent building renovations required the co-op association to put in a ramp near the outside stairs; Michael didn’t have a problem coming up. After all was said and done, Michael had two Po’ Boys from Double-Wide for his supper. He thanked us profusely and materially. He sat down at our little spinet and serenaded us with show tunes; everything from South Pacific to Fiddler on the Roof, with Porgy and Bess and Man of Lamancha thrown in. This was one time that a sung-for supper was worth more than the meal.

Comfortably seated in the pit with brandy, exotic vapes, and rugelach, Harmony began her pitch.

“So, Isaiah . Paul tells me you have a unique talent for prognostication. And that talent may have saved his life, or at least our car and his time. How did you come by it, may I ask, if you know?” “Now, I’d hardly call it prognostication, Miss Harmony. Just impressions of where to go and where not to. I never seen an accident in my head. Never nothing in my mind’s eye. I just know where folks should or shouldn’t go. It’s that simple, Ma’am. I’d say it started with Emir. He was an old-fashioned cabby; owned his cab and his medallion. He could do as he wished, and he wished to drive around town with people.   He had three friends who lost limbs in the Iran-Iraq war. The four of them were barely out of childhood. When Emir would pass my corner, he would say a prayer for my leg. After the first prayer, my grant for a prosthetic leg was approved. After the second prayer, a nice apartment owner accepted my Section 8 as rent in full. Then there was the grant for a motorized chair. “ “But you stayed on the corner despite your good luck.” “That’s right, Miss Harmony. People need to feel good about themselves, and I was giving the folks an opportunity to feel good.  “And then he stopped passing by.  I found out that he was heading back to the garage and swerved to avoid a bunch of kids skateboarding in the middle of Columbus Avenue. He wound up with his cab stuck under a beer keg truck. He didn’t make it. After I found that out, that’s when it started.” “You know, Isaiah, a lot of other people could be helped by the information you tell individual drivers. Maybe some lives saved as well, don’t you think?” “A noble thought, Ma’am. I’m not in control of the visions. I don’t know how I can help,” Isaiah said, genuinely sincere, not that phony kind of sincerity. “You can leave that to me. I’m a professor of Management at Baruch College. If I know anything at all besides knowing that Paul would never cheat on me, it’s how to manage things. How about this. I’ll give you a donation of a thousand dollars. Just keep doing what you do. You’ll be miked, and three of my friends will be nearby. Then the five of us will see what’s what. No obligation on your part, if there’s something you don’t like, I’ll pull the team, you get to keep the money either way. Deal?” “As a fellow alum, how can I decline. Do you remember Tony the elevator guy?” Harmony looked at Isaiah in a new light. “He was before my time. But I passed his plaque every day. Tony Koziolek, Doctor of Vertical Transportation.” I made sure Isaiah got downstairs and I waited till there was a wheelchair cab. “You know, or I guess you don’t, when Harmony gets an idea, she’s balls to ya, partner, ass against the wall.” “I can’t even begin to imagine what that means. But a thousand clams is enough to convince me it’s a good thing.” “Listen, Isaiah, let her do her plan, but I think we should have a back channel, just in case. Tuesday afternoons at the Shake Shack in Madison Square Park? It’s not all that far from you.” “Hmm… Let me check my social calendar. Alrighty. Nothing on any Tuesday for the next year. And it’s I-Z. Eye Zee. Deal.” Harmony had the pages of her Filo-Fax spread out on the ABC Persian carpet and our landline was right next to her. She only used it for outbound calls when she wanted to make sure she was being understood. She would tell me, “Nothing cops like copper.” It meant she was serious. She called her grad students first and then set off a bidding war among three venture capitalists. “Imagine what could have been if you were you during the dot com boom. How does it feel to use OPM?” “Feels great. They’re like horse players, like craps players. They get a rush from placing the bet. Profit is secondary. And remember, they're dealing with me. You do recall ‘Smart Money Bets Last,’ the horse race software, don’t you? Our kids are driving around in cars paid for with that money. We could have bought this whole building if the lady at the hundred-dollar window hadn’t figured it out. Give me a little kiss, will ya, Hon? Back to the ward for me.” My wife did have a track record with any indeterminate math. I fell asleep and dreamed of the paranormal. “So what’s for lunch, Paul?” I noticed my new friend was wearing was wearing an Armani shirt, flashing some bling, and sporting a $75 dollar fade. It had taken him a little while to get that check cashed; he deserved some treats. It was a green, leafy day in the park. The impeccably weathered statues of Chester, Roscoe, Bill, and Jim seemed to glare at each other across the fountains and the central lawn. The dogs in their little piece of the park gleefully caught tossed balls and sniffed each other’s butts. I thought I saw William Seward frown at the experimental art installation, a bunch of day-glo, human-sized hamster cages in the plaza across Broadway.  “Shakes, I-Z. A couple of burgers a few dogs, and some fries. Pull up a bench. Maybe I should have told you not to spend that money all in one place.” “An indulgence. It’s been so long since I felt like I was earning money, ya know, like at a job. I bought my ‘meeting’ a fresh case of 30-day chips and a box of pamphlets. I’m trying to hold onto the rest.” “Harmony says the accuracy rate started dropping after the control group runs. Oh, wait. You didn’t know about those, did you? Her Grad students kept themselves hidden; two of them would drive by in cars. You were spot on. But lately, the results are only a touch better than chance. Any ideas?” “Mister Paul. I told you and Miss Harmony right up front, I don’t control the visions. You’ll have to ask the Higher Power about that.”

My next two meetings with Isaiah went about the same as the first meeting after he cashed the check. Perhaps in an attempt to show he wasn’t blowing the money wastefully, he told me about buying 28 Slim an expanding foldable luggage carrier so he could easily move the deposit bottles he collected to the We Can facility, or getting an honest-to-God preacher outfit for  The Right Reverend I Nigeria.

It was three park lunch meetings later that things started to click. Harmony packed me up with a home-cooked meal for two in an actual wicker picnic basket. She also armed me with he news that Isaiah’s numbers were heading back up. I-Z and I found a clear spot by the fountain. Harmony made catfish Po’ Boys and jimmy cakes with rhubarb cobbler for dessert. While washing down our meal with some Pepsi Colas, I-Z told me about buying a prom dress for Fast Fanny; at 47 she had decided to finish the last few credits she never took to get a High School diploma.   And with the diploma, a rip to the prom in two weeks. With her date, Isaiah Warfield.

“Well, Paul, that’s it for the check. I hope your lady got her money’s worth.” “I think she did. Your numbers are way back up. The team estimates that you saved 200 person-hours in commute time in the last seven days and at least one collision, possibly fatal. Harmony wants to start the commercial feed to Google Maps. It’ll be a steady paycheck for you. Being on the corner will be a steady job. You won’t have to worry about how much the drivers give you. How does that sound?” “Sounds good. But I’d be a fraud, wouldn’t I? I’d be panhandling when I don’t really need the money.” “But you would be doing good for a lot of people, right? Saving time, saving money, saving lives.” “I’m not saying no, Paul. But you’re starting to sound like your wife, so confidant of the ways of things, how they be. Remember, I still have no control over what I see.” I came home with flowers, the twenty-dollar Full Monty bouquet, and a full pound chocolate assortment from Two Beans. Harmony is tough as AP Physics, but I was afraid I would come home to a lachrymose lady lying in a fetal position on the floor. Boy, was I wrong. “Sorry your backers shut the spigot off. It was fun while it lasted.” “Oh, Honey. Thanks for the candy. And thanks for remembering to put some chocolate-covered orange peel in the mix. Put the flowers in a vase, eight inches of water and two aspirins, then come back and let Momma tell you the facts of life.” I did as Mistress instructed and found my true love in the conversation pit. I stepped down into the living room and joined her, prepared to be edified, educated, and possibly entertained. “The license plate camera hack was from Marcel. The traffic, red-light, and school zone cameras are open to the public. Google paid for the Isaiah overlay on the mapping software themselves. I think the audio hookups for the Grad students, rental car fees and gas was maybe three hundred bucks. The rest of the first draw is in an account for us to keep I-Z in his little indulgences. It’ll take another two weeks of monitoring, but I’m quite sure I have the answer. When he’s flush, it doesn’t happen for him. He’s gotta be really down and out for it to work. That’s why it’s no more cash from us. And we’ll have 14 discontinuous weeks of data, enough for journal article analysis complete with charts and graphs. Tenure, here I come!” “Is research ethical if one component of it is a hack you got that the guy you had the affair with stole?” “Hey, gimme a break, buster. Affair. You could’ve put a ring on it any time,” she told me, showing precisely which finger she meant. “And as for the backers, I told you. No difference between them and any other degenerate gamblers. They get off with a win, they get off bigger with a loss. And the project is still alive. When Huey, Louis, and Dewey get through with the data, we might get a working application yet.” I claimed the right to give I-Z the first indulgence from the first-draw fund. I bought a black suit and one of those hats, rented a white limo, and smiled as I drove I-Z and Fanny to the prom. I had the greatest time hanging with the other drivers, smoking cigarettes, and betting on which car is going to have a blood stain on the back seat the morrow morn.


CW: adult content, strong language Disappointedly, yet quite predictably, she was leaving the Head Director’s office. All eyes were on her, adding to her unbearable embbarrasment, as she was passing through the aisle of that clinically cold open-space she hated so sincerely. They all know, oh, how clearly, she thought bitterly, as she felt that salty aftertaste still lingering in her mouth. Well, life can be a tough pill to swallow. And sometimes even swallowing doesn’t help. Nevermind, lesson learned . She straightened her posture in a poor attempt to preserve what’s left of her infamous dignity and stormed out of the office. As soon as the door behind her banged shut, she felt a tide of relief surge in, like all those Tinder dates who had blitzkrieged her bedroom. When all of a sudden, a dull sound of something heavy stomping against the floor made her spin on her heel.      „Hey, Elena, keep this,“ he said and rather inconspiciously passed her a small, match-box size object in a bubble wrap – at least something to release a stress on , snapped through her mind, as her fingers touched the surface.       „Oh, Ron, what’s in it?” she asked bewildered, maybe too loudly, given his attempts not to attract attention. Of course, Ron might not be the most subtle fellow in the hood, but God knows he tried, she thought, eyeing the edifice of his beefy body. Simply brawn scarcly seasoned with bra in, she observed, as her scrutiny met his plain gaze . And in his case, one does not have to be Gordon Ramsay to complain about lack of seasoning.       „You’ll see,” resounded from within the long corridor, as his security shirt was vanishing in the flicker of artificial lighting. She hesitated no longer. Quickly, sparing little thought what devil might hide within, she tucked the bubbly bit in her purse and rushed out of the building. Maybe she doesn’t quite have a clue, but she remembers, oh, too well. * In her early 30s, working as a senior marketing manager in a bank, knowing nothing about financial stuff, but being paid decent money for knowing a lot about how to make people succumb to well-crafted advertising, one could say she was doing fine. Well, until this day. I got in the same way I got out , she thought with an undertone of dark humour. She saw it so clearly, a clueless young lady looking for a job in a field where every such position was meant only for those of long-term experience. But that time, the aftertaste was manageable .

Life was so sweet back then, so full of promise of bloom, she pondered aimlessly, as she ran her palm against her lover’s chest. It was a fine chest, defined and muscular. She liked her men sinewy. Like Peter, not that brainless bulk of muscles Ron. „I wanted to blow the whistle, you know,“ she responded to Peter’s earlier question,“ but it turned out I ended up blowing something else. Fruitlessly.“ Sourly she added in sore self-reflection. „I thought that fruitlessness is welcome in such activities,“ he joked, still worn out after the admirable performance he just gave. Always jokey, non-judgmental easy-goer, who knew his business getting laid - that’s why she kept on getting together with him regularly. No strings attached, but having a fuckbuddy like him in dire times like these helps.

„Wait a sec, I just remembered...“ she left her comfy curl around his body and shakily got to her feet. First of all, walking completely naked in front of each other, even after sex was over, was a spell they broke quite some time ago. But this was different. They were never personal; they haven’t let each other into their lives yet. And that was good. REMEMBER, NO STRINGS ATTACHED, ELENA, NEVER, echoed noisily in her head, as she grabbed her purse and fished out that small something she was given earlier today. „Look,“ she said, carefully unwrapping it, as if the contents the wrap concealed had a pontential to bite. „Oh, gimme that shit,“ Peter came to life, reaching for the bubble-wrap, suddenly ignorant of his recent exhaustion,“ I could do this all day long.“ He announced, crushing a bubble after bubble, content as a toddler with idiotic grin all over his sweaty face. Elena rested her eyes on him and all concerns were suddenly gone, dissolved like sugar in hot milk. Maybe I’m just getting a bit too old, and maybe there’s something to my slumbering naïve, romantic side . But one thing is certain, seeing him carelessly toying with a piece of bubble-wrap without losing a bit of charisma, she felt so warm and so safe. He certainly wasn’t the one to judge. She almost let herself lapse into feeling something toward him. „It’s a flash drive!” she exclaimed. „Marvelous,“ Peter said pointedly. „Come on, Pete, this is it,“ she said, eyes widening, “that bloody little thing that security guy handed me.“ „Well, let’s check it out, then,“ he mumbled, unwillignly crawling out of the bed. Soon he was back to the still warm spot with a laptop, inserting the flash drive into a slot. When a single file popped up on the screen, Elena froze. Subconsciouly she was sure this file has sharp, serrated jaws. „What in the fucking hell is this, tell me,“ Peter gasped, as what seemed like countless loads of documents showed up. The jaws slightly opened. „I know what it is,“ Elena whispered,“ It’s the reason why I lost my job.” „They sacked you for insider trading?“ Peter mused horrified, as he skimmed through the first few documents, betraying confidential information of bank clients. Well-off clients, indeed. „For my vain efforts to report this,“ she hissed, pretending offense,“ do you ever listen to me!?“ „How come, Elena! Just recently the government established the office for protection of whistleblowers! This shouldn’t be happening anymore,” he burst out, briming over with professional indignation of a lawyer well-versed in theory of administrative law. „Oh, Pete, how sweet of you. But as a lawyer you should know how our public administration works,“ she cuddled closely to him. She made herself vulnerable; clutching tightly onto his wrist, forcing tears into her eyes. „Eastern Europe, baby,“ he purred, and to her relief, left the subject be. „Central, Pete,“ she corrected him. After a few moments in the warm embrace she spoke again: “Let’s have a coffee.”

„Black and bitter for me,“ said Peter, as her figure vanished from the bedroom. „Like life itself?“ „Indeed, like life itself,“ he repeated, as he mindlessly closed the jaws of his laptop and put it aside. * It was dark when she left Peter’s apartment. Who could tell whether it’s her arrogance or ignorance, but she never felt in danger, going alone after the dark, almost cat walking in her neat skirt and high heels. And surely, she was the one to easily become a prey – her long, auburn hair, cutely freckled face and body to die for. Maybe her lack of heed had something to do with her belief in the notion of Central Europe; the place not that well-off, but culturally apt. However, in the blink of an eye things turned dramatically eastern. She rounded a corner as a hand clutched her elbow and a hard object jabbed into her ribs. Shocked, she glanced down, and saw the muzzle of a gun pressed against her. “Hello, sweetheart, so glad you could join us. The car is just ahead… and please don’t think of making a scene. It would hurt. A lot.”  She panicked. Her screams drowned in the sea of terror. Her view got blurred. „Don’t you dare screamin’,” a deep manly voice reminded her once again, guiding her into adjacent car. „I...,“ she trailed off, completely surredered. After few horrifying moments she dared having a brief look around. There was a man driving, confidently steering the car through the abandoned narrow streets. Her attacker was sat right next to her, handing her a blindfold. „If you would be so sweet, my dear...“ She obeyed. Then, she collected herself. Having free hands, she reached for her purse. „Stop it,“ he ordered threateningly, in authority others could only envy. She stopped. They drove. They arrived. * She was sat into a chair. A comfy one. Notably luxurious at first sit; being into slight extravagance herself, she could tell. Then her blindfold was taken off, softly, with utmost care for her comfort. „Welcome,“ said Martin, her former Head Director, holding a piece of cloth from around her eyes,“ I’m deeply sorry for rather inconvenient way of transport, certainly not the first class you’re presumably used to…” „Kidnapping you mean?“ she snapped. „...however, let’s say I’m into adrenaline sports,“ he continued, disregarding her completely,“ I am absolutely sure you know why you’re here.“ She was quiet. As the fear for her own safety dissolved, another seemed to fill it‘s place. „We had a deal,“ he said. Her silence deepened. She avoided looking at him. Eyeing the room around her, she was somewhere in historical mansion or even palace, adding to her unease.    „The flash drive?“ he asked sternly.     „Yes.“     „Suspects anything?“     „I think...,“ she gulped. This is the hardest part. After her last visit, things turned a bit too romantic; despite her best efforts, some strings got attached nonetheless. Am I really too old for this? Or am I just a coward, after all?

     „Did he?“ the poignant question ringed in the aether and bloated like gathering clouds before the storm. Elena was quiet, though it was a bit too late to back-off.      „Well, Elena, our company gave you access to all the precious data. I gave you access to our company,“ he sighed,“ do you really think you can fuck with me, as if I was that stupid fuck-boy of yours? How can I trust you, when you deny my share? So once again, does that legal-bealge Peter suspect something?“     „I think,“ words got stuck in her throat,“ I think he does.“     „Well, not for long,“ Martin said and produced a smartphone from his pocket,“ Come over and have a look.“              Hesitantly she stood up and took a few steps toward Martin.              „Oh, perfect," he smiled, showing her the screen, "Isn't it wonderful how all things are connected these days? He's connected his phone..., "he trailed off, then chuckled, " and his fridge, and his smart lights, and his smart TV.... and even his car!“              Elena was terrified.              „Actually,“ he brightened up,“ it looks like he’s driving right now! Do you wnat to have a peek at him?“ He asked, relishing her horror.              „Please, Martin,...“ her pleading eyes were begging for remosre.              „Look,“ he forced the screen before her,“ where do you think he’s driving to, this late hour?“              Her heart melted as she heard his lovely voice, even though it was just a senseless cursing at the traffic. She missed him already.              Surprisingly, all her concerns apmlified, wondering what devilish spyware was her phone infected with. Subconsciously she reached for her purse.              „Oh, don’t worry,” Martin laughed,” your phone is safe. Let’s say that amiable gentleman who escorted you here is paid for knowing things.”              „Well, and now what?“ Elena didn’t even try to hide her confusion.              „Oh, my dear,“ she hated so much when her betters, especially male, called her my dear, sweetheart, darling etc., “now that introductory pleasantries are done, it’s time to set things straight.”              „How so? You fired me, you tricked me into deceiving my partner...“              „My partner suddenly,“ Martin cackled, “I wouldn’t go as far. We both know you’re just a cock-hungry, dirty ‘lil slut, darling .“              „You fired me!“              „I had to,“ Martin feigned sympathy, as he cupped her hand in his palms, “things were turning too obvious. And how could I trust you anymore, when you were operating behind my back, keeping all the profit to yourself. Trust, Elena, trust and loyalty, that’s substantial in this business.”              “Trust and loyalty,” she retorted, as she freed her hand from Matrin’s.              “Indeed, that’s why you are here. To prove to me. To show me, that I can still trust you.”              “Try then.”              “To show you my good will, I do the first step,” he said and produced his phone again,” this app, is end-to-end encrypted communication channel, hard to be broken into.”              “As if it was 100% safe.”              “It’s not,” he smiled,” have I mentioned my affinity toward adrenaline sports?”              “You certainly did,” Elena gulped down the flashback of her earlier encounter with adrenaline sports, ”But I still don’t quite get it.”              “You will. When your smart head’s intelligent enough to embezzle, defraud, and corrupt, while getting legal advice after night-time banging, this will be trivial. I just want you to contact someone.”              Her unease skyrocketed when Martin handed her the phone and austere-looking interface of that devilish app showed up; like some formidable creature, fished out of the deepest trenches of the dark web…              “Ready to type?” Martin eyed her with knowing smile, penetrating her eyes, far beyond her conscious mind. She suspected what’s going to follow and this suspicion was so clear - probability bordering on certainty, as Peter would say in his comely legalise. Her heart sank, as her worst premonition came true.              „Name.“              „Address.“              „30 grand.“              „I...,“ Elena was one step from collapsing. Of course, sometimes one gets redundant and needs to be reduced, but this was the first time she was not ready to throw away someone’s life like this. Jan, master economist, passed away in car accident – that was easy enough, but his cock was good. Daniel, corrupt prosecutor, commited suicide by painkiller overdose – I don’t miss him at all, his cum always tasted rancid. Lukas, a police officer, shot in the police action – I particularly liked his strong arms, that’s about it. Richard, a chairman of city council, jumped under the train – I found him funny. And now… Peter, a lawyer, TBA – I love him from the bottom of my blighted heart.              “Is his life really worth so little?” she burst into tears, her shaky fingers typing lamely.              “His life? No, it’s worth even less. His death, that’s what matches the price of fancy watches,” he said calmly, always having a joke or two up his sleeve.              “Why?” she said in despair, teardrops rushing down her cheeks.              “He knows too much, like they did. Is it so hard to understand? You were never hesitant like this before. What’s wrong?” Martin sounded worried for her. Does he really feel any compassion for me?              “But why did you make me give him that flash drive, why did you let him see the data?”              “You might not remember, because you were having fun ,” he said in slow, patient manner, as if talking to a child, “but he did tell you, that he started his legal practice as prosecutor’s assistant.” He paused for a moment, and he smiled the way a shark might: „And their network is real tasty.“              „Type!“ the predator ordered.              “I can’t do it.”              He said nothing, just pointed his voracious eyes at her. You can do it, you MUST do it, they read. All the detail was already typed, but her thumb was powerlessly circling around send button. And Martin kept on watching her, feeding on her inner struggle.              “If you can’t, then you can’t,” his manner changed into that of an amiable banker, as he took his phone back.              “Do you want to have another peek at him?” he asked.              She was devoid of words, but her eyes glowed with yearning.              “Let’s have a peek then,” the screen resolved itself into interior of a car. Within there were two men sitting, talking quietly, looking at the familiar laptop. Peter and another man, stereotypical police officer by his looks, were focused on whatever it was going on the screen.              „What do you think they’re talking about?” Martin asked, his manly jaws growing more prominent, ”It’s funny these modern cars. Did you know that lithium is somewhat reactive, like… I mean, really reactive. It really likes to reduce .”              “How about we take a listen?” he handed her the phone and a button with obvious function showed up.              They listened. And to her terror, all the talking was about her. Or rather about her grievous misconduct; it even looks like this beagle managed to sniff out more than he was ever supposed to. She stood paralyzed, betrayed and scared. They all know, oh, how clearly.              “Elena,” unlike her, Martin didn’t seem scared at all,” have you ever fired someone?”              She gritted her teeth.              “I know, it can be a traumatic experience, being on the receiving end..." he shrugged apologetically, "but it can be quite cathartic from the opposite side. Look," he reached out and scrolled in the menu of the app. He pulled up a Battery section, "it is just so easy. Just a little tap right here." Shakily she took the phone. She was trembling feverishly, muscles all across her body were spasming. Her face was red and tear-drenched, her eyes vacant. She pushed the button. Martin relaxed and grinned a proud smile of a father whose child just got admitted to prestigious college.              “Congratulations!” she couldn’t decipher his delight, "welcome back. You might even get a promotion.” He hugged her dearly and handed her a velvet handkerchief to wash her tears away like Peter and all those before him.              “You earned it.” Martin said. She stared blankly, as if she glimpsed the Death itself. She stood still.

Peter, a lawyer, fired – I still love him from the bottom of my blighted heart, she updated her diary.


       Changing Track The water was surprisingly cold, and the current more swift than expected. But it was only a small river, running a little high because of the summer rains.  It carried him downstream maybe a hundred yards, before he hit a backwater. From there it was an easy swim to shore. Over some large boulders, up a small cliff, and he was on the mesa top, walking north. After the first mile or so, his feet began to feel a little tender in the wet shoes. He sat down in the dirt to put on dry socks, getting his stll damp Wranglers muddy. Usually immaculately dressed in custom tailored suits, he laughed at the contrast. Ol’ Muddy Butt, that’s me . He broke into a jog. Six miles, then seven. The heat of the summer day made him thirsty. The lack of his usual ration of bourbon was nauseating. He scraped away the pebbles under a large sagebrush, and lay down, head in the shade. The sky was such a brilliant blue that even with his dark glasses, it almost hurt to look at it. He closed his eyes. The tickle of little ant feet on his arm woke him. He tried to jog again, but the nausea was so severe that he was on his knees vomiting before he got very far. In the distance, he could see a dark band of trees in a fold of the hills.

Get up and go, wimp . But the muscular body he worked so hard to mainain was shaky, weak,  every cell yearning for the 160 proof anesthetic to which it had long been accustomed. He lay back down, imagining the warm soil drawing the alcohol out of him, leaving him in peace. Even in the desert, nights can be cold. The chill woke him this time. The moon had risen, giving enough light for avoiding rocks and brush. He was so dry that his lips were stuck to his teeth. There were pools of spring water up there, in the canyon, under the trees. Finishing the water in his camel pack, he walked on as the sky began to turn dove grey, then sunrise orange. A large flat rock beside the spring was the perfect seat. But it was occupied. The fat rattler, was almost invisible, it’s brown and tan scales blending with the mottled shade under the trees. If it had not lifted that broad triangular head, he might have missed it. He broke a dead branch from a uniper tree, and poked at the snake. It give a warning rattle, tongue flicking out, and struck, hurling half the length of it’s body toward him. Leaping to the side, he laughed. “Come on, big boy. Beat it.” Two more unsuccessful strikes, and the snake conceded the field, disappearing down a small arroyo. “So, Enrique,” the man said out loud, “that was incredibly stupid. What am I trying to prove? July would say that I am an idiot, and she is right.” He sighed. Would he ever be able to change enough to be the man she deserved? He had tried, but bourbon and loose girls had been his solace for so long. Over the years, he had arrested dozens of men who had fallen into the same trap.  He knew it. He could see it plain as day. It was a behavior pattern that led to nothing but a lonely, bitter end in a bar fight, or an auto accident─or suicide. He settled on the rock, removed shoes and socks. and dipped bare feet in the cool water of a little pool. The trickling spring re-filled his camel pack. Steriizing tablets would make it drinkable in a little while. He rummaged in his pack for a slice of jerky, holding it between cheek and teeth so it would last longer, giving him the illusion that it was an adequete meal. He had done this many times in his youth, but now, at forty-five, what had satisfied his fifteen-year-old body seemed woefully inadequate. “Damn it, July, you little brat! You drove me to this, and you don’t even know it. Now here I am, talking to myself in the wilderness like the nutcase I am trying not to be.” The sun warmed his back. It would be hot soon. He would stay in this canyon as long as possible. It went deep into the mountains, taking him close to his goal. Socks and shoes on, pack slung on his back, he started jogging again. The noon day sun dazzled his eyes even through his dark aviators. Sweat gathered around his waist band and plastered his shirt to his back. His breathe was beginning to whistle through his teeth.

Not as good shape as I thought I was.

The narrow deer path was steep, climbing up the canyon-side. A rock rolled under his foot, and he slipped, tumbling down the long, rough slope. There was a flash of light, and then nothing. He woke, hearing someone grunting in pain. It took a minute for him to realize that was him, wasn’t it? Someone was kicking him, and there was a voice. “Get up, grandson. Get up.” “What? Grandfather?” He tried to roll over in the rocks, but his ribs!

Ay de mi,  as his mother would say.  He drew a few shallow breaths.

Okay, not serious, just painful. And no one’s kicking me, especially not my grandfather.  He would have laughed at himself if it didn’t hurt so much. Hell, he had never even met old Iron Horse, who had died more than sixty years ago. Even Enrique’s dad barely remembered his famous father, the warrior, the hero of World War One. “Okay, Mora, get up. Enough with the weird hallucinations.” He struggled to rise, and eventually made it. He thought about turning back. He wanted to turn back. But July worried about his drinking, and he was not going to ask her to marry a drunkard. One slow step after another, he climbed higher. His grandfather’s people had lived in these canyons and mountains for untold generations, and as a boy, he had spent many, many days and nights in this wild land. But since his Army days, he had been wrapped up in career and booze and girls, sometimes forgetting this real world of rocks and trees and wildlife. This was his real home, not the apartment in the city. He paused to catch his breath, holding an arm tight to his side to ease the pain in his ribs.

Thud, thud, thud.

His pulse pounded in his ears. And there was something else. He cocked his head, listening. It sounded like a drum beat.

Tap, tap, tap . He snorted. “Imagining things again. Did I hit my head that hard?” He climbed on.

Thud, tap. Thud, tap.

His feet moved in the same rhythm. Gradually, he sensed another presence. Was that a moccasined foot beside his? Did that bee just speak to him? He understood what it said. A doe, drinking from a pool, wished him a safe journey, then bent to drink again. It was sunset when he reached the meadow at the top of the mountain. He collected a small stash of tinder, and using his bifocals, focused the sun’s final rays on the dry grass and twigs. It only took a minute before there was a wisp of smoke. He blew gently until a small flame caught hold, and chuckled. His mother had always gotten after him for doing this, afraid that in his youthful carelessness, he might start a wildfire some day. There were dead branches everywhere. He broke a few into shorter lengths and soon had a nice little fire going on a bare spot of ground. Once it burned down to coals,  he would spread them out so the warm ground could help him sleep through the coming cold night. Jerky, dried fruit, and a handful of Oreos served for dinner. He sat on a log watching the night come on as tiny lights, almost like fireflys, began to sparkle in the town far below. There was a rustling in the brush along the little creek. Something big rolled a rock. He sat prefectly still, barely breathing. Many predators lived in these woods, wild as they were, and he was unarmed. In a minute, a big bull elk stepped into the meadow, raising it’s muzzle, sniffing the human scent. The antlers were still in velvet, but breeding season was coming on, and even in velvet, those antlers were lethal weapons. It took a dozen steps toward him. There was no logical solution here. He coudn’t out run an elk. The fire was almost out, so there was no flaming branch to scare it away. He rose, spreading open hands in the universal sign of peace. “Hello, brother. I am just visiting. I’ll be gone at first light.” It snorted and stepped closer. He swallowed convulsively, wondering if this was it, a bloody end to his pitiful life. But as they regarded each other, fear faded, and a sense of peace came to him. Of course. I’m hallucinating. Just an old drunk hallucinating. He mocked himself and looked away, then back. The elk was still there, and it’s eyes seemed to twinkle. It was just the reflection from starlight on leaves or something, of course, but somehow….  He woke to the twittering of little pine siskins in the tree tops. It had been a cold night, but the warm ground and his reflective emergency tarp had kept him warm enough. What crazy dreams I had yesterday. That’s what too much booze does to you, I guess. He yawned and stretched. There was a sudden noise, and he spun around to see the elk still there. It gave a soft whistling grunt, a farewell, and disappeared into the brush. Stunned, confused, he stood there in silence as the sun rose, touching his face, warming his body, penetrating his soul. He mentally shook himself. Stop trying to figure it out. But he knew something big had happened. He had changed. He felt whole, strong, in control. He could be powerful, like that old bull elk, like he was before all the booze and bar girls. Maybe he could be the right man for July after all.  He smiled. That was totally weird. I have never had such a vivid dream. It was almost like a real elk shared his strength, or wisdom, or whatever with me. He chuckled, bending to wash his face in the creek. And there, in the soft soil by his knee, were the perfect dual crescents of an elk hoof print, so fresh that water was still seeping into them.


Archibald Drakeford or Archie, as the few people who knew him well would call him, was sitting in his private jet, looking wistfully out of the window, the sun was hitting his pale, sunken cheeks and he felt a wave of positivity wash over. He watched thoughtfully as the sea turned to land and back to sea again, he could see all the life beneath him from this perspective, seagulls swooping, waves crashing, he even felt like he could sense all the creatures in the ocean living, eating, thinking, fighting for survival. 'What a thing life is' Archibald thought. "How many is this now?" Archibald said to his long-time personal assistant Jenson. "This would be the ninth, Sir" Jenson responded tiredly. "And where is this one? Archibald asked "This would be…" Jenson checked his notes "Ah, this would be a shaman located in a particularly remote area of Mongolia Sir" "And what kind of poultice or herb is he going to recommend? " Archibald scoffed. Archibald had been diagnosed with a particularly aggressive, terminal, neurological condition known as Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. In his search for any form of cure, he had traveled the world, after realizing none was forthcoming from any of the team of doctors and neurologists he had assembled. "And what the hell is a Shaman going to do?" Archibald said annoyed with Jenson. "Well at this point I fear nothing, Sir," Jenson said sorrowfully "but he came highly recommended. Word of his work has popped up throughout our travels, Sir. So I thought we'd at least give him a try last." "Last, you mean this is my last chance?" Archibald said his voice cracking. "Your last chance to find some peace perhaps, Sir" Jenson said looking at his feet. The plane landed in a dusty rundown airport, Archie was quickly bundled into a beat-up 4x4, and driven through some of the most uncomfortable, unconditioned terrain he had ever experienced for four hours. Archie was beckoned into the Shaman's hut, which was filled with a mixture of fine-smelling mist and fire smoke, and seated. Jenson hovered awkwardly behind him. The Shaman walked in wearing some traditional hooded garb, but Archie could make out beneath it a tatty band T-shirt of some sort. The shaman sat directly opposite Archie and lifted his hood. Archie was shocked and furious when he saw the 20-something-year-old boy staring back at him. "You seek a cure," the Shaman said. "Yes!" Archie said with both a tone of pleading and frustration. Jenson stepped in "If you know of a cure, young man, then please give it to us so we can send it to the lab for testing" "This is not a cure for your body," the shaman said with a solemn wisdom far exceeding his youthful appearance "But it will, in time, heal your soul and prepare you for wherever your body carries you next" "Just get on with it so we can leave," Jenson said The Shaman leaned into Archie closer and closer, until their noses touched, fixing his eyes the entire time. Archie thought their eyeballs might touch, but he couldn't pull his head back. The shaman started silently mouthing something to Archie. Jenson leaned in closer trying to hear what was being said, but no sound was coming out. Jenson looked at Archie, worriedly but he was transfixed, He had a look of peace on his face and a deep sense of joy radiated from him. Back on the plane now. Archie hadn't spoken for the entire return Journey, and Jenson had honored that in silence up until now. "What did he say to you back there?" Jenson asked softly. Archibald was still in a catatonic state of peace and contemplation. "Assemble my children Jenson," Archibald said "I need to meet with them" The Meeting In Archibald's 5000 square foot estate, Jenson had arranged a meeting table with 5 places, one for Archibald at the head, one for Jenson beside him, and 3 for each of Archibald's children. Jack the oldest child at 27 was, what he would consider an entrepreneur/broker/trader/investor. He was clean-cut and ruggedly handsome with exceptional bone structure. Rose, the middle child, was 25 and on her way to becoming London's newest 'it girl,' she was beautiful under a heavy veneer of expensive cosmetic treatment and clothing. She considered herself a fashion guru, socialite, and model. But her real fame had come from being photographed with an extensive list of rockstars, actors, and sports personalities at various events. And Barney the youngest child at 20 was a film and book critic and wrote an online blog about the latest fantasy board games. He had a 'fuller' build than Jack but with similar facial features that he covered up with an unkempt beard and mid-length hair. Jenson went up to summon Archibald from his bed, "they'll be here in 25 minutes, Sir" Jenson said softly "Would you like a glass of water?". Jenson had become a full-time carer for Mr Drakeford over the past few months as his condition slowly declined. Archibald's body had maintained its health but his mind was noticeably failing. As Archibald slowly made his way downstairs, he could hear his three children nattering to each other in anticipation as to what this was all about. "Morning children," Archibald said "and thank you for all coming, as you know, I am not long for this world. But I don't want to leave it before I have shared with you all one beautiful thing that I have learned and that I feel will serve you all well in your lives. However I cannot simply explain this discovery to you, this is something you each must learn for yourselves. To do that I have instructed Jenson to close your access to the family business accounts for 3 months. In this time I want you each to find a way to live that ensures you don't reach the end of your life regretting it, as I am now. You must try to live with clarity, compassion, generosity, and love. I want you to see the world for what it is, not for what you can get from it. Beyond that, I cannot tell you anymore, that you have whatever money is currently in your respective bank accounts to achieve these goals.

Archibald slumped off back upstairs. "He's lost it," Jack said "He'll see us starve" "Why would he treat his daughter this way!" said Rose "Is Dad ok?" Barney said looking at Jenson "he seems a bit off, what happened in Mongolia?" "You know what he wants don't you?" Jack said standing up and waving his arms around "He's losing it, and he's been spending all this time around some sort of international hippy cult, and they've convinced him that money is the route of all evil so he just wants to see which of us can disregard our fame and success the most, and who can survive without money. It's a goddamn race to the bottom!" "And whoever wins inherits it all," said Rose with a glint in her eye. "That doesn't seem fair," said Barney "Who determines the 'winner'?" "I think he just wants you to learn to not expect things in this world" Butted in Jenson "that nothing just materializes. Be it the things you think you need, or inner peace and understanding, it all takes effort and time. I've been instructed to come and find you wherever you 'find' yourself in 3 months." Jacks Journey Jack left the house in a hurry, still considering this a literal race. He jumped in his brand-new BMW, put it in drive, and set off. Half an hour into racing through the city and out onto the open road, Jack thought to himself ‘Right plan of action’ but there was no plan. ‘Just get out there in amongst it’ Jack thought, ‘see the world through new eyes’. But that was still not a plan. Jack pulled his car over and sat for a while. ‘what do I need ‘ Jack thought ‘Are some absolute no-hopers’ Some people I can educate and help them see what life is all about, I can teach them how to make money, therefore demonstrating my generosity, compassion, clarity and ‘love?’ That’s a no brainer’. Jack set off to a part of town he knew to be filled with absolute degenerates and deplorables. He parked up outside a park, in an area known for its crime rate, and waited until it started to get dark. His first hope of a ‘target audience’ for his ‘life-altering experiment’ came in the form of a group of young men, walking purposefully with hoods up. Jack watched closely as they approached another man lying in the street, with a jacket over his head. ‘Robbery? Drug deal? Or some kind of assault’ Jack thought. As he watched the men crouched down and handed something to the sleeping man ‘Drugs?’ Jack thought Jack felt a pang of fear as he opened the car door and prepared to approach. As he walked closer to the group he saw they were handing the sleeping man a sandwich and a bottle. As it later transpired the young men were quite friendly, they were bringing some food and a drink to an unwell friend, and for personal reasons refused to go to the doctor. After Jacks's initial attempts of trying to convince them of the error of their ways and encourage them to sign up for business school, they started to ask Jack for money, which Jack refused, They then invited Jack to a party they were all going, at a friend’s house. Jack thought there might be more opportunity there to interact and meet with some more of the city's less fortunates. Roses Journey Rose traipsed out of the meeting in a huff. She had thought that, when her father had told them he wanted them to all meet up, he would be doing so to explain how the estate was to be divided among them and how long he had left. Instead, he sends them all off on some wild mystical goose hunt. Along with the added insult of implying they were all vapid, self-centered individuals with no substance or charity. She could believe that of her brothers, but she was an artist for Christ's sake, who frequently sent messages out on her social media platform condemning, or promoting the latest cause. What more could she do, she was just one woman. Rose set in motion a plan that, at least in her mind, would benefit her, as well as meet some of her father’s criteria. She would get into contact with the last man she truly loved, and leverage reconciliation, on the pretense that she was mortified by her father’s imminent passing. Boris was her old love from the last years of high school and they had stayed together for 3 years past graduation. He was a nice man, nothing exceptional, but one she had been truly in love with up until the day he left to pursue a degree in some sort of nature or ecology-based thing she didn’t get. Boris answered her call and was genuinely saddened to learn of Archie’s illness. He and his family had always been close with Archie, literally and figuratively, they were neighbors. Rose and Boris met up in the local park and the old flame reignited almost immediately. They went back to his house for dinner, rose was expecting more, but Boris had an evening talk to give at the local university. Something that he did voluntarily between research trips to obscure and remote locations. Rose spent the next evening with Boris and the next week, she had almost completely forgotten about what pointless self-obsessed journey her father had sent her on. And had begun to settle into a comfortable long-term relationship with Boris. Barneys Journey Barney spent the first week after the meeting, frantically researching Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease online; he trawled the web and his blog community for answers to no avail. Barney spent the next week falling into a deep depression, that left him questioning his own life and achievements, which sent him deeper into a depression that cycled over and over in his head relentlessly. Until he eventually decided to take a trip with the last of his savings he booked a 6-week cruise across northern Europe, past the Nordic countries, and the northern length of Russia, ending at the eastern tip of Alaska. Barney met a host of fascinating people on the cruise and at each of the many stops along the way. But the whole time he couldn’t shake the feeling that something could be done about his father’s illness, and questioned, in his mind, what his father had meant when they last spoke. Barney would often sit out on the deck during these times, and as the frigid Siberian wind blew, he could feel a tear freeze on his face, that was normally the time he would get back on board. Jensons Re-consolidation Jenson started up his laptop and checked all 3 trackers that were put in a ring that Archie had given each of them, Archie had explained the importance of the rings and how much it would mean to him if they wore them. Barney First Jenson set off to locate Barney, the furthest away, he had found himself in northern Mongolia. Barney had disembarked his cruise at the most westerly point and had traveled through the arid frozen wilderness, spending his savings on buses, and taxis and hiring locals to transport him to Mongolia. With the vague recollection that that was where his father had gone to find the shaman. Jenson was forced to almost retake the steps of that fateful trip he had taken with Archie precisely. He found Barney in a Bar in a small village in Mongolia. He was sitting by himself reading a book about philosophy; he looked up when he heard Jenson walk in. “I couldn’t find it,” Barney said in a weepy tone. “I don’t know where it is, I don’t know where the shaman is, it’s not in any of these books” Barney started to sob uncontrollably. “Come on Barney I’ll take you home,” Jenson said, he put his arm around Barney and led him back to the plane. Rose Rose was sitting down for dinner with Boris when she heard a knock on the door. “Who’s that!?” said Boris. Boris had shown another side to himself since Rose had moved in with him, h was still as sweet as ever but had started to become paranoid and tempestuous. Which Rose had found exciting at first but was now starting to become bored with. “I’ll check,” Rose said Rose opened the door to Jenson with a big smile. “How have you been love?” Jenson said. “Oh my god I had forgotten,” Rose said flabbergasted, “has it been 3 months already?” “Of course,” Jenson said “How did you forget” “It’s been a crazy 3 months Jenks,” Rose said fondly “We got engaged!” “Congratulations” Jenson “And we’ve just found out we’re pregnant!” Rose squealed ”Would you be able to come back to the house with me Rose?” Jenson said Boris overheard “Remember it’s the last episode tonight babe!” “It won’t take long,” Jenson said He and Rose shuffled out before Boris could say anything “Be back soon babe” Rose called back Jack Jenson struggled to locate Jack, he found the tracker in a pile of stuff someone had left in a rundown squat. “Were you goin through my stuff, man!?” Jenson swung around defensively. “I’m looking for Jack Drakesford, do you know him?” Jenson enquired. “No, man, get the shit outta my house,” “I didn’t know this was your house,” Jenson said “There was no door” “Who is it, Caleb?” Jenson recognized the voice immediately, although it had lost all its clarity, and now sounded raspy and weak. “Jack!” Jenson called back ecstatic to see him. Jack was now very thin, and despite his good looks still being intact he looked half the man he once was. “Come with me Jack” Jenson said softly Regroup Around the table again, all 4 sat, each looking altered to their core. Apart from Jenson who just looked tired. “Where’s dad” said Barney “He’s no longer with us Barney” Jenson sighed “But he was quite insistent that I followed through with his last wishes. You have all strove in different directions to find the core of who you are” Jenson looked at Jack, who was nodding off and only occasionally half opening his eyes, with great sadness “Some of you have found love” Jenson looked at Rose who was texting Boris a request to record the last episode, “and some have found answers” Jenson looked at Barney who looked more confused than ever. “But none of you truly understood what your father wanted of you.” Each of them looked back at Jenson with anger and amazement at what he was saying. “Hey man, I found the goddamn answer to life and happiness and all that shit,” Jack said slurring his words “And it comes in a little brown bag, man” “I’ve found the answer to my life,” said Rose “And his Name is Boris, and our child is going to be beautiful and we’re going to get married and we’ll be together forever” Rose screeched in a disbelieving tone. “I have a deeper understanding than I ever have,” Barney said teary-eyed “I have traveled long and far, I have read every book on philosophy I could find, I even met the Shamans brother!.” Everyone looked shocked “He said he’s a charlatan.” Jenson looked back at them all and smirked a wry knowing smile. “If that’s what you want to believe, then you all win.” Jenson grinned “But that’s not what he meant.” The end


 “We’ve been on this road for almost an hour.” Reeves snorted at his complaint. “You’re even drunker you look. It’s only been twenty minutes since we left the bar.” The old pot-holed, cracked tarmac road winds through a large field of dead, yet tall grasses, unwilling to surrender the surrounding dryness. Maurice kept his eyes bulging as he stared wordlessly at the road ahead which appeared to be whirling.  “These damn grasses are getting in the way.” Reeves cursed under his breath, eyes on the road. “Heck, how can they be this damn tall?” Maurice was finally certain about something, they were lost –or so it appears, and it scared him. “Maybe we should have slept the night off at the bar.” He pressed his temple, wincing from the sudden headache. How much of that did I take in? He turned to Reeves and saw that he was driving just fine. The alcohol seemed to have no effect on him, or maybe it did and he was struggling hard to get his act together. Either ways Reeves was clearly drunk too. Maurice felt an unpleasant rush of adrenaline after a thud sounded beside the car, awakening his five senses. The bump jarred his entire body, making him feel the impact to the depth of his bone. Then he felt the car move over something. “I think we hit something.” The headlights which bated the long, steep driveway revealed nothing in its path. “Prolly a stupid cat that’d refused to get out of the way.” Reeves grunted in annoyance. That was quit a bump. Maurice knew it wasn’t a cat. It couldn’t be. “Shouldn’t we stop to check it?” “Not sure that would be such a great idea, and, besides we’re already nearing the house. We’ll check it at dusk.” Reeves was obviously exhausted. Within minutes, the road emptied into a broad highway, though well-lighted, yet silent and devoid of life. At least they were no longer surrounded by tall, dead grasses, but proper residential houses just a few blocks away, and for this Maurice was grateful. Reeves drove ahead, not towards any of those buildings, but down a labyrinth track off the highway. At the end lies a desolate manor house. The Gothic style is the staple of many medieval churches and castle. He then parked in a deserted lot and approached the ramshackled rusty gate on foot. Reeves gave it a gentle push. The screech of the gate echoed through the endless skeletal forest. Maurice stepped in tentatively, quickly following behind Reeves as they approached the grand, arched, old oak front door. Although no lights were on inside or outside the house, the light from the street bathed the facade of a georgian manor condo. “This is where you live?” Reeves didn’t answer, unsure of what to say. When he turned the key in the front door, he found that it was already unlocked. He knew he had locked it when he left, unless… He turned the knob back down and shifted his weight against the door. While Reeves quickly got into the house, Maurice stood outside, distracted by something in the dark. Beside the garden(now overgrown with insect threatening plants), where the light from the street couldn’t penetrate, he thought he saw something –or someone, watching him. He stepped into the house and closed the door gently behind, unwilling to give his subconscious the satisfaction of a second glance. Then clang, the wooden door, having a will of its own, suddenly shut, sealing them inside. Maurice was startled by this. And much to his dismay, he found that the room inside was eerie and filled with dead light. If not for the street light which illuminated the room partially, they would have both been in absolute darkness. Even so, it was difficult to move around without bumping into something. How can anybody live in a place like this , he wondered but kept his comment to himself. Reeves walked across the room to a door hidden behind tattered curtains. That’s his aged mother’s room. Maybe she’d been waiting for him to come home that she forgot to lock the door. He folded his fist to knock on the door but then hesitated. What if she’s already asleep? He wouldn’t want to disturb her. Cobwebs wrapped his face after he backed away from the door and he quickly pulled them off. His footsteps creaked on the old, mouldy floorboard. He stopped moving and remained still, but the footsteps didn’t. It didn’t bother him though, for he was already used to it. Maurice took out his phone and turned on his flash. The light illuminated the room and he glanced around, his eyes darting in all direction. He stared at the peeling wallpapers, then at the chandelier with broken strings of crystals suspended from the ceiling.  A photograph high up on the cinderblock wall caught his attention and he neared for a good look. In the picture was an odd-looking child, her smile somewhat abnormal, and condescending. He turned to Reeves, unintentionally bathing his face with the light. “Your daughter?” Reeves winced, shielding his face from the light. “She died two years. Car accident.” Concern grew over his face. “I’m really sorry man. I never knew you had a daughter. I feel so retarded.” “Don’t beat yourself up. I never really told anyone about it.” Maurice then realised he was holding the flash directly to his face and quickly pulled away. “Sorry about that.” The light found a guitar sitting across the room, leaning at the corner. Just then, he was hit by a realisation. “You stopped playing two years ago. Is it because of your---“ “N-No, it is not.” He tried to avoid his gaze. “It’s something else. I’d rather we don’t talk about it.” Whatever killed Reeves’ daughter, Maurice was now convinced it wasn’t a car, but something else, something less conspicuous. He decided to question him no further, making a mental note to find out the truth when the night is past. A knock came to the door and both men quickly turn to gaze at it. The light which leaked underneath the door carried no shadow along with it which seemed abnormal. Then came the second knock. Unlike Reeves who was totally overwhelmed with anxiety, Maurice was totally calm. He gave a half smile. “Are you expecting someone at this hour?” Their eyes locked in shared understanding. “If by someone you mean a call girl, then you still don’t know me. The new me, I mean. The old habit died after I moved in with my mom.” Who then is at the door? Maurice felt himself getting disturbed. Even though he knew little about Reeves, the new Reeves, he knew for sure he would never call in a whore now he's staying together with his aged mother. Even though he’d called a whore over, no girl in her right mind would step foot anywhere near the manor no matter how desperate she might seem. After a moment was past, there came no knock. Reeves surmised that whoever was knocking was now gone. But Maurice on the other hand thought otherwise, for he’d heard no sound of footsteps leaving, just deafening silence.  Reeves, wanting to be certain his uninvited guest was truly gone, moved towards the lancet window festooned with mouldy green gargoyles and pushed the ripped curtains to the side. He stole a peak outside through the old dusty glass. The midnight appeared deadly still. His wondering gaze caught a glimpse of an old woman, covered in black overall clothing which reached up to her face, standing outside the door. He arched an eyebrow to give her a once over. Recognition crossed his face. “Mom?” He wasn’t sure. She had a vaguely similar body size as his mother. “How much longer do I have to wait out here before you open the damn door?” came the gravelly voice outside. It was truly his mom, his ever bossy mom. He could tell from the tone in her voice. Without hesitation, he unlatched the heavy wooden door and threw it open. “Golly! You were outside the whole time? I really thought you were fast asleep in your room.”  An old woman, pitch black hair, wearing filthy nightgown, stood at the entrance. “Do you know I was up late just waiting for you to come home?” She was very crossed and she made it obvious. “How could you stay out until past midnight? You almost gave me a heart attack. I thought something bad had happened.” A yeasty beer smell that hung in the air found its way into her sniffing nose. “I’m fine mom.” As much as he tried to sound as sober as possible, his stench had betrayed this intension. She pretended not to notice the odd smell. “Still, what if something bad had happened---“ “I said I’m fine.” he said, almost raising his voice. She shot him a venomous glance, and then finally stepped in. “I spotted the light from afar, that’s how I knew someone was home.” The old woman stopped in her path when she saw that the light wasn’t in Reeves’ possession, but was being held by someone unfamiliar. “Who is this?” She gazed upon Maurice in displeasure. Maurice was taken aback by her abruptness. She seemed rather rude, than friendly. “T-this is my friend.” he slurred, jabbing a finger into his chest. He lives very far away, and seemed stranded and a little bit drunk at the time I met him at the bar. Little bit drunk? Reeves glanced up at Maurice. His bleary, red, watery eyes were visible under the light. Not quite so. Maurice was heavily drunk, and still is. But of course he couldn’t let her find out.  “Iamlettinghimsleepitoffatthehouse.” He was mentally congratulating himself for getting his act together, oblivious to him that his tone had already given him out.

The old woman, uninterested in his explanation, watched in silence as the words were tumbling from his mouth in a rush of barely distinguishable syllables. And without a word, she retired to her room. She would have to deal with him the following morning. For now she is exhausted. Soon after she was gone, they collapsed on the floorboard, and exhausted, they fell into a restless sleep. Barely an hour after they’d gone to sleep, Maurice came awake to a sharp cry which drifted through the unholy night. It was a bird. When he glanced down at his watch, only fifty minutes had passed. It was a long night, he observed. Each second seemed to go by as though they were minute, and each minute like hour. He turned to Reeves who was lying on his stomach, apparently fast asleep. The amount of light pouring into the room became suspicious, and Maurice glanced up and found that the window was open; Reeves forgot to return the curtain. Too tired to get up, he decided to lie on his back and gaze at the street light pouring its light over the lonely highway. He smiled at the sight. Then a feminine figure sitting on top smiled broadly back at him. His heart shot up as he quickly rose. He looked closely again and saw that there was no figure sitting up there. Maybe it was just his imagination. He hoped. He trotted towards the window. The moonlight crept deeper into the room as if locked in some strength contest of might with the street lights. Yet, without much effort the street lights always seemed to get the upper hand with every increasing glare of the moon. Peering through the window, he stared sightlessly at the top of the street light, then at the lonely road and finally at the front porch of the building. The empty night, devoid of life, stared back at him, whispering with the hollow tone. After he released the curtains from where they hung suspended by the side of the window, they returned to their original position, sealing out partial trace of light. Only little portion of it penetrated the translucent curtain. Then he returned, not to the floor where he’d laid, but to a beat-up wooden table far across the room. He took the chair beside it and reached for the guitar few inches from where he sat. He couldn’t get his mind off the figure he saw just a few minutes ago. Had it been watching me the whole time?  The more he thought about it, the more his worries grew. He felt his anxiety being drained away with string noise the guitar gave off. Then he started to strike the strings more rapidly until an ear-worthy noise was formed. And soon he was lost in the sweat rhythm.  His finger suddenly missed a string when he felt something brush his ankles. He thought a rodent must have walk past him. He kept playing, and felt it again. He looked under the chair and saw nothing. Suddenly, a shadow fell over him, and he froze. A shiver curled through the hairs on the back of his neck then cascaded down his backbone. He looked up saw the silhouette of a strange figure standing beyond the window quickly moving away to the side. Fear swelled inside him. He gently placed the guitar atop the table and started towards the window, again. As he inched towards it, he thought of waking Reeves but then decided against it. Reaching the window, he pulled the curtain away and the frigid tendrils of the cold morning air found his face. He saw nothing. The eeriness of the dark lonely street sent shiver travelling down the length of his spine. A sound of a twig snapping behind him echoed and he quickly turned, coming nose-to-nose with an ungodly creature. Gasping, he backed away, into the wall, his chest heaving rapidly. When he opened his mouth, to scream, to wake Reeves from his slumber, his voice had abandoned him; only the slightest breath escaped his trembling lips. The room had grown colder, filled with a numbing chill. And when he took a second glance at the creature, he saw that it wasn't a ghost, as he thought, but Reeves mother. “When I heard the guitar play, I thought it was my son.” Her words were calm, and sad, totally different from what it was barely an hour ago. “I haven’t seen him play in two years.” Maurice, still recovering from the fright, watched in silence, unable to move from the window. She walked to the table and picked the guitar. Examining it, she turned towards him. “Do you mind?” He hesitated for a moment, but her sad eyes were begging him. They compelled him to walk towards her, not of his own will though. Collecting the guitar, he sat on the chair. Carefully rehearsing the notes in his head, he set his finger to start playing, but then stopped. He turned to her, then gestured towards the photograph on the wall.  “How did she die?” She looked up at the photograph. “Actually, Reeves killed her. Accidentally.” He paled. “How did it happen?” He sat in silence, watching her contemplate within herself. The dark room silenced too, desperate to hear the tale. It was a story she wasn’t eager to tell. He could see that the distressed woman was doing her best to leave what had happened in the past. She let out a heavy sign, her sad eyes filled with defeat. “This time of the night, two years ago, on that same stool, Reeve sat, playing his guitar. And then, little Janie around two at the time, playful as she was, crawled underneath and grabbed his ankle. He thought it was some rodent, and quickly brought down his heavy boot, cracking the little girl's head open.” She heard him gasp. The attentive walls too, in a creak. Maurice was filled with horror. He quickly ran to wake Reeves. “Reeves, you have to get up.” He shook him hard. W-w-what… is it morning yet?” He slurred, still drowsy. When he turned, the old woman was gone. “Something is very wrong with this house. We have to get out now.” But his cries fell on sleepy ears. With little over an hour of daytime left, Maurice yanked him up and dragged him towards the door. Unfastening the door, they stepped into the chilly waft of the early morning, towards the gate. The surrounding scanty trees was bent almost double by gusts of icy winds. The streetlights which sat at the side of the highway fought the darkness from taking total control of the hour. Reeves, barely awake, asked, “Where the hell are you taking me?” “You hit something on our way down here, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a cat. We have to check it out.” “Can’t we wait until daylight to check it?” “We would already be dead by then. Trust me.” They ran past the car, and took a sharp turn into the thin road, away from the protective gaze of the streetlight. Taking out his phone, Maurice turned on the light. The uneasy breeze slashed at his face with every step he took, grasping him with chilly touch. Several inches away, he could already spot something lying dead at the side of the road. It was too big to be a cat. As they neared, Maurice could now see that it was definitely not a cat, but mistily human-like. His eyes found the form lurking among the shadows at the side of the road and quickly ignored it. Only fear anchored his feet in the darkness. Soon, they got to where the body lay. It was truly human. They stood over the dead human covered on black garment. Reeves recognized her. "Mom?" His spirit sank.


”Thank you for joining us on 93.1 The Groove and welcome to this years broadcast of Battle Creek’s K vs 12 ball game. I’m your host Al Average, joined by my friend and former K vs 12 superstar Bob Beltburner. How you doin Bobby?” ”Ill tell you what Al, it’s good to be here on this beautiful sunny day to watch this ball game.” ”And what a game it will be. Who do you think has the advantage this year Bob?” ”Well Al, the high school baseball team has won every year so it’s hard to vote against them. However, the kindergartners this year have a lot of spunk. It might be a long shot but they may make history and make it past the first inning.” ”Wouldn’t that be something! Let’s go down to our sideline reporter Jeff Sparrow. How you doin J-bird?” “Im doing good Al. I just finished talking to the coach of the kindergartners. I asked him how his team prepared for this matchup and he told me that being mentally ready is 90% of the prep. He doesn’t want his team to be intimidated by the size of their opponents or how fast the ball is coming at them. I asked him what the other 10% is, and he said prayer! Back to you Al!” ”Thanks J-bird. We are just about ready for the first pitch of the game but first we’ll pause 10 seconds for station identification.” Your listening to Al and Bob on A.M 93.1 The Groove! ”Welcome back to this years radio coverage of Battle Creek’s K vs 12 baseball game on 93.1 The Groove. We are ready for the first inning of the game. The kindergartners will bat first so that they have a chance. Lead off for the kindergartners is little Johnny Lewis. Batting 2nd is 5 year old Freddy Schoomacher. 3rd is Mason Matthews. And batting in the cleanup spot is the adorable Gretchen Christianson. Rounding out the lineup is Johnnys twin brother Billy Lewis, Alicia Keystone, John Garfield, Christopher Brown, and batting last is Alexis Engleschmidt.” ”Play Ball!” ”And here we go with little Johnny up to bat. The bat is bigger than him but his heart is bigger than the world. Here’s the pitch… “Striiiike one!” “Curveball to the outside catches Johnny of guard.” ”That’s a really good pitch Al. It’ll be interesting to see if Johnny is even able to lift the bat let alone swing it.” “Right you are Bob. Here comes the second pitch…” “Striiiike two!” “That’s a fastball down the middle. Poor Johnny didn’t even see it coming.” “He’s still struggling with that bat Al.” “That he is Bob, but our little Johnny isn’t a quitter. Johnny lines himself up. Eyes focused on the pitcher, the bat hanging down by his ankles. Here’s the pitch… and the ball bounces off of Johnnys bat into the infield! Johnny takes off for first and he is…… out! Aww, poor Johnny tried to slide but was a good three feet short of first base.” “You gotta give him props though Al. Despite his struggles lifting the bat, he still found a way to get contact on the ball.” “He is an inspiration to us all Bob. Sometimes life throws you a fastball and the best you can do is get in the way and hope it bounces off you. Next up is Freddy Schoomaker. He drags his bat to the plate wearing a blue dinosaur onesie.” “He’s always been one to make a statement with his fashion Al.” “And what a statement he is making! Freddie grips his bat tight. He’s holding it upside down but no on cares. Here’s the pitch…. AND HE HITS IT! The ball flys two feet from the plate and Freddie flys to first!” “This is why he’s on the team this year Al. He’s a heavy hitter with his style and his swing!” “Makes me want a get a dinosaur onesie for myself. It sounds like our sideline reporter Jeff Sparrow has something for us. Down to you J-Bird.” “Thanks Al! I just finished talking to the kindergartners cleanup hitter Gretchen Christianson. I asked her what motivates her to play hard despite the odds being stacked against her. She proceeded to yell ‘STRANGER DANGER’ and kick me in the shin. Back to you Al.” “Keep kicking those strangers Gretchen! Back to the field and Mason Matthews is at the plate. He seems to be holding a rolling pin instead of a bat. What do you make of that Bob?” “These kindergartners are getting creative. The bats are heavy so they are adapting. We saw Freddie hold his bat upside down allowing him to balance it easier, and now Mason opts to skip the bat and use a rolling pin. This is a gamble that might pay off in the end.” “Let’s hope he knows what he’s doing! Here’s the pitch…… “Striiiike one!” “Oooh a swing and a miss for Matthews.” “That rolling pin is easier to swing Al, but it is quite a bit shorter than a bat. Mason is going to have to stand closer to the path of the ball if he wants to have a chance, but he raises the risk of being hit as well.” “A precarious situation indeed Bobby boy. Here comes the pitch….. And It’s A Hit! Mason to first and Freddie to second! My oh my do we have a ballgame folks!” “What a hit Al! Rather than waiting for the ball to come to him, Mason throws the pin at the oncoming ball, giving him his first hit of the day, and giving life to his team!” “Next up is Gretchen Christianson, but first a word from our sponsors.” “Are you tired of your boring old narrators? Do you crave a voice that breaths life into your short stories? Are you a narrator looking for the perfect stories to capture your essence? Look no further! MyNarrator is just for you! We use our perfect match making formula to select the right narrator to the right writer. Not sure you believe us? Listen to these testimonies from real MyNarrator customers:” ‘As a sentient coffee maker, it’s been hard to find a writer who isn’t scared of me or who tries to destroy me with fire. However, MyNarrator found me a writer who not only wrote stories that I believed in but who also believed in me!’ ‘I was interested in finding a narrator but I didn’t want anything serious. I just wanted someone who would do one story and then leave. No commitment, just reading. MyNarrator allows me to find those who are looking for the same thing. I now have several different books with several different narrators. Thank you MyNarrator!” “Find your perfect match on MyNarrator today!” “Welcome back! Your listening to 93.1 The Groove with our broadcast of Battle Creek’s yearly K vs 12 baseball game. Still in the top of the first inning, the score is zero to zero. The kindergartners are looking hopeful, and the high schoolers indifferent. What are your thoughts on the game so far Bob?” “Honestly Al, I’m surprised the kindergartners are still on the field. Their opponents tower over them and nap time was 20 minutes ago. You gotta admire their resilience.” “That you do Bob. Gretchen Christianson is at the plate holding holding what looks like a teddy bear. Interesting choice eh Bobby?” “Yeah this isn’t a tactic we have seen before. The teddy bear is easy to swing but i would think it would be much to soft to send the ball in play. Even if by chance the ball is hit in play, it won’t be going very far.” “She wouldn’t hit the ball far no matter what. She’s only 6 years old Bob.” “Good point Al. “The pitcher winds up, Gretchen grips her teddy bear by one of its legs. Here’s the pitch…..Holy Cow, Gretchen smashes the ball into left field! Boy did she make us look foolish! Freddy runs to third, Mason is napping at first, and Gretchen slides into second! What is that teddy bear made of bob?” “Hope Al. Th..th..that teddy bear is filled with hope!” “You seem to be choking up Bob.” “I’ve never seen something so beautiful! No kindergartner has hit a double or made it to third base in all the years of Battle Creek’s K vs 12 games, and Gretchen Christianson made both those things possible today.” “Shes something else isn’t she Bob? Now to our sideline reporter. What you got Jeff?” “It turns out Al, that despite the name, softballs are not soft. Getting hit with one really hurts! Back to you.” “You always tell us the most interesting facts Jeff. Well what a game it has been so far! Unfortunately the kindergarten team has forfeited because they all fell asleep. Like Bob said earlier, nap time was over 20 minutes ago and nobody expected this game to last so long.” “Your right Al, we didn’t expect the kindergartners to last two minutes, but by golly they proved us wrong! They came out and proved what a group can accomplish when they are united. Those little kids have given the world hope!” “No doubt Bob. They have also shown that nap time is more important than winning. Well, it has been a pleasure having you listeners join us today. My name is Al Average and on behalf of Bob Beltburner, Jeff Sparrow, and the rest of the crew we bid you farewell and thank you for listening to 93.1 The Groove.” (fade out with “Head Over Heals by Tears for Fears)


PREMONITION Sita woke up with a start in the middle of the night. She didn’t know what woke her, was it a sound or someone had shaken her. She realized that she had fallen from the cot where she had slept at night. The floor was cold as it had been raining for the past few days. The pattering of the raindrops on the metal roof could be heard day and night. As she became aware of her surroundings, her consciousness returned. Her first thought was what had happened, then came the remnants of her last vision. Was it a dream? She was running as fast as she could and a wall of water was following her. No matter how fast she ran the roar seemed to follow her. On looking back she saw that the wall of water had swept away all that was built on the banks of the river which flowed through her village. As a dragon, it continued on its way. Her heart was thumping in her chest and she was feeling restless. When she saw that she was in her own house she had some solace. Sita got up slowly and walked to the waterpot, poured some in a tumbler, and drank it. Still not feeling calm she lay down on the bed again and pulled up her blanket. Slowly her eyes drooped and she fell asleep again.  Sita lived in a small village in the Himalayas. Her family consisted of her father, mother, and two brothers. Her elder brother 14 years old and a younger one 6 years of age, she was 10 years. Next to the modest house was some land owned by her father who tilled and harvested it for a living. When she got up in the morning she still had an uneasy feeling. She walked up to her mother and told her about the dream and the feeling that something untoward was about to happen. Her mother laughed at her, “ What was it, a nightmare?” Feeling offended she kept quiet. But the uneasiness stayed with her. The feeling of doom would not leave her. She kept on thinking about it and the fear did not recede. After having had breakfast of flatbread, and having had a bath she got out of the house with her umbrella. In the distance saw her father working in the field. Sita, wearing her favorite pink dress, walked towards her father and thought that at least he would believe her as she was his favorite and he knew that she never lied. When she told him about her dream and her premonition he picked her up in his lap and told her not to worry. He pushed her curly hair out of her face, “It is the rainy season, therefore some water flow will increase as it happens every year. But the dam constructed further upstream will hold most of it.” Kissing her on the cheek he put her down and asked her to go play and stop worrying.” Sita was adamant as the feeling of imminent washout continued. When her brothers heard her, they started teasing her. “ Here comes the Goddess, she knows everything, past, present, and future. Now she is going to forecast the calamities.” To get away from the trolling she went to the temple and after praying to God to keep everyone safe, she confided to the priest.  Having heard her he said “ You should believe that God will take care, so don’t be anxious. Nothing like a deluge has happened here so far and nothing ever will. Have faith.” Every 15 minutes she would go to check on the river to see if water had risen. After having lunch she again went out of the house. Her mother wondered what has happened to her. She called her elder son to keep an eye on her. Sita walked up to the village community center where she saw all the village elders sitting and smoking hookah or local cigarettes called bidis. She wished them with folded hands and bowing down told them about her premonition. Looking at her beautiful innocent face which was looking anxious they decide to put her doubts at rest. They said “ when the dam was constructed upstream the government had done a detailed survey and all the safety precautions were taken. There is nothing to worry about. You are still very young for such thoughts. Go and have fun with your friends. ”

The vision of which had formed in her mind did not go away. In the evening she again went to see the river but there was no change. Her brother went to look for her and found her sitting on a rock at the bank. He said “ we are all worried about you and here you are sitting calmly. Get up and come home Maa is worried, even father is at home.” He pulled her up and dragged her home. Unmindful of pebbles on the way hurting her bare feet she allowed herself to be taken home. The crease on her forehead did not smoothen.  Having had some dinner she was told by her mother to relax and sleep and think good thoughts forgetting the nightmare of the previous night. Sita lay down on her cot. Having been tired from roaming around the village the whole day, she slept quickly. At midnight her nightmare seemed to be repeating itself. There was a roar and the sound of water gurgling from afar. It sounded like a loud thunder or an earthquake that shook her house. She got up with a start. There was some commotion in the house her mother was waking up her brothers shouting at them to run. In the light of a small lamp, her father was frantically tying up whatever he considered precious. The sound kept on coming near. Sita was also asked to go out and run. Her premonition seemed to be coming true. Outside she saw the wall of water coming fast at her. She ran with all her might following her subconscious mind. She didn’t know how or when the water picked her up and deposited her on a tree. She hung on to it for her life. As the day dawned it found her wet soaked to skin and shivering on the sturdy branch of a tree. The water around her had receded leaving destruction in its wake. Hardly any living thing was visible. The dam had breached releasing tons of water of death in its wake.