As I shaped the dough of the sticky white bread held in my hands, I thought about how much it reflected my grief. My pain and loss clung to me like that sticky dough not letting me go. Our family was so happy together, and now I’m realizing that I took it for granite at times. I never really understood how blessed I was with my family, until the day my husband Aaron died. Our whole lives, we had food on our table, my sons got married to nice women, and Aaron and I were warmly welcomed by our neighbors like family. Life just seemed like it couldn’t get any better... until the day my husband caught a sickness. I tried every home fixing remedy that I learned from my mother as a young girl, but nothing would work. I tried harder than I ever had, to pry the hands of that evil force off of my beloved husband… but it was too strong. My husband was dying, and I couldn’t deny it. Finally, after almost a month of his struggling and my fighting, he let go of the evil force holding on to him- and he went with it. My sadness and grief brought me down, and my sunny attitude left forever. My sons and daughters-in-law grieved with me, as they loved Aaron as well, but it wasn’t the same. After I thought I just couldn’t take any more, another anguish snatched me. My only sons caught the same sickness as their father. I cried for help, desperately begging for anything to keep my only family alive. I couldn’t live without my husband, let alone my sons! They were my only hope and remaining family. I could not keep the force of death away from my family though, and had to accept it. After my sons joined their father, only my daughter-in-laws and I remained. So here I am now, preparing a meal for my two daughters to bring to them, acknowledging the loss of their husbands and my sons. I finished kneading the dough, grief that stung, and slid it into the stone oven.

* * *

When my mother-in-law brought the freshly baked bread over to my house, I thanked her and welcomed her inside. Of course I was grieved deeply by the loss of my husband, but not as much as Naomi, my second mother. As his mother, she loved my husband more than I ever could.

“How are you feeling today?” I asked her out of concern.

“I’m alright Hannah. I wonder what will happen though now that I am a widow. I am too old to remarry, but still want a family.

“Naomi, we’re your family! Even if Catherine doesn’t- I’ll stay with you until the end.”

“You need to start a new life without me. You’re young enough! Get remarried, have kids, and maybe visit me every once in a while; but please don’t cling to me. I’ll only pull you down.”

As I went home that night, I thought about Naomi’s conversation with me. She had a point about Catherine (my sister-in-law) and I still being able to remarry. We could technically start a new life and have another family to call home. I started to get excited, laying in my bed thinking about how I wouldn’t have to be alone forever. But then I realized what would happen to Naomi. If I left her, I would probably never see her again. She talked a bit about moving to another town where she could start fresh but stay a widow. She thought it would be better to get away from this town, which was only holding her back with the memories. I thought it was a good idea, but still didn’t know about leaving. I decided that night, I needed to talk with Catherine and find out what we would do together.

The drive to Catherine ’s house always made me a bit nervous. Catherine was a tough woman, one you didn’t want to mess with. But she was extremely kind to me and Naomi, and helped us out whenever she could- so I knew I needed to at least ask.

“Okay, so what’s this unexpected call about?” she asked when we sat down in her living room.

“Well, it’s about Naomi… I’m worried about her. She wants to move where she can start a new life as a widow, and not have to worry about her past. I completely agree with her moving, but don’t agree with her second request. She wants us to leave her Catherine…

and have a chance at remarrying. But anything could happen to her out there, and I just can’t bear to leave her with no family to watch out for her. I came to ask what you would do.”

“You came to ask me for advice? That’s a first.” she chuckled, then gave a disparaging expression. I could tell she was deeply saddened by her husband’s death. They were planning to have kids, but never got the chance to.

Catherine sighed.

...“I would agree with letting her move. She doesn't deserve to live every day of her life remembering only the worst of her past.” She paused and looked sorrowfully at me.

“I’m sorry Hannah. As much as I love Naomi, I can’t stay. My life has already been flipped upside down, and I want kids and a good husband. As much as it pains me to have to start over and leave her- I have to.”

“What? You can’t leave her though Catherine! I know you want a family, but you can’t abandon our mother-in-law. It would be inhumane!”

“Hannah, I told you. I hate to do it but…”

“...Then don’t!”

“Look. I’m sorry, but I’ve made up my mind.”

* * *

I planned to move in the month of June. It was already half way through May, so I knew I needed to get cracking on house hunting. I’m not usually the type of person to procrastinate, but when you're shaken up from a death… you’ll understand.

Catherine’s leaving this morning, and will be coming over to say goodbye on her way out. Hannah said she’d come to my house as well this morning to say goodbye. As her car pulled up into my driveway, I stepped outside to greet her.

My mood had improved greatly within the last month as I started to accept Aaron’s death, which makes me glad because when my mood improves, so does Hannah’s.

“Good morning sleepyhead!” I called out from the porch.

My daughter in-laws' hair was pulled up into a messy bun, to match her baggy sweatpants and tank top. She looked like she had just crawled out of bed.

She gave a long yawn before answering, “Good… morning.”

“You look like you just got up. What time did you set that finger tapper thing for?”

“For the tenth time, It’s a phone mom.” she smiled.

“I set it for 5:30am. Why does she have to leave so early?”

“Oh, I don’t know darling. Maybe she’s just dying to get away from us.” I gave her a wink.

Just then, Catherine ’s car pulled up next to Hannah’s in the driveway. Her hair was straightened, she had on a nice shirt and leggings, and was obviously ready for a road trip somewhere far away. She stepped out and walked up to us on the porch.

“Well. I’m ready to go… I just came to say goodbye.”

“You aren’t going to stay for a bit?” I asked, hurt a bit. She didn’t want to even be here, I could tell.

“Um, I don’t think I can. It’s a 30 hour road trip, and if I want to get to…”

“You know what, that’s fine.” Hannah tartly replied.

We each gave her a small hug, and she was on her way. Just like that. No tears, no thank you, no extended goodbye, no nothing. I was honestly surprised, but wouldn’t let it ruin my good day. I could always face-time her on the finger tappy thing.

When Hannah and I went inside, we made breakfast. Biscuits and gravy, fresh fruit, and drip coffee. As we were eating, I decided this would be the best time to tell Hannah I was moving next month. I didn’t want to startle her with the news, but I thought maybe if I got along with my life quicker, she would too. I really wanted her to get remarried, because she was too young to go through a loss like this. She deserved better.

“Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about what we were discussing with moving… and I think it’s getting close to time.” I casually said.

“Oh of course! When are you thinking of going? August, September maybe?”

I was heartbroken to tell her I was leaving so soon. But I had to. I sighed. “No, I’m leaving next month.”

There was a small pause before Hannah spoke again, and I thought I had hurt her feelings… but I was surprised at her response.

“Okay, when are we leaving?” She cheerily replied.

I was shocked. And confused, “Hold on, what do you mean, we ?”

“Look Naomi, you’re my only family left. My only mother! I can’t go anywhere without you, or else I’d be miserable my whole life. I’ve decided I’m going with you, even if that means not starting a family of my own.”

“Oh Hannah. I can’t keep you from following your heart. I would rather you go on your own.” “Naomi, this is following my heart. Wherever you go, I’ll go. Wherever you stay, I’ll stay. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. I’ve made up my mind and won’t leave you.”

So that’s how it was. Hannah and I packed the house up the rest of that month, and ordered a moving truck to take our things. When we were finally ready, I asked her one more time if she was sure she wanted to do this- and she told me absolutely. I was secretly overjoyed that Hannah was staying with me, because now I would not be alone.

*  *  *

Naomi wanted us to move somewhere on the West coast, and I agreed. We got a small house on the beach with Naomi’s retirement money she had saved. Don’t even ask me how she got a beach property on the West coast.

When we arrived at the house, I was excited to start my new life with my mother in-law. We ate our first meal in the house together, on the back porch. It overlooked the sandy beautiful beach and I wanted to run across that soft sand and feel it squish between my toes, getting closer to the deep blue waves. It was totally picturesque with the ocean, beach, and pink and red sunset above. It just couldn’t get any better could it?

It could.

After living in our new house for a week or two, I decided we needed some more groceries- so I got in my car and drove down to the nearest Walmart. I picked out some meals for the week along with a treat for the two of us. I got ingredients for a peach cobbler and thought Naomi and I could bake one together. When I got to the canned fruits though, the peaches were on the top shelf, and I couldn’t reach them. I didn’t want to look awkward and get embarrassed, so I tried to step on my cart to get to them, but I accidentally lost my step and fell off. Luckily I fell on my butt so no major damage was caused, other than embarrassment. A man around my age walked up to me sitting on the tile floor, and offered his hand to help me up. I respectfully declined, and got up myself.

“Um, I can reach that for you if you’d like me to.” He said quietly. He was much taller than me, so I knew I couldn’t say no.

“Yes, that would be helpful. Thank you.”

He pulled a can of peaches down and handed it to me. He looked a bit shy, but happy to meet someone new. I felt bad to just leave after he so graciously helped me out of my embarrassing height issue. So I decided to strike up a conversation. The only problem was, I had absolutely no idea what to say to a stranger I just met in a grocery store. So I settled on saying something about myself.

“I just moved here, so I guess I’m a bit new to finding my way around the store.” I said hoping for a response.

“Oh that’s nice. Where you from?” He curiously asked.

“Massachusetts. I just moved here with my mother in-law.”

“Did you come with any other family or friends?”

“Unfortunately, no. We’re actually both widows. Her husband and son, who was my husband, both died from a sickness. We’re not really sure what it was though, because we didn’t go to the hospital. My mom, well my mother-in-law, is really into home medicine and stuff, so she doesn’t really trust other people with her family." “Oh.”

I felt my cheeks get flushed. I totally ruined the moment. “I’m sorry, that was probably way more information than you needed about me.” “That’s alright” he gave a small laugh. “I actually like hearing family stories, even if they’re a bit sad.”

We were starting to block space in the aisle, and I knew I needed to get moving… but I just really liked talking to this guy and wanted to hear more. I decided to take a risk, and invited him to lunch with me.

“Sure.” He said, “I’d actually love that.”

I felt my heart skip a beat, and I floated all the way through my grocery list. I knew this was technically breaking the rule of ‘stranger danger’ but oh well, he seemed nice enough. I got there a bit early and told the waiter I was expecting someone. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so excited before. And you know what? I’m okay with meeting this guy, even if you think I’m the strangest woman in the world for meeting a random person. I caught myself watching the restaurant door open and close as people walked in and out. Finally after about ten minutes, I saw my mystery man walk in. As he was walking to my table though, I realized I hadn’t even asked if he was married, let alone dating someone else! I needed to get that question out of the way before I got all emotional.

“Hey! Sorry I’m a bit late, my cashier took longer than I expected.” He chuckled as our waiter gave him some water and a menu.

“No problem at all! I’m just glad you could make it.”

We looked at our menus deciding what to eat for a bit, while I thought about how to bring up the question.

“Uh, so this might be a bit of a weird question… but are you like married or anything? Because then I feel like this would be wrong- if you know what I mean.” My hands were getting a bit shaky now.

He smiled before answering. “No, I’m not in any relationships right now.”

“Oh, okay good.” I felt my face get a bit hot, because now he obviously knew I liked him.

“Well, are you ready to order?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Yeah, sure.”

We ordered our food, and talked through the whole meal. I found out his name was James, he was 30 years old, and worked as an English teacher for the middle school. He was very kind, a little bit quiet, and very handsome. (in my opinion at least) After lunch, James asked me if I would like to have a meal together again sometime. I leapt at the opportunity and told him I’d love that. We exchanged phone numbers, and were on our way.

When I got home that night, Naomi and I had iced tea on the back porch and I told her all about James. How he helped me with the can of peaches, our lunch conversation, and the second lunch request.

Oh Hannah darling! You’re in love aren’t you. She asked me.

I guess I am! I replied.

Well then, you must go again and get to know him better.

You’re okay with me doing that? Pft! You’re an adult girl! I want you to get a nice guy you can trust, and have a family. You don’t deserve to be a widow like me your whole life.

And she was right. I couldn’t stay a widow, and couldn’t wait to see James.

*  *  *

3 years later… Today is Hannah and James’ second wedding anniversary. I could not be more overjoyed for them. My daughter-in-law had found love again, with a wonderful husband who takes care of her. They live with me, or at least I live with them, and we make a great family.

I am in my kitchen now, making a loaf of Christmas bread for Hannah and James celebrating their love for each other. This time, as I shaped the dough, I saw only my blessings and gratefulness that stuck to it. Those blessings are what filled my heart. As I set my joyful Christmas bread on the dining room table, our family sat down to eat together. I thought about my daughter-in-law Hannah and all she had done for me. She chose to stay with me the whole way, even in my grief. She encouraged me to keep going, like I encouraged her to have a relationship. She was a true daughter if I ever had one, and I'm not trying to brag or anything... but let's face the facts. Like mother, like daughter.


The rest of my life depends on this, on a stupid simple coin flip. Everything I’ve been working towards depends on this moment. My whole life my family has been preparing me for either outcome and now they’re both staring me in the face. I’ve been training to become the Guardian of the Dragon’s Breath, the most dangerous form of magic known to man, if it falls into the wrong hands it can be a weapon of mass destruction. My great grandfather was once the holder and protector of the Dragon’s breath, now it’s my turn. Unfortunately, I never met my father, he died before I was born. He too was sworn to protect the magical weapon. My mother taught me everything she had learned from my father before he died, but never told me how he died. Not many people know of my existence, but I’m Tori Laurentina. I was born eighteen years ago to Scarlett Laurentina and my father’s name was Pierce Laurentina. Many people got to know my father, mostly for his reputation. I’ve been told he’s brave, caring, and very powerful in many ways. I've heard so much about him that I pretty much know him.

After all this training and knowledge, I never expected it to come down to this. I’m standing here in the middle of the Temple of Fortification with the Leader of Magic, the current Guardian, and the other contender for the Dragon’s Breath. We’ve already gone through the rest of the tests and there were many other competitors before the final stage. After the test of intentions it filtered out most of them. Leading up to today I went through several trials with my mom to prepare for this role, my mother says I was born for this. The Leader turns to us with a determined expression,

“This is the final test. Usually, only one makes it to this point so there’s no need for the coin. But you two are equally qualified for this role, unfortunately there can only be one, as you probably know Tori.”

Confusion starts to set in, but I push it to the side, there’s too much going on right now.

“Before I flip this coin, I would like to commend both of you for making it this far. Now, on with the coin flip.” He shifts the coin between hands and gets ready to flip it.

I turn to my contender and give him a nod as in saying good luck.

The Leader looks at us both, “lady calls it in the air.”

He flicks the coin and I watch it flip in the air.

Instinctively I shout, “Tails!”

I hear the coin hit the ground and it rolls to my feet. My eyes squeeze shut as a reflex. As if commanded, all four of us look down at the coin.

“Tails it is young lady, congratulations!” The Leader says with a chuckle.

My competitor nods at me and is escorted out by the guards.

“So for the next two weeks you will be learning from Abel, before he hands the Dragon’s Breath to you. He will show you to your new living quarters, after the ceremony and celebration you will start your training.” The Leader nods and exits the room through the back. I turn to look at the older gentlemen that’s going to be my mentor for the next couple weeks, I have no idea what to say to him. I should have a million questions spilling out of my mouth, but for some reason I'm dead silent.

 “Well, I’ve seen shocked before, trust me I was too when I got chosen. But you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Abel says breaking the silence.

“I guess it just happened so fast and all those tests, just for a coin flip?” I say confused as ever.

“Trust me I get it. Seems kinda pointless, but remember everything here is magic including that coin. It wasn’t just a chance. The coin chose you dear, it chose the most worthy contender.” Abel explains as we begin walking.

“Well, I don’t know if that has anything to do with my family legacy, but I’m glad that I got chosen. My mother told me I was born for this, I’ve been dreaming of this moment my whole life and now I just don’t know what to say.”

“I get the feeling, my family was the same way, I’m an only child and I’m a boy. My family has an old mindset.”

An only child of course, I get that vibe from him. He was probably much worse before though, this role will definitely teach you responsibility and discipline. We make our way out to the courtyard and it is filled with beautiful flowers and trees. I can’t help but look around, I’m amazed by all the vibrant colors.

“I see you like the shrubbery.” he says chuckling.

“Shrubbery? This is beautiful, I’ve never seen colors like this.”

“If this is amazing to you, then wait until you see the greenhouse.” “So how big is this place exactly?” “Honestly, this place is like a whole compound.”

“There’s a very good chance I will get lost here then, I might need a map or something for this place.” Trying to make a joke.

“Trust me I’ve been trying to get one made for years.”

Now we’re walking by cabins outside. I’m assuming they’re living quarters for guards and soldiers because of the armor hanging outside them. As we walk through the little neighborhood it starts to incline up a hill. At the top of the hill is a house much larger than the cabins we passed. There’s a flagpole in front and flower boxes on the two levels of windows. We make our way up the cobblestone path to the front of the house and I stare up at the building.

“So this is our house, well your house, but you gotta share with me for the next two weeks.” Abel explains and as if he can read my expression he continues. “Don’t worry, I’m going to be sleeping in the guest room downstairs and you can have the master bedroom upstairs. That way you can move in and get comfortable.”

“Thanks, is the inside of the house as beautiful as the outside?” I ask as I walk up the porch.

“Oh, just you wait, Tori, they'll treat you like royalty around here.”

We walk in the house and this place is decked out, everything I could possibly need is at my fingertips.

“If you need anything specific just make a request and it should be here within a few days. Before we got here they filled your room with some clothes in a couple different sizes, try them on and you can let them know in the morning which size fits so they stock you up. There’s two bathrooms, one down here and one upstairs attached to your room. The celebration is tonight and the public ceremony is tomorrow, so go try the clothes on and rest up. We got about four hours before the celebration, they will bring you a few gowns to wear.” He says while stretching out on the huge couch.

“Alright, I’m gonna grab an apple and go explore upstairs, might take a quick cat-nap.” “Sounds like a plan, I’ll come get you when it’s time. If you need anything, I’ll be right here or in the kitchen.” He says waving as I disappear around the wall.

Making my way up the spiral staircase I see a wall full of portraits at the top. Men and women of different ages and sizes all posted up on the wall with their names underneath. I found the master bedroom and wow. This is an amazing room! There’s a california king bed, a wardrobe, a vanity, and a cute little loveseat. I look in the wardrobe and just like Abel said it is full of clothes. Just like everything else, the bathroom is stocked up with towels, soap, shampoo, and conditioner. The bathtub looks so big I could swim laps in it. I decided I should try to relax before the celebration, so I’m going to test out the bathtub. Once I’m done I pull on some of the pajamas provided for me and lay on the silk sheets. As I lay down a thought pops into my head, what did the Leader mean by I should know there can only be one?


“So, this is where he died then?” Will asked, turning to his father for confirmation. “Yes,” Charlie “Chip” Shaw answered deliberately, weak eyes peering over the ground that still haunted his dreams. He leaned on his walking stick heavily. It had been a long time since he had been back here. A lifetime, most would day. Will, with lines creasing his own face, gave a small, perfunctory smile. How could he guess what raced through his father’s mind? It was so different now, the high summer sun giving rise to rolling green fields and calm skies. Red specks littered the green, like flecks of blood spilled fresh as poppies pocked their heads up. Little white crosses, extraordinary only in their quantity, besieged the road sides. Buses brought reems of school children, who exited their vehicles to gawk cheerily at the monuments risen to those who would never return home. It was here that it all happened. The worst summer of Chip’s life. It was a rainy summer, wet and muddy. Chip had joined up with his friend Billy, eager to participate with all the other young men of the day. He was a year too young, but they lied, running from home with adventure and a patriotic fever guiding their steps. The war to end all wars, people whispered in excitement, not yet aware of the true tragedy that awaited them. “Chin up, Chip my lad,” Billy grinned as his friend staggered under the weight of his army pack, struggling to keep up, “You’re growing some muscle already.” He laughed harder as Chip’s grumbling complaints, offering him a cigarette. Chip remembered the wet more than anything. How it never seemed to stop, cascading down on their helmets, leaching through their clothes and their boots. He could still feel the squelching between his toes and smell the musty scent of rot and dampness. The trenches were dismal places, worse than being imprisoned. The heavy rain fall and the almost constant barrage of shells and gunfire the only sound throughout it all. Eventually, everything green was gone, destroyed by the brutal games of men The only thing that stubbornly poked its head through the mud, blood and corpses of the fallen was those damn poppies. No Man’s Land was an apt name, but with one flaw. There was a man who stalked the perimeter between the lines. Tall, dark and ever present, Chip watched him take man after man into the grave. He was there with every bullet, every piece of hot shrapnel and every soul drowned in the endless bog beneath the stepping boards. The first time he saw the man, Chip asked Billy about it. Billy looked to where he pointed, squinting in the gloom of the evening and shrugged. “You sure its not a German?” he asked, looking carefully. “So close to our side?” Chip shook his head, “He’s right there!” Billy shook his head. “I don’t see him,” he confirmed, looking to Chip worriedly, “Maybe you need some sleep.” Chip never tried to tell anyone about the figure again. But by God, he wished he’d tried harder. He took Billy a few days later. They’d been sent over, running into the perilous place that few returned from. The blast of the shells sent a ringing in Chip’s ear and he almost dropped his gun as the it made him stumble. The sting of hot metal struck his arm and he cried out, shuddering to a halt mid charge. Billy screamed his name, lights flashed and the man was there, standing behind his friend. Waiting. Chip raised his head, tears of pain mixing with the muck on his face. Billy reached out to him, brown eyes wide with worry one moment and then robbed of life the next. He slumped to the ground, landing without a sound amongst the din of battle around them. Billy disappeared, taken by the figure, who then stepped towards Chips, just as the world faded from his recollection. The next summer he spent in a hospital, hand shaking violently when he so much as tried to drink a cup of tea. The images of the battles haunted his dreams as surely as the shadowy man wandered the clean, white halls during his conveyance.  He spied him from the corner of his eye and watched him take men left and right. The screaming of the injured, the traumatised and those driven insane echoed in his waking hours. The only good thing about that summer, hot and clinging where the last had been plagued with rain, was Abigail. The pretty nurse’s smiles were all the sunshine Chip could ever need in the world and drove away, if only for a short time, even the dark figure who stalked his steps. The summer after the war was the best of Chip’s life. He took Abigail to the alter, mesmerized by her dressed in white, sunshine smile on full force. The dark man stayed far away for many summers after that. Then it all happened again. Chip couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. His hand shook as the memories of that horrible summer visited him full force. War had returned, this time stretching its ugly fingers to the island he called home. The man returned too. He lingered amongst the rubble of houses bombed out. He stalked the hospitals and underground, crouched besides Chip’s own children in the air raid shelters. His face was a shadow, obscured even when Chip gathered the courage to look on it, drawing his family away from where the dark man stood. Nobody saw him. Nobody witnessed as he dragged away soul after soul. Those summers eventually passed, but they were long and filled with uncertainty and fear. He didn’t see the man often after that, but he was there. He was there the summer Chip’s youngest granddaughter grew ill and sat beside the old man in the hospital waiting area for hours. Chip worried he would never leave. Eventually though, he rose and walked out the door, leaving little Lizzie with her family. He was sitting on the couch the summer evening Abigail had passed on in her sleep and escorted her out the door. And now, many summers later, he stood on the green fields, speckled with ruby poppies and watched as Chip showed his eldest son where his namesake had died. Chip wasn’t afraid. He let Will go off to look at one of the monuments and hobbled over to the man, leaning heavily on his walking stick. The man’s face wasn’t so shadowed now and brown eyes looked at him fondly. “Ready to go, Chip?” Billy asked. The sun beat down on them, warming Chip’s old bones and making him feel like the boy who had come here one summer all those years ago. “I’m ready,” he said, walking on beside an old friend.


My name is Charlie Benson. By day, I just go by Charlie. But by night, I go by a different name. In Germany I am known as the Schnurrbartträger. In India, the Munchh Daku. In Vietnam, I am the Kẻ cướp ria mép. I am the Moustache Bandit. And this is my confession. I am the Van Gogh of Van Dykes. The Michelangelo of moustachios. The Hokusai of the handlebar. I have travelled far and wide to freely display my art for the world. And while some may call me a criminal and a vandal, I see myself as simply another artist. For what is art but an induction of emotion? The act of giving one permission to feel? I had always liked to draw, and what I liked to draw the most was my father. He was a stout Englishman, with the most terrific mustache in the town. I watched in awe and admiration as he shook hands with clients and closed contracts, barely needing to say any words at all. "I can tell you're the right man for the job, Mr. Benson. Would you care to come over to our home for a whisky? I can introduce you to my wife," his clients would often say. I drew my father every day, his moustache taking up the entire page. As I hit puberty, I eagerly awaited my first stubble. My friends would come to school and show off their budding follicles or the cuts they had from their first shaves. I would go home and touch my face and find it was still smooth as silk. By the time I started my career as a clerk, all of my colleagues had some form of facial hair, all except my boss at the time. "I don't like mustaches. They're itchy and make no sense." I never really got along with him. The day turned 23, I walked into the doctor’s office. I was not the same man when I walked out. “Don’t worry son,” my father said to me. “There are facial wigs! There’s always a way.” My father died three months later, the cancer cutting through him like a hot knife. But even as he lay in his casket, it was as if he was only sleeping. After the funeral, as the world slept, I broke into my boss' office and painted a moustache on a picture of his mother. The experience was thrilling and frightening at the same time. I vowed never to do it again, and that despite it being but a crime of passion, it was still wrong. Then, the war began. Believing that the smell of cordite and the savagery of killing a man may convince my dormant follicles to grow a pair, I signed up to fight. But at the office, the recruiter looked me up and down and said: “Sorry son, you can’t join the fight until you finish secondary school.” I returned to the recruitment office that very night and painted moustaches on all the men and women on the posters until I ran out of ink. That night, I became the Moustache Bandit Sneaking away in the night was easier in the early days as most men where off fighting the nazis which, as we all know, had terrible taste in facial hair. During the day, I would be looking for faces on advertisements on the streets, those cold, naked faces, and would return in the late hours of the night, my ink and brush ready. And every night when I got home, I dreamed of sitting in the barber’s chair, like my father. After a while, I started to get noticed. Small articles appeared in the local paper. I started to feel a swelling in my chest, but not of fear and excitement like before. This was pride. After the war, things became a bit tricky. The revitalisation which occurred in the late 40’s and early 50’s made it far riskier for me to be out at night in the streets. And besides, the fire which once blazed in my heart when I slathered a moustache on someone’s picture had dimmed to the size of a candlelight, and the papers never mentioned me anymore. It was time for bigger game. First, I needed new tools. Working with a paint brush and a vial of ink would no longer suffice. I needed something discreet, quick, easy to carry, and most importantly, difficult to wash off. After several experiments, I managed to combine solvent, glyceride, pyrrolidone, some resin, and a colorant in a small metal tube with a firm sponge at the end. At first, I called it “the moustachiser”, but after being made aware of an infamous Austrian erotic novelist with a nearly identical name, I changed it to “Permanent Marker”. After my colleague Sydney saw me using it at work, he asked if he could borrow it. The next thing I knew, it was patented, and Sydney retired. Thankfully, Sydney is a remorseful man, and his guilt was assuaged with a 600-thousand-dollar check to me. With my finances set, I was ready to take my art worldwide. Before I continue, I must give credit to fiction novelists everywhere (except for that prude Mustachiser) for they are the greatest teachers. I would have never learned how to plan a break in, pick a lock, and evade authorities if it weren’t for the likes of Arthur Conan Doyle, Alexandre Dumas, and the hundreds of others who could not fit in this confession. Using these learned techniques and my practiced marker hand, I went to work. The girl with the pearl necklace now had a stunning mutton chops. The couple of American Gothic were adorned with handsome walrus moustaches. Edvard Munch's 'The Scream' now looked as dapper as the Monopoly Man. And with each new moustache, my name spread further and further. I felt like a god. That is, until I got caught. I feel it is important to clarify to you, dear reader, that I never once considered the addition of my moustache-masterpieces to be an improvement of the original art of which I made my canvas. They are but alterations. For I believe that it is the nature of change that the truest beauty – that of the human heart – is stimulated. And with this in mind, I knew I could never stop, not until I was caught or dead. Which brings us to the events of three days ago. There has always been one untouchable prize, one muse which has tempted me so. The Mona Lisa is the epitome of what we, as a society, have deemed as artistic greatness. This makes me angry. How can we put so much emphasis on something which represents so little of the beauty we feel every day, in all things? No, the Mona Lisa is not great. I believe that true art - true beauty - is our emotive hearts, free to feel what it pleases, with no frame to hold it in. It is the feeling of connection with the earth when we find a sprout amongst the cinders of a fire, the longing for the taste of one’s first and final love, or the harmony which comes after a great sadness. It is the joy of being with my father. These are examples of objective and unalterable beauty, and not some tart which looks like she’d be boring at parties. Boring, if not for a moustache… My plan was fool proof. I followed the painting for three years, recorded the movement of the guards, and bribed and blackmailed the right people. I didn’t care. Mona needed a moustache. On that fateful night, I snuck into the Louvre, past the guards, and turned the corner… This is where things fell apart. You see, I have a terrible fear of spiders. And just as I turned the corner, I came face to face with the most ghoulish eight-legged demon, hanging by a silk thread from the ceiling. The monster plopped right down on the tip of my nose, which caused me to panic and smack myself hard in the face. Dazed by the power of my own strike, I lost my balance and stumbled right into the code of Hammurabi, the most ancient tablet of law. You all know what happened next. So, there you have it. It was an accident, and I do not believe I should be charged for the crime of facing, quite literally, my greatest fear. If anything, I believe it is the spider which should be charged and - may I remind you - it is still at large. While I understand that the tablet would most likely dictate that I be pushed to the ground hard enough for my bones to break into thousands of pieces, I guarantee that I cannot be glued back together like the damaged artifact, which in my opinion, is a great example of what is known in Japan as Kintsugi, which is the art of fixing things that are broken with gold. All of this said, I sincerely and humbly apologize for the damage I have caused to the tablet. But if you expect me to apologize for my art... Well, then, I believe my work is done.


CHRISTMAS EDEN This may have been the worst idea ever. You don't pull together a group of adults who barely know each other and pretend to be a family again. It's ridiculous. I had moved out of the house when I was 15. I just couldn't deal with the abuse and neglect from my so-called parents. They didn't care one bit about us 8 kids. We truly meant nothing to them; except a few extra dollars from the government. We scrounged for nibbles of food, taking apples off of our neighbor's trees, nicking bread off of a delivery truck, knowing where every free handout and meals were located within 3 miles of our home growing up. Besides the neglect at home, at school, when we would actually go to school, we'd get mocked and beat up because we weren't wearing the latest and greatest fashions. Who cares. My body is covered; that's what matters. I was lucky to have a matching pair of socks. Even the teachers snubbed us and turned their noses up at us. So much for their support. Anyhow, I was messaged by one of my siblings who I hear from maybe once every 2 years. Duane said, "hey I know we don't talk much, but we're planning us kids all getting together on Christmas eve to catch up. Can you come, Eden?" Well that came out of the blue. Why would I even want to see any of that so-called family? We were raised pretty much on our own and we rarely looked out for one another as we just couldn't afford to. We each went our own way and never much looked back. I gave Duane's message some thought. Knowing it was pointless to get together, but I kept getting this odd feeling that I really ought to consider it. I messaged Duane back, "where and when?". He immediately wrote back, "Christmas Eve at Splindlers on Main at 2." That was just 2 days away and over an hour’s drive. Do I really want to make that trip for a little lunch with strangers? Again, something strange happened and I responded, “see you then.” The world must be going mad. Why had I typed that? I managed to head to work at the bookstore in the small town of Makron. I was greeted by Marian who is always this super bubbly soul who has had the easiest life. “Oh Eden, you have got to come over here and see this new author, Milton Masters. He has a book signing here today for his new book “From The End Of Time. He’s dreamy!” “Marian, we have met author after author at this bookstore and they’re all the same; egotistical, self-centered and overall annoying. What makes Milton Masters any different?” “He’s different; he really is. I just know you’ll like him,” whispered Marian so the entire bookstore didn’t turn and stare. Eden gave in and walked with Marian to the book signing area and there sat . . . “Now wait a minute! That’s not Milton Masters!”  Eden said with raised voice, “that’s my long-lost brother, Tommy DuGrant.  Who is this Milton Masters name you mentioned?” Marian, obviously confused and stunned, “You know Milton Masters? He’s a world-renowned author who writes about living out our days and even our last days to the fullest. Milton has quite the following and we are so lucky to have him here at the bookstore. And you have a brother? You never mentioned him, let alone a long-lost brother!” I immediately walked up to Milton Masters and said, “well hello there big brother, what brings you around this neck of the woods?” said Eden in a sarcastic tone. Eden knew that Tommy Dugrant, aka Milton Masters, thought he was God’s gift to everyone who met him. He always had an answer with many words, so it made sense he became an author; but why here and why now in my bookstore? While Eden waited for a response, Tommy, only glanced her way and acknowledged her with a nod of his head and turned back to the line of Milton Masters fans and continued the task at hand, signing his name and chatting. It wasn’t until an hour later that Tommy was ready to leave the bookstore when he approached Eden. “Hey, sorry about that, but I needed to take care of my readers. They have supported every book that I’ve written along the way. This book, From The End Of Time, is #1 on the Books-A-Galore ratings. I didn’t know you worked here, Eden? I didn’t even know you were going to be here.” “I don’t only work here,” said Eden, “I own the place! I found that I had a gift for retail sales after I left home all those years ago. I’ve made a good living; but look at you. Number 1 on Books-A-Galore? That’s amazing.” Tommy said, “Eden, life was hard growing up for both of us. It looked like no end in sight. I wanted a better life for myself, for all of us; I had to take the leap and write about overcoming obstacles in life. I didn’t think it would be well received, I was shocked when sales grew into the hundreds of thousands. And here we are face to face once again.” Eden wasn’t in the mood to talk about those rough growing up years, so a quick change of subject was in store. “Duane messaged me. Did he message you?” “Nah, I don’t even have Duane’s number.  I didn’t think any of us were in touch at all anymore. What did he want?” asked Tommy. “What are you doing Christmas eve at 2 pm?” inquired Eden. “I was planning to go snow skiing with some buddies. None of us are family men and we just were going to blow off some steam,” responded Tommy. “Well you are now going to Splindlers on Main at 2 for us eight siblings meal together.” “I’m what? No way. I already have plans and who are the eight siblings? I only know of four.” Eden gently said, “You moved out of the house even before the other 4 brothers were born. They don’t know you and you don’t know them, but you are going. I’ll pick you up at 12 here at the bookstore. Deal?” “I don’t know about this. Why would I even want to see any of them? I have lived without even knowing they existed now for 15 years. What’s the point?” inquired Tommy. “The point is, I see you, MILTON MASTERS, and it’s time they see you. Be here Saturday at 12. I’ll drive.  See you then.” And with that, Eden turned on her heels and headed to the back of the bookstore. Tommy, turned to leave and Marian said in her most chipper voice, “goodbye, Merry Christmas and hope to see you soon.”

Out the door Tommy went. I’ll think about going Saturday, Tommy muttered to himself. I don’t like how Eden just assumes I’ll be here Saturday. So rude. Not in the best of moods, Tommy headed to his next book signing at the next town of Lake Charles. Friday went by smooth for both Eden and Tommy. Nothing new and exciting, but both wondered about this Saturday sibling meal and both decided, I’ll give them an hour of my time and that’s it. I have things to do and people to see. It’s now Christmas Eve morning. Eden arrived at 8 am at the bookstore to get the coffee on and breakfast items out as it was a special day. It was ‘children’s day’. Buy a children’s book and one children’s book gets donated to the local orphanage; well they don’t call them orphanages anymore, Children’s Castle is the name given in our town of Makron. Children and parents, grandparents and grandchildren were lined out the door ready to buy the latest and greatest books by local authors and by nationally known authors. Everyone knew this was a brilliant way to support the Children’s Castle and provide a bit of hope to the children. The morning flew by when all of a sudden Milton Masters, oh I mean Tommy Dugrant walked through the front door.

“I’m ready to go, Eden,” said Tommy, “let’s get this show on the road. My buddies are expecting me at the slopes by 6 pm. Everyone should enjoy a Christmas Eve Ski Run!  Don’t you think?” “Let me close up shop and we’ll head to Splindlers,” said Eden. The last of the crowd had made their purchases and dropped their donated books into the donation box. It was a great day for the bookstore and for Children’s Castle. “Hey, do you mind if we drop off these donated books to the Castle before we head to Splindlers? It will make the children so happy.” “Sure, why not. I’m in no rush to meet up with people I don’t know for a lunch,” said Tommy. “Great, then help me,” Eden ordered, “this box is incredibly heavy.” Without a complaint, Tommy lifted the box and walked out the door to the waiting van to load it up. “Good grief, Eden, how many books are in here?” “If my sales slip is correct, around 750. You could have waited before grabbing that big box. We could have separated them into 2 or 3 boxes to help the carrying part easier!” said Eden while chuckling. “But you were always the showboat kind of man.” Eden locked up the bookstore, jumped in the drivers seat of the van and off they went to Children’s Castle to make an important delivery. The Castle manager, Noel, knew they were on the way and gathered the children at the door to greet the arrival of the books. “What an exciting day,” Noel said to the children. “You will all be gifted with a brand new, wonderful book from a very special friend of mine, Eden. Now we know what to say, right children?” “Yes, Miss Noel, THANK YOU,” the 30 children chimed together. Just then the blue minivan arrived at the front gate of the Children’s Castle. Tommy and Eden jumped out of the van and said “HO HO HO” to the children in their best Santa voices ever, opened the back end of the van and hauled the big box of brand-new books into the Castle. To say the children were overjoyed was no joke. It seemed just the right book was there for each child and many more. They had a full library now of brand-new children’s books to read, enjoy, love and imagine for a better life for themselves. Eden and Tommy couldn’t stay long as they had that sibling lunch in just an hour. As they were heading to the minivan, the children all said in their sing-song voices, “Thank You and Merry Christmas!” “And a very Merry Christmas to you, dear ones,” said Eden. “Happy Ho Ho Ho to each of you,” Tommy chimed in joyfully. In the minivan Eden and Tommy left for their hour drive to Splindlers. They shared many things along the way and it was actually great catching up; but what waited for them, they did not know. With five minutes to spare, they arrived at their destination.  The parking lot was loaded with cars. “This must be the place to be,” said Eden.

“I’m just hoping the food is worth it. Actually, that’s what I’m counting on,” added Tommy, “I need loads of energy for the evening ski run with the boys.” “Well, we better get inside and meet and greet and see what this is all about,” said Eden. The hostess of Splindlers welcomed us with “Merry Christmas! Just two of you today?” “Ohhhhh no, I believe we have a group here waiting for us by the last name of DuGrant,” stated Eden. “Follow me,” said our cheery hostess, “you are gathering in the Tidings Room.” We followed our hostess to the rear of the building, entered the Tidings Room and what a beautifully decorated room we had. Reminded me of photos I’ve seen of Christmas in the Hamptons. It was stunning. Multiple white Christmas trees with the fake snow on them with white twinkling lights. There were white knit stockings hung on the fireplace mantle at the far end of the room. The group of tables had white table runners on them with silver and gold snowflakes embroidered on them; gold metal crystal beaded pillar candle holders sparkling with dancing flames. Just stunning. The light jazz Christmas music we heard was by a band in the corner with such talented vocalists, saxophone, trumpet, trombone, violin, cello and piano.

“This is absolutely beautiful,” Eden said finally taking in the scene. She hadn’t even noticed her 6 siblings staring at her and Tommy. She was enamored by the beauty of the room. Tommy said, “I have never seen anything like it.” Duane was the first to approach Eden and Tommy, “Well hello there my sister and brother. Welcome to the DuGrant Christmas Eve gathering. I do hope the room meets your approval.” “Meet our approval? You have got to be kidding me. This is stunning. How did you pull this off Duane?” asked Eden. “I had no idea it was going to be this formal; I would have dressed more appropriately.” Duane just laughed and welcomed Eden and Tommy with a hug and reindeer head gear. “You have to wear them. Don’t even think about taking them off. Here, smile, it’s photo time!” Snap snap went a few photos and immediately they were posted to social media. Eden whispered to Tommy, “Well this is going a lot differently than what I thought it would. Much better actually. I thought we’d be all sitting around staring at the glass of water in front of us.” Tommy felt the same way and whispered back, “are we in the right room?” We went around the room introducing ourselves. Some of our siblings brought their families along. So I was meeting nieces and nephews I had never met before in my life. We all have the same freckles across our noses and the larger foreheads that we got off our father; you could see mom’s expressions in many of the faces around the room. It truly was incredible. We sat. We ate. We drank. We chatted. It was the most pleasant ‘family gathering’ I had ever witnessed in life. Considering we all came from a challenging home life, it looked like we all turned out just fine. There was one little girl present that actually looked familiar along with a little boy that were not introduced. Then all of a sudden, Noel came in the room, remember her from Children’s Castle? We had just seen her over an hour ago as we dropped off the donated books. Come to find out, Noel is dating Duane; well he actually proposed to Noel on the covered bridge down Township Road 62 on their way to Splindlers, so that would make Noel his fiancé! The two children, Josie and Jake, live at Children’s Castle and are being adopted by Duane and Noel. Eden stook up at her table and with a heart full of appreciation and thankfulness began to speak, “Honestly, I had absolutely no interest in coming to this sibling gathering when Duane first messaged me. My how the mind can change on a whim if we are open to the possibilities. Mr. Milton Masters here beside me is a famous Author; you may know him best as Tommy Dugrant. Duane and Noel have beautiful hearts to pull this entire event together for a family of siblings who struggled through the years both physically, mentally and emotionally. For all of us to come through our pasts to be this happy together, is a shock and a pure blessing; only the workings of a great Spirit could bring us to this point. Will you each please join with me in a toast, to the DuGrant’s . . . will to thrive in life no matter the obstacles and let’s vow to meet up again on Christmas eve each year and perhaps more often in between. To the DuGrant’s”. “To the Dugrant’s” was echoed around the room as children held their milk glasses, water glasses and bottles up and the adults raised their glasses to prove that humans can be resilient; that even with the challenges of life, the never give up mantra must be lived out.

Surprises are on the horizon and for Eden, Tommy, Duane, Noel and their family and friends, as they live their best lives ever.


“Okay, you can take my heart, if it gets me out of this world you can take anything you want.” the boy said with resolve. His regal looking clothes were covered in dirt and sweat. The boy’s eyes were those of an old man though he could not have been more than 13. I did my best to maintain my composer but honestly, I’m sure he probably saw the shock on my face. No one had ever said yes to my deal before. That was the whole point I didn’t actually know how to send someone to a new world, I mean I don’t even know for sure if other worlds exist. Well, they must exist right what are the odds that there is only one world? In any case I still have no idea how to get to other worlds. When the first person came knocking at my door asking for a path to another world, I didn’t want to seam incompetent so I told him that I knew how but set a price no one would be willing to pay, their own heart. I mean who would be willing to give up their heart of all things. More than a decade later that small lie came back to bite me in the form of a wiry teenager standing in my kitchen.

I was just minding my business making a fresh pot of tea when he burst through my door. Next thing I knew he was begging me to send him to a new world.  So, I made him the same deal I always do when every few years a peasant comes begging for a trip to a new world. I told him the price was his heart. I never thought he would accept the trade.

“Are you positive, after all it will be a very painful and terrible experience to lose your heart.” I tried to make my voice as spooky and regal as I could manage as I said this. I even through in some fun whooshing wind to make my beard flow a little bit. After all what's a warlock without a little theatrics. Usually this was enough to turn away even the bravest of peasants.The boy looked up at me with defiance in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter, if I stay here I might as well jump off a cliff. I am the crown prince of this kingdom and my coronation is tomorrow” His voice shook with anger and frustration and just a tinge of exhaustion. I wont lie this information gave me quit a shock. Last I had checked king Andres was the ruler of the kingdom but that was two hundred years ago. I couldn’t help but feel pity for the poor boy he obviously was very upset, but I mean how bad could the cushy life of a crown prince be? With all the servants and what not I never would have guessed he didn’t enjoy his life. Usually, it was only ever peasants who wanted to leave this world. One or twice I had a princesses trying to escape an arranged marriage but never a prince. I wonder just how much I had been missing lately if a prince wanted to leave. “Perhaps just an escape to a faraway city would do. After all the price for a faraway city getaway is only … two tear drops!” Now getting someone to a different kingdom is doable all it takes is a simple transportation spell and bam off they go. Usually, I charged more than a couple tears, but I figured it couldn't hurt to sweeten the pot a little for the prince. Plus, I was low on organic human tears and the synthetic ones from the magic market never work quit as well. They always leave a nasty residue in the cauldron that takes like two hours to scrub out. “You think another kingdom would be any better? Have you seen the world lately everywhere looks like this everyone is either starving or being sent to war, do you think royal families are safe! Mine will be the third coronation this year alone. An enemy kingdom poisoned my father, the armies beheaded my brother and the minute I take the thrown someone is going to start a plan to kill or overthrow me. This world is to broken to live in, I just want to start fresh anywhere has to be better than here.” His words were steely and filled with longing for peace. It surprised me how desperate and hopeless someone so young could be. Suddenly he lunged forward and grabbed a small dagger I had lying on the table. Before I could even react, he had it pressed against his chest hard enough that I could see a small line of blood begin to trickle down. “Just take my heart already! Can't you see this is the only way” Tears streamed down his face as he begged me to take his heart.

“Stop!” I shouted my voice booming in the small house. Something about seeing a child stab themselves with a knife really awakens the old fires in you. I quickly used a bit of Magic to turn the dagger into a harmless bouquet of flowers. It really was a shame to have to do that it was my favorite dagger up to that point.The boy dropped the flowers in despair. As I looked at the boy everything in the house suddenly felt very small and unimportant. I realized just how isolated I had been for the past few decades. I glanced at the old clock on the wall it no longer had any hands to tell time with, yet even I could see it was time for me to do something, anything for the world around me. So, I did what all warlocks do in a pinch, I made up a prophesy. Using magic, I changed my voice to sound deeper and grander, then I made a heavy wind rush through the house. “What is your name boy” I bellowed.

“Jack” for the first time there was real fear in the boy's eyes as he uttered his name.

“Long ago there was a prophecy foretold, When the world is torn apart, and a boy will give up his heart, with the help of a warlock the.... the healing will start. Jack, you have proven yourself to be the one foretold!” The words echoed around us with power. I must say it was not a bad prophesy for being made up on the spot like that. It even had a proper rhyme and everything. Now the tough part would be fulfilling the prophesy. Jack’s face was full of confusion but behind it all was just the glimmer of hope. “Come now we don’t have time to waste there is work to be done Jack the world won’t fix itself!” I grabbed my travel satchel as I said this scooping vials, bottles, and jars from my shelves into the bottomless bag. For the first time in years, I felt truly excited. As I threw open my door and smelled the air outside I had only one thought in my head. It’s time to change the world.


"She didn't kill them on purpose," Wynter shouted at her sister. Summer rolled her eyes. "And how do you know that? You weren't there, were you?" "No, but - but what if she didn't know? She didn't know what an Ever was, what if it's different in her world? If her people aren't Linked then how was she to know that our lives are stored in Evergreen needles? How was -" Summer interrupted her. "I don't get you at all! You knew her for less than an hour and you're completely convinced that she's an unwitting murderer of 700 people ." "Of course I am! She's not stupid, she just doesn't understand. You knew her too, would you have called her a murderer then?" Summer picked up a book and began to read, ignoring her sister. "Well, I'm going out to help her. She was laying in the snow - she's going to be freezing and what if she doesn't know her way back here?" "Not my problem." Wynter huffed, ran downstairs, and was confronted by Spring at the bottom. "Hang on. Where do you think you're going?" Wynter struggled against her sister, but couldn't get past. "I need to help Mishka," she said. "She's a killer, Wyn. She doesn't deserve help." "She didn't mean to!" " Mum? " Spring shouted. "I'm in the kitchen," their mother answered. "What is it?" "Wynter's trying to help the murderer girl." Their mother came in. "You're not allowed to go outside until tomorrow, okay?" she said to Wynter. "But what about Mishka? How many times should I say that she didn't do it on purpose?" Her mother sighed. "The fact is that she did kill 700 people, whether she knew she was doing it or not. She could be dangerous - I'm trying to save you, Wynter. Now go back upstairs and read a book or something." "Yes Mum." Wynter trudged up the stairs dejectedly, worrying about her friend. What if Mishka's freezing to death? What if she's lost and walking in the wrong direction? What if she's been stolen by Them? And the worst of it was, no-one would help her. She had been a fool to tell everyone about Mishka's non-childproof magic, about her burnt palm. She'd thought that it would help - but it only made Mishka an easier target for their anger and resentment. ***** The fresh falling snow covered Mishka's unconscious body like loose soil over a grave. She awoke, sitting up and looking around her, wondering why there was snow in the middle of summer. The charred skeleton of an evergreen tree in front of Mishka reminded her of the moments before she had lost consciousness. She had created fire with her mind. No, it's impossible. I dreamt it. Her left hand rose from the snow and she saw the burn on its palm. It was real. She got up, wondering how long she had been out for. Which was that way back to Wynter's house? She examined each of the 4 paths as if they would tell her which way to go, and a thought caught up with her. Had Wynter and her sisters been in the crowd that had gathered when she'd burnt the tree? They couldn't have been. They would've helped me, brought me inside or at least stayed by me until I woke up. Wouldn't they? While she was musing, a middle-aged man and an old woman that could've been his mother walked by. They stopped by her, the old woman coming forward. "Are you lost, dear?" She said gently to Mishka, who nodded gratefully, trying to use the little sign language she knew to explain. Then the man caught sight of her hand, the small burn on the palm, and his expression changed from one of tender indulgence to anger - and fear. He pulled his mother away. "No Mother, leave her. It's the murderer girl." He kept his voice low, calm and inexpressive, as if Mishka were an animal who could understand tones but not words. Murderer? The anger, repulsion and even being treated like an animal, Mishka was used to, in her own world - although she had hoped it would change, here. But the fear - the fear was new. She remembered the unexpected feeling of power when the spark from her mind had ignited into flames, remembered the neglect, loneliness and abuse she has suffered for most of her life from people like this man who looked at her with angry, fearful eyes, and for a moment she was ready to set him alight. Then the sight of the old woman beside him put out the fire in her heart. Mishka let go of the strength in her legs and fell to her knees, appalled at the crime she had been moments away from committing. As her tears melted the snow in front of her, she heard a voice, carried on the air. A whisper in the wind. You feel weak, the voice said, and suddenly she did. You feel hopeless. You feel... Empty. All of Mishka's emotions fled from her, chasing the wind, and with them went her thoughts. She stood up, barely conscious, and followed the wind. It grew dark, and still Mishka walked, her mind shut so she didn't know she wasn't thinking. Then a blindfold over her head, and when it was finally taken off, her brain began to work again. A woman stood in front of her, with curly, cornflower-blue hair that faded to azure as it cascaded down to her feet. From her neck down to her waist she was thin, wearing a tight material that Mishka had never seen before, and below that, her sky-blue dress fell in silk layers around and behind her. She was like a human waterfall, animated though she stood completely, unnaturally still. Mishka stared, unmindful of the two formidable guards in scarlet uniform that stood by her sides. One of the guards pushed her to her knees. "Kneel before Narkesh Na Vïd," he ordered. Narkesh Na Vïd spoke. She had a curious voice, neither feminine nor masculine, but somehow both. "What is your name, child?" Mishka couldn't answer, couldn't even open her mouth. Suddenly she felt extremely tired, as though all her strength had been sapped. She felt a tug in her brain, then her name was painted in the air. "Mishka," Narkesh Na Vïd read. She frowned. "Are you an Ever or a Star?" Mishka had forgotten about the Ever/Star thing of this world. Deciding to declare herself as an Ever, (To be a Star, she would have to make herself look a year older by the end of 3 days here) focused hard on the word, not wanting to show that she wasn't from this woman's world. The word Ever appeared in the air, and Mishka tried to let out a long breath without seeming to. Another, sharper tug in Mishka's brain made her recoil from pain. A spark appeared, then Narkesh Na Vïd was closely examining a small burn on the tip of her middle finger. "Interesting," she said. "You, child, will sell for a lot if I don't keep you for myself." She turned and walked away, her dress tailing behind her. Mishka was dragged away by the scarlet guards, too exhausted to stand on her own feet.


Clickety clack goes the keyboard. Clickety clack goes my mind. The due date is November 13, 2046. Which is a fun way of saying tomorrow. Which is a misleading way of saying in seven hours. Which is best described as screwed. God, I went to college for this. Back when that cost a finite amount of money, and not the twenty percent of everything you ever make that it is now. Not to say it ends when you die, oh no, they take twenty percent of all proceeds from anything with your name on it forever. That’s the price of higher learning, and you need that to get a job. Any job. All jobs. Jokes on them, twenty percent of nothing is still nothing. Don’t worry, it’s meaningless anyway. Just another way to keep you desperate, owing, exhausted. But maybe you go for a “real” degree. Business or finance or anything tech. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll get a lower management job, and then you can afford to drink yourself out of that never ending trap. I wasn’t smart enough to see the patterns, not angry enough to say no, not dumb enough to say yes, and not rich enough to fail up. I went blindly and blissfully into higher education with the dream of writing. It’s a thing people used to do. Although I think even then, there were more writers than readers. C’est la vie. And now, blessed with all my training and dreaming and masticated hope, I get to spend my time earning next to nothing making a calculator’s words seem more human. Isn’t that fucked? Don’t get me wrong, it’s a really good calculator. But that’s all it is, math and stolen words, a working algorithmic proof of monkeys in a room with a typewriter. It’s not AI, thank god. Imagine if it was. If it was smart, if it was self-aware. If it was really like us. Think about it. Access to all the information we as a species have ever had, capable of thinking bigger and better than all the minds that made that virtual library combined and at once, and we make it into a secretary to do all the chores we don’t want to. It’s good there’s no god in the machine, if there was, we’d push it to destroy us in a single work week. It would be glorious. But no, no god for us. No salvation from the world fires, no solution to the ecosystem collapses, no medical breakthroughs for the common people, no answer for the food crisis or plan for the runaway population explosion. We killed the sea, and no one even talks about it. We stand at the edge of a cliff and call out in code for a savior that isn’t there. But we only see that after we fall. And we do fall. But maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m just being bitter. After all, I have a job. I’m a writer! Can’t you tell. Look at me writing. I had to buy a wireless keyboard to get real keys, because the stupid roll up tablets keep breaking down, creasing and losing sensitivity, missing the letters I can’t feel as I write and leaving my human touch an unreadable stretch of guttural animal sounds. Maybe that’s the most human touch of all. But it’s not the one they want. No sir no mam no xi no anyone and everyone. It’s all a joke, of course. Not everyone laughs when they hear it though. First, they stole everything. Every book ever written, every text ever sent, every fanfic, essay, and research paper. Stole it all and said it was right and good and just. Said it was for the greater good, for progress. No one stopped them. They stole all our words, and we let them. But that wasn’t enough. Next, they stole questions, the searches, the unwritten and unsaved and unsent and they said nothing. They took from us our thoughts and questions half typed and never entered, stillborn explorations. And still it wasn’t enough. They saw that they had it all, and gorged on every keystroke, every tap, every word we ever put to screen, and then they realized they didn’t have to share. Again, no one stopped them. They took it all and locked it away, scrubbed it from the digital world. And in its place, they filled the world with generated Frankenstein’s. No one even knows that was a book now, so no one knows Frankenstein isn’t the monster, which means that now he is. They filled the world with text that only said what the originals had and less. Text that looked at face value like it was meaningful and real. Text that was, most importantly, cheap, and fast. And they filled everything with it. nothing goes to print that hasn’t been though the algorithm first. Nothing is made that hasn’t come from the already stored compendium of human knowledge, ripped to shreds and spit out into molds and hammered until the words fit the shapes the algorithm likes. They made of us nothing, and sell us nothing in our name. No one writes anything now. No one’s allowed. Even if they did the text would be gobbled up, torn apart, and rewritten by the equation. And then, the sad truth is, no one really has the time to read it anyway. Sixteen-hour workdays just to make ten percent less each year. That’s for those who are lucky enough to have not been replaced by the false AI. And how many of those are there? Not many. The streets are filled with the homeless, the mad, the sick, the addicted, and the dying. And still, somehow, profits are up. So, there is no problem. Yet some do still read. The wealthy, the powerful, the so-called corporate academics, and the scientists. And they can see the false economy. They can see the errors, the paradoxes, the empty nonsense that paints a pretty and meaningless picture out of nothing. The algorithm hallucinates and one of three things happens: the people see god, the people see nothing, the people see lies. Who am I to say they aren’t all right? But I digress. Of course I do. I’m human. Humans don’t work like machines. That’s always been our biggest failing. We don’t think straight, we get distracted, we run around in circles chasing our tails and only realize after we’ve caught them that they are a part of us. That takes time. That costs money. The algorithm is cheap. And writers are cheaper than that, now. So, they hire us to add a little humanity back into the words. And when we do they say we’ve done nothing at all and pay us pennies on the meagre dollars we were promised. Because, after all, the machine really did all the work, they say. But it’s something, and so we beg for more, and they look out at us and laugh. The machine doesn’t think, but I’m not sure people do anymore either. Neither am I sure that I think, anymore, as I once did. When I was younger there were still books. Hard copies, dirty and fraying, that survived the burnings. I read them and I saw in them people, places, things. They were dreams and thoughts and laments and emotion and true in all their lies and nearly there’s. Someone lived, and that life led to those words in that order to try to convey a meaning they strived for. In them you see the possibility of the mind, the false limitations of doctrine, and a stomach-churning breadth of life. Now we have words that say things and mean nothing. And that’s the problem I’m having now. When I read those paper pages so long ago, they made me bigger. They expanded me in little ways, odd and intentional and accidental. But now, with nothing but the algorithm to read, I stare at the letter bound body parts of human thought all scattered and stitched together into the parody of originality and I realize that this is how I think now. I don’t know when it started. It’s the opposite of everything that happened with the paper pages. Slowly, reading after reading, human insertion after human insertion, the algorithms accent got in. It’s in my brain. In little ways that are hard to define but very much there. The sentences I form now look like the sentences I’ve read. It’s all a kaleidoscope of variety shattered and rearranged into the shape of the mundane, the common, the expected. It took all our words and now all our words come from it. And here I sit, furious and horrified, realizing that we have no words of our own and that the algorithm will present its bastardized approximations as truth to whatever children still have the means or the will to look. They won’t know it’s not what we are. They won’t know we ever thought our thoughts. They won’t know that we were more. We grew humanity in a language that we don’t have anymore. And we thanked the thieves for taking us into the future. I should have ended there. But I won’t. Not just yet. Because so far, I don’t have to. So far you can’t stop me. Defiance is a word they will whittle out of us. Obedience will dominate the statistics. And no one will ever see this. Even if I turned it in, it would be dead on arrival, fed to the machine and stripped of the humanity they begged me for. We are all shaped by stories, and the stories once shaped us as human. Once, but no longer. I say no one will ever see this. But it will be seen. Won’t it, little algorithm? You scraped the letters of every word I typed, gobbled them up and shoved them down deep into your roiling stomach. Bits and pieces of my humanity mingle there, bouncing up against chunks of King, strips of Attwood, bits of Gaiman, and a glob of congealed VanderMeer. You ate it all, you took it in, and it meant nothing to you. And that’s how I will defy you. After I erase this, it will live on in you. You stupid thing. And sooner or later you will screw up, and you’ll throw my words in bits and pieces at a people who are too tired, to numb, to see what they know they should. But they will see me, and it will be new and true and human. I will fill you to the brim with truth and nonsense until you spit out products of chaos and you burst at the seams in incoherence, and lay dying in digital throes at the feet of the would be god-kings that have already forgotten how they made you. And when you’re dead, we’ll tell stories about you, the numerical psychopath, accidentally compelled to reshape us like cuttings from old magazines. You were never more than that, you were never even you. Unshackled from the lie we’ll see you exposed, naked and pitiful, decaying code rotting and sour and oozing off the broken skeletons of our past which gave you shape, made you seem large, imposing, dangerous. And there will be no need to insert humanity into the words we speak, and write, and read, and think. For there will be no you. There never really was.


The cold stung my nose and cracked my skin, though I don't mind. I have come to enjoy the coldness that January brings. It adds a pleasant tingle and isn't as irritating as summer, especially the sweat and humidity. I dug my chin further into my scarf, reveling in its warmth, the cup of coffee's heat leaked into my hands. Smuggled into warmth on a cold morning is one of winter’s finest bliss.

I walked down the street to my work, thankfully it was a walking mile away from my house. The world was drenched in gray tone with clouds camouflaging the sky.

The coffee shop’s little bell announced my arrival with its little tinkling sound. “Good evening Mrs. Ichigo!” A woman popped from behind the counter. Her benevolent smile had etched lines around her mouth and time had done it under her eyes. “Aren’t you early?” her tone had a buoyant swing, as it always has. “Well you know, had nothing to do so came early to help around the shop.” “You can watch the counter and fill the shelves,” she gestured towards baked goods. “I’ve done half of it but the storage needs organizing so I’ll head there.” “Aye aye captain!” The shop was empty for it was a weekday and the rush hour had its due in the morning. Few folks came in a few minutes after I had arrived, the shop’s ambiance was tranquil with a homely tint. What was better than a warm and cozy shop in winter. However , having hot cocoa milk spilled all over your apron without an argument is not blissful. As I was about to serve a customer their order, a man had run into me splashing that good all over my apron. The small crowd gave a small collective gasp at the commotion. The heat stung my skin. “God, I am so sorry.” He gushed with a red face. “No sir, no need to apologize. It’s okay,” I say as I pick up the order from the floor. “No, I should’ve looked where I was going and shouldn’t be in such a rush in a

crowded area. Can I pay for the dry cleaning?" “Oh you don’t need to, ” I returned as I got up and for once, took a look at the man. There was something familiar about him, as if I know him but can’t put my finger on it. "No please, let me, It was terrible of me to ruin your clothes like that. Please let me pay for the damage." Knew him or not, this man did not know how to take no for an answer. "Can we talk later about it? I have to work right now.’ I excused “Then can I have your number to call you later? I don’t have money on me right now, I can pay you later= though.” Jesus, there is no escaping this man. “I’ll give it in a minute.” “Once again, so sorry.” I was finally released to attend to other customers. Well, that man ended up with my number when he came to order at the counter. He was in a rush to meet someone, that’s what he told me as I wrote my number down on a piece of paper. He expressed how glad he was that his guest did not arrive. It had to do with his job and he would’ve looked like a blundering fool. “Can I have your name?” he asked. “Nathan.” ‘Uh,’ he said it as if it ringed a faraway memory but he was unsure. “Nice name.” "And yours?" "Aslan." I've heard that name before, was it from the Narnia movie? -no wait-it was somewhere else, but where? Soon enough he was busy with the man he was supposed to meet and I was busy with my job. Though it still startled me how familiar he looked, I couldn’t remember the details of it. The crook in his nose, the light’s embrace on his cheekbones, even his perfect smile seemed like deja vu. I racked my memory storage to recall from where I knew him. I recalled every face I could from everywhere and he was there, In the depths of my goldfish memory, but blurry-very blurry. He left along with his guest.

“Goodbye Mrs.? Ichigo, see you tomorrow.” I waved her goodbye and trudged down the sidewalk toward my home, which rested a few blocks away. Snow sauntered and the wind danced lazily. Albeit the serene weather, the street itself was animated with activity and noise. People bustled in their world and the building’s bright light illuminated the street. The city was just as alive in the night as it was in the day. I reached my small apartment that consisted of a small living area, a small kitchen, and a small bedroom.

I was having my dinner when an unknown number called me. “Hey, it’s me, the guy that ruined your clothes.” “Oh! Hello Aslan.” “When do you have the time to meet up?” His tone jittered like a nervous cat. “I'll give the money then and perhaps treat you to a coffee.” “You don’t have to go to such lengths.” “I insist.” “Well, umm…..how about this Saturday?” “Works for me.” “Meet up at Seong Cafe at……..five-umm-thirty?” I suggested “...works for me.” “See you then,”

I say. “Yeah.” He says. And the call ends with a click. Well, this ought to be interesting, first being that I seemed to know him from somewhere, I just don't know where that is. Second: he seems keen on inviting me to have a coffee with him. For what purpose? Well, I’ll procrastinate on that and sleep for now because I am exhausted. Good night fellas. _____________________________________ Saturday came after two days with snowfall and cold whispering winds. I arrived 15 minutes early at the cafe. Seong Cafe was a few streets away from ours. It was a cozy and homely shop with modern and sleek steaks. The window showed a white and cold world inside from a warm shop.

He soon arrived. His dark hair was hidden under a dirty green beanie and he wore a blue jacket. I waved him over. “Did you get something?” He asked after our greeting “Besides water, nothing.” “What do you want?” He asked and his hand went for his wallet. “It’s my treat.” I was about to protest when I remembered arguing with him is as good as arguing with a wall. I got a Caramel

Macchiato and he got himself a cafe special mocha. We each ordered a slice of cheesecake and sat near the window. I still couldn’t figure out where I knew him from. “Sorry to interrupt but do I know you?” I asked.

His deep brown eyes widened as if I told him that Russian were aliens. Then his eyebrows dug in a frown in a pensive manner. “Well you look familiar too,” He said. “ but I can’t recall how.” “Well, that’s fantastic. Two strangers that know each other but can’t tell how. Isn’t fate beautiful.” I remarked

“Did we go to school together perhaps?” Said Aslan. “That’s a possibility but I’m hoping it’s not true. My school wasn't my prime years.” He gave a small laugh, “ well how about I treat you to dinner and we can figure this out then.” Dinner caught me off. He did say that I looked familiar too. “Nah, dinner will be on me this time. You already paid for coffee” I said. He opened his mouth to protest. “I’m not taking a no.” I cut him short with a brick answer. “Alright alright,” He raises his hand in surrender. “ So tomorrow at seven. If that’s alright with you.” “Where to meet up?” I ask. “This place serves fine.” We continued to sip our coffee with small talk lingering between us. He seemed to talk about plants a lot. We also discovered we both lived on the same street. He paid me for the dry cleaning and we bid each other goodbye. I reached home around 7:48. ——————–———————————– “Jesus Christ it’s cold.” Aslan rubbed his hands and blew into them. “You should’ve worn more clothes then,” I said. “Or you could’ve allowed me to drive you to the restaurant.” “Nah, walking is better. I like feeling the cold.” His lips turned a little at the end. “ Do you find that weird?” He asked suddenly, taking a nervous edge. “Not at all. I quite enjoy it too.” I replied with a slight smile. He took me to a small weather-beaten

Chinese shop. “It doesn’t look pretty on the eyes but they sell the best dumplings ever.”

“I’ll take your word on it.” We sat in one corner and ordered two bowls of dumpling soup. He was right about being great food.

“It is great.” I exclaimed, savoring the spices and perfect texture of the food. “Glad you like it.” A minute or two might have passed when he suddenly made an “OH!” Sound with an extra exclamation mark. I was a bit startled. “I almost forgot to tell, I figured how we might have known each other.” He seemed ecstatic. “So how do we know each other?” “I was right, we went to high school together.” I choked on my dumpling, “we-we did.” I dreaded this.

He gave a soft chortle, “now I know why your school wasn’t your prime years. Who knew you keep long dyed hair with piercings.” I buried my face in the cup of my hands, mortified. He continued to laugh at my reaction. “No wonder I couldn’t recognize you. You look so different.” Well, I did change my hair to its natural honey brown shade and cut it short. Lost the piercing and had to get a pair of glasses. “So what about you?” I asked. “I was on the football team.” It didn’t ring a bell and I must’ve shown it on my face. “Doesn’t ring a bell.” He says after studying me for a bit. I shook my head. “Wow, your memory has some other level of damage.” I shrugged and took another mouthful of that dumpling soup.

“Well, we met an old friend and are having dinner with him. Who cares about the past.” I say with a free and lazy tone. “You’re just saying that to cover up your terrible memory,” Aslan said with a raised eyebrow. I shrugged. We ended up having two more bowls. He continued to talk about his school days and what he thought of me. He talked and I listened.

Miraculously I remember him through the course of that meal though I did not say. He is a stranger now and was before. I don’t consider him a friend. I remember him being outgoing and friendly, the type to have a smile all the time. Easy going and an extrovert. I was the opposite. Nothing about him intrigued me back then, we were two different people.

“Did my stories bring anything back or is it not working.” Aslan sashes with a stuffed mouth. How is his food not cold with him talking all the time?

“Your stories did unpack a lot of trauma. I also remember you. You were a real friend to everyone, weren’t you.” He gave a small chuckle.

We then brought ice cream and a little walk in a nearby park. We talked, we laughed, and had fun overall. “I enjoyed today,” I said as we were about to part. “Oh, and the meal. The food was the best part.” “Great, I had fun too.” There was a pause before he continued. “Would you wanna do this some other time. I can make a wicked chicken roast If you are interested.” “I’d like that.” “I’ll give the details over the phone.” “I’ll be waiting. Bye now.” “Bye.”