Bright, hot sunlight smacked us right in the face, as we jogged up the stairs, emerging from the tepid subway. Breathing heavily from the reluctant exercise, I turned to look at Dehv next to me. She was fumbling to put her sunglasses on, the dazzle outside had caught her by surprise. “God it’s hot out today!” she said loudly. We walked into the street, the noise of the thick traffic and crowd felt especially uncomfortable in this summer heat. “I know,” I replied thoughtfully. “I should’ve worn more sunscreen.” “Are you kidding me!” Dehv exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “You practically took a bath in it. You’re like 90% sunscreen, 10% Yura right now!” I smirked and she smirked back for a split second, then turned her face away abruptly. The streets were busier than usual, setting the tone for the rest of the season. Tourists mixed alongside natives, taking selfies at coffee shops, crowding around street performers, and competing for the attention of cab drivers. “I can’t wait to go on holiday,” Dehv said. “Look at this madness! The sooner we leave for the UK, the better.” I glanced sideways at my girlfriend, nodding in acknowledgment. But not agreement. Dehv grabbed my arm suddenly, pulling me out of the stream of people and onto the edge of the sidewalk. It was the most we’d touched in months. Sweat formed around the edges of my temple, wetting my hair. “Let’s go through the park,” she said, pointing across the road at the stone walls. “It’ll be much cooler, yeah?” “Good idea,” I replied nodding. We didn’t bother walking to the pedestrian crossing a few meters away, it was way too packed. Instead, we looked left and right, took a deep breath, and sprinted across. Cars honked loudly, motorists yelled, and pedestrians gawked uninterestedly as we ran through, shouting apologies and profanities. “Sorry!” “Excuse us!” “Fuck you too!” “Go to hell asshole!” We landed on the other side of the street, huffing, and puffing. Heart pounding, sweat dripping under my t-shirt, I smiled. I looked around at Dehv but she’d already started walking towards the park gates. My lips faltered downwards as I jogged to catch up to her. It was much, much cooler in the park. The trees were providing a welcome respite from the strong glow of the sun. A swarm of people was starting to develop here too. I turned to mention it to Dehv, but she had taken out her phone to scroll through emails. I turned away and we walked in silence for a while. The shade cooled my damp face, I wiped some drops from my brow. By instinct, we both turned right at an intersection in the path, a long stretch of paved road that led to the east exit. We’d walked this way plenty of times on our way to and from dates, hangouts, and parties. We laughed our heads off, drunk and high and sober, but we weren’t laughing now. We walked past a group of men playing chess and my head automatically looked to the right, searching for the ever-present hot dog stand. I smelled it before I saw it, the heat was holding the scent of grilled meat hostage in the air around us. “I’m gonna go get a hot dog, do you want one?” I asked Dehv, turning to her. “Ew, no thanks,” she replied, grimacing. “It’s like 9am Yu, you’re really gonna eat a hot dog?” “It’s not for me,” I responded placidly. “It’s for Park Steve.” “Who?” Dehv asked quizzically, peeling her eyes away from her phone at last, and turning to me with some effort. “Park Steve, you know,” I repeated frowning. “He lives here in the park?” Dehv blinked back at me, silently confused. I stopped walking and exhaled irritably into the tepid air. “Park Steve, Dehv. I’ve told you about him a hundred times, I always stop by the hot dog stand and get him one…just in case he’s around?” Dehv inhaled slowly, she raised her eyebrows and her mouth opened into an ‘Oh’ as comprehension dawned on her. “You’ve – you’ve even met him Dehv. I mean there was that one time, we were walking back home from work-” “I remember, I remember geez,” she said waving her hands as if to dispel the memory. I sighed and stopped walking. Dehv overtook me and paused. She turned to look back at me, puzzled. “What?” she asked spreading her arms and tilting her head. I sighed, looking down, shifting my weight around. “I’m just – I’m going to get a hot dog and look for Park Steve. You go on ahead, I’ll meet you at work.” Dehv frowned. “What are you talking about?” she glanced at her phone. “It’s already 9:15 Yura, we’re gonna be late for work!” “It’s fine, just go on without me,” I insisted, looking up at her, at last. A warm breeze blew around us, shifting the leaves up in the trees above our heads. The sun made a momentary appearance, flashing across Dehv’s beautiful face. I squinted at its brilliance. She was staring at me, disbelief, confusion, annoyance, and exasperation passed across her eyes, her nose, her mouth. I read her face like a book I’d loved my whole life. She shrugged her shoulders at length. “Okay, I’ll meet you at work, I guess.” She hesitated. “But don’t be late, I’m not making excuses for you!” I nodded. She paused for a split second, then turned and walked away, increasing her pace as she did. I stood still for a second, enjoying the brief release. Then I turned to jog over to the hot dog vendor. Ordering the usual, I grabbed it from the man’s hands hurriedly, my hands growing warm and uncomfortable from the heat of the meat. I handed over the cash and rushed out of the queue, stepping back onto the path. Glancing around the park, I tried to scan for Steve. It was so crowded today; the weather was lovely, begging to be enjoyed. Steve wasn’t welcome to join in though, I knew that. He was probably laying low somewhere. I walked seemingly aimlessly until I saw a small stream and a stone bridge on my left. My feet moved automatically again; I knew this place. The bridge was crowded with people, taking pictures and videos of what seemed to be a marriage proposal. I rolled my eyes and swerved to the edge, deviating from the bridge altogether, heading for the low, grassy embankment instead. I slipped on the green a little as I trudged down to take a peek under the bridge. “Steve?” I called into the low concave. “You there?” He poked his head out promptly, face covered in dirt, eyes raised in curiosity. He grinned when he saw me. “Oh! It’s only you Miss Y!” he said pleasantly. He stepped out cautiously, glancing up. Some people looked down at the sound of his voice, then quickly averted their eyes. He did the same and looked back at me, still smiling. “I thought you might need a hot dog,” I said walking to him slowly, the prize outstretched. “Mighty kind of you ma'am, I’m grateful to ya,” he replied, reaching out to take it. The grin widened, revealing mismatched and stained teeth. He opened the silver foil noisily and shoved the bun into his mouth without delay. I looked away, up at the bridge where the crowd was slowly dispersing. “Some weather we’re having huh?” “No kiddin’” Steve replied through mouthfuls, licking the relish off his fingers. I reached back to the side pocket of my backpack and pulled out my flask, holding it up. “You want some coffee?” He glanced at the canister and shook his head. “No thank you Miss Y, I got my own drink,” he replied, chomping. He reached into his pocket to reveal a square glass bottle of liquor. I sighed and nodded, putting the flask back into the side pocket. “We’re in a drought, you know,” Steve said, polishing off the last of the hot dog. He crumpled up the foil and put it into his pocket. “Hmm,” I responded, not really listening. “No rain for almost 5 months now, you know,” Steve said, pulling out the glass bottle and opening it. He took a long swig, gargled the liquid in his mouth, then swallowed loudly. We stood apart in pleasant silence for a few minutes. A breeze blew overhead, the stench of the river blew back at us. I scrunched my nose. “It’s gonna rain tonight,” Steve said suddenly. “What’s that?” I asked, snapping out of my reverie, turning to him. “I said, it’s gonna rain tonight,” he repeated raising the bottle and waving it around. The clear liquid swished around inside, droplets escaping from the top. I looked up at the clear, blue sky. “The weathermen say different,” I said looking back at him and pointing up. Steve laughed unsteadily. “Weatherman don’t know what he’s talkin’ about, they don’t know shit!” I shrugged. “It’s gonna rain tonight Miss Y. I can feel it. Gonna be a big storm too, thunder and lightning. You best prepare for it, too,” he said with sudden seriousness, pointing a muddy finger at me. “I’ve got an umbrella,” I replied casually, blinking and looking over the dirty stream. The water was still. “Good, good,” he responded, still looking at me. “Crazy things happen in the heat. People get aggro you know, shit boils up.” “Uh huh,” I replied, nodding without understanding. “All that tension, all that heat ain’t got nowhere to go,” Steve said, replacing the lid back onto his bottle, screwing it closed. He shoved the glass back into his pocket. “Then, when the rain comes,” he paused. I looked at him. He raised both arms, spreading his fingers wide. “Pppoooof!” he exclaimed loudly. I blinked in surprise. People on the bridge looked down curiously, pointing and laughing. I glanced up at them uncomfortably and glanced back at Steve, taking a step back unevenly. “You better prepare for the rain young lady,” Steve repeated with a strange look on his face. “I got a feelin’ that it’s not gonna be easy, you gotta a whole lotta heat in you.” I took another step back, and crossed my right arm to my left, rubbing my shoulder awkwardly. Steve’s face was so serious that I let out an uncomfortable, involuntary laugh. He stared back at me, without blinking. Sweat formed on my temples again, despite the shade I was in. My palms were getting slippery, I released my shoulders and rubbed my hands together absentmindedly, shrugging. “It was good to see you, Steve,” I said, at last, raising a hand awkwardly in farewell. He was still staring silently, as though waiting for me to burst into flames. Then he blinked rapidly, smiling and nodding. “Thank you for the hot dog Miss Y. You take care now!” he said, waving and grinning widely. “You’re welcome!” I said backing up the hill awkwardly. “See ya!” I called, turning and jogging away. People turned their heads curiously as I clambered up the embankment and onto the bridge. Without changing my pace, I began to sprint. *** “Yu-Yu!” Sara, my co-worker said cloyingly from behind me. “Let’s get lunch?” “Too busy right now,” I replied, without turning around. “Aww! But you’ve been working all morning, what’s so important anyway?” she wheeled her chair backward as I quickly pulled up a new window on my screen. Inhaling, I looked at her as she stared. “Hmm? Budget reports? Boo!” she said, sticking her tongue out and wheeling back to her desk. “Ravi! Let’s get lunch,” she called out to someone else across the room. I exhaled in relief. Glancing back to make sure the coast was clear, I switched back onto the window I was on. Logging in, I clicked until I found my flight details. I bit my lip and stared at the screen, the cursor hovering over the ‘Cancel Booking’ button. “Whatcha doin’?” a voice close to my ear asked suddenly. I jumped in my seat and let out a shriek. People around me looked up for a moment, then went back to work. “Oh my God Dehv, you scared me!” I said in a low voice. I minimised my screen irritably and looked at her. She smirked. “You busy?” she asked without apology. I sighed. “A little, I guess. What’s up?” Dehv pulled out her phone and leaned on the side of my desk. She wasn’t looking at me anymore. “Just wondering if you’ve eaten already. I was gonna order something from the vegan place.” She tapped her screen and scrolled. I looked at her in silence. “They have a new smoothie - berry and kale, want to try it?” Dehv asked. I stared at her, her long hair tucked behind her ear, falling casually around her face and down the side of her shoulders. She was wearing her mustard full-sleeve blouse today, I thought. She wore that when she was anxious. I glanced down at my own outfit. I was wearing a plain old pale pink T-shirt. I only wore this when I was anxious. “Dehv,” I said suddenly. “Mmm?” she replied, not looking up. “Did you…did you know that we’re in a drought?” I asked, staring at her. “Hmm…? Drought?” she asked, absentmindedly. “Yeah, a drought. For like the past 5 months,” I said, moving my hands away from my laptop, covering the keys in salty sweat. “Let’s go to lunch Dehv,” I said suddenly, standing up. “What?” Dehv said, snapping to attention. She pulled herself off my desk. “You want to go out? But I thought you were busy?” I grabbed my phone off my desk and bent to retrieve my backpack off the floor. “I’m not too busy for you,” I replied quietly. I straightened, looked at her and smiled. She looked at me quizzically, then shrugged and nodded, smiling. “Okay, let’s go.” She turned to walk ahead of me, as I pushed my chair in. A lump was forming in the back of my throat. *** “My dad asked if he could pick us up from the airport,” Dehv said casually, she poked at a cherry tomato and put it into her mouth. “I told him it’d be fine.” I nodded. “What’s wrong with your food, don’t you like it?” Dehv asked, pointing to my full bowl of salad with her fork. I glanced down at the untouched forest of greens and the clean cutlery on the table. “Oh..uh..no it’s fine,” I said, picking up a fork. The silver slipped between my sweaty fingers. I put the fork into the bowl, moving the food around listlessly. “Mmm, anyway,” Dehv continued. “My mom said it’s fine if you stay with us.” Dehv took a big bite of her salad. Nodding, I put my fork back down. I grabbed the glass of iced water next to the bowl and started chugging. Drops of cool fell down the sides of my mouth. I wiped them away with my warm palms. “Are you okay?” Dehv said staring at me. I looked at her. We were making eye contact – for the first time in very a long time. She was looking at me for the first time in a very long time. “I’m – I don’t think I – I am, no,” I blurted out. The ice cubes in the glass I was holding rattled as my hand trembled. I put it back onto the table and pressed both my hands onto my thighs firmly. They were hot and damp. “What’s the matter?” Dehv asked, putting down her fork. Her beautiful brown eyes were wide with concern. I didn’t look away for fear of losing her. “I-I…I want to talk,” I began awkwardly, breathing fast. My heart thrummed. “Okay,” Dehv replied nodding, she pulled her chair closer to the table, her forehead scrunched up. She didn’t look away. “What is it, Yu?” “I want to talk about…the – the drought,” I said, my own eyes narrowed in confusion as the words tumbled out. “The – the… drought?” Dehv asked, her forehead scrunching even harder. Concern and confusion mingled across her face. “Yeah, the drought. You see Dehv,” I said inhaling, sweat dripping down my sides. “There’s like a drought right now and, well…it’s going to rain tonight. Like a huge storm, thunder and fucking lightning.” I raised my right hand and spread my fingers wide. “Uh huh,” Dehv replied more confused than ever. She reached out and touched her fingers to mine, making me tremble. She enclosed her digits around mine, pulling my hand down to the table gently. “Sweetie, I think you’re having…some sort of breakdown.” “I know,” I replied calmly now. Dehv’s head twitched in surprise. “I know, Dehv. What I’m trying to say is, that, the drought is us. We’re the drought,” I opened my palms, as sticky and sweaty as they were, and grabbed hold of her hand. She looked down at our enclosed fingers, then looked back up at me. Understanding fell over her face, forcing the breath out of her and flushing her cheeks. Dehv tightened her grip, staring hard at me. “Y-you – you said it was going to storm…soon?” she asked, her lips were trembling a little, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. I leaned forward and reached out to stroke her face with my other hand. She shivered. In the distance, a low rumble shuddered across the cloudless sky.


Reya glanced at the corner of the bar where she would ordinarily be found nursing a very dirty martini. A dismissive smile played on the corners of her lips as she closed her eyes and swayed her hips sensually. She felt a strange pressure in her arms, a build-up of tension that up until a few years ago was completely alien to her. Reya had learned to stop fighting her body when an urge took over so let her arms go free. They shot up in the air and slowly snaked down, fingers raking through her hair and down the back of her neck before smoothing along the outside curves of her body.

She could feel eyes on her, drinking her body in, and congratulated herself for so gracefully stealing the stilettos she was now wearing from the woman’s bag last week. Reya remembered the envy and arousal she felt watching the woman writhe, and reveled in the thought that she was having the same effect now. The sharp-tipped heels were a luminous mint green which she paired with an emerald sequin top, the glassy discs catching the light enticingly as she moved. Reya did not measure herself against the people whose attention she had taken but felt pleased with herself nonetheless as she opened the door for her handsome guest to enter her apartment behind her. She carefully slipped her new shoes off and placed them in the shoe rack, but this time on the top shelf, marking their increased value in her life. Reya gestured for her guest to follow her into the kitchen and immediately felt a stark difference in the way her body moved, as if the bones and ligaments had come undone and reconnected with stiff scar tissue. Her steps were more jerky, and any evidence of her lithe swaying had completely vanished. She blinked her eyes in consecutive flutters, Reya’s version of an eye roll that she was back to being her awkward-bodied self. No matter, she thought to herself, this man has had enough whiskey to not notice the difference. In the kitchen, she poured them both a glass of red wine as they engaged in half-whispered small talk and lingering eye contact. In between their sips, they slowly gravitated towards each other, shifting their postures until Reya was close enough to see the specks of amber in the stranger’s green eyes. He leaned towards her and planted a kiss on her lips, to which she responded by taking his hand and leading him to her bedroom where she dimmed the lights and put on smooth music rich with lush vocals. As Reya stepped back into the stranger’s arms he pulled away slightly, gently but firmly turning her around so her back was pressed against his chest leaving no space between their bodies. He rocked side to side, his hands on the flesh where her hips met her thighs, moving her softly with him. “Dance for me”, he mouthed hotly into her ear. She recognized from the way the stranger acted throughout the evening that if she had felt uncomfortable and asked him to leave, he would have done so respectfully, but she found that she didn’t want him to go. The more time she spent with the stranger, the more she liked him. He had a dry sense of humour aimed mostly at himself that she found charming. Reya thought it sweet the way he ran his hand through his hair when nervous, like he did just before he approached her on the dance floor or while he fiddled with the stem of his empty wine glass before kissing her. So, she let the liquor induced buzz convince her to try a few moves, how hard could it be to slowly toss and glide one’s hips? Very hard it turned out, as after a few seconds she could feel the stranger’s hands taking over again and guiding her to a different rhythm, that she wasn’t giving him what he thought he signed up to on the dance floor. She resented the numbing of her judgement, took a sharp breath in and turned to face him. She placed a hand on his chest, and with her eye-lids half closed seductively, she said “I have an idea, I’ll be right back.” A small questioning crease formed on the handsome man’s brows, but she ironed it away with a smile. Reya returned with nothing on but her mint green shoes. The next morning, having exchanged numbers with the stranger after a passionate night together and sent him on his way, she jumped into the shower, already late for work. She put on her scrubs for her shift and ran to the shoe rack. Furthest to the left was the pair of worn grey and white padded sneakers she was looking for. They were the first pair of shoes Reya had taken, although in this instance mistakenly, from the woman getting dressed next to her at the gym. They'd even made a joke of complimenting each other's tastes for having identical sneakers and how comfortable they felt while teaching raucous kids (Reya) or all-day doctoring in a hospital ward (the woman) yet they still both went home with the wrong pair. On the subway home she felt an itch on her outer-ankle, and as she bent to scratch it, she heard a voice hum “lateral malleolus”. Confused, she looked around her to see who had spoken but no one around her acted like they had heard let alone said anything. When Reya returned to her itch, she heard it again, “lateral malleolus.” As she dragged her fingers up to her lap the voice hummed “Fibula…Patella…Femur.” She moved her hands to her mouth in shock as Reya realized the voice was hers, that it came from within her mind. Although she had never heard these words before, she was confident they were naming her bones. Eventually the dots, that Reya was wearing a medic’s shoes and suddenly knowledge had spouted from her, had connected and as farfetched as it felt, she considered that she had somehow absorbed the knowledge of the previous owner through the sneakers. To test her theory, as soon as Reya got home, she poured herself a generous serving of vodka, threw in a single cube of ice, and plonked in front of the laptop. She searched some medical procedure names and would guess what they involved before reading on beyond the title, and found she was almost always correct. She then took the shoes off but kept them within her sight superstitiously and repeated her experiment, wondering if the information would stay with her. Without the shoes however, she couldn’t even remember the name of her leg bones, let alone procedural protocols. She concluded that these shoes held some magic, and decided to quit her job and study medicine, after all she knew she would pass. So here she was, years later, a successful doctor. The shoes did have deep signs of wear and tear, but she found a specialist mender who would repair the sneakers but always with an annoyed sigh that it would be cheaper to buy a new pair altogether.

A few months into studying medicine the thought came to Reya that she hadn’t considered all the variables whilst doing her experiment. She had thought the shoes held some magic, but what if other shoes had the same effect on her. The next weekend was her friend Amy’s birthday party, and they had planned to get ready together at her house. Reya (conveniently) arrived having forgotten formal shoes for the evening, and apologetically asked if she could borrow some of Amy’s. “Of course!” she replied breezily, “Help yourself, they’re in my closet.” Reya took a deep breath before stepping into some patent black kitten heels and testing her knowledge of financial trading. She thought back to a conversation they had had a while ago, where the topic had gone completely over her head, but she remembered vaguely Amy using the term Options. It wasn’t overwhelming or shocking, just a calm intake of knowledge as Reya’s mind spoke “Trading Options is about trading volatility, if the market is more volatile one day the option will be more expensive, but if the market moves less the next day, then the option becomes cheaper.” “Huh” Reya whispered to herself as she removed her feet from the shoes, “this is going to be interesting.” Reya shook herself out of the reverie, looked fondly at her small shoe collection, and packed the studded boots that she had stolen from a semi-professional soccer player in her bag, along with the tennis shoes she’d snuck from her instructor in case she was in the mood tonight for some sports. Reya had been mulling that it was time for a promotion so set her eyes on a pair from a cardiologist she had spoken to a few times, maybe she would work on swiping those today. She smiled to herself as she closed her apartment door behind her.


Our eldest lad wasn’t there for our first anniversary, although he made his presence felt. I struggled with the extra weight in the summer’s heat and boy could he kick. Walter carried the picnic basket, blanket, pillows and anything he could think of to make me feel more comfortable. The contractions started before we finished our adventure and we had to dash to the General. That was thirty years ago; our pearl anniversary is proving to be an entirely different celebration. # “Morning, Mrs Williams,” says Mr Bennett. “How’s your old man doing?” “You know Walter,” I say, smiling. “Loves his stomach.”

“I’ve got some lean minced beef for him and our herb sausages are on a special.” I always said food would be the death of him. Whatever I conjured up he enjoyed: plates of pasta, bowls of Bolognese, lashings of lasagna; followed by hearty portions of tiramisu made with rich soft cheeses soaked in Tia Maria, followed by roasted Italian coffee and an occasional brandy or two. He’d wolf it all down like there was no tomorrow. #

Walter had been an active man in his prime, but since his accident he’s lost that edge. I never thought he’d hang up his boots by choice. Seven years have passed since he retired at fifty and he’s come to embrace a sedentary existence.

His injury changed everything. The dodgy right knee was an excuse. It was his ego that took a battering. He couldn’t bear the thought of being out-run by anyone, and the idea of engaging in ‘walking-soccer-for-seniors’ was anathema to him. Dribbling a ball past geriatrics wasn’t his style. It never will be. Even at fifty, Walter never ever accepted his age as an obstacle. Walter would spar with the best of them. He never shied away from a physical challenge or a hard tackle.

# “I hear your hubby’s having a spot of bother, Mrs Williams,” says Mrs Dawson. “You know my Walter,” I say, smiling. “Always thinking about his stomach.”

“I’ve got your order of mascarpone and two tubs of full fat cream cheese.” He loves my tiramisu. Bless him. Fading away wasn’t on his agenda. He visited the surgery straight after the accident, and the doctor told him to put his leg up or he’d never play soccer again. The old Walter didn’t have a lazy bone in his body. He worked hard, played hard and wanted to go out with a dynamic bang. It was his teammates who persuaded him to slow down. Walter succumbed to their pleas however, six months later his doctor put him on a strict diet. He told Walter if he carried on overeating, he’d achieve his life’s goal and explode by accident. That’s easier said than done. Walter was never one to be told what to do. I couldn’t insist he changed his ways. He could be obstinate when he was of a mind.

# “Happy anniversary, Mum, did you guys get my card?” “You’ve caught me in the kitchen, love,” I said, craning my neck to cradle the receiver. “I’m up to my elbows in chopped onions and fresh oregano.” “How’s Dad doing,” he asks and clears his throat. “I’ve tried calling but---” “Oh, you know your father,” I say. “He doesn’t like surprises.” Walter stopped answering the phone about six months ago. He never had much interest in small talk. Getting to the phone had become a chore. I answered it on most occasions. I’d cover the receiver and say to him, “It’s for you.”

He’d shake his head and mouth out, “Tell them I’m indisposed.” # The excitement of playing for the team has become a memory. He missed the push and shove of match days at first. Now armchair sporting pursuits have replaced the weekend match fixtures and training nights. He invested in a satellite dish and discovered endless channels of soccer; live, recorded and archived. There were interviews with current players, biographies of former stars and documentaries featuring former managers talking about cabinets of silverware and trophies ad nauseam. His passion for his beloved sport now knew no bounds and allowed him to indulge his appetite at the same time. # I recall how he used to badger our lads to get some fresh air. He’d grab the RC, switch off the TV and drag both of them outside. During your school holidays he’d run circles round them for hours. He was so competitive that even when they’d got bored and sloped off, he’d carry on. They wouldn’t recognise him now. # It’s funny how ‘putting your feet up’ can become a habit. The slow decline was an incremental process subject to occasional tectonic shifts of consciousness. Five years ago he’d hobble about on a crutch and get under my feet in the kitchen, and then as his eating pattern evolved he helped less often. In the meantime I fixed, mended and cleaned the house and he got used to me getting things done. The household continued as ever; I made it all appear to be effortless and little changed.

# At first, Walter hated the notion of dependency, and then he got used to the attention. I remember one incident when the doorbell rang, and he grabbed his footstool to raise his damaged leg. His adopted posture surprised the visitors and drew an immediate reaction; he enjoyed the sympathy. Everyone decided he needed cheering up, and they returned with homemade cakes, chocolate cookies and candied fruit, to his delight and delectation. He’d offer pots of tea and sports anecdotes in return for a non-stop stream of sugary confections and pastries. Walter held court in our front room and I’d barely be acknowledged. As long as his guests had hot beverages, that was all that mattered. I could have gone out for an hour and they wouldn’t have noticed. #

It was surprising to witness his change of behaviour, but shocking when his other knee developed an issue too. The lack of exercise and overeating put pressure on the left leg and as a result the problem doubled. His doctor recommended resting both legs, otherwise he’d struggle to walk again. Walter’s sporting life was becoming his distant past. A vicious circle was developing. The more Walter rested and indulged, the more weight he packed on and the worse he felt, which encouraged him to snack and put more pressure on his joints, and discouraged any further activity.

# Thirty years have zipped past. It seems like yesterday when we exchanged vows and kissed on the church steps. Confetti filled the air. Everyone cheered and wished us a happy future. I was a lucky girl, and I knew it; he was quite a catch. Walter’s twice the man I married all those years ago. He’s doubled in weight in the last seven years. We can’t get away, which is why I’ve shopped for ingredients. He’s a creature of habit now. We’ll both take a deep breath and prepare for another thirty years together, providing today’s operation goes to plan. # Our lives haven’t gone as planned for a while. Tonight was supposed to be our special celebration; a candle-lit meal for two. I go through the motions and set two places at the dining table. I relish the opportunity to place out our formal cutlery. That was the eight-piece set we received from my parents. It came in a presentation box. A classic wedding gift designed to last forever. Alas, the best crockery’s not remained intact. It’s suffered a few mishaps and over the last seven years. Walter’s recent tantrums have got worse. I remember what he was like when his favourite team lost on a Saturday afternoon. He’d stomp about all evening and refuse his supper. Now it’s as though his side is losing every day, except now he’ll snack for Britain to cheer himself up. # “Walter!” I’d shout every night, competing with his TV sports shows. I always called twice in case he hadn’t heard. “Your dinner’s ready when you are, love!”

The house is quiet this evening. The landline rings in the front room.

Walter hates the phone. He fears the worst. The phone continues ringing.

I walk through to the empty front room and sigh as I lift the receiver. “Hello---” “Is that Suzanne? Mrs Suzanne Williams?” “Speaking,” I say. “Can I help you?” “Nurse Cummings here from Gardner Ward,” she says. “It’s about your husband…” There are shouts in the background, feet running past and harsh bleeping noises.

“Please be straight with me, nurse.”  “He’s recovered from the anaesthetic but he’s requested a DNR.” “An DNR request after a knee operation?” “He says his life’s not worth living, and he wants a Nil-by-Mouth instruction too...” # I press the button on the entry phone. They buzz me through and I head towards the reception and rest our old wicker basket on the desk. “It’s our anniversary, and he was so looking forward to a romantic night---” “That’s fine, Mrs Williams,” says the receptionist. I give instructions for microwave. I’ve adjusted the times for their industrial power settings. The dessert should rest in the fridge, if there’s room; it’s better chilled. “Room six is third on the left.” She says, pointing to her right. “Mr Williams should be awake now.” She smiles and disappears with the food to the rear kitchens.

# “So what’s this nonsense about a DNR?” I lean forward and plant a kiss on his lips. “The food in here is dreadful, I couldn’t face another plateful.” “Happy anniversary, love.” I open the basket and spread a tablecloth on his bed table. “Don’t suppose you brought any snacks.” I rest the wicker basket on the bed by his feet and bring out a bowl of cashews. “You know me, Walter,” I say, removing the cling film. “But don’t get used to it.” A broad smile spreads across his face as his stomach groans and rumbles for all to hear. “You’re a life saver, baby.” “We haven’t started yet.” I shake my head and chuckle. “Just don’t get used to it.” The End


"So this is how it feels!" Alex said to himself excitedly. He felt sudden lightness and absolute worry free state of mind. "I can do at all I want, I can go whenever I like !" He started ascending into the navy dark night sky, toward the giant and shiny full moon surrounded by hundreds of various intensity stars. Below him his native town with it many shops and churches and homes and parks was disappearing into the dark night. " I can fly! " He spread both of his translucent hands like wings and soared high above the earth with his native town where he spend all of his life and was now just a little dot on the very distant earth. He breathed in cold and refreshing autumnal air. "Oh it feels so good!' He was soaring into the highest levels of atmosphere then into space, the blue planet earth was now size of a football and it was getting even smaller. Alex was in dark space now. The total sense of peace and joy overfilled him. " Its beautiful yes but so lonely. I'd like to see someone, I miss people." He started rapid descend,stars and moon and planets going up with a tremendous speed. Now he glided just over the tree tops and spotted a single standing ranch house just on the edge of the woods. Single deer was spooked by his sudden appearance and run back into the safety of the dark and eerie forest. Now, silently walking on the foliage he got closer to the house decorated with the usual Halloween decorations some spider webs, skeletons, fake ghosts hanging down from the tree branch and finally a giant, bright orange and carved to look scary pumpkin head that still had some blow pop and milk dudes candy in it. The good once were already taken. "Trick or treat!" said Alex, pushing the pumpkin with his invisible foot, spilling its contents all over the porch. " Ha, its such a fan, I like it!" He jumped up to the level of the window and peered inside. The family of two a middle aged wife, husband and their dog were watching TV. He could see the blueish reflection from TV cross the window pane. Pulling together all his energy Alex waved his hands and yelled at the couple below: " Happy Halloween!" At first they didn't react on his antics and kept doing what they were doing, except the dog, who started running around the house, barking. With the extreme force Alex then banged on the window, continuing to yell and move up and down in his ghostly appearance. The couple finally payed attention. They looked up at the window and in a horror realized they witnessed a ghost behind it, looking straight at them. They felt the cold air entered their room as they froze in a total shock and awe, not able to move. "Is that, is that a real ghost?" woman said pointing at the window . " You mean right there?" In the next moment the apparition disappeared and they were staring at the dark night sky full of stars. Alex, happy with the effect he made, continued with his Halloween adventure and from the window went back toward the entrance door. As he was descending, he spotted a group of kids, wearing a scary costumes and masks, carrying buckets full of Halloween candies, giggling and walking gingerly toward the house. Alex suddenly appeared in front of them then went up on the tree and down again, screaming with the undead voice " Trick or treat! Give me all your candies! Ooooh!" Poor kids started screaming in horror, dropped their buckets, spilling candies all over the path and continue screaming started to run away. Alex continued to chase them for some time, making terrible noises and appearing from the different sides while the kids scared to death were on the run for their lives. He then got back to the house and enjoying himself, getting into the gist of being a ghost continued his  Halloween solo  ghost performance. " Ah Ah Ah Ah Ah " he gutturally yelled then touched the doorbell. He heard the dog bark, then someone steps and quiet cursing of the owner whose night was disturbed. Door was suddenly opened and the middle aged man, wearing a striped pajama and the glasses looked straight at Alex and only saw an empty driveway. " What a heck, " he told himself bewildered and close the door shut. He could manage only few steps when the doorbell started ringing again. The little brown mutt started incessantly barking while his owner opened the entrance door and not seeing anyone got enraged. Alex laughed over this demonically and went trough the walls with ease, he glided over the hallway and into the brightly lighted  kitchen, the dog barking hoarsely followed him closely as her owner tried to hold him back yelling " Lilly, stop! Stop now I said!' to no avail. " Boo" said Alex to the dog and shook the cabinet with a supernatural force, then started  repeatedly opening and closing drawers, throwing pots and spilling cabinet contents on the floor. China cups, plates , glass felt on the ceramic floor crashing into pieces. The old man was just standing there, all white and in shock and even his dog stopped barking and backed up in a corner. His wife hearing the commotion started to walk from the leaving room, abandoning television set that continued to translate Halloween movies, now the Freddy from Friday the 13th was on the screen. Alex went from the kitchen and into the living room, he went straight trough the  old lady and into the large with the high sealing room. There was a fireplace,  and it was  nicely decorated with antique type cherry color  furniture. There were wool rugs on the floor and room had very cozy look. " Nice place!' Alex told to himself then reappeared in the kitchen where shell shocked couple were collecting the broken kitchenware and their dog tried to launch at the uninvited guest. Alex made one more move with extreme force opening and closing the stove and refrigerator doors, then with a " Good bye, neighbors!"  yell he disappeared  outside. He was once again soaring up above. Loud noise from below was coming up to Alex, sounding more and more annoying, incessant and familiar too. He wanted to check to see what it was and in the next moment Alex opened his eyes. Breathing heavily and perspired he at first didn't realize where he was. It was a dream, a beautiful and spooky dream. Happy Halloween, Alex!


MANY PEOPLE BELIEVE THAT MIRRORS REFLECT BACK OUR INNER SELVES. To some extent, they’re not wrong.            There was so much blood. So much blood, and none of it my own. Well, save for the gashes on my arms from both my would-be victim’s nails and from the shards of glass blanketing the floor around us.            The woman on the floor stared back at me, wide-eyed. She edged backward, the glass slivers chinking against one another as she shoved them aside in her haste. In another world, the sound might not have been unpleasant, reminiscent of the sound made when making a toast at a friendly get-together, or party. This situation, however, could not have been more dissimilar.            “H-how did you do that?” She glanced fearfully beyond me to the now-empty sliding closet door; all that remained was the wire frame, bent from the impact. I took a step towards the woman, arm outstretched; an offer to help or a barrier to slow her progress, I wasn’t sure. “No!” She shrieked; her movements increasingly frantic in her attempts to put distance between us. “Get away from me!”            “I’m not here to hurt you!” I protested, my arm dropping even as I did so, somehow knowing deep down that my situation was hopeless.            She -a stranger to me- looked worse off than I, deep cuts across her torso that had torn through her sequined, halter top dress. Tears streamed down through her heavy makeup, smudging the kohl that lined her eyes. My -no, his - blood was caked under her nails, painted plum to compliment her dress. As a side note, I hadn’t known cuts could hurt so damn bad. The deeper ones throbbed, while the shallower nicks stung, as though I’d poured lemon juice into a papercut. It was somehow both exhilarating and terrifying, all at once. And the fact that it was exhilarating was terrifying too. I knew now why he enjoyed this so much, and I hated it. Sirens yelped outside. Time seemed frozen as I stared back into unfamiliar eyes. Harsh lights, red and blue, spun into the room, casting sinister shadows through the blinds onto our faces and the floor, akin to prison bars. A voice squawked outside, loud and robust over the speakers from the police cruiser. “Marcus Danbury! Come out with your hands behind your head!” Only then did I even realize that I still clutched a switchblade, the fingers of my left hand curled around the knife tightly. No wonder the woman was panicked. She had no reason to believe I wasn’t the same man who had stood in front of her only moments prior, ready to kill and filled with the thrill of the hunt. I threw it away from myself, heart pounding loudly in my ears. I’d left crescent moons in the palm of my hand which now bled freely along with the cuts on my arms. The feeling of being trapped was subtly creeping back in. Adrenaline still surged through my veins, and I searched for escape, throwing myself into action. Through no effort of my own, I’d broken free of my prison at last. By no means on this earth was I going to allow myself to be dragged into another, shackled for another man’s crimes. I moved like I was running through molasses, my legs seeming to catch every edge of furniture, my fingers feeling numb with disuse as I fumbled with door handles. The woman didn’t budge another inch as she watched my crazed behavior. “Marcus Danbury,” the voice came again after there’d been no response on my end. I froze again to listen. “You are wanted for the murder of Alexis Cole, Michael Smith, and Melissa Roberts. Drop any weapons you have and come out with your hands behind your head, or we will be coming in after you.” I decided then that I hated the name “Marcus” too. But, perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. Let’s rewind back to the beginning. My name is Marcus Danbury. I am an echo. A reflection. Some might even go so far as to call me a doppelganger. The former words have a more pleasant connotation, implying that I am merely part of what is already in existence. Doppelgangers, however, are often associated with evil, like being the bad one out of a set of identical twins. There are many stories about doppelgangers and their origins. Only one is true. Doppelgangers exist in what I like to refer to as the “mirror-realm.” We walk the same path as our alternate selves, forever doomed to an empty, silent space like that of an asylum’s padded room. Unlike the doppelgangers in stories told around the campfire, we are unable to act on our impulses, and our desires, left alone instead to our thoughts and our loneliness. Whether we wish to take our opposite’s place or not doesn’t matter, for we are trapped, for all eternity. The only time where this differs is when our counterparts encounter a mirror. Mirrors allow us a glimpse into the real world. We can hear and see what our counter sees, “meet” other people, and dream of a life outside. My dreams, like many others, involved escape. I wanted to take real Marcus’ place, though, not only for myself. He was a terrible man, a murderer, and I felt a burning need to prevent any further harm done by him. For so long, I had watched him hurt others, with his words, and his actions, unable to do anything to stop it. Then, today came my chance. I watched -not for the first time- as Marcus backed into the hotel room, his newest conquest in tow. She pulled at his clothes, and mine wrinkled in the places she grasped, though I could not feel the warmth of her hand. Marcus’ hand was twisted up in her shoulder-length hair, his lips crushed hard to hers as though breathing her in. But I could see the glimmer of light that hit the metal of his switchblade, could feel his malicious intent. I tried to shout, tried to do anything to alert the woman, but could only watch, helplessly underpowered, as he turned his back to the mirror and raised his knife. Maybe it was the hiss of the blade, or she’d opened her eyes to see the reflection behind him, but the woman gasped and pulled away in time to avoid the disastrous trajectory. During the fight that ensued, she clawed at Marcus and he slashed back, both parties breathing heavily as they fought for the upper hand. Then, with a mighty shove -they say adrenaline can often help you accomplish feats you otherwise could not achieve-, the woman shoved Marcus into the mirror. I mean, literally. I couldn’t tell you how it happened, only that, one moment, I was in the mirror-realm, cheering the woman on, and the next, I had replaced my counter, the mirror shattered behind me. And now you’re all caught up. “Is there a back door?” I whirled on the woman, dark hair falling into my eyes. “A-a back door? In the Lexington? We’re… in a hotel room.” She stammered in confusion, as though I might have lost my faculties. That left either the main door to the room or the window, both of which were likely covered. Still, I figured the window was my best bet of the two. Halfway to it, I realized I had a hostage. I knew that I would never hurt the girl, but the police needn’t know the same. “I’m really sorry about this,” I apologized sincerely, moving swiftly to cross the room. Shrieking again as I grabbed her roughly by the arm, I pulled the woman so that her back was flush against me, retrieving the knife from where it had skittered under the bed. As I bent to scoop the weapon, I saw myself reflected in the mirror shards. I knew what many did not, however. It was not really me that showed in the reflection, but the real Marcus. Somehow, I could feel the burning ire in his gaze, though it varied not from my own in appearance. Still, I stood quickly, not daring to look again. The blade pressed against her throat, the girl could do little more than whimper now as I lifted the blinds and pushed the window open. As I’d expected, the police waited in the parking lot beyond. I had not expected to be on the second floor, overlooking the pool area, which was enclosed by a white vinyl privacy fence. A maid, drawn by the sound of the sirens, was at the end of the fence, peeking around the corner to watch, her laundry cart left abandoned outside the fence. Shouting to be heard, I called out to the officers. “Go around to the front of the building and stay there, or I kill the girl!” Geez, I felt guilty even insinuating I would do it. “Release the girl and come out peaceably, Marcus. You don’t want this to get out of hand.” The officer, a middle-aged man with a stereotypical handlebar mustache, responded, holding the receiver for his cruiser’s speaker. “Don’t pretend to understand what I want!” I answered, unintentionally giving them the impression of the unhinged murderer that they expected in my desperation to be free. “Do as I ask, and I’ll release her!” The officers talked amongst themselves a minute, but must have deemed me serious enough. “We’re going now. Release the girl.” True to their word, the police locked their vehicles and circled the building, at least far enough that they were out of sight. I had no doubt in my mind that they were ready to rush back in and nab me the minute I emerged, but I had no better ideas. “Go.” I whispered as I released the girl, again dropping the switchblade to the side. Needing no convincing, the girl rushed out of the room as I mounted the windowsill and jumped, wasting no time. If I wasted even a moment to consider my actions more carefully, I worried I’d lose my nerve. The pressure and chill of the water was nearly crushing, but I clawed my way to the surface and then free of the pool, splashing like a half-drowned dog. Already I could hear the officers returning, their sounds of pursuit like thunder. I leapt the gate, making a split-second decision as I saw the maid had followed the officers in all their intrigue. The clothes around and atop me began soaking up the moisture from my skin, and I felt the maid begin wheeling me away from the pool area, likely instructed to get away and resume work by a harried policeman. As soon as I heard the crowd of officers round the bend to investigate the pool, the gate squealing shut behind them, I vaulted free of the hamper, earning a shriek from the maid who’d wheeled me past. “Sorry!” I hissed loudly, breaking into a run. I found Marcus’ motorcycle easily, and jumped astride it, turning over the engine. The man had left his keys in the ignition. ”Cocky bastard.” I thought as I roared free of the parking lot. Hearing shouts behind me, I knew the police would not be far behind, and I revved the engine, picking up speed rapidly. I knew I needed somewhere safe to hide out till things cooled down some. Somewhere to shower, change, and find a less conspicuous ride. Luckily, it was easy to get lost in a city like New York. Perhaps it was because I’d subconsciously walked and ridden the way so many times in the mirror-realm, but, that, pieced together with the snippets I’d caught from passing reflections in glass buildings and windows, helped me pick my way through the streets, ending up at the door of Kowel house, an apartment building on Manhattan Avenue. Pulling my bike into the alley next to the building, I saw a small planter underneath the first-floor window. During the cooler months of winter, someone had put a cover over the greenery, protecting it from the harsh frost that accompanied the dawn. Sending out another silent apology, I borrowed the cover, -revealing tiny blue flower buds- tossing it over my motorcycle. My feet carried me the rest of the way to the intercom at the front of the building. A voice came over the speaker, and my heart panged painfully at the sound. “Hello?” I cleared my throat. “Hey, Lindsey. C-can I come up?” There was a beat of silence, and then I heard the telltale buzz of the front door. Taking advantage of her momentary weakness, I found my way in and up to her room, lifting my fist to knock. I didn’t even get that far before the door cracked open, though I quickly noted how she had not removed the chain to let it open fully. “What do you want, Marcus?” She hissed; blue eyes narrowed as she regarded me with distaste. They widened in surprise as she took in my appearance. I imagined I looked like death warmed over. The ride had dried most of my clothing, but the front of my shirt was still damp, I smelled like dirty laundry, and my arms were still sliced like ribbons, my hair shaggy. More than anything else, I hated what Marcus had done to Lindsey. She had been his only real love in this world. The only thing he’d regretted losing. And like him, I too had developed real feelings for Lindsey. From the bits and pieces of life, the snippets I’d gathered, I was able to see that Lindsey was genuine. Kind. A bright light in comparison to Marcus’ dark soul. Maybe she’d thought she’d be able to change him, once upon a time. But when she’d glimpsed his real self, the part he’d tried to keep hidden from her, she’d backed off, running as far as she could have -emotionally anyways- like the smart girl she was. “I know you want nothing to do with me, Lindsey, but I need your help.” I pleaded. Something about my tone, or my appearance, must have convinced her of my desperation, because she conceded, closing the door long enough to remove the lock and allow me entry. “What is going on?” She demanded, her brunette ponytail falling over one shoulder as she re-locked the door behind me. I fell into her kitchen chair, slumped with relief. “I reflected on who I was as a person and I’m making some changes,” I joked, recognizing the irony of my word choice.  “I mean it, Marcus, I want answers, now. Do you know that the cops are looking for you? Your face is plastered all over the 6o’clock news! I’m crazy for even letting you in here!” “Malcus,” I decided. It was a small thing, but it was my first step towards independence, changing my name even by that one letter. “What?” Lindsey hesitated, breaking her tirade as she heard me. I stood again, careful to keep distance between us as I watched her shrink back. That hurt me, to know she feared me. “I know this will be hard for you to understand, but I’m not the same Marcus you knew. I don’t just mean that I’ve changed. I mean that I’m literally not him. You have to believe me… Please. But I have the same feelings for you that I believe you have for me, and I want to be with you.” I added as a side thought, “anywhere but here.” Lindsey, a no-nonsense person, was listening very carefully, clearly torn between tossing me out and hearing what I had to say. Her curiosity won out. “You have five minutes to explain what the hell you’re talking about.” I explained for what seemed hours, even drawing doodles to help her understand, though I realized afterward that my stick people were awful silly looking and did little to assist, more a fidget for my hands as I worked out nervous energy. Finally, I realized I needed to stop, and leave the rest up to her. She was silent for a time, staring at me curiously. “You drew those with your left hand.”            That was all she had to say? After everything? “Yeah?” Then it dawned on me. Marcus was right-handed. Miraculously, Lindsey believed me. My sudden left-handedness, coupled with other definitive differences, helped to convince her. My tattoo of a wolf having switched shoulders, cowlick on the opposite side of my head, phone which showed all the characters backwards -a fun discovery which rendered the device more or less useless-, and my general attitude all contributing factors. We spent the next several hours in preparation. Thankfully, it turned out that she had as much desire to be with a good version of myself as I did her. Lindsey packed, I showered and changed into some clothing my counter had left behind, and she let me nap while she made sandwiches for the road and packed the car. She’d taken the first shift driving also, only switching with me when we’d stopped to refuel in Philadelphia. Lindsey’s head bobbed in her sleep as the sun rose behind us. It brought the hope of a new day, of new beginnings and possibilities. I had sworn to do better by Lindsey, to not become what Marcus had, and to lead a better life. I wanted nothing more than to get the chance to live my own life, and I wanted nothing to do with the path he’d carved. Looking in the rearview mirror, Marcus’ dark eyes gazed back into mine. I turned the mirror away from myself, focusing on the road ahead. She might have taken what I said at face value, but I knew Lindsey still was working to fully understand everything. I wondered how I would convince her that we needed to find a home with no mirrors?


Maggie was a small girl when her parents gave birth to another child, this time a boy. She had screamed in their very tired and exhausted faces, upset that they felt the need to replace her because they probably thought she wasn’t fun enough for them. They sent her upstairs, too tired to argue with her but to Maggie, it looked like they wanted to kick her out. She threw several fits the next week, ignoring the desperate parents and their persuading explanations. Despite her tantrums, she found herself adoring the little boy that would sometimes crawl into her room and her lap. He looked up at her with large eyes, a small fire dancing in the pupils. Maggie couldn’t help herself and always planted a large kiss onto his small forehead, causing the little baby to giggle and reach for her with his small, tiny fingers.

Her parents watched all this from the doorway, smiling at their children with soft, fond smiles etched onto their faces.

When Maggie turned eight, and the boy - named Jaxon - turned five, their parents began to worry.

While Maggie was a normal girl who wanted things, who begged for things and asked everyone to play with her, Jaxon stuck by Maggie, sucking on his thumb occasionally, hand clenched onto Maggie’s dress. While the parents didn’t care whether or not Jaxon was a sociable person or not, Jaxon seemed so quiet, too quiet, for them to pass off. His eyes were strange, stranger than the deep blue eyes the parents and Maggie possessed.

Instead, his eyes were a mix between two colors; blue and orange swirling into one on both sides of his faces. When he was a baby, the orange wasn’t as prominent which was why the parents had passed it off as some beautiful miracle. The blue and orange swirl didn’t seem to be a good sign, as the more the two colors mixed, the browner and greener they became in the middle. Deciding to quench their worries, they left Maggie at home playing with her favorite elf dolls while they brought Jaxon to see one of the witches. The witch they brought their shy son to was old, with long platinum hair trailing across her entire body, end of strands touching the floor. Her wrinkles were prominent - more prominent than the usual witch, and her once white and beautiful cascading dress was turning grey and wrinkled and stiff. She brought her long, slender fingers to Jaxon’s quivering chin as his mother pushed him closer to the witch. The witch pressed the base of her thumbs gently to Jaxon’s closed eyelids and breathed on them, a wisp of cold air whispering against his eyelids. “You may open your eyes now,” the witch said, standing up. She may have been old, but she was just as graceful as she was when she was younger and more beautiful.

Jaxon stared up at the witch, his parents standing behind him looking at the witch with nervous gazes. The witch frowned, “Your child possesses a deep magic that may cause harm to your entire village if he does not learn to control it.” Jaxon just stared up at her blankly while his mother’s lip began to quiver and his father brought up a comforting arm around his wife’s shoulder, despite wanting to break down himself. “However,” the witch continued. “May he receive enough love, his body will learn to manifest that power into something beautiful - something worth seeing for everybody. So please, take care of that young boy as best as you can and shower him with love. Love that will not turn the boy selfish but love that will turn the boy into a gentle, caring boy.” The parents nodded, and tightened their holds on Jaxon’s shoulder. “We will. Thank you, madam.” The witch nodded and smiled softly at the small boy, who looked as confused as ever, “When your eyes turn into a color you might feel is unsightly, do not worry. That color is what will be most precious to you.” With that, she disappeared in a smoke as white as her hair. From then on, the parents did just as the witch said. They showered Jaxon with so much love, love that would make the boy feel wanted, needed, and most importantly, beautiful. They hugged him every time they saw him, smiled at him, never lost their temper at him, and always whispered, “ I love you ” to him every night. They showered him with so much love that by the time Jaxon was fifteen and Maggie was eighteen, Maggie felt unwanted, unneeded, and most importantly, ugly. Maggie and Jaxon’s parents ignored the little girl they once ignored, always rushing to Jaxon first when he needed something and ended up forgetting about what Maggie needed. Despite Jaxon being the one with the strange eyes, Maggie had become the stand out of the family. People stared at her instead, looking at her with judgmental stares and whispered to each other about her. They praised Jaxon for his skill, the way it was just as easy for him to cause the flame on his left hand to waver as it was for the water on his right to.

They ignored the gentle way Maggie used her own powers. They ignored everything Maggie did, everything she needed, and everything she wanted.

The people of the village could not help but compare Maggie to her perfect brother, her brother who could save their village from the worst of evils, and her brother who was once so shy and had once clutched onto her pink dress. Maggie hated it. She hated the constant stares and constant paranoia that would fill her veins every time she went out. Even though she tried her best to fit in among her classmates, they couldn’t help but point at Maggie with sharp gazes and call her the “weak sibling” and the “useless one.” Maggie spent most of her teen years trying to talk with the other people her age, to try and show them her own powers she managed to learn so gracefully and beautifully and naturally. They scowled at her and scolded her for wasting their time. Eventually, Maggie had given up. Jaxon couldn't talk to Maggie as much as he used to despite having lived in the same house for his entire life. He was usually out using his powers to rid of the evil that threatened the village. Maggie’s parents were too busy with their own jobs and were too busy asking Jaxon what he wanted or needed, and gave him whatever despite his own modest and humble protests. Despite their neglection of their first child, Maggie couldn’t find it in herself to spite Jaxon or loathe him; all she saw when she saw her younger brother were the same huge eyes that stared at her with so much hope when he was just a tiny baby. All she saw were the soft giggles that would wrack his little body as his small arms wrapped around her. She saw the small baby grow into someone she was proud of, someone she knew she could rely on despite rarely talking to him as he grew busier. It was Jaxon’s sixteenth birthday when Maggie gave him a present their parents didn’t force her to give for the first time. It was a water pendant Maggie had carved herself. Using her own powers, she made it so whenever it was opened, water would form into the favorite memories of her and Jaxon - most of them from when they were young. She wanted Jaxon to know she still cared, that she was still part of his family. Even though she couldn’t manage to fit herself into any other puzzle in the village, she wanted to at least make herself into a piece that would fit in Jaxon’s own little puzzle. Maggie left the small, blue pendant next to his pillow, hoping he would see it when he woke up to the loud caws of the roosters outside. And she was still asleep when Jaxon bounced into her room the next morning and wrapped his arms around her, startling her. Maggie felt his tears fall onto her crook of her neck but couldn’t bring herself to care. Her own eyes were dripping with tears when Jaxon whispered his next words wetly yet sincerely,

“ I love you so much, Maggie. You’re the best sister I could ever ask for. ” The three words, “I love you,” were the most important words to her, because that was the first time she heard those words in fifteen years. And even though the siblings were sobbing against each other, tears drenching their clothes and the bedsheets, Maggie knew she was okay.


What happens in the shadows, stays in the shadows.

Insomnia is a harsh mistress. Don't get me wrong; I'm not complaining, she suits my lifestyle. Vigilante work requires a certain amount of…anonymity, and not being able to sleep keeps me on my toes while I'm taking out the city's trash. Brent is my partner in crime. Brent Cassidy, Attorney at Law , according to his business card. What people don't realize is that he's just the charismatic face of our discreet operation. I do the heavy lifting; I get all the real action; I prefer to remain nameless, and he gets the spotlight. Win-win. Last week, Brent took a real scumbag to trial who ended up being acquitted of all charges brought against him. It wasn't due to Brent's lack of fervor in the courtroom, it was for lack of evidence. Eddie the scumbag went on a car-jacking spree that put some bystanders in the hospital. Serious injuries—I heard they might not make it. Real piece of work, that sleaze-ball. At one point during the trial, through the tall courtroom windows, the sun illuminated the back of Brent's six-foot frame, limning his silhouette in golden flame. His shadow extended from the tips of his Oxfords, across the courtroom floor and up the wall behind the witness stand. Eddie sat there on the stand, enshrouded within Brent's dark veil of justice. I had a front row seat as my senses took in his ruddy features, while my partner roasted him on the witness stand. There was a glorious moment of anguish on ol' Eddie's face as he pondered the possibility of being behind bars. However, the mood eventually shifted in his favor as he walked out of the courthouse a free man. Brent has contacts, and without them, I wouldn't be able to finish the jobs that my partner can't handle by himself. I call what I do shadowboxing. Only others like me are able do it. But just because we can shadowbox doesn't mean that all of us choose to. Some of us are content to be their partner's permanent silent supporter. Early on, I chose the path to shadowboxing, back when Brent was just a boy. Now, my job requires a unique set of skills, one that I'm damn good at. Tonight, I aim to employ that skill set with great vigor. Later That Night When Brent retires for the night and his head hits the pillow, I clock in for the graveyard shift. Before bed, he turned off all the apartment lights and unscrewed the porch bulb—the one that's on a timer—per his usual routine. I slide from under his sleeping form and spread myself along the darkened bedroom floor, then press underneath the front door to mingle with the midnight gloom. Wafting through the cracks between the bricks in the alleyway behind our high-rise, I repeat to myself the address to O'Malley's Pub, the local haunt that my quarry has been known to frequent. Brent was tipped off after the trial by one of his contacts who informed him where he might find the car-jacker named Eddie. And being that I'm with my partner every day, I know what he knows. As I slink along a path of darkened sidewalk cast by a streetlamp, a wayward beam from a car's headlight abruptly severs the dark narrow line, and me along with it. No problem; I gather myself together as quickly as the flash disappears and I continue my pursuit. The way I'm using the connecting arteries of shadows spread across the city like nocturnal circuitry reminds me of the child's game, Hot Lava. As a boy, Brent would hop from one piece of furniture to another, across the living room, collecting shoes, books and other items along the way to use for connecting paths. The front of O'Malley's is a dazzling beacon to the city's thirsty denizens, with patrons filtering in and out through its doorway like minnows in a narrow creek. The shifting patterns of painted light around the front of the pub create a barrier I'm unable to navigate so I meander to the rear of the building. Tucked between the rear wall and a dumpster is a man lying prone, apparently sleeping off his poor nightly choices. If I'm lucky, he's a local—a hub of information gathering. I approach slowly until I'm within sense-range of the man's shadow that remains motionless beneath him. It's invisible as it melds with the surrounding darkness, but I sense it; this is a thing we do—an aspect of shadowboxing. As soon as I feel it sensing me, I extend a thin, inky tendril toward the other. It extends likewise, and we mesh at the tip like two strange, blackened anemones. Silent invisible energies transfer in the dark—information exchange. I describe Eddie to it and it confirms that others like us have seen him hanging around the pub tonight. The energy from the shadow is sluggish and bereft of vitality. Shadowboxing—some of us are more skilled at it than others. This one seems like a novice at best and has most likely never ventured away from its partner. Not much real-world experience, if any. Crisp lines of demarcation separate the light from the darkness on either side of the building, drawing out from the front corners at obtuse angles into the parking lot and beyond. I flatten into the murky crease of a curb near the light's edge and play the waiting game. It doesn't take long until my ruddy-faced target steps from around the corner of the building, the sharp knife edge of neon light seeming to slice him in two as he pauses between worlds to light a cigarette. He stumbles through the parking lot to a quiet area of gloom near the back of the building. It's just scumbag Eddie, dumpster guy, and me. I watch scumbag Eddie scan the surroundings then produce a small pouch from somewhere inside his jacket. He pops some pills from the pouch, chases them with a beer, then resumes smoking. I skulk silently toward him until I'm within sense-range of his shadowy counterpart— his partner in crime. It acknowledges my presence, but I'm not concerned. I doubt it can do the things that I'm about to to its partner. It's show time. From beneath me issue crackles of electrical static as dark energy separates from the black pavement, and my form peels up from the paved surface near Eddie's feet. His eyes begin to bulge from his ruddy face as I rise to my full six-foot height. The shadowy blob above my shoulders labors to form two small holes and a wide slit below them. I attempt to smile but something gets lost in the translation. Eddie makes a terrible gasping sound and stiffens in place. His mouth moves as if he's having a conversation, but there's no sound except for his beer bottle dropping to the ground. My form sways like the ghost of a king cobra haunting its prey. Now for the newest trick in my toolbox—my pièce de résistance : I test the night air, converse with it, and ask it to breathe. Our silent exchange is heard by only those others who can sense it too—others like me—other shadowboxers. I'm persuasive enough that the air cooperates. It bends to my will and lets me begin shaping its molecules into vibrating ripples. Tiny bursts of constrained currents waft in front of me until I feel in control. Puff…puff…puff . I learn its rhythm. Puff…puff…puff . Like I’m breathing. With an effort that nearly breaks my focus, I direct a wavering pattern of air currents at the man still frozen in front of me. The result is the equivalent of a thin, sandpapery murmur, " Eddiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeee …" A slow buildup of panic sets in, starting with Eddie's feet. They seem to have minds of their own as they inch backward in a strange spasmodic shuffle. His eyes flutter and he finally remembers to breathe; a restricted intake of air fills the bellows in his chest. The sound that leaks from between his clenched teeth begins as a rattle in his throat, increasing in volume and pitch until it becomes the wail of a banshee. He takes a second breath, a long inhale and then nothing but high-pitched babble. His legs wake up and he tries to turn around and run. His feet don’t cooperate, and he goes down on all fours. Hands and feet scrape on the concrete as he scrambles away from me like a crazed animal. He's scared—terrified. My job description says to scare them straight when the law isn't able to. I might be due for a raise after tonight. " Nooooo…escaaape for waaat…youuu did…Eddiiiiieeeee …" the air that becomes my voice sounds like two rocks being rubbed together. Like a phantom I float after him, trailing static sounds in my wake. He veers into the dark alley behind the pub and slams against a sturdy chain link fence barring his escape. Fueled by desperation and whatever else he's jacked into his system tonight, Eddie manages to scramble to the top of the twelve foot high fence just below the loops of barbed wire. He glances back with wide saucer-eyes. His shadow—his partner—obediently sticks to him; clearly not a threat to my goal. I decide that Eddie has had enough, so I withdraw and melt down onto the black asphalt. I disappear, no longer a threat. I always make sure to bring them close to the edge but then I back off; it's usually enough to pull them back onto the straight-and-narrow, or at least get them to rethink their poor life choices. But Eddie keeps climbing. What is he doing! He swings his left foot up through the jagged metal wire. Please don't do this. The laces of his shoe hook into the barbs and he's hanging nearly upside down. Don't do it, Eddie . His hands let go of the fence and grope up toward his entangled foot, as he performs an inverted sit up twelve feet from the ground. I can only watch as… He screams on the way down to the pavement. The sound of neck bones splintering under a hundred-sixty pounds of flesh will haunt me for eternity. A crumpled body deflates as its tendons and muscles relax. The toe of a solitary shoe, suspended in twisted wire, points down to a dead man, in a mockery of memoriam. I don't sense Eddie's shadow, but I assume it's just lying there under his mass. I stay where I am to avoid its sense-range, out of concern, and out of respect. I realize that I took things too far again. It's never supposed to end this way. The dirtbags I deal with are just people, ones who happen to drive on the wrong side of Moral Street, sometimes by no fault of their own; but they're still just people. I should always clock out sooner than I intend to. Shadowboxing is a knife edge that requires sharpening, otherwise, the shadow is likely to get cut. As I trace my path back home, I rehearse the language I'll use to break the news to Brent. The clock hands on top of the city bank read 1:14 am as I pass. It's still several hours before my partner wakes; time to myself. Brent and I both realize that our little endeavor lacks long-term sustainability. What is the allowable number of scumbags who can turn up missing or drop dead before the finger-pointing starts? Sooner or later people will begin to connect the dots. We both agree that, for now, the risks are worth the rewards. Presently, what happens in the shadows, stays in the shadows.


“Nia, they’re here!” my mom yelled. I stumbled out of the makeshift tent, hurriedly smoothening my hair as much as possible, and fumbled in the dark on the way back to our backyard porch. They can’t see me anyway. I forgot the flashlight in the tent but I followed the voices to the front door. I could somewhat make out their faces under the glow of the nearby streetlight. “Hello Nia,” Mr. Sanders greeted. He had always been a jolly person but the tiredness in his voice seemed more apparent now. “Good evening, please come in,” I replied with my best welcoming smile plastered across my face. Carmen strolled in, fanning herself. Her wavy blonde hair was twisted up into a tight bun. “Hey. Isn’t it really hot without the AC? I’m sweating so much.” Before I could reply, my mom returned from the kitchen holding as many candles and matchboxes she could, in her sweaty palms. “Ah yes… It is hot. You all can go out back where there’s some air. We’ve got a tent. Not too great but the most we could put together.” She motioned towards our backyard. As they filed outside gingerly trying their best to avoid colliding with our prized living room showpieces, I felt a sharp tug at my elbow pulling me into the kitchen. “Did you greet them? Politely?” Mom asked. “Yes,” I replied attempting to hide my frustration. “Well I didn’t hear it. You should’ve spoken louder. No one’s going to hear you at that volume.” I rolled my eyes. Thank God she couldn’t see me properly in the dark. “And what did you say?” “I said Good evening, please come in.” I was trained not to say Hello in any social settings. Best to pull out the ‘Good days’ and ‘Good nights’. She nodded. “Now go out back and talk to them. And look confident. And happy. And ask Carmen everything about college and her study routine. And sit properly. And talk loud. And don’t interrupt the Dads. You’re not old enough to be intruding any adult conversation.” “Ok Mom.” I turned towards the door. “And keep that attitude of yours in your pocket.” I pretended not to hear that one. I stalked out to the tent where Dad and the Sanders were having snacks. During any power outages, my parents took it upon themselves to camp out in the backyard. It wasn’t much but it could fit a tent and sleeping bags. There wasn’t any greenery save two gnarly jackfruit trees and sparse weeds. There wasn’t really time for garden maintenance in my family. We were all too busy with our own lives. Mr. Sanders had previously worked with my dad and being neighbours, Dad invited them home to socialise . The word wasn’t part of my vocabulary. “So Nia, how’s school going?” Mrs. Sanders asked. “Great.” I flashed another angelic smile. Dad nodded towards me. “Yeah, she’s just qualified for a junior scientists’ convention in Munich. And she won first prize at a Chemistry contest.” “Oh wow.” I squirmed as everyone beheld me with pride. Dad was evidently enjoying himself as he listed every other competition I had placed in: badminton, coding, and writers’ convention. But I didn’t like being a display trophy. It was true that I loved competing but I preferred to bury all my awards inside my soul and use them as a private shield. “Well that’s very amazing Nia. You’re too modest.” Mr. Sanders chuckled. Carmen slowly stared up from her phone. Her eyes bore into mine, her face expressionless like she wasn’t being proud or critical but she was just trying to read me. I broke away appearing as unresponsive as I could. I swiped a kebab and snuggled at the back of the tent where I was trying to finish my assignments due in two days. A quiver of pain rushed down my spine. I quickly pulled out my phone and started googling. In my life, the only ‘best friend’ was Google. I was an only child with an invisible social circle. To be honest, I had many friends but they were all in my head. I loved fantasising. It was my hobby. Sure, I felt pretty weird but I was getting to live my perfect life. I wasn’t a loner, don’t get me wrong…but in reality, the only thing people saw in my personality was the smart kid. The nerd. The snob who doesn’t talk because she seems to be ‘superior’ in knowledge to everyone else. But I hated being labelled. I didn’t want to be a stereotype and maybe that’s why I loved competing in everything possible. But somehow I always ended up becoming one. And I really didn’t see the point in speaking to someone whose only motive was to borrow my homework. Google’s Verdict: Spiral Stenosis. Great. Another reason why I might die in the next five minutes. “Hey.” Carmen slid down to the ground beside me. “How’s everything?” “Fine.” I wrinkled my nose trying to ignore the stench of rotten jackfruit. “The place doesn’t smell too great but Mom tried her best with the air freshener.” She laughed. “You don’t have to give me an explanation.” I grinned. But this time, it was a real smile. “Sorry, just too used to giving explanations for everything.” She crawled next to me with her back to the pillows I had set out. “I can hold the flashlight while you work if you want.” “Thanks.” I handed it over to her. This was my first real conversation with Carmen. Inside, I was panicking. Carmen was a twenty-three year old college Yale University graduate who was back home after four years. I was the follow-in-her-footsteps disciple who’d been compared to her for years. Naturally, I had grown to hate her. “So…you do a lot of stuff.” I nodded seriously. “That’s nice…but are you ok? You seemed uncomfortable back there.” I took a few seconds to gather my reply. “That doesn’t matter—getting into a good college and improving life for yourself and your family matters.” “I know. I get all of that.” She smiled. “But if you’re constantly improving life, you won’t ever get the time to enjoy the life you’ve improved so far.” I paused. This wasn’t something I didn’t know but my life was basically a vicious cycle of anxiety. My mom eyed us as she ladled food as professionally as possible onto styrofoam plates. “Talk to her about college,” she mouthed. But I didn’t want to talk about college. I could do that any other time while she was around. Here I was having a normal conversation like a typically normal person for the first time in about five years. It just made me happy. There was no simpler way to put it. “Try explaining that to the parents,” I whispered to Carmen. “I mean I really love them and I know they want the best for me. But sometimes I really just want to sit outside and look at the sun and smile. I want to be able to reply to messages on my phone without being monitored like a prisoner. It’s not like I’m getting into any form of trouble. I’m not even on much social media. I just want to be able to say Hi to someone without having to explain their entire history. I guess I’m just—” I shook my head. I wanted to achieve and feel beautiful and not seem irritated to my parents and be able to conjure words when people were around. I wanted to feel happy. “Confused? I totally get it.” She sighed. “People say you’re an only child so you must be your parents’ little pampered princess. And you’re the smart kid so you won’t fail. And you don’t have a boyfriend so you won’t ever get dumped.” “Exactly. The problem is we’re not allowed to have problems.” I cracked. It was like I finally opened up to someone for the first time. I never realised how much Carmen and I had in common. I had always been pampered with toys and games when I was younger. And it was always imposed on me that I had a more fortunate childhood than they did. But no one ever noticed that the games were all two-player and they were left on my shelves unopened. I had just wanted a little of someone’s time. “Wow. That was a lot of ranting.” Carmen smiled. She was a bit teary-eyed too. “Oh—I really have to finish this assignment,” I remembered. She nodded and focused the flashlight onto the paper in my lap. “It’s ok. Life gets better. At least we can have our own talk therapy sessions whenever there’s a power outage again.” I laughed. Something to look forward to. “Girls, the food’s ready!” Mom called. “Coming,” we echoed. Maybe things weren’t so bad. I realised I had forgotten about spinal stenosis. I had actually forgotten to worry for five minutes. And it was the best five minutes of my life.


Grace was trapped in the dinghy, bleeding all over the floor. The Little River Market was in full swing around her. Supplies were loaded onto boats. Vendors shouted out prices, waving their hands to anyone passing too closely. Grace scoured the docks for help. She had to duck her head to wipe a stray tear. Her fish nets were empty, and her father was gone. Both were caused by the Huxley brothers.

They cut her nets early that morning. Grace had pulled up unraveled rope, marked with an ‘H’. To them, it was a practical joke. To her, it was her last lifeline being cut. Two months ago, her father had taken the fishing boat and left. A drunkard with a dream. Grace watched him sail away, barely staying on his feet. He was shouting about ‘the lost treasure’ the Huxley brothers told him about. “We’ll never go hungry again!” he yelled across the bay. She found comfort in the thought that he fell over the side of the boat; no longer suffering fictional delusions. Grace kicked her ruined nets further away, scowling at the puddle of blood below. Fish hooks had embedded themselves deep into her legs. A result of her ropes dragging across the riverbed. She didn’t think about it as she hauled them into her boat. It wasn’t until sharp points pierced her skin that Grace realized her mistake. She dropped her head into her hands, contemplating her next move. Bleed to death was always an option. Beg for food sounded good. Go home, bandage her legs, and cry sounded the most reasonable. She gathered the oars in her hands and started to paddle when she heard a voice to her right. “Gracey!” he called out. The smug grin could be heard in his voice. She didn’t need to look up. She did reach for the ropes, pulling them over her legs. Then, she wiped her eyes. The last thing she needed was for Levi Huxley to see her bleeding and crying. He got enough joy torturing her. Grace had kept her dad a secret. She kept the windows in her houseboat sealed tight, moving in front of them a few times every hour to make people think two were inside. Avoiding had become the best practice. She avoided everyone in town. Which was hard, considering how small the town was. Little River was just as it sounded; a little river. “Grace,” Levi called out as he jumped from one dock to the next. He weaved between the market carts, balancing on stilted posts. Grace paddled hard, but her boat came to a stop as she passed the next dock. A hand clamped onto the side, keeping it in place. “Gracey? Did you hear me?” Levi questioned. She turned to find intense eyes trained on her. Levi let his dark hair fall over his brows as he leaned into her boat. “Remember me?” he prodded. When she didn’t respond, he let out a breath. “We’re still doing that? I didn’t know Carter was going to cut your nets. Believe me; he won’t do it again. Not after I-” His voice faded, replaced by the blood pounding in her ears. She reached for the oars, but Levi caught her hand. He brought the other up to her forehead. “Do you want me to call your dad? You don’t look good.” Grace shook her head and let out a strangled cry. You can try, she thought. A tear slipped down her cheek and broke apart on Levi’s hand. She didn’t want to explain herself, so she pushed his hand off and reached for the oars again. Levi pulled her hand away. She waited for him to say something or check her temperature again, but he never did. Instead, he went very still next to her. She looked up at him, but his focus was redirected. The ropes had turned shades of pink over her leg. He lifted them off gently, looking down at the shallow cuts. His eyes fell to the puddle of blood and widened. Behind him, four other voices started a harmony of taunts. The other Huxley brothers were making their way down the docks. As Levi turned to call to them, Grace grabbed the oars. She used her remaining strength to push herself away from the dock. The hand that reached out to stop her was an inch short of grabbing her boat. She paid no attention to the shouts or the heavy footsteps that raced from dock to dock after her. She paddled until her arms gave out. Then, she laid back against the wood and let the tears take over. ** Grace was almost unconscious in the dinghy when a large boat cast a shadow over hers. She closed her red-rimmed eyes, not bothering to wipe the tears on her cheeks. Strong winds had pushed Grace’s boat into the bay. Her little river was far behind her when she admitted she was lost. Bits of floating paper now covered her legs. Her makeshift bandages stopped the blood, but they weren’t exactly sterile. She stared up at the sky, gray and unmoving. “Dad?” she called out. “Did you find the treasure?” A smile tugged at her lips as she imagined her dad heaped in gold and silver. He’d never go hungry again. He’d never be stuck in a motorless dinghy, at complete mercy of the Huxley brothers. Grace was staring at the sky when their boat slammed into hers. She managed one quick breath before cold water engulfed her. The strength of it pulled her feet over her head. She reached out, but there was nothing to grab. Her hand fell limp as her eyes refocused. It took her a second to make sense of what she saw. Grace stared at the bottom of the bay, reading the familiar letters in horror. FROM GRACE TO GLORY.

She scanned the wreck for any sign of her dad. Jagged boards stuck out at odd angles. Familiar items were stuck in the rocks. A picture of her, waterlogged and ripped. Fishing lures. Coins. Grace swiped her hands through the water, desperate to reach the boat. The glass was smooth against her fingers. She was careful to avoid the broken edge as she crossed the threshold. The inside was just as she remembered it, besides the coins that littered the floor. Grace picked up a handful and inspected the golden hue. Their reflection did little to light up the helm. She pocketed them and scanned the place for something more important: her father. Grace turned to enter the dark cabin when she beheld- Eyes.

A predator, exposed in its hiding spot.

Grace froze. Slowly, she pulled herself back through the broken window and bumped into a hard surface. A surface that rose and fell. She turned to find sad eyes looking down at her. Levi’s hand wound around her waist. The other grabbed the top of the boat, unaware of what lay inside.

She furiously shook her head, but it was too late. The moment her heart stilled; the water stirred.

Slimy skin brushed against her arm. Levi’s wide eyes followed it to the line of pink above them. It created a trail right to Grace’s boat - and the men that plunged over the side of it.

Four bodies dropped into the bay, creating a surge of water that redirected the shark’s path. He swam for the youngest Huxley; Eli. A fourteen-year-old with nothing but fear in his eyes. Grace couldn’t swim fast enough. She quickly realized she was being dragged. Levi swam with one arm still wound around her. It slowed him immensely. She pried his fingers away, only for them to clamp onto her again. Grace grabbed his face and mouthed ‘ go’. She could see the internal struggle through his clenched jaw. Finally, Levi dropped his arm and swam for his brother. He still couldn’t reach him in time. It was Carter, the oldest, that grabbed Eli’s ankle and tugged him out of the shark’s path.

It circled and searched. Grace paused in the water, fighting the urge to breathe. She didn’t think she could make it back to the top anyway. Her hand found the jagged coin in her pocket. It reopened the cuts on her legs easily. Another trail of red was bright in the water. A pinpoint the shark could easily find. It turned twice before she could make out the whites of its eyes. Grace looked up at the Huxleys.

They came to save me, she had thought. It was a good thought to end with. She looked from brother to brother, who she once considered a second family. Eli, and then Kole. The youngest ones; that taught her how to catch frogs. Carter and Liam; turning something over in their hands. They were the oldest. The ones that pushed a boy into the river for insulting her. And, of course, Levi. Levi was- she counted the brothers again. Only four floated above her. Where was- A hand wrapped around her wrist. It yanked her from the cloud of diluted red. The shark sailed past. It turned a second later, set upon them. With only a meter between them and the shark, Levi pushed Grace out of the way. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his hands out before him. A useless shield.

“Levi!” bubbles exploded from Grace’s mouth. Water flooded her throat. She reached out, but something shot past her fingers. A spear split the water in front of her. It pierced the shark’s skin, plunging into its jaw. Another stream of red billowed into the water.

Levi opened his eyes to find teeth frozen in front of him. He looked up at the monster, dead in the water. Then, Levi turned to Grace. Her glassy eyes were obscured by pink water. Bubbles escaped her lips and traveled to the surface. He pointed from brother to brother in silent command.

** “Breathe, Grace.” Levi passed her up to his brother with little effort. He landed next to her, bracing the side of the boat as it rocked. Grace’s legs were strewn over Carter’s knees. Her eyes remained closed and her chest barely moved. She was paler than usual. Except for her legs, which trickled blood over the deck of the Huxley’s boat. Levi turned to his brother with narrowed eyes. “It’s all your fault,” he ground out, “You cut her nets.” Carter ducked his head and reached for the bandages. “I didn’t- How was I supposed to know?” He plucked the towel from Liam’s tight grip. That morning, Carter had swaggered into the house with a grin on his face. She’ll have to talk to you now, he nudged his brother. Levi had returned the gesture with fists.

“Two months,” Levi hissed. It had been two months of silence from Grace’s house. Their daily visits just ended. She stopped coming to the docks. She stopped speaking to them at all. None of them knew why. It wasn’t until they saw her dad’s boat on the rocks that they realized; Grace was alone.

Carter tossed a bloody fish hook onto the deck. “If I would’ve known, I would’ve been there.” He grabbed the bottle Liam handed him. “She almost died.”

Carter struggled to get it open, “And where were you?” “I-” Levi couldn’t finish the sentence. His yell died in his throat. For two long months, he was thinking of ways to get Grace’s attention. He lingered at the docks for her. Then, he’d take the long way home to get a peek of her through her windows. They were always shut. “I-” His eyes fell to Grace. She looked smaller in the boat, bleeding over his brothers. Wet hair stuck to her face and pink dotted her cheeks.

It wasn’t until Carter poured cleaning alcohol over her legs that Graced tried to scream. She coughed up water onto the deck instead. Levi dropped to his knees next to her, pushing the hair out of her face. “Grace?” he tried. “Gracey?”

Grace sucked in a few breaths of air before she started to laugh.

All five Huxley brothers turned and stared as she smiled at the sky. “You did it,” she whispered. Rain had started to fall, landing in her already wet hair. She seemed to revel in it, raising her hand to the sky.

Eli shot Levi a nervous look before he leaned over Grace. “Did what?” he questioned.

Grace pushed herself to her elbows and reached into her pockets. She took out handfuls of golden coins for Eli to see. “He found your stupid treasure,” she laughed. The coins slid through her fingers and clattered against the deck. “You did it, dad.”

Levi looked down at her with sad eyes. “Grace,” he brought a hand up to her cheek. She leaned into it, beaming.

He dropped his eyes, to the gold that littered their deck, and remembered what he told Grace’s dad two months ago. I’ve got my eyes set on treasure, Mr. Owens. Better than all that glory stuff you talk about. It’s just down the river, around two bends. After the drop-off; where the water turns dark. You know the spot? He knew the drunk man hadn’t realized he’d just given him directions to his own house, so he added: Quite a treasure, she is.

Levi dropped his forehead to Grace’s and breathed her in. “You’re right,” he closed his eyes, reveling in the moment with her, “He did it.”