Vivek is a surreal novelist who writes mostly horror and thriller genres. He is happily married to Varsha, a creative and beautiful woman and they then blessed with Sarah of 8 years. But after their marriage, she noticed Vivek is a kind of guy with multiple personality traits. But she doesn't care it much as he never behaves odd and never made her feel bad. But sometimes she finds Vivek talks to himself calling Vinay and she felt embarrassed and hesitantly asked him about this once. Vivek is a man driven by doubt, unable to give himself entirely to a person or to a faith – even as he knew that to refrain from such commitment was no way to live. Vivek, Vinay writes, spent "his whole life searching for a haven that, were he to find it, he would only exile himself from or spoil, and then begin the search again." Vinay negotiates these ideas – of detachment, of faith, of home and belonging, of love, of displacement – turning them over and over like river pebbles, puzzling over their place in his own life, thinking them through. This is, in a way, the point: when Varsha asked why he wanted to spend so much time with Vinay, Vivek told her "It's a way of working things out, as I couldn't otherwise." One day while Vivek is busy updating his website, he hesitantly scrolls through a website full of pictures of him sleeping and realizing that in each image a strange man gets closer to his bed. In the one uploaded last night, he was lifting the blanket. Not realizing that the auto-sync was enabled on his cloud account that synced the photos he clicked the last night to a social media website, Vivek is shocked and confused by this strange incident that happened, he went to see the blanket is positioned or not. Surprisingly he sees a letter near to the blanket and in that letter, there is an address of a village and written "come here for a good story for your next novel". Vivek is surprised and thinks it is a prank of someone. But when strange incidents start happening like his daughter talks to some invisible person saying her name is Chaitra and asks him about the letter and village, he decides to go to that village. But Varsha thinks it's foolish to go to the village depending on their daughter's behavior because she thinks Sarah like her father has adopted some psychological issues. And she thinks the letter is just a prank, but Vivek has decided to go to the village to know the reason behind the happenings. Vivek with the letter he found, starts his journey towards the mystery he would like to chase. But soon he starts, he misses his train and finds himself taking a ride to somewhere beyond normal understanding. He perceives the nature of the alternate universe in which he finds himself– a world where his friends and loved ones are all smiling, hate-filled psychopaths, sort of like the Mirror Universe taken to horrifying extremes. Vivek is completely out of his mind and he feels out of his bodily experiences of what he is seeing. He is continuously listening a voice - "I am nearer to you than you to yourself".... He sees his wife burning the dolls while Sarah cries. He does not understand her intension of weird behaviour. Varsha saying herself that Sarah was assuming it was her mom who moved the dolls into her bed each night. Vivek heard a voice murmuring- "Seeing is not acting. If you don't act, you don't see anything"... He sees and feels the decay and body horror and Kafkaesque surrealism. But again, the voice whispers - "seeing is not acting. If you don't act, you don't see anything". He sees her daughter under demonic possession. Sarah is afflicted by intense shaking and loss of control over her body. Confused by her symptoms, doctors diagnose her with schizophrenia but her behaviour grows worse. She begins attacking the family members and drinks her own urine. Her concerned family eventually convinces the priests and performs multiple exorcism sessions. Vivek, obsessed with the hauntings, decides to go back to his home. He takes his car and starts back to his home. Then he realizes how his car is there at that point of time when he tried to go to the village by the train. Finally, he drives away from there as fast as he can. When he feels safe enough to breathe, a voice from the backseat says, "Leaving so soon? “Vivek hears a noise unlike any other; it's a frightening combination of shattering glass, crunching metal and grinding rock. It lasts only a fraction of a second as the draining momentum hurled the now seemingly weightless vehicle back upright as gravity pulls it back to the pavement. It feels like a dream, or rather a nightmare. He struggles to grasp exactly what just happened. The windshield is completely shattered, but still held together in a mosaic design by the plastic between the panes. And somehow the whole vehicle seems whimsical and awkwardly bent. As he unbuckles his seat belt he notices a distinct red line has embedded across his exposed neck. Vivek is still in shock and has no idea what has just happened. He is wrecked but also misses an early grave just by an inch When emergency responders arrive, they find Vivek's driving seat crunched into a telephone pole. Vivek is slumped in his seat, unconscious. Vivek has traveled barely 200 yards before striking the pole... He isn't wearing a seat belt. It took emergency responders eight minutes to pull him out of the car. Some of the paramedics doubt Vivek would be alive by the time he reaches the city's General Hospital. At the hospital, Vivek has a CT scan to assess the damage and then rushed into surgery, where neurosurgeons remove the left side of his skull and part of the right to stop multiple brain hemorrhages. By the time he is transferred to the neuro intensive-care unit, he is a swollen-faced sphinx, eyes closed, head wrapped in bandages, pin-cushioned with needles, and on a ventilator. At each critical juncture of Vivek's journey — the first three days, they struggle to balance intervention with compassion, while trying to discern the fine and shifting line between hope and hopelessness. Vivek opens his eyes on the third/second day. He’d passed from a coma into a vegetative state, a condition of wakeful unconsciousness - eyes wide open but mind still shut down. During the fifth day in the hospital, Vivek began to show signs to his doctors that he is becoming aware of the outside world. Doctor Jai feels it's the medical miracle and only patients in movies leap out of unconsciousness and stay there. Brain-injury patients more typically fluctuate — up and down, in and out, aware and then unaware. The minimally conscious state can last days, weeks, months, years, the rest of one’s life. But Vivek shows no signs of any brain abnormalities which confuse the consciousness of his doctors. The exact process remains mysterious, in part because every traumatic injury inflicts a unique pattern of damage on the cells and circuitry of the brain. One week after the accident, Vivek's doctors perform a second MRI. Remarkably, and unexpectedly, the brain scan suggests that some of Vivek's damaged wiring has begun to mend. “To our knowledge,” the doctors noted later, this type of reversal has not been previously described with serial neuroimaging or in a case with such a widespread extent of axonal injury. Vivek is discharged a day after the MRI report is ready. He is still in and out. Sometimes he seems to pay attention, other times he seems lost. Varsha does not want to reveal to her husband about Sarah's abnormal behaviour, as he is not yet completely recovered. Sarah is showing the signs of demonic possession. She speaks in tongues and strange guttural voices; she levitates and clings to the walls of her bedroom. Rajesh, Sekhar and Bhaskar are staying together in a flat near Vivek's house. Murder mystery of Rajesh and Sekhar made the whole city in shock as they are clearly mentioned and projected as abnormal deaths caused by nonhuman or demon. When Rajesh enters his flat, he hears a deep moaning and getting nervous turns his head to the direction where he hears it from. There he sees a girl sitting on the floor with her head bent in between her legs and her hands upwards on head. Out of tremendous fear and anxiety Rajesh goes near to the girl and calls her slowly. The girl who was sitting there turned her head around until it was completely facing backward... Rajesh loses his heart and in deep shock tries to shout out loud but is unable to bring his voice out. Rajesh has been bashed around the head, had his face slashed, his body mutilated and then, finally, his torso sliced in half. He is stretched out, with his feet together and one hand on his abdomen and the other lying next to him. His head is turned slightly to one side. His eyes are wide open and staring. The eventual search party discovered a tent ripped in Sekhar's belongings--including his shoes--left behind despite the deathly cold temperatures. Following a trail of shoeless footprints that led to the woods, they soon recovered the Sekhar's body with the underwear... He had strange fatal injuries that included major skull trauma, major chest fractures, and a missing tongue. Police were alarmed to find out that what they presumed to be a corpse-like Halloween decoration hanging from a fence turned out to be an actual dead person. A bloody rock was found near the body of Sekhar. But the forensic reports revealed the hand prints on the rock and the blood was Sekhar's only. After Sekhar's death, Bhaskar is upset and afraid. He is scared even of his own shadow. Bhaskar observes the same toy at both of his friends’ dead bodies. He reminds that toy which they had seen it with Sarah and she named the toy as Chaitra... Bhaskar decides to go to Vivek's house to confirm it's the same toy or not. There he sees Sarah playing with that toy very innocently. He asks Sarah that where she was in the morning and innocently she says she stayed at home watching Doraemon as its Sunday-holiday. Varsha comes there to know what's happening. Bhaskar greets her and says her the reason for his coming to their house. Varsha feels sorry for his friends’ unnatural death and she advises him to take care of himself. Bhaskar observes the strange behaviour of Sarah and Varsha tells him the total incidents of what’s happening to them. Bhaskar asks Varsha to come with him to meet a paranormal investigator to understand what's happening with them. He decides to chase the mystery of his friends’ deaths. They meet the paranormal investigator Mithun Acharya and tell him about the horrible mysterious deaths of Rajesh and Sekhar and about the toy he saw there and about Sarah and her behaviour and about the Vivek's accident. Mithun Acharya performs exorcism to know the exact cause of mysteries. He, after some time, calls them and says that he wishes to see Vivek and Sarah once. They take him home and there he sees Sarah playing with the doll and when she saw Mithun Acharya coming, she behaves little weird. He went inside to see Vivek. He is sleeping and Varsha wakes him up. Not knowing anything that's happening, Vivek asks Varsha that what's going on. Then she tells him the entire thing that happened till that time and Vivek tried to recollect something happened prior to the accident. Mithun Acharya asks Vivek about Chaitra. Even though confused, all are seeing him out of curiosity to listen what he is going to say. Vivek confused first but gradually tried to recollect and starts saying. Chaitra was his classmate and neighborhood friend when he was doing his graduation. He was fond of writing since childhood and highly influenced to write horror stories... Once he wrote a story and after reading that Chaitra starts behaving strangely. Chaitra had an attraction developed on Vivek in her adolescent age and reads every story of his. After reading a story of him, she was inspired to play Ouija board and played. Later she started behaving strange. Vivek thought she was playing a prank. But situations made worse when Chaitra was completely preoccupied with the demonic possession and love towards Vivek. Chaitra had involved her all senses in the Ouija board and the anxiety of believing that she had been contacting spirits or demons, triggered the trance state and psychotic disorder where she started hallucinating and lost touch with reality. Knowing everything happening , Chaitra's parents decided to put her in the asylum. But it's not over. Mithun Acharya reveals that Chaitra had committed suicide and it's she who is talking regularly to Sarah. While everyone is in deep shock, Mithun comes to know that it was not Chaitra besides the multiple deaths. He sees an old painting of a woman there and asks Varsha about it. A strange fact that comes to know is Varsha who is more interested in collecting old paintings and fascinated over sculptures gets the painting as a gift by Vivek on her birthday once. Mithun senses that there is demonic presence in that painting and it is the reason for the mysterious happenings, but not Chaitra. He doesn't want to reveal it before he knows exactly what's happening. He leaves the place tying Sarah a divine knot. But he feels the eyes of the woman in the painting are haunting him. Bhaskar also leaves the place hesitantly with fear. Vivek is completely preoccupied his mind with demonic fear and is disturbed for his family's paranormal behaviour. The very night when he sleeps on his bed, Vivek feels heavy on his chest and opens his eyes. He is terribly afraid of seeing a woman's head on his chest with a teary eyes and lips and horrible terrific smile from the broken lips. Out of shock he shouts heavily but voice doesn't come out. He throws the head away and tries to get up but the headless body is sitting next to him and grabs his neck. He anyhow manages to get out from there running and enters the lift. Vivek apparently gains access to the rooftop of the house and climbs on its water tank. The rooftop is alarmed, the tank is 8-foot-high, and he manages to close the heavy lid after himself. Workers reach there to cut it open with tools to remove him. Vivek is panicked and immediately rushed to meet Mithun Acharya. Mithun, after exorcism got a clarity that the gruesome and potentially deadly concoctions in the painting induce the altered states of consciousness and out-of-body experiences. It haunts by provoking “to cast sickness into whom you will,” “to cause discord and debate,” and “to kill whom you will.” And he understands it is Varsha who is haunted and possessed. He reveals it to Bhaskar and Vivek when Vivek along with Bhaskar comes to him. They are shocked to know it because Varsha never shows any sign of demonic possession. Mithun clarifies them saying "Satan's greatest trick is convincing people it does not exist". Some see this other world and others don't. It's evil's way of creating yet another imbalance in the lives. Vivek calls Varsha's parents on Mithun's suggestion and after letting them know the weird incidents that happened, Mithun asks them about Varsha. Varsha was a toddler just like any other. She ran, played, and laughed all day, and was a treasure to her parents. Then, the unexpected happened. One morning, Varsha was running down the stairs at her home, she slipped and fell. So severe was the fall that the three-year-old was pronounced dead on the scene. But then something very unexpected happened: Varsha woke up. For another four years, they had their beautiful daughter back. In her eighth year, however, everything changed. On a regular outing to the ancient museum, Varsha's parents first became aware that the girl was behaving strangely. As soon as they reached the section of the ancient sculptures in the museum, Varsha was transfixed. She couldn’t get enough of the artifacts and sat near an ancient painting of a gruesome woman for a long time, refusing to go home with her parents. After this incident, things took a turn for the worse. Varsha became almost depressed. That picture of the “woman with haunted eyes which provoked altered consciousness with its deadly concoctions” caught her attention much. After she found the picture of the strange woman, Varsha developed her interest towards ancient paintings and sculptures and started painting in her free time. She finally fell in love with Vivek and married him. After her marriage, Varsha completely freaked her husband Vivek out by calling him Vinay sometimes. Bhaskar and Vivek are shocked after listening Varsha's flashback. They all understand the deadly concoctions in the painting seduced Varsha to involve in paranormal activities. Vivek, suddenly is alone when he comes out of his thoughts and finds no one in the room except himself and the painting. He loses his heart and stares at the painting for a while. A voice whispers suddenly that - "I am nearer to yourself than you to yourself". He turns back and Varsha is standing there. She walks towards the kitchen with a knife in her hand saying that" seeing is not acting. When you don't act, you don't see anything" When Vivek's consciousness felt that something is wrong with Bhaskar, not long after the blood has dried into the carpet, Varsha started her new painting. Then Vivek falls into a world of maniacal laughs and endless torment.


“Oh, Grow up!” “This is your fault!” Emma yelled. Her voice echoed in the bathroom. A sneer formed on Emma’s face; she stormed around the bathroom to see if anyone in the stalls was listening to our conversation. Thankfully there wasn’t anyone. Why would she do that? She thought. I was doing so well on my own, and she had to step in and ruin it. She always has to be the center of attention.

“My fault? Why! I talked to people and made a little joke about you.” Olivia snapped back, raising her hands defensively. What did I do? Why is she so mad at me?

“I was finally making some progress with some people. You know how hard it is for me to make friends and speak up. But, you stepped in!” Emma’s was getting even louder. Her nose flared as if she ran a marathon with as much intensity as a raging bull.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let’s just put this behind us and not throw away 11 years of friendship.” Olivia pleaded.

“It’s too late for that. You’ve done this too many times. We’re done. I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.” Said Emma as she stormed passed Olivia and out of the bathroom.

This is alright. I have tons of friends. Olivia thought, but her lips quivered, and she felt her eyes well up. But they’re not as close as Emma and me. And with that Oliva felt hot tears stream down her face. She sulked to the bathroom stalls and sobbed. After a while, she came out of the bathroom, eyes still puffy. Waiting for her outside was one of her friends Zoe. And when Zoe saw how upset Olivia was, she wrapped her arm around Olivia and gave her a big hug. People navigated around them.

“What happened?” She asked loudly so she could be heard over the constant talking of people around them which had the same volume as a busy amusement park.

Olivia looked at Zoe. “Emma doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore.” Her voice cracked between deep breaths. Zoe sat her at the nearest fountain. The babbling water splashed her as she rubbed Olivia’s back. The sound of the streams of water going up and coming back down helped calm Oliva.

“Come,, let's go to the food court, then we can go to my place and watch a movie. We can go shopping another time.” So they got up and did exactly that. After the movie, Olivia got up and dragged her feet back home and slept for the rest of the night.

When Oliva got to school, the next day, Zoe was there waiting for her. “How are you feeling?” She asked.

“A little bit better. But I still feel horrible from yesterday’s fight.” Olivia moped.

“ I’m sorry,” Zoe said sincerely. “But, I have to tell you something.” She pulled Olivia closer and whispered in her ear. “There’s a rumour going around that you pushed Emma yesterday into the fountain at the mall and ruined a dress that her dead grandma gave her and laughed.” Olivia pulled back. She couldn’t believe it. “ I know that’s bad,” Zoe said, raising her hands, “but I have a lead that says it started with our friend group. Come follow me.” She turned around and started walking toward the school. “I saw a bunch of them over by the lockers.” She said over her shoulder.

When they got to the lockers, a dozen of Olivia’s friends rushed toward her. All were speaking on top of each other. Zoe was yelling out, trying to do crowd control. “Quiet everyone!” She shouted. “Who knows who started the rumour about Olivia?” Everyone settled down and started to mutter amongst themselves.

“Can someone please tell me?” Olivia begged. “I know a person who might know how the rumour got started. I can tell you if you can get me into the party?” One of the friends in the back chirped.

“What about me?” Another voice came from the back. “You promised me that you were going to take me to a party also. And that set off all the friends yelling at Olivia, demanding things and reminding her about promises of going to parties. Zoe grabbed Olivia’s arm and tried to navigate through the friends trying to get to the back of the crowd. When they finally got to the back, Zoe grabbed the arm of the friend named Crystal, who spoke up and ran as fast as she could, trying to escape the crowd. Crystal yanked her arm free and ran ahead of Zoe. Zoe dropped Olivia’s arm and followed with Olivia not far behind.

After a while, all three of them finally escaped the hoard of friends. “ Where is your friend that knows who started this?” Olivia puffed.

“First, you have to promise me that you’ll take me to a party.” Crystal said between heavy breaths.

Olivia clenched her jaw, her face going as red as a strawberry. “Can you stop thinking about the party?!” she snapped. Olivia stormed forward and jabbed a finger into Crystal’s shoulder. “My image is in jeopardy, and all you can think about is that damn party.”

Crystal stepped backwards, raised her hands in defence, and backed up into one of the lockers. “Okay, I’ll tell you it’s Taylor. She knows who started the rumour.

“Where is she?" Zoe snapped. “Last time I saw her was by the water fountains.” Olivia and Zoe stormed off to find Taylor. They finally found her near the classroom. Zoe marched straight up in Taylor’s face. “Who started the rumour!”? Zoe yelled. Startled, Taylor stepped back and bumped her head against the lockers. A grimace formed on Zoe’s face. “I’ll say this again,” She looked straight into Taylor’s eyes. Her voice took on a more profound and darker tone as if she was trying to control her rage. “Who started the rumour?"									 A smirk formed on Taylor’s face. “What’s in it for me.”? She asked.

“What’s in it for you?” “She raised her hand above her head and was about to smack her.

When Olivia stepped right between them, raising her hand to block the slap. “Look, just tell me, and I will help you get something. Name your price.”

“Alright, I’ll tell you,” Taylor leaned in closer. “It’s Emma,” she whispered loudly, so both girls and no one else could hear her. Olivia’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “She started the rumour. I overheard her talk to another person about plans on how to ruin your life.” Zoe lowered her hand. “Now, what I want is a free lunch for two months.” “Alright, you’ll get those free lunches,” Olivia said as she stepped back. Taylor sneaked by and went into the classroom nearby. “I can’t believe she would do that,” she covered her face with both hands. “I know that we weren’t best friends anymore, but I didn’t expect her to hate me so much that she would try to ruin me like that.” Tears started to run down her face. Zoe put her hand on Olivia’s shoulder.

“Hey, no matter how many leave you or betray you, I will always be there for you.” she hugged Olivia and walked off to their first class.


“I told you to stay away from the back. Someone will see you.”

“ You will. How else are you supposed to find me?”

Wade sighed. “You’re going to get caught. And that’s not going to be my fault.”

“If you say so.” Addon emerged, head-first, from under a woody jumble of dirty shipping crates. “All clear?”

“If it wasn’t, you’d be in danger, stat.”

“All clear, then.” Addon stood up and did a complimentary quick pants-brushing. He punched the side of Wade’s arm. “Love you too.”

Wade had never actually said the L word, in hopes that Addon always meant it as a joke. And while it was true that whenever Addon used that word, it wasn’t exactly with great sobriety, the two were hardly ever in situations they allowed themselves to think of as somber. Every circumstance personally encountered, if they were being honest with themselves, was incredibly depressing; if they viewed everything as it came they’d be dead within a few hours.

So Addon, with Wade in tow, preferred to look on the bright side. When there was one.

“I--I have this for you.” Wade withdrew his left hand out from under his jacket and handed a packet to Addon. “Ah, a delicacy,” Addon said in a poor French accent (he’d never been outside of London), sitting down on a stray wooden packing case. He patted one next to him. “Dine with me?” He started unwrapping the soft brown paper encasing Wade’s evening gift. “I already ate in the shop.” Still, Wade took a seat next to him and rested his elbows on his knees as he watched Addon’s uncharacteristic slowness in revealing the evening’s dinner. “Oh, I almost forgot--here’s this.” He reached inside his jacket again and pulled out a lukewarm brown-tinted glass bottle, hesitated a moment, then set it on the cracked pavement between the two. “We can share.” “What is it?” Addon had finally opened up the package to reveal, unsurprisingly, a hunk of crusty bread, a soft apple, and a single piece of pastel pink hard candy in a clear wrapper. “Oho, you got me dessert this time, eh?” He slid his feet forward and laid the paper packaging like a plate on his lap. “It’s--the drink--um, it’s cola.” A pause. Wade swallowed. “It’s beer.” “Honesty, we do love to see it.” With a snap , Addon twisted the candy’s wrapping away and popped the sweet between his teeth. “Do you have a bottle opener?” “Shoot, I forgot.” Wade positioned the heels of his hands against his knees, in a hesitant attempt to stand up. “I’ll go get one from inside.” “No need.” Addon scooped the bottle up, somehow not disturbing the contents of his dinner, and, turning slightly, set its bottom on a corner of the crate. He slid the edge of the silver ring on his middle finger under its cap and popped it off before Wade could fully realize what he was doing. “Bon appetit.” Addon held the bottle out invitingly. “Oh, and you can swear. More risque than ‘shoot,’ if you want. Full permission.” Wade frowned. “Where’d you get that?” He took the beer. “The ring, I mean.” “Ah, it was my dad’s. He believed in vampires. Are you one?” Addon reached over and cupped his hand over Wade’s, waited a moment, then released. “No burn marks, I see. That’s nice. Classy.” Wade took a slow sip from the bottle. “How come I’ve never noticed it before?” “Used to be on that chain, under my shirt, y'know? Recently took it off so it could be somewhat lethal if I ever need to, er, quickly determine if someone’s a vampire. You’ve got to watch out for them these days; I hear they’ve started filing their teeth.” Addon’s cheek caved in with the quiet sucking of his candy. “And wearing makeup, too, to disguise their deathly paleness.” He glanced at Wade, who was taking another drink. “Speaking of, when’s the last time you’ve seen sun, buddy? Are you ever not working?” “It isn’t a choice , Addon.” Wade stared straight ahead, his dark green eyes fixed on the alley wall. “You know that good and damn well. It was the only way to get out.” “Well, or running away. And nice cursing, by the way.” Addon stuck his tongue out. “Is it pink?” “Of course it’s pink. It’s a tongue.” Wade sighed and handed over the bottle. “Addon, if I had snuck out, I wouldn’t be able to babysit you--you realize that, right? We’d both be starving, and parentless--” Addon snapped his fingers. “Don’t say that.” He took a quick swig of beer. “You know I have a mother.” Wade blew out his cheeks. “You’ve never even met her, Addon. You don’t even know if she’s real! You’ve only seen her in your head, when you’re asleep with the rats and haven’t eaten in god knows how long--” The bottle hit the alley floor forcibly, shattering on impact, brown wedges of glass mixing with whatever urine-colored liquid was left inside, fizzing out to a mixture that vaguely resembled vomit. Addon swept the food off his lap and stood up. “So we’re making this a classist thing now, hmm? Just because I don’t break my fucking neck working for some pig in a rich person shop all day means you get to invalidate the one single person I can possibly call family?” Wade’s bottom lip was trembling. He stood up and faced Addon, their same-smelling breaths tingeing the short distance between them with traces of alcohol. “I thought I was your brother.” “Oh, God, I want to laugh. Christ. Jesus Christ.” Addon turned and kicked the bottom of the narrow brick alley walling them in. “I actually am going to laugh. Give me a moment.” Addon laughed--a bitter sound completely devoid of heart--and spit before turning again to face Wade. “My brother ? My brother. Wade, darling, do you actually believe that when I say I love you, I mean it as a brother ?” He shook his head. “Christ, you’re stupid.” “Addon, please, not now--I’m sorry--” Wade tried to back away, but his heel only met shipping crates piled against the wall. “You’re sorry. You’re sorry. A change of heart; how comforting. What, exactly, are you sorry for?” Addon’s narrowed eyes, a deeper brown than his sun-tanned skin, searched Wade’s face. Wade swallowed. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I hate to see you like this.” “Like this? Like what ?” Addon threw his hands out. “Wade, when I ran away from that ghastly orphanage and you got employed here to get out--something you swore you’d never do--and searched until you found me, brought me food, showed me places to hide--that was as what ? My babysitter? My brother? My mother?” He took a step closer. Wade dug his teeth into his lip to stop it from shaking. “Your friend.” Addon laughed, a sound as equally heartless as the one before. “My friend.” He exhaled and looked away, then back. “Why are you shaking? Friend. ” “I’m--I’m cold,” Wade said, in a somewhat normal voice. “I’m not used to--to being out here. Like you are. I didn’t expect we’d--I’d--stay this late. I should get going--” “Oh?” Addon interrupted. He reached inside Wade’s jacket and pulled out a warm brown bottle. “Then what’s this?” Wade swallowed. “How did you know that was--” “I pay attention to you, dearest. And your numerous pockets aren’t as subtle as you’d have yourself believe. Wait--” Addon cocked his head, then smiled, much more genuinely than the laughs. “You brought two bottles, yet we still shared.” It had grown so dark by now that, surely, Addon wouldn’t be able to see the hue of Wade’s cheeks-- “I know you’re blushing,” Addon said quietly, and reached up, ran his hand along the side of Wade’s face. “Christ, you’re so cute. Your eyes are so pretty.” He dropped this beer (it fractured, too), and used his other hand to gently tuck a dark lock behind Wade’s right ear. “Listen to me.” Addon brought Wade’s head so close to his that their foreheads were touching. “I’m not going to hurt you, Wade. I know what your mother did to you; she’s a terrible, terrible woman. There’s a reason she’s dead. And I get if you don’t want to do this, right now, but you’re blushing; you made us share the bottle even though you didn’t have to; hell, half the clothes I have on belong to you. I have a feeling you do. Want to do this.” Addon stroked Wade’s earlobe with his thumb. “I’m not your mom, though, so I’m going to ask. Do you?” “Shit.” Close as they were, Wade managed to make his eyes look anywhere but at Addon. “I’m so scared to say yes. I don’t want to ruin this, Add. We’re not even adults yet. I--” “Hey. Look at me.” Addon breathed in slowly. “It’s been a really long time since anyone kissed me (or, more accurately, since I ever kissed anyone), and since I’m a selfish hedonist who is usually very poor at communication, I’d like for you to answer right now: Can I kiss you?” “I don’t know,” Wade began, then stopped himself. “No, that’s not true. Yes.” He laid each of his hands over Addon’s. “Yes, you may.” “Thank Christ, I was afraid you were going to say no.” Their faces drew even closer, then their lips met, Wade’s fingers were curling into Addon’s hair, Addon was grasping the sides of Wade’s face, and their souls opened up. Wade tasted yellow, like beer and flowers and starch and spit; Addon tasted red, like candy and blood and fruit and life. After an indeterminate amount of time, Wade broke off, half gasping. “Wait, wait, I need a break.” He stumbled his way backwards, towards a crate. “Let me just--sit down--for a second…” “Fine by me.” Addon bent over, grinning, and picked up the neck of the second dropped bottle. “It’s a shame I did this. Good beer gone to waste.” He threw it to the side, and it shattered further against the alley wall. “I can get more,” Wade offered, standing up. “It’s--I have the keys.” Addon continued smiling. “Then what, exactly, are you waiting for?” Wade smirked and ran over to the rear door. “Back before you know I’m gone,” he promised, and disappeared into the shop. When he emerged only a few minutes later, three beers hanging from in between four fingers in his left hand, Addon was nowhere in view. “Addie?” Wade called quietly, scanning the nighttime alley. “Psst. Here.” Wade followed the sound to where it led him: Addon, slumped on the alley floor, in between two hurriedly constructed walls of wooden boxes and one metal trash can. “Step in and close the opening,” he whispered. “I left some crates for you to finish the job.” “I--okay, but not for long,” Wade cautioned. “I have work tomorrow.” He set the beers lightly on the ground.” Addon laughed quietly. “Eh? Then why’d you get three bottles?” Wade’s response was to stack several crates in the opening to their makeshift whatever-it-was, so that, both sitting down, they wouldn’t be easily visible from the outside. Not that anyone important ever came into this alley, anyway. Addon had already opened a beer, and Wade brought the other two over and slid down on the wall beside him, setting the bottles to the side. Addon took a good, long swig, before handing the beer to Wade. “Let’s get drunk,” Addon submitted, and Wade, for perhaps the first time in his life, actually agreed. In the morning, there they were: The two brown-haired boys, intertwined in each other, empty beer bottles scattered among their feet like glass mice taunting an elephant. In the shop, an aproned, fat, and angry red-faced man would be storming about, furious at his assistant’s tardiness; but in the alley Wade would remain sleeping, far into the morning, his head on Addon’s chest as the latter kissed his love’s curls, softly, and wordlessly asked the sky just what antics they were going to experience next.


My hands were positively aching after so many hours writing non-stop. It was my fault for leaving the essay for the last foreseeable minute, but at least I was finally finished and dare I say the result wasn’t any bad, probably a 9.5, 10 if I haven’t spelt anything wrong, which I might have given the rush. It wasn’t until I’ve put all my pens and the excruciating amount of pages neatly into a folder that I noticed how difficult it was to see, for some reason; the reason being it was night time. How in heavens was it night time? I checked my phone not so long ago and it was something like 5pm! I was a bit thrown out for a while, but it soon turned into a panic, and then into a strange sense of shock which made me laugh incredulously at myself for managing something like this. Locked in a library, who would have thought? There probably was a way of getting out, so I tried no to panic again, had already done, didn’t enjoy. So I started wandering around looking for maybe some sing in the walls or bookshelves with instructions for this kind of situation, surely someone foresaw that a moment like this would come to be and left some words of guidance (we all know no one did it, but I was finding comfort in lying to myself, so don’t judge my awful coping mechanisms). It was about ten minutes into my search and I was already prepared to face the fact that I was screwed when I heard it: steps. Alright, there were steps on the library’s wooden floor not so far from me, maybe an employee, maybe a volunteer student that stayed after closing hours to rearrange the books? Well, it’s never too bad to hope! So I stalked into the direction I heard the noise from and looked around with narrowed eyes looking for someone in the dark. I didn’t find anyone after looking into maybe three or four corridors and was starting to think if I hadn’t imagined the sound or maybe it was only wind or some kind of thing when I fell to the ground with the force of a… well I don’t know a suitable analogy, but with a lot of force. Someone had pushed me. “Hey, who the hell are you?” a strangled voice carrying a forced bravado reached my ears, scaring the heck out of me. The silhouette lurking over me in the dark was thinner than me, if an inch taller, and it seemed tense. “Sorry, I was just looking for a way out. I thought you could help.” There was a silent moment where the silhouette stayed put and then it’s shoulders sank. “For the love of… don’t go staking people like that, I thought you were going to murder me!” the person stretched a hand in my direction and helped me get out of the floor. “Sorry again, I was just looking for a way out.” “You said it already.” they said, but without bite to it “Happens that I’m locked too, I’m no knight in shining armour, sorry to disappoint.” We fell silent for an awkward moment, and then they started talking again. “So… I’m Misha, and you are?” “Panicking” I joked, starting to walk again, Misha followed me so I guessed it wasn’t as bad a joke as I thought. “Sorry, I’m Hanna, I was doing a last minute essay and lost track of time.” “One would think they’d check for students before closing the library, apparently not.” Misha said still following me, me, who had not a single idea of where I was going or what I was going to do. “Well I was somewhat hidden behind the last row of bookshelves, I don’t like sharing tables with other people, I get too distracted.” I explained. Even if someone ought to have checked, I couldn’t blame them for not wanting to go to the farthest part possible in the building “And you? How did you get locked?” “Oh…” Misha seemed to level answering or not and I was about to tell they didn’t need to when they started again “I fell asleep.” they said “I know, I’m the absolute stereotype for ‘I got locked in a place’ possible.” “Well at least it wasn’t your fault, I’m just locked because I was too desperate and didn’t see the time pass.” I assured them and enjoyed the not so awkward silence that followed. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Even if it would have been better if Misha had been a kind of volunteer or something, but at least I had company, and it’s a lot easier to get yourself together if the other option was to have a panic attack in front of a complete stranger. “So you have a plan?” Misha asked in a somewhat nonchalant way, but I could tell they were, if not as worried as me, at least a bit worried. “As a matter of fact I don’t, but I’m currently working on it.” I tried to pass some confidence but was loosing it by the minute “And anyway, don’t you have some idea? We could come up with something together, I don’t know.” I failed at not sounding pressing. “I don’t even have charge on my phone to look where I’m going in this blessed place, do you think I have any idea of what to do? Jokes on you, you got locked with the worst side kick in existence.” I couldn’t tell if the self deprecating humor was only a joke or a real opinion, but got too distracted with the realization the comment lead me to. “Oh, you’re a genius! I have a cellphone!” I said, and the silhouette stopped walking beside me “A charged cellphone!” I finished, and Misha huffed a half exasperated laugh at me. “You are kidding me that you had light all this time and didn’t bloody use it?” they sounded annoyed but also amused at my clumsiness. “See, it’s what I said, we could come to a solution together much more easily.” and then I turned on the light. ‘Oh no’ was the first thing to cross my mind upon seeing the silhouette gain a real face. Misha was not only the stereotype of ‘I got locked somewhere’ as they were all the possible things a troublemaker could be. Piercing in the septum, checked; heavy dark make up, checked; messy although stylish red hair; checked, and I’m not getting started in their clothes. They couldn’t be more different than me. “Oh, so you’re a cute one.” they said, without much of a reaction on their face. “Excuse me?” I was a bit shocked, not for the first time in that night, and probably not the last. “You know, the type that gets the good grades and doesn't date, but would have plenty of options if they wanted.” it had to be a joke, so I just dismissed it and followed suit. “We have light, so now there’s no excuse for you to not start mulling up a plan with me.” I said, ignoring the intimidation that had no right to be creeping up my stomach, and continued walking, to where I still had zero idea. We continued for two or three minutes, I secretly considering broking some windows to get out as fast as possible. Not that I was uncomfortable any more, after a bit of deliberate consideration I realized that Misha had been nothing but nice up until now and even if they looked the complete opposite of me it didn’t mean they were going to be unpleasant to be around. God knows if it weren’t for them I would be curled in the floor sobbing. We passed some tables in the main study area of the library, and Misha started talking again. “Maybe you can call someone. Do you have anyone that lives nearby? A teacher’s number?” it was an awfully good idea, shame I was useless in this situation. “Don’t live with anyone, I’m here with scholarship.” I shrugged trying to convey how sorry I was in my facial expression, which probably looked like a creature dyeing in pain because Misha rapidly shook their head and said it wasn’t a problem and we would think of something else. I still felt guilty though, and my shoulders melted with relief when I came with a solution of my own. “Maybe we can call someone. Maybe there’s a contact card or something in the librarian’s counter, or a sheet of paper on some wall with contact numbers.” I said, full of blind hope. “Wouldn’t it be the library’s number, though? Wouldn’t it ring the phone inside?” they had a point, I’ve had to admit, and my face fell again “Or maybe there’s some teacher’s contact or something too, we aren’t in any place to choose what to do, so let’s give it a go.” Misha added, and I was beginning to think they were only trying to validate my suggestion rather they had any faith on it. That didn’t change the fact that we went straight to the librarian’s counter and made as much of a mess as possible looking for some way of contacting someone outside to hopefully be rescued before dawn. I had found cards of pizza delivery service’s and a bunch of different brochures for pasta restaurant and was starting to get frustrated at myself again when Misha called my attention. “Hey, can I get some light here? I think I found something.” They had found something indeed. It was a folder with some students profiles, much like curriculums or the thingies you gave to your teachers when you would start a project for a science fair or something. They were about the current library’s volunteers. “Oh, thank God, you saved us!” I said, already looking for contact numbers and instead finding e-mail addresses on each profile. “I guess we can try? There’s bound to be at least one that isn’t sleeping yet, right?” Misha offered, I was was thanking her from the bottom of my heart for being so positive in a situation like this. “Sure, if we’re lucky enough there’s someone still awake at one in the morning.” I replied, and Misha looked at me with wide open eyes. “One in the morning? How can it be, you wouldn’t have stayed doing your stuff at pitch dark like this.” they had a point again, and it was annoying that it was true, I shouldn’t have kept writing, but my panicked mind turned it possible. “Well if it’s any better, I realized it at eleven, and the lights were only turned off at about ten thirty when they closed.” “It’s still half an hour in the dark.” they were trying to no laugh, I could tell, and I was starting to want to laugh too “I can’t understand your will to finish this essay of yours.” I shrugged, trying to stop smiling at my ridiculousness and started typing for all the five different students currently working in here. Hello, sorry to interrupt your nightly endeavors, but I’m Hanna from the English course, and I’m currently locked inside the library. I would appreciate if you could help me get out, by coming here or pointing me a way to unlock the door, if possible. I understand it’s a bother, and I’m deeply sorry, but I need to be at my class at eight and can’t spend the night here. Sincerely, Hanna. “What do you think?” I asked, showing Misha my draft. “It looks like a bloody apology letter more than a ‘please rescue me’ cry.” they said honestly, and I knew it was true, but I kinda owed it to whomever helped us a big apology and maybe even a fruit basket for thanks. “Well, it’s not like it’s not my fault anyway, and if someone helps us we’re kinda bothering them at one in the morning, aren’t we?” I know I would be frustrated, even if I wouldn’t show and instead try to be as polite and nice as possible in a situation like this. “I think you have a point.” Misha scratched at her neck and shrugged “Send it then, to this ones.” they pointed at a note they’ve made while I typed furiously at my phone with all the contacts. We sent the e-mails and spent maybe ten minutes looking at each other like weirdos, when Misha finally sighed. “Ok, we’re going to have to wait for a reply anyway, and there’s probably not another way of getting out, so we should at least get comfortable, huh? Like, we’re standing here so long my legs are actually hurting.” “One would think you would be less tired, having slept the last few hours away.” I joked, but followed them to a reading area close to the more recent books in the library. “Oh, so you’re not so nice then.” they said, and I could see their smile but felt guilty anyway. “Sorry, I didn’t intend to be mean.” we sat face to face and I dropped my phone at the floor between us so we could see the same way. “Relax, princess, I’m just joking.” they raised their hands in the air “And anyway I really did sleep for a while, I was hiding from my last class and thought it would be nice to read something to pass the time. Maybe getting locked is a punishment from the universe.” “Very funny joke the universe played at us then, me doing late assignments and you ditching school.” conversation seemed easier now somehow, and the awkwardness was hardly there anymore. I was surprisingly comfortable and dare I say enjoying the company somewhat. Maybe fifteen minutes later my phoned buzzed. Misha looked at me with their eyebrows high on their face and a glint of hope in their eyes. I picked my phone hurriedly and unlocked, reading the notifications like a dying man in the desert finding a well. Hi, here’s Mathew. No problem about the hour, I was working so apologies for the late answer. There’s a set of keys in the back office close to the bathrooms, the smaller one opens the back door that leads to the patio, as the front one will only allow you to access school and I think it wouldn’t be of much help. Anyway, I hope you get home safe, the gate to the parking lot is always unlocked so you can get out from there ;) Att, Mathew. I read the reply to Misha, that was already standing up and passing around waiting for me to join them. We ran to the bathrooms and found the office door, half laughing half panting from our hurried steps. The keys were fairly easy to find and I was scowling at myself for not have thought of something this obvious, but couldn’t do anything really as we were already leaving anyway. We ran again like madmen to the gate that lead outside, laughing so much I was already feeling my ribs hurt. We stopped for air at the gate and laughed our relief off our shoulders till we were almost normal looking again. There was a small silence where we just looked at each other before I felt a sudden urge to talk. “Turns out you weren’t as much of an asshole as I thought” I said. “Yeah, you weren’t so awful either” they replied. We looked at each other again and smiled. And that’s how I met my best friend.


Failed Relations christianhinrichsen4@gmail.com Off the Coast of Zoredo The trireme of Saze Abdul lays afloat at the port city of Brazer. Saze and his crew begin to unload their exotic spices and supplies necessary for their next series of travels. A group of men and women in red ABA robes approach by a man in a dark red ABA robe. The guards are armed with large scimitars and pole-arms. “Captain Selim Abdul. I have a warrant for your arrest on smuggling and conspiring against Pasha Fakir.” directs the man in dark red robes. “Arrest by the Pasha, what in Hades are you talking about. I am a legitimate smuggler and citizen of brazen. Besides the Pasha is my grand-Uncle.” “I am sorry to inform you but the Magistrate has issued this warrant against you. Please come with us or we will have to make it hard.” As the red-robed guards step ahead with manacles in their hands. Saze looks over to his sister Serena. “Serena, contact Magistrate Zahim, maybe she can straighten this out.” Serena wearing a dark sea-foam ABA robe acknowledges her brother. After being taken into custody by the city watch. “I will notify her brother. Our Uncle has a lot to explain.” Two hours later. Serena is joined by an older Arabian woman who wears a white robe and looks to be both a priest and solicitor. The two stand in the lobby of the Administration building as several others sit and await their trial before the magistrate board.. A red-robed guard signals Serena and Magistrate Zahim to enter the courtroom. The courtroom appears more like a Pasha's sitting room but a limited number of harem wives present. A stone fountain with a mermaid squirts water from one side of the fountain to the other. Saze is brought before an older magistrate as Zahim steps forward and serves as counsel to Saze. The older man in dark ABA robes looks over at Saze while smoking in a Hashish bottle. “Captain Saze Abdul what brings you to my council room. What are you being charged with if I may ask? Magistrate Zahim always a pleasure to see you from the Abdul House.” “Magistrate Jamar, this seems to be a misunderstanding here. Captain Abdul has always been a legitimate smuggler here in Brazen. Why all of a sudden is he being charged with smuggling and conspiring against the Pasha?” “I would like to review the facts before you charge him with a high crime against our Pasha.” “What I am told Magistrate, the Captain here is carrying illegal arms to the Effereti army to the south of here. Which is a high crime, magistrate.” Saze about disputes the case but is silent by Zahim. “Captain, silence why we speak.” comments directly the older woman. “i understand Allie but right now the evidence has been found by the Pasha's guards and Vizier”. “Vizier Jericho is a fox in disguise. He is always trying to pin someone in the Abdul household. So this case is not correct.” “Allie, we know each other and I will allow you 72 hours to find the evidence to disclaim this warrant. However, the good Captain needs to stay here in prison until this gets straightened out.” The older magistrate turns to the guard. “ Next case Captain.” Standing in the hallway, Zahim and Serena discuss their next plan to prove Saze innocent. “Serena take your most trusted friends and start to look for anything aboard ship or along the docks pertaining to Saze and his crime. I will have to do some digging in the Pasha's palace and I am afraid I am not going to find what I find by Zeke.” “I will head back to the ship and get the people I trust to do some digging for facts to prove Saze is not against the Pasha.” On those words the two ladies exit the courthouse and begin their investigation to prove Saze innocent of his charges. Investigation A-foot. The crew began its help in clearing Saze and his charges. Serena, Bali, and Dorian approach the Salty Effereti a scum of the earth dive but the trio knew someone who was noted to help them out when needed. Seated in the back a heavy man with a belly as big as Santa Claus is enjoying his company of both men and women with his famous hearty laugh. “Aye saw the blue dragon's eyes and dare him to challenge me in a game of wit. The blue dragon took the offer and Aye of course won.” Rufus Khan spots Serena and the others “If you excuse me I have other matters at hand. SERENA ABDUL what has your ding a ling brother done this time Love.” Serena smiles at the hearty man and owner of the dive in the hole pub. Taking a seat across from him.” I need some information, Rufus. It seems my Uncle has a problem with Saze this time it is serious.” “Yes I heard, the good pasha believes that Saze was selling arms to the Effereti pasha in the City of Desert Fires. I figured you would be coming for information and of course since you are like a grand-daughter to me I have asked around.” “What is your price, Rogue Master?” Comments an irritable centaur know as Dorian. “ No price for my adopt grand-daughter horse-man and pleas I like to remain diplomatic here in my pub.” “Dorian step outside so I may talk with him. Rufus forgive him he is upset that his brother in arms is guilty of something he has nothing to do.” on those words Dorian gallops outside to look around at some hagglers in the market dock area. “Where was Aye lass or yes Aye remember.” “My sources tell me that the real traitor at hand is rumored to be feeding false information to the Pasha. Though Aye does not know who it is all. Aye, do know it is someone up there. Be careful Lass and I will have my Homonuculus spies search the city for any additional information. Aye, do hope that my adopted grandson is cleared of such matters.” “Igor, let the spies loose and tell them to report back as soon as possible.” “Aye master.” comments a small winged monkey statute as he leaves the bar-room. “Come have dinner with me Serena tell me of your travels.” Signals Rufus to a passing bar-	wench for dinner of dates and lamb kabobs. Three hours later. Serena receives a message from Rufus through Igor who hands her a parchment of information. My desert butterfly it has come to my attention that people behind your brother's crimes are moving out tonight in the desert caravan with a giant slug rather than camels. Head south to borough 17 outside of the city and you will find the ones responsible. Be safe my desert butterfly Rufus. After reading the message, Serena wakes up Dorian and Bali and the three of them head for the designated target found by Rufus. Borough 17 As the early morning sunrises up Serena and her team advance quickly on the back of Dorian to apprehend the people responsible for her brother's crimes. Armed with their most used weapons the trio hides in the sand dunes outside of Borough 17. keeping warm with their desert camouflage armor of leather and hide. Sipping a canteen between the three of them they wait for the caravan using slugs as it mounts. Monitoring the surrounding desert-land, Bali holds his spyglass and signals his friends of the advancing caravan being pulled by two large sand slugs. “Here they come, gang. What do you guys want to do?” Serena signals Dorian to move closer to another sand dune. “ I know we need to use something more to slow them down. I have an idea,” comments Serena reaching down she pulls up a handful of sand and begins to mumbles ancient words. She blows the sand in the direction of the advancing caravan. The sand stirs as it gets closer and forms a sandstorm before the caravan. A Tie-fling scout yells loudly to the others in the caravan.. “SANDSTORM TAKE COVER!” Anger is spotted as a Tie-fling in the dark covers his face from the blowing sandstorm. Bali spots the Tie-fling known as Vizier Jericho. 'hello Vizier, doing some bad stuff against your Pasha. I think not.“ Bali turns to Serena and Dorian. “Your instincts were right Serena it's that wicked old Jerichowho caused trouble for our boss.” “Time to play watch and get that traitor.” Comments Dorian as he loads up his longbow with a larger arrow he has in his arrow basket. Serena acknowledges and lowers her veil and signals the others to do as well. Bali and Dorian adjust their goggles and veil. The party advances the caravan in the cover of the blowing sandstorm. Jericho yells at his men. “Cover them weapons, the Effereti Pasha wants them in good shape and not ruddy and sandy.” Jericho looks like a wicked version of the Arabian Swordsmen who attacked in the classic Raiders of the Lost Ark.” holding his large scimitar in case of trouble from anyone. Several reptile men start to build a barrier around the one caravan. A voice is heard from the blowing sandstorm. “VIZIER JERICHO...YOU HAVE VIOLATED AGAINST THE PASHA. SURRENDER OR DIE JERICHO.” Serena uses a special  spell to amplify her voice. The purple reptile men look about scared at the voice within the sandstorm.”The S-sandstorm is ALIVE..PREPARE S-SELVES.” Jericho mumbles to himself “Fools Hold Your GROUND!” Jericho looks out to the surrounding sandstorm.”WHOEVER YOU ARE WE CAN MAKE A DEAL TO WORK THIS OUT!” “WAS THAT WHAT YOU DID TO SAZE ABDUL!” Jericho draws his sword and looks through the blinding sandstorm. “Saze? So You know him?” “PERHAPS! TRAITOR! Dorian charges Jericho knocking him down. Releasing his larger arrow on the reptile men still stunned from Serena's spell. The arrow flies and releases a large net on the reptile men. Jericho gets up but is pounced on by the small monkey man know as Bali who pulls out his two daggers. “I wouldn't do that Jericho. These blades have holy water on them. I hear it is kind of like acid on Tie-fling blood.” “Who in Hades are you?” Jericho attempts to push Bali off but is quickly subdued by another spell from Serena The spell grapples and pulls Jericho down by a group of desert thorn vines that rise out of the sand. “Hello Jericho!” The sand begins to settle down behind Serena as she holds a pair of manacles in her free hand. Dorian rides up dragging the reptile men behind him. Drawing his blade ready to strike down Jericho. “ Hold Dorian. We are not barbarians here in Zoredo.. he will be punished by the Pasha.” 'Bah.. you can try Woman...the pasha is involved as well.” “I find it hard to believe Jericho but we will find out soon enough. Dorian get the sand slugs and let's show the magistrate what we found out.” “ Aye Serena.” The party travels back to the city and is quickly surrounded by General Olaf of the Provost Marshals post. The caravan is taken before the magistrate. “ Magistrate...Serena has new evidence for your case against Saze Abdul.” comments the hawk-like man in leather armor holding a pole-arm as his weapon of choice. The magistrate looks out at Serena and her prisoners. “Desert lizards...Jericho what goes on here Vizier.” “These vermin attacked this caravan trying to deliver spices and good to the south of here magistrate. ARREST THEM!”. The magistrate escorted down by two more hawk-like guards approaches the merchant wagons. The sand slugs seem to be oblivious to what is going on with the humans. Escorted by Olaf, the Magistrate lifts the tarps off the merchant wagons. “What is this, General make an inventory of this stuff for evidence.” 'Yes, Magistrate. Guards get a quartermaster.” Comments Olaf as he begins to pull out black steel weapons from the lead wagon. “ My these are from the Dwarf guild from the east.” “You will not get away with this Woman. And why does it concern you to that pirate known as Saze?” angrily speaks Jericho. “Because Saze is my brother Vizier. Get him out of my sight before I change my mind on him. I know my friends would love to drip some blood from this traitor.” stirs Serena as vizier Jericho is quickly taken away bu another pair of General Olaf's men. “ Zoredo thanks, you Serena. I will make the proper inquiries to let Saze go” “Thank you magistrate but who knows how far up the ladder this conspiracy goes especially when the vizier claims that the Pasha is involved. Which I find hard to believe.” General Olaf steps forward and looks at the two noble merchants. “I can conduct a private inquiry if you wish magistrate.” The magistrate scratches his dark salt and pepper beard. “I will need to review the facts before I, make the decision of the Vizier General.“ “But one thing is for sure the quiet streets of the capital are holding a big secret that could damage us all.” says the Magistrate as he is escorted back to his barracks. “ Thanks again Serena Abdul, Saze will be free by dinner.” “Thank you, magistrate.” The End? .


The Other Path Here’s a moment from what I imagined my life would be like: I’m at a cocktail party in a Manhattan penthouse. A tuxedoed gentleman is playing Cole Porter on the baby grand; guests in Dior and Versace are chattering in groups, toasting each other with champagne flutes, admiring the penthouse owner’s recently acquired Picasso. I swan across the room in, oh, I don’t know, vintage Halston, something black and slinky, the sort of thing Liza might have worn to Studio 54 back in the day. “And what do you do, darling?” asks a silver-bouffanted woman of a certain age. (They all call each other darling here. My fantasy apparently takes place in a mid-1930s romcom, or whatever they called romcoms back in the 1930s, so what I’m doing in a vintage ’70s Halston outfit, I cannot tell you.) “Me? Oh, I’m a physician,” I say casually. The guests all stop talking and turn to me, awe and admiration on their faces. “Are you really ?” says the silver-bouffanted woman. “Why, you must be brilliant as well as stunningly beautiful.” Here’s a moment from my actual life: I’m in a large, overcrowded room in a courthouse. A bored college-age kid with a pair of drumsticks is tapping out a rhythm on the radiator. The people who are trying to get comfortable in uncomfortable folding metal chairs are reading newspapers or sending the kid dirty looks. One fifty-ish woman with frizzy gray hair that clearly hasn’t seen the inside of a beauty salon in, well, ever is lying flat on her back on the floor looking up at the ceiling as if it’s got a replica of the Sistine Chapel fresco on it (it does not). I trudge across the room wearing the only clean jeans I could find (clean because I never wear them, and I never wear them because the material is some satanic mix of canvas and sandpaper) and a white T-shirt that’s very comfortable and flattering if you don’t mind everyone taller than you getting a clear look at your boobs. And everyone is taller than me. (I’m four foot nine and three-quarters, which makes me a legal midget in the state of New York. When I told an acquaintance of mine who works on Wall Street about that, she said, “Huh. Can you, like, get something for that? A tax write-off or something?” Short answer—pardon the pun—is no.) The bespectacled thirty-year-old court clerk who is obviously reevaluating his career choices looks up at me and says, “Yeah?” “I think, I mean, I don’t think—I don’t think I should be on a jury. I don’t think I should be here.”  “Uh-huh. And why is that?” “Well, I, um, I’m a physician.” He looks at me and does not say, And? “So, I, uh … I mean, it’s flu season. People are sick. I could be helping them. And, let’s be honest, what lawyer wants a physician on a jury? No lawyer. So I’d just be here wasting everyone’s time. Plus, if I don’t work, I don’t get paid.” The clerk shakes his head. “Sorry, ma’am, that’s not a legitimate reason to be excused from jury duty.” The drumming college kid sidles over to me. “Hey, are you really a doctor?” he asks. “Yes.” I smile modestly. He undoes the top button of his jeans. “Could you just look at this rash for me? WebMD said it could be cancer but I think it’s just an ingrown hair.” “I—that’s not really appropriate …” He shrugs and goes back to his drumming. I flop down on a metal folding chair and consider my options. I wouldn’t actually mind jury duty, honestly. A few days off from the constant COVID, COVID, flu, drug seeker, COVID, flu, STD check, STD check, flu, COVID … “And are you vaccinated?” I ask my miserable COVID-positive patients and my equally miserable flu-positive patients. “Do you practice safe sex?” I ask my STD-check patients. “Are you actually kidding me with this bullshit that you’re allergic to all NSAIDs and the only thing that works for you is Percocet?” I refrain from asking my drug-seeking patients. Now, some of them are vaccinated and some of them do practice safe sex and some of them (maybe) are allergic to all NSAIDs, but even a single “No, I ain’t getting vaccinated, I’m not letting the government put microchips in my body!” coming from an overweight white male who’s struggling to breathe because he doesn’t believe any of that nonsense about cigarettes or Chinese diseases is pretty disheartening. All of it is pretty disheartening. Here’s the thing, though: Once you’re about halfway down this path to doctor-hood, somewhere around the end of the second year of medical school, you can’t turn back, you can’t say, Oh, hey, you know what? Funny thing, but it turns out this isn’t really for me because you’ll never be able to pay off your medical-school loans doing anything else. Well, robbing banks, maybe. I put my face in my hands. “Hey. You. Doc.” There’s a voice coming from by my feet. Ah, the frizzy-haired lady. “I’m sorry, did I step on you?” “Nah, you’re good.” She sits up, stands (with some theatrical groaning), sits down in the folding chair next to me.  “I’m Irene. Hey, you know what your problem is?” Yes. I took the wrong path about fifteen years ago, and now I’m stuck traveling down this road forever. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. Thank you.” I don’t know why I’m thanking her. “You ain’t fine. You hate your life and you got no way to get out of it, am I right?” “I don’t—” “Oh, cut the crap, I’m psychic.” Fabulous. The icing on the cupcake of my day: trapped in the jury waiting room with a crazy lady. I start to say the usual things one says in this situation— How delightful, you must have such an interesting life, I’m going to go to the ladies’ room now —but before I can get out a word, I meet her eyes. She looks back at me with a steady gray-eyed gaze— Athena, the gray-eyed goddess, I think randomly—and part of me says, Wait. “Lillian,” she says. Which is my name. “Yes,” I breathe. “I’m gonna tell you something. You ready? Okay, good. Here it is: This courthouse is about to blow up.” “What? What do you—how do you know?” Irene shakes her head. “Did I not just say? I’m psychic. What, I’ve gotta give you all my bona fides before you consent to believe me? Why is it that the crazy orange man who was running the country not all that long ago can announce, ‘The election was rigged,’ and half the country is like, ‘Oh yeah, that makes perfect sense, I’ll buy that,’ but when I, a certified psychic,  casually mention that one building is about to go up in smoke, I gotta quote everyone chapter and verse how I know?” I have no answer to this. And psychics can be certified? “Fine,” Irene huffs, crossing her arms. She looks at me, stares at me, and I feel like there’s a tractor beam between her eyes and mine. “Fine,” she says again, softly. “Lillian Sarah Barden. Capricorn. Your father was some sort of prepper type; you and a couple of other families lived off the grid in the mountains for years. Both parents are dead now. Siblings—one. No.” She closes her eyes, opens them again. “None. The little boy died at the age of three, poor thing. Aneurysm. You’re a physician because—what, you thought you could save kids from that? Please. If the boy had collapsed into the arms of a pediatric neurosurgeon who immediately wheeled him into the OR, he still woulda died. We clear? Okay. You had an affair with your biology professor, and it turned out he was married, and—oh, this is good—you cheated on your MCATs. Just a few answers, but you wonder if it made a difference. You have an almost full bottle of …” She squinted. “Di-aze-pam? What’s that? Oh, Valium. You have an almost full bottle of Valium at home and you’re contemplating self-harm. You believe I’m psychic now?” I nod. I do. “Good. We’re all on the same page. Now, I don’t claim to know all the technical details here, but there’s a furnace thing downstairs, and it hasn’t been cleaned right in about forty years, and something is stuck somewhere, and so something very unfortunate is about to happen.” “You should tell people! We should tell someone that…” I trail off and she watches me follow that thought to its logical conclusion. “Yeah, we simply must run and tell people that they all have to leave the premises immediately because the crazy psychic lady says the place is gonna blow up. What could go wrong with that plan?” She rolls her eyes. “Here’s where I’m trying to help you out. Now, you just walk out that fire exit there—the fire alarm isn’t working, none of them are, which is part of the problem—and you hustle yourself down the street as fast as your tiny little size five feet can carry you, and after about, oh”—she consults some internal clock—“four minutes, the place will blow, blam! ” She nods. “Yup, nothing left but a crater. They won’t be able to find most of the bodies from this building. Everyone who was in here will be presumed dead. And you, my little friend, will be home free, as they say. No more student loans to pay back, being as you’re dead. No more slogging through a life you can’t bear. Move to Fiji! Move to France! There are ways to get around a lack of paperwork.” The clerk up front is calling out various names. I hear mine. “Tell him you gotta go to the ladies’,” says Irene. “I’m…I just have to go to the ladies’ room, sir!” I call. I can see the clerk’s eye-roll from here. “All right, whatever, make it fast.” He looks at his list again. “Caleb Greene?” “Go on, now,” says Irene. “Go.” “What about you?” “I’m going out the other door, don’t worry about me. You go. Choose the right path this time, huh?” She winks. I turn to look at the fire door, and when I turn back, she’s gone. I grab my things and go, walking briskly at first, and then, when I’m through the door, running. I didn’t look at the time when I left, but it’s probably about three and a half minutes later that an explosion rocks the ground for five city blocks around me. I turn around and see the flames, watch the pieces of debris (and, presumably, body parts) rain down. Sirens start to wail. People are running toward me; I see a mother pull her toddler close and cover him with her body. Someone yells something about terrorists. I could very easily run away with the others. I know how to live off the grid; I could go back to the mountains for a while, decide what to do next. Or—and here’s the thing—I could run back to what used to be the courthouse and try to save at least some of the injured. Apply pressure to a wound, do CPR, help the paramedics triage. Of course, that’d be the end of my escape plans. Someone remembers seeing me alive and well—and I know a lot of the paramedics around here—I’m not going to be able to pull off my “Dead people don’t have to pay back their student loans” plan. Huh. Which path to take this time?


NAME OF THE STORY: THE WITHDRAWAL NUMBER OF WORDS: 2,327 words THE WITHDRAWAL “There are many ways of breaking a heart, stories were full of hearts being broken by love, but what really broke the heart was taking away the dream – whatever that dream might be.” – Pearl Sydenstricker Buck. “Surely better a stone in the manure than gold in the mountain stream among the tundra temperate regions during the winter,” this were the words that were silently playing in the mind of Caractacus. “Don’t worry,” came the graduate’s voice,” who knows, I may go through.” Caractacus had attained and secured a degree in civil engineering technology from one of the most recognized and let me say competent universities. He hoped after his graduation which to speak truthfully, was well attended by friend and relatives from near, far and beyond. They all believed that it shall be OK with their lad who had just been flown into the world of the elites. The initials are that the lad was from a poor background, no, allow me to use the word humble background for etiquette roles. Let’s go ahead. Caractacus had just posted an application letter to one of the mushrooming Huduma Centers in the country, now the former are centers for electronic citizenry services that the prevailing governments had employed in the control of the populace in the previous Postal centers. The onset conversation was with an attendant at the Huduma Centre. “Let’s hope so, it’s prayers,” exclaimed the attendant, then she walked away in well measured steps throwing her well touched curl kit sideways. To the lad this was a sign of discouragement. “This woman thinks that she is better than me, a whole engineer, I object,” Caractacus murmured in his coagulating thoughts. “I will disapprove this unlearned fellow one day; I won’t stoop too low.” Caractacus had a second class upper and missed the most desired First Class Honor with a mere two points. This might have made him the topic of the day; Newspapers and Journals could arch his names, I beg your pardon, allow me pluralize the name. one could read, “KING CARACTACUS CONQUERS AGAIN” and another would enunciate “BOADICEA IS ON THE HEEL.” Now the author thinks like a historian because of self-vivid memory on the victory of Briton King Caractacus and Boadicea Queen of the Iceni tribe on the Hadrian’s Wall. The television interviews; oh! The local radio stations and then maybe British Broadcasting Cooperation (BBC) or the Cable News Network or Aljazeera umpiring and predisposing him to the actual face of the globe. The heart pain lasted just for a day since even the peers that had achieved the level were equally wallowing in deep, deep poverty. Their applications were dismissed. In those days, the Civil Engineers who graduated from the local universities suffered due to foreign employment, let me say, foreign expatriates. Am not saying that nowadays are safe. They are still endangered, undergoing employment crises. He was not shortlisted again. He said be it; he had to purge poverty from his home in the North Eastern Part of the country. North Eastern from the cognate words, means the depraved parts of the rain, arid and semi-arid lands, the region receives the North East monsoon trade winds which were called dry winds. The similarity between the origin and the preponderating cascades of the scenario accrued to the graduate was not only evident but also axiomatic. Finally, the irresolute and frivolous mind dropped from the air. “I will apply for tenders in my constituency – am their own – their own tribe, same language, circumcision and longtime inherited dressing code, the peculiar regalia of the ancient lore,” the young elite brainstormed. His mind highly boggled, faltered and vacillated with KA Stroud Engineering Mathematics’ masterpieces, Rock-Soil Mechanics, Computer Aided Designs- AUTO CAD, ArchiCAD, Auto desk and much Programming and Coding. The people from the Alpha State, a neighboring country, thronged his native country and were immediately furnished and given employment by the Mafungoan government as if it was doing charity to the alienated individuals. But does the author say, this was thanks to their well-furnished towns with well arrayed lighting systems that made even the lowland inland not only towns but also the municipalities and cities appear as Cities on a hill, which as well-known cannot be hidden. They, am talking of the local natives, received the tenders too…the only ones they (the natives of Mafungo State) managed to secure were to deflate their ego, as the state officials, called degrees. Ego was the unaccustomed or do I say the reinvigorated nomenclature for degrees whether the first Bachelors, Masters or Doctor of Philosophy or Divinity. These, tenders the Mafungoan residents received compromised construction of box culverts-this was indeed too low for a fully qualified engineer, brains highly throttled with the Lagrange-Poison findings. He declined it. He wondered why. But why! He wept silently, in his community it was forbidden for a man to weep even death to all your brothers and sisters with children, it was considered nature. A man could only weep on three occasions. First, if a man lost one of his kidneys in a war, second if a fellow man is killed in a war clash. Thirdly, which made the whole community moan, that one could be beaten by his wife to pulp, this made men weep to tears and cut themselves with blades to bleeding. He made the decision. “Am going to check the Alpha-Techno’s curriculum,” he concluded. Now Techno is another country that is at per with the Alpha in terms of technological sophistications and infrastructural aggrandizement. Shock and great stun struck him to the shirt, the curriculum was too shallow-here the author speak the truth-he understood everything within two weeks. Still, the question emerged – why did the government give them all tenders – I refused to say award them tenders. Am also angry. No, yes, I am. Focus on the text now. The poverty back in the village was a disheartening eyesore. He decided to join an Alphan who had been awarded, no given, a tender to design a road worth five hundred 500 million pakwacha by the Mafungoan currency. To his sufficient cranial cavity brouhaha, the alien did not employ any of the fundamental Canon of Engineering ethics. Instead, the plant manager brought his stuff and things were moving. No design. No cost measures. The man could sit back consummately munching down the ‘ mahindi choma’ , roasted maize and smoke cigarette distinguishingly. Caractacus had lost again, the man gave him the duty of building bumps. When he presented his design, the alien interrogated scathingly. Here, he was to handle spade, fork-jembe and related farm tools, machinery and equipment and strike to and fro till everything was done. Mind the pilgrim’s phonology. “Hey broman, ati nyinyi ndio the learned friends , ahaa! Zii manze , life is this much tight and tough, out here is difficult, but let’s just strive, Nature knows,” said the peculiar man who was fundi in the construction site in his pidgin English. Caractacus shrugged his shoulders and moved nonchalantly towards the young man, even the fundi himself. “Look here, brother, these men, we will have to withdraw them from our nation or not it’s not going be easy to be easy with us as the graduates from the tertiary institutions.” “That is very true but, remember that people like us don’t get employed by you graduates from the so called universities.” “Why do you think that we graduate individuals don’t employ you people,” said the elite with a voice that showed defeat and cares. “That is the fact chopper!” boomed the fundi. “How did you just call me!”. “You guy is a chopper, I mean, you are the brains of this country, the golden elite prototypes…”. “Stop! I see sir, you are speaking some truth, the truth itself that sets people free as some of the believers once taught me, but tell me how comes and elite is given the jobs of the fundi, forgive me my friend for that...”. the unlearned fellow, moves close now all formalities dropped approach the selected brain owner. “I am Orome Jakobo, from Sigorikomos province, I have worked with different companies in my position area fundi, recently I was promoted to the position of an air conditioning craftsman and a foreman in the Mijengo company, but hard I settled for the job, when the retrenchment letter flew rapidly into my email, WhatsApp page and the office desk.” “Sorry my friend, and what could be the cause of all these?” “What can be the cause if not the nepotism and the corruption that has completely marooned and tyrannized this generation.” The fundi continue, noticing that the elite ally is now getting the better part of the conversation, “And imagine these top notch officials just dismissed me like that, no notice, no protocols observed, just the retrenchment letter and here I am again an ardent expert I call myself to preserve my calm.” They both start humming the Just As I am song by the Billy Graham and his duet George Beverly Shea and Cliff Barrows. They sing in unison as is a choirmaster of the ancient maskil is on the lead, “Just as I am without one plea, thou bidst…ooh my soul, Lord I come, I come.” Now in the state the statement soul meant different things and the fiercest meaning was death. “Well, pardon me the negligence, I am Caractacus Kawa, a senior grandaunt of Civil Engineering from the Bard Avon University of Engineering, am from Kalande.” The two get the better part of each other, the fundi in his brown overall, the helmet broken on one side, and tied with a string on the other looks confident of himself, respecting the fellow lad. On the other hand, the engineer in his flowered shirt coated with a new overall affixed with an orange reflector and a tinge of pale green trousers looked dissatisfied. Here are two lads standing close to each other the unqualified looking satisfied and the qualified looking discontented. * * * * * * He was agitated. he was a divided house. He thought of summoning the government in a one-man-army methodology. No, this was an unviable and infertile thought that couldn’t hatch a valid consequence, his own mother survived on a pension which was a premise the government gave her. The father worked in the government as a permanent sweeper of a public toilet and secured employment in that falling of events. He himself survived on a loan that the government gave to the students faithfully. The government must not be sued at all, but why are all ways clogged and blocked; it’s all about the government. Recently, media whose news were now even more manipulated and considered gutter press, once announced that the head of state of Mafungo and the counterpart from Alpha State had struck a deal of a gigantic loan. This loan could only be paid if the Alpha State is given the Mafungo Mountain and River Odisa which were the source of livelihood for the residents. The mountain was responsible for great agricultural works while the river was for navigation and fishing. And remember that these physical features were to be given to Alpha State for a period not less than three hundred and forty-seven years. What a loss if a person cannot survive for about three months without food, what of the sadistic period of leasehold of the features. The young man was torn in the mind like a paper subjected to the concentrated sulphuric acid. Who was bad? He blamed from curriculum, government, poverty-ancestral one; but found all comparisons equivalently neutralizing each other like an acid and an alkali in chemical reaction. Back at village, in Kalande, money was needed and they fiercely asked for it. They wanted him as an engineer to have money, buy a Mercedes Benz S600 Vogue or Land Cruiser V8 and if possible NISSAN PATROL T62 v8 nothing less. Then that a descent wedding he was a Christian, stronghold of Christian outreach fellowships previously. In the capital, the loan defaulters were in threat of being arrested and detained till upon loan completion. But please, tell me, how can you source money to pay loan when you are in the jail and detained. Incalcitrant phenomena crisscrossed the mind of the students. This loan was the loan for education and they had until one and a half a year to pay it completely. Global economic crisis had hit and the Intercontinental Monetary Financial was also running out of stock. The fuel prices were fluctuating and swinging like a pendulum bob tossed to and fro and this meant that much fare was charged sometimes tripled or better still doubled. Time cut me short to speak of the rent, water and power supply deficiency. He was divided and no point appeared successful at the end of all. He pitied the uprising in his career course. Now it was done, poverty had increased in the village and in town, it is a hide-and-seek game. No love, no pity, no charity. As the days went by, Caractacus went back to the village empty handed. His burial was in a family land as the mother sang, “They have taken my son wasted before his time, I know it is true, but send rain Lord to overtake the tears of the lonely mother , min ji , as my son called me.” Then a note was read that Caractacus had left before his long departure, it was in capital, FOR YOU TO CONTINUE WITH THE STRUGGLE AND ME TO DIE AND WITHDRAW MYSELF, WHOEVER GOES TO THE BEST PLACE ONLY GOD KNOWS. NOW, I KISS THE GRAVE NOW. When this was read, all the students broke into tears and melancholic sobs, they knew they are moving in that direction if things were not restituted. And as the mourners departed there was a mound of fresh black soil with the elite lying there away from the defeats and cares of life. He withdrew himself from the of the face of the globe – hoping things would get better - as the dark skin of his body touched the black cotton soil as coffin couldn’t be afforded to wrap up the body. The withdrawal had occurred. The mother of Caractacus agreed that she would launch a campaign to help students forget the kind of trauma and depression they underwent. She had an argument that ‘BETTER A LIVING DOG THAN A DEAD LION’. This she meant that the living grandaunts were far more important than if they overstretched and died.


Albert and I have been thinking, researching, and experimenting with the strange artifact in the laboratory.

I am starting to feel tired of this place. We’re still stuck on the problem and while we've deciphered most of it, this particular part seems to be crucial in understanding the entire thing. Suddenly, an alarm goes off. “What is that?” I ask. I’ve never heard that alarm before–I didn’t even know we had one. “Ah, ignore it,” responds Albert in his characteristic way. “And that buzz?” “Don’t know. Ignore it.” I do and continue typing on my computer. After some time, the alarm stops for a moment and then goes off again. I wake up immediately. The clock on the wall marks 3:34 a.m. The transmitter is buzzing. I look at it, and though the brightness of the screen makes me squint, I can see it’s Albert who’s calling. He said he would not call unless something very important happened, so I snap to my senses right away. At this point, I am a bit distraught. “There’s no way,” I say in a half-asleep voice before picking up. “Yes?” “Bill, you gotta come right now.” “Do you have it now?” There is some silence. “I think I do.” When I enter the room, I find Albert at his desk, frantically alternating between his computer and his notebook. “Albert?” I exclaim. He doesn’t turn. “All the AIs have thrown similar results. Take a look.” “What are all those weird characters?” “I’m guessing they’re numbers… maybe.” “Numbers?” “Yeah, numbers.” “What if they’re dates?” “Yeah, that’s a possibility. We’ll have to wait.” “Did you feed the machines with them?” “I did, and maybe we’ll get an answer in a couple of hours.” He stands up and starts wandering around the room. “Oh my God, Bill. I can’t wait!” It’s very unusual to see him this excited. In fact, I have never seen him like this before. “I cannot believe humanity waited all this long to get this thing deciphered. Bill, do you get how fortunate we are? No one, absolutely no one has ever been able to figure this out.” *** The Lost Message, as it’s been referred to throughout the years, resembles a sleek, metallic slab. Its surface emits a subtle glow and displays an intricate language or code that lacks a clear structure or pattern. It has a unique texture; upon touch, you can feel an odd mixture of smoothness and subtle ridge. Its exact dimensions are 8.2 inches x 5.6 inches x 0.923 inches. It’s a very light object, weighing 0.356 pounds. It was discovered thousands of years ago by the first human beings to ever walk on this planet. Nevertheless, the exact date of its appearance and origins remain completely unknown. Throughout history, this object has been mentioned in the writings, books, and documents of the greatest philosophers and scientists. Furthermore, it has been depicted in cave paintings in various parts of the world. Yet, it remains uncertain whether there are multiple replicas or parts belonging to it. Despite extensive research and expeditions, no other similar objects or related pieces have been found. Hence, it is widely assumed that this enigmatic artifact, referred to by many cultures throughout history, is a single, one-of-a-kind object. Experts from diverse fields have tirelessly attempted to unravel its mysteries but to no avail. Entire schools have been dedicated to this peculiar artifact. The Romans, in particular, were consumed by their obsession with it. When the object fell into their territory, they became determined to learn more about its origins and significance. They allocated a substantial portion of their entire funding during a significant part of their reign to explore its secrets. Additionally, a considerable part of their budget was allocated to safeguarding it from potential theft. It was considered sacred to them. During the Inquisition, the Catholic Church tried everything to disappear this object, as rumors of its connection to the devil began to circulate. However, they were futile attempts since, even to this day, the object seems to be indestructible. In desperation, the Church decided to cast it away, placing it on one of the embarks heading to Asia, with the hope of removing it from Europe entirely. From that point on, the object wandered from place to place across the globe until it eventually found its way to the Americas. Here, it has become the focus of extensive research and examination in some of the largest universities and scientific institutions across the United States. *** “What if it is a message from God?” “Well, we’re about to find out.” “Aren’t you scared?” “Why would I be?” “What if it is something bad?” “Whatever it is we won’t back out now, Bill. It’s us who have discovered the last piece of the puzzle. It’s us, who will see the mysteries this thing holds before anyone else. I don’t care about anything else.” He finishes writing something down. “Come on, let’s get a coffee and clear our minds for a bit until it’s done.” *** Upon our return, a message has been produced, but it is not what we expected, but even after some analysis we could not find a failure or malfunction in the algorithms. “What if it’s not the real message?” “No, no, no. It is. It has to.” Albert’s mood is distressed. After a pause he continues, “It is. It didn’t throw gibberish. The message makes perfect sense, and, if you asked me, coming from this thing, I think it makes perfect sense…. And even if it wasn’t, what are we supposed to do now? Try to decode this shit from the beginning and flush thousands of years of research right down the toilet? Not happening. This is what it is, and we are the first to know. Period.” There is no doubt about what the message states because what Albert says is right; it didn’t produce a nonsense combination of letters. Everything is perfectly readable. How can that be a mistake? “What do we do now? Do I call the general director so he can contact the government and arrange the release?” Albert sighs. He looks tired, worried, and anxious.“Yes. Let everyone know about it.” *** The room has been properly set up for the occasion. Several lines of chairs are arranged in rows, distributed in two columns. The big screen at the front displays the company logo. The President, James K. Patterson, enters the room accompanied by other two men whom I presume are members of his Cabinet; they are then followed by other important people. The President seems happy, eager to know about what might be the unraveling of the biggest mystery in history. He greets Mark Tarasov, the CEO. They exchange a few words and then he is invited to have a seat in the first row of chairs, right at the front. More people start to fill the room. Albert and I are in the front, waiting for everybody to settle in so we can begin the disclosure. Everybody looks very happy and excited. I am nervous. Albert, on the other hand, looks calm, and thoughtful, with his eyes fixed straight ahead, and his hands behind his lower back. Mr. Tarasov begins with a brief speech and then indicates for us to continue with the information. Albert takes over. “Thank you, everyone, for gathering here today. At Athemis Corp we are incredibly proud of…” The room falls into complete silence, and eager smiles spread across the faces of the audience. "As you know, this is a collective effort of humanity. It doesn’t solely belong to us…" Some in the audience lean forward, their eyes wide with curiosity. “Einstein, one of the greatest geniuses the world has ever seen, he alone was able to…” Their faces animated with a mix of wonder and anticipation. “Thousands of years of relentless research, but now, finally…” Smiles adorn their lips, revealing a great sense of excitement. Their gaze shift between the two of us and the screen. "Before we proceed, I want to give you a heads-up that this might not unfold as we expected. We are already re-running another interaction, however…" You could notice the enthusiasm in their corporal language and facial expressions. Finally, a three-paragraph message is displayed on the screen. I could see the drastic change on their faces as the smiles begin to fade. Concentration turns into confusion, excitement into worry, and silence into mumbling and muttering as they start speaking to one another in clear uneasiness. As expected, there are lots of questions and comments on this. “Is this true? Why are we supposed to believe this?” “So it means it’s over?” “What if the machine is wrong?” “We are hundreds of years behind, how is that possible?” “What is the source of this then?” “Aren’t there any more pieces? What about on other planets?” “With all due respect, I think this is total bullshit, and I am going to wait until the second iteration confirms that.” “If it’s real, we’re doomed.” "Not everyone will be able to escape, and those who do will eventually die in space." “Do you guys have an idea of the panic this will cause in the public?” *** 5 years later. There is chaos. People doing riots. People attacking other people. Nothin’ matters now , you could hear them saying. I’ve always wanted to know what it feels like. We all are going to die anyways. Children crying. People committing suicide. Others praying. Others cursing heavily at God. Towns near special centers beholding hundreds of space shuttles taking off to space to never come back; saying goodbye to what was once their home. *** 2 months later. A massive spaceship approaches Earth. It’s so immense–half the size of Earth–that the blue color of the sky is replaced by the black-silver of the spaceship, and the daylight becomes dimmer. The colossal presence can be felt in the air as the wind suddenly surges in intensity. However, the spaceship remains floating in space, very close to the Exosphere. Whatever or whoever may come out of that spaceship will find only destruction and remnants of what was once a naive civilization that believed themselves to be advanced, but in reality were thousands of years behind and poorly prepared for what they should have been prepared for a long long time ago.