“RED SUS!” “Nick you literally always say that! Just because I’m red,doesn’t mean I’m automatically sus!” I chuckled into my mic, leaning back in my office chair as the chaos unfolded in front of me. This was the third time I was crewmate since we started playing together, Nick and Jack always attacked each other with random susses that made no sense. But I mean, hey, it was funny to watch. I heard Kayla call my name. “Hey, why is Theresa so quiet?” My finger pushed down CTRL, “I’m just listening to what other people have to say.” “Hmmmm.” “Nick I swear don’t you even.” Jay laughed, “Theresa is always quiet, we can’t just sus her out for that.” “Thank you.” Their discord icons popped in and out of my screen as the talked. We had a small lobby today, me, Jay, Nick, Jack, Kayla, Mack (who was muted because she died) and I. That meant only one imposter. I was usually a smart player, so I tended to be quiet. Gathering information was critical. As I listened to them bantering back and forth I tried to put the pieces together in my head. Mack's body was in electrical, no surprise there. Who had I last seen coming from there? Nick had reported the body and was, of course, automatically sussing Jack out. I had made my rotation, doing my tasks in 02 and cafeteria. The card swipe had be stuck for a minute, and I hadn’t entered electrical yet, but I know I had seen someone going in there. Think Theresa think. I tried to make my brain work but I could get the image to focus in my head. Coming back to earth, I cracked my knuckles, and did what I was best at. Listening. Nick was the loudest. “I’m telling you, I saw Jack go into electrical in the beginning, the body could be old, it has to be him!” “I went in at the beginning and I was with Kayla for the rest of the round!” Kayla’s voice was overshadowed, but she managed to get a few words in. “I mean I can partially vouch for Jack, but he could just be marinating me.” “EXACTLY.” About halfway through their argument the gears in my head started turning, bits of information clicking together to form some kind of conclusion. Unfortunately for me, Nick must’ve been doing that same thing. “Theresa you believe me right? We have to vote him out it’s obviously him!” I sighed, trying to think. “Do you have any solid evidence?” “Yes! I saw him go in and I didn’t go back to electrical until later and I don’t think anyone else did either so he was the only person that could’ve gone in and killed Mack.” I felt the need to argue. “Unless it was a vent kill, they could’ve easily killed her and gone to medbay, going back to right side, completely unnoticed.” “No, I swear, it’s Jack, he isn’t standing at the tasks long enough, he doesn’t have a visual, and overall he’s just a very naturally sus person.” I hear Jack knock something over. “I take that to personal offense.” They laughed. Jack tried to speak again but Nick cut him off. “Theresa trust me, you’re smart, and you can probably tell when I’m lying, plus we all know that it’s not me because I scanned.” He was starting to convince me. He was right, he had scanned, and he wasn’t lying. My mouse hovered over the voting button, and that’s when I realized how quiet Jay was being. My head finally put the pieces together, Jay never talks when he’s imposter, and he’s ridiculously smart. He would just let Nick and Jack have it out and slip under the radar. I had seen him coming out of medbay, he’d stuck with me the rest of the time, probably to gain my trust. But I knew better. I moved my hand and voted for, “Carl”. “Nick, you know I trust you, but you have to trust me. It’s Jay.” Jays defense was almost immediate, “I was with you the whole time! It couldn’t have been me!” “No actually you weren’t with me the whole time, and you weren’t doing tasks. Which explains it. I saw you coming out of medbay, and you’ve been abnormally quiet, you’re smart, so you thought you could just let us get lost in the chaos. But, unfortunately for you, I’m also smart, and I know how you pay.” He had no words. Nick sighed, “But I really thought that it was Jack, this is so disappointing.” I heard the clicks of everyone voting, smiling to myself. This was probably why people never invited me to play with them, I figured it out way too easily for their liking. We ejected Jay, I was, of course, correct. We all rejoined the lobby, “I hate it when you know things.” I laughed, Jay and I had a running contest of how many times we could figure out when each other was the imposter. So far, I was the one winning. By seven games might I add. “What can I say, you’re too easy.” Nick whispered into his mic, “Y’all I still kinda think red is sus though.” We all yelled at him. “RED IS NOT SUS STOP IT.” Laughing to ourselves I cracked my knuckles again as the timer went off, I was warmed up, and my game was strong. I continued to win the rest of the games we played, much to their hate, I murdered them all, and witnessed murders. Nick calling Jack sus the whole time. As we were about to get off, Jay private messaged me. What’s that catch phrase you like to use when you win a lot of games in a row? I grinned, I hadn’t been able to use it on anyone in a while. I was glad he reminded me, this was going to be fun. Well, maybe more for me then them. Got em.


To visit a real oasis was number forty-nine on Kelly’s bucket list. This was an obtainable goal. She was pleased that she thought of putting it down. She didn’t write down pipe dream items, such as going to space or the moon. Sure, she would love to go but she wanted to achieve her goals and as many of them as possible in the short time she has left. “Sixty-one,” Kelly thought, “is that young or old?” She certainly feels young, especially when she plays doubles on the tennis courts. The sport makes her feel like she did in middle school; it keeps her young. Fifty-five is when one enters the senior demographic. Sixty-two is considered early retirement age and a senior citizen. Kelly retired at fifty-eight. In five months, she will be a full-fledge senior citizen. Now that is old. Kelly never did decide on answer her question as to whether sixty-one is young or old; it is unimportant. The important thing is to know time is valuable. The dream of seeing Earth from space is a fantasy, a time waster for her. A real desert oasis is manageable. Cottonwood Spring is a natural oasis in Twentynine Palms, California. Of course, it is almost two-thousand miles away from sunny Florida. Cottonwood Spring is in Riverside County. Kelly has an old friend Paul who lives there. He has his own law office. She is proud of him because she knew him when he was a car mechanic. He beat the statistics and made a good living for himself.

She remembered him with fond memories. He had a great sense of humor and a big smile. He seemed to love just messing with people, just to mess with them. He had done it to her too. She wasn’t a cook. She followed recipes to the tee and could still mess up. There was a silly pizza recipe that called for the pepperoni to be placed under the cheese. Naturally, Paul insisted that he wanted his pepperoni on top of the cheese. Kelly didn’t understand. The recipe said under the cheese. Paul got the kids involved and they too wanted their pepperoni on top. Everyone had thought it was funny to mess with Kelly because she was such a stickler for the recipe. Those were some great times. Kelly so wished Liz and Paul had stayed together. Kelly wondered if Paul would see her, after all the years had gone by? Not because of him being a big shot lawyer but because she had done him wrong. He blamed the split with his wife Liz on her. Kelly had helped Liz move out. It had been a “Catch 22” situation for Kelly. Divorces are nasty, even when they are not nasty. Pick a side: her or him. Kelly had loved both, but Liz was her best friend. At times, Paul seemed to understand; then there were others when the hurt pained him so bad that he didn’t want to understand. Does time indeed heal old wounds? Kelly wanted to find out. For sure, the visit to see the oasis would include a visit to Paul’s law office. She wouldn’t try to see him at home with his new family. She had heard the new wife was insecure and jealous. The last thing Kelly would want to do is to cause problems for them. In addition, Kelly knew if she dropped in at his office, she could go through his secretary. It would give Paul the option of making time for her or not. Kelly wondered how Paul would receive Garret. It had been Kelly and Bob forever. Sadly, Bob passed away seven years ago. Garret and Bob’s personalities are completely different. Bob was fun and funny with everyone. He would joke and tease with a perfect stranger. Garret is more reserved until he knows you well. Going without Garret wasn’t option. He was her man now. Acceptance of him was a must. In addition, Garret had never even seen a desert much less an oasis. Kelly had been to the desert many times in her travels. However, she had never taken the time to see an oasis. Yes, Garret and her would go. For the bucket list trip, she wanted to experience the oasis. She didn’t want to do the touristy thing and just visit the visitors center where there should be sign declaring this is the “Cottonwood Spring Oasis.” She wanted to walk through the desert and build up a thirst. She wanted it to be night-time and let the sounds and lights of the oasis guide her there. She understood there were some dangers to walking through the dessert at night. Coyotes, bobcats, snakes, and scorpions to name a few of the threatening wildlife she could encounter. Dehydration could be a factor too. The little bit of fear excited her. Number forty-nine: oasis would have to wait another two years for Garret to retire. His dream was to buy a large camper and a heavy-duty pickup truck and see the country. Kelly loved this idea. She had traveled a lot for work but not vacationed as much as she had wanted. Her life had been lived in the fast lane. It was time to slow down, take in, and reflect on the world. As Kelly continued to dream, she added a fiftieth entry into the Bucket List book. It was to become a published author.  Then she thought the entry was too vague. Anyone with the Internet can publish. She was reminded of a Denzel Washington YouTube video of a commencement speech, where he called for people to dream big. She erased “become a published author” and wrote, “become an author on the New York Times’ best-selling list.” Finally, she returned to her unanswered question: is sixty-one young or old?  She thought about many of the witty quotes on age that were designed more to make one smile than think. She quickly discounted them. She moved on to think about space and time. Einstein said, “Space and time were inextricably linked.” Her question should be, “Is she contracting or expanding?” Just like the universe, she knew without a doubt that she was expansion stage of life. Kelly was joyful. “Funny,” she thought, “she felt larger than she ever had before.” Kelly closed the Bucket List book and headed to bed for the night.


Sina and I unrolled our sleeping bags on October 31st, 2013, a few hours before midnight. It was cold and dark, despite what the forecast had been, but we had come prepared with extra blankets, sweaters, and hot cocoa in a little travel cup. It was Sina’s brother who had dared us to spend the night here, in the graveyard. I was glad I agreed; it beat trick-or-treating by a lot, especially since everyone was selling candy for lower prices anyways. Sitting there, talking with my best friend, the leaves falling around us as the temperature gradually fell… it was amazing. The clock tower struck midnight, and we turned off the flashlights on our phones. I lay down and looked at the moonlight shining on the gravestones, illuminating the names.

“Hey, I dare you to balance on one of these without falling,” I told Sina. “I’ll take a photo as proof that we did this.” “Good call. Okay, which dead guy’s memorial am I gonna balance on?” We both laughed at the sheer darkness of that statement before she finally decided on someone named Natas Reverof. His grave looked pretty sturdy. The wind whistled in my ear as Sina struck a pose and I snapped a picture. The flash shined off of the gravestones nearby, and shined in Sina’s eyes.

It shined off of a figure on the path. “Is someone there?” I called, turning on the flashlight on my phone and shining it on the path. But there was no response. No person. Nothing. “I think it was just a trick of the light,” Sina said with a smile, standing on one foot. “Or can you see ghosts now? I can see the headlines now: ‘Mei the Ghost Whisperer.’” I shot her a glare that I hoped she could see despite the growing darkness. I looked up, watching as a cloud covered up more and more of the moon. I shivered. Sina hopped off of the gravestone, and I decided to take a selfie to prove I did this, too. Sina’s the type of person that would probably claim that she was here on her own, and if I didn’t have proof, I’d lose my share of the bet. I kneeled next to the memorial and pressed a button on my phone. The camera flipped around, and I saw my shadow in the background. It was creepy; the phone looked like a knife in my hand, and my body looked like a man hunched over instead of a fourteen-year-old girl taking a picture.

It looked like the figure I thought I saw on the path. My mind silently whispered for me to run, but I shook my head and took the photo. The flash went off directly in my eyes, and I flinched. My eyes flew shut, and I felt something brush my neck. I opened my eyes, whirling around. But there was nothing. “It’s a ghooost!!!” Sina taunted. “Oh, shut up!” I took a deep breath. It was probably a leaf, or a bug, or maybe even just the wind. I took the photo again, forcing my eyes to stay open. I looked at the images. Sina’s face was almost impossible to see; she was silhouetted in the moonlight, even though I could have sworn the flash had been on. I swiped to the selfie and saw the same problem. “Hey, am I going crazy, or did I use flash when I took those photos?” Silence. I clicked off my phone. “Sina?” The wind whistled louder and I felt a raindrop on my head. It was dark, dark enough that I could barely see. “Sina, c’mon, this isn’t funny.” I tapped my phone, but instead of turning on, I saw the ‘no battery’ screen. “It was at seventy percent… Sina, is your phone working? I can’t see a thing out here.” I shivered as another gust of wind blew by and rain began to fall. I walked back to the sleeping bags and felt around for the hot cocoa. “Okay,” I whispered as I found the cup, my fingers freezing in the cold night air. “I’m fine. This is real life, Sina’s playing a trick on you, it’s just cold, this is all okay.” For the first time, I longed for the moment where Sina jumped out of the shadows and laughed at her cruel joke. “You’re going to be fine, Mei.” “Fine, fine, fine,” my voice echoed as the dark became even more unbearable. “You’re going to be fine.” “Wh-- who’s there?!?” Silence. I frantically tapped my phone screen, desperate for light of any kind. I looked up at the sky, but there was no moon to be seen. The clouds had completely covered it up, and all of the street lights were out. “Sina, I’m going to drink all of the hot cocoa..!” I said. Sina would kill for hot cocoa any day; if that didn’t make her respond, nothing would. “Mei?” I heard behind me. I whirled around, but only saw Natas Reverof’s grave. The rain began to pour harder and harder. “Sina! What have you done with Sina?!?” My phone suddenly clicked on and showed the selfie; but the lighting was different. I was able to see my face, and the words on the grave… but the words shifted into a different order. A reversed order. I saw what Natas Reverof really said before my phone clicked off for the last time. I ran, so scared that I couldn’t even scream. I didn’t know where Sina was, but me yelling wasn’t going to bring her back. Tears rolled down my face as it dawned on me that one of my best friends was most likely dead… and I was most likely about to die. It was so dark that I tripped over everything from loose bricks on the path to entire gravestones, but I made it to the fence. The exit. I scrambled up the fence, but slipped on the rain-slick bars of the metal. My hands were so cold and numb, they couldn’t grip onto anything. “I’m going to die,” I realized. “Fine, fine, fine,” the voice insisted. But it wasn’t an echo. It was a different voice than mine, dark and raspy. “Hello?!?” “You’re going to be fine.” And the last thing I felt was a hand on my shoulder.


I was sixteen when I first realized the aching in my heart that I had for him. He was an enigma to me, a mysterious figure. I was never able to get him alone until that one night - the rest was history. It had been three months since I had last been home; he was all I could think about. Memories of him kept me awake at night, kept me daydreaming during classes. In the bars, I watched my friends slink their way up to men, their eyes glimmering - but I could not bear to even look at another man. It was him - and only him - on my mind.

Driving along my old street made my heart beat faster, knowing I was getting closer and closer to that yellow house next to mine. I imagined sitting up in my bed late at night, watching his shadow behind a sheer white curtain through my window.

My family embraced me warmly, and I gave them all pearly smiles before carrying my bags upstairs. Once entering my bedroom, I immediately shut the door and ran to the window. Separating the blinds with my fingers, I peered into the house next door. My heart dropped a little when all I saw was the ghastly fluttering of a curtain.

That curtain - I knew that curtain so well. In his bed, I’d lie next to him staring up at it, occasionally letting the thin material run through my fingers. Though sometimes in my own room at night, I would see two figures behind it, and I had to look away.

Mrs. Holiday was beautiful - but in a tightly-wound way. Her lips were always pursed, her cheekbones always defined, her hair always slicked back in some sort of hair-sprayed up-do. She wore cardigan sweaters a lot, the buttons at the top always undone. I knew he still saw something in her, no matter how deeply he looked into my eyes.

It was too late to visit him; she would have already gotten home from work. I imagined the two of them sitting reclined on their sofa, sharing a bottle of wine. Her head was probably leaned into his chest, his hands on her arms, running his fingers along her skin. I did not envy her - Mrs. Holiday. I could never envy her. I suppose I might have pitied her, in a way; someone as beautiful as her still could not suffice him.

That night, I sat with my family around the television. They never talked about the Holidays; they never noticed how during years prior I would disappear in the afternoons. I felt powerful with my secret. Sometimes a slight smirk would blossom on my face whenever I thought about him around them, and then I would blush and cover my face with my sleeve. He was my precious secret, too precious to share.

I woke up early the next morning. I took my time getting ready, glossing my lips and applying the perfect scent. I crept downstairs quietly, going through the backdoor to avoid any eyes. The dewy grass tickled my ankles, and I was suddenly reminded of the first night we had met. “You’re Mary’s kid, right? I guess we haven’t officially met.” I looked up at the man in front of me. It was as if someone lit fireworks in my chest. I was only sixteen, too inexperienced to flirt, to subtly let him know I was interested, but somehow he still saw something in me, and we talked the entire night. I should have felt ashamed - I know I should have, but the exploding in my chest never ceased, even after I left that backyard party. That was the night I realized that my bedroom window looked directly into his.

I approached his door slowly, lingering for a minute at the welcome mat. I saw his doorbell, and I ran my fingers over the brass plate that enclosed the shiny button. There was a fluttering in my stomach as I pressed it. I heard it ring inside, and then I heard slow footsteps get louder and louder. I took the few seconds to smooth down my hair, to tuck a piece behind my ear - just the way he liked it.

My heart sunk when a woman answered the door, and panic spread through me when I realized it was not Mrs. Holiday. I had never seen this woman before. Her eyes were gray, her face almost too pale.

Neither of us spoke at first until I managed to sputter out a few words, “Is Sam here?” “Sam?” she asked softly. My hands began to shake. “Sam Holiday, he lives here.” The woman’s eyebrows raised, and her lips formed a sympathetic frown. “The Holidays haven’t lived here in over a decade.” She paused, “ You live next door, don’t you? I knew I recognized you.” I shook my head, my mind frazzled. “No, Sam Holiday lives here. He lives here with his wife.” “Oh dear,” she began, “Beatrice moved after Sam passed. Don’t you remember?” “Sam lives here; you’re lying.” She was lying - I knew it. I felt him. He was not dead. He was more alive than ever.

“I think you should go.” I began to argue, but she closed the door in my face.

My mind was racing - where was he? My feet took me away from the door and back inside my house. I did not bother to keep quiet as I raced into the kitchen and found my mother’s address book. I flipped the pages until I found the H’s. I smiled when I saw his surname etched in black pen; I frowned when I saw the address scribbled out in marker. Underneath was a new one - with only her name on it.

I still did not believe it. I had to find him - he was in trouble. I ran back up to my room and opened my laptop. A search of his name led me to his obituary. It was just like the woman said - ten years had passed. I could not comprehend it; I could not understand.

She had to leave at some point, I thought to myself. I stared out my window for hours until a car pulled out of the garage. Suddenly, I found myself once again in front of his door, staring at that doorbell. I rang it, expecting him to see his face appear, to see him smile at me, to laugh as I wrapped my arms around his neck. But he did not appear - no one appeared. I tried the handle, but it was locked. I walked around the side of the house, my hands tugging at every window. Finally, I got to the back porch. The screen door easily opened, and I found myself on his patio. I smiled when I saw the unlocked sliding door, and smiled even more when I stepped inside, the memories of the house filling up my mind.

I found his bedroom; I felt a sense of relief when I smelled his scent. How was I smelling it? He had to be here. His bed was right where I remembered it, and I let myself sink into the soft mattress. The sheets looked a bit different to me, and I could have sworn that he had a beige comforter, not the red one that was beneath me. The bed also seemed smaller - it was definitely smaller than I remembered, but then again, so much time had passed, so I dismissed the oddities. I leaned back against his pillow and shut my eyes.

I did not even flinch when he walked in the door.

“I missed you,” I said to him. “And I missed you, love.” He always called me love.

He did not waste time coming over to me, falling onto me, kissing me gently. I smiled when he pulled away and stared into my eyes.

“She said you were gone. I didn’t believe her.” “Who said I was gone?” He rolled over on his side next to me, a concerned look spread across his face.

“The woman that lives here,” I said. “Why would my wife say that?” I shook my head. “No, it was not your wife.” He was silent. So was I.

“Sam,” I said after some time had passed, “why do you have an obituary?” His eyes were piercing in that moment. I almost felt afraid - almost. I loved him too much.

“Nothing is real,” he whispered. “What?” He spoke a bit louder: “Nothing is real!”

“Stop talking like that, Sam! Stop!” I yelled.

Even when the pillow came down on my face, I still had no fear. Even when his screams became louder, I still had no fear. Even when the gray-eyed pale woman came into the room and began yelling, I still had no fear. Fear could not touch love.

There were too many shouts to comprehend anything, so I buried myself deeper into his sheets. When the sirens started, and the room became blue and red, I became one with the bed, clinging onto a memory.

As they carried me out, I saw Sam standing outside on the curb. No one saw him, no one talked to him, no one paid any attention to my love.

“Sam!” I called out.

He looked away.


She adds another braid in her hair for every year she survives. There are four braids missing.

She cannot remember. She knows she doesn’t want to. She can tell in the way the others look at her that she doesn’t want to.

She lives. She lives and does not think of her story. She does not think of her family or the home she does not know. Only at night can she remember. Only at night can she remember how her family were killed and her home burned. She wakes up screaming for the mother that she does not know. She wakes up screaming for the father that she cannot remember. She wakes up screaming for the brother and the sister that are no longer there. She cannot remember the dreams in the day. She adds another braid in her hair for every year that she survives. There are still four braids missing. She can barely remember. She is not sure if she wants to. She lives. She lives, but she thinks of her story now. She thinks of her family and the home she hardly knows. Only at night can she remember clearly. Only at night can she remember how her friends were maimed and her pets slaughtered. She still wakes up crying for the mother she does not know. She still wakes up crying for the father she cannot remember. She still wakes up crying for the brother and the sister that are no longer there. She can remember the dreams now. She adds another braid in her hair for every year that she survives. There are still four braids missing. She tries to remember. She feels like her memories are slipping away. Day after day. She struggles to live. She struggles against the dark fog that is pulling her down and washing her memories away. Not even at night can she remember. Not even at night can she remember how the bombs were dropped and innocents murdered. She wakes up, but does not scream or cry for her unknowable mother. She wakes up, but does not scream or cry for her forgotten father. She wakes up, but does not scream or cry for her lost brother and sister. She does not dream anymore *** One day I meet a tall and beautiful stranger. The stranger is very quiet. I can tell that she has seen things that she wants to forget. I speak to her when the others leave. She is very wise. She tells me many things. The stranger tells me that she knows me. This is impossible. No one knows me. Not even me. I speak to the stranger again the next day when the others leave. Again she says that she knows me. This time I stay. She shows me a picture. It is of a young woman with long hair and a nice face. The woman in the picture is laughing. She seems familiar. The stranger tells me that the woman was my mother. This is impossible. I do not have a mother. I speak to the stranger again when the others leave. She shows me the picture again. I think I like the picture. I tell the Stranger so and she says that I can keep it. I hang it in my room. I speak to the Stranger again when the others leave. She says that she knows me. I tell her that it is impossible. The Stranger tells me that I am one who is afraid of the past. I know this is impossible. I have no past. The Stranger tells me that I am one that clings to the past. I know this is impossible. I have no past. The Stranger tells me that I am one who has forgotten who I am. This is true. I do not know who I was. I was lost long ago. I leave. I do not want to hear any more truths today. I visit the Stranger again the next day when the others leave. She tells me that I do not have to be afraid of the past. I tell her that I am not afraid of the past. I think I know that this is a lie. I tell her that I do not cling to the past either. I think I know that this is a lie. I tell her that I have forgotten who I am. This is the truth. The old me was lost many braids ago. I cannot stop telling her. I tell her that I forget many things. Even still. Even the most simple things. I tell her that the others won't let me out on my own. They fear that I will forget what I'm doing, or that I won't be able to remember the way back. I tell her about my old dreams. My old dreams of my real family and my real home. I tell her that I do not dream anymore. I tell her that I used to be able to remember what had happened. I tell her of the day that the memories became hazy again. I tell her of the day when I stopped eating and sleeping. When I would just lay and try to remember who I was before. I tell her everything I can remember. It is not much. But she listens. She says to me " Do not be afraid of your past, child. You may not be able to see it there anymore, but it is still a part of you. If you learn not to fear what you may find, then you will see it clearly again. You will not be afraid. " *** I have added many more braids since that day. There are still four braids missing. Sometimes I try to examine the memories I have in the long hours of the night. Sometimes I find something new. But I am not searching for new memories anymore. I am searching for a part of me that I left behind. I cannot find it. Suddenly: " Sikara!! " My real name. I have not heard it for years and years. It was the name that my mother called me. I turn around. There is a girl. She looks only a few years older than me. Maybe fourteen. Or fifteen. I remember the picture that the Stranger gave to me. She looks a lot like the woman in it. The same hair, the same kind face. Except her eyes. Her eyes are like mine. Bright green. Not blue like in the picture. I can remember now. She is the missing piece I have been searching for. My lost sister. I can remember now, how inseparable we were. How we did everything together. How our sweet, sad mother sang us to sleep at night. I reach out and touch her hand. I can remember now, how the bomb tore us apart, how it tore the whole world apart. I remember her screams as she saw me bleeding out onto the stones. I remember her screams as she saw the bodies of our parents and brother. I remember her screams as she was dragged away. Her screams were mine when I woke in the night. Her face is more scarred, and her eyes are ones that have seen too many things. But she has not completely lost the look of the sister I had before. A tear falls. I hug her. She hugs me back. I have finally found my missing piece. The Stranger was right. I do not have to be afraid of the past anymore. And I will leave my four missing braids as a reminder to those who feel lost.


FACT: We are in a sixth mass extinction, an entirely human-caused one, where 75% of species are projected by scientists to go extinct in the next five centuries. While this story may be fictional, this crisis and the call to action it brings is very real. ******************

I have to know. For humanity’s sake. Vincenzo Alba sat at his desk in the largest private climate research facility in Europe, his heart racing, his mouse hovering over a file in his computer. It has all come to this. His right elbow was bloodied from the glass door he had shattered, and his hands sported deep cuts from the barbed wire, but the pain meant nothing to him. What mattered was the contents of the file. For the fate of the world hangs in the balance. T he file - the results of a computer analysis of data collected over several years - most likely contained proof that the world was facing a crisis the likes of which had only happened five times before in Earth's 4.5-billion-year history. It would be almost impossible to stop. Almost impossible to resist. It is time. Shaking from head to toe, Alba sucked in a breath of air, mustered his courage, and pressed his finger to click on the icon of the file. And then a searing pain ripped into him. Alba felt as if the fires of hell had shot through him, but he knew it was some kind of projectile...and whatever it was was still lodged somewhere in his back... "Turn around.", a cold voice commanded him. "Step away. Or I shoot again." Alba took a few moments to fully comprehend what was happening. Someone had shot him...and now they wanted him to step away from his computer...they wanted the file. But how? How could they know? Only he knew of the file. He and one other person. And it dawned on him. Robert...his colleague...had betrayed him. But why? Robert has been as fervent as he in uncovering the rate of extinction. He would not do this... "I said, step away!" A second bullet ripped into Alba, this time in the back of his head. He barely had more than a millisecond of conscious thought, but in that time, he felt a world of pain. He had failed. Earth was heading towards cataclysm...and they would never know. And then, Vincenzo Alba felt his memories swimming around him, until the world around him faded into black... The killer was a seasoned one. He knew exactly what to do every time he finished a job. Take out his phone, dial his client, and let them know that he had finished his service. So, it was with almost robot-like second nature that he opened the phone app and scrolled to find the contact of his client, without a second glance at the bloody body on the floor. "Hello?" The voice was gruff, with an accent that the killer could not place. "He is dead." The killer was blunt; he got straight to the point. On the other end, he could hear something that sounded like a sigh of relief. "Excellent. I will send you the second third of your payment now." The killer had known that this was going to be a lucrative job from the moment he had been offered it. He remembered it clearly - he had received an advance of $500,000 with orders to kill a climate scientist named Vincenzo Alba. And it made sense that it was lucrative. Had the information been leaked, several powerful people would have stood to lose. It would have created an unheard of backlash against their businesses. Not only that - politicians would have faced rising pressures to advert the crisis. Most likely, they would have been voted out of office. "What next?", the killer asked. "Bring me the file, meet me outside the lab, and I will finish paying you." The phone beeped as the client hung up. The killer knew what he had to do. Transferring the file onto a USB, he stalked away from the desk, leaving the lab and stepping into the hallway of the research facility. As he left the facility, he could see a figure up ahead. A lamp was in the figure's hand, illuminating his face. He looked German, or perhaps Austrian, and had a strong, muscular frame and a chiseled face. The killer instantly recognized the man. He had seen him before, when he was scoping the facility. The man was a researcher in the lab - he worked with Alba. He was the client? It made little sense - he had nothing to lose from the discovery - but perhaps he wanted credit. "Give me the file." The scientist's voice confirmed that he was indeed the client the killer had spoken to over the phone. But the killer was too experienced in his field to make the mistake of putting faith in his clients. "First, the money." Robert Strauss felt his heart quickening as he stood in front of the assassin. His night had been frantic and hectic, but now he was only focused on one thing. Getting the file. It would only be so long until his pursuer arrived - and he was armed. "First, the file.", Robert copied, extending his arm and hoping desperately that the man would comply. The assassin's hand twitched towards his gun for a second, but then, to Robert's immense relief, he seemed to decide to try the diplomatic way. "Tell me, Robert.", the assassin drawled. "Why do you want the file?" "It is too dangerous.", Robert said automatically. "It must be destroyed. It will send the world into panic otherwise." "Then why did you not ask me to delete it?" Robert knew his lie was caught. But it did not matter - the assassin had given him an opening. And he was a master at tae kwon do. Robert struck out, his foot landing onto the assassin's gun holster and kicking his gun up into the air. He caught it, and shot the assassin. I told him to give me the file . His hand shaking, Robert took out the USB and put it in his pocket. And then a bullet whizzed over his head. Robert felt himself tense up with fear. He had arrived. The man who was truly behind this all had arrived. Robert felt anger pulsing through his veins as he looked at the man who stood in front of him - but he also felt guilt. Because, though his partner Vincenzo had believed that only they knew about the work they were doing - Robert had told someone else. The man was his closest friend. Peter Proust, the owner of a Polish coal-mining company. Many had found it odd that a climate scientist and a coal magnate were friends. But Robert had always believed that Peter was one of the most empathetic people he knew. He had treated his workers kindly, he had sided with unions, he had worked to make his business more environmentally friendly. But yet, there he was. Pointing a gun at his closest friend in order to destroy a file that could save humanity. Robert had gone to Peter's house that night, only to see his phone light up with a text from the assassin. Realizing what Peter was doing, Robert had confronted him. But Peter had only pulled out a gun. Somehow, Robert had escaped, taking Peter's phone with him. Upon reaching the lab, the assassin had called him, and he had learned that Alba was dead. But he had known that he had to fight the grief and play his part - the world was more important than him. "Robert.", Peter Proust spoke. His voice seemed genuinely friendly and empathetic - like the friend that Robert had known. "Give me the file." "I'd sooner die a thousand times." "Robert. Please. Don't make me do this." In a flash, Robert pointed his gun at Peter. "No. Don't make me do this." "You don't even know how to fire it, Robert. You've never touched a weapon in your life. You are so innocent, Robert. So kind. Unlike the rest of us. That is why I don't want to kill you." "I thought you were kind. I thought you were innocent. Why would you do this?" Peter's face looked pained. "Because I am gravely selfish, Robert. If the world learns that they are doomed, then they will call me he who had doomed them. They will come after me. They will come after my daughter. I want to protect her." "Protect?", Robert asked incredulously. He was now much closer to Peter, he could reach out and touch him now. "How is this protection? This is destruction. Do you know what this data will prove? A sixth mass extinction. The projection of death of the majority of life on earth. Including us. And it is all because of us. Humans need to know this. So we can try to stop it. I can't let you do this, Peter." Whipping his foot through the air, Robert kicked the gun out of Peter's hand. But Peter was quick as well. He tackled Robert to the ground. He could feel his weapon slipping out of his grip as they rolled on the grass. Peter was just as accomplished a martial artist as Robert - perhaps more of one. Peter felt himself being forced onto his back, and then the hand of Peter closing around his neck. "I'm sorry, Robert.", Peter whispered. Robert felt consciousness slipping away from him. He needed a way to loosen Peter's grip. Desperately, Peter choked. "What you are doing isn't saving your daughter. It's killing her." For only a moment, Peter's grip loosened, but it was enough. Robert struck him with his leg, rolling him over. Shooting into a standing position, he dived for his gun. He pointed it at Peter. " I'm sorry, Peter." Thinking of his once-good friend, Robert pulled the trigger. The horrors of the night was now hours past, and dawn had now come. Robert sat back in his apartment, the USB in his hand. Police were now swarming the facility, taking evidence. They had already questioned Robert, and he had told them what had happened. His trial for murder - one the police had assured him that was just a formality, that he would certainly win - was next week, the day after Alba's funeral. But there would be a time for mourning, and a time for the trial. Now was a time for the file. The results of the analysis had proved what Robert and Vincenzo had already known - the world was in a crisis. Animals were disappearing at an alarming rate - a thousand times the base extinction rate for mammals, forty-five thousand times for amphibians. And it was all due to humans. Simply put, expanding human population coupled with expanding human consumption was to much for the planet to bear. Overfishing, overhunting, the transfer of invasive species to different habitats, climate change, and more had overwhelmed nature's defenses. With the exception of the first living form to ever exist, humans had altered life on earth more than any other living thing. But Robert differed with Vincenzo on one thing - he was an optimist. He believed that humans still had a chance. Though it had already started, the extinction could be halted before it got worse. If humans invested in green energy and stopped climate change. If they reduced consumption by lifestyle changes and population control. There was one thing that Robert believed above all else: one could not find light in the darkness. They had to be the light.


Speak to Me “Speak now,” Virginia said to the photograph of her sister. She waited patiently. She had always been patient with her sister, an emotional woman who had been married five times, always to assholes. Virginia has sat through many midnight phone calls with her sister, Elizabeth, sobbing on the other end of the line. Virginia had waited till the sobs subsided and then said, “Speak now.” She said it again to the photograph but it remained silent. Fine, there were other people to talk to. Virginia drifted over to the grand piano. No one played it now but it provided an excellent surface for her gallery. There were photos of her late husband, her three children, her own parents and even a group photo of herself and her three best friends from school. My, that was an old one. She picked it up and smiled at Emily. What a card Emily had been! “Remember that time you bleached your hair blonde Em? How the hell had it turned green?” Virginia chuckled. “You didn’t care, did you Em? You went out that night anyway. We had a great time at the club, dancing till our feet nearly bled. Those were the days, Em, weren’t they?” Virginia patted the photo and then turned to her husband. “And then I met you, Jerome.” Virginia sighed and sat down on the piano bench. She let her fingers drift over the keys but no melody came to enliven them. She wiped the dust from her fingers onto her dress. “If I had know Jerome, what it would be like living with you, I’m not sure I would have gotten married. Oh, I loved you, but my God, you were a pain in the ass. If one thing was out of place you blew your top. If I took too long getting ready to go out; if the meat was slightly overcooked, you lost the plot. I think the war screwed you up. It screwed up all the men in your generation. We girls were happy enough on our own but when you came home, we were expected to marry you and settle down. Give you happy homes and healthy children, erasing everything that happened to you. How the hell were we supposed to do that? Seriously, Jerome, you expected too much.” She was holding the frame now and gave it a good shake. Then she placed it face down on the top of the piano. At least there were the boys. She lifted each photo in turn, scrutinizing the faces, all quite similar, though one wore glasses. “I did enjoy raising you three. I think I liked the bed time stories best of all. You were clean and quiet then and I sat down on the bed beside you and read the stories. It was the same book I used for all three of you. I had those stories memorized by the time Martin came along. I wish one of you had like music though. Funny that both your parents were musical but not a one of you took to an instrument, no matter how hard we tried. It was all sports, sports, sports and look at you now, all fat and middle aged doing desk jobs. If you had been musical, you could still be playing.” “I wanted to be a pianist,” she said to the photo of her parents, “I was quite talented. You loved listening to me play, didn’t you Daddy? But you both thought I should get married and settle down. I’d be happier. It would be better for me.” She walked away from the piano then and looked up at the portrait of Debussy that hung over her fireplace. “Did you like the way I played your work? Or do you think I was better off in the kitchen than studying your pieces?” Debussy gazed back pensively but did not reply.

She returned to Elizabeth. “You haven’t rung in ages darling. I know I was a bit hard on you last time you called but I wish you had listened when I told you he was only after your money. I mean, why would any guy marry someone our age if it wasn’t for our money? He was at least twenty years your junior.” She paused. “Ok, I’m sorry. I was a bit harsh but I am your big sister.” “Ah, there you are Mrs. Woodville,” the carer was wearing a pink uniform today. Virginia turned, holding her sister’s photo and stared at the intruder. The girl in pink was called …. She always wore pink. The other girl wore blue. And sometimes there was an older woman who came in a striped top. “Do you want to go for your walk now Mrs. Woodville? It’s Wednesday. It’s not raining. We can go to the cemetery if you like and you can put some flowers on you sister’s grave. I see you’ve been talking to her again.” The carer took the photo from Virginia and placed it back on the mantlepiece under Debussy. “Elizabeth likes daffodils.” “That’s right. You told me that last week. I think we might be able to find some now. Spring is just around the corner.” “Spring,” Virginia mused. “I used to accompany Jerome when he played the violin part.” The carer cocked her head. “On the piano? You liked to play at Spring time?” “No dear, Vivaldi’s four seasons. The Spring movement.” “Oh.” The carer smiled, “I’ve never heard that song. It’s sound pretty. Would you play it for me?” Virginia glared at the girl, “I don’t play anymore. Especially not Vivaldi.” She held out her gnarled fingers. “Arthritis.” The carer looked at the ancient fingers, twisted and swollen. The knuckles were red. Then she chanced a glance at the wrinkled face, the rheumy eyes, the thinning white hair and barely supressed a shudder. How awful it would be to be old. It was bad enough to have to work with them. She stepped forward and took Virginia by the arm. “Well, let’s go now and have our walk, shall we?” “Into the Spring?” “Um, Yes, into the Spring.” At the doorway, Virginia turned around, “Good-bye,” she said, waving to her photographs. The carer gave a little tug. It was time to go.


The legend of the Black Silk Kimono It was many years ago. When Higoshi Chayagai in the east was most popular with dance and song. The noble district bursted with travellers from all parts of the land and see. To see the Geisha of Higashi Chayagai. In a popular tea house, the world outside it burnt to the ground. The people said the fire burnt so hot that the sky would not dare let water fall because the fire reigned supreme. So that summer there was no rain, the crops suffered, as did it's people. While other districts had suffered with flooding. Many said witches and sha men tried to rebalance the land but to no avail. Every person who came forward had left empty handed of gold and full of shame.None showed their faces again. They simply vanished. After the fire became weak enough, or had its fill and died, the water did not fall still. But one thing did happen. Again the District of Higashi Chayagai found themselves in need of Geisha and industry workers. As they would again find themselves in less than 20 years. Every District in Japan was ordered to send 1 girl to Higoshi Chayagai, to help rebuild the economy and bring money back. That is where the story begins, with a girl, young and beautiful, Geisha. When she had fled from the fires that cursed her district for the second time. Confirming that the land was cursed. This girl was always odd, an outcast, did not like to talk, did not show the talent to become a typical Geisha. Yet, she became the most popular Geisha of all across Japan for the rest of days. She had no family, and as a baby she was in turn one of the girls given to Higoshi District to a Geisha house. The girls family had been field workers Mother had been told, sent across the water to help build a new land. Upon sailing back her father had fallen overboard in a storm in efforts to keep the ship from capsizing, he could not swim. He drowned. Her mother was a very different story. As she walked through forest she had fallen through a hole in the ground. Missing for 5 days, she sat in the dark, ill from a bite she had gotten from something she could not see and received when she fell. The blood flow never stopped but kept a slow flowing pace for all those days. The workers who had slowly been dying off felt the land cursed. Their screams echoed in the forest and the carcass always replaced back by morning.

The People said the curse had the power of sleep in order to take those it needed and then to return. Once the child's mother was returned 5 days later, the bodies of the dead burnt, her wounds tended to. The remaining set upon the water again back home. Where there were still many curses. It was on the boat that had made it back. That the crew and passengers were all found dead found dead. Except one tiny baby, born after the mother had died. She was tiny, premature but strong . Her lungs wailed, but the sound was baritone and soft. The people called her Kotone after the sound of a harp, and dropped off at a house of Geisha where the little Kotone could make a life for herself. As Kotone grew she was quiet, but when she spoke her voice was soft and whispered. Like her voice carried on the wind and circled encompassing you.Her hair long and black, her skin almost white. Her eyes however glowed so amber they often were considered red like the flame. The Geisha house Kotone had been given to, was the most popular in the district. When Kotone was at the age she went with the other girls to train in dance and music. Kotone knew no other family but the geisha house. So Kotone wanted to indeed make mother proud, however, though graceful, could not remember the steps to the dances and did not excel in an instrument, as well, fans and the art of using them. She was clumsy in her dances taught, Yet could just dance freely, showing a talent for movement. Mother made her practice everyday until her fingers and toes, arms and legs, could no longer move. As time went by a team of females came to Higashi District and stayed in a small bedroom off the house. Here the women were seen with beautiful silks of patterns and bright colours. Paints and strings of the same variety littered the floor. Kotone would sit in and watch these women weave and paint on silk and she played an instrument. After practice Kotone would take tiny pieces of silk and gracefully run the piece over her skin. She loved the way the silk made her skin cool like the fire inside her extinguishing. She loved how it felt smooth and loved the smell of the fabric. Even Mother could see the girls' budding love for the Kimono. Mother at her request asked the lead maker to take on Kotone and allow her to train in embroidery and painting. Tho highly irregular of Geisha to not learn dance and song. It was sometimes those who showed aptitude for something unique who became most famous of all Geshias. So Kotone no longer needed to study instruments and dance. Her talent laid in needle, thread and a brush. 10 Years pass. Kotone had grown and found solace and love for the thread and was in and out of the silks into beautiful picturesque paintings. Across the yard of colourful fabrics. Her kimono had become a sensation throughout the district and mother had sold them to bring honour to the house of Geisha. By 15 Kotone was known over half of Japan for her patterns of snakes and flowers, water and fish. Eventually Kotone was of age and ready to become an apprentice Geisha. Her 15 birthday was to be her debut. Mother had taught Kotone to be a great Geisha and must become one of a kind. So Kotone in the dark of night spun her own Kimono . The days were even longer, prep and tradition must be completed. Blessing and ceremonies, hair transformations into the traditional peach with red ribbon that told everyone she was now an apprentice. May 10th Kotone woke up, her birthday the first day of her life. She sipped her green tea and set to finishing her Kimono. Now days were her own and nights she went out to entertain and mingle in hopes she get a good price for her virginity and honour her house. All Kotone heard was the distant sound of a radio and the pull of thread on silk. Until the obi man came to call. The man stopped in the room when he saw the kimono. There in the candle light was a pure black kimono. So delicate in the silk you could see in black paint and thread the web that spanned the silk and on the right side climbing up the leg was a giant black widow with a small red patch on the back. It was a sight to behold. The piece to be worn almost should have been taken away and put on display. “My, I have to say that I have worked with you kimono before and I would be lying if I said I was excited to see what you would wear tonight, but this is a piece of art! Most beautiful” Kotone nodded as mother stared awestruck. Powdered red lips and perfume applied. The man put on the robe and the sash and obi. The obi was black, as well had had delicate woven features along the edges. “Thank you” she said in a whisper. She was taken to the tea ceremony where mother and her new big sister, an vetted Geisha, would be band together and given a new name to signify her new life. “Ayano” is your new name, it means colourful woven silk for your love and work on kimonos. “Ayano bowed low and as she left a spark was lit at her back for good luck and ate an apple slice for prosperity. They headed for the tea house where other apprentices, Geishas, buzzed and stood shocked at the new geisha apprentice who did not have to serve tea and dance to show their talents to the men in the room. Did not play instruments or make jokes and witty talk. Instead in walked Ayano, a stunning, pale, soft spoken girl who seemed to glide like a whisper in the wind. Almost as if she walked on water, but eyes that burned of fire. The great never seen all black kimono had stopped all talk and everyone silently and simply looked at her. No one had ever seen a geisha in all black but here was a girl elegant and moved in movements like a flame, licking the air. The tea house was quiet but sold out of seats and people had stood at the walls to watch the girl who sang breathlessly to no one but to the silk in her hands sewing and painting tenderly. She was said she only loved and would only ever love the art of kimono. That Ayano made love to the silk with thread and ink. Her song was her movements and how delicately she held her tools to see the picture being made from hand, had people in trance. Hours, people watched Ayano. Drinking tea and sake, no one making a sound but the song of the thread puncturing and penetrating the kimono, the thread dully pulled. Hearing the silk breathe was romantic. What the people in the tea house did not know was that Ayano was not singing any songs. That she was instead web spinning a web and spinning them as they caught on it. Her song, a spell of sleep, evidently in time laying the people down to rest. Her eyes red, fire inside burning, the skin black. She was the black widow on her kimono. After the spell was complete Ayono had sung the song of fire and the silk fabric turned black with death. She got up and walked on fire allowing the house to catch on fire. The fire that would spread over a district, a city, and homes. She would set off across the sea to where her parents lived and where she was created. Not by humans, but by the creature who invenomated her Mother when she had fallen down that spider’s lair when she had been pregnant with Ayano.

The magical venom seeping in her veins in the womb, giving birth to a creature that could spin her own silk and weave her own designs and capture you with her spell.

In the room Ayano slept, where no one ever went being in the attic of the house where she disrupted no one.

Hung so many webs that it made the room dark when the remaining people went to investigate Ayano.

The house was burnt and the stairs hard to get up, but the webs stood strong and had not burnt.

 When people retell the story she is not known as Ayano or Kontone, she is Burakku Shi, the Black Widow woman who became, now just a story that people tell their kids or a movie. Higashi became cursed land. It stayed charred and black. It is said that the Burakku Shi spread her spider kimono over the land and blanketed it in evil. No one can live there, there is no song, no dance, no light, just a story of a spider.


‘That’s the thing about this city,’ Carla looked over the balcony, taking a sip of the vodka spritzer that Perry brought her. The hustle and bustle beneath her, cars tooting their horns, people rushing about, heading home from work, the busyness she just couldn’t deal with anymore. ‘I used to know it like the back of my hand. Now I can’t even see beyond this stupid hunk of concrete right across the road.’

‘I love it,’ Perry replied, leaning over the glass barrier. He took a deep breath. ‘Yum.’ Carla was irritated and the music in rooftop bar was not helping matters. ‘When I was…’ ‘When you were what?’ Perry turned to look at her, a half-smile on his face. ‘Please don’t say, “in my day”.’ Now he laughed. ‘You’re barely forty.’ Carla was pleased with that. She was, in fact, nearly fifty and probably should have enlightened him, but she didn’t. He was still smiling, this young man, barely forty himself, and she wondered what he was doing here with her. She leaned forward as he did, trying to see, hear and feel what he was and he pointed to the left to an array of dazzling buildings, the sun’s ray so brilliantly bouncing off them, she shielded her eyes. A woman bumped into her and Carla almost spilled her drink on Perry, who put a protective arm around her. Even through her irritation, Carla felt a jolt of exhilaration, but she knew better than to get excited about these dates. She had been on many and they always ended in utter disappointment, but the scent of his cologne seemed to be having an unexpected effect. ‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ Carla didn’t want to go anywhere, except home, her little cottage, more than an hour away from here in a quiet suburb with her large green backyard and her two German Shepherds. She couldn’t stand this place anymore, the crowd, the noise, it was like this everywhere in the city. ‘We just got here,’ she protested, wanting to stay close to him, but he grabbed her hand. ‘I want to show you my town.’ Perry lifted his chin, a smile of pride spreading across his face. Carla had seen more of this town than he thought. Melbourne, one of the most liveable cities in the world, according to some random surveys, taken once a year. Yes, she could see how it was, how it used to be once upon a very long time ago, at least for her. As a teenager and in her twenties, it was inviting, sitting at a café, sipping on lattes, a cigarette perched in one hand, and gasbagging to a friend about the latest exhibition at The National Gallery of Victoria. Watching the sights, the spring of new love, the river boats on the Yarra, the green trams emblazoned with The Met, that one could jump onto and out of, that went right from one side of the city to the other. She was reluctant, but she plastered a smile on her face and followed him. It would be over soon. The sun was still piercing through the clouds, the heat of the summer afternoon was stifling, but she knew it wouldn’t last. This was Melbourne. ‘I used to go to that one,’ she said pointing to a closed club across the road. Her eyes lit up. She used to love the nightlife. Oh yes, Carla did enjoy that. From the ritzy Hilton, to the R&B hotspots, even the drug riddled venues, where overdoses were reported on occasionally. But in those days, it was just fun! People were out to have a good time and the feeling was contagious, especially on a Saturday night, not these days, if what she heard was anything to go by, where trouble seemed to be an expectation. They had been walking down Russell Street and even though she liked the idea of Perry’s footsteps walking in sync with hers, she was still deflated. ‘I remember when I used my sister’s ID to get in,’ she giggled. ‘The bouncer asked if it was me. I was a good actress then.’ ‘It’s still open,’ Perry replied. ‘Just on Thursdays and Fridays. I used to go there too.’ ‘Well, now it will be filled with young eggheads!’ Carla retorted. ‘Probably most of my students,’ she laughed. ‘I can’t go anywhere now without bumping into one of them.’ She sniffed. ‘Do you know I met my first husband there?’ ‘How did that work out?’ She could hear the humour in his voice. ‘Well, hmmm…’ Carla didn’t want to talk about David, the father of her children, and luckily for her, a pair of drunk middle-aged men landed right in front of them. A barman was dusting his hands, clearly the one who had thrown them out. Carla sidestepped them and tried not to laugh. She could hear them yell obscenities behind her at the barman and now she did laugh. Perry was chuckling too. It seemed to relieve the tension she felt, a tension she didn’t even realise she was feeling. They were at Federation Square now and every time Carla saw that monstrosity, she balked. A towering piece of ‘art’ was what they called it. She remembered when it was being built, when she worked in the city, watching that thing go up. ‘It will destroy Melbourne,’ said her colleague as they lunched at the MacDonald’s across the road and Carla had nodded sagely. Well, Melbourne is still here, still thriving, she though to herself. I guess they knew what they were doing. It may be ugly, but the controversy was enough to give it legs. ‘I’m sorry? What did you say?’ Perry was leaning into her. Embarrassed that she had voiced some of her thoughts, she said quickly. ‘Just checking out this…thing.’ Perry stopped to survey it. ‘Yeah, I always thought it was ugly too. But at least it got itself in a song.’ Carla rolled her eyes and gazed at it for a moment. It was something one could get used to, if you stared long enough. ‘Want to stop for a coffee?’ Perry offered, motioning to the brightly lit bars and cafes that surrounded the structure. It did look inviting, but Carla didn’t want to stop now. She was beginning to feel something tug at her. She labelled it nostalgia, but it was a warm kernel of longing, for what she couldn’t work out. ‘Can we walk a little more?’ It was cooling now, and Carla was sure she felt a spatter of a raindrop hit her lip. She pulled the hand that was attached to hers through her walk. She liked the feel of it, the softness inside, but slightly rough when she stroked the knuckles. She realised she had just done this and blushed. She hurried forward, Perry’s grip tightening on hers. Across the road, Flinders Street Station loomed, large and orange, a crazy colour for a landmark as big as this, but it was that way as long as she had been here. It seemed like home, even the clock below the tower appeared to welcome her back. ‘My dad worked there,’ she said. She remembered visiting her father at work, when she was in the city with her friends and he would always give her a little extra spending money for her trip. She missed her father and felt a jolt of sorrow. This place always did that. Perry seemed to sense her despondency and pointed to the pub on the corner, the Young and Jackson Hotel. ‘I used to go there a bit, something was always happening there.’ ‘Yes! Same here.’ She stopped herself from mentioning that it was probably in a time when Perry was still in grade school. By the time they crossed the road, the drops of rain had turned into a shower and they made a dash under the eaves of the station. Little kiosks littered the front of the station and the smell of the different foods assaulted Carla’s senses. Her tummy rumbled and she sniffed the air. ‘Hungry?’ Parry asked. ‘You?’ ‘A bit. C’mon, what do you feel like?’ He waved his arm about. ‘There’s a smorgasbord at our fingertips.’ ‘Hmmm,’ Carla closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Chorizo sausage!’ she declared. ‘Yes, with you on that.’ The rain was pelting down now and Carla wished she had been a bit more prepared. Her car was littered with jackets and cardigans. She was always prepared for the weather in Melbourne. There was even a saying; if you don’t like the weather in Melbourne, just wait a minute. But no, Carla was too busy trying to look like someone half her age and had deliberately left her jacket in the car. ‘Oh well,’ she said out loud, and ran out into the rain. She turned to see Perry, a wide smile on his face, and a moment later, he was by her side. Strolling down Southbank under the awnings, Carla remembered the bursts of fire that blew from the posts along the river every couple of hours; she loved watching them. The river gleamed beside them on the right, the rain now hitting the water more gently. It was the picture of serenity and Carla again felt that hit of longing for something of the past. On the left of them, it seemed like they were in a different universe. More cafes and bars and young people also sitting and watching the world go by, just as Carla once did. Buskers sang and juggled and children gaped and shyly offered coins, while their parents told them of their own adventures in the city. It was a long walk and Perry chatted about the sights and sounds, Carla not wanting to tell him she had been there and done all that. He pointed to a tall building, once the tallest in Melbourne, Eureka Tower. ‘I used to work there,’ he said. ‘On the Skydeck too. Went out on it so many times. You been?’ ‘Yeah, once, I nearly cacked myself.’ Carla recalled how she nearly backed out, but David had laughed so hard, she did it to prove a point. She knew better that to give them what they wanted now, but she did admit it was worth it, watching from so high above, what floor she couldn’t remember, but it was high, so high, she could see most of the city from there. ‘Want to place a bet?’ Carla felt impulsive. They had just come upon the casino, another creation she had watched being built from the ground up. Her eyes were alight and she saw a look in Perry’s that she couldn’t quite fathom. ‘No, not really, he said. ‘I just want to keep walking with you.’ Carla wasn’t disappointed at all and she felt herself blush again. They walked in silence to the bridge and Carla looked for the iconic locks. ‘No, they’re gone,’ Perry said, understanding. ‘Love locks they were called.’ ‘Yes, they were so strange and so interesting.’ Carla leaned over the bridge and looked into the water, which reflected the now clear sky, even a misty star. She saw herself in the reflection, the image of a young girl, a teenager, a young woman, a light in her eyes, and her reflection smiled back to her. Another head appeared, another smiling eyed face. Carla felt his arm around her waist and turned to face Perry. ‘Thank you for tonight.’ ‘I should thank you.’ He said taking her in his arms. ‘The best tour guide ever and in my own town!’ ‘Yes,’ she said looking into his eyes as he leaned toward her. ‘That’s the thing about…’


Sisters I will not shoot an unarmed woman. She’s not unarmed, she’s holding a nail-gun. It’s not a real gun though. What part of ‘nail-gun’ makes you think that’s not a gun? … A strange, strangled scream from the bedroom. The door burst open. Good morning my love, coffee? Fuck off! What…? I said fuck off! No coffee, no fucking cornflakes.

He blinked. She slammed the front door behind her. … A nail-gun can’t hurt anyone at this distance. It’s a powder-actuated model. What? It’s powder-actuated. As in gunpowder? As in gunpowder. You can tell because there’s no battery, no power cable and no compressed air tube. Also I just know. Cripes. It can shoot a hardened nail through three inches of concrete. Terminal velocity over 400 metres a second. Do you know the terminal velocity of a bullet from a .22 rifle? Nuh. 330 metres a second. Oh. They’re not accurate though. Correct, numpty. As in the nail could end up anywhere in the general direction of here. Why is she so mad at the old woman? Dunno. She keeps yelling something to do with DNA. … His phone rang. He slid off the breakfast bar stool and slipped it from his jeans pocket. Hi Maria. Yes, well, it wasn’t what you’d call a conversation. More a short burst of personal abuse and then a slammed door. Well, as I have no idea what the problem is, I also have no idea where she might have gone. Hold on… He walked to the window. Yes, good guess. That was the squeal of the tyres on my Beamer as someone in a REALLY bad mood took off up the street. Well, I heard her phone ring a minute before she left then she made some weird noise. She just had on her denim shorts, one of my white shirts, which is embarrassingly see-through, and her pink trainers.

Huh? No, look, she’s your sister. Not much I can do except hope she doesn’t trash my car. Maybe put out an all-cars alert on a stolen BMW? I dunno, you’re the copper, you sort it out. She called you? Why? Thought she’d called your mother? Hung up on you? Yes, sorry I keep asking questions back at you. Has she always been that volatile? She only moved in a few weeks ago and I’ve never seen anything like this. I thought we were as sweet as. … Do we know who the other woman is? Not yet. She’s a bit older eh. A lot older I’d say. Why would you take an old woman hostage? Whoa. Watch it! The gun has come up. No, it’s gone down again. She seems to know how to use it which is strange. You have to be trained to use one of those. They are really yelling at each other aren’t they. They certainly aren’t the best of friends today. When are the HQ lot due? 15 to 20 minutes I think. She’s Sergeant Broom’s sister you know. He nodded. How can we tell if she’ll use the nail-gun? We don’t. But if she holds it up again, let off a warning shot. … Hi Maria, you again. No, she never said anything about you and me. She’s known about that from the start and it was never a problem. No we never talked about you. I moved in with her. I didn’t take that step with you. She always seemed reassured by that. Also you and me was years ago. Yes she did the DNA test a few weeks ago. She was expecting the results any day now. She’s done what? Your mother? Bloody hell. Oh. The nail-gun? Bloody hell. Well, I showed it to her, but she didn’t actually shoot it. No. All right, yes I showed her how it works. Why all the questions about the nail gun? It was in the boot of the car. It belongs to the company. No I am the one trained to use it and they don’t like to leave it on site. Yes, for attaching serious kit to masonry and concrete. Oh shit… Yes, I’ll be here. Are you coming or… yes of course. I’ll be out front. … Sergeant Broom pulled up at the miniature train station in the police car with a constable in the front passenger seat and Harvey Lister in the back. They jumped out of the car and ran up to the local constables who had been watching the two women argue noisily on the pedestrian bridge over the miniature railway line. Harvey look at his BMW parked nearby but it didn’t seem to have any dings. Long skid marks on the tarmac leading to the tyres. Mum comes here for a walk every morning. Guess that’s why she came here – to find her. Oh put the fucking gun down constable. She’s not going to shoot anyone. Screaming and yelling. The nail gun raised in the air. A massive BANG as it went off. A scream from the woman holding it as the recoil bashed it back into her shoulder. It fell from her hand and she dropped onto her backside holding her shoulder, and began to sob. Her mother looked down at the others and waved Maria up. Maria walked up onto the little bridge and spoke to her mother while her sister sobbed. A look of horror swept over Maria’s face. She walked back to Harvey and the coppers while the mother comforted her daughter on the bridge. You should leave now she said to the two local constables. Thank you for attending. Please send me a report so I can report to HQ. What happened? It’s personal. Please go now. They walked to their car, casting a few curious glances at the family tableau. She looked at the constable who had come with her. Please wait in the car. His eyebrows raised, then he nodded and walked back to the cruiser. She turned to Harvey. Did you know you were adopted? Yes, I always knew, he said. How do you know? What has that…? Never wanted to look up your birth parents? Well I had my DNA tested years ago but nothing came of it so I haven’t even looked in recent years. So on Ancestry you are Harvey Lister? Yes, of course, why..? Gaynor had her DNA tested recently. Yes? She paused, looked at the ground, looked back up at him, his broad shoulders, long hair, those pale blue eyes. “She is…we are…your sisters.”


For a few moments in the lobby of the Viking Hotel, Anton Perfume forgot that it was winter. While he was not a busy man in the colder months, he made it a point to vibrate a few times a week. It consisted of drinking a nice scotch at the bar of a hotel like the Viking. Something with character that remains mostly empty until the summer tourists return. As he sips his scotch, he sends a pulse throughout his body. Nobody would be able to see what he was doing, but he could feel it. Across the globe, an old woman grabs her heart. She feels as though she’s in a state of arrest. Anton Perfume doesn’t know about the woman. He only knows that outside it’s below freezing and he has nowhere to be for an hour to two. The generosity of time in that instance gave him a warm feeling. Something unique from the vibration. Something that smelled of jasmine and salt. A young couple was checking in at the front desk. Anton supposed they could be getting married. Winter weddings were more du jour as summer weddings on the island had become reserved for the ultra-wealthy. Anton saw these people come into his restaurant earlier and earlier each year. Memorial Day was no longer the beginning of the season, it was the middle. Now, tourists could be found walking on the cobblestones as early as Easter. Those without children decided to celebrate as soon as they could, and why not? For them, money may be plentiful, but life is still short. There are places, however, where the volume of life is slightly higher . Anton Perfume finds that hotels with character always resonate with him on a kind of seismic level. Before he owned a restaurant, he worked in a hotel with character. It was also in no short supply of characters . He’d take their luggage to their rooms, and if they were a woman, and traveling alone, he’d linger in doorways and wait for them to notice him. Some gave him tips. Some rolled their eyes. More than a few invited him to come back after his shift for a nightcap and some conversation. Women traveling alone always told him that he reminded them of their fathers. It didn’t matter what the women looked like or how old they were compared to Anton; to a one, they would always say that he was the spitting image of their fathers. Looking back now, he supposed he could read a great deal of psychology into that, but instead he sips his drink. Free time wasn’t as free as it used to be, and the past was the only thing that could eat it up faster than human analysis. Still, Anton wondered which of those women from his youth were still alive. There was one that jumped to the forefront of his mind. A Nebraskan in town for her sister’s wedding. Her husband wouldn’t come along, because he said he had too much work to do at home, but the woman confessed to Anton that her husband and her sister simply didn’t get along. She was around fifty-four or fifty-five, and Anton was twenty-four. “I’m old enough to be your mother,” she kept saying, as he poured her another glass of wine, “Don’t you know that? Don’t you know that I could be your mother?” With her hair down, she looked somewhat medieval. Like the Lady of the Lake. Her hair spread out over the hotel pillows and down over the side of the bed. Anton stayed with her all morning, and when she left to go to the wedding, he stayed in bed so he could keep smelling her on the sheets and on the blankets. He wanted that smell to invade his skin. He wanted to smell like her forever. There was that jasmine, but no salt. Coconut. She smelled like coconut--and Shalimar. That year, his father grabbed his chest at the breakfast table and took his last breath. Anton Perfume gave the eulogy. It was not short. A woman sits down next to him. She is around fifty-five, but that makes her around twenty years younger than Anton. She has a travel bag at her side, and she orders a negroni. Anton signals to the bartender, and he’s brought a second scotch. He has another hour or so before the meeting at the restaurant. There have always been discussions about selling to a group. Selling the name. Franchising. Consolidation of debt. Minutia like the cost of scallops rising and which server has a bad attitude. Anton used to sit in his office and wait for these kinds of meetings. He’d have to get into a zone of administration. He’d find himself rolling pens across his desk. He’d torment cuticles. He’d ask himself questions without answers. Now, he found no reason to worry about meetings. Meetings simply led to more meetings until one day you were no longer invited to meetings you never wanted to go to in the first place. The woman sitting next to Anton Perfume clears her throat. He looks at her. She’s a beautiful woman. Her fingers showed no sign of a wedding ring, but that wouldn’t have deterred Anton. He would have started a conversation with her. He would have asked her what she was visiting from and how long she’d be in town. He would have put his hand on his chest and caught his own breath. Instead, he took another sip of his scotch. The woman retires to her room. Anton Perfume looks over a photo on the wall behind the bartender. It’s a black and white photo from the day the hotel first opened in 1926. Everyone in the photo looks stern. It’s as though they forgot they were at a celebration. People back then were different, Anton thinks to himself, they didn’t make a show out of everything. It’s possible they thought those landmarks in time were nothing special. That there would always be something new to celebrate. That there would always be time. Anton Perfume tastes the way the ice waters down the scotch. He doesn’t dislike the taste. He just prefers to notice it when it happens. At a restaurant across town, preparations are being made for a meeting. It’s going to be someone’s last meeting, but it’s still too early to think about all that. There’s still time for something to change.


Content Warning: This story takes place in a gentlemen's club and the co-main character is an exotic dancer. Raven:

Back again, huh? James: Yep. Raven:

Do you actually like it here? James: Um…yeah, I guess so. Raven: Why? James: Why not? Raven: This place is a dump. James: You work here! Raven: Yeah, well, it’s still a dump. James: Um, ok. If you say so. Pause Raven: Do you have a girlfriend? James: No.

Pause I don’t. Raven: When was the last time you did? James: Why do you want to know? Raven: Look, I’m just trying to make conversation. As you might’ve noticed, no one else is here and I’m bored out of my mind. James: Is it always this dead during the week? Raven: Pretty much. Strip club patronage isn’t what it used to be. James: Then why even open up? Why don’t you guys just open on the weekends? Raven: Because every once in a while a high roller will come through and spend a few grand. I guess it happens often enough for us to stay open during the week. James: Oh. I see. Pause Wow, lucky them. Raven: Lucky them? James: To have that kind of money to spend and it’s no big deal. Raven: Pshh, these guys are anything but lucky. James: What do you mean? Raven: I mean most of them are unhappily married and miserable. That’s why they come here. To quickly spice up their lives, even if it’s just for a couple hours. James: Wow, that’s really sad. Raven: What about you? James: What about me? Raven: Are you miserable? James: I don’t know. Pause

Maybe. Pause But unfortunately I don’t have the kind of money those guys do to spice things up. Raven: Ugh, stop talking. James: Why? Raven: You’re better than…this. James: Pshh. Raven: What? James: How do you know I’m better? Raven: Because you're the only guy who ever comes in here who treats us with any respect and has decent manners. James: Oh. Wow.

Pause Thank you. Raven: Don’t mention it. Pause Do you want a dance? James: Yeah, I’ll take a dance. Raven: Let’s go. *** Ten minutes later James: Wow, thank you for that. Raven: Just doing my job. Pause So, you never answered my question? James: What question? Raven: When was the last time you had a girlfriend? James: A long time ago. Raven: How long? James: I guess it’s been about nine years. Raven: Nine years?! James: Yep. Raven: Why? James: I don’t know. Raven: Yes, you do. James: I don’t know that I want to talk about this. Raven: Oh, come on. Humor a bored, frustrated stripper. Pleeeeeeeeeese! James: Well… Pause I thought I was going to be with her forever. Pause And it didn’t work out that way. Pause And I had never felt pain like that before. Pause And I don’t want to ever again. Pause That’s pretty much it. Raven: You’d rather be alone for the rest of your life? James: Well, I mean, I didn’t plan it to be this way. But it’s just become what it’s become. I’m used to it. Raven: Well, I think that’s really sad. James: Why? Raven: Because now you’re just going through your life like a robot! James: That’s not very nice. And how do you know how I go through life? Raven: I’m sorry, but what do you do when you’re not, you know, here? James: I work. Raven: Ok, what do you do when you’re not here OR at work? James: Well… Pause I read. Pause  I watch movies. Pause Once in a while I do a little writing.

Pause I watch a lot of sports.

Pause I play some online poker. Pause I guess that’s about it. Raven: How exciting. James: Gee, thanks. Raven: And how do you feel? James: What do you mean ’how do I feel?’ Raven: Deep down inside, how do you feel? James: Honestly? Raven: Honestly.

James: Dead. And empty. Raven: I thought so. I just didn’t think you’d admit it. James: Hahaha. Raven: Don’t you want a wife, kids, a dog, a house–that kind of thing? James: Sure, I guess. Pause Don’t you? Raven: My third marriage ended last year. James: Oh. I’m sorry.

Raven: Don’t be. He was an awful person. Just my type. James: Why’s that? Raven: I don’t know. James: Yes, you do. Raven: Hahaha. Pause It’s a tough cycle to break.

Pause That’s how my dad was. Pause And my uncles. Pause And my older brothers.

Pause And as a result, that’s how all my boyfriends and husbands have turned out to be. James: You could…try to break the cycle. Raven: That’s much easier said than done. James: Yeah, I know. Pause So, what do you do when you’re, you know, not here? Raven: I have three kids. I don’t have time for much else. James: You do? Raven: Are you surprised? James: I just didn’t know.

Raven: Strippers are people with lives, too, you know. James: I know.

Pause It’s just not something I’ve ever really thought about. Raven: Few do. James: What do you do with your kids? Raven: Everything. Run them around to practices, go to the library, go to movies here and there, go out to eat occasionally if it’s in the budget. Pause Why are you looking at me like that? James: You sound like a really good mom. Raven: Thanks, I am. James: Maybe they’ll break the cycle. And if they do, it will be because of you. How you raised them. Raven: Maybe. James: Maybe I could join you sometime? Raven: For what? Raven: All the stuff you just said. Practices and the library and out to eat and movies. Raven: You're sweet, but no. James: Why? Raven: You don’t want my life.

Pause And you really don’t want to ever have to deal with one of my ex-husbands. James: Why’s that? Raven: Just trust me when I say he’d make your life a living hell. James: Oh come on, how bad could it be? Raven: Really bad. James: Really bad? Raven: Really really really bad. James: Oh. Well…ok. Raven: Why don’t you just hop on one of those dating sites. That’s what everyone does these days. James Yeah, I know a lot of people who have met that way. Raven: Me too. James: Maybe I will. Raven: You should. Pause Well, there’s one of my regulars. I didn’t know if he’d show up tonight or not, but he did. James: He comes here a lot? Raven: Just about every week. James: Oh. Ok. Raven: He’ll probably keep me pretty occupied for the rest of the night, but it was nice talking to you. James: You too. Raven: Don’t come back here. James: Haha. Raven: I’m serious. James: We’ll see.

Raven: Enjoy the rest of your night. James: You too. Raven: That’s not gonna happen, but thanks. See ya. James: See ya *** Three weeks later Raven: I thought I told you to never come here again. James: Oh, sorry.

Pause I guess old habits die hard sometimes. Raven: You need to work on that. James: Yeah, I probably do. Raven: So, have you been on any of those dating sites? James: Actually, I have. Raven: Well, yay! How’s it been going? James It’s going ok. I’ve had a couple decent dates. None of them have amounted to anything yet, but we’ll see. Raven: It’s not going to take long. James: How do you know? Raven: I just know. Pause So, how are you feeling, you know, deep down inside? James: Well… Pause A lot better. Thanks to you. Raven: I do what I can. Pause So...want a dance? James: Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. Raven: Well…let’s go!