The blade missed my nape from a second and it pierced through my  back. Its arrowhead couldn’t penetrate deep but it had thrust enough. I clenched my teeth and clutched to my hunting knife, even tighter to swing it back and slice the head of the cowardly back-stabber. I shove my feet into snow and spin my arm to make a far extended swing, but when my burning eyes met the back-stabber – my arm dropped. A thrusting blade never felt so awful then it did on

that winder afternoon because my own blood, my own brother, stabbed it into my back. Of course, he was trembling; my quick gaze on his eyes spoke it clear. My

arms all on sudden throbbed from exhaustion and my heart began pumping more blood. Gasping for air in the frozen day, I looked at him in all but pity.

“Herman...why?” I said. My words were weak. His eyes didn’t match mine,

maybe right then, I looked nothing but a monster to him, to my big brother. If

that were the reason, I would satisfyingly accept and apologize. My hands were coated red from blood for four tall and sturdy people, whose bodies spread around us. My dear private dagger dripped blood; one leg had an arrow skewered through. Even my face, it probably didn’t look like the kind and gentle Henry of our village. The one he grew up with playing in woods and catching insects.

Something more frightening, it would terrify him immediately. Herman drew

a knife from his belt and aimed towards me, his hands - quivering. He finally looked at me but that glare; it wasn’t anything of my expectation. His eyes were not of regret but it burned from stimulation. His jaw – clenched tightly. That look was merely an impossible task for him ever since our parent’s gruesome death, I thought.

“Speak to me, what’s the meaning of this?” I asked again.

“There’s no meaning to this, other than the gold dagger,” he answered within heavy breathes.

“What dagger?” I asked as nothing called to mind precisely.

“The one that father gave YOU, dammit,” he shouted, thrusting his knife in air. He was certainly provoked but never have I seen him that way. The golden dagger housed in our hunting family for ages, our father said. He and I adoredit, placed at the highest shelf in our wooden house. Lastly, before we knew, it became the only belonging left to us by him.

“Is this all for that puny blade?” I said.

“It costs thousands you jerk, I could buy this whole village for seven lives, they said they would give me all of it,” he stated. His face held grinning greed and as for he mentioned ‘they’, I all but prayed that, he wouldn’t say that.

“You mean those foreigners, did they tell you this?”

“Unlike filth like you, they took me in as a soldier and made me recognize my place” he answered. His face held a blind shine those hypnotizers stuffed into him. It suddenly started coming clear to me – his frequent disappearance, his unusual uneasiness towards me for a while, and lastly a sudden ambush by four foreigners during our ordinary hunt. “Tell me, did YOU made these guys attack us here?” I asked. I hoped that the answer shouldn’t come the worst way I was deducting it. May all my insane thoughts prove wrong.

“To take down a monster like you, yes” he shouted. His words pierced

through the cold air and into my head.

“Monster...you say,” I murmured under a breath. I had no idea what my face

would look then, if any case, it would be terrifying. I extended my arm

backwards and pulled out the arrow from my back followed by a gush of

blood.The shoving in snow behind me became louder and louder. The grisly

screamed escaped his mouth as I swung back letting my body loose and thrust the arrow into the tall person’s neck. His arms were at air holding a machete. It dropped from his grip as his eyes rolled back and he fell on his knees. I exhaled deeply but my mind was pitch-black and all on a sudden another scream filled the head. I could not respond as I immediately felt a blade piercing through my waist and warmth stretching throughout that area. Herman didn’t shed a tear doing it, or rather – he was scared. I dropped backwards on snow, grabbed his scrawny face and brought him down with me. I clenched my fist after falling and bashed his jaw. It shook his entire skull but I didn’t let go and bashed him repeatedly and again. Blood from his mouth flowed on my hand as he dropped on his face immediately after I let go.

A bed of snow surely is soft, I thought while staring up at the flakes dropping from heaven. I moved my hand and found the knife sticking out of my waist. I pulled it out. Clearly that brat didn’t have enough strength to pierce through a heavy layered coat and reach beneath muscles. He is pathetic. I sat up digging my arms into the snow while my body aching, ready to collapse. “Why? Why are you so tough to deal with?” Herman cried out pulling his face together from blood dripping on snow.

“Even though those guys killed our parents, you still went to them,” I said.

“I do not care what we used to believe anymore, I only want that gold and

they will take me in” he replied trying to balance his feet again.

“Was it the same when you saw them both burned down with our house?”

“Not at all, but time has changed Henry, and this time I am the stronger here” he said, stomping on my shoulder and my back hit to a tree trunk behind, “tell me where is it?”

“Stronger huh, don’t make me laugh” I replied lifting my head towards that

filthy face of his. His eyes widen as of from a string of shiver. Maybe if my

body wasn’t exhausted, maybe if I wasn’t bleeding – I would definitely rip him down for those words he could say. Our father was a privileged hunter but ever since those long-faced wicked cigar-smoking foreigners arrived with sweet words and promise of coalition towards the hunting hills; everything changed. They were ruthless, dominating and depraved to the core. It became clearer when they set eyes over our dagger. Their endeavours to buy it failed drastically so they began trying of pocketing it but the villagers lured by their fancy never stood to believe us. Lastly, before we could realize, our house burnt to ashes with our parents inside.

“Tell me where it is,” he asked again.

“Do you really think they’ll take you in?” I said, countering his question.

“Just tell me where it is”.

“Did you forget how much we suffered on our own?”

I suddenly heard his footsteps driving away from me. Perhaps, he started

questioning himself, his motives. Either way, maybe I could spare him then. Of course I would, at last it was our trust that pulled us together after all the tragedies and sufferings. His dragging footsteps returned to its initial place and immediately a rifle’s muzzle hit my forehead. “Tell me where it is, Henry.”

I raised my head aligning to the rifle he pointed at my head. He retrieved it

from one of the deceased baldheads. “Did you really forget what happened to mum and dad?” It was the last

question I had for him, the very last of our relationship.

“Yes.” I revealed the dagger’s location. The rifle slipped from his hands and he

stepped backwards, turned his back at me and made his escape from the

place. I huffed, sitting miserably against a tree. The wounds wouldn’t

definitely kill me but something else did. I lost my only family but I had no

tears to spare, maybe the chill on these mountains dried me up that much. I let my brother go, he would probably sell off that dagger to those drunkenforeigner and they would take him in as comrade cum servant. Maybe I became a monster after all because the next time we meet, he wouldn’t see him any lesser than an enemy.


He cut the skin of his arm. The ribbons of blood coming out of his flesh. It was the only way he could enjoy himself. He felt a certain vivid arousal at the pain. He was enamored at himself. Ednos then, was peeling the skin from his leg.As the blood dripped slowly from him, he could feel the rush of the pain grow.

 In Ednos’ abode, he was in the bathroom, feeling the beauty of his own self punishment as he pushed the knife into his leg. He then wrapped the leg in bandages, his feelings of sorrow as he dropped the knife onto the tiled floor.

Ednos felt weak. He wanted to feel strength, but there was only weakness. He exited the bathroom and entered the hall to his bedroom. In his bedroom of sterile white walls and tiled floors, with nothing but a bed to keep him company. He was sure that he could feel a numbness in his own body as he slept in his robe.

As the day began, he took off his robe and made his coffee. He wanted to pretend like it was any other day in the kitchen, despite his intense stares at the knives in his knife stand.

He wanted to feel something, even the burning of the coffee in his throat would feel comforting to the pain of being as lonely as he was. He went back to the bathroom and grabbed the knife. His hand twitched from the intense yearning of the pain again.He wanted more, but it took all his power to put the knife back on the knife stand.

As he went to the living room, he noticed a portal. He stood there and stared at the beauty of a portal, unsure of what to do with it.

He put a hand through the portal, and felt fine. He entered fully into the portal and found himself in a void.

This void was as empty as Ednos’ life towards the world. He wanted to find someone-anyone- in this empty void, but all he could find was another version of himself. He wasn’t alone anymore.

He could feel his replica hug him. The strings of his heart sing with a feeling of warmth, of a home within himself.

His nude replica could heal the wounds on his body. His clone, voiceless in his mannerisms, had decided to take Ednos back to the portal. Ednos wanted to stay in the void with his replica, but the replica resisted.

Ednos, waving bye at this nameless being, went through the portal, back to his own life. Ednos wondered if any of it was real, as he drifted off back to sleep in his bedroom.

As he woke up, his replica sat there on his bed, his body glistening as though he were made of glass and plastic.

Ednos was amazed that the replica was even there. He wanted to feel the nameless  being's skin for himself. He put his hand across the replica’s face and could feel the sleekness of the replica’s skin.

Ednos got up from his bed and looked to see if the portal was still there. It wasn’t.

Ednos carried his clone to the kitchen. He could not help kissing his replica as he sat the replica in a chair. He wanted to feel the warmth and homely feeling of that hug he had felt.

Preparing coffee, he felt a euphoric feeling within himself as he got the coffee grounds. As the coffee immediately came out of the coffee maker, he gave the first cup to his replica. The replica didn’t drink any of it. Curious, Ednos showed his replica how to drink it.

The clone still hadn’t drunk any of it, instead spilled some of it on himself. Shocked, Ednos tried to clean his clone up with napkins, but to no avail. Carrying his replica, he decided to go to the bathroom with him. Ednos prepared a bath for the replica. The water was bubbly and warm, like being in a womb.

Ednos put himself in the bath with the replica. Washing him, Ednos carefully cleaned the clone's face, then his back and chest. As the bubbles disappeared into the waves of the bath, Ednos moved on to the replica’s feet and legs, and then cleaned his groin.

Ednos and the replica both sat in the bath together as the water went into the sink. Ednos then dried the replica off, then himself.

Ednos laid his clone down on the bed, and put some clothes on himself, first. He put on some pants and a T-shirt, but He wasn’t sure what clothes to put on the replica, but ultimately decided to let the replica wear a nightgown.

The replica touched Ednos’ face. They share an embrace, The replica putting his arms around Ednos and Ednos doing the same to him. This embrace was different than that healing hug in the void, it felt like Ednos’ heart was whole. The clone and Ednos laid themselves on the bed. They both felt a certain melding of minds as they laid there. Their bodies relaxed onto the bed, as they felt a closeness few have felt before. Ednos felt more strength being with the replica than he had ever felt from the pain of hurting himself. It was as though the replica gave him an enhanced mind as well as an enhanced body from their time of being together.

Ednos could feel tears of relief come into his eyes as he felt the replica’s hand. Ednos gripped The replica’s hand tight as they laid there on the bed. The replica dried the tears streaming off his cheek as they laid there. The clone and Ednos get up from the bed, and they go outside.

It was a gentle, rainy day outside. Dreary yet humid, Ednos and the replica enjoy the rain together. Ednos noticed the replica was a far more beautiful being than Ednos could ever be. He was unsure of what the replica was, but he knew there was something otherworldly about his healing abilities.

The replica stood there, his hands open palms, feeling the rain. As Ednos went over to the bench outside, his clone followed suit. Ednos, for once, felt a certain happiness that he couldn’t have felt without the replica’s help.

Ednos sat there on the bench, with the replica. The rain began to loosen up as the two sat on the bench.

Ednos, happier than he had ever felt before, had kissed the replica once more. The replica felt warm to Ednos’ lips. The replica kissed Ednos back, Ednos’ body becoming more excited with each touch of his lips.

Ednos and the replica went back inside their house. Ednos wondered if the portal was ever going to come back, but it never did. Ednos sat on the couch with the replica, his hands in the replica’s hair. He felt truly fulfilled to have the replica in his life. No more hurting himself, no more loneliness, no more pain. It was everything he could have ever wanted.


Flyguy landed squarely on the sidewalk in front of Dave’s Midtown Bar & Grill. He smiled and held the door for an exiting patron then entered. Yacht rock filled the room signaling that ladies night was well underway. Flyguy waved off the dining hostess and made his way to the bar where Jamie, an ex-marine with extraordinary biceps and a dimpled chin was serving up drinks. There were no empty bar seats.

     Flyguy turned sideways and squeezed his otherworldly physique between two cute thirty-somethings – Gloria and Sheila, who were watching Jamie perform “The Bar Rag Trick.” They giggled as the rag stiffened and curved upward, magically elevating itself above the drink rail. Jamie looked up with a big smile to find himself nose to nose with Flyguy.

     Flyguy, Jamie said, and released his grip on the rag causing it to slowly go limp. The ladies let out a sad sigh and giggled as Jamie looked at them and shrugged his shoulders.      ”What’ll you have?” Jamie asked Flyguy.

     “Martini on the rocks, shaken – not stirred,” Flyguy said. Jamie gave Gloria a look – as if to say – I'll be right back after I get rid of this schmuck.

     Jamie left and Flyguy moved in.      “Good Evening ladies,” Flyguy said to Gloria and Sheila. They gave him an awkward smirk and turned their attention to the television above the bar. Undeterred, Flyguy stretched his long arms above his head flexing his muscular guns into a tight pose.       “I just got back from a long trip, and boy, are my arms tired!” Flyguy said, holding his pose for effect, then, slowly he lowered his arms along the ladies backside - letting out a short guffaw as his hands made purchase along their lower waist and side.

     Drink shot from Sheila's mouth as his as his fingers tighten against her ribs. She let out a small snort. Flyguy smiled and thought to himself, "that never gets old."      “Consider yourself safe tonight, ladies,” he said. “You’re with me! What could possibly go wrong?” He smiled, pulled them in tight against his waist and delivered the finale of his three part pick up routine.

     “What do you say I buy you ladies a drink?” And gave them both a million dollar smile.

      Gloria, to his left, gave him a slow down-up look over - meeting his steel blue eyes a full foot above her own. Then, in her most sensuous voice said,      “Where do you keep your wallet – Mr. Flyguy?” Giving him a big smile, she slapped her right hand down between his legs. Flyguy shot up on his toes like a rocket. The girls chuckled and reached in front of him for a high five. He tried to speak, but Gloria had already pushed herself backward, dislodging his arm from her waist and giggling as she left the bar.

     Undeterred, Flyguy turned to Sheila on his right and gave her his best smolder. His head dipped slightly traveling left to right while his eyebrows moved like rollercoasters across his head. His mouth formed a slow-subtle smile which he held for effect.

     Sheila gave a disgusted grunt and said “whatever!” Then, like a villain with an escape plan, rolled in circular motion out of Flyguy's grip. As she walked away, she spun around and shot little gun fingers at him.

     “Okay, I see how it is,” said Flyguy with a forced smile. “I'll remember this next time I find you in a falling elevator or out of control train!”

     Sheila shot him a smile and met up with Gloria a few steps away. They leaned into each other and giggled as they headed towards an open booth across the room.

     “Nice touch,” said Jamie, as he returned with Flyguy’s martini.

     “Thanks," said Flyguy, and lifted the drink from Jamie’s hand before he could set it down. He gave it a dainty sniff. Then, with his right pinky fully extended, took a delicate sip. Jamie watched intently as he repeated this routine several times.

     Jamie interjected. “I saw you on the 6 o'clock last night.” Jamie paused as Flyguy sniffed and then sipped of his drink. Then on cue, Jamie said, “Good work saving that treed cat on Lexington, I see my tax dollars are hard at work.” Flyguy gave a little choke and a stream of martini flew from his mouth back into his glass. He thought to himself, "I can’t even enjoy a drink without some cutesy bartender making a joke at my expense." Flyguy looked up from his drink and said, “Ha, ha, ha - everyone's a comedian,” and pushed his drink across the bar towards Jamie. “Maybe I should take my business somewhere else!”

     Jamie apologized, then left to serve another customer, saying under his breath as he went - “You'd think a guy who runs around in tights and a cape would have a better sense of humor.”      “You would think,” Flyguy shouted down the bar at Jamie. “I don’t just have x-ray vision, you know; I can hear everyone in this room.”

     Jamie took the gals cash, dropped a drink in front of her and beat it back down the bar where Flyguy sat.      He gave Flyguy his best sympathetic bartender face and said, “so you had a bad day, big deal. Everyone has a bad day once in a while. Why should you be any different?”

     The tension released in Flyguy’s shoulders and he let his body relax into his seat. Then with a very un-Flyguy like vulnerability in his voice said, “it hasn’t just been a bad day, Jamie, it's been a bad month!” He paused for a moment, gathered his thoughts, then went on.      “Ever since the mayor worked out his 'Power Sharing Peace Agreement' between supervillains and superheroes, I’ve found myself out of work.”

Jamie lifted a glass and towel and dried it as Flyguy vented.

     “And to top it off, Doomsday just bought himself a penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park. Which, I might add, he is paying for with the forward on his new book, Chillin with the Villains . Then there's his little Netflix series, nearing the end of its second season - Villains vs Superheroes; The Murders; The Mysteries; The Series.

     Flyguy let out a sigh so heavy it sounded like a death rattle. Jamie took a quick step back. Flyguy reached for his martini and slammed it back - pushing down the boulder size rock stuck in his craw. Then, defeated, dropped the glass and his head on the bar and lay there.

     Jamie reached a hand over the bar and timidly patted Flyguy on the shoulder. “Let me get you another drink, big guy,” and left him face down on the bar.      After a moment, Flyguy lifted his head slightly and said,      “You know Jamie, my agent says I should consider retirement.”

     Jamie returned working the Boston shaker in one hand. He smiled and said, “sunny days at the beach... supermodels in the sand.” Then with his free hand, Jamie launched into his drink performance. He flipped a fresh cocktail glass from the rack above the bar catching it mid air between his fingers before it touched ground. He gave the shaker a crack against the edge of the bar, letting the top drop into the sink below. Then, without missing a beat, poured the drink, dropped the shaker and slid the martini glass across the bar with his right hand as he dropped an olive in it with his left.

     Flyguy gave a short chuckle, pointed his finger at Jamie and smiled. "Supermodels, Ha! I like what you did there!” Flyguy put out his right hand for the high five - and slap!

     Jamie pulled his back, wincing at the pain forming in his wrist. “We should never do that again,” he said, and Flyguy gave him another smile. “Maybe your agent is right,” Jamie said, as he rubbed his wrist.      Flyguy pushed himself upright in his seat.

     “You mean the guy who insisted that I would become a household name if I wore this costume to work? Yeah – like he really knows what he's talking about. Now I'm stuck with this thing. Sure, it looks great from the sky, but I'm just out of place when I'm on down time.”

     Jamie had another customer, but shouted back at Flyguy as he crossed the bar to take her order, saying, “ever think of keeping a change of clothes somewhere?”

     Two martinis deep and Flyguy was beginning to feel his inhibitions fade away. He stood, leaned a bit over the bar and yelled back, “where do you think I should keep it - behind the bar? Or maybe in the bathroom, even better, how about in a phone booth. I certainly don't have room in my back pocket,” and dropped himself back into his seat.

     “Point Taken,” Jamie said, as he mixed up a mojito for a lady a few seats down; a redhead with peach skin and a southern accent. When Jamie didn’t show signs of returning Flyguy finished his drink and excused himself to the restroom.      “Another drink?” Jamie shouted over the bar to Flyguy as he slipped away.

     “Yeah, sure, why not,” said Flyguy. “Make it a martini on the rocks.” Jamie smiled and finished his sentence for him.

     Flyguy gave him a side arm wave and crossed the dining area toward the bathrooms grumbling under his breath about having to take off the entire suit just to take a wiz.

     The front door opened and in strode Fledermaus. He surveyed the clientele. He knew his presence was unwelcome, but "mission first", he thought. Not seeing Flyguy, he figured he might check a few more bars before he gave up.

     Then he saw Linda. A 34 year old divorcee with long dark hair and pale complexion. She sat alone facing the door, an empty seat opposite her. She held a piña colada in one hand and hardback of Dr. Zhivag o with a short stem rose laying across the page in the other. Fledermaus thought to himself, "classic blind date giveaway." He cleared his throat and crossed to her table. “Hello there gorgeous,” he said, gently sliding the book from her hand. He closed it on the rose and dropped it on the table.

     Linda looked up at the eyes behind the mask as Fledermaus spoke. “I bet you’ve never seen a tool belt like this before,” and gave a little prance to show off his waist. Linda, un-phased, watched for a moment, then picked up her book and reopened it.       “Keep walking Fledermaus,” she said, gently pulling at a thorn which had pierced her page. "I don’t want to be seen with you after that stunt you pulled yesterday. Channel 25 played it at six and eleven. Why don’t you go back to your cave - you animal!”

     Fledermaus slid into the empty seat across from her.

     “It wasn't my fault," he pleaded. "That little joker called me some pretty hurtful names. I mean, here I am trying to capture ‘Two Face’ for the umpteenth time, and this comedian is cracking stupid bat jokes like - there were these two bats in a cave and one said to the other...,” Fledermaus produced a few high pitch squeaking sounds to finish the joke. He let out a groan and reached for Linda’s piña colada.

     Linda was quicker and gave the back of his hand a good slap. Fledermaus withdrew it and continued his thought.

     “The kid threw me off my game and ‘Two Face’ gave me the slip.”

     Linda wasn’t buying Fledermaus’ personal pity party. She leaned over the table and put her fists in front of her eyes and said, “Oh, boohoo, Fledermaus. He was ten years old and you hit him with your Mausarang. I hope he sues!" Then she jerked her book up in front of her face and pretended he wasn’t there. Fledermaus' attention was suddenly diverted when he caught the sight of Flyguy returning from the bathroom struggling to get his cape to set right. Tightening his teeth, the gravel in his throat ground as he spoke. “Flyguy!”

     Flyguy felt a sudden darkness permeate the atmosphere of the room. He stopped and gave his cape a final flick. As if under a spell, it floated up behind him, straightened itself, then settled down along his back.

    Flyguy expected to find Fledermaus swinging from a ceiling rafter or perhaps above a wall sconce over a booth; not crossing the dining area towards the waiters station where he now stood. Seeing Fledermaus in Metropolis caused Flyguy's blood pressure and body to slowly elevate above the floor. Flyguy spoke first as Fledermaus approached.      “We agreed after the 'bridge incident,” he said, giving finger quotes to emphasize his point, “that you would stay in your city and I would stay in mine.”

     “You agreed,” replied Fledermaus. “I just nodded my head until you shut up.”

     Infuriated, Flyguy's voice raged. “I was doing just fine talking that guy down, until you decided to use your grappling hook on him.”

     “At least I was trying to save him - you were just boring him to death! Besides, the body never turned up. ‘No harm no foul, I say!’” Fledermaus added his own finger quotes for effect. Then he reached up, grabbed Flyguy by the cape and yanked him down.

     “Hey”, barked Flyguy. “Don’t EVER tug on Flyguy's cape!” Cape peeled itself from Fledermaus’ grip, drew itself back and released a whip snap which exploded square in the middle of Fledermaus’ chest armor.

     Fledermaus stumbled backwards and re-established his balance. There had never been any love loss between the two supers and Fledermaus’ attempt to patch things up wasn't exactly going to plan. Flyguy didn’t know it yet, but trouble was brewing in the villain world and Fledermaus needed to convince Flyguy to form an alliance.

     Fledermaus took a deep breath and spoke in a more conciliatory tone.

     “Listen, Flyguy,” he said. “I’m sorry about the cape. I didn’t come here to start a fight." Fledermaus went on to explain that he occasionally bought certain antiquities from an old Greek trader to dress out his bat cave. And that recently he had learned of his dealers connections to the Greek Mafia.

    Flyguy had heard enough. At the words “Greek Mafia”, he held his hand up, excused himself and turned to leave.

     Fledermaus quickly cut him off at the dining entrance, knocking a server's tray as he headed to the dish room. Dirty plates and silverware clanged and broke against the tile floor. A light applause drifted in from the dining area.

    Flyguy said. “I don’t see my motivation to help you with your problem,” and told him to go back to his cave and leave superhero work to those with higher moral integrity. Then threatened to make a call to a friend down at the precinct and let him know about Fledermaus' mafia connections.

“You wouldn't dare,” said Fledermaus.

“Hey,” said Flyguy. “What's the difference between a cave and a jail cell? They're both small, dimly lit, and crawling with vermin. As far as I'm concerned you'll be right at home. At least you'll be out of my life.”

     Fledermaus pulled a small box from his tool belt and said, "I'm not going to jail. I'm the good guy! I came here to ask a fellow super for a little help catching some crooks. Sounds like a no-brainer right. Well I'm done being Mr. Nice Guy."      Fledermaus opened the box. A warm green glow quickly surrounded them. Flyguy could feel his strength leaving him as the radioactive light source enveloped his body. He managed to say, “Jadarite! How?” then dropped his head and fell to one knee.

     Fledermaus closed the box and Flyguy began to recover. Fledermaus explained that a lithium mine operation in Serbia with connections to the Greek Mafia had dug up a whole vein of the stuff and were, at this moment, shipping it all here to metropolis. And that by chance, his antiquities dealer had learned of it and alerted him to the plot.

     “It's not real Jadarite,” said Fledermaus, but it's close enough to do the job.

     “What Job?” Asked Flyguy.

     Fledermaus leaned into Flyguy and in a low graveled voice whispered -      “To catch a super!”

     Flyguy raised his head and pointed his gloved finger at himself. Fledermaus nodded.      Flyguy seemed to be regaining the color in his face, but his eyes were now glowing embers. Doomsday, he said, and went into a motionless trance.

     Fledermaus noted his sudden abatement from their conversation and raised his hand, snapping his gloved fingers to get his attention.

     “Hey, what's going on in there Flyguy?” Said Fledermaus.      Flyguy's mind returned.      “I was just thinking of something I saw on T.V.,” he said, and explained that the second season finale of Doomsday’s Villains vs Hero's was due to start filming and that Doomsday was promising a real cliff hanger.

     “No doubt they are planning to paint me as the villain, turn the city against me, and run me off the planet,” Flyguy said.

     “And with you out of the way,” said Fledermaus, “they can take over the city.”

     A sudden feeling of danger and excitement began to well up in Flyguy. Something he felt had been missing for a while.

     “Come on Fledermaus!” Flyguy shouted. “We’ve got a city to save!”

     There was a sudden crack of thunder followed by a bright light and when the patrons regained their senses neither Flyguy nor Fledermaus were anywhere to be found.

  THE END


 “For the final time, I would now like to hear the defendant’s alibis for each and every one of these murders.” I suck a sharp breath in as a cold fear grasps hold of me. The defendant. Steven Gunnarson. Me. An indistinct, blue-eyed, blonde haired middle-aged man. Pretty much the spitting image of half of Iceland, which is exactly what my job requires. Seven children from my small, Icelandic town, Selfoss, were found dead; one on each day of last week. Since the overpopulation of mainland Europe decimated the international trade industry in 2050, Iceland has had closed borders. And now, in 2078, I have been convicted of seven brutal murders that I didn’t, and couldn’t have committed. A corrupt government named “SAFE” leads the country with ultimate power and nobody can even come close to having enough people on their side to try and knock them off the top. Because of their lies, manipulation and deceptive spies and, I hate to admit it, maybe my boring, default appearance, I am hated by the entirety of Iceland. Except for my Lawyer, Leo – who is now shakily standing up to try to save me from a life sentence, a death sentence, or whatever the hell SAFE do to ‘murderers’ these days. Leo has dirty blond, messy hair that flows from his head in naturally perfect waves. I know his intelligent, green eyes too well, as if I have been staring into them like they hold the key to my future … which, in a twisted way, I have, and they do. Judge Wolfgang is as different to Leo as she could be. Wirey, grey hair hangs limply from her head in an unattractively spider-like manner. Her eyes are a matching, dull grey and her nose is annoyingly long, with a gruesome hook on the end. Maybe I’m biased. She is trying to convict me of numerous impossible crimes.        I try to ignore the disgruntled murmurs of the hateful audience behind me, whose harsh words seep into me like acid into flesh – painful and unstoppable. I stare at my feet, knowing that despite Leo’s charismatic, likeable manner, he can’t save me from this one. He can’t tell them the truth. Because I wasn’t in Iceland. I know a way past the immeasurably tall walls, thousands of SAFE guards, and miles of churning waves. He knows too. I’m the leader of a top secret, underground organisation called ‘Rebuild Iceland’ (the RI), and Leo is my advisor. Next week we plan to escape the country through an underground pipeline which used to hold wire that crossed countries to supply energy, but as I said, countries don’t really mix anymore. Nobody knows about this, except Me, Leo and the rest of RI. But it looks like I won’t be going anywhere. While all of the people who I’ve ever cared for leave to try and gather allies from the UK to help Iceland’s population escape, I will be stuck here rotting in a dark, damp, vile room, with no window, toilet, sink or bed until they come back. If they come back. That’s how prisons work in Iceland. Or maybe they’ll have mercy on me and kill me, instead of letting me turn insane from my own thoughts in a cell.        As I begin to think of other unthinkable things that might happen to me, I let myself fall into the inescapable whirlpool of dread at my coming weeks, months and years. I’m snapped back to the present moment by a sudden swell of angry voices pushing into my back, before a grinning face appears in front of my own. “WE DID IT!!!!” Leo yells over the distressed shouts of the crowd, who are scared at the prospect of a killer being set free. Then it sinks in. A warm excited rush of joy replaces the cold, distant grief that filled my veins, “WE DID IT!” I bellow back, then confusion warps my joy and excitement into a very simple question. How did he do it? Leo convinced that detestable judge of my innocence. Maybe her eyes aren’t as grey and lifeless as I thought…? I glance over to her chair, but she has already left the room, as have the vast majority of the people behind me – keen to get away. As the last audience member files out, the guards to our right allow us to leave through the side of the court, back over to Leo’s car. The harsh, northern wind hits me in the face like a frozen sledgehammer, snow swirling around us in the dark, late afternoon sky. As we jog to the car and slam the doors shut, leaving a warm, quiet silence that permeates the air. I close my eyes for a second and take a much-needed sigh of relief, excitement and undeniable exhaustion from the day of questioning. When I eventually open them, I see Leo doing his best imitation of the Cheshire cat and showing me his perfectly white teeth. I give him what he wants. “How on earth did you do that? I zoned out for a couple of minutes and you go and save me again! AGAIN!” I can’t count how many times my best friend has saved me over the past few years. I have done him some favours too, but it always seems to be him saving me at the end of things. My own questions have caused a wave of gratitude to course through me at what he’s done. “Well,” he says still grinning, “Last week, when you were first accused, I checked who would be the judge at your final hearing.” (For some reason, SAFE gave us a new judge for every section of the conviction.) “Judge Wolfgang. My father used to know a Julia Wolfgang. He says that he saved her from being convicted for a murder she did not commit, just as I have to you.” Leo’s father was a lawyer, which must be partially why he is so good at it, “I knew I had to get into contact with Wolfgang before today, so I knocked on her door yesterday and explained the situation to her. Not the RI, don’t worry!” he assures me when he sees the look on my face. “So, you’re saying that you managed to convince her to trust us, risk her life by going against SAFE, and displease the public by letting me go free.” I state, not posing this obvious fact as a question. “Bingo. She hates the government more than you may think. I reckon she’s had more than one run in with them than she’s letting on. She might even be a good person to recruit for the RI you know…” He says this knowing my answer already as he pulls out the car park and heads towards the mountains, only a fifteen-minute drive from here. “Absolutely not. No way. Not yet at least. We need to make sure she is truly against this government before jumping the gun and letting a mole into our group. Back to the point, thank you so much. I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you, this has to be, what, maybe the fourth time you’ve saved my life?” “Fifth,” he quips cheekily “Fifth then. Either way, you need to understand how grateful I am for what you did in that court-room.” “Steve,” Leo replies, “you do know that it isn’t a thing that I need to be thanked for. I’d do the same thing every time.” This brings a tear to my eye and a hard lump into my throat. ‘This isn’t like you Steve’ I tell myself, ‘Get a grip.’

Still, there has to be a way to pay him for saving me. We pull into the drive of my rural farmhouse, coming to an abrupt stop outside. I stay in the car for two reasons: I really don’t want to get out into that spiralling snowstorm, and more importantly, I know how to thank Leo. He looks at me expectantly. ‘Spit it out, Steve, come on.’ The wind dies down as if holding its breath for what I’m about to say. “Do you want to become a joint RI leader with me?” I said it, no going back now. Leo looks at me quizzically, “You’re joking right?” “Nope!” I laugh. He does not laugh. He doesn’t even smile. “No. I can’t do that. The RI is yours, you made it, you lead it and it would collapse without you. I would only disrupt things, and probably bring people like Wolfgang in too early. Long story short I’d ruin it. I am completely happy with advising you so you can make sure that none of my ideas that are too crazy come to life.” I open my mouth to speak, but I’m swiftly cut off. “Don’t try to convince me otherwise, I know this is to try to thank me, not to benefit the organisation, so don’t say something you’ll regret. I saved you because you’re my best friend, but also because there wouldn’t even be a way to get to the UK without you. I am honoured by your request, but I just can’t accept. I’m sorry” After that long and unsurprisingly correct speech, Leo returns to his normal self. He smiles at me, says “I’ll see you tomorrow, then!” and unlocks the car door to let me out. That’s my cue. I step out into the gale. “Bye, I guess.” Leo gives me one more of his signature gurns, before restarting the engine and driving round to his house just around the corner. I’m left standing on the pavement, dumbstruck. Why couldn’t he have just said yes. Then I wouldn’t have this aching sense of inadequacy deep within me, which I know won’t go away until I have a way of repaying him for saving me for the fifth time and some things even more important than me.... I open my front door, quickly, eager to escape the cold.

 The gratefulness is true, but the part about the murders isn’t. I have been lying to my best friend, one of the only people in the country who trusts me. I didn’t murder them, I’m not a monster. But the reason I know that SAFE’s evidence was corrupt is because the bodies of the seven children are in my house, very much still working and alive. “I’m back” I holler up the stairs, as seven children come bounding down them and hug me with excitement, “We thought you weren’t coming back Dad!” Yep. These children are my children. Technically, I’m responsible for their disappearances, but I only took back what SAFE stole from me, along with my wife’s life. They stole each of my children when they hit the age of five (the youngest only last week, at the same time as shooting my wife), and gave them to people who are high up in the hierarchy of SAFE to ensure that they would grow up in a household that is loyal to them. So not only am I thankful to Leo for saving me by unknowingly lying, but he helped me to save all of my kids without even realising. They should be able to have a free and good quality life when we get to the UK, which is much safer than Iceland. So overall, I’m in a very good position here, and I will tell Leo about my children in good time, but the gratitude I feel for him is vast, and I know I can never really thank him enough for what he did, but I will try my best. I have to, for my kids. He got them back.


My village is long gone, reduced to ashes that the wind has long since scattered. My sanity fled the year my child would have turned seventy, leaving behind a hollow shell that echoes with memories. How does one deal with being ageless when everything tethering you to life vanishes in the blink of a battered and bruised eye? You don’t. You survive because the curse demands it. But I refuse to merely exist. There is only one thing that keeps me moving forward now—the purpose that drives my every breath, every motion. But that purpose remains locked deep within me, hidden behind a mask of compliance. My smile is chiseled in place as I watch him glide across the room like a phantom. His movements are fluid, every step a dance of grace and authority. The candlelight flickers across his pale skin, making him seem almost ethereal, a being untouched by the darkness that claws at my insides. His life’s vision, so meticulously crafted, is now complete. His people adore him; they whisper and gasp as he pays each person within arm's reach a personalized compliment. “Lord Diagine, it’s wonderful to see you back.” “Madam Kar, your visit to the new tailor has paid off beautifully.” The King’s voice is a smooth purr, each word carefully chosen to delight his subjects. He grants each of them the compliment he senses they crave, his tone dripping with honeyed charm. They feel loved, seen, and understood. It is only I who sees him weaving his magic, turning them into simpering fools. He takes his time making his way to the throne, relishing the adoration that follows him like a shadow. But I focus on the others—the ones who stand on the outskirts of the room, shrouded in the cool darkness where the light of his charm does not reach. These are the people who don’t swoon at his every word, who don’t beg for his scraps of empty praise. They are the worthy ones, the ones who are no longer under his spell. Their eyes are sharp, their expressions guarded, as if they suspect that not everything is as it seems. They are the ones who come to me, seeking understanding, solace in the shadows. My frozen smile is unwavering as I watch him take his place on the throne. His people adore him, but their adoration is shallow, a mere reflection of the power he exudes. My thoughts remain my own, locked away from his prying eyes. "My Queen," his voice intrudes on my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. I blink, the King has stopped beside me, his fangs glinting in the low light, his expression a sickening mix of concern and condescension. The cold, metallic scent of his presence fills the air, mingling with the heavy perfumes and the faint, sweet aroma of blood that always lingers in these halls. “Are you well? Do you wish to be excused from the proceedings?” "I am well, my King," I reply, my voice smooth as velvet, though laced with a practiced sweetness. I bat my eyelashes at him, a gesture he takes as demure compliance, and he gives me a slight nod, satisfied, before turning away to sit on his throne. My stomach churns at the words—my King—but I force myself to keep the smile in place. I have played this role for centuries, and I will continue to play it, until the time is right. A maid rushes forward, her hands trembling as she kneels before her King, holding out a roll of parchment. She does not look upon him, for that is forbidden. She is human. Pure human, and terrified, as she should be. Her skin is pale, her eyes wide, and I can hear her heartbeat—rapid, frantic, a drumbeat of fear that echoes in my ears. All the pure vampires track every tremble, their hunger ignited by the anxiety rushing through her veins. The King lightly takes the parchment from the girl, his fingers brushing against the paper with an almost dismissive grace. He does not spare her a glance, believing that by ignoring the human maids, he will encourage his people to do the same. But he is so very wrong. I see the flood of blood-red eyes tracking her as she skitters out of the room. Her retreat is swift, like a rabbit fleeing a pack of wolves. I, too, watch her, but my eyes are cold, devoid of hunger or desire.

The King reads the parchment aloud, his voice filling the room with a dull cadence. His people listen as if he were a priest reciting psalms in Latin, their attention rapt, though devoid of true understanding. He assigns tasks, keeping his people busy with his grand but futile goal of preserving nature. ~~ A sharp feeling halts me mid-sentence, but I continue reading from the parchment, though my eyes flick to the Queen. Her gaze follows the maid as she rushes from the room, her expression inscrutable. The room feels colder now, the air thick with tension. A chill runs through me as I sit on the throne, allowing my people to discuss my latest plan among themselves. I take this moment to push into the Queen's mind, a skill she knows I possess but one I’ve always kept surface-level, gleaning only superficial thoughts. Her mind is a storm, roiling with thoughts and emotions that are kept just out of reach, shrouded in a mist that I cannot penetrate. It’s as if she’s hiding something—something I cannot see, and that troubles me more than I care to admit. I drum my fingers on the armrests. The cold stone beneath my fingertips is a stark reminder of the control I must maintain. This is indeed troubling. Her demeanor has changed subtly over time, and I have been too preoccupied to notice. I have worked my entire life to bring us to where we are today. I cannot allow anything to disrupt the delicate balance I have achieved. My Queen has grown distant, her thoughts harder to read, a subtle shift that stirs unease within me. Purebloods are naturally stronger than the turned, but even the mightiest being can be undone by what festers in the shadows. I fear what is brewing beneath her silence. Standing tall, I address my people, “My apologies, everyone. Please discuss and prepare your questions regarding the newest venture, and we will reconvene tomorrow.” After acknowledging their surprise with a nod and offering a reassuring smile, I turn and offer my Queen a hand. “Let us take a break, my Love.” As her eyes meet mine, her face remains unreadable. She takes my hand, but there is no warmth in her touch. The air between us is thick with unspoken words. We walk hand in hand from the room. Those who linger to discuss plans bore their eyes into my back, sensing that something is amiss, craving to know more to stave off any unwelcome surprises. But I cannot give them any warning. As the heavy doors close, sealing off the assembly room and the swirling emotions within, I feel the crisp, clear air. We are alone in the long gallery corridor. The sour scent of her bitterness sharpens as she pulls her hand from mine. “I shall return to my rooms now, my King.” She performs an elegant bow, and without waiting for my response, she escapes down the hall, her golden dress trailing behind her like the fading light of dusk. I watch as she reaches the end and turns out of sight. When I can no longer hear the click of her heels on stone, I snap my fingers. My familiar, a sleek black cat, unfurls from the shadows. Poised with tail flicking in agitation, emerald eyes piercing through walls towards what even I cannot see, he awaits my command. “Choose three of the best and meet me on the human level,” I command, my voice flat, my mind already placing my heart in a protective box. What comes next will carve a scar through my entire being. The cat slips back into the shadows, awaiting only the confirmation of my intent. A familiar sees all and obeys, bound to me as its sole tether to a physical form. I once attempted to name him, as humans do with their pets, but he rejected it. He is an excellent companion, but he remains nameless. I don’t follow my Queen. I know where she will go eventually. Instead, I turn in the opposite direction. My pace is measured, my pulse quickening with anticipation. I follow the hall to the curved staircase that leads upward. The top floor is for the humans. They work in the background of the castle, doing all the tasks their kind are so accustomed to. They love windows, so we give them the floor with the most, and they even have access to the roof. Vampires dislike windows in their living quarters, so we live below. The stairs lead me toward the faint glow of natural light, something most turned vampires cannot endure but which we purebloods can tolerate. My mother, a priestess who claimed I was the son and heir of a god of chaos, believed that this connection to divine power allowed me to thrive where others could not. Though I rarely seek out the light, her words echo in my mind whenever I feel its warmth. I walk the halls, taking in the beauty of the art that decorates every available space. Most of my collection comes from human history, but there are a few new vampire works scattered throughout as well. I encourage my people to partake in the leisure arts; it has proven to help immensely in balancing one’s self. The dusk sunlight from the windows catches motes of dust, making the world sparkle. I cannot hide my smile, even as the sun's rays itch at my skin. I traverse to the sleeping area for the humans. Each family has its chambers lining the hall. As I turn a corner, glancing at the family names above each door, a hiss filled with rage and hatred greets me. The Queen is standing in the hall, snarling at me, her pure rage outlined in her tense posture and curled fingers. Behind her are two males, not as angry as their queen, but more desperate—a desperation that can be even more frightening than anger itself. I let out a huff, attempting to defuse the situation and give her a chance to back down, to see the error of what she is trying to do. “How dare you read my mind!” she growls, spit flying as she grasps for words to fling at me. “You promised never to read my mind! You are a liar and…” “My love, what you are choosing to do is a concern for not only me but every soul here,” I interject. Her face turns pink as her rage boils over, her power surging forward. “How dare you!” “We must talk. Let us take a walk to the kitchens; we will get you a refreshing drink.” My words are useless; they fall on deaf ears. “I will save us all!” she screams, a wind starting to howl through the hall, the smell of bedlam riding on it. My mind briefly grieves for the art that will be damaged, but thankfully all the humans are hiding from the sight of vampires rampaging in their halls. “You will save no one by killing the humans.” I take a step forward, but her grin makes me hesitate. She opens her arms wide, encompassing the entire space. The wind gains speed, whipping the hair of her followers wildly, though she remains still. Only the sleeves of her gown are affected by the now howling wind. “Stop this tantrum now, or you will compel me to retaliate,” I say, widening my stance and pushing down the urge to unleash my full power. “I am the eldest vampire, the most powerful among us. Would you challenge your king?” She laughs, a crazed, acrid sound that reverberates in my bones. Something has gone terribly wrong with my Queen. She must have reached her expiration; her bloodlust has taken hold. Her kind never last long. They always bicker and kill each other off. But as Queen, she has lived a long life. It saddens me that I didn’t recognize the signs earlier. “You torture my kind. You leave them in ruins, in decayed homes. You feed them useless sludge. You wish to purge us from the world while holding the humans in gold-plated prisons.” “You will remember that I gave the turned humans a good village outside the castle. I gave them protection, houses, and food. The world of misery they live in is entirely of their own creation.” I allow my power to manifest. Darkness envelops the hall, even as her wind stings, slicing across my exposed skin. “You will cease, or die!” The shadows press down on her and her men, forming a barrier that traps the wind within. Her scream tears through the air as she rushes toward me, her nails reaching for my face, her eyes burning with madness. I mold the shadows around her, trapping her in the deepest darkness, unable to move, unable to see. My familiar takes this moment to stroll through the chaos and plop down at my feet. I glare at him, but he ignores my look, lifting a paw to delicately wash. Before I can ask if he was able to complete my orders, I hear the hissing and fighting as my men subdue hers. I have won. But what should we do with the Queen now? Her men will need to die, but the Queen requires a ceremony to signify her end to the people. Slightly elevated in the air she struggles within the shadows, elbowing the air, frantically kicking and circling like a caged animal—classic signs of bloodlust. I sigh and lessen the darkness surrounding her, tightening it to prevent her movement. “You think you have won,” she sneers, her fangs piercing her lip in her frenzy. Her thick, dark blood coats her teeth as she smiles at me. “Of course, I have won. Did you think I would let you drive an entire race to extinction? I am your King. You will be put away until I decide how to proceed.” I turn as I flick my hand, commanding the shadows to bind her and drag her along. “You. Are. Not. My. King.” Her breath hitches from the binding shadows, but the seething intent behind her words is unmistakable. I pause, turning back to her. I have let her live far too long. This is my fault. I should have been more aware of her change. How did I not notice it? I open my mouth to speak, but her crazed laughter makes me stop. My familiar is suddenly on edge, back arched and hissing. Her eyes bulge, but her laughter doesn’t stop—it only grows more jagged and sharp. In a sudden, violent burst, she shatters the shadow binds, her power overwhelming my control. The darkness dissipates as her wind surges forward, knocking me back. She lunges toward her followers, her hands clawing at the shadows holding them down. With a guttural roar, she tears through the restraints, releasing them one by one. “You think you can stop me?” she snarls, her voice raw with fury. “I will free my people, and we will find a place where your rule cannot touch us!” A fierce wind surges through the halls, nearly knocking me off my feet. My heart pounds as I fight to stay upright, the powerful gusts tearing paintings and tapestries from the walls as if they were mere paper. She glares at me one last time, her eyes burning with hatred and defiance. “This is not over,” she spits, before turning to lead her followers down the hall. I stand frozen in disbelief as she flees with her men, her power unleashed in ways I hadn’t anticipated. The art that once adorned these walls now hurtles toward me in a storm of chaos. The weight of the situation presses down on me, the realization sinking in that I may have underestimated her strength and resolve. I could chase them, end this here and now, but something in me hesitates. The shadows ripple around me, sensing my indecision. My familiar, now silent, watches the Queen and her followers retreat, his eyes narrowed. The hall falls eerily quiet, the wind and chaos leaving a strange stillness in their wake. “Hmmm,” I murmur, feeling the need to say something. “This will have to be dealt with.” My men, still in shock, exchange uneasy glances. My familiar, however, lets out a sound that can only be described as a disdainful snort.


The sound of the school bell buzzing causes me to jump in my seat. Next I hear Miss Jones half yelling my name, “Misty Hawkins, what’s gotten into you?” I quickly blurt out, “Ma’am?” Looking at me with a furrowed brow, she follows up with, “I had to call your name 3 times before you heard me. Where is your head?” Feeling my body heat rise as my complexion quickly made its way from a cafe au lait color to a deep scarlett, I shyly answered, “So sorry ma’am, I don’t…” And then she let me off the hook by saying, “Class dismissed!” and giving me a quick “watch yourself” warning glance. I apologized once more before leaving because I genuinely liked Miss Jones. She gently touched my arm, smiled, and said, “Don’t worry, it happens. I was your age once.” As I walked away I thought, she might have been my age once but I doubt she had a secret as big as mine.

I had been named for my secret. Misty means cloudy or covered by mist. I was given this name by my Yaya. She’s my mama’s mother. I call my dad’s mother grandma. I was given the name because I was born en caul, meaning some part of the amniotic sack or in my case, all of the sack and its contents were intact when I emerged from my mother’s womb. This is rare anywhere, only happening once for every 80,000 births. In my mother’s family it’s not only rare but a cause for celebration. For them, en caul babies are said to be born with the veil, which means they will be granted some rare psychic gift. The fact that I was born with my veil fully intact had mystified all who were present for my birth, which took place at home because I entered the world so quickly. Of note also, my mother’s Aunt Tilly, mostly called TT Tilly who acts as a midwife in Cajun country, just happened to be visiting that weekend. When the fluid filled sac around me came rushing out of my mother’s body I’m told everyone gasped and began crossing themselves. My mother’s family is Catholic along with practicing the vodun religion. When she saw everyone crossing themselves she panicked thinking something was horribly wrong with me until TT Tilly picked me up with a broad smile and her eyes all aglow. Half delirious from the pain of labor Mama had no idea what she was looking at. The only thing that kept her from screaming in horror was the triumphant look on TT Tilly’s face as she raised up the strange blob that was supposed to be her baby. When Mama slowly asked, “Is that my baby?” with a desperate and confused look on her face TT Tilly quickly explained as she went to work freeing me from my cozy protected orb. “It’s okay, your baby been born with the veil, that’s all. That’s a good thing, a real good thing! She gone have special powers.” Tilly was expressing our family’s belief that en caul births are generally seen as lucky or good things, though that has not always been the case. Reports from darker times tell of babies being burned as witches following en caul births. My en caul birth remained a secret among the women in my mother’s family from day one because of my father’s conservative Christian beliefs. My mother is descended from a long line of vodun, also referred to as voodoo practitioners with psychic abilities, my father is a fire and brimstone pentecostal preacher and his family believes the same. Most people find it hard to understand how two people from such different religious backgrounds could even begin to think about getting married, and yet, my parents did. I am living proof of their love and I have grown up hearing the tale of how they met and fell instantly and madly in love the moment they laid eyes on each other. He had come to her small town in Texas running a tent revival, which her family had no interest in attending but had no problem with the many townsfolk who did attend. My father typically ate dinner with one of the many families in town. These dinners always consisted of multiple delicious foods which he truly enjoyed. As they were entering town he had noticed a small country store that also sold food to go. A large sign outside advertised, “Fried Bologna Sandwiches.” From the moment he laid eyes on the sign he knew he had to have a fried bologna sandwich before leaving this lovely little town. They had been his favorites when he was a boy and he hadn’t enjoyed one for years. He intentionally kept one night free so he could work on a new sermon while enjoying a fried bologna sandwich along with an ice cold soda and some cookies. My mother was the store cashier that day. According to my father, she was so beautiful he had trouble speaking at first. She thought something was wrong with him but he finally managed to get it together and say a few words to her. She too was smitten, but able to keep her wits about her. He invited her to the tent revival and she went, to the horror of her family members and shock of the townspeople. After all, everyone knew that my mother’s family had been practicing some form of voodoo since their ancestors had set foot on American soil from Africa. Like most Africans, they had learned to enmesh their sacred voodoo rituals within the rituals of Catholicism for the sake of keeping themselves and the religion alive. But there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that they were still faithful to their ancient religion.

When the revival left town a few days later my mother’s family figured that would be the end of it. They were wrong. My father returned to visit whenever he could over the next 2 months since the revival remained fairly close. When it came time for the revival to leave the area they both agreed they couldn’t live without each other so they got married and my mother joined him on the road. My parents decision to marry only 2 months after meeting in spite of their opposing rigid beliefs just shows how madly and completely they loved each other. At that moment, they only cared about being together, not how they would deal with the complicated religious differences that would pop up. From what I could tell, my mother set her religious beliefs aside and became, from all I could see, a dutiful pentecostal preacher’s wife to my father. We traveled with the tent revival up until I was six years old. They tried to leave the tent revival when I turned five so I could start kindergarten in the town where we would live for the rest of our lives or at least until I graduated. Unfortunately there was no post available for my father at that point, so my mother convinced him that it was okay to let me start kindergarten with her family in the small Texas town where he had met her. He was somewhat concerned about her family being voodoo practitioners but Mama successfully argued she was raised in it from birth until she married him and it hadn’t hurt her. Did he honestly think a year was going to corrupt me? I had been spending summers with Mama’s family since I could remember so going to live with them for a whole year was like being told I had to go spend a year at a summer camp where I loved all the food and activities. I always went home a little fatter than they sent me, so Mama and Daddy chastised me and Yaya about my eating too many of her cakes, cookies, and candies. They knew I had a mean sweet tooth and Yaya always made sure she had some of my favorite sweets on hand. The year with Yaya was good, but not as good as the summers because only a few of my cousins were there. Most of them were home til summer because of school. The biggest difference that year was that Yaya started talking to me about my birth and teaching me about my birthright. I had never really heard about Vodun before that year and most certainly didn’t know I had been born with the veil or that I was destined to become psychic. Yaya broke it all down to me in words that my kindergarten brain could comprehend. Yaya gave me many gifts throughout my life but she gave me the most important one that year. She went out of her way to make sure I fully understood what it meant to be given the gift and responsibility of having psychic powers. She put emphasis on teaching me to ignore what I saw on TV when it came to psychic powers. Yaya said most of what’s on TV and in the movies about psychic powers is pure bullshit! Without her lessons I would’ve been absolutely horrified when I grew up and started seeing movies like “Carrie” and “The Exorcist”. Yaya had told me she had her first psychic experience shortly after her first menstrual period. She told me that seemed to be the time of awakening for women in our family. When I asked, “But Yaya, how will I know when I’m having my first psychic experience?” “Why Baby, I can’t tell you that. Everybody’s gift shows up differently.” “Differently?” Whaddya mean Yaya? How did yours show up?” “No Baby, I can’t tell you how mine showed up. Then you’ll expect yours to show up like that and it probably won’t. Just trust me, you’ll know when it comes. Everyone always does.”

Now here I am, a week after my first period and I’m sure I had my first psychic experience in the form of a dream three nights ago. It was so vivid I could have sworn it was real. I was walking to school along the same path I take every day with the same group of kids from the neighborhood. I have a few good friends I hang out with but I only know most of the kids by face. We cross a railroad track on our way to and from school everyday but it’s no big deal. I’ve never seen any kind of train on that track before, during, or after school. But in my dream, not only was there a train, it was a fast moving train. It came through with such speed and lack of warning that several of the children were caught unaware. Most of them scattered before the train got to them, however, there was a blonde curly haired boy with bright blue laughing eyes in my grade who became startled and tried to turn back rather than run forward like the others. The thing is, our eyes connected just before he disappeared behind the nose of the monstrous locomotive he was trying to outrun. I was yelling no, don’t turn around! I woke up terrified in a dead panic, thinking it had really happened. I actually cried with relief when I realized it had only been a dream. That had been two nights ago. I felt so connected to the blonde curly haired boy after the dream that I made it a point to learn his name the next morning. Mitchell, as I learned he was called, was not only a fun loving young man, he was also quite intelligent. He wasn’t with his usual group of friends this morning so I figured he was probably absent. Then I heard my name being called from somewhere behind me. Not recognizing the voice, I turned quickly to see who it was. To my surprise there came Mitchell, running towards us all smiles. At that moment I thought, “Oh no, what have I done? Was learning his name a mistake? Does he think I want to be his girlfriend or something?” Then a cold shiver went down my spine! As he got closer I recognized the clothes he was wearing. They were the same clothes he had been wearing in that awful dream! I couldn’t help but turn my attention to the railroad tracks. OH MY GOD! There it was! A freight train! What was it doing here? Barreling down the tracks, just like I had seen in my dream. My attention flew back to Mitchell! I had to find a way to keep him from setting foot on that track. I instinctively knew that if he did, his young life would end right there, TODAY! I had a matter of seconds to come up with a plan so I was a nervous wreck. My friend Earlene was talking to me and couldn’t figure out why I was staring behind me not responding. Then she said, “What’s wrong with you? Are you havin a breakdown or somethin? Then I thought, that’s it! I knew exactly what to do! As soon as Mitchell got close enough I fainted, into his arms. I had learned enough about him in one day to know that he wouldn’t walk away from anyone who had just fainted without first trying to help. Plus, I had a plan B in case he tried to leave. It involved my refusing to release Mitchell’s arm and crying hysterically until I knew the murderous train had passed. Fortunately there was no need for plan B as the train passed while Mitchell was gently laying me down on the ground. The train had been sent through our town on those tracks when it was rerouted around a broken down train. Someone didn’t know our tracks had been out of service for years, which could have led to countless other issues considering the fact that the tracks hadn’t been properly maintained for countless years. Parents were upset because nearly every child in our town crosses those tracks while walking to school and there had been no warning that a train would be coming during a time when children were crossing. They most certainly would’ve arranged for special crossing guards had they known. Everyone agreed, it was a miracle no child had been hurt or killed. The railroad flat out refused to dismantle the tracks but agreed to erect some sort of barrier to keep future employees from accidentally rerouting trains through our town without ample warning. A barrier that had to be dismantled would at the very least give folks pause before sending trains in our direction.

I tried to play the fainting spell down by claiming I had skipped both dinner the night before and breakfast that morning. The school nurse wasn’t having it. She called my parents who in turn rushed over to the school filled with concern. I was more embarrassed than anything else. Now I was known as the girl who fainted upon seeing the train. I wanted to tell Mama right away but I couldn’t with Daddy and the nurse there. They wouldn’t have understood if I had tried to explain that I pretended to faint because I knew Mitchell would be killed by the train if I didn’t. And I knew it because I had seen it in my first psychic dream two nights before. Nope, it was better for me to just lie there like I couldn’t explain what had happened. Once we got home and I got Mama alone in my room I practically burst with the news. After all, I had saved Mitchell’s life and she was the one person I could tell. I expected Mama to be excited for me so when she wasn’t I felt hurt. When I asked why she wasn’t excited she said, “Because I know there’ll be times when your gifts won’t be enough to save friends and family members from harm or just plain old disappointment. She pulled me close and hugged me tighter than I ever remembered while saying, “When that happens, promise me you’ll talk to me or somebody who understands your gift rather than blame yourself or take it personally. You’re my baby and I don’t wanna see your life ruined behind your gift. Our family’s seen it more than once, which is why we’re so careful. You understand me?” Her eyes looked so sad they made me want to cry. It didn’t take a psychic gift to understand they had seen something that caused serious heartache. Knowing I had fully come into my gift Mama said it was time for us to pay TT Tilly a visit. I didn’t know why but I loved visiting with TT Tilly so I didn’t complain. It was important enough that we flew in to see her so we didn’t have to waste the 8 hours it took to drive each way. When we arrived, rather than take us to her house, TT Tilly took us to a beautiful house in the woods where several women were waiting. They were different ages and colors and their hair was adorned with all kinds of flowers. I immediately asked Mama if I could put flowers in my hair and she said, “absolutely, you are the guest of honor!” What I didn’t know then, but found out later was that we were there to celebrate my coming of age and coming into my gift. TT Tilly said this special secret ritual usually happens after a girl’s first period but before she came into her gift. In my case the timing was a little bit off, but it was okay. I enjoyed being showered with attention and spending time with all the women and girls that evening. In the end it felt good knowing I was a part of this group of women who understood and accepted me and my gift.


“Are you sure we should sleep outside? It’s gonna be an awful lot of work to get the kids out there…” Nessa stood in front of the sliding glass door overlooking a damp lawn, with plants poking out of the shadows like a dangerous Amazonian jungle. The end of the yard narrowed into an over grown path which lead to a worn gate holding back blackness beyond. The house around her was dark and cold. She pulled her oversized gray cardigan tighter around her body and hunched down. “Pffft. The kids are gonna love it Nessa. You’re the one who is worried about being out there. It’s a nice warm night. Besides, the fresh air will do you some good. You look exhausted, it’ll help you sleep.” Beside Nessa stood her older sister Lindsey. She stood about a foot taller than Nessa with her hands firmly planted on the waist of her lulus. “Ugh thanks for the diagnosis Dr. Carry.” She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to bring my appearance into it, I already told you I’m feeling just fine.” Nessa sighed and hugging herself. Her hands almost reached right around her back. “So is everything ready to go girls? You have the tent Linds? And the sleeping mats Nessa?” Their mother’s voice boomed down the creaking stairs as she joined them in the living room. She was Nessa’s height and just as slim, but stood up straighter and had a hair pulled back in a tight bun. She wore red cat eye glasses and a bright printed blouse with cream linen pants. “Yeah mom, everything is right here.” Nessa indicated to the large pile of camping supplies beside her. “Where’s Alli?” There mother had moved beside them in the room and was waving the flashlight around the room as if her other daughter would come melting out of the darkness.

“She went to get the boys.”

 “Of course.” Nessa smiled. Her youngest sister Alli was an elementary school teacher and baseball coach. The boys loved her. “Well let’s get out there and set up the tent then!” Linds picked up the tent with one hand and pulled open the sliding glass door with the other. Nessa’s phone began vibrating and glowing. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. Callie, again. “Who’s calling you. I can go get started, you take the call.” “No. It’s not important right now. Let’s go.” The two women went out the door into the warm night. The stars were bright and a gentle breeze rustled the bushes. “So where’s Matt his weekend? Working?” “Yeah. As usual.” “I’m surprised Callie let you have a weekend off.” “Yeah.” Nessa worked as a personal assistant to the demanding and intense Callie Stevens—a top magazine editor and fashion personality. She never had weekends off. “Hey Nessa.” Linds had put down the tent and was watching her as she deleted her notifications on her phone. “are you sure everything is okay? You’ve barely put your phone away all evening. I know you love the fashion industry, but I’m worried it’s starting to wear on you…” Nessa shoved her phone back into her pocket. “It’s nothing Linds. Look, I even got a weekend off, progress, right?” “Yeah. I guess.” “Hey! What’re you two gabbing about out here?” Alli bounced across the lawn. She was also small, dwarfed by oversized sweats she wore but her face bright and open with her hair in a messy ponytail.

“Where are the boys?” “Oh mom is with them. Getting together some supplies for a special surprise. She bought a fire pit for this weekend. They’re gonna love it.” She pumped her fist at the end of the sentence. “So how’s the set up going?” “Alright. We haven’t started yet.” “Ooookayyy. So I’m feeling a vibe that somethings going on. You two wanna spill? Nessa?” “Why do you assume it’s me?” “It’s always you.” Both sisters said together. “Soooooo who are you complaining about this time? Matt or Callie? Or both.” Nessa sighed. “Neither.”

“Liar. I saw how you only picked at dinner. Somethings going on and you’re gonna tell us about it.” “Alli…” “What? If she doesn’t fess up it’ll just eat at her all night and she’ll be miserable.” “She’s right Nessa… It can’t be that bad. Just give us the bare bones and you’ll feel better…” Nessa sank down into the nearest lawn chair. “I took all our money!” She threw her hands up in the air and began crying. “What?” “Well that wasn’t what I was expecting you to say…”

“And I caught them together.” “Who?” “Matt and Callie.” “Well there’s no surprise.” “Together together ?!” “Yeah. Together together . Last Sunday. Matt went away on a business trip Monday morning so we didn’t talk about it. Then I came here…. I was already planning to anyway. And I took it. I took it all. All our money, all our investment papers, the jewellery. All of it.” Nessa stood up again and began pacing and wringing her hands. “What about work?” Nessa didn’t respond. In her pocket her phone buzzed again, but she ignored it. “Does that woman ever stop calling you? You kept working, didn’t you!? Ugh Nessa that woman has you wrapped around her little finger.”  Alli ripped the phone out of her pocket and finger posed to answer “I’ll give her a piece of my mind...” “NO!” Nessa grabbed the phone from her sister. “Was it at home?” Linds put her arm around Nessa’s shoulder and hugged her. “No, Callie’s place. She forgot I was coming by.”

“HA! The heck she did! She probably planned it so you would catch them in the act. What a bitch.” “I just, I just don’t know what to do with all the money… There was so much money.” “You should’ve called…we can help you.” “I know… I didn’t want to bother you. You’re always so busy with work…always with a patient.” “Ah Nessa. You can always bother me.” “Ugh I can’t believe you kept working. For her. I wanna—” “That’s enough Alli. Let’s get this camping stuff set up.” The next 20 minutes were spent in silence as the three women finished erecting the tent and setting up the beds. “How much money was it anyway?” “A lot.” “What are you going to do now… divorce him?” “I don’t know…. I don’t want the boys to—“ As they stood back admiring their hard work the screech of the sliding door filled the yard. “Look Grandma! A real tent! “I’m gonna get a bed under the window so I can watch the stars.” There mother had returned with two boys in tow both were wearing PJs. One was about 8 and the other 6. She was also carrying a bag of marshmallows. “Be careful with that tray Eddie. We don’t want to water the grass with hot chocolate.” Nessa turned to her sisters and whispered. “To what?” Alli poked her sister in the shoulder. “Shhhhh I haven’t told them yet.” She gestured to the boys. “Ohhh Nessa…” “Oh my god Nessa! What?” “Mommy, mommy! Look at the stars! They’re so bright!” Rigel ran up the Nessa dragging his blanket in his wake and clutching a box of celebration cookies and a stuffed cat. Nessa reached for him and pulled him to her in a hug. “Yes, sweetie, it’s beautiful out here.” She kissed the top of Rigel’s head and then gave both her sisters a death stare. “Ah man. I wish dad were here! He would know all the names of the constellations! Maybe when we get home we can go star gazing with him too.” Eddie’s eyes glinted at the prospect. Alli rolled her eyes and snorted. “Well luckily your auntie Linds knows plenty of constellations.” Linds got down on the ground next to Eddie and began pointing out constellations and giving them silly names. “Now that we’re all here I have a surprise! Everyone grab a chair and wait here.” Their mother disappeared around the side of the house as everyone settled into chairs. Linds, Eddie, and Allie all sat together on one side of a semi circle while Nessa and Rigel cuddle up on a sofa on the other. “What’s grandma doing mom?” Rigel’s voice carried around the circle. “It’s a surprise sweetie.” “I can’t believe you actually haven’t told them.” Alli seethed cross the circle. “Told us what?” Eddie looked from his mother to his aunt. “Surprise!” their mother had returned with an around black circular object in her arms in a canvas case. In the crook of her elbow she had a small propane tank balanced. “It’s a fire pit! I bought it at Costco. Thought we could use it to roast marshmallows.” “Told them that their father is lying cheating scum!” Alli jumped up from her seat and pointed around at the boys. “What she’s talking about mommy.” Rigel looked up at Nessa with round eyes. “Shut up Alli.” “Alli, that’s enough. Nessa will deal with it in her own time.” “You knew?” Alli shouted “I could hardly not know when she’s moved in with the boys!” “Why are we moving into grandma’s mom?” “Mommy what’s going on. What’s wrong with daddy?” Both boys stared at their mother now. Eyes wide and mouths open. “That’s enough you two.” Linds stood up and grabbed the fire pit from her mother. “Mom’s right this isn’t the time. Let’s have a nice marshmallow roast.

“You’re staying here?!” Where am I suppose to stay? Did you forgot I live here too?” Alli waved towards the house. Her face was bright red and her eyes flashing. “Mommmy.” Rigel started crying. Eddie got up to comfort his brother. Just then Nessa’s phone began to buzz again. “Oh and I bet I know who that is. Are you just going to answer it like nothing’s wrong? Are you just going to gloss over that too?” Nessa pulled the phone out of her pocket and looked at the screen. “Hello? Why are you calling me?” She strode to the gate and went through. The darkness looked inviting now, away from her family. “Nessa! It’s Callie. I’m so sorry, I had to call. Matt, he’s gone crazy. He’s ranting about money and how he has to get it back and then he keeps repeating the boys’ names again and again.” “So? You expect me to listen to you, after everything you’ve done to our family.” “Do not take that tone with me. I could fire you in a second.” “Oh? And what if you did? I couldn’t look you in the eye again anyway, know what you did to me family.” “Oh dare you!” “Mommy, is that daddy? Can I talk to him.” Rigel had followed her into the orchard. “I’m sorry Callie. I need to go. My family needs me.” “B-b-but I need! Matt needs you!” “No. Matt made his choice. And you should have thought of that before sleeping with my husband.” “Mommy?” “Daddy won’t be joining us here again, ever.”


Lonely in Space Don’t let anyone tell you anything different, space is lonely. It’s only exciting in movies or books. Space is deep, dark, and depressingly lonely. And cold. And dark. And lonely. My name is Kimearrah and I'm from the planet Thrae.  It is a beautiful planet with sunshine, water, and lush vegetation. The only problem is that Thrae is also lonely. I'm writing this as I travel inside my spacecraft. This spacecraft is called a personal craft because it is built for one person. The living quarters are cramped at 12 feet by 12 feet. That's 144 square feet of loneliness.  The rest of the 100 by 100-foot craft is occupied by the engineering and physics marvels needed to propel the craft through dark and cold space at incredibly high speeds. The storage space needed for the dried food is also in this area. Food is wrapped in edible containers so storage space is utilized to the maximum. The waste management systems also have to fit into this area. There is barely room to walk into this area if I need to check on any of the machines needed to keep me alive. Fortunately, most of the engineering is controlled by the craft's computers which have a high level of redundancy. This craft has computer systems that check on computer systems. The personal craft was invented when the population of Thrae was on the brink of extinction. The reasons for our population decline are unknown, at least unknown when I left. The birth rate dropped to 0.001 children per couple and people started dying younger. At first, it was barely noticeable; people started dying in their seventies instead of their late eighties. Couples started having 2 or 3 children instead of 6 or 7. No one came from a family of 10. It seemed sudden but it took about 200 years before people started dying in their thirties and many couples had no children. Babies were so rare that most people only knew what a baby looked like because they had seen their baby pictures of themselves. That's how I knew what a baby was. Our physicists were much more advanced than our physicians. Making machines was profitable, medicine was not, so the most brilliant minds studied physics. The personal craft was a combined achievement of some of the greatest minds Thrae had to offer. One person could safely travel alone through space at warp drive. Some short excursions had been made before I left, but no other life forms were found. All of the people on Thrae knew that other life must be out there because of a very famous artifact that crashed into our planet about 200 years ago. It contained some writing that was obliviously written by another human. All children had to memorize the letters NASA  because we hoped to one day learn the meaning. So far no one has solved this mystery. At first, the personal craft was very expensive, only the incredible rich were able to own one. That changed when our population reached a crisis. Even our leaders realized that if we continued at our current rate of decline our race would cease to exist and no one would be left to morn our passing. Leaders would not be necessary, there would be no one left to lead and no one to lead them.  A decision was made in record time. Within three days, it was decided that every person under the age of 25 was to be given a personal craft. The same people that could debate the merits of lunch for 2 years suddenly wanted action. The idea was that everyone under 25 years of age would travel the universe in a different direction. That made 2,000 different directions or 2,000 different chances for our race to find life, breed and continue our race throughout time. Yes, there were only 2,000 people under the age of 25 living on Thrae when this plan was set in motion. No one on the planet was under the age of 12. We were a race that once faced overcrowding and depletion of resources because of the population explosion. More than 10 billion people lived on Thrae at that time. It was crowded. I cried when I boarded my craft. I was leaving behind a beautiful home. My parents doted on me; every child was treated with love and care by all adults. I had a close friend named Tautamer and I wanted us to travel together, but that was not part of the plan. I was at home with her parents and my parents loved her as well. People our age were scarce and we all felt special, just because we were born. When I'm honest with myself I know that even my parents did not have much longer to live. They were both thirty-six, very old for Thrae. I know that traveling alone increased all travelers' desire to find another home and increased the odds that at least one of us would find another planet with people, find another home; a planet with people so that we could procreate. The will to continue our race outweighed any individual need. I left knowing that I would never see my parents or friend again. My parents would likely die within 10 years, though they appeared healthy.  I was given a quick course in what I needed to know to survive. I was taught what I should look for on a planet and how to approach my possible new home with caution. Blending in with other life forms is necessary for our quest. The personal craft is truly a marvel of engineering. It can reach speeds of 100 times the speed of light while avoiding nasty surprises like other vessels, stars, planets or anything that would destroy the personal craft in a crash. The personal craft required no pilot which is good because at this speed no pilot could avoid crashing into any of the various things floating in space.  Naturally going this fast has hazards that only a super-fast computer could recognize in time to avoid. The computers on board were capable of scanning great distances analyzing solar systems, their planets and looking for life. It's necessary to find living beings similar enough to me so that we can reproduce. The computers will also analyze languages and put a learning packet together so that I will be able to communicate, albeit basically when I land. The outside of the craft is made of a nearly indestructible polymer and looks like a boulder. Our engineers thought this would be less conspicuous in a new world. Another side effect of traveling this fast is that time is altered for the person inside the vessel. I have been in this vessel, all alone for six years but time on Thrae has measured six hundred years.

Food and water were held in the shop's cargo bay, the initial supply will last seven years, ten if I am very, very frugal. Once that initial supply is depleted, food and water can be chemically rearranged from various waste products, not a tasty option, so I have tried to be prudent. Oxygen also recycles from the carbon dioxide. This allows travelers to search indefinitely for another planet to call home, assuming they survive their own company. We hope that at least one person would land on a life-giving planet and integrate our DNA with the host planet. Our wildest wish is that all 2,000 pilgrims would find a home. I consider this my privilege and duty to my race. I was eighteen when I left Thrae. My parents were some of the last few to have offspring. I was an only child although I imagine they tried to have more children as this is considered everyone's duty on Thrae. I have been traveling for 6 years as I mentioned. I celebrated my 24 th birthday 2 weeks ago with a high energy nutrition bar that I had been saving. It is one of the most flavorful things I have to eat. The loneness and despair that I feel can't be erased by the relative extravagance of an entire nutrition bar. I'm going to sleep with the anticipation of another day exactly like the previous 2,192 days aboard this tiny home. The morning after my birthday I wake up refreshed, the sleep having dispelled some of my depression. I am alive which is a more favorable condition than most of my race.  A small area of my personal space in the craft is reserved for weights and a treadmill. Exercise is important during space travel to fight off depression and to keep bone density at a healthy level. Breaking a bone while traveling alone would be unpleasant at best and could be life-threatening. I mentioned that medicine was not advanced on Thrae but I know how to set my bones if needed but I'm warned that is very painful and should be done immediately. That is one skill that I hope I never have to use. I use the treadmill and weights for the required two hours. Even the energy that I expend is recycled. Exercising for two hours enables my personal space to have lights for eight hours because electricity is generated and captured. I think having the lights powered by exercise was a way for the leaders to ensure that all of the travelers took our fitness seriously. Even light-years away our leaders exert some control. I fall into my usual, same routine after exercise and scan the computer readings for any planet that may be suitable. I may be doomed to live my life in this craft, sharing my existence with my sophisticated machines. What, the computer is showing an interesting possibility. It appears that I am heading towards a solar system that has a sun of the right size and energy output. I'm wishing with all my being that it will have an orbiting planet with the requirements necessary for procreation. Carille Durbin needs to write about a suitable planet and let me find it. This unbearable solitude will soon drive me crazy.