Somehow a passionate and hasty decision had been made out from exacerbating testosterone's which neither party had believed in abstinence nor the consequences of their impatient actions. Accompanied by their each of their domineering parents, Tatiana and her teenage boyfriend were pressured to get married, no matter what either these two individuals’ intended plans were anticipated; each of their endearing prospects were now and forever modified and forcibly intertwined to be future parents, instead. This one of those impetuactes spans that a moment of passionate is always followed by a lifetime of grief. Like the norm of the immature and the irrational, the boy had cowardly given up to be a parent and provider. Young people who rush into a situation that they were never prepared for responsibility have always bailed out only when difficulties had begun to arise. And then, once a personal crisis is struck in the human mind; the search of a lost identity begins to be forever, seeked out. This unruly event has often leaves behind involunatry victimsholding the bag. Now the mother is left with the unlawful and upheaveled burden of raising a child, alone. Yet, even after this long period time, had passed; Tatiana has still found herself alone and financially supporting herself as well as her son, Jackson. Her identity has also been damaged and irrevocably, disrupted. She’s become emotionally exhausted, miserable and again hungered for companionship. She had no idea if it were possible at anything in this stage in her life. She no longer the same vibrant woman that she was almost 20 years ago. Lost and confused, she had to compel herself to move forward. It was now very sad for the seventeen-year-old Jackson Sempton when his father had walked out on him all those many years ago. This is a period of time in Jackson’s life where one is still psychologically developing one’s identity and it is still being substantiated. He had very little male-role model to strive from, and his interactions with ‘ girls ‘ were inadequate in school had very little confidence while living with hormonal changes. Just by seeing some of his friends holding hands with each their female companions made him feel uncomfortable. He had refused to ever discuss private feelings of jealousy and frustrations with anyone because of reasons of shame and fear of ridicule. So, there are two unhappy people living under the same roof as one finds out the (real) value of a relationship and the other realizes how frail life is when it’s unconsciously being taken for granted. Tatiana would tirelessly complain to everyone than she encoutered that she wanted a devoted man to be accompanied with . She was utterly famished for male attention and affection. She kept on whining that she being constantly used by anyone that she met and tossed aside for a better prospect. One evening, Tatiana had decided to attend some progressive therapy sessions from a public speaker who she had been referred by her doctor. She had needed to find some inspiration to relieve herself her manic slump. This procedure had well recommended by many. Throughout the entire course of these meetings, she did meet up with a man with some similar issues, yet his had been slighted towards different aspects of his life other than relationships. His were more the means of a social interest. Somehow this friendship had been slowly cultivated where it did unevently morphed into a romance as well being a sexual encounter. Then, Jackson had begun to notice that his mother was finding a little joy in her life that she had often seeked out. He had a spring in her step as positivity had been overpowering her sense of cloudy behaviour. Tatiana had begun to encourage her son have fun where it wasn’t her usual norm. Her son had been permitted to more often stay out late at parties and perhaps sleepover at friends’s homes. Tatiana had been able to retrieve her happiness for life, again. It was long overdue to return in having a smile on her face. A sparkling gleem in her face had been shinning. Her eyes had begun to glow with absolute radiance, as well permeating through her entire being. She was no longer constantly living in misery. She had eradicated her entire drab wardobe and exchanged it for mores alluring and attractive attires. For some strange reason, make-up was no longer needed to accentuate her sexual appeal. ‘ Being Real ’ seems to be more acceptable than ever being shallow. She even found herself with the the time to afford the extra expenses to go away with him on extended weekends of pleasure. Her manner of thinking and living was morphing her into something new and positive. The man she had met had ignited something special that was always hidden in her subsconcious. Her thoughts had become tranformatively optimistic ang giddy. This became a definite reason for a missing joy that has positively arisen and desparately hungered for a prolonged survival. Was this new man in her life the cause of her ‘ butterfly effect ‘? Was this a second chance to towards finding some positivity? Or had she had enough of being miserable? Either way, one count had clearly assisted the other in order to reach her goal. Subconciously, she had been worried of losing this enticing feelings during an approaching moment of hardship. She had to find a manner to hold on to it at no matter what would ever become of this trist. Among Jackson’s new awarded privileges, he still possessed conflicting emotions for this immediate overturn in changes. His doubts had increased for reasons that this unusual event had occurred very quickly, instead of a gradual progression. His new extended permissivesness did open further social doors for him to some good times, yet ‘ girls ‘ had still remained an inaccessible reach to him. His insecurities were not fully overcome with confidence, yet. Somehow, as he had closely studied his mother’s existence during his own; he knew inside that this process was going to take some time to ameliorate towards a more tangible longevity. While Jackson was trying hard to keep an open mind during all of these abrupt changes; he simultaneously wanted to be happy for his mother. It was definitely a postive improvement that she was living. Somehow, Jackson’s controversial thoughts had him remebering his mother’s bleak history with relationships. Her record was nothing to be proud of. In his mind; he had questioned if was she perhaps able to hit the target this time? Was this success to be her hopeful destiny? Or was she headed for another unforeseen discouragements? Pensively, another downfall could now possibly bring her to final demise because he doubts that her remaining energy level will not be able to be sustained for any further disappointments. Jackson had felt that he should support her to this new opportunity at happiness. Amid Tatiana’s new relationship experience, she somehow had found new strength that she had no idea that she ever possessed, before. Similar reacting to an unexpecting bee-sting that struck her like a serious blow; it had clearly dawned on her within the peak of her amorous affair; she may haven’t the chance to realize that she had temporarily disregarded her son’s attention and needs for her own selfish pleasures. When these doubts had began to emerge in her mind that all good things must one day come to an end; yet to manage her priorities to keep an even keel throughout her life where it had always been very difficult for her because she’s someone who has never known the differences between haste and in preparatory thought. Within Tatiana’s emptiness had been filled with her famished joy and pleasure; her thoughts were turning to temporarily break-up with the man who had recently risen her spirits from her dismal abyss. She wanted to make up for whatever the loss time of her depression where she had lacked any of emotional support for him. This a momentous loving ride that was being unforeseenly, disrupted. This mysterious admirer was in shock from her abrupt decision. Her brief paramour was seeking a compromise with both of her dilemmas where she could live both scenarios in meaningful equivalencies. Somehow, she wasn’t interested in any kind of rationalization or medium. When his dismissal was clearly determined; the man had felt quite used for simply being someone’s one else’s mid-life crisis redefinement. The attraction of a total stranger might be a temporary comfort and brifely formalize someone else for one’s simple reassurance. This wrongful and egotistical behaviour is emotionally damaging to the one on the receiving end. Unknowlingly, Tatiana’s trust in others had deteoriated and her sense lot of validity. When Jackson was told by his mother that she had decided about her latest encounters; he began to be quite disturbed and confused to why she would make such an irrational decision. Jackson had told her that she had been a fool to unrully discarded in view of the good luck that came in her direction. She had met a great guy that made her at very ease in her life. Once, she had told him what her reasons were; Jackson became quite upset with her because this was a welcome opportunity had been impulsively thrown away. It was like that she didn’t really appreciate the fact that she could’ve had a real future with him.. Within his perspective if a girl (of his age) had approached him with the offer of a ‘ friendship ‘ like hers; he would have undoubtled jumped at the situation for a chance at love that he had always craved for. Jackson was willing to take that risk even though heartbreak would headed his way. He had been desparately craving for this ravaging amorous attention where it was hard for him to access. He would have appreciated a romantic liaison or a long-term partnership. Unlike his mother; it was without any efforts, it had been easily awarded to her. Jackson had previously told her that he had already (personally) approved of her new relationship for the facts that she had found happiness that she always hungered for. After the fact that Tatiana’stupidity had sent him to the curb for absolute no reason at all. As for his closing argument with her; his remaining queries to her were: How would you salvage this relationship without being narrow-minded? Would he be forgiving, let alone be interested or trust you in starting over? Or would he just keep walking away without ever looking back after being unlawfully hurt? How will YOU ever know that this occasion will ever possibly come YOUR way, again? Once, your ship forever sets sail off into the sunset; it may never to be seen, again. He had even quoted the reputed poet Alfred Tennyson’s famous saying: 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.’ Some people are granted many chances and deliberately messed them all up and have nothing to show for it. Regrettably, you never realize that are those who also exist who will never be as fortunate as you are. These people would instantaneously leap at a chance like knowingly what the risks would be, but it might the only opportunity in their lives that they will ever experience. And possibly discover one could then see what eventually develops . Sadly, Tatiana had refused to ever learn these simple life lessons from someone else another which could be used an advantage as well it could be a curse. This would depend on the level of an individual’s attention span, insecurities and behavior patterns which would be able to interpreted by.


Author's note: The world that Chocolate Kisses started in, despite being the same place, is very different from the modern, twelve-years-later one, and you don't even need to read the first, unless you want to catch up on details like who Emilia is, how come Ellen and Joseph are married, and why their daughter is named Chocolate. The original was very sentimental and sweet, but as we go on, I decided to branch into a sort of mystery-crime-adventure genre, with lots of humor to balance it out. If you would like the story to become a little nicer, (romance, friendship tests, determination to do good, etc.) then please message me in the comments and I'll be sure to respond and remove some of the creepiest elements of this story. Thank you for reading, and if you have any ideas for what could happen next, please tell me! -- Emmie Greensgate I haven't heard from Sherry, that weird twelve-year-old girl who followed me everywhere, or Chocolate, who cleared my name when Samantha-Jae accused me of stealing Ellen Abbot's secret spice. I haven't heard from Emilia, the town's resident author, since last night. Actually, I haven't heard from any of them since last night, when we "rescued" Samantha from her stepbrothers and stepfather, who had taken her away from out little town of Bridgebrook, for reasons she tried to explain, but flew over my head. I haven't heard form any of them... We exchanged numbers after "rescuing" Samantha-Jae, and I scroll through my texts. Nothing from them. They're all offline and have been offline for about eight hours. Well, that's normal, right? It's not like they've been on their phone all day, every day. I'm overreacting. They're okay. Right? Right? I send them a quick text through the group chat that we set up yesterday. Hey guys. Are u okay? I haven't received any texts from you 4 a while. Please tell me if there's a problem. I wait and look at my phone. Nothing. That's normal, though. They probably have their own issues. Maybe they have their phones on airplane mode. That shuts off texts, doesn't it...? Sherry always has her phone on her, though. She is always texting. Sherry would not ignore a text from me. Not unless... maybe something's wrong with her...? Is she okay? Sherry is like a little sister to me. I have been like a brother to her, too. We're inseparable. I think it comes from growing up right next door, sharing our yards and snacks and lives with each other. I couldn't bear anything bad to happen to her. "Oh, Sherry," I say. Emilia: The door shuts with a loud, metallic THAAAANK! Locking us in the room. I roll my eyes, looking at the high, stone walls. I could climb them. They're about fifteen feet high, with lots of toeholds in the gray, rough stone. The ceiling is made of the same stone blocks, like a dungeon, and wooden boards crisscross below it, holding it up. The door is wood, but here's a big, heavy, locking mechanism of some sort inside of it, that makes it so heavy that it would take ten elephants to make it budge. It locks from the outside, as far as I an tell, so there's no way we could get out through there. The walls, upon closer inspection, are so rough that you'd bleed if you tried to climb them. There are no windows, either, and the wood beams are full of splinters. We're basically trapped as trapped can be. Sherry keeps thanking me because of something I did, even though it's kind of random. I smiled at one of the boys in a way that I thought would make me look like a gremlin about to kill him, but apparently it looked cute and he got a crush on me, if Sherry is to be trusted. "He likes you, I swear," she says, pacing around the room. "He thought you were hitting on him so now he likes you." "I'm a grown adult! He's, what, sixteen?" I say. "Eighteen, it looks like. but you look really long, like maybe nineteen? I think he thinks you're in his age group." "Well, if he really is 'hitting on me' then maybe he could let us out, huh?" "I think he did his part by not tying us up." "Whatever. Where's the kid I lied to? he can get me out of here before the stepfather in question comes back." "I think he's coming... now." I snarl. My phone dings. Uh... Oh right! I hid my phone from them, saying I was anti-tech. They had Sherr's, but they didn't have mine. I get a really good idea. I pick up my phone and begin to write... Words pour out of my f i n g e r t i p s and create a message that I send to everyone. "Hello, John Kazzer." I yell, jump around like a deer, and turn towards the speaker, a look of rage in my eyes. He is a tall, thin man, dressed in a black trench coat. Who even wears those anymore? "How do you know my name?" I ask. "That weird girl with the long black hair and the tendency to punch kept yelling about you." "Samantha-Jae?" "She didn't give her name, so we're calling her 'Project 45'." "Project 45?" "Our forty-fifth catch." "Catch?" The man looks at me like I'm mad. "You mean to say that you've never heard of Project Stockholm?" "I've heard about some guy called Stockholm, but I didn't know he was a project already." "He isn't! It's named after Stockho-- I'm not telling you. This is top secret. Even the president doesn't know about it." He is creeping me out. A lot. "I'm giving you an offer." I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. "An offer?" "Consider this," the man says. "You could work for my boss. Simple jobs at first; backup guard for hunting, patrolling the borders, figuring out the details of our missions, if you are good at that sort of thing. Driving our catches to the base. Then if we still need to get a few more, you can get into the higher leagues. Take down a few targets. Bring back information on their reactions. Maybe play the role of Keeper. " "What does that mean?" "I'm recruiting you for a job." "What kind?" "Experiment dirty work." "I am not killing anyone," I say, loudly, to make it clear. "You won't have to. All you have to do is make sure that the experiments stay put." "Are you cloning alien life or something?" "No... simply..." He reaches for his pocket. I flinch. I think he has a weapon in there. "Keeping it." "Keeping what?" "Life forms. The highest, most complex one of all. We have forty-six in total, but we'll need fifty to round it out more. What do you say?" "What life form are you working with?" "Sir, what are you? " Sickness churns inside of me. Humans. He means humans. Other intelligent, living breathing beings. For science. "I'd suggest you agree with me," he says in an ominous tone. He smiles in a creepy way. "... if you want to see Chocolate again." "Are you threatening me with food or people?" "The man reaches for his belt. There's something under his cloak. I can see it. I can tell that he is trying to scare me into saying yes. But the people, the forty-six people who are all being experimented on by whoever his boss is! And oh no, Samantha-Jae must be one of them! But at the same time, I need to protect Chocolate! And on the other hand, Emilia and Sherry could have been taken, too! "I'll give you twenty-four hours to think it over." the man says, turning away from me. "Twenty-four hours before we so much as look at that girl. Twenty-four hours for you to make your choice." He walks away. I remain rooted to the ground. A human experimenter. Someone whole experiments on humans. I need to be one to get Chocolate back. A horrible, twisted darkness rises inside of me. Would I be willing to do something like that for her? For Samantha-Jae? But there could be-- no, there have to be people out there who want the forty-six back. The're girlfriends and boyfriends. Brothers and sisters. Friends, teachers, cousins, football champs, wrestlers, and readers. People-- ordinary people who ended up in this somehow. "What should I do?" I ask myself, my voice nearly freezing away in a gust of cold wind. The message has to have sent by now. There's enough signal, but hardly any. It doesn't take a lot, usually, but I think they're shutting off the WiFi or something. I hear footsteps coming down the halls. Closer and closer. "Sherry, on my command, beat up whoever comes through that door. Ready? three-- two-- one--" The lock opens, the latching mechanism popping open. A man who looks like an adult form of the boys behind him scowls into the room. "Them?" he says. "You think they were the ones who kid napped Samantha?" "We didn't!" I say at the same time the boys shout "One word, dad!" I nod to Sherry, who in turn, nods back. And we leap. The "message sent" alarm dings happily as we punch the boys and man uselessly. One new message! My phone says. I open it. To whomever gets this: I know now that it isn't the stepdad in question who's taken Chocolate and Samantha-Jae. He thinks we did it, I bet. We're trapped in a creepy room in his basement. Don't come for Sherry and me unless you have to. I don't know where they are, but I know where they aren't. Please come as soon as possible-- but only if you know where Samantha-Jae and Choco are. I wish I could help you. But you're on your own here. They're trying to Steal Samantha-Jae back because she's the inheritor of her multimillionaire mother's wealth. I'll try to escape, but that's a pretty risky move for us. We'll have to wait until they clear our names and realize that we only took Samantha-Jae because we thought they were the evil ones. Tell me if you know anything, but keep it encrypted. Not too hard, just enough that no one besides me can interpret it. Thank you. --Emilia. I hold my phone tightly. then, I text: I know where Chocolate is. I was threatened with her. Some guy tried to get me to join his big boss's H3uM@n 3xP3r1m3nTiNg project by dangling her over my head, not actually, just told me I had Tw3nTy4 hours to join his side or she was theirs to 3xP3r1m3nT 0n. I'll tell you more later. I'll get you out of there a$ $o0N @$ p0$$iBl3. --J0hN k2zZ3R. She'll be able to uncover my message. It's not even that good, but I'm hoping that she keeps her phone on her at all times. Chocolate woke up, a bleary feeling filling her body. She though about opening her eyes or moving, but she was just too tired. "...all clear, sir." "Very well... the..." the voices w a r p e d away. then they returned, Who were they? Chocolate didn't know them. "...Noticing that, I can..." "Sir, yes sir!" "Get ready for..." she couldn't make out what he said. "...Obsidian." Obsidian? she thought. Where have I heard Obsidian before? Chocolate lapsed into another round of deep, dark sleep, not even noticing the needle injected into her arm or the chains on her hands and feet. Obsidian.... Thank you for enduring this long, weird story. Who wants the sequel?


Neon cascaded, as it had a tendency to do so. He flew down the paved streets on his Harley Davidson, even as the hoverboards and flying cycles and sedans passed and gathered, over his head and all sides. And the neon washed over him in waves. The light layer of water from the morning’s rain didn’t react much to the throw-off from the motorcycle. And he didn’t know why, but he felt that like today would be different. Like something monumental would happen. He’d opened his mind to the idea, only last night. He felt he would meet, today, the love of his life. But he knew it must be wrong, because he felt lonely and desperate these days and not at all himself. You have to be yourself. And better.  In a world that wants you to be someone else: where environment and cause-and-effect and any number of random things can knock a person’s psychology askew. For whatever reason, he’d never read William Blake, but he’d decided to visit the Blake Museum today. For last night, everything had changed. He’d been standing on the balcony above McVicar Street, looking at the digital clock that reigned in the center of the square, higher than all buildings but for the Christian cross mounted on the spire of the church that stood taller than the rest, highlighted in red. The Neon City. The timestamp announced the year: 3032. He took out a cigarette and smoked it and stared and fell into another world. He fell into new worlds often. He didn’t understand those who saw the world only in one dimension. And while he was in this world, he saw her: All dazzling and dark hair and dark clothing and wrapped up in something that seemed like darkness but he knew the truth: there was much to her, something great, even. But no one else could see it. In the crowds that crowded around the vision, only he could see her. Colors washed past on all sides. As people came and went, maybe individuals, maybe nations, he didn’t know. He didn’t know much. But he saw the woman there, the girl. She turned around suddenly and her hair waved in front of her face to obscure it and she saw him through a gap in her hair and shrieked and turned and ran and he ran after her. “Wait,” he said. But she slipped into nonexistence, disappeared. He often had visions like so, and many of them had come true, but he’d never had one of a woman. He wondered if it was because of his state of mind. Only two weeks prior his girlfriend of two years had left him, had cheated on him, in fact. Not only that but he’d walked into the taco shop and had seen her with one of his friends: they were kissing and hugging and holding onto one another. Devastated him. He hadn’t done much but drink and cry and smoke the last two weeks. He was a struggling hip hop artist. A rapper. A poet, he considered himself.  He was overextended on his motorcycle payments. And he owed a credit company a decent amount, too. “You have to be yourself,” said his friend, words ringing in his ears as he tore down the concrete in the Harley. “But you can’t just be yourself: you have to be better. You have to be in your masculine frame. That’s why alphas get all the women,” said the friend, chest puffed and out, almost as if he were trying to lead his way through this world with his nipples. “Power positions.” But Bill only laughed. Lit his cigarette. Took a drag. “What? You don’t believe me. I get all the women.” “Why am I even friends with you?” said Bill. “You’re the one come crying to me about your silly breakup. Move the fuck on, Bill.” “I was with her for two years.” “Women will eat your heart out. It’s hard being a man.” “But I don’t believe that about women,” said Bill. “Then you are naive. Worse, you’re deluding yourself. You don’t know reality. Women only like men who are higher status than them. They like men with money. That’s why you gotta go into sales and stop all this artist bullshit.” “I don’t do art to get women,” said Bill. “Of course you do,” his friend said, throwing up his hands. “Everything we do is for women. That’s why we grind.” Bill shook his head. “You belong to another world. Come live in mine if you want women, and if you want women to respect you,” said his friend. “I don’t want women. I want a woman . A connection. Don’t you want a connection? Something real.” “There is no such thing. If you want your wife to cheat on you with the milkman or the pool boy or some little shit, then go right on the way you are. Sentimentality doesn’t pay the bills. Nor does it keep the woman.” Bill ultimately believed his friend was a whackjob and didn’t agree with much that he said, but in his lowered state of mind the words stuck. Perhaps that was why he’d lost his girl: he hadn’t been going after the money. In their breakup talks, his girlfriend had mentioned things to that extent. But even as Bill drove the Harley down a tight alleyway, he had a vision of the girl of his visions standing in his way and he saw himself too. This time she was wearing all white and he was holding her around the waist and as he cut through the vision, she spoke to him: “Don’t give up on me,” she said. I would never give up on you. Only on myself, he thought, pitying himself. In this world, you will have trouble, but take heart, I have overcome. These words were splayed in high-banner in neon bright white over the gate that led into the greater part of the city. Bill drove faster now, leaning into the wind and the chaos of driving a motorcycle and allowed a flow state to take over him and by the time he got to the museum he was relaxed. He bought a warm mocha latte at the little cafe just outside the museum’s steps and then he dared rise up the steps to the Blake museum. No expense was spared in the design of the place. He entered another world. Leave Behind The World of Single Vision and Enter Eternally True Reality, announced a signpost. Within the building was decorated by things and with things Bill had no names for. Creatures from myth that had sprung from the mind — or had entered the mind — of the man Blake. : the spiralings and musings. : the loss and the love. : the sick and the healthy. In grand display and enlarged against one wall was his painting of Newton, sitting there in the sea of enchantments, but otherwise lost in what Blake had dubbed single vision. Bill understood the dramatic painting intuitively. The further he wandered through the exhibit, the more he got lost. Until finally he came to the theater. Seated among the small crowd, he laid back in the chair that was tilted very far back and watched the stars — in the grand screen that took over the entire domed ceiling and stretched far to the corners — throw themselves down like spears in grand display as the powerful words from Blake’s poem ‘The Tyger,’ played. And the tears ran down Bill’s face as the words pierced his being. What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp. Dare its deadly terrors clasp? He was haunted now. And lost in some other world. Neon cascaded, in this world, as it had a tendency to do so. The words had entered him and he was only hearing them but no longer hearing them. They were passing through him as he passed through this other world. And a cock crowed somewhere. And birds flew past overhead. And other animals, indistinct sounds, called to one another. And the moon shone bright and fell like silver across the endless field of green. And Bill stood by the lone tree, right there in the middle of the eternal field. And a tire swing hung from the tree, gently moving with the gentle wind. And he approached it and held the rope and stared at the tire. And there was only peace here. But what of struggle? What of challenge born? What of pain? He only saw this thing, and the sublimity struck his heart so hard that he could hardly breathe and the waves of light washed through his soul and he fell to his knees in pain and grief — of the good kind — and he longed for this moment never to end but it did. And when he came to, he was in the theater and it was dark. Everyone had left. Then the doors opened to let the newcomers come inside. And he needed to smoke. He found the smoke room in the exhibit. Everywhere had smoke rooms these days. The darker side effects of nicotine and tobacco had been conquered a long time ago. Smoking was all the rage, as it should be. The drug induced great feelings, and greater feelings followed greater feelings. What man of greatness never smoked? Bill thought to himself with wry smile. That said, he didn’t consider himself to be a great man, nor did he want to be one. He just wanted to be right here, with his cigarette, with this world, in this time. “But don’t you want more?” said William Blake, appearing to him on the long bench seat beside him, holding a pipe in his hands. “Not really,” said Bill in gentle voice. “But aim and challenge are certainly the twin giants of change, no?” Bill shrugged. Another man appeared on his other side. Bill beckoned to him. “That’s George. Macdonald. A man who could see. And fly.” “We can all fly now,” said Bill. “But even when you are in the skies, you are brought low by pride and longing,” said George. “Shall I not long?” said Bill. “Depends what you are longing for.” “Nothing at the moment. I’m quite happy with the cigarette.” The nicotine buzzed in his head. George also lit a pipe. “Hard-earned learning and achievement. These things are of great value.” “But what shall I long for? I just saw the fields of eternity.” “Her,” said Blake. “Your heart is too great. You need her.” “He’s right,” said George. “You must give her your heart. You must give her eternity and all that you have. Your heart is too small to contain it all. You must give. ” “But where is she?” said Bill. And suddenly serpents of a thousand doubts snuck into his mind and he got mad at the gentlemen for popping his perfect dreams. “I am not ready.” “Neither was I,” said Blake. “I was a poor soul,” said George, “when I met the woman I would love forever.” “I’m desperate,” said Bill. “I’m lonely. I’m broken. How can a woman love me?” “But can you love a woman?” said George. “Can you sing until her soul comes alive? Can you press deep into her spirit until you find not only yourself but her also? Can you pour yourself out and set yourself aside at the same time?” “That’s poetry. That’s silly. Not real. Will only lead to heartbreak.” Bill waved it all off with his hand. “Who put such weak ideas into your mind?” said Blake, rising up from his seat and voice rising. “I will put them out with the scorching flame of truth: reality is deeper than you can possibly imagine. Your silly constraints are not real. Your preconceptions are shattered with this one thing: True Love.” “There is no such thing,” said Bill. “We marry, not for Love, but for status and for power. For protection and safety. Love is covered by a thousand more real things. The poets got this all wrong. They value love higher than it ought to be valued.” “It is the opposite,” said George. “They do not value Love enough. No one does. It becomes weakened and diluted with every generation. But in every generation there are a few who dare to rise to grasp its wild wildness. It will destroy you and remake you if you let it.” “You will never see the same way again. When you meet her.” “Stop,” Bill yelled, throwing up his hands in either direction, and the men disappeared. And he finished his cigarette in peace. Why should anyone love me? I’m a broken man. I am not ready. They are not real. And I am undesirable. No matter how desirable I become, there is no girl who will always desire me. I must become everything. I must become the best of all time, the greatest there ever was, and then I can settle down for love, because love is not held together by flimsy promises and wedding bands, it is held together by a thousand other contrivances and sacrifices and offerings. And I must build, work, build, work. I must get over my pathetic self. I must produce a strong masculine frame with which to serve my woman from. Hell, I cried today. I can’t cry in front of my woman. Bill roamed mindlessly the exhibits, lost in the headiness of the nicotine and the tears and the aftermath of his vision of the field. What did it mean? How could it be so? How could it be so that love was so? Love was an antiquated notion, and only suckers believed in it. Only losers. Only those who weren’t willing to see reality. They were the ones who got hurt. They were the ones who wasted away. And no one ever heard of them. Surely they were fools. Surely they had been bluffed into lies by life. Surely perfect love couldn’t be so. Not in this wretched world. As surely as the neon cascaded. As it had a tendency to do so. But then he saw her, standing before Blake’s painting of Nebuchadnezzar. She was wrapped in black, black dress pants and black blazer and black hair and he got the feeling that if he were to approach her he would have to approach as if he were coming towards an easily-frightened gazelle. Not a delicate thing. But something swift and focused. Something sharp. Sharper than him, perhaps. But only his words were sharp. He could hardly pay his bills. And as he walked across the expansive room towards her, with each step, the weight of a thousand faults filled his mind and bled through his every corpus and weighed him down but he felt a pair of hands pushing him and he knew it was George and he knew it was Blake. And he saw a glimpse, overlaying the concrete reality of the room, of the eternal fields of green and. Then he reached the girl and reached out a hand to touch her shoulder but he withdrew, and the words from his most alpha friend came to him. “You must be masculine. If you encounter the girl otherwise, she will never have you. She will never, ever respect timidity.” She would sense his timidity, he thought to himself. Her instincts would weed him out. After all, we are products of thousands of years of evolution. But then he saw past her, saw the painting and, in the painting Nebuchadnezzar came alive, chewing on the cud and it seemed so unnatural and without even realizing it, fully, Bill touched her shoulder. She turned and her hair glistened under the high lighting and her dark eyes met his. And she didn’t smile or turn away, not like his dream. She only waited for him to speak. “Well,” she said. “If you have nothing to say,” then she turned away from him and began walking away on heels that clicked against the tile. Don’t give up on me , he heard in his imagination. But she was getting farther and farther. But then he saw her in the long fields with him. She stood on the other side of the tire swing and he peered at her through the center of the tire and she smiled a wild smile and she was a wild thing. And he ran towards her, and she began to run away. And in the real world, he did the same. He ran after her. “Wait,” he called. She turned back on her heels and he almost stumbled into her and he had to catch himself by catching her shoulders and she caught his. “Sorry,” he said. Never say sorry to a woman , his friend’s voice said. “I,” he said, but then he stopped, just looking into her eyes. She seemed concerned at first but they maintained eye contact and he felt something well up deep within his soul and somehow tears came to his eyes. “Are you okay?” He shook his head. “No.” “You look so sad.” “I am lost,” he said. “And broken.” Never express your emotion around a woman. “Why are you telling me?” He didn’t know how to tell her. Finally, he said, “Do you pity me?” “Yes,” she said, with a slight smile and looking deep into his eyes. “I love you for that,” he said. “Well,” she said and her smile ironed out and somehow she saw into his soul. “And I love you.” She rode on the back of the Harley that day. All the way into the neon and beyond, and it was always cascading for them. As it had a tendency to do.


Ophi wasn’t sure what to do with this new information. It had certainly changed his view on things. Some of the things. It gnawed on the back of Ophi’s head just enough to irritate him. Once again, he felt the pressure to warn everyone. Ophi limped out of his den. The spines sheathed under his skin still felt awkward. Ophi scanned the bushes. As much as the bushes made a tight circle around his den, their branches did a poor job filling themselves in, and the gray sand so visible beyond them made everything look ghostly, and to top it all off, nothing could be heard except for the slight whistling of the wind. That was just too much. Ophi missed the days when this place was busier. The bushes outside Ophi’s immediate circle rustled. Ophi clambered out to have a better look. He could see a candy red ear sticking out of a bush. Ophi walked past the bush and flashed a smile. It was Heidi, with her sprite in the form of a deer. Classic Heidi, happily fulfilling her role in the Internet as a browser. She may have grown a few fangs, but that was all that changed. Ophi muttered a greeting. None of his friends liked to start the conversation. Heidi turned and stood there. Ophi felt his spines slide out a little. Now he hesitated. Ophi cocked his head to the side. Heidi tapped her foot against the ground. She only stumbled, right?

Wait, no. Heidi lowered her head. “It seems my family was struck with a curse! First my mother, now my sister!” Ophi fell silent and paid more attention to the slight tickling in his mind. While Heidi talked and talked, Ophi realized he knew just what she needed to hear. “Things haven’t been so great for me either,” The user said. His pores tightened around the newfound spines.

“as I’ve overheard the park rangers talk about using darts on us...”

It was easier to let them slip out. The more Ophi said, the more he got excited. Heidi’s outline blurred and buzzed in Ophi’s vision. Ophi’s eyes bulged out of his head and his heart raced in forced thuds. Ophi just kept talking and talking until he felt his pores rip open. That’s what got Ophi to stop and look at his flanks. The crimson spikes were out, but none seem to be missing.

Ophi noticed the still air. “Heidi?” Even the distant ads fell silent. After a moment, Ophi heard branches crashing and caught a glimpse of a large animal scampering away. Ophi felt the quills droop. He crept back into the rotting log framing his den. The fire inside him burned with shame.

Ophi made his way out into the clearing and spotted Heidi. She was sitting in a sagebrush so that only her head could be seen. Ophi felt the urge to tear out his quills. He didn't have them for very long and he's already threatened his friend's life. Ophi’s heart pounded in his chest. “I’m… really sorry about what happened last night.” Heidi froze in place. “It’s fine.” Ophi continued. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was a stupid thing I did and I have no excuse for it.” Heidi made no movements whatsoever. “No hard feelings.” Ophi sputtered, and searched the bush with his eyes. He couldn’t see if Heidi was injured. “Is there anything I can help you with?” Heidi kept the same wooden posture. “We already made our decisions.” Ophi fell silent. The knot in his stomach grew more and more with Heidi’s behavior. The red deer kept her nose pointed at her friend like it was a gun. The little fangs looked more like boar teeth. Ophi turned with shaky knees. Trotting out of the bushes, he felt he should spend the day elsewhere. That one day turned into one week, that week into a month. It had got to the point where Ophi had to dash out of his den before the thorns on his bushes could close in on him. The dips in the sand made scowling faces and so many ads have ceased their chirping. Worst of all was Heidi. She still made her way near Ophi’s home, only to stare everything down. Ophi felt a growing emptiness during this miserable time.

When on the verge of despair, Ophi would strike a conversation with Heidi. She only shot words like bullets. “I’m fine.” “Okay.” “Nothing important.” And it never lasted long, for Heidi would dart away suddenly.

Then came the shadows. One stiff ghost would stand in the bushes with Heidi, and then another, and another. Those beady eyes came at Ophi like a rogue wave. He would have drowned if he had not shut the den hole in time. Ophi pushed himself against the splintering wood blocking the hole and strained against his ribs to breathe, but alas, he spotted the white dots on the bark lining the den walls. Ophi just laid there, curled in a ball. He was worried about his new spiny skin beforehand but he never thought it would lead to him being shut off from the rest of the world. Ophi then began to think. If someone else knew about his crime, they’d expect Ophi to ditch the spines.

Ophi remembered.

One year, a user took on the form of a lionfish, and made the same mistake as Ophi. Once the crowd surrounded the user and demanded he ditch the spines, he complied. Alas, the crowd still painted a target on his back and their victim was last seen getting butchered by hackers. Those axe-wielding maniacs showed no mercy. A streak of bright white stopped Ophi’s train of thought, with the jagged edges cutting the streak off reminding Ophi it was his makeshift mirror. He could see the squiggly white spots in his own eyes. Doe eyes on a hideous pin cushion? Five users were attacked for that in the last year alone. No explanation was enough to fend off the mob. When Ophi wasn’t lost in the waves of torpor, he lay dazed with more such examples keeping him stunned. The more and more Ophi mulled over this, the more and more he swelled with anxiety. He was not the sharpest creature in the scrubland, but he knew anything that looked wrong, they could punish him for it. “What kind of monstrosity has a hellish body and tearful eyes? He must be a sly, corrupt beast! We can’t trust anything he says!” Ophi felt an intense tingling all over. He could barely move his limbs. That was all Ophi remembered before the heat did him in. A chunk of wood jabbed Ophi in his side, ending his dream. The first thing Ophi noticed were the intense cramps in several points of his body. He couldn’t see anything aside from the faint lines in the wood shoved against his face.

A harsh chop broke further into Ophi’s prison.

That was enough to set him off. Ophi blasted out and roared with all his might. He could see the hacker running away, like a tiny thug. Ophi reared up and lunged at the intruder. Both brutes slammed into a huge stump. Everything roiled under the impact. Ophi chomped on the dry stump and used his new coils to crush it until the hacker pinned under him stopped moving. Crunching branches alerted Ophi to two rangers running into his field of vision. Another threat! The rangers pointed their guns. Ophi hissed and bristled his quills. The rangers fired anyway, and Ophi threw himself at them. When Ophi’s vision cleared, he saw the rangers sidling around him. Ophi snorted and allowed his eyes to follow the smaller one. Ophi reared up and brandished his cumbersome fangs. The targeted ranger was now flinging themselves at the landscape like a pinball. Ophi jolted and jerked, slamming his huge teeth at anything that resembled a dark leather jacket. The last yell stopped short and Ophi slowed, satisfied. He looked around to survey the area, whose bushes and other plant life were reduced to sticks lying on cold grey sand. The new monster turned to the path leading to the rest of the park and saw users walking out from the connectrees. Ophi sneered at them but only a few fled.

In fact, one led a group charging toward him, and this one was bright red!

Ophi shook his head in disgust. “She just couldn’t stop coming back, could she?”

Ophi rammed through bushes, slithering with new fury. The last bush gave way and Ophi could finally see the group, with Heidi leading them. Ophi kept pressing forward. And so did Heidi! She slammed her hooves and galloped harder. Ophi lunged for the huge branches covering the broken fence. The branches burning under him expelled a peppery scent, which only made him cry harder. He just couldn’t do it. Not after all that he and Heidi had been through. Heidi was the only one that followed Ophi out of the thickets of their youth. Ophi’s eyes followed the ripples in the sand, only to watch them get erased by the incoming raindrops. Ophi could only hope by sparing Heidi, she would understand. She always had.


Many a times we are reluctant to listen to our well-wishers when they choose to guide us through their own experiences and hardships. Here we are trying to portray this truth of life through a small conversation. Our main characters Alina, the mother and Alisa, the daughter are just fighting like enemies. Alisa is totally disturbed with continuous taunting from her mother for something that she does not like. But Alina is always full of energy to show her right path and being a typical mother, she had chosen the path of comparing her with others and sarcasm. Let’s see how this path had helped Alina to convince Alisa with the beauty of life and importance of becoming jack of all trades, while sailing through the sea of life and using these life hacks as a source to communicate our feelings to our loved ones which is the ultimate thing that everyone wants to do. Alisa: "Mumma, I don't like cooking. Why do you always ask me to learn cooking? Just because I am a girl! Why don't you ask Joseph (her brother) to learn cooking as well? He is always wandering in the streets. " Alina: “Do you really think so!! And joseph cooks food very well. And it’s not because he is a boy. Cooking is not something that is related to gender. It’s a skill, a life-saving skill that everyone should know. " Alisa: "But, I am studying, you are the mother of a topper from this prestigious institute. But still you define a perfect girl with cooking skills only. Don't you think it’s normal to be not perfect, to not know cooking and to be happy with what I like doing the most, of course it’s not kitchen, not utensils, not that boxes of spices or flour and blah blah but reading these books. I am a nerd why don't you accept it. Why do you always want to change me?” Alina: "It’s not like that baby .I am mother of a topper but more importantly the mother of a daughter, why don't you understand this. I am your mother, your well-wisher. I will have to bring you to right path even if you don't want to” Alisa: "Is it so? Then why aren't you happy with my achievements. Since my adulthood you are like Sofia (one of the girls living in neighborhood) cooks so well, Kiara (Alisa's cousin) knows all household works and so on. But you never said anything good about me. I was always a brilliant student in school and now in college as well. But you never admire me for that .Am I adopted? Tell me, say the truth" Alina: "Just shut up. I had carried you in my womb for nine months. At least respect that. (Sighed heavily). You are!! There is no use for crying for the things that you don't have and more importantly there is no harm in admiring others. Even you should learn accepting others' as well and appreciate them too. The way you want appreciation from others, they want it as well. " Alisa:" No, I'm not. It’s not going to work like this every time. You will have to tell me this time. I will be graduating this year and will become an independent woman. I will be able to earn good money, will be able to fulfill my dreams. I will be able to buy anything that I want. Everything mumma, everything" Alina: “Is it! Dear, so, this self-dependent woman is going to eat raw food to keep her healthy, right?" Alisa: “No, I can order food online, go and hang out with friends and can still fill my little empty stomach!!” Alina: “And this will soon make your little empty stomach full of tiny ill microbes and end up lying you in a hospital bed. Listen dear, I am not your enemy. I am and will always be proud of your achievements but being your mother ,the only thing that I want is to make you self-dependent in true sense. I want you to be self-proficient to fulfill basic needs of life .Dear, you can't buy everything in this world. There are certain things in life which are priceless. They can only be bought by showing affection, love, empathy, care and such great human characteristics make us human." Alisa: "Umm, Why are you behaving like a typical philosopher? You are just testing my patience. You are arguing for others not me” Alina: “Dear, money can help you to fulfil basic needs of life but it’s not the only thing for survival. I hope you are getting what I am trying to convey you. Life is not about making money only. It’s more about making relationships, to find those relationships that will be there for you whether money will be with you or not. To find those immense sources of in-depth life that can nourish my girl's roots and help her grow with her utmost capacity. That will take you in right direction, will make you a good human” Alisa: "Hmm, I can’t live without my friends.” Alina:" Umm, only friends!” Alisa: "I mean without you as well. (Finally, she gathered some courage to say so). May be you are right. I can’t be happy with money only. (After thinking for some-time) Well, I agree, but I thought you were saying so for sake of my marriage only :|" Alina:” Well you are my own sweetheart, the love of my life. I, not only want you to be independent but a better human as well. Sometimes it’s good to be dependent. These are the little things that make us stronger. These are the tiny little moments that make our survival easier, bring smile to our faces. How pleasing it is when you have a person whom you can rely on for everything, whom you can scold for your own mistakes and so on. There are so many. May be someday you really want to impress your hubby with your cooking skills rather than your coding skills” And this ended the room in laughter with start of much deeper conversations between the duos from swimming through the dark uncovered secrets of life to flying in the sky high that makes you feel above everything.


The cool morning air burned Tessa’s throat. Wyvern never offered to slow down for her, but then again, she never actually fell behind. She panted for breath as she trotted after him under the dancing, waving branches of trees full of bright green leaves, bleeding the golden light of the rising sun through the cracks in the canopy. Tessa pulled in a breath and skipped over a root. “Wyvern…” She wore the breeches and tunic he had sewn for her and he always tied her flowing locks of auburn hair with a length of string, so that her long pony-tail waved behind her like a tail. She had to practically run in her little animal-skin boots to keep pace with his long strides. He peered down at her from beneath bushy grey eyebrows. His face was framed by long, tangled grey hair and a long beard that cascaded down his chest. He wore his heavy hooded cloak and carried a tall, twisted walking stick.  “What does a robin look like?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the mulch underfoot to keep from tripping. “A robin is a red-chested bird,” he said. His voice rumbled softly on the air, like a distant peal of thunder. “The boy said that the first person to see a robin was the first person to see spring,” Tessa said, an unspoken question in her voice. “The boy?” Wyvern repeated. “From Out There,” she reminded him. “The one who wasn’t afraid of me.” She had told him of the boy more than once. She didn’t even know his name, but he was the only one from her village who had not called her a witch. She wasn’t a witch. She’d told them: she just heard voices sometimes. But they hadn’t listened. That was before she ran away. She no longer called the place “my village.” Everything beyond the woods was just “Out There.” “Is it true?” she pressed. “That to see a robin first is to see spring come?” Wyvern laughed at her childishness. She adored his laugh. It was a booming, powerful, happy sound that made her want to laugh right along with him. “Of course not,” he chuckled, “That’s an old myth. The trees tell us when spring has come.” “The trees?” Tessa had to jump over tree roots that Wyvern barely lifted his feet to avoid. “The trees.” He nodded, almost solemn. “They talk to us?” She remembered frowning, feeling afraid. What could the trees want to say to me? “To some of us.” Wyvern smiled. “But to hear them speak, you have to want to listen.” He said the words like a secret. Suddenly, she wanted to hear them — more than she’d ever wanted anything. “I want to listen,” she said in earnest. He laughed again, which made her smile. “All in good time, Tessa.” ### For a year, Wyvern taught Tessa about the trees’ voices. She listened for them every day, even as autumn faded to winter and they lost their leaves and the soft rustle of the woods grew dull and brittle with cold. She stepped into her eighth winter, bright-eyed and determined to be worthy of the trees, only to storm back to the cabin she and Wyvern shared every night when it grew too cold. Her fingers, nose, and cheeks would be tingly and the rest of her numb before she’d scurry back, weary and disappointed. Wyvern always asked the same question. “No whispers today?” Tessa would just shake her head. “Maybe you’ll hear them tomorrow,” he’d say. And then he’d fall back asleep in his big, worn chair in front of the fire, and Tessa would crawl into the little bed behind the curtain at the back of the hut and be asleep as soon as the warmth reached back into her bones. By the time the snow melted away and the trees stopped creaking and groaning like old bones, and they flowered and turned green with life again, Tessa was sure that she would never hear them speak. She wasn’t chosen. But it was warm out and Wyvern didn’t seem worried that she was ignoring her other lessons, so she wandered out to her usual spot in a clearing away from the hut where she couldn’t be disturbed. She flopped onto her back on the wide stump in the middle of the clearing, cold and damp with morning dew, and stared up into the canopy glowing with early light. For a while, she closed her eyes like Wyvern had suggested. She tried to think of nothing but the air and the wind through the trees and push and pull of her own breath. But try as she might, nothing helped, and she only got more frustrated. Finally, Tessa opened her eyes and sat up. She curled her legs under her and glared at the trees around her before she noticed the little bird hopping around the edge of the clearing. It sang a clear, high trill and she almost shooed it away before she noticed the red colour of its chest. If the trees wouldn’t deign to speak to her, then the sight of a robin would have to be good enough: spring had come. Winter was over. This was a season of newness and growth. Wyvern always said that it was the best season for learning new things. The robin hopped along the ground for a while and then flapped its wings and fluttered up onto Tessa’s stump. It was wide enough around that the bird was still too far away for her to reach. Tessa watched it peck and scratch at the old wood, poking around for seeds or bugs. She liked the way the little creature twitched and jerked as if every movement was in preparation to take flight. She remembered the snack she’d stowed away in her jacket pocket and fished it out — a leftover biscuit from breakfast. Wyvern always made them plain, but Tessa liked to add nuts or cheese to hers. She pulled off a small, bite-sized piece and crumbled it over the centre of the stump before putting the rest of the biscuit away. The robin tilted its head as though it watched her. Tessa raised her eyebrows. “Don’t be greedy. You’re much smaller ‘n me. I need more of it than you do — go on.” She waved her fingers at the small mound of crumbs and then set her hands in her lap and waited. And after a few breaths, the robin flitted forwards. It pecked at the crumbs timidly at first and then seemed to gather its courage. Tessa spoke to the bird softly. This wasn’t strange for her. She often spoke to the animals around her, especially when Wyvern wasn’t around, but often enough when he was nearby that he didn’t question it. She’d made friends with a rabbit, and a fox she suspected was actually two different foxes that only showed their faces when the weather got cold and it was harder to find food. But she’d never tried talking with birds before. They always flew away so fast. The robin, despite its urgency, seemed to take its time pecking at the crumbs and picking up every last piece of the biscuit she had left for it. And even after it had finished, it settled on the edge of the stump and stayed there for a while. Tessa was just getting sore and resigning herself to change positions — and risk scaring the bird away — when she heard it. Not so much a voice, but a breathy whisper. And somehow, she didn’t seem to hear the sound with her ears. Rather, it was in her head, like her own thoughts, only in a different tone. Her gaze locked onto the robin and she froze, unable to move or look away for fear that she would never hear it again. But there it was, less of a thought and more of a feeling. She sensed the robin and its tiny, beating heart. The way it twitched and moved, the way the air felt against the sensitive fringes of its feathers. Somehow as she watched it, she became convinced that the robin felt safe near her. And grateful. It was grateful to her for the crumbs. But—oh, it had to go soon. And no sooner had Tessa thought it than the robin spread its wings and flapped into the air, away from the stump and through the trees to the sky above. Her sense of the creature grew more and more distant until she couldn’t feel it anymore, but in its place… Tessa took in a deep, full breath and her eyes fluttered closed, but it was still there. The trees’ voices were all around her . They caressed her skin and danced at the edges of her mind like forest spirits, whispering of the little mouse in the hole in the ground there, or the fox still sleeping outside of the clearing. Birds flew through her awareness, not as sounds, but as little bursts of warmth in her mind, and through it all the trees whispers were like the sound of leaves rustling together in a gentle wind. She could hear it all. She could hear everything . The trees told her about the ground and the puddles and the lingering dew; about the branches leaning over the path that led back to the hut; of the old, grey-haired man lumbering around the hut, looking once again for his misplaced axe. Distantly, Tessa was aware that she was smiling. But she didn’t break concentration even for a moment. The trees were telling her every secret that lay in the forest, and she didn’t want to miss a thing.


The crowd was bustling in the auditorium, all ecstatic to see the Great Magician Larson. Quickly, the fans raced through the building and planted in their velvet covered seats.

Backstage a tall figured man in a top hat prepared himself, for he was the Great Magician Larson. His eyes were wide and his hair was slicked back so much, it almost reached his back. When Larson heard the announcer call his name, he fixed his posture and made his way to the stage. When he stepped on, the crowd’s once loud voices turned into a just soft breathing of the people. The only loud thing in the auditorium was the magician’s footsteps and a crying baby in the back of the room. Larson cleared his throat and strided smoothly to the center of the stage.

“Ladies and gentleman,” He boomed, his voice echoing through the building, “Watch closely as I make a fine woman appear before your very eyes!”

The crowd were on the edge of they’re seats. They all knew that the Great Magician Larson was

truly magical, and did live up to his name.

Moving his hands, the magician yelped- no chanted, “Abracadabra, abracado! For I will make this woman appear before you!” With a puff of smoke, you could see a woman in a long purple dress. The crowd gasped and cheered so loud that it shook the room. Some started

sobbing in awe at Larson. Fans clamored to the front, their eyes glistening.

The Great Magician Larson smiled with pride. He was good. He knew he was good. He bragged about it all the time. He was not humble, never had been. Even when he was a child he bragged about his perfect skills. He was a very smart boy and

went through school effortlessly.

One time when he was ten, after the tests had been passed out

he laughed

to the boy sitting next to him, “You got a "D "? Unlike you, I can actually read.” So,

his attitude was, and still is nasty. When he started practicing magic tricks, his ego grew and he became less and less humble. On stage you could never see it. The only people who knew were his parents. In fact, they’ve been whispering about his imposing personality ever since he started practicing magic.

“Should we tell him to stop?” His

mother once said to her husband. “No,” The father replied in a serious tone, “We can’t tell him to stop following his dream when that’s all we tell him to do.” “But, all he ever does is brag,” She paused, then said, “That’s not right.” “I know, but this is something Larson really enjoys. He might be able to be successful in magic.” “That’s true. So, stay away?” Larson’s father nodded and replied, “Stay away.”So, Larson ended up pursuing magic, but he did not become humble like his parents wished. Once the applause silenced in the auditorium, the magician went to his next trick.

“Now, you may think there is only one of me,” The Great Magician Larson said, in a mysterious voice, “But, there are many of me!”

As he said that sentence, his voice echoed and hundreds of Larson’s appeared throughout the auditorium. The audience mouths gaped open. The baby in back stopped crying. Even the flies stopped moving.

Then the audience went crazy. They laughed, cried, and screeched with joy all at the same time. One girl jumped up and down, her pigtails doing the same as her body. People reached out to touch the Larsons, and sure enough they were as solid as the Great Magician himself.

Everyone in the auditorium ran to the front, shoving others down and pushing people out of the crowd. Every single person had to shake the Great Magician’s hand. A smile ran across Larson’s face. If a hand even brushed his shoe, the person would break down into tears.

“He’s truly magical!” One man said, smiling widely.

“I know!” The woman next to him said, tears streaming down her face.

The magician smiled broadly. The Great Magician Larson’s tricks make adults act like little children. He had won them over. But then a clatter came from the back of the room.

The crowd didn’t notice, they were all captured in a daze. But the Great Magician Larson did . He looked up and saw a fallen mirror on the ground. He bit his lip and shifted his eyes around nervously. Then he shook his head and continued his broad smile.

“Now, for my next trick: I will make this woman disappear!” The same woman in the purple dress strided on the stage with a bright, large smile. With a worried smile on the magician’s face he said to the woman, “Come! And stand here please.” Larson pointed to two pieces of blue tape in an “X” shape. The woman nodded and stepped onto the piece of tape.

As she did so, a trap door beneath the blue tape cracked open and light bled through. The woman shifted her footing, but the same trap door opened all the way and light shed across the ground. When this happened the woman’s foot got caught in the door and she fell to the floor. This time, the crowd did see. They gasped, not in awe, but in confusion. Trying to grab the audience’s attention back, the Great Magician Larson cleared his throat and said, “Abracadabra, abracado! For I will make this woman disappear before you!” Nothing happened. There was no puff of smoke. The woman was still on the floor. The magician inhaled and said, his voice cracking, “Abracadabra, abracado! For I will make this woman disappear before you!” Still, nothing happened. Larson stood frozen on the stage, deathly afraid. The audience looked perplexed. Then the mirrors started to fall to the floor again, spreading shattered glass across the ground.

The crowd’s expression changed. It went from perplexed to angry. “This can’t be happening! I’m the greatest magician in the whole world!” Lanson muttered, hoping his fans didn’t hear him. But they did. His microphone picked up all of it, word for word. The crowd's teeth gritted at the famous magician’s behavior. All they usually saw from Larson was his magical essence. But now they saw who he truly was not an imposing man, but an imposter.

They all shook their heads and some began to leave. They were all shocked and wished they could see the old Great Magician Larson, but they could not. The crowd (who were once his fans) jeered, with their eyes squinting with hate.

“He’s a fraud!” One woman screamed, pointing at him. “He’s been playing us this entire time!” A man yelled over the jeering of the crowd. Everyone filed out of the auditorium. The crowd that came in so happy to see the Great Magician Larson, were now happy to never see him again.

“Turns out he doesn’t live up to his name,” A little girl muttered to her brother. “Yeah!” The brother replied. After that night, the showcase was always empty whenever Larson was performing. But he still stayed cocky and bragged about his

skills on the streets. “You know how you see those magicians who do the same simple trick over and over again. Well, I’m much better than that. I can actually do tricks that are magical! I know I am the most wonderful magician who ever lived,” He once said to a woman walking along the street. She peered at him oddly and said while rolling her eyes, “I know who you are. You failed as a magician and yet you still are the most conceited

man alive.”

“I know,” He said, glaring at her. He walked away briskly telling everyone he saw about his perfect skills in magic.


I am Scarlet, Scarlet T anager. A bird who hatched in the South and lost in the North. Here I was, told you a story of mine, not a good one but I hope it leads my way to you. I remember that afternoon, years ago before I turned one. When the leave has fallen composed with their dignity told me a story of an autumn that I have never seen. I was young and enthusiast. Every pain and failure were part of live experience. I believed that moment of time, those experiences will shape me into what’s best of me. Until it never stops. It starts to burn me part by part, stole every single piece of me. One day my friends, next day my freedom, and when I was sane enough to sort out my mind. It was gone, my confidence, my capability, my time, and my youth. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t let myself free. I was lost the count after three winters. That morning, I was wondering around the forest, prepared for my long travel to went back to the South, avoid the harsh winter, when I was caught by human and spent my life in a cage since then. I tried for uncounted times to beats the bars that separate me with my freedom, but it never works. Every time I almost did it, the human that’s caught me would change the cage and I need to start again. At this point, I was forgot the reason I claimed my freedom. Here in the cage, I am safe, warm, and full. I just lost my right to fly and logically, it was unnecessary. Once all I need was provided, yet I’m still thirst of freedom. Yet it’s hurt, when you know that you lose yourself and forget your power. Nonetheless, the universe forgot to teach you, how to give up. You are holding the last piece of yourself and keep making steps. Sometimes even a step was too hard and you crawl instead. An untold pain like the leaves were forced to the end of their live, supports the young like they didn’t deserved a longer live. Their time was gone. Old dream just a dream, no longer alive to proves its existence. Until that dawn, a girl with blue-black hair and wide black eye kept her words. Her long-blue hair blew by the wind, a daughter of a man that caught me. Sometimes she’d talked to me with her teary eyes, the other time she’d gave me some grapes or oranges. She like to told me story of her life. Apparently, she also lived in a cage like me. Every time she came with her teary eyes, she’d told me ‘I will set you free once I remember how to cut my leash’, but it never happens. The dawn hasn’t come yet but she was holding her bag and I think, it finally comes. She was hastily open my cage door and whisper to me, ‘ GO! FLY AWAY GO! DON’T COME BACK HERE EVER AGAIN! DON’T LET ANYONE TRAPPED YOU AGAIN, GO!’ But I was just sat there in the cage. When the freedom I wish for was in front of me, I felt hesitation abused me. I had no idea why I couldn’t make a step away. It’s so easy, I just need to flapped my wing like what I always wanted, but I was forgotten by my own power. I forgot how to flapped my wings. The girl pushed her hand inside the cage, stable and warm. She gave me a sign to step on her finger and I clumsily make a step to her finger. Slow and steady, she pulled me out of my cage and swung me away to the air. I start to flapped my wings like my body always remember how, I fly again. I want to turned my head to say my grateful to her, but I had no brave to do so. All my focus was to fly ahead and didn’t looking back. Out of the cage, I could taste that winter soon will come. I was late in time, autumn was almost on its edge, mocking me with the flurries of wind. I believe, my flock wasn’t around anymore. They should had reached the gulf, left this place with limited amount of food. I couldn’t stand the howls of the wind and rush my flight to reached the gulf before winter without enough food. But my option was limited, then I fly and fly to found the forest that’s around, unfortunately I found none. I was tired and hungry, almost passed out when finally found few oak trees to lean on. I like to went down to the ground and hunts the ants, worms, or anything left but my fear of being caught by human again keep me on the top of the tree. There were some seeds left in the tree, it’s hard and taste bad. I was able to brave myself to get some food from park nearby, and after I filled my stomach, I start my journey to the South. After my third day on sky, I realized that there’s too many changed around. The canopy that I used to see along the way to the gulf has gone. The building looked like stairs to reach the sky. The red light was getting blurred, the stars were hardly seen, and travel at night seems so dangerous. One time, as I flew all by myself, passing through the forest of concrete, I was found myself drawn into a bright light and almost hurt myself and crashed to the skyscrapers. The world has changed. I finally reached the gulf but as I expected, my flock was gone. I need more rest before crossing the gulf. Luckily, I met another flock of blue-bird. “Hey, why are you still here?” asked a bird with blue feathers. “I was lost and left behind, I tried to catch the flocks now.” I said, “Where are you heading to? The south?” asked the blue bird, “The south,” I admitted, “Well, you can join us until you find your flocks, if you want.” I smiled bright fully, grateful by her offers. “Thanks! I am about to ask that. I will follow you silently. Thank you so much!” I said, “I am Rina, Passerina.” A beautiful name and soul of her called Rina. “Scarlet, Scarlet Tanager” I said, and that was my story until I met Rina and being my company through the rest of my journey. Travel with Rina’s flock indeed makes everything easier. They show me the way and listened to my story. Very kind of them, took me as their own kind, share the food with me and teach me how to sing their song. I was getting closer with the South and my excitement on its peak. Every tear and bruised didn’t felt bad anymore. What I cared the most was there in front of me. And that dawn, when the sky painted with a clear blue, I saw a familiar beautiful orange flock dominated the trees far ahead. It’s them, my flock!


“Next!” She did not mean to shout, but she knew what the morning would be like. The people waiting in line would be buying stamps, picking up packages, check post office boxes, etc…and then buying whatever groceries they could find in the drugstore before heading to the café or the metro. The day they decided to put her job in the middle of the brightness of a drugstore was the day she should have quit. But she was still here, after the move, wearing the uniform that indicated some level of responsibility and experience. Yes, that was the word: experience. She was standing behind the counter, waiting for Lee to get out from the back and help her out with whatever traffic they would face. There were now three in line, but that was early. “Next.” The old lady did not hear her, but that was fine. Janet knew that this was going to be business as usual with Ms. Lindar. She was always getting packages or trying to get the latest celebrity stamps if she had not bought them last time. Her thin windbreaker and cane were clear and simple props she expected on a Monday. The lady approached, with a slight scent of mothballs and polyester, and smiled to herself. “Just a package today.” She passed over a slip from the delivery service with her name and address on it. She ran a scan over the QR code and it was legitimate. What else should it be? “Do you have identification?” “As always.” In her red faux-leather handbag, she took out a set of plastic cards held together with a green rubber band (always green, she noted; just like the ones we use here). Her birth certificate and driver’s license were right on top. “Here, my dear. Do you need anything else?” “No, not at all. I just had to check…” There was a decision in her mind not to check Ms. L.’s address again if she was at the desk. Lee would probably call her for help, anyway. And where the hell…? “Lee!” At least there was no one in line at the moment (Ms. L. was heading toward the painkillers). She turned around the corner and saw him. “Lee…” Nodding out again…and no surprises here. The boy was sitting on stack of plastic boxes, now turned over and empty for their collections, and he was out of it. Why couldn’t the boy go for a large coffee loaded with sugar and cream like the rest of them at the café down two doors from them? He would always pill himself up or out and she had been very good about not saying a thing to the staff or management about this. It was easy to do so, since Lee was one of the sons of the too-rich-to-think people who owned the place ( one of the sons : legitimacy is a strange animal). The epi-pen was rolling across the floor. “Lee. Lee, Lee…” She squatted down to pick it up, recognizing that this was a new one that he had just obtained (was that a gift from upper management?). “You are so lucky it is a quiet morning…” It would be some time before she forgot the coincidence of what happened next. The pen was still in Lee’s leg and he was groaning and moaning after he caught his breath, stood up and pushed her into some stationery. And that was when she heard the bell on the counter…and the scream. “Everyone, down on the ground!” It was not an easy Monday, but it was still a Monday. She pushed Lee back down onto the plastic – he needed a moment – and walked around the corner to face a rather squat and ski-masked man waving a gun around the room. “Lady, get down!” She looked over the man’s outfit up close: jeans (loose-fitting, but clean), Chuck Taylors (excellent condition), thin leather jacket (weathered with a white t-shirt, so very stylish in black), and the ski-mask (a balaclava…is that what they call it?). Something was off. “I am the senior person in charge of this station, so you do not want me on the ground.” “Lady, I ain’t playin’!” “ You ‘ain’t playin’?” She actually made the air quotes around his attempt to sound tough, or “street” (was that the right term?). “You have to be kidding me…” The man was now pointing the gun directly at her chest, stepping gingerly over the clerk on the floor (a nice kid, she thought; pants were soaked with urine and she could smell something worse down there). Again, something was really off. “I have a gun!” “It is not...a real one.” It almost made her laugh out loud when she saw how he blinked in those eye sockets. He was looking for his words. “But, it’s my… It’s a…” “Look,” she put her hands on the counter, knocking over a tray of pamphlets for a philatelist event, “this place is full of cameras, very few exits, and it is in the middle of the day. The police are probably already on their way, and you have a weapon that can’t do anything but shoot a BB pellet below the skin.” She took the gun out of his hands and placed it on the stepladder beside the drop box. “You know what to do next.” * The police were annoyed (as always), the staff impressed (the boy with the biological failure was sent home with the police), the management informed (once again) and the customers consoled. Not much left over for the staff that had to stay on for the rest of the day and try to earn their pay. Lee finally stepped out from the back. She had almost forgotten about him (the police never even looked back there). He actually looked well. “Whu’appen?” Again, it was very fortunate that no one was in line. She could only deal with so much today. “Nothing. Handle the cash. I have to take my break.” Lee was somehow managing to stand up straight and focus at the same time. The kid could actually work for fifteen minutes at a time. “Yeah. I’m…I got it.” She did not wait for the rest of the sentence. There was a cigarette she needed right now. At least it was a beautiful day. “Oh, dear.” And she was still here. Ms. Lindar, cane and all, was walking between the cars to the path behind the mall. Why did she hang around after…? “It’s all right. It wasn’t a real gun, just a toy. I could see that he was messing with us.” She frowned at her for a moment. “No, dear. Not that. I just...” She looked at her cigarette. “I didn’t know that you smoked.” She dropped the cigarette and somehow made it to the back entrance without rolling her eyes. So, that was her break. At least five people were still around after the attempted robbery, one of them a shoplifter who thought that this was a golden opportunity (she brought him to the counter and made him empty his dirty backpack; another call to the management…). Lee was still at the register, trying to decide how to use the card scanner with a man who wanted a dozen commemorative stamps for a singer she did not care for (they were international; guess those songs were more popular somewhere else). The customer, a face she knew (no name; no problem), was happy to talk about it while no one else waited in line. Maybe it would be an easy afternoon. And then the power went out. * It was not a bad moment. The thing about daytime power outages that she accepted was that the people around her would try to continue as if nothing happened. The customer noted the darkness, but he kept up with his history lesson as Lee flinched at the loss of light. The rest of the pharmacy got so quiet that she noted how she wanted to hear the hum from the freezers and long shelf of drinkers in the open coolers. Some curses were heard, a few laughs, but it was not a moment worth worrying about. Once she found the fuses and noted the smoke rising from the box, it was a quick change that brought everything back to what could be called normal. The moment would pass. So would the phone call. “Front cash.” “You still on?” Very friendly for a Monday… A lot of sympathy in that voice. “Where else would I go?” She knew who it was. “Right, right… Well,” she could almost hear Mr. Benedek’s belly shift in that swivel chair that was more squeaks than comfort, “we just wanted to thank you for everything today. The robbery…blackout…” “Lee?” “What?” Did he even care about the kid? “Nothing.” The customers were gone now. Almost noon; almost lunch time… “Right, well, we want to promote you.” She tried not to freeze up as she looked at the phone (it felt like an animal she should not have picked up). “Say what again?” “Promotion. Upper management. You obviously’ve earned it. And we can get Lee and some other kid on the counter. We’ll have to talk about…” That was all she wanted to hear. She looked at the stacks of stationery – envelopes, packaging, pamphlets, tapes, labels, posters with estimated delivery times – and dropped the phone, startling Lee to a point (he was already heading back to the storage area). She walked out the front to the main parking lot, looking up at the threat of rain and staring off at the kids from the local school getting out at the bell, the workers in the various shops looking for a place to eat, and certain customers who were aware of their hunger. Her cigarette pack was almost empty, but she did not need another one. There was something perfect about that Monday and she did not want the morning to end.