Wedding bells chimed, and flowers were thrown. She tore a leaf apart, bit by bit, piece by piece. When that was done, she gazed around

the bushes, her eyes drawn to a bush smaller than the others. “Why was it smaller?” she wondered. She directed her eyes to the clouds and studied their texture. Someone nudged her, “The officiant is about to speak.”

"Do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in matrimony…” Her eyes were drawn to a rustle, a little bird hopped out from the bushes and she found herself admiring its feathers.

She was brought back to the present as the bride went “I do.”

The officiant started to repeat himself with a few added adjustments, but this time it was directed towards the husband.  She fiddled with her hands. Everyone stood up and applauded. She sat for a second before she stood and joined in. She had never met the husband, Peter, or the wife, Amilia. Even though Amilia was her cousin, she still hadn’t met her. The bride and groom walked down the aisle and people started to form a line to congratulate them. She skipped the line and walked inside to the reception area.  The room was white with banners stating “ For many long years together,” and other happy marriage thoughts. It smelled of various foods. The room was mostly clear due to the fact that they planned to have a dance, but they left chairs and tables. She slipped down into a seat and waited for food to be served. When everyone had assembled, the food arrived and they held a toast to the new couple. She ate her food, and everyone stood up to wander around. Maybe she could slip away? It wasn’t like she was an important guest, and at this point they were just hanging out. She made her way to the exit. A slow waltz started to play and a nearby man swept her up in a dance. “How has your day been going?” He asked as they swept around the floor. She squirmed under the gaze of this stranger. “Good, but I really must be going now,” she added. “Oh no, I insist you really must stay,”

he offered. “Uh, no it wasn’t that, it's just I have to go,” she intervened.

Suddenly, a young man with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes pushed the stranger aside and led her to a bench. “Sorry about that,” he said as he gestured over to the stranger.

The stranger had now taken up dancing with a different woman and was twirling around the dance floor. “Uh,” she stammered. “He’s my brother. I'm so sorry. Sometimes, he can get a little carried away. I myself don’t tend to participate in dances or big celebrations, but he insisted that I come. It has been awkward and boring because I don’t know the couple,” he vented.

Something about the way he talked made her feel comfortable, and she found herself talking to him rather freely.

“Same with me, I am the cousin of the bride but I have never met her,” she admitted.

Her cheeks warmed and she found herself getting a little bit nervous. Her heart started pounding a little bit faster and her breath quickened. She hoped he didn’t notice. How childish it seemed,, but she couldn’t make the excitement that washed through her dissipate.

“I-I-I wasn’t planning to stay any longer if you would like to leave with me,” she offered. “Sure,” he replied as he led her towards the exit.

The wind outside brought clean air to her nose as well as the scent of flowers. He led her to a bench. “Soooo… parties aren't your thing?” he asked. “Oh no,

I mean I don’t mind them, but people can get so loud,” she complained. “Tell me about it,” he agreed. “It also helps if you know the couple,” she added. “Oh for sure,” he concurred. “So, what is your name?” she asked.

“My name is Rory and I have a job at a small computer company. I have a degree in computer science, so yeah,” he stated. “Oh, how nice, I work as a waitress. It is really boring," she admitted. His mouth formed into a grin, and her cheeks turned a shade redder.

“I think that’s nice,” he assured her. “It really isn’t,” she replied.

“Maybe so,” he said as his smile grew wider. “When did you graduate college?” she asked. “Oh, I don’t know maybe five no wait, six, wait maybe seven years ago,” he counted, “sorry I don’t remember,” “You don’t remember?” she laughed, “You should know when you graduated.” “I normally do,” he defended, “It’s just I forgot right now,” as he said that they both burst out laughing. “Hey, you want to come over tomorrow?” he offered. “Sure, where do you live?” She asked. “Pinesaw street, 6095,” he replied. “Really!” she shouted, “I live only a few blocks away,”

Alright then, come over at two,” he replied. She drove home, her face stuck in a smile.

*** Today was Sunday and all she could think about was the time. The day seemed to drag on. She was sure two-o’clock would never arrive. “Tic, toc, tic, toc” the clock repeated.  Finally it was one forty-five and she decided to head over. When she arrived it was exactly two and she knocked on the door. The door was dark brown and shaped like a cut in half oval. The rest of the cabin was surrounded by trees and was made up of logs. She couldn’t tell if he had a backyard because the trees blocked her view. The door opened and in the doorway stood Rory. He welcomed her in. She could feel her pulse quickening. The inside was just as cozy as the outside. It had a faint smell of spices and cleaning products. The light was low, and the living room had just enough space for a couch and tv. The kitchen was placed in a little corner with a table opposite to it.

“Sorry this is basically it,” he apologized, “Oh, and the bathroom is over there,” he added as he pointed to a closed door on the other side of the living room. “Oh, don’t apologize, this is wonderful,” she gasped. “Where do you sleep though?”

“On the couch there isn’t space for a bedroom,” he admitted. Now that she looked at the couch more closely it looked like it folded out, and provided a mattress. Next to it, there was a blanket and a pillow stacked neatly on top of one another. “Can I get you anything to drink?” he asked. “I have water, cranberry juice, wine and cider.” “I’ll just have water, thank you,” she replied. “Of course,” he responded as he headed over to his kitchen and poured out two glasses of water. “Anything else you want?” he asked. “No, I’m good,” she replied.

He set her glass down on the table and motioned for her to come over and have a seat. She stepped wobbly over to her chair and nodded her head as a thank you. Her heart thumped harder than ever before. She sipped her water gulping down her anxieties. “Sooooooo… how are you?” he asked. “Oh uh, good, you?” she stamered then ducked her head to hide her blush.

It wasn't like her to get nervous.

“Want to go on a walk?” he asked. “Uh, sure,” she agreed.

He led her into the backyard which was a jumble of trees and bushes. The wind blew her hair across her face and she gazed in awe at the flowers sprouting out of a fallen tree. “You know…” he started. “Huh?” she asked. “You know I told you my name but what is yours?” he finished. “Oh! I didn’t tell you? My name is Scarlet,” she supplied. “What a nice name,” he complemented. They strolled through his forest gasping at birds and small creatures that they wandered upon. “Do I look like him,” Rory asked as he made the same pose as a small squirrel that stood in place. She snapped a picture, “Yup,”

“Hey!” he laughed. “I can’t miss a good opportunity,” she replied.

“Um, Scarlet,” he started. “Yes,” she responded,” “Can I come over to your house tomorrow?” he proposed. “Of course,” she agreed. She knew she might be rushing things but maybe one day they would get together and eventually end up where they started, at a wedding.


Rage. An intense feeling of anger. It's unique to every person and for me it burned. Filled my veins, deafened my senses, clouded my mind. It tires to consume… everything.

Everything. Some think anger is darkness invading. That it poisons the mind, blackens the heart, and turns even the kindest of men wicked. It is my belief that it isn't darkness invading but an extension of ourselves. It does not blacken your heart, it is your heart and just like your heart It can not be removed, only taken care of. My father was a patient man. He rarely yelled, rarely cried, he was always kind, and always loving. To me my father was perfect, everything a man should be. Wise. Strong. Empathetic. He was also an angry man though you wouldn't know it because unlike so many he had mastered his anger. I was so lucky. So incredibly blessed and I knew it. Who wouldn't want a father like him? If I became even a quarter of the man he was, I think I would be a pretty good man. Yet… yet… Yet as he grew older, he grew sicker. Decades of smoking and drinking and back breaking labor finally catching up but It didn't change anything, not really. Not for me. He was still the incredible man I desperately wanted to emulate but a part of me, a part I so desperately wished didn't exist, grew angry at him. Resentful. How dare he fall victim to the passage of time? How dare he sleep all morning, all afternoon, and all night? How dare he need help breathing? How dare he? How dare he?! …How dare I feel this way about the man who did nothing but love and support me? How dare I belittle him, even just in my own mind, for being less than superman? How dare I? How dare I?! how dare I… He died on a cold October night. It both came as a surprise and didn't. It was my mom who found him but it was me who was pumping his chest, terrified I was hurting him, killing him, begging in a God I didn't believe in not to take him away. Of course, despite my begging, he died not long later. Rage didn't begin to describe what I was feeling. How do you describe that a piece of your soul had been lopped off? That despite your still beating heart and your ever expanding lungs you felt like you were dying? How do you explain the burning fury that sat in your heart that refused to be dosed no matter how much you begged and pleaded for it to disappear? How? My father taught me that anger can not be bartered with, can not be rationalized, and it Can. Not. Be. Ignored. He was right. Try all you like. I know I have. I say this as a man who has been forced to deal with a tragedy and still has not moved past it. I say this as a man who lies in bed crying, wishing with all his being that my father was still walking beside me. I say this as a man who looks at his reflection and wonders what if I had said goodnight one last time, hours before my mother came home and saw the man who taught me how to be a man barely breathing? Would he still be alive?

Would those few extra hours have saved him? Probably. … Most definitely. Though I guess we'll never know, will we? I will have to forever live with the fact that I could have saved my father's life, and may forever live with the anger that knowledge brings.

Though I get to choose how I express that anger. I get to choose how I deal with it. I get to choose the type of angry man I am and I choose to accept it.

I will not bottle the anger and I will not hide from it and I certainly will not use it as a weapon against others. I know many men who lash out like wild animals when enraged, who become cruel and vengeful at those who fan their flames of rage.

I know men who grow cold in their ire, become little more than emotionless dolls who refuse to face their temper with any semblance of courage. And I know men who sit with their anger until it becomes a drowning sadness that drags them to the bottom of the sea, never to return again. We may not get to choose what we feel but we always have a choice in the actions we take while feeling them. My father lived a good life. He had a loving wife, a successful daughter and, if I dare say so, a good son.

My father lived a full life; one full of mistakes, of triumphs, of lost chances, and fulfilled dreams. My father wasn't born a perfect man and he didn't die as one either. Like all of us he was forced to grow, and to learn.

He died an imperfect man, as we all do but he did die a good man and I suppose that is all we can hope for. He died in his sleep. Free of pain and grief.

He is mourned wholly and missed dearly. I am an angry man, a rageful one. I am angry at many things, some deserved and some not but my anger does not define me, just as it didn't define my father. I won't let it.

It may burn but it will not consume. When my time comes I will die as an imperfect man, a man who has made mistakes, who triumphed over his obstacles, I will lose chances to improve my life and I will fulfill some of my dreams. I may die with a loving wife, a successful daughter, and hopefully, a good son but even if I do not, I will die a good man. A wise one. A strong one. An empathetic one. As my father before me.


“Good morning, miss.” Her voice was gentle, as was the velvety soft hand on my bare shoulder, but neither could soothe the pounding in my skull. I offered some sort of noise resembling a distressed animal to let her know I was alive. Opening my eyes was too much to ask. “You requested a personal wake-up,” she said, her voice again sliding like butter, and I carefully forced open one eye. “I’m up,” I managed. I could not believe I was hungover. I had done everything in my power to avoid this, I mean, outside of not drinking. I had hydrated all day , not to mention the two water bottles I had consumed overnight, like a camel in a desert. I had stayed away from tequila, my nemesis. I know I had eaten well at the dinner last night. I had commissioned the beholder of the soft voice to make certain I was in bed before midnight. All in preparation for the best day ever! My wedding day! I suddenly bolted upright, the room spinning just a hair, taking in the woman. Her name was Cassidy, I remembered this now, and it was part of the Gold Wedding Package here at this luxurious hotel where my wedding was set to take place. Today! I reached out and squeezed both of Cassidy’s hands as if she were a friend and not an employee of the hotel. Cassidy was startled, both by my sudden jolt upright and the hand-holding, which I guess was out of the realm of the personal-assistant/bride relationship. Her face was flat, unemotive, but no matter. It was my wedding day! I pushed off the mattress and strode the windows, willing my headache go somewhere and die. I flung the room-darkening curtains open to look down upon the water that would serve as the backdrop to the best day of my life. Everything was gray. Everything. The sky, the water, the very air, it seemed, held a solid granite color. I turned to look at Cassidy in devastation. “What’s…where’s the sun? Today is supposed to be nice! Its my wedding day!” I could feel tears threatening already…this could not be happening! Everything about today centered on the partly sunny, seventy-two degree forecast of the past week. Everything: the photography. The ceremony. My hair. My hair! It was going to frizz up! The lovely, quaint, classy cocktail hour that was supposed to entertain the guests by the sea while Jeremy and I had our perfect, no-shadows, non-windy wedding photos taken. “I don’t control the weather, miss,” Cassidy said, her voice still smooth but with hints of annoyance. The staccato beats in my head remained; a fresh wave of bile threatening to erupt. “I know but…” The tears came then, spilling over. Dammit! That was going to cause puffiness. Cassidy softened a bit. “It'll be okay. It’s really not supposed to rain so I bet it will clear up. You’ll see,” she said, reaching over to pat my shoulder uncomfortably. “Take a shower, and I’ll set your breakfast up.” I nodded, feeling like a toddler who’s lollipop had just fallen irretrievably into the dirt. As I undressed, I contemplated the Plan B that I had paid no attention to, a ceremony in the front banquet room, the ocean just slightly visible if you craned your neck and pressed your nose up to the glass walls. In the shower, I let the scalding water wash over me, willing everything that had happened so far in the first five minutes of my wedding day to wash away as well. Okay: the hangover was manageable. A Gatorade and a double dose of ibuprofen, not to mention a protein-rich breakfast would cure it. The weather? Okay. Cassidy had said it would probably change. The forecast had predicted not a drop of rain, and it was still early, after all. I quickly dried off and felt my excitement returning as I brushed my teeth. I had been planning this day for two years. Two years . Ever since Jeremy had gotten down on one knee, cornily and generically, only overshadowed by the massive diamond he offered me. The life he promised me. Money, for one. Ease—I would never have to work. Babies: the thing I wanted most! Two or three matching little blondes…I could see them in my mind’s eye, riding in the back of my BMW crossover. Wearing matching designer pajamas at Christmas. Bedrooms with the Pottery Barn quilts and the letters on the wall spelling out the cute little androgynous names I’d already chosen. Harper. Kennan. Alex. I mean, Jeremy was part of the picture too. But. Sometimes I felt like royalty being assigned to marry the dorky prince-in-waiting. Of course, no one was forcing me to marry him, and I liked him enough, and he was truly a good, honest man. And physically, if you unfocused your eyes and made his clothing a blur, you could really concentrate on his beautiful features. I could not wait to see him in the black tuxedo I’d chosen! Jeremy was a man of good bone structure, a solid jawline, golden hair and ice-blue eyes. His smile was wide and congenial. He was the perfect height. He was a lawyer, not to mention the gobs of family money at his disposal. And he was truly, madly, wildly, head-over-heels in love with me—the future mother of his children, he called me. So what did it matter if I didn’t love him? Everything else I’d ever wanted was wrapped into a neat little package. Once we had kids he’d fade into the background, anyhow. I burst out of the bathroom, my headache receding despite the room erupting with noise. Cassidy looked a bit irritated at the squeals of my bridesmaids, wearing white monogrammed terrycloth robes—gifts from me! Madison held the garment bags containing the dresses, and Lauren had the make-up and shoes slung over her shoulder. And Katelyn was…wait. Where was Katelyn? “Where’s Katelyn?” I asked, breaking the screaming into silence. Madison and Lauren exchanged looks, their lips pursed together as if they weren’t sure what to say to me. “Welllll….” Madison started. “The good news is she’s okay.” “And since we know that, we don’t need to worry about her today,” Lauren added brightly, and I notice that both of my friends looked exceedingly tired. “Where’s Katelyn?” I demanded, my hysteria rising. This was just like her. Always late to the party, always having to be the center of attention. The complainer. She had been the one to grumble about the salmon pink color of their dresses; the one who didn’t like her groomsman, Jeremy’s acne-spotted fifteen-year-old brother. “Don’t you remember what happened last night?” Lauren said gently. I did not remember, but nodded as if I suddenly did. “Long story short,” Madison jumped in, “She had an allergic reaction to the shellfish at dinner. It got worse and while you were partying away we ended up taking her to the emergency room. We actually just got back around five a.m.” “So let me get this straight,” I said, willing my tears to stay put. “Katelyn is not going to be here for my wedding and you two didn’t sleep at all?” Madison held up an energy drink like a peace offering and Lauren stifled a yawn. Miserably, I sat down to the breakfast that Cassidy had set up. I specifically remember ordering a protein-rich meal, but before me sat an array of muffins and bagels. Sugar-laden orange juice rested in a tall pitcher, not a Gatorade in sight. I could barely care as I broke off a piece of blueberry muffin and shoved it in my mouth, savoring the crystallized sugar on top. Cassidy, God love her, seemed to take note of my circling of the drain. “Come on miss,” she said. “It'll all be okay. At least your friend is alive. Sounds like she barely made it until the paramedics arrived. And Melissa will be here shortly for hair and make-up. So, eat up!” Okay. It was still ugly out, but I could see that it wasn’t actually raining. My headache was finally dissipating, and the muffins, I could not deny, were heavenly. The orange juice was like crack. I hadn’t allowed sugar to touch my body in two years, so this was a treat. Madison and Lauren were staring at me with hopeful smiles, and I decided that I was just going to go with the flow. What else could go wrong, right? “Where’s the getting-ready playlist?” I said, breaking into a grin. “Don’t tell me we forgot it?” Lauren squealed again, and within minutes the room was filled with the pumping jams we had spent our college years partying to. Melissa arrived on time to beautify us, and we FaceTimed Katelyn from her hospital bed. Jeremy sent me a lovely, swooning text and my mother arrived to tell me that based on the hourly forecast, they were going ahead with setting up outside. By the time I was ready, the frustrations of the morning seemed to fade away. My hangover was gone . Melissa was a magician—she’d managed to even out Lauren’s ruddy complexion and transform Madison’s flat hair into something with a little bit of life. My own hair was a dazzling array of cornsilk braids twisted into an updo and I was pretty enough that my make-up was minimal. Even though there was a near-malfunction while zipping up my dress (the little hook at the top seemed to be missing??) the day was saved by Cassidy, who was apparently a seamstress as well. As we made our way to the patio, shielded by gauzy curtains that seemed to be wildly blowing in a cold wind that was out of place for August, I caught sight of Jeremy already down by the awning at the edge of the beach. The gusts were lifting his tufts of blonde hair, and I cringed at the already-receding hairline that was becoming visible. But there was something else that felt off… “Why isn’t he in his tux?” I gasped, grabbing the curtain and whipping it aside, not even caring if he saw me. “What is he wearing ?” “Okay, okay, relax,” Madison said, patting my back like a baby. “There was an issue.” “An issue!” I screeched. “Is it…is he wearing a brown suit?” I squinted, but there was no denying it. Not only was Jeremy not in black, it wasn’t even a tuxedo! And was his tie…green? What the actual heck was going on? Madison was speaking rapidly, and Cassidy looked concerned. Even she could see that the horrific, poo-colored suit and vomit-green tie were not going to work. “The tux shop…something got mixed up and your tux went somewhere else, and this suit came here…there’s no time, honey. But it does not matter! Do you hear me?” Madison gave me a little shake. “You’re marrying your soulmate today! This is the best day ever!” I willed the tears to go away. I could not risk runny mascara by sobbing, which is what I really wanted to do. Aside from the horrid visual of this brown suit against his groomsmen in classic black, and my girls in their lush, smooth, salmon-pink, what about our wedding pictures? “You can always recreate the pictures,” Lauren added, as if reading my mind. “Madison is right, it doesn’t matter right now. You’re getting married! ” She squeezed my arm and squealed again. “This is the best day of your life!” As I watched the guests fill the seats, I wanted to throw a tantrum. I could see Madison and Lauren watching me, knowing I was on the verge of snapping. Two years of planning, I thought miserably. Cassidy had failed to get me to bed before I’d started doing shots. Katelyn hadn’t had the foresight to avoid shrimp, which she’d apparently never eaten before? My body was crashing already from the breakfast of sugar and I was seriously concerned that the tiny, minuscule hook was not going to hold the back of my dress together. And Jeremy was in a freaking brown suit, like he was a door-to-door salesman of encyclopedias in 1982. And I didn’t love him. And it was raining. Wait. No, it wasn’t. The sky was just cloudy, the wind a bit aggressive. But it wasn’t actually raining, Cassidy had assured me it would not. And yet there, on the brick walkway that would guide me from the patio to the beach, were big fat droplets, increasing at an alarming rate. The bartender on the patio, sensing my growing hysteria, slid a shot across the pop-up bar. I gratefully took it, sliding the glass back for another. Madison, Lauren and Cassidy all stared at me, their expressions bordering on fear. I had sworn I would not be inebriated at my ceremony, a promise to myself, but it didn’t matter anymore. The ceremony was in shambles, but at least we had the reception to look forward to, where I planned to get blackout drunk and hopefully let Jeremy impregnate me. I shrugged at the girls, and they visibly relaxed. Cassidy broke into a smile, the first I had seen yet. “Let’s do it,” I said grimly, a sergeant commanding her soldiers to war. The girls headed down the path into the rain, which seemed to be worsening each moment. I followed in suit, each of my parents on one arm, shielding their faces as torrents of water seemed to pour out of the sky. Once I reached Jeremy, who was grinning despite the storm and his sewage-colored suit, we all agreed to abbreviate the ceremony by cutting out the speeches and the poems and shortening the vows. What did it matter anyhow? All I cared about at this point was getting inside, fixing my drowned rat look, and getting to the party. Jeremy’s friends and family were duds, but mine were fun, and as I listened to the preacher’s hurried speech, warped by the gusts of wind, I willed myself to feel excited. When Jeremy’s lips touched mine, the imagery of a cold fish appearing, as always, I internally clapped loudly, thrilled that this part was over. We clasped hands and ran through the rain, the guests following us in a big, dripping throng, everyone laughing and clamoring to the bar in wet shirts and dresses. The photos, obviously, were to be abandoned, and Jeremy and I quickly rode the elevator to our wedding night suite. Of all the decisions I’d made in the past two years, I was most grateful for the one that had us changing outfits for the reception. “Thank goodness,” Jeremy said, as he emerged from the bathroom in dress pants and a salmon-pink shirt. “I’ve never been so glad to get out of clothes before!” “I know!” I said, shimmying into my short, tight, white sequined reception dress. At least Jeremy and I were in agreement about the diarrhea-colored suit that was now crumpled on the floor. Jeremy held out an arm, showing me his goosebumps. “We would have frozen in those wet clothes!” I stood before him, the swell of my cleavage perfectly pronounced in my tight dress, blonde tendrils falling out and sexily curling around my face, my lips plump and perfectly pink. But Jeremy was only staring at his pimply arm, as if nothing was more amazing than gooseflesh. Oh well. The reception, which took place indoors, was a mess as well. Oh, who was I kidding? This whole day was a disaster. As I pounded what was probably my tenth tequila shot, I took a short break to sit for a moment, and to remind myself why I was doing this. Maybe I didn’t love Jeremy, but I loved the idea of us. I loved the life of ease that lay ahead of me, despite the rocky start. I especially loved the idea of the perfect, blonde, stairstep children I would get to have. None of the rest mattered, and Lauren was right, it would be a funny tale to tell one day. The hangover, the weather, Katelyn’s surprise anaphylactic shock. The puke-colored suit, the broken dress hook. Jeremy’s stupid, idiotic shivering arms. My level of drunkenness, which had the room spinning already. The band that regretfully announced that they were missing their drummer due to unforeseen circumstances. The cake that Lauren had accidently stumbled into, taking a chunk of salmon pink icing right to the floor with her. Just then, Jeremy’s mother sat down next to me. Like Jeremy, there was nothing exactly wrong with her, but I didn’t particularly care for her company. She’d make a great babysitter for Harper, Kennan and Alex one day though, with her curly granny hair and whispery voice. That voice was complimenting me now, and I perked up. She was talking about my resilience, about the grace I had exuded even though everything had gone wrong. She thought I was a class act, and I brightened a little bit under her words, trying to keep myself from swaying so she wouldn’t know I was plastered. “And so accepting, you are, of my Jeremy’s unfortunate condition,” she said, patting my arm like I was a puppy. “What condition?” I asked, trying hard not to slur my words. She looked uncomfortable but leaned in close. “You know,” she said in a hushed tone. “His…sterility. I’m so glad you don’t seem like the type to want children. Testicular cancer as a teen was tough for Jeremy, but worrying about a wife who would be okay with no kids was tougher. Thank God for you!” As she walked away, I wildly grabbed the half full champagne glasses on the table and drank them forcefully. I would not cry. Not tonight. Not on the best day ever!


TW: eating disorder It began just after she stopped struggling with food. Her two year battle with bulimia was, as she had convinced herself, over. The only scars apparent from the battle was her now dangerously thin physique. Lana was 18 years old and had just graduated from high school the month before. She had not gone to college, she couldn’t afford it, as she was completely independent and completely broke.

She lived alone in the overcrowded, vast city of Los Angeles California. the summer was lingering on. LA was restless with its blazing one-hundred degree weather, the youth taking up the beaches and downtown area, and the streets lined bumper to bumper with cars day in and out, windows rolled down and the latest tunes from Madonna blaring all over Hollywood Boulevard. Lana strolled down the streets of downtown LA. With college out of the question she put all her effort into finding a job. She approached a familiar bakery just around the corner of Laguna Avenue and entered it.

The suffocating heat of the LA summer was drowned out by a refreshing, shivering cold air infused with the mouthwatering smell of various flavored muffins and pastries. She inhaled delightedly as the door chimed introducing her to the store and it’s few customers.

“HEY LANA! What can I get cha? The usual?” Came the excited voice of Jack, the 40 something owner of Zen Bakery.

He was positioned behind the counter, a large pearly white grin on his round and rosy face, his chubby fingers were wrapping a box for an order. Lana had been a regular at Zen Bakery during her senior year of High School. Every morning she’d come in and order what Jack referred to as the “usual”, two large and soft bran muffins with a steaming cup of black coffee.

“Not today Jack” Lana replied with a friendly smile as she walked towards the counter, “Actually I came in today to see about a job, I just graduated, I could really use the money.”

Jack looked at her thoughtfully. “I got no work here in the kitchen, but talk to Sissy in the back, she’s hiring right now.”

Sissy was a petite woman with her long, curly, dark brown bangs covering the first half of her face. Her brilliantly colored green eyes shone through her hair and lit up when she smiled, and as Lana introduced herself.

“All I need to know is if you can drive a van. I distribute the muffins, you can help with the delivery to the customers and stores” Sissy stated after hearing Lana’s proposal. Although having no prior experience with driving a van that looked enormous in comparison to her small figure, Lana did have experience with her own banged up 1979 Chevrolet and figured the basic operation of the old thing would be similar if not exact to that of the van. Lana answered with an impatient “Yes!” Having a feeling that her long job search was finally over and done with. Sissy agreed to hire her, and as a sort of confirmation to this, shook Lana’s hand firmly.

The days cooled off as summer came to a closure for the people of LA. The wind still carried the smell and warmth of summer as it weaved through the palm trees, and pushed the waves against the beach shores. Every morning at five, Lana would leave her small, old apartment building on 31st street, buckle up in the rusty blue van with the fading name of ZEN BAKERY on the sides, and drive down Laguna Avenue to arrive at the bakery in time for the five thirty pick up. After the back of the van was loaded with zen muffins, Lana would follow her route on the highway to deliver the muffins throughout the Los Angeles area.

With Jack baking the muffins, Sissy handling the distribution, and Lana delivering them, success came almost instantly. ZEN MUFFINS were the new words on the street. The healthy vegan treats happened to be the newest craze. During the course of nine months Lana spread Zen muffins all around northern California. Even though the pay was great, one thing stood out to Lana, she’d see Sissy putting hundreds of dollars in her pocket every night before closing. Although the pay was more than Lana would have made anywhere else, the thought came to her: How can I make that much dough?

“Dough Boys” bread was something no one had ever heard of before. Lana wouldn’t have even heard of it if she hadn’t made a delivery to the Co-op one Friday afternoon. After a year and a half, Lana had gotten the rights to sell and deliver other products besides the Zen Muffins (which was not as hot and new as it was years prior). When she saw “Dough Boys” bread she knew one thing immediately, this bread was absolutely nowhere. And in her past experiences, things that were nowhere had to immediately be put on shelves everywhere.

Frank was the owner of the bakery from which “Dough Boys” bread was produced. He was a man in his mid 30’s with a stern look upon his finely structured face. He held himself up right and in a very professional manner. He was taken aback when he met Lana in person. The skinny, small, girl of 20 who had demanded over the phone for exclusive rights to deliver “Dough Boys” bread. During this time, Lana had branched away from exclusively selling the Zen Muffins (which had at this point become a thing of the past) and began to sell other health food products, acquiring a considerable amount of money in the process. The “Dough Boys” bread would, as she felt, would be her biggest hit, she was so confident in this fact that she was not going to let Frank walk away from her offer.

Lana may have only been young, but she knew how to talk. Frank listened to every persuasive word that Lana spoke and automatically trusted her. Within the span of an hour, Frank had agreed to give Lana the bread to deliver. Within the course of a few months, ” Dough Boys” Bread was everywhere. Calls were made day in and out, demanding for the delivery of “Dough Boys” bread. It was a case of first impression, no one had seen this type of bread in a health food store before, and unlike most health food goods, the bread was absolutely delicious. Lana was now primarily working with Frank. The Zen Bakery had since gone out of business and wasn’t doing so well. If there was one thing that Lana could pick up on it was that people are fickle and products can be instantaneously “hot” and not “hot”, in and out; but bread on the other hand, was always consistent. People always wanted to break bread.

John Doe was homeless. He spent his days stalking the streets and alleys of downtown LA. He was always looking for food, not for him, but for his girlfriend who had just given birth the month before to a baby girl. Without a job and with only a few pennies to his name, he resorted to trash digging in the local dumpsters behind markets on nearly every street corner. No one had paid much mind to him before, so he was shocked when Lana had called out to him one spring morning.

“Do you want some bread?” Lana asked looking at John and taking in his ragged appearance. The freckles, fiery orange hair, and distressed overalls he was clothed in, reminded her of huckleberry finn. The couple leaned against the Van (Lana still had the van) and Lana listened to Johns tale of misfortune. After a minute of thought, Lana was offered him a job as her assistant. The job by itself had gotten to an overwhelming point. Lana had to deliver the bread, stock the bread, cover checks at the bank, and handle all the orders. It was a huge operation for a twenty-three year old (with absolutely no business sense) to handle by herself. John agreed as soon as she finished her sentence. For a while, he was a great help to her and the stress of work was lifted off of her mind. For a while things were going as smoothly as ever. But this was only for a while.

Lana was upset to the point of eruption. She clutched the large brick phone to her right ear hearing the annoying sound of a line unanswered on the other side. Where had he gone? What was he doing? John had not returned a call or message in nearly a week. The time was almost 2pm and there was no way now that she could get the bread delivered by the deadline of ten. The whole week had been a mess, Frank hired a new delivery boy even after he promised her the rights to the distribution of the bread, John had disappeared without so much as a warning , and Lana was scrambling all over the place to cover all the deliveries, barely making them for the most part. The realization that this business was getting to be at such a greater capacity than she was ready for, hit her with the force of a Californian ocean wave.

Even though in her mind the business was falling apart before her, Lana still made an effort to mend it. Her hope was restored when she, discovered a new type of bread. The taste free, sweet free, yeast free, bread in a can, “Un-Bread”. Lana saw the potential that this bread could have, she saw all the money that she could make if it was put on shelf and if she could convince the bakery who produced it to do business with her. “I’ve gotta have this bread” she repeated to herself, she imagined herself a millionaire before 25 and that was enough incentive to drive the two hours to San Diego and speak to the owners of ”Un Bread”.

Lana used those words again, those words that had the power to convince anybody to do anything. She talked. They listened to the words that were wrapped in certainty and were convincingly potent. The makers of “Un Bread” told her what they wanted and she agreed to give it to them. “I can get it in Whole Foods.” She wasn’t sure if she could get them into Whole Foods, but she said it in a way that convinced them otherwise. They agreed after some thought. The deal was done.

She decided she would demo the bread in Arowan, A small food store located in San Deigo. Within a couple of weeks the bread had received an incredibly positive reaction and had met up to the expectations Lana had predicted. With the feedback being so great, Lana decided to be truthful to her promise and get the She decided she would demo the bread in Arowan, a small Health food store located in San Diego. Within a couple of weeks the bread had received an incredibly positive reaction and had met up to the expectations Lana had predicted. With the feedback being so great, Lana decided to act on her promise and get the bread into Whole Foods. She worked fervently day in and day out to secure a meeting with a buyer. By the end of 2 weeks, she had gotten a call back from the store and the next day she was scheduled a meeting. She used her persuasive power that was embedded within her words and that had never failed her before. The Whole Foods buyer agreed to sell two flavors of the canned bread. As a sign of confirmation, He took Lana’s hand and shook it.

Lana was elated. Once she got home she rung up the “Un-Bread” owners. After three seemingly endless rings, the other line picked up.

“Hello?”

“It’s Lana! I’ve got great news; Whole Foods wants your bread! I did it! We are going to make a lot of money together!” Lana let the thrill and excitement ring in her voice. There was a quiet buzz on the other end; no one said anything for about a minute. “Hello?” Lana said confused by the abrupt silence.

“I’m sorry Lana…” Came the slow regretful words of the one on the other line.

“Sorry? Sorry for what?” Lana began to panic slightly.

“Well…We are closing the bakery; our family has decided to retreat to the mountains.”

It was the first time that her words, those words that held some supernatural power, failed her. Leaving her silent. Lana slowly moved the phone away from her face, ignoring the muffled apologies from the other line. In just a single sentence, Lana saw her world fall apart. She dropped the phone, not having enough strength to carry its weight. It seemed, as odd as it might be that Lana had worked for this one moment. That this canned bread was her big shot to find true success, to earn money, to earn recognition, to find absolute happiness. And it failed. She took this as some sort of cosmic sign from the stars, she took this as the end of something that wasn’t meant to be.

This failed mission had destroyed her and in that destruction, opened her eyes to what this business had turned out to be. John still was missing, Frank hired a new delivery boy, and the canned bread hippies were retiring to the mountains in some remote part of northern California. A sudden epiphany took her out of her state of shock and into one of reality. Her eyes were finally wide open, and with that, she straightened herself out and decided to tie up some loose ends.

Lana stayed away for a week and 4 days. In her absence, Frank had called her numerous times demanding where she had been. She called Frank and told him she was done, dismissing his angry, erratic outburst, and hanging up the phone. She had, by some luck, found out where John was living and drove down to his address. It lead her to a trailer park. At first she banged on the door of the trailer John had supposedly been at this whole time, but when all that came back was the eerie silence of no movement, she decided to wait for his return. To her anticipation, John did not show up. Taking this as another sign, Lana decided to leave, placing a loaf of “Dough Boys” Bread, which she had brought for lunch, on the step of his trailer.

Summer, as is routine, came to LA again. Bringing it’s high temperatures and busy streets. Lana looked back on the days of the Zen Bakery, the “Dough Boys” business, and the canned bread which would have brought her millions. She didn’t regret a day of any of it. Instead she remembered every second, so she could look back, so she could remember how close she had come, so she could remember how much she had accomplished. Lana in a way felt relieved. She imagined her life like those Californian waves. Just like the waves roll up on to the sand, the clear water bringing something unknown from the depths of the ocean to rest upon the shores, Lana found opportunity. Her feet sink into the muddy sand. She knew that when the waves come again, as they will always do, they retake what is left on the shores leaving the beach bare and empty. Lana would wait. She would wait for those waves, with the fragments from the sea beyond, to cover these shores again. To make way for another opportunity. To make way for something new.

__END__


Chapter one-The beginning… “OREO!!!!!!!!!!!!!” screamed Marshmallow. “Where did you put my chocolate-covered hay?!” “In the coniferous tree, in the backyard…” “We can’t climb dummy,” Marshmallow explains. “Or can I?... MWAHAHAHAH!!!!!!” whispers Oreo. “I heard that.” Marshmallow scolded. “ My little munchkins! What’s going on? I heard popcorning!” Asked Mrs. Carrillo, the owners of Marshmallow and Oreo. As Oreo immediately stuffs her face with guinea pig pellets, meanwhile... Marshmallow scurries into her chalet and practices her calligraphy.

Chapter two- Crawdad chaos- part one “Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh! OH MY GOSH! OREO! GET DOWN HERE!” Marshmallow screamed. “What did I do? I’m sorry I ate the cheese puffs!” “ Cheese puffs? “W-w-what cheese puffs? Uhhhh um… that was er, uh uh uh oh right! Mrs.Carrillo! She ate them!” “Mhm,” Marshmallow murmured. “Anyway… forget the cheese puffs… Come look at the

cooler!” Oreo slowly walked over to marshmallow, hoping she would live… Chapter two and a half-crawdad chaos-part two “AAAAAAAAhhhhh!” Oreo screamed as she looked in the cooler. “What is that?!” “That’s what I’ve trying to tell you,” marshmallow said sounding annoyed. “Ohhhhh!” Oreo said sounding like marshmallow had tried to explain the square root of pie. “But still that’s so creepy. The cooler full of something.” Oreo stated. “Wait, you mean that you have never seen crawdad before?” Marshmallow said shocked. “Uhhh, No. I mean who’s ever heard of crawdad? Are they like, a dad that craws? I mean is there even such a thing?” Oreo responded laughing. “you’ll never understand the ways of the crawdad.” Marshmallow said sighing.

Chapter three- Dinner! “Girls! Dinner!” Mrs. Carrillo yelled from the kitchen. “Oh boy! My favorite part of the day!” Oreo said excitedly. “You say that about every meal.” Told Marshmallow. “So!? I can have more than one favorite meal.” Huffed Oreo. “Uuuu Gggg” Marshmallow said as she scampered into the kitchen. “Up you go!” Mrs.Carrillo said in a cheery tone as she lifted marshmallow and oreo into their boosters. “So how do you like your dinner?” Mrs.Carrillo said a few minutes into the dinner. Oreo looked at her with a mouth full of crawdad. “Yes Oreo, I can tell you like it. Marshmallow, sweetie how about you?” Marshmallow looked at her questionably. She only had poked it with her fork. “I’ll eat it!” Oreo offered. “Ah, I can see that oreo is so happy she’s squeaking!” “Fine,” Marshmallow said pushing her plate over to oreo. “Not eating. Huh?” Mrs. Carrillo asked. “I’ll get you some hay.” As soon as Mrs.Carrillo came back oreo was done. “So, how was your day? I didn’t make any friends if you were wondering. Because according to an old lady named quin I have no friends.” “mine was annoying because I had to deal with this all day long,” Marshmallow said pointing to Oreo. “Rude! But anyway, mine was great! I saw a crimson capuchin carrying a cooler out of the window today!” Oreo said happily. “Sounds fun.” Mrs. Carrillo said only hearing squeaks. “Well off to bed now you too.” Chapter four-The Wrath of dan-Part One “Guess what girls?!” Mrs. Carrillo called out. “What?” Marshmallow inquired. “I have friends.” Mrs.Carrillo sighed. Oreo looked at her and stated, “finally.”

Oreo and Marshmallow scampered to the kitchen. “You must be excited for all I hear is popcorning.” Mrs. Carrillo pronounced. “Did someone say popcorn?!!!” Oreo whispered delightfully. “His name is Dan.” Mrs. Carrillo announced. “We must get cleaning!” Oreo Britishly told. Marshmallow and Oreo scurried around the house mopping, sweeping, and dusting. Mrs.Carrillo took a ladder and decrustified the roof. (Dan was a fan of decrustified roofs.)

Chapter Four and A Half-The wrath of Dan-Part Two “I’M HEREEEEEE!!!!!!!” Dan called aggressively. Mrs. Carrillo trampled to the door in her neon purple high heels. Marshmallow and Oreo Sauntered in thou follow. “Hello, my sweetest most darling dearest Dan.” Mrs. Carrillo proclaimed. “Dan the Man! AYE BRO DAP ME UP” Oreo screamed. Marshmallow glared at Dan in awe. “Come in, come in, let’s go eat dinner. Come now, children,” Mrs. Carrillo ordered. As Dan walked by he evilly smirked at Marshmallow and Oreo. “Mmhmm.” Dan aggressively stared at a part of the yard. He was thinking. Oreo looked at Marshmallow warily, she had sensed an unbalance in the space-time continuum. Dan's skinny jeans ripped in fear. There was more than meets the eye.

Chapter Five-Fires, Jeans, and Dog doody-part one “Mmm yum.” Dan murmured. “Did you like dinner?” Mrs. Carrillo yelled. “This is absolutely scrumdillyumsious.” Dan cried. Oreo looked at the sobbing Dan the Man. “I didn’t realize that my Texas Roadhouse Prime Rib was so bad,” Marshmallow exclaimed. “I didn’t know that my smores sister knew how to cook.” Gurgled Oreo intrusively. Marshmallow nodded and skipped to the couch. Everybody followed fluidly. “I have to get dessert, don’t get into any trouble.” Mrs. Carrillo winked and skorpped away. But once she was gone, Dan jumped up. “You’re mine now! Muahahaha!!!” He proclaimed. “AHHH!” Oreo and Marshmallow announced as Dan scooped them up and put them in his skinny jean pockets. Dan lunged outside and built a fire. “Ah! I have a fear of fires!” Marshmallow mumbled. “And I have a fear of redheads,” Oreo claimed, pointing at Dan. “Oreo! We need to stop from getting sacrificed to the Hay gods!” Marshmallow noted. “I know where a time portal is.” Oreo scrammed out of Dan's pocket with Marshmallow following. Marshmallow and Oreo sprinted to something. “What’s this?” Marshmallow uttered. “Dog doody! It’s a portal to another time, we need to stop Dan from being born.”

Chapter five and a half- fire, jeans, and dog doody

“Hang on Marshmallow, I’m going to do magic.” Oreo declared. “You’re a wizard?” Marshmallow quizzed. “Why else do you think I sensed an unbalance in the space-time continuum?” Oreo commented. “Abracadabra orgalflorbal, make this dog doody turn into a portal!!!” Oreo enchanted. A mysterious blue glow started forming from the ground when a cry was heard from afar. “Aggggg! My pants ripped and my guinea pigs are gone!” Dan screamed. “Hurry Oreo!” Marshmallow commanded. Marshmallow turned around and saw Dan running toward them. He was getting closer! At the last of the seconds, Marshmallow and Oreo jumped through with Dan at their heels. “NOOOOOOO!” Dan shrieked. “Where are we?” Oreo wondered. “In a street,” Marshmallow noted.

Chapter six-Rats, Pigs and Trash Oh MY!-part one Oreo and Marshmallow looked around. There was nothing but a sewer and grey blobs of trash. “What will we do?” Oreo squelched. “I don’t know, but those trash piles are moving,” Marshmallow said mysteriously. “Marshmallow, those aren’t trash piles, those are something else!” Oreo yelled. The two blobs turned into a giant group of things. “FEAR ME, FOR I AM THE RAT QUEEN!!!” A voice boomed from afar. “And I’m the rat king too! Don’t forget about me!” A squeaky voice called through the streets. Oreo gasped in disgust. Marshmallow started glowing. “Marshmallow! What are you doing?!” Oreo queried. “Don’t you know I’m a super sparkle glitter magic princess?” Marshmallow beamed. “Sorry, I forgot,” Oreo mumbled. Oreo started using her magic and yelled, “ATTACK!”

Chapter six and a half- Rats, Pigs and Trash, Oh MY!-Part Two Oreo and Marshmallow attacked the rats, who charged back at them. It was World War III. Oreo used her magic spells and pulled out a wand. “Harry Potter?!” Marshmallow squealed. “No, I’m your S'mores Sister dummy,” Oreo belched. Marshmallow used her magical glitter powers to knock down the rats while Oreo turned them into dust. It was like, totally rad magic dude. Finally, only the rat king and queen were left. “You’ll never win MUAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” Mumbled the Rat queen. “Try me!” Oreo squeaked. It was a long battle, the rats has super magic powers. “Honey, maybe we should take a chill pill,” The Rat king squeaked as they were circling around each other. “Take a chill pill!? Never! Take this!” Screamed the Rat Queen and she blasted Oreo, sending her flying five feet back and to the ground.

Chapter Seven- Revenge-Part One “Oreo!” Marshmallow screamed as the Rat queen grabbed her from behind. Everything seemed to be in slow motion as she screamed and kicked, calling her motionless S’more Sisters name. Marshmallow’s thoughts seemed to slow down along with her movements. She would never get out, she was done for, Oreo was gone. “Honey, sweetie pie, let the poor darling go.” The rat king said, only getting a slap to the face. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally stopped walking and Marshmallow was thrown to the ground. “Get up you Hay eating trash.” The Rat queen snarled at Marshmallow. “Sweets, should we make the offer?” The King questioned his wife. “Yes. You go.” She ordered shoving her husband forward. “Oh, um, we would like to offer you to join our rat cult. You seem to be worthy of a warrior. It would require sacrifice and forgetting about that sister of yours…” The Rat king continued blabbering but Marshmallow wasn’t listening. She was inspecting the place, trying to figure out where in the land of popcorning she was. Then she let out a small gasp, Marshmallow had seen this place in her dreams with her magical glitter powers! There was a grate above her head and she knew how to get back to Oreo. Oh, Oreo, was she gone? Alive? She had to know. “Never! You filthy trash-eating rodents! Go eat poisoned pellets of dung! I will avenge my sister, and you monsters will pay for it!” Marshmallow bellowed and used a giant explosion to throw the rats back and launch her out of the sewers. The spell had launched the king and queen back, killing them. It wasn’t a very heroic death.

Chapter Seven and A half-Revenge-Part two Oreo opened her eyes to everything being bright, too bright. “Where am I?” She grumbled, sitting up. It was white and glowing everywhere, and she almost seemed to be sitting on a cloud. Two figures in the distance started coming closer and larger. Guinea pigs? Oreo slowly walked towards them to meet the pigs and stopped. Their faces were recognizable now. Oreo rubbed her eyes in disbelief. “Mom? Dad? I thought you were dead!” Oreo told. “No, you are dead.” Her Dad stated, making finger-guns at Oreo. “Richard! Be gentle with the poor thing!” Oreo's Mom yelled Britishly. “So I am dead,” Oreo murmured. “Not unless you want to be, you have the choice,” her Mom gurgled all-knowingly. “I can go back down? To Marshmallow?” Oreo wondered. “You have such a strong connection with her, if you so chose you can go back down now.” Oreo’s Mom claimed. “I-I will. But Mom I miss you so much.” Oreo cried. “What about me?” Her Dad blarged. They all laughed and hugged together. “I’ll send you down now.” Her Dad said holding her at arm's length. Oreo started glowing and glimmering, getting brighter and brighter. “Oh and Oreo? We love you and we’re counting on you!” Oreo had to close her eyes because everything was getting so bright. When she opened her eyes again, she was laying on a rain-filled street soaking wet. A face looked down on her.

Chapter eight-The pet store-Part one “Where am I?” Oreo mumbled, trying to sit up. “Oreo! I thought you were… well… I thought you were deceased.” Marshmallow spoke, hugging Oreo tightly. “Ow!” Oreo told, wincing in pain. “Oh my lordy lord! I didn’t mean to hurt you! Where does it hurt!?” Marshmallow squawked aggressively. “Everywhere, that stupid dumpster inhabiting off-brand ed Sheeran. She and Dan would be perfect for each other.” Oreo spat. “Well, let’s get you all fixed up.” Marshmallow blinged like a doorbell. Using her super cool glitter powers, Oreo was good as new. Her toenails just felt like a crab was snacking on them. But Oreo didn’t tell Marshmallow that, for Marshmallow was protective of who got to snack on Oreo’s toenails. That was reserved for Marshmallow and Marshmallow only. “Now, let’s go find Dan,” Marshmallow said, giving Oreo a non-painful hug.

Chapter eight and a half- The pet store-part two “Where did his parents meet?” Marshmallow inquired. “I don’t know, but he’s so awful I would assume they adopted him,” Oreo shuddered, thinking of Dan. Marshmallow's face lit up, “you know, that’s a good idea, they could have met in the pet store. Why else would we land near a pet store?” She pointed to the store across the street. “Perfect let's go,” Oreo screamed in Marshmallow's face. Marshmallow nodded, not thinking anything of the screaming, and crossed the street. Right before they were about to go in two people came into view on rainbow light-up Heelys. “Hey look! Those two are redheads! They must be Dan’s parents!” Oreo pointed out. “We have to stop them from going in the store!” Marshmallow squeaked. Oreo ran in front of them with Marshmallow following. The people stopped and the woman cooed. “Aw look at these precious children, Brad, we have to take them,” and with that Oreo and Marshmallow got scooped up and taken to the redheads home. They never looked back. “What a day,” Oreo sighed as she was lulled to sleep in her new owner's arms.


“Gentlemen, The Flop.” With a glint in his eye, The Dealer deftly flipped 3 cards upright before us. I glanced around the ornate poker table at my new friends to study their faces, but the bourbon had rendered their tells nigh unreadable. “Jorge, the bet is to you.” Jorge, the amiable thirty-something to my left, squinted at the cards face-up on the table: The nine of clubs, three of clubs, and queen of spades squinted back at him. “Check,” he said with a sheepish grin, “Gotta pace myself tonight with you cutthroats!” He looked to his left at Hector, the stoic forty-something with a baseball cap. He seemed to be pleasant enough, though “friendly” wasn’t exactly a word I’d ascribe to him. “Check,” he said with a grunt. Even through the bourbonic haze, it was evident that no one was thrilled with the cards on the table. Except, of course, the quiet fellow across from me. The one I’d followed here. “Ten dollars,” he said, placing a red chip in front of him. A mix of chuckles and groans rose through the thick cigar smoke in the dimly lit parlor. “Call,” said the next man, placing his chip in front of him. He was a big man with broad shoulders and a faint European accent. I couldn’t quite place it; Austrian, perhaps? He appeared to be trying overly hard to disguise it. Chips bounced and slid onto the table as each man called the bet. I glanced at my cards, a Four and a Jack, both of clubs, keeping my attention on the quiet man. He’d made his rounds at various poker dens, though none of them as posh as this. Old house, Tudor style on a large property in the hills, expensive whiskey. We were seated in the house’s great room with a large fire crackling in the hearth. The room was dimly lit, with the primary light source directly over the ornate gaming table. The only other light came from the hearth, casting long shadows across the wall nearest us. The rest of the room was veiled in shadow, with tall ceilings and a wide floor plan, making it difficult to truly make out the scale of the space. It was a far cry from the tobacco-stained folding card tables in the basement apartments that he frequented. I’d certainly gathered enough information to confirm his gambling habit to his wife. But this evening cracked open another case of questions. What else are you involved in? The eyes of The Dealer moved to me. “Call,” I said, placing my chip in front of me. His eyes rested on me for a second longer, piercing blue and full of discernment, before he flipped another card onto the table. “The Turn, gentlemen.” He slid the Ten of Spades into the center. The quiet man’s countenance remained the same. Whatever was in his hand was good. Even a rookie could tell he probably already had a straight in the bank. And I’m no rookie. Another round of betting ensued. Of the five of us, the quiet man, Paul was his name, had the largest pile of chips. He was having a good night. The next in the ranking was, unfortunately, me. I hated drawing the attention to myself, but I couldn’t help it if the rest of these knuckleheads were trash poker players. Besides, I’m there, I might as well play like I’m there to win. It’d be suspicious not to. Glancing down at the Jack of Diamonds in my hand, I weighed my options. I could fold now and cut my losses or stay in to see what the final card was. If it was a king, I’d have a straight and good odds of winning the hand. It was a risky move, but I had to keep up appearances. Besides, the money didn’t matter this evening. I decided to hold out for the straight and tossed my chips in while the European folded. The betting concluded and The Dealer made another glance around the table before flipping the final card. “The River, Gentlemen.” The hair stood up on my neck as The Dealer’s eyes rested on me again. They seemed old, much older than the man himself appeared to be. Who was this guy? Did he run this gig or was he just a hired hand for tonight? No amount of sleuthing had uncovered any information about this operation. I don’t normally go in so blind, however this was too intriguing to pass up. But...I was starting to feel unsettled about the whole thing. I was sorely tempted to start in on the bourbon with the others to calm my nerves. Jorge let out a little giggle. “Ah screw it,” he said, pushing his last 5 chips in, “I’m not diggin’ myself outta this hole. Better to go down swingin’!” “Idiot,” grunted Hector as he folded. Paul, of course, matched the bet with a quiet smirk. I didn’t have to think too hard about my decision. The King the dealer had flipped onto the table gave me the straight that I was waiting for – I matched the bet as well. “Gentlemen, reveal your hand,” came the command from The Dealer. He seemed amused, as if he already knew what the results would be. Jorge shrugged with a drunk grin as he revealed his hand. The nine he was holding gave him a pair with the nine on the table. A horrible hand to go all in with; but at this point in the evening the bourbon was doing the betting for him. Paul smiled as he turned over his hand, revealing a Jack and a King, giving him a straight. Called it. The Dealer’s penetrating eyes moved to me once again as I revealed my cards, a Four and a Jack; another straight of equal value. Paul’s eyes darkened as The Dealer announced that we’d be splitting the pot, kicking half the chips my way. I may have been a bit too bold there. Jorge let out an exaggerated yawn. “Well, looks like I’m out, folks!” “Indeed,” replied The Dealer with a cold smile. There was a sudden change in his eyes. A look that was almost... Hungry. A whoosh from my left immediately caught my attention. I snapped my eyes toward it just in time to catch a glimpse of a tall, dark, hooded figure gliding out of the shadows and latching onto Jorge. Inhuman claws peeked out from the dark cloak as the creature yanked the screaming man into the shadows and out of sight. In seconds we were left with nothing but the sound of the rain pattering against the window and a growing dread in our bellies. The Dealer smiled. “To hell with this,” said Hector, hands and voice shaking as he stood up from the table, “I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is but I’m out!” “Mr. Rodriguez,” The Dealer’s cold voice asked, “are you forfeiting your place at the table?” “Yes. I’m leaving,” he snapped as he headed for the door. “Very well,” replied The Dealer with a grin. Hector was halfway to the door when it burst open and another of those cloaked creatures flew through it, tackling him to the ground. “No!” he yelled as he kicked and squirmed against the horrible thing dragging him out the door and into the night. His protests were abruptly cut off as the door slammed of its own accord. “Would anyone else like to forfeit?” asked The Dealer with a wry smile. No one said a word. “In that case,” he said, “we will continue to the next hand. I’m sure you’ve all grasped the true nature of the stakes this evening.” Not even a little bit. I reached for the bourbon and gave myself a pour. The Dealer paused, those eyes drifting back to me. “My, your first drink in 3 years, Mr. Philips,” he commented, smiling. How the hell could he have known that? “Seems appropriate for the situation,” I replied. “Indeed,” he said, dealing two cards to the remaining three of us. Guess the money does mean something tonight . Picking up my two cards, my eyes glanced around the table. The European was visibly sweating; understandable, considering his dwindling pile of chips. Paul was calm and collected. He seemed to be the only one who was not surprised by the evening’s latest development. Dammit, man, what the HELL are you up to? “The Flop, gentlemen,” came The Dealer’s voice, interrupting my train of thought. He flipped three cards out on the table. A Nine of Spades, a Two of Hearts, and an Eight of Hearts. I checked the cards in my hand. An Ace of Clubs and a Ten of Diamonds. Not much I can do with that . The European hesitantly placed a white chip in front of him. “Five dollars,” he croaked. “Fold,” I said, placing my cards down in front of me and looking to Paul. The man’s analytical eyes were examining the European like a cat of the Sahara. He was about to thin out the competition. “Raise,” he said, first placing a white five dollar chip and then a green twenty-five dollar chip, “Thirty dollars.” The European’s face flushed, looking down at his three remaining chips, two red and one white. Exactly twenty-five dollars left. The sonofabitch was calling him all-in. The European’s eyes flitted from his cards to his chips, hand quivering over the table, unsure where to go. Pressure makes men do strange things . With a resigned sigh, the European pushed his remaining chips into the center. “Very well,” said The Dealer. With one of two players all-in, The Dealer revealed the final two cards in quick succession: a Four of Diamonds and a Three of Clubs. Glad I stayed out of this mess. “Reveal your cards,” instructed The Dealer. The European timidly placed his cards face-up on the table: an Eight of Spades and a Ten of Hearts. With that Eight he at least had a pair with the Eight in the middle. Not a horrible hand, but maybe not one to bet your immortal soul on. But again, pressure is a funny thing. Makes men’s gears jam up. Paul was resolute as he revealed his two cards: a Two of Spades and a Nine of Hearts. With the Two and the Nine in the middle, that gave him Two Pair. The European went white as a sheet. Another whoosh and rustling of fabric from the shadows. “Who are you?” The European asked The Dealer. “You’ll find out soon enough,” came The Dealer’s reply with that same sinister smile. A SHRIEK broke the silence as another cloaked creature swooped from the ceiling and knocked the poor man from his seat. The figure turned on a dime in the air, maneuvering back toward the European. To my surprise, he didn’t scream. In fact, the big man nimbly stood and swung his chair at the thing as it advanced on him. The chair smashed against the creature, breaking to pieces and sending the ghoul sailing into the darkness. The big man stood tense, brandishing the leg of the chair, waiting for his assailant’s return. When silence greeted his challenge, he exhaled and turned back toward The Dealer. “I’ll be le-“ I felt the thud in my chest as the creature soared out of the shadows and slammed into the big man’s back, knocking him to the floor. The European grabbed fruitlessly at the legs of the poker table as the thing clamped onto his leg with one of those hideous claws and yanked him across the floor and into the shadows. Silence returned. “Gentlemen,” said The Dealer, breaking the silence, “shall we resume?” “Why not,” I said, trying to keep the shiver out of my voice. The Dealer simply chuckled and began shuffling the deck of cards. “Why have you been following me?” I looked at Paul as he spoke candidly for the first time this evening. “That’s what’s on your mind right now?” “I’ve seen you before. Why did you follow me here tonight?” “Why the hell are you here tonight?” “Who hired you?” “You know I can’t tell you that.” “ Who hired you?” I looked toward The Dealer, but the man just sat peacefully observing. Clearly he was in no rush. I sighed and returned my gaze to Paul. His stern eyes demanded an answer. “Someone who cares about you very much,” I replied, “Someone who sees the desperation in your heart, your desire to provide, and the crushing weight of the debts you hold.” Paul’s jaw clenched. “She loves you, Paul,” I continued, “and she wants to tackle these problems with you.” The man’s eyes dropped to the table. “You can’t do this on your own, son.” “It’s too late, now,” he replied, meeting my gaze, “but if I beat you tonight, I can fix everything.” I looked to The Dealer. “What have you promised this man?” I asked him. “The same promise I made to the others,” he replied, “The opportunity of a lifetime – the chance to be granted their greatest desires. A game with the highest stakes possible.” “Who are you?” “I’m certain you’ve already guessed my name,” he said with a grin, “Pleased to meet you.” My stomach churned at that. I looked back to Paul. “My poor friend, you’re not the only man at this table with a family,” I said, “and I am not going to lay down and willingly die for your mistakes. But promise me this: if you walk away from this table tonight, do not accept whatever this man offers you.” Paul made no reply, but the resolve in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. His course was set. The Dealer slid our cards to us. “Mr. Philips,” he said, “the bet is to you.” “Check,” I said. “You’re not even going to look at your cards?” “I said ‘Check’.” The Dealer looked to Paul. “Check,” the man replied. With that, The Dealer revealed The Flop: Three cards up in the middle. Three sixes. “Mr. Philips?” said The Dealer. “Check,” I said, resolute. “There’s no use in dragging this out,” Paul said, “One of us is going to walk away from this table, and one of us is going to die. Let’s end it right now.” Don’t do it. “I’m all in,” he said, pushing his entire pile of chips into the center. I had no choice but to call his bet. I nudged my pile forward as well. “Well met,” said The Dealer. Since there was no more betting possible, The Dealer swiftly revealed the last two cards in the middle, both of them Aces. “Gentlemen, the grand finale,” The Dealer said with delight in his eyes. Paul revealed his cards first. He was holding a six. Four of a kind. He smiled. I sighed and flipped my cards over. Paul’s smile vanished as terror flooded his face. I looked down at my cards. Two Aces. I too had Four of a Kind. And mine was higher. Paul’s ashen face blurred in my vision as tears filled my eyes. I squeezed them shut as I heard the rippling of fabric from the darkness. The sound of wood scraping on wood echoed throughout the big room. I kept my eyes closed for what felt like an hour. When I opened them, Paul and his chair were gone, skid marks trailing off into the darkness. The Dealer stood. “Congratulations,” he said with that same sinister smile. I didn’t answer. Didn’t move. “I don’t suppose you want to hear anything that I have to offer,” The Dealer continued. I shook my head. “Very well,” he said, “You’re free to go.” -- The wait for the cab was excruciating. When it finally arrived, I gave the driver a start as I scrambled into the back and urged him to floor it. “Man, I don’t blame you for wanting to get outta here quick,” he said as we sped toward the gate, “This place gives me the creeps.” I nodded and turned to look out the back window. The house was dark save for two windows on opposite sides of the second floor that were lit. A figure stood silhouetted in the frame on the right. And I could feel its blue eyes watching me.


My name’s Logan. I’m fourteen years old. And I’m gay. I have this hope that living near a liberal mecca like Seattle will make coming out a lot easier. But boy, am I wrong. My parents freak out. Mom cries a lot. Dad gets angry. Like, really angry. There’s a lot of shouting. And finally, an ultimatum. “Stop with this gay shit, or find someplace else to live.” As if I chose to be gay. With tears streaming down my face, I load up a backpack. My dad screams at me and slams the door on my way out, yelling something about me never coming back. My best friend Jesse’s house is a half-hour walk. He’s the only other person who knows I’m gay. So I have nowhere else to go. When I came out to him a month ago, he was totally cool with it. It’s part of what gave me the confidence to come out to my parents. I tap on his bedroom window. “Hey, Jesse. You in there?” A minute passes, then I tap again. The window creaks open. Jesse’s somber look is the first hint that something's up. “Jesus, Logan. What did you say to your parents?” My stomach clenches. “I came out to them. Dad kicked me out.” “Shit.” “I need to talk about it. Can I come in?” “I’m sorry Logan. You can’t.” “ What? ” “Your parents called my parents about ten minutes ago. I’m not supposed to see you anymore.” His pained expression puts a lump in my throat. “Why not?” Tears are welling up, but I won’t look weak in front of my best friend. “My mom says you’re going to hell.” My sadness morphs into shock. Then anger. “What a fucked up thing to say.” “My mom said it! Not me!” “But you repeated it. And now you won’t even let me in.” I walk away, fuming. “Logan! Stop!” Jesse’s holding a wad of cash. “Look, I’m sorry. This is all my savings. You can have it.” “Keep your damn money!” I turn around with my gaze fixed forward. There’s no way I’m taking charity from my ex-best friend who just betrayed me. No matter how desperately I need it. I’ve only got twenty-five bucks in my wallet. And that won’t last long. I walk down the street, my head spinning. In the course of an hour, I lost my parents, my home and my best friend. I have nowhere to go. But at least I have a bus pass. So I hop on the 425 from Lake Stevens to Seattle. To Capitol Hill. I barely know anything about Seattle, but I know that’s the queer part of town. On the bus ride down, I check for messages on my cell phone. Nothing. Not from my parents, or from Jesse. I lean my head against the glass and watch the world go by in a blur. How did it go so wrong? I don’t remember my parents ever saying anything too homophobic. But come to think of it, the topic never came up. Or maybe I avoided it. My parents are kinda religious. They go to church every few weeks and for Easter and Christmas. But they’re not like zealots or anything. We don’t even say grace. I guess I took them completely by surprise. I should have dropped some hints. Put up some posters of boy bands or something. But I was too afraid to show that side of myself. Maybe, subconsciously, I always knew this would happen. I ride the bus all the way to the end of the line in Downtown Seattle. Skyscrapers loom above me. Wherever there’s a gap, a large yellow crane is building a new one. I check the map on my phone. Capitol Hill is east, up a steep road that goes right over the freeway. I have no idea what I’m going to do when I get there. We’ve lived in the little town of Lake Stevens my whole life. I’ve only been to Seattle a handful of times. My parents don’t like the big city. But I’m taken by how much energy there is. Broadway Avenue is the heart of Capitol Hill and it’s bustling with activity. People everywhere. On the sidewalk in front of me, two guys are holding hands. And they’re cute . I turn my head to watch them as they walk by. One of them looks back and shoots me a smile. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” I snap my head back and stare down at the sidewalk, feeling the blood rushing to my cheeks. The two guys laugh as they walk away. When I’m sure they’re not looking, I peek back. They’re a block away now, with their hands around each other. It makes me feel warm inside. That’s what I want. Somebody to hold me. The wafting smell of burgers makes my stomach grumble. I haven’t eaten since breakfast and it's now mid afternoon. Above me is the marquee of an old 50s style burger joint. Dicks Drive In . Dicks . I laugh to myself. But oh man, are they delicious. I have a Dick’s Deluxe Burger and fries with a chocolate shake. With my stomach full and my wallet lighter, I explore Broadway. Walking by a restaurant, I catch a glimpse of some stage lights through an open door. I peer in to see a drag show in full swing. I’ve never been that into drag shows, but seeing the unabashed expression of queerness makes me smile. As I stand at the entrance, a bouncer at the door gives me evil eyes. She’s a short but thick woman with tight cropped hair. “In or out,” she booms in a husky voice. “In?” I say, not having any idea what I’m doing. “Ten dollar cover.” Ten dollars? Dang. “Oh–um–I guess out then.” “Then move it.” While I was loitering by the door, a line formed behind me. Patrons glare at me as I scurry away. I get a text message from my mom. Logan, we’re worried about you. Come home. A mixture of hope and anger courses through me, as my thumbs tap out a message. Does dad want me to come home? I stare at my phone. The three dots appear and disappear. At least a minute goes by. We want you to come talk to Pastor Jim. That’s it. I turn off my screen and put it on silent mode. What? Do they want me to pray the gay away? I don’t need somebody telling me I’m going to hell for who I am. Almost as in answer, I pass by a church with a large rainbow flag above the entrance. All are welcome here, its sign promises. It makes me smile. So religion by itself isn't the problem. Just small-mindedness. But, seeing my mom's texts makes me painfully homesick. I love my mom dearly, and she loves me. But things aren’t always great at home. My dad has a bad temper. In fact, the only two emotions I’ve ever seen from him are anger and apathy. And he can switch between them in a heartbeat. He’s never physically violent, but that doesn’t mean he can’t inflict a different kind of pain. I wander around Capitol Hill until the shadows get long. When it’s dark, I find a coffee shop and order a cup of hot chocolate. There I sit, watching people and contemplating my life. The whole running off to Capitol Hill thing sounded like a good idea at the time. But now I’m wondering where I’m going to sleep. A woman with long brown hair and a kind face walks up to me. “Hey hon. We close up in a few minutes.” “Oh, okay.” “Everything alright? You look kinda young to be out this late on your own.” “I’m fine.” I get up and head out. Last thing I need is somebody calling the cops and bringing me right back home. My eyes are getting heavy. It’s a warm night out, so when I pass by a sprawling park filled with massive old trees, I turn into it. I find an enormous bush surrounding an ancient maple. There’s a gap in the bush that I’m able to crawl into, and I lean up against the trunk. As I sit there, waiting for comfort that will never come, I think of my warm bed at home. I take my cell phone out and look at the last message my mom sent. I type out: Please come get me. Then I think of how angry my dad will be. How they’ll try to sit me down and convince me to not be gay. That I’m something that needs fixing. I delete the message before I send it, and turn off my phone. When I wake, the sun has come up. But I quickly realize it’s not the light that woke me. A man with long, disheveled hair and dirty clothes is going through my pockets. “Hey!” I yell at him and grab for his hand. But he shakes me off with surprising strength. As he’s running off, he shoves me into the tree. My head hits the trunk hard enough to see stars. By the time I run out of the bush and head after him, he’s already out of sight. I frantically check my pockets. My cell phone and wallet are gone. The events of the last twenty-four hours overwhelm me. And the mugger broke my last ounce of resolve. I crumple into a heap in the middle of a field of grass and start sobbing. How could my parents and my best friend reject me so completely? And now I’m stranded in the middle of a city I barely know. Even my bus pass is gone. Strangers walking dogs through the park stare at me. They must think I’m some crazy homeless person. And maybe that’s what I am. A hand touches my back, and a young guy’s voice calls out. “You okay?” I lurch back from the contact, expecting the worst. The sun shines behind him, silhouetting his face. But his posture is relaxed and calming. I don’t think he means harm. “I’ve been better.” I wipe my cheeks with the back of my sleeve, drying the tears. The guy crouches down, and now I can see him. He’s maybe a year or two older. Piercing blue eyes gaze at me. A lock of wavy light brown falls down his forehead and he pushes it away. He’s wearing ripped jeans, a Hurley t-shirt and a backpack. He’s got a skater punk vibe, and it’s totally cool. And really cute. He crouches down closer, and my stomach flutters. “Wanna tell me about it?” I let out a sad laugh. “Where do I start?” “Lemme guess. You came out to your parents, and they kicked you out of the house.” My jaw drops open. “How did you know?” “I wish it was a unique story, but it's not. It’s my story too.” “ You’re gay?” He laughs and smiles. “Yeah. Names’ Daniel.” He has the nicest smile. “I’m Logan.” “Nice to meet you, Logan. So tell me your story.” We get up and walk to a park bench. I tell him about everything that led up to today. He listens intently. When I’m finished, he pauses for a moment. “You’re a brave guy, Logan. And you’re right to stick to your guns. Don’t let anybody tell you who you should be. I’m sorry your parents and your friend aren’t more accepting.” “Me too.” I stare blankly at the ground. “And I have no idea what I’m going to do now.” Daniel’s eyes light up. “There’s a place for people like you and me. And it's just a few blocks away.” “Seriously? “Seriously. Just head down this road about ten blocks. You’ll see an old house with a pink triangle painted on the outside. It’s a gay youth center. They can help you out. They helped me. I volunteer there now, sometimes.” “I didn't know a place like that even existed.” A smile finally cracks through my drawn out face. “I don’t know how to thank you.” “You can thank me by calling when you're settled. I want to be sure you’re okay.” My heart flutters. “I—ah—don’t have a phone anymore.” “Give me your hand.” I hold out my palm. He takes a pen out of his backpack, grabs my hand, and writes his number on it. The feel of his warm skin on mine sends blood rushing to my cheeks. He sees this and smiles. “Make sure to write this down before you take a shower.” He laughs. “Heh, okay.” “I gotta run. But it was nice meeting you, Logan.” “It was nice meeting you , Daniel.” “And thanks for sharing your story with me.” “Felt great to finally unload it. Thank you for that.” He nods and walks off. Despite everything, maybe I’m gonna make it. Maybe life will be okay.


A shiver ran through Bianca’s spine. Through her window, she could see the blanket of snow and how it tucked the concrete floor. The sunrise was creeping behind the buildings, announcing the beginning of the last day of the year. Leaving her bed and stepping into the cold was less of a hassle than it was most winter days, the promise of her first time watching the ball drop pulling her up and into the day.

She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, flushed cheeks from the cold in her porcelain skin. Amid her excitement, there was a slight weight. The subtle reminder lingered on her mind that this time she would be alone for the holidays, her roommate Clara away in Bali with her boyfriend, her family back in Austin. She shook it out of her head, and opened the hot water of the shower, letting her troubles float away with the steam. After her shower, she got ready and headed over to Bite of the Apple, the small coffee shop a block away from her place. She had some work she wanted to get ahead on to start the New Year off with the right foot.

She set her things up in a long, wooden table after ordering a green tea, and got to work on a book cover design. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a tall body covered in a long, black coat. She felt a steady glance positioned over her body and caught the tall man staring at her. As soon as she noticed, he turned around, pretending it had never happened. He was attractive, pretty conventionally so. Strong jawline, dark hair, dark eyes. Bianca struggled going back to work after that interaction, especially after she got startled by a deep voice. “Do you think you could plug this in there?” it asked. Bianca jumped, barely, out of surprise, and looked to her right to find the forementioned man showing her a laptop charger. “Yes, sure thing,” she replied, agitated, recovering from the initial shock. “You startled me,” she added, laughing. “Yeah, I noticed. Sorry about that,” and then, the man smiled. His teeth were a little crooked, overlapping on the front, but nothing that made his presence significantly less alluring. And somehow, they started talking. The man’s name was Clark, and he was a real estate agent. He had just moved to New York a couple months ago, just like Bianca. The conversation carried on smoothly, and eventually, they casually and discretely slipped some waves of laughter out of each other.

“So what are you doing tonight, Bianca? Anything special planned?” A shy smile crossed her face as she looked down at her keyboard. “Well, if you count ordering take-out and then walking to Times Square in freezing weather as exciting, yes.” “Don’t tell me you’re spending it alone,” he said, a concerned look spreading over his face. “Well, I won’t tell you then,” Bianca chuckled. “Me and my roommates are throwing a small party tonight at our apartment, heading over to Times Square after, and then going to an after-party.” “Oh, I don’t know,” she replied shyly. “I just met you, and I don’t know any of your friends either, I don’t wanna be a burden. I’m not a big party person.” “Nonsense. Give me your phone and text me your address, I’ll pick you up at 9,” Clark handed her his phone.

After a moment of hesitation, she punched in her number and saved herself. “Fine,” she said. “Can’t promise I won’t change my mind last minute, though.” “Sounds fair to me,” he replied with a laugh and started gathering his things. “Thank you, though. I appreciate it.” “No worries, anytime. No one should spend New Years alone.” He picked up his stuff and left. Shortly after, Bianca did too. ----- Bianca gracefully blushed her cheeks pink, when she got interrupted by her phone buzzing: Clark was here. Her heart threatened to pop out of her chest in shaking motions. Why was she so nervous? Then, the phone started ringing. “Hello?” she picked up, trying to keep her voice from quivering. “Hey! I’m so sorry to delay this further, but could I use your bathroom?” “Yes! I’ll let you in now.” And so she did. A few moments later, a knock on the door.

“Hi, you look so gorgeous,” Clark said after Bianca opened the door. His body relaxed as he said it as if for a moment, it had forgotten its own needs and impulses. “Thank you,” Bianca blushed. “The bathroom is right there,” she said, pointing to a door at their left. The apartment was small, so it wasn’t too hard to find.

He left his wallet and phone on the table at the entrance before heading in. “I always drop these in the toilet, that’s how all my past phones have left me,” he said, a charming smile creeping into his face.

He shut the door behind him, and Bianca waited outside, strolling around her own apartment as if seeing it for the first time. What did it say about her to a stranger? The beige walls, the postcards hanging from them, the light grey comforter? Did it speak about her soul to someone? Did it whisper? Her thoughts were interrupted by several buzzing sounds. She turned around and realized they came from Clark’s phone. Who was texting him so much? Curiosity got the worst of Bianca, and she decided to casually peek. The texts were all from an unknown number, notifications piling on top of the other. The latest caught Bianca’s eye, it was an address. Then, another message followed. “Want it here by midnight. Or else.” A feeling of dread washed over her body. Something was terribly wrong. Why was Clark receiving these texts? Wasn’t he supposed to be with her at Times Square at midnight? Was it dumb of her to go out with a guy he had just met, alone at night? The bathroom door opened and startled her, but she tried to contain her surprise as much as she could. “Are you ready?” Clark asked. “Yes! Just let me grab my wallet,” Bianca said this as she headed over to her nightstand, knowing full well that her wallet was already in the purse she was holding. Her pepper spray wasn’t, though, and she discretely took it out of her drawer and slipped it in her bag. They went down to his car, Bianca’s thoughts racing too fast for her to catch up. She forced herself to breathe, to carry a normal conversation. They arrived at an apartment building after a few minutes, and Bianca began to relax. She could hear the music even from outside, everything seemed reasonable. Maybe it was an overreaction, after all, looking too deep into things that didn’t need that much looking into. She had a habit of doing that. They got into the apartment and went on the elevator, and she watched as Clark punched the 10th-floor button. Then, something caught her eye. He was missing his left earlobe. “What happened to you there?” she asked, pointing at it. She saw a flicker of fear in his eyes, leaving them so quick it could’ve never even been there. “It was an accident,” he replied naturally as if there were many things that could casually snap your earlobe away. As soon as she was gonna respond, the elevator doors opened, and she was forced to step out and into the mass of people.

“I’m gonna get us a drink. Will you be fine waiting here?” Clark asked. Bianca nodded and settled on the couch behind her, watching him walk away to a table full of different bottles and people. The party had a lot of people for the size of the place, but it wasn’t too big either. Music was blasting loudly, but people were talking without shouting, and some others were dancing. It was a great precursor to the New Year, Bianca thought. She turned to see Clark talking to some people, holding two red cups in his hands. Some of the people gave her a couple looks as if they knew something she didn’t. A shadow had washed over Clark’s face, and he looked serious for a minute. I’m not drinking whatever he brought me, Bianca thought. There was no way in hell. When he walked over to her, the seriousness was gone and had been replaced by the usual charming smile. They got caught up in conversation, while Bianca stayed alert to any clues, and pretended to take sips of her drink.

Clark excused himself to take a call, and even though Bianca realized it was only 11:30 and she was close enough to make it to midnight and head over to Times Square, something in her gut told her not to: she wanted to go home, and she wanted to go now. She saw him heading back after maintaining the same seriousness on his phone call. She could’ve sworn she also saw a flash of anger at a given moment. “Hey, I’m really thankful for your invitation,” she started, “but I’m feeling really sick. I have a big headache, and I just want to go home.” “But it’s almost midnight!” Clark replied. “You’re so close. We’ll leave in about ten minutes for Times Square, and after that, I’ll drive you home myself.” “Thank you, but I really don’t feel well,” she was scared this would happen. The insistence, the charm. Her gut was yelling at her to get out. “I don’t want to take you away from all this fun or ruin your plans, though. You’ve already done enough. I’ll just Uber.” “Nonsense. If you really need to go home right now, then I’ll take you and just meet my friends at Times Square after. You live pretty close to there, so it’s not out of the way,” and before she could say anything, he squeezed her hand and said, “let me grab my coat.” This was not what she had planned, but it was better than nothing. The doubt of if she was overreacting crept back into her head. Clark was kind, he was respectful. Why was she acting crazy? They went down and got in the car. It was 11:45. They drove into the distance, and Bianca was clutching her pepper spray in her bag. She let her body relax as she spotted the Chinese place that was on the corner of her street, but it tensed up again as she realized they were driving past it and further away. “My place is back there,” she told him, but he didn’t seem to acknowledge it. “Clark. Where are you taking me? We just passed my place.” “We’re going to Times Square,” he replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He tried to show his usual charming smile, but it died halfway. “I told you I wanna go home. I don’t care about Times Square anymore.” He didn’t stop, though. If anything, he went faster. Bianca tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t give in. “Clark, let me out of here.” “I’m not letting you go anywhere,” he snapped. “And you better shut up about it, or it won’t go well for you. You’re gonna make someone very rich, and you’re gonna help me stay alive till I can get away.” “What do you mean? Where are you taking me?” “See,” he proceeded, caught up in his own narrative, “that girl Stephanie was too much trouble. I guess that’s who he wanted, that’s the important girl. You’re nobody. But if you’re Stephanie, you’re somebody. And I need somebody.” Suddenly, he jerked the car to a stop when the red light came on, then looked straight at Bianca’s eyes. Where there was once charm, now lay terror. “I made the mistake of getting rid of her because she was annoying and loud. But he doesn’t know that. He just knows he needs her, and they’re looking for her, and he has the power to get the ransom money from notable people. Once they realize you’re irrelevant, I’ll be long gone.” The car came back to motion. Bianca’s brain was going a thousand miles per second. How did this happen? But then, she remembered the pepper spray in her bag. She clutched it tightly, and when the car came to a stop again, she sprayed Clark in the face. She fidgeted with the door until she got it open and ran.

They were close enough to Times Square by now, and she decided the mass of people was the safest place she could be now, blending into other bodies. She regularly checked behind her, terrified he was there, waiting. It was 11:59 The countdown began. Ten, nine, eight, seven. Her body began to relax, telling herself it was foolish to believe he had found her. Six, five, four. The New Year was coming, she was right where she wanted. She had escaped. She would be okay. Three, two. A cold hand on her shoulder. One. Warm breath on her neck and unintelligible words murmured into her ear. Then, the screams, and the ball. Zero. Happy New Year.