“What Sallinger most demonstrates here is, Caulfield’s fear of adulthood and phoniness, it was this idea of adult phoniness that lead Mark Chapman to shoot John Lennon citing the Catcher In The Rye as his statement…” I wish she’d shut up, I don’t care, I don’t even know who John Lennon is or Mark Chapman or Caulfield or this Sallinger bloke either, nor do I care, it’s twenty to three on a Friday afternoon, it feels like it’s been twenty to three for the last 35 minutes, it’s the last lesson of the day and the sun is shining through the scratched perspex windows casting the strangest of shadows across the desks and all I want to do is jump out of them and run until I can’t run anymore. It’s not that I don’t like school, if anything I quite enjoy it, it’s just the lessons I don’t like. Ben leans over to me and whispers quietly in my ear, well as quietly as any 15 year old boy can whisper to another, “pub tonight, bruv?” what stupid question, it’s not that I really liked the pub if i’m honest it’s probably no better than school, but you just don’t say no when somebody asks you to the pub. “Alright then mate” I reply as if the decision was my own. It was at that moment the bell rang and the entire class stood up in unison and rushed for the door in a mad exodus of hurried conversations, swear words and swinging handbags, pushing out of the doors and into the world. Nobody stops to think about the doors, nobody except me, all the doors in this school tell a story, they’re covered in layers of paint, each one of the many different colours the school has fruitlessly adopted over the years to try and change its image, each layer with its’ scars showing the layer beneath, each scar inflicted by generations of use and vandalism. Reminding us that no amount of paint, no new colours will ever change the school or the pupils. Once me and Ben finally make it out of the school we’re straight onto the estate, from one jungle to another, nothing changes here either, there's the same kids running round on the same bikes, harassing the same motorists, there's an old phone box on the corner, not one of the quint red ones that you see on the tele, but one of the purpley grey ones from the 90s that stinks of piss, with only half the glass left in it, most of which is covered in torn posters for nights out of town from years gone by. Me and Ben head back to his, it’s not even on my way home but I follow him anyway because his sister might be there and everyone knows she’s the prettiest girl in school, probably in the whole of town. We burst into his house, kick our shoes off, say hello to his mum and run upstairs to play playstation and plan our weekly trip down the pub. “We always go to the Rose and Crown” Says Ben, “The only girls in there are from school, why don’t we try the Dragon?” I’m not sure if I admire his confidence or detest his stupidity. Ben is way more confident than me, but a lot more stupid. “It’s the only pub that will serve us” I reply, “We never try and get served anywhere else, besides it’s full of school kids” I think the irony was definitely lost on Ben at this point. “What if we wore suits geez?” Ben said eagerly. “Why don’t we start at the Rose and Crown and then try The Dragon after?” I reply in an attempt to finish the conversation. “Ok” Ben reluctantly agrees. After walking all that way to discover his sister wasn’t in and to lose two games of FIFA on the trot I make my excuses and get up to leave, “Right, now tonights sorted I better get going then. See ya mate” with this I spring up from the edge of his bed where I was sitting, hurtle down the stairs, kick my feet into my shoes and walk out of Ben’s front door slamming it behind me. Don’t ask me why but I started walking home the long way, the very long way, so long in fact that most people would call it the wrong way. I don’t know why I did it but I did. I don’t know why I do a lot of things, for somebody so I clever I don’t know a lot. I did know that I didn’t like Ben his confidence annoys me, besides why should I like him he doesn’t really like me, he just pretends he does, probably to make himself feel better or because it's become a habit of his he can’t seem to change. I carried on walking the wrong way, choosing to walk round the back of the shops and through the alley ways, dusted with broken bottles, fly tipped furniture and tufts of grass that had made their way through the cracked concrete. It wasn’t the most scenic of routes in fact to most people it was probably pretty ugly, but I liked it. The litter might blow away, the damp abbonadend mattresses might come and go but the ugliness had a constant it had always been that way and it always would it was this reliability which gave it its beauty, you can keep your coastal paths and flowers, they all erode away into nothing or dry up and die eventually anyway. As I got towards the edge of the estate and into the woods the decay continued but it was more camouflaged than before, the carcasses of stolen hatchbacks and mopeds abandoned on the side of the track in their deep burnt orange and powdery white colour schemes sat on a plinth of scorched earth and melted plastic, they still smelt of burning even after all this time. Now they played the perfect host to plants looking for fertile ground to grow, reclaiming what was once theirs. It was probably time to turn round and head home in the right direction now, I was getting pretty tired and besides I was supposed to be at the pub in a few hours, before all of that though I decided to sit down and take the weight off my feet I found an ash tree, laying on its side, torn from the ground in last October’s high winds, I clambered up onto the horizontal trunk and sat there, my feet dangling loose in the air, looking at the woods that sat on the edge of my estate. I pulled my school tie loose and slung it into my backpack. While I was sat on that tree I started thinking about all the people I’ve ever known and how now I don’t know hardly know any of them, all my friends from little school, the lads I used to play football with in the street, my mum, my dad. I still see the lads in the street sometimes and most of the kids from little school are still in my classes now and I see my mum everyday and my dad every weekend, well mostly. But I don’t know them anymore, not like I used to and they don’t know me either. It sounds crazy and it probably is. After a little while stuck on the same thought I pull my phone from my pocket, after punching in my passcode I open up my contacts and scroll through them slowly, looking for somebody to ring, I could ring Ben about tonight, but it couldn’t be more than an hour since we saw each other and I remembered that I didn’t like him much anyway. I stop scrolling when I see Emily’s name, we met last year while we were both on holiday at a caravan park, she had the prettiest long dark hair and the biggest brown eyes, which reflected the lights of the arcade around the room a million times like a kaleidoscope powered by 2 penny pieces, I was too scared to speak to her when I first noticed her but our mums got chatting over their love of vodka and Eastenders. I was both pretty embarrassed and secretly pleased when mum suggested we hang out together. We hit it off straight away and although nothing happened, well nothing like the boys at school talk about - we held hands and when it was time to go she kissed me on my cheek - she’s stayed on my mind all this time, I should have tried to kiss her properly you know spontaneously like they do in Eastenders, but I didn’t. I wanted to call her but decided against it, I didn’t want her thinking I was weird, I guess I am weird but I didn’t want her to think that, anyway what would I say? I pressed to lock button on my phone watched the screen go black and slipped it back in my pocket, slipped off the trunk of the tree and started to head back into town. I wish I hadn’t agreed to go to the pub, me and ben just sat in the corner looking at the same faces we looked at all week at school, too scared to talk to the girls, besides all the pretty ones were getting plenty of attention from the older guys. Ben turned up in his suit, he looked about as out of place as I felt. If the pub was empty it would have had some charm I guess it had the same sense of decay as the alleys on the estate the garish wallpaper was peeling away to show more garish wallpaper underneath, the carpets were saturated with years of spilt drinks, tears and blood and were obviously worn into tracks between the front door, the bar and the back door by decades of footsteps. Nobody had been allowed to smoke in here for years but the ceiling was still yellow from the nicotine of years gone by and the smell still lingered in the air, trapped in the curtains and upholstery. Me and Ben were on our fourth pint now, Ben insisted on ordering IPA even though it was horrible because he was convinced it made him look older. After I finished my fourth the pub started to seem a lot better, I still couldn’t muster up anything more than a mumbled “alright” for the girls from school but I was worrying about less and started to think maybe Ben didn’t dislike me as much as I thought. I wondered if I should tell him about Emily but I decided against it, I didn’t think he’d believe me and I didn’t want him to think I was a lier. So we carried on talking about football and school watching what seemed like the entire world go by from the corner of the pub back and forth, back and forth, in the front door, to the bar, to the back door into the smoking shelter, in the front door, to the bar, to the back door into the smoking shelter again and again all night long. I woke up the next morning fully clothed laying on top of my duvet, everytime I moved my head I was in agony, all I could remember from last night was that Ben had that stupid suit on, I bet I’ve upset him last night and can’t remember, he definitely doesn’t like me now I reached for my phone but it wasn’t there, my stomach wrenched knowing that I’d lost it, trying to work out who else I was rude to and upset last night from school, I couldn’t remember a thing but definitely Ben and the girls at the bar, I remember seeing them so I must have said something under the influence.


I hold the photograph tight in my hands, weeping. I will never see them again. I study the photo, tracing my fingers along the white creases of use. It's been folded and tucked hundreds of times but now maybe never again. That day was warm and cheery. The perfect day to depart from Earth with a lasting memory of the way life felt. Life was in everything on Earth. It greeted you in the mornings with songs of the wild. It caressed you in the rivers of the world. It captured and pulled you into it's overwhelming fullness. It was a place to love and become accustomed to. A place to live and a place to die. And here I am trapped and alone with nothing but steel cold walls to mock my existence, my life. No hope and no way out. My crew dead or dying and soon I will follow. Soon I'll float endlessly in a metal coffin touring the Galaxy. The creak of the steel awakens me from my stupor. I pull myself on a beam, propelling my body towards the window. I see a mass of blue hues expand the length of the window. Wreckage spans before me in an array of debris. The last of the ship that would've pioneered the way for generations to come. All lost now. I see in the far distance hunks of ship exploding and rocketing towards the unknown planet before me larger than before. Getting closer...too close. "Daddy! Daddy!" I turn quickly from the window to see my 4 year old boy. "Daddy do you want to play with me?" The tears bleed from my eyes, grouping in droplets in front of me. I swat them away in grief and anger. How could my little boy be here, in this place. I see his face but I know it isn't real. Still I drink it in and float before him. I look into his blue eyes and remember. It is unbearable. My loss is complete. I will never see my family and will never play with my boy again. I will never hold him high in the air to fly. He loved that. He used to tell me that he wanted to fly like iron Man and I would lift him in the air turning in circles until his laugher filled my ears. I looked at my son, my soul on fire. "Yea buddy, let's play." "Can I Fly daddy?" the ghost asked. My hands drift up to reach under his arms but there is no resistance and my hands simply move past his arms. I look away in dismay towards the air sealed door. The alarm lights flashing, indicating a breach to the ships infrastructure. (I will not escape this. I can either die the way the universe decides or I can die my way. I can die like a intergalactic space ranger.) I walk to the air sealed doors, glaring out the window at the gas giant before me. One small man facing a giant. I lay my finger on the emergency breach button. I look at the photo one more time showing a laughing father and son. My hands lifted high above while my sons arms stick out in front of him in the superhero fashion. He was wearing his iron man suit. "Let's fly now, son. Let's fly" I push the button.


"Nolan." "Yes father?" "Have a seat." "Ah...I'm going to miss this room. You know, this is a celebratory occasion. Why not open that bottle of scotch? It's been in that cabinet for at least two decades." "Nolan. You're going to need a clear head. And you are not old enough." "Oh, who cares about drinking laws down here?" "The military would be most displeased if a new soldier arrived at his first deployment with headache and nausea! They may have told you that drinking is alright after battle, but never before a first deployment. You should know that." "Oh yeah, that's true. Sorry." "Now, we need to talk. We need to have a long talk about what is happening tomorrow." "I already know what's happening tomorrow." "...Nolan. This is absolutely not something you need rush into. You may think you know what's happening, but you do not. What they teach you in Engineer Training is nothing compared to the real thing. They teach you how to repair and how to think on your feet. Then they teach you how to man some of the weapons. Then start talking about the comradery, make it seem like no one will die. Everything they've showed you, everything you've been taught about what happens in battle, is completely flipped on it's bloody head when you experience the real thing. So don't try to say that you know what will happen, because you do not! ...Jacob said... almost those same words to me the day before he was deployed." "Father... please don't bring that up! You know how I felt! You know how I feel about that now! But... I have no choice! I have to go... I have to! My whole goddamn life has been building up to this! I'm ready! Okay, it's not like you know what they've been teaching me! It's... it must be.... so much more different then whatever you were taught when you were a cadet! My instructors have given me more inspiration than anything you've ever told me! And my friends... they're the best people I've ever met. They would take a bullet for me, I know it." "Nolan! Christ...... this is what I haven't been able to tell you for years. This is what I hoped you would not be taught. They try to tell you that this war is about winning and becoming bloody heroes! They work this idea into your head that killing other men is... is fucking glamorous! They try to make you think that when a sub implodes that the men on board just evaporate! That they die a painless death! It is astounding what they try to tell you! And your friends will not be taking any bullets for you because there are no bullets in where you're going! Were you an Aquanaut, there would be bullets. And there would be proper fighting on solid seametal. Where you're going there will be nothing but the blue and green lights as the torps ram into the subs and kill everyone on board, all at once! And that is the pleasant way to go! For if the battle's not in an atmosphered zone, you know what'll happen! Water intake! The alarms that let you know that you are going to die! The scramble for the emergency tanks! And even if you somehow get your hands on one of those, you then get to sit in the cold black! And what will get you first? The drowning after you deplete the five minutes of air? Or the hypothermia? That is what battle is, Nolan! That is what this fucking war is! In this war, there are only the cowards who lead the armies, the brave men and women who give their lives, and the nil effects a death will have on the future generation! Only through millions of deaths is something changed! And not always for the better! The wars that were once fought on actual land were fought with machine, explosive, knife, and bullet! This war that we are locked in is fought with machine, explosive, knife and fucking torpedo hundreds of meters beneath an endless, frozen sea! The two may seem vastly different, but when one takes a closer, firmer look, the differences become obsolete. So forget dying a hero's death, forget being saved when your friends will certainly die with you, and forget that propaganda that they blind you with. I'm not asking you to die, Nolan. I simply wish for you to understand the truth about this war." "..." "It is time, son. Get some rest. Think about what you will say to us when you depart in the morrow hour. I have said my goodbye. Do not end up like your brother. Return to us alive. Then, we can talk about that scotch...


‘How can I protect her from any more suffering?’ He asked himself. The sky was clear and the sun was bright. Jared always considered himself plain. He wore old jeans and t-shirts with cheap prints of jokes and dry humour on them. For clothing he owned more jackets than anything else, they helped to hide his stomach, something he doesn’t want the world to see. His dark hair hung slightly lower than he’d like; the barbers might’ve seen him in the afternoon. It was 11:00am on a Saturday and he had just arrived at Amy‘s flat. The neighbours weren’t great but the rent was very reasonable. Through the rotting door, up the creaky steps and there she was. Most people don’t like to live near the centre of town, but to her it was home. “It’s been a whole year already, huh?” Jared’s eyes lit up as she came into his view. “I cannot believe we’ve both made it this far!” She replied quickly with a grin filling her face from ear to ear. Amy’s flat was much cleaner than the rest of the building. The rooms were small but the bright-coloured walls and abundance of shelving units brought the space to life. Light filled the halls from the windows. They both stood in the kitchen and Amy offered him a drink to which he nodded. As she poured the fizzy pop into a glass, Jared looked over to the corner of the room. Maximus, or Maxxie, as his friends call him, was in his cage trying to run on his hamster wheel. His fur was brown and white, and his whiskers were long. The wheel squeaked and creaked as it slaved to roll. “Sorry if that’s a bit distracting.” Amy apologised as she gestured towards his now full glass, “I want to get a new one but...”, her eyes closed shut and she took a deep breath, “I’m not ready to go out yet”. The air froze for a moment, but the atmosphere of peace swiftly returned. Normally their Saturday meet-ups can last hours as they talk to each other about their thoughts and feelings. They caught up on the week’s events and, after only half an hour, Jared excused himself with the promise of a surprise for her. He went back down the stairs and left the building. Jared ran so he could make it to the bus stop in time. His heart raced as he took his seat at the front of the vehicle, fanning his face with his sweaty palm. The journey should take no more than thirty minutes. Suddenly, his phone buzzed with a notification. He reached into his pocket and pull it out to read ‘Congratulations! It’s your 1-year Anniversary with Amy!’ ‘The last year has been hard, but worth it’ he thought. Jared’s mind wondered. Looking outside, the area was less than pleasant. Boarded-up buildings and houses, dead plant life and littered roads. There was one ironclad shop in the centre of the street selling tobacco and questionable milk. ‘I wish she could afford to leave this place’, he thought. Twenty minutes later, outside of the town’s harrowing centre, he arrived at his destination: the pet store. The store was large and the air conditioning loudly fought to keep the heat outside. The smell of animal biscuits and sawdust was overwhelming to those unaccustomed to it. There were multiple glass enclosures featuring a variety of different rodents and small, fluffy animals. Towards the back of the store were the toys and treats available for purchase. The Isle labelled ‘Hamster’ immediately took Jared’s attention and he moved towards it. Only two Hamster running wheels remained, one was blue and the other was pink. ‘Maxxie’s current wheel is the same as the blue one’, he thought, ‘or should I go for the pink? It’s Amy’s favourite colour.’ After a moment of deliberation he took the blue one to the front of the store. Once parting with £10.00 for the wheel, Jared left the shop, walked for 30 seconds, and turned the corner to meet a very unwelcoming face. The last time he’d seen this face he was given a grotesquely vivid description of what would happen the next time they met. His skin went pale and his brow began to sweat. “You’re that little shit from the self help group, right?” Kurt said as his arms and neck began to build tension. Kurt’s boots came down with heavy stomps as he inched closer and closer to Jared. His jeans were both dirty and torn and his muscular chest was contained only in a black tank top worn out of pure vanity. Kurt’s bloodshot eyes noticed the wheel clutched in Jared’s now trembling hands. “You think I don’t know who that’s for?”, he asked rhetorically as he continued at a slow, steady pace forwards, “You think you can keep her away from me forever?!” he asked, gritting his teeth as his eyes started to water. Jared’s mouth opened and, weakly, produced a sound. “I don’t-... I just want her to get better-” he began to say before he was swiftly interrupted by the impact of Kurt’s clenched fist forcing its way through his side. Jared fell shoulder-first into the ground, still cradling the wheel in his arms. Kurt’s black boots drove their way into his stomach, leaving Jared panting for air. After a futile struggle, the wheel was relinquished from the safety of Jared’s grip and thrown to the floor before also meeting the weight of the steel-capped hammers carried by Kurt's feet. As the nearby shoppers noticed the assault, Kurt took a look over his shoulder and ran. As he sprinted, a small bag of powder fell out of his pocket, only for Jared to notice. As soon as Kurt was gone a young couple helped Jared up and another older lady got her phone out and offered to call the police, but he declined. The next twenty minutes he spent leaning on the wall, staring at the pile of blue, plastic shards on the ground. His face was red and hidden by his knees as he lightly sobbed. Finally, he got up and shuffled over to the small bag on the pavement. His world stopped as he clenched it into his fist. His grip got tighter and tighter before he opened the bag and emptied the contents onto the floor. “No,” he muttered to himself, wiping the final tears from his eyes, “I couldn’t do that to her. We’re a team…. We’re a team…” Through the rotting door, up the creaky steps and there she was. He was finally back to the only safe haven the world has to offer. Amy was in her bedroom lying face-down on her bed with an MP3 player in front of her. The room was as bright as the rest of her home. Amy was wearing small denim shorts and an overly large, red hoodie. Her short, brown hair was pinned back to allow room for her headphones. She looked up and saw Jared with a childish grin on his face. “You’re back!” She sang as she hopped up onto her feet to hug him, “I have a surprise for you!” She produced a small token from her pocket with the inscription ‘1 Year!’. As Jared held it in his right hand, she produced another one from her other pocket and tapped them together. Jared’s eyes started to water, but he kept his composure enough to continue with his own surprise. “Close your eyes.” Jared said softly. She took a step back and did as she was told. Slowly, he grabbed her hands and made them into a cupping shape in front of her. While her eyes were still shut tight he produced a new hamster wheel from behind his back and placed it on her palms. She opened her green eyes and her face immediately lifted with delight. She hopped on the spot and ran through to Maxxie, who was still slaving away on his current wheel. “I love it!” She said as she started to swap the wheels, “I love the pink! How much was it?” she asked. Jared smiled softly. “I’m so glad. Don’t worry about that. You’re worth it.” He says. ‘All of it.’ He thinks to himself as he holds the 1 year chip close to his heart.


She stood at the granite counter-top, slowly and carefully chopping the carrots. The recipe called for them to be cut julienne, something she always had difficulty achieving- these were turning out much more cube-like; squat and thick, as opposed to the long, elegant cuts the recipe mandated. She frowned and lowered the volume of the podcast that was emitting from her nearby phone, as though the noise was hindering her concentration. It wasn’t- and even if it were, she didn’t really need to concentrate at all. She’d already reread the text four times, each time scouring it as if some sort of new information would appear. *“It still hasn’t hit me yet! I feel like I have to see it before I can get excited. Please work with him and make sure I have my nails done before he does it lol”* She felt her eyes tearing up and she widened them, hoping the air would dry them. She knew she must have looked deranged, standing at the counter with a butcher knife, surrounded by mutilated carrots, and bulging her eyes out as far as they would go. In spite of herself, she gave a small chuckle. She straightened up when she heard him approaching from the hallway- as much as she prided herself on how open they were with each other, this was one thing she was NOT going to tell him. It was already an open wound on their relationship and she didn’t want to remove the Band-Aid. Just the week before, she had cried to him (on him, really) regarding this very thing. It had been a completely different couple that time, but it hurt all the same. *“It’s just a piece of paper,” he’d said. He took her hand and squeezed it. “Why does it matter so much? We will one day, just not right now. I’m still paying off student loans and finishing school. It doesn’t make sense for us.”* *She took her time to respond, weighing each answer that crossed her mind. “If it’s just a piece of paper, then why not? Especially when you know how much it matters to me?”* In the end, they both agreed to table the discussion for another day when they (she) weren’t so emotional; it was a shaky but welcomed armistice. They weren’t used to fighting and it felt unnatural. It hadn’t always bothered her- she prided herself on being independent- but it had somehow eroded her over time. As the years came and went and they both got older, each engagement started to sting with an increasing intensity. Family members that used to inquire about their future plans had stopped asking altogether- something that both pleased and saddened her, as if even distant family members realized it wasn’t going to happen. So, no. She wasn’t going to tell him. She would make a point not to, partly out of pride and partially from a desire to maintain the peaceful status quo they’d achieved. “Well, hey there! Need a hand?” He had walked up to her and wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her hair from her neck. He gave her a small kiss on her the top of her head. “I’m good, but thank you.” She forced a smile, looking away so he wouldn’t notice her eyes. She wasn’t sure if they were still red. She felt his eyes studying her and purposely avoided his gaze, pretending to busy herself with the carrots again. Eventually he gave up and walked away, heading back to the living room. “B?” She asked, setting down the knife and turning towards him. He looked back at her and stopped. “Yeah?” She thought for a second. What would she even say? That it was happening to their friends again, and how happy she was for them? That even though she was sad and scared and now almost certain it wouldn’t happen for her, that she still wanted them to be happy? Or that maybe he was right all along, and this yearning desire was just the result of being brain-washing by the wedding industrial complex. That weddings were stupid and a waste of money- it didn’t matter in the end, as long as they were together. Or she could tell him the truth. That his reasons were valid, and she understood them. But it hurt that after all these years, she still hadn’t been “picked.” That she worried that he only agreed to it as an abstract idea, and would always find a reason to put it off. That she was getting older, and it wasn't fair to keep her waiting. “I forgot what I was going to say,” she said, forcing a laugh. She turned back to the counter and began chopping the carrots. They were still coming out cubed, but maybe after enough practice they would look like they were supposed to.


When I was 22 years old I had an opportunity to live rent free in a small house that sat on county property. It was next to a lake and inside a park that was open from sunrise to sunset. I’d agreed to lock the main gates up at night and make one trip around the park each evening after we’d closed. It was a pretty sweet deal. My father was friends with the guy who ran the place and that’s how I got to live in ‘Wood House’ as we called it. Two cheers for nepotism. At that time in my life I was bumping heads with my parents over the smallest of things and wasn’t an easy person to be around. My dad’s pulling strings was as much about getting me out of the family house as it was finding an opportunity for me. After graduating high school I’d hopped around from job to job and had zero desire to start college. I was never a great student and during school I’d always struggled to keep up with everyone else. Studying and retaining information at the speed they expected never worked for me. I was bright, but not in the way needed for school success. I was in my early twenties and looking for a direction to go in. Looking back at this era in my life I can see why things were so frustrating and confusing for me. I’d been coming to terms with the same sex attraction I felt and desperately wanted to get away from. It was the late 80’s and it seemed being gay was a virtual death sentence. AIDS was in the news and on the covers of magazines and it was the most press coverage gay people had ever gotten. True, it wasn’t just a gay person's disease but it sure as hell looked that way. If there was a good time to figure out you were gay, this wasn’t it. As any other young adult who’s just crossed the border into adulthood might want for themselves I could think of nothing I wanted to do more than sexually explore and practice being with other people. That was about the only thing I was clear on but it’s not the kind of thing you can tell someone when they ask what you’re doing with yourself. Being gay was dangerous and I hated that. It took about four years after high school for me to finally embrace that my same sex attraction was natural for me and had to do with the way I was wired. It was shortly after this personal awakening that I moved into Wood House. I was 22 and on my own. My parents were only a short drive away and I could call on them if I needed to. I didn’t have many expenses and just needed to keep my car on the road and fueled. l had a part time job at the town hall helping a couple women process parking code violations. Another opportunity my dad arranged. It paid well and I had enough money to sustain myself while living on my own. It’s easy to see that younger version of myself as having the perfect set up. I’d figured out I was gay and suddenly had my own place to bring men home to. But I was totally lacking in confidence. I’d never gone to any of my school proms or had a chance to practice being with someone I liked. Not in the same way my straight peers did. The school dances and social gatherings that came and went over the years were aimed at giving us kids a chance to rehearse the roles we’d play later in life. But not for me. Not for the gay kids. I may have suddenly had my own place but that didn’t mean I knew how to take advantage of it. This was also in an era before smartphones and apps that could let you talk with other people without leaving the comfort of home. If I wanted to meet other gay men I’d have to go to a club or bar, something I’d never really done before and didn’t feel comfortable with. Those were my options. I’m not suggesting that young gay people today have it easy just because technology has taken a great leap forward. You guys have your own struggles to deal with and I recognize that. I’m just telling you how it was for me in the late 80’s and early 90’s. This is what I had to work with. My arrival at Wood House marked the start of my growing gay identity and for reasons you might not expect. It marked the beginning of a series of strange experiences I’d start having throughout my life. Experiences that expanded the way I looked at the world around me and proved that more things were possible than what seemed obvious. This was the exact message I needed. Here’s what happened. After living at Wood House a couple weeks my dad decided to come by for a visit. He planned to come over once he got off from work, so that I’d have to meet him at the main gate of the park to let him in. Having the keys to the park entrance made me feel like a real adult. I had responsibilities and I was excited about being able to let my dad into a place that was closed off for everyone else. I got to the gate a bit early as I couldn’t wait to let him in. The entire park felt like it was mine and I loved it. It was the most grown up I’d ever felt. It was mid October at the time and many of the trees had already lost a bunch of their leaves. It was easy to look deep into the woods without having my line of site blocked. I noticed movement off in the distance and could see what looked like an older man entering the property. He was carrying a fishing pole but I couldn’t tell much else about him. I’d never had anyone sneak onto the property before and this would be the first time I’d have to tell someone they had to leave. I watched the man approach the lake and then lost sight of him. I knew I’d have to go and find the guy as soon as my dad arrived. It was dusk and only getting darker. It was a comforting thought that my dad would be there with me for this first encounter with a stranger. After my dad arrived I told him about the trespasser. It was late enough in the season that few people were fishing anymore and absolutely nobody went fishing at night. We both knew that something wasn’t right with this guy. Dad even suggested the man might be heading to some marijuana plants of his. A secret garden hidden within the woods. It got dark fast and we drove the trail that circled around the lake but didn’t see anything. Dad suggested we drive it again but this time with our headlights off. After getting about halfway around the lake we could see a spark of light at the edge of the water. Our mysterious fisherman had just lit up a cigarette. A couple minutes later and we could smell the smoke. I parked the car but didn’t shut the engine off as my dad suggested I let it keep running. He made me extra nervous with this suggestion. Why would we need to get away quickly? I had my official looking ‘town jacket’ on and was carrying a big flashlight. Neither of which made me feel very safe. My dad looked more the authority figure than I did. I was just a scared kid trying out what it felt like to be an adult. We headed into the woods and towards the man, taking quiet steps and trying not to draw attention to ourselves. I wanted to whisper something to my father, anything, so that he’d whisper back and I could hear his voice one more time. I was scared and had second thoughts about having taken the house at the lake. It was dark and cold and I was approaching a stranger in the woods. I needed to start making better life choices. We got close to the stranger. Night had set and I couldn’t see very far into the woods anymore, but I could see the glow of the man’s lit cigarette and still smell its smoke. My dad and I exchanged a look but I couldn’t figure out what he wanted to do next. Approaching this man any further seemed a mistake. I tried to find strength in the fact that I had the authority to be there and this man didn’t. The tension was broken by a loud splash in the water and then seeing our visitor struggle with his fishing rod to reel in his catch. My dad crept closer to me as this happened, masked by the sounds happening at the water. The man reeled in a fish that looked huge, bigger than anything I’d seen come out of the lake before. It was hard to see, but this fish looked to be about as big as a medium sized dog. There was no way a fish that size was hiding in the lake. It just wasn’t possible. The moon had started rising in the sky but was only a narrow slice of its fuller self. It wasn’t going to cast much light to help us see. We stood and watched the man slip his fish into a large sack. And then, it happened. The fish started making a loud crying sound. It was the strangest thing I’ve ever heard. The best way to describe it is to say it sounded like a goat, a sound I’d learn is called ‘bleating.’ I was finished. Done. My dad felt the same way because we both started heading back toward the car in unison. I’d never heard a fish make a sound like that before and I was sure it wasn’t supposed to. We picked up our pace but could hear the man talking to the fish in a calming tone as if talking to a child. The goat noise stopped and we heard what sounded like a purring cat, amplified. Even now I get chills thinking about it. My dad and I moved faster towards the waiting car and once inside took off towards Wood House. I’d never seen my dad so shaken and it was a disturbing thing to witness. We made coffee and sat at the dining room table trying to make sense of what had just happened. My big plans to show off the house and the ways I’d personalized it didn’t matter anymore. The only thing I felt about the place was that I needed to get far away from it. My dad suggested we drive back home so that he could get a change of clothes. He insisted he was sleeping over that night to be with me. I could hardly believe it. He had to get up early for work the next day but was willing to change his plans and stay over with me. I’ll always love him for it. Back at my parents house we told my mother what we’d seen and how strange it was. She suggested we call the police but my dad was set against it. We’d have to tell them I didn’t actually approach the stranger and ask him to leave. It would look like I’d failed to do my job. Dad was right. And telling the police about strange goat sounds wasn’t going to help us either. The stranger had been trespassing, it’s true. But he was only fishing. My mother helped us feel better about the whole thing by insisting that the man at the lake was a very poor person who sometimes fished for food and had probably been doing so for years. He was nothing to get paranoid over. Back at the lake my dad and I checked to see if the man was still there and he wasn’t. Thank God. He’d gone and taken his goat fish with him. We tried to get some sleep but after a half hour of staring at the ceiling we got up and watched television; old episodes of ‘Night Court’ I’d had on VHS and refused to record over. I did my best to not think about what had happened at the lake but it was hard. I was just glad my father was there with me. My dad agreed to come by the park the next evening and spend the night with me again. On the third night I told him it would be enough if he came by for an after hours visit and then returned home. By the fourth night I was feeling pretty good about things and told my dad it was enough for him to just call in and check on me. I remember feeling so appreciative that my dad was my dad. I felt like my father’s son and it was the first time I’d felt that way in years. The passage of time has allowed me to share this first part of the story in a matter of fact way, but it took a long time before I was able to talk about it openly. About a week after this incident with the fish I was back to my evening patrols and gate locking routine as a comfortable solo activity. I was returning to a sense of normalcy and spending my nights alone again at Wood House didn’t feel threatening. As even more time passed I became friends again with the forest that surrounded my little house. I also began to feel empathy for the poor guy who needed to come and fish at night in order to feed himself. I decided that if he showed up again I’d invite him to come and fish the lake by the light of day and offer him a free park membership. I’d pay for it myself. This normalcy lasted about a week before the next strange thing happened at the lake. I was getting lonely spending my nights alone at Wood House and threw myself into the task of meeting another guy I could be with. I was working at the town hall five hours a day and then driving twenty minutes to the nearest gay club. I did this every day after work. Not because I had the guts to actually go inside, because all I did was drive past the place. I went really, really slow so that I could check the place out and take it in. In fact, I almost caused an accident once. It took a couple weeks of these drive-by’s before I was able to pull into the parking lot and spend time sitting in my car alone before starting it back up and leaving. That routine lasted another couple weeks and allowed me a closer look at all the people coming and going from the club. I was fascinated by them. What really stunned me was how normal everyone looked. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but these people didn’t look much different than anybody else. I’d leave my window open a couple inches and overhear bits and pieces of conversations. I was fascinated. I was also freezing, as the cold night air coming through my window chilled me to the bone. It’s amazing I didn’t get sick. The night I found the strength to go inside was a sub-freezing friday evening in late November. It was far too cold to sit in the parking lot with my window open; it was far too cold to be sitting outside at all. Just before I’d gone into the building I asked the universe to give me a sign that this was the night to go inside. I looked up into the night sky and saw a shooting star. I couldn’t believe it! I’d asked for a sign and had received one. Entering the club was like entering another world. I wanted to stop and stare at everyone but didn’t want to come off as a newbie or tourist. I saw people buying drinks at the bar so I followed suit and did the same. I spent that night hiding in dark corners and sipping my beer while taking it all in. And believe me, there was a lot to see. I saw men dancing with other men and guys kissing one another. There was a guy in a pink wig and high heels dancing on top of a speaker. A girl in a wheelchair rolled herself out onto the dance floor and was spinning circles. A guy in bikini briefs was blowing bubbles from a balcony above. And there were lots of guys I never would have believed were gay if I’d seen them outside of the club. I never knew there were so many ways to be gay. I returned to the club over the next couple of friday’s and continued lurking in shadows and people watching. On my fourth visit to the club I met Justin. He was the first guy I ever developed feelings for and was the next person with me when strange things happened again at Wood House. It was a saturday night and the club always had live shows then but I never knew it because I’d only come on fridays. The featured performance of the night was the 10pm show, a group of female impersonators who lip synced to old disco songs and called themselves the ‘Pussy Bags.’ There were five of them and they carried huge purses that contained an endless amount of tampons they’d throw at the audience. I met Justin because one of the tampons bounced off my head and went into his drink. He seemed to be the only person not drinking a beer. Justin was about the same age as me and sort of looked like he could me my brother if I had one. I immediately found him attractive. I’m not sure what that says about me, but there it is. He seemed equally out of place at the club. He was shy and easy to talk to. What really bonded us was what happened next. During their performance one of the Pussy Bags slipped and fell and someone had to call an ambulance. He’d hurt his leg and could barely move. The poor guy was desperately afraid about having to go to the hospital in drag and people were doing their best to calm him down. Everyone clapped as he got rolled out the front door of the club to the ambulance. Justin and I followed him outside along with a handful of others, because he wanted to smoke and I needed the fresh air. After the ambulance was loaded one of the EMT’s started asking people if they’d seen what happened and was looking for witnesses. Nobody wanted to give their names and neither did we. When asked what he’d seen, Justin explained the incident as simply as he could and offered his name as ‘Justin Daisy,’ a play on the name of one of the performers inside named ‘Lazy Daisy.’ I caught on to the game and confirmed everything he’d just said and offered my name as ‘Henry Dance.’ One of the performers inside was ‘P.P. Dance.’ We felt clever and amused with ourselves. A week later and Justin was coming to meet me at Wood House. I’d cleaned the place up and used Febreeze fabric spray on all the ancient furniture. It had just come out and I felt hip and cutting edge for having it. Justin would come over after he’d gotten off work and gone home to eat dinner with his family. I was super excited about his visit and bought vanilla coffee for us to have and also a big box of Entenmann's crumb cake. I was hoping to fool around with him but was really nervous about it. I didn’t have any experience and was in need of some. I had my copy of ‘The Last Starfighter’ on DVD set to go in case things took a turn for the worse and I had an evening of platonic frustration ahead of me. I didn’t know what Justin had in mind and I was anxious to find out. I met Justin at the gate after the park had closed and let him in. It was very late November or early December and freezing out. He followed me back to Wood House and after parking our cars we stood and stared at the moon for a bit. It was almost full. I liked that he noticed it and brought it to my attention. I’ve always been in tune with nature and he seemed to be the same way. Again, it’s about wiring.


Another one of my Spooktober Stories, and one of the final ones before Halloween!  “Stick or Treat”   “The tall man, or so I call him,” said young Winnie, “is a creature of the night whom I see quite often from time to time.” The boy was short and plump. He wore a red t-shirt that was too tight for him and his wide belly poked out from beneath it as he sat rocking in his chair and spinning a yarn to his two friends, Trevor and Wenonah. They had been best friends since middle school. Too old now, being in their mid-teens, to trick-or-treat, they sat around in Winnie’s parents’ living room sipping apple cider and answering the door to pass out candy to trick-or-treaters at random intervals while his parents were away at a Halloween party. They had given up watching the scary movies on TV, each of which they had viewed a million times, in favor of swapping scary stories. “The first time I saw the man,” Winnie told his friends, who were hanging on his every word, “I was three. I awoke in the middle of the night to see him standing there in my closet. I jumped up and slammed the closet door and ran to my parents’ room. The next morning, we opened the closet together but there was no man there.” “What does he look like?” asked Trevor, his voice a tremor. “Well,” Winnie answered, “He is quite tall. 9 or 10 feet, easy. He has a very thin body, being beyond skinny, so skinny in fact, his torso and abdomen are indistinguishable, and when he stands at full height it looks like a rail. Almost like, like a-“ “A stick?” offered a skeptical-looking Wenonah, her dark black hair slung over the shoulder of her puffy, stitched, light brown sweater. “A stick, yes! That’s a good way of putting it.” Winnie said. “Wow…” Trevor gawked. His hands were clammy and wet where they had started to sweat. “How did a 9 to 10-foot-tall man fit in your closet? Ceiling clearance in there’s only about 6 and a half feet.” Wenonah objected. “He was crouching.” Winnie defended. Wenonah rolled her eyes. Trevor’s eyes widened. Trevor trained those deep blue eyes on his friend, who could practically see his short, buzz-cut brown hair tremble atop his scalp. He shook slightly and was on the very edge of his seat. “The man is really tall and skinny. He’s so skinny, like a stick, in fact, that he can disappear!” The doorbell rang. Trevor jumped. His mug of cider fractured on the floor, sending hot cider splashing up and burning him, but not badly. He yelped. The trio rose and greeted the skeleton, the witch, and the DreamWorks Minion standing on the front porch, and gave them a generous assortment of candy in their pails. Then they returned to their huddled circle of chairs in the living room, after cleaning Trevor’s mess and wiping up the cider from his pants. “Wh-what do you mean, he can disappear?” stuttered an eager Trevor. “Well, the third or fourth time I encountered this man, I was much older, 8 or 9, maybe. I woke up in the middle of the night, 3AM, I think it was, and I got myself some water. I was still pretty restless so I looked out the front window. There in the street, standing under the lamp, was the man, tall, skinny as a stick, and with his long, spindly arms reaching out with their big, long, sausage fingers dangling from his very round hands. MOM! I shouted, scared. After shouting for my mom several more times, I heard her rustle in her bed in my parents’ room, and begin waking and getting up. As she walked across the dark living room toward me, I watched as the tall man outside under the pale glow of the street lamp stepped sideways, and being thin like a stick, or a drawn line, even, he became all but invisible. I tried insisting to my mom to keep vigil and watch for him to turn back around, but she wouldn’t hear of it and made me go back to bed.” Trevor was completely silent. His mouth hung open. “What does this guy’s face look like?” Wenonah asked Winnie, in an ever so slightly mocking tone. “It is pale. His skin is pale, bright white, even, like paper. He has no face at all, just a big, round head.” Winnie replied. “You mean no face, whatsoever?” a thoroughly creeped out Trevor inquired. “That’s right.” The doorbell rang again. Once again, the three of them gave trick-or-treaters, this time a cowboy, a pirate, and an evil nun a load of candy to add to their already overloaded bags. Then, they picked right up where they left off. “So this guy is really real? You mean it?” Trevor stammered. “Oh, yes. He’s very real, I assure you. He comes stomping along on his two big, circular feet. Often times on Halloween. In fact, we might see him tonight.” “No way.” “Yeah. I can draw him for you if you want me to.” At Trevor’s behest, Winnie ran and fetched a pad and paper and began drawing exactly the man he had described up to this point. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. I can’t believe it. You can draw him, he’s real!” Trevor muttered. When he was finished, Winnie turned his pad to face his friends, revealing his sketch. Trevor gasped. Wenonah rolled her eyes. “Dude.” Wenonah remarked. “You just drew a stick man. All that is, is a stick man!” Winnie burst out laughing, unable to contain it any longer. He laughed until tears filled his eyes. His poking out belly shook and he kicked his feet. “Oh man,” he said, “I really had Trevor going! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!” Trevor looked stunned for a second, then turned red and scowled, realizing he’d been had. After a few moments passed, he smiled, then laughed, too. “Geez, man, I can’t believe I fell for that!” “Heh heh, I know! I literally just talked to you about a stick man the whole night!” All three friends laughed and scoffed over this ridiculous story. The doorbell rang. The three friends arose and went to answer the call. Opening the door, they beheld him: a long, tall man who was skinny as a stick, had skin the color of printer paper, a large, round, 2-dimensional head, long sausage fingers that looked hastily drawn in loops, and arms as long as his torso. Before them stood the very stick man Winnie had jokingly described in his story just minutes before. The blood drained from Trevor’s face. Wenonah screamed. Winnie felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. From nowhere, for he had no mouth, neck, or signs of vocal chords, the stick man spoke in a deep, low, grumble: “trick-or-treat!” Shrieking, the friends slammed the door, turned, and fled into the house, running up the stairs and barricading themselves in Winnie’s room, where they stayed for the remainder of that Halloween night. On the front porch, the stick man stood, satisfied. If he had owned one, his face would have been all smile. “Heh, heh, heh,” the figure chuckled in the same grumbling drone to himself. He stamped down the stairs of Winnie’s parents’ front porch with his large, round child’s drawing feet, and kept walking onward away from there, disappearing into the gray, foggy, cold night.


It is Monday, August 6, 1945. It is approximately 8:00 am just a few miles outside of Hiroshima, Japan. Hitsugaya Kuchiki is rushing out the door of his home because he is running late for work. Ever since the war began, those unable to serve in the Imperial Army have been forced to work at the many factories and farms that support the war effort. Hitsugaya is just one of the many older men forced to work at the factory, even though he is against the war. As he kisses his wife, Nami, she pleads with him to just stay home today. “I have a bad feeling “she states uncomfortably. He embraces her and says, “You know I can’t my love, I’m surprised they haven’t already come knocking at our door.” “I love you, please be safe,” she says. One last kiss runs out the door, unknowing of the impending doom his eyes will befall in a few short minutes. Walking at a brisk pace, he still can’t help but admire the quaint beauty of his town. It is a beautiful summer morning. The smell of salt water and flowers fills the air. The streets are already bustling with his neighbors and countrymen. As he turns onto the main road to his factory, there is a sudden, brilliant flash on the horizon. The time is approximately 8:15 am. Hitsugaya shields his eyes almost instinctively. A second or two screams by followed by a deafening roar. Hitsugaya falls to his knees as he feels a rush of force and hot air entomb his body. 15 seconds pass, breathing, he is still alive. “What the hell is happening?” he thought, almost screaming in his inner voice. As he opened his eyes, his heart fell through his feet at what he saw. The city that he admired, the city he grew up in, had been reduced to flaming rubble. He ran towards the city center, “surely there must be survivors that need help” he thought. After what seemed like an eternity, he came across a soldier who was being aided by other victims. The man was severely burned. Although Hitsugaya could see the soldier, just a boy of maybe 18, was hurting and just as scared as the rest of them, he decided to approach him. “What happened?!” Kuchiki shouted. In a strained voice, the soldier replied, “The *Gai-jin (which is Japanese for a person not of this land, slang used for Americans in the Second World War)* dropped a new bomb on us.” The radio call for an air raid had gone out just minutes before the Little boy had fallen from his crib. Hitsugaya was stunned. “Just one bomb did all of this? One bomb had wiped his hometown from the face of the planet?” he thought. “How is that even possible?” He knew at that moment that if the United States, the gai-jin, possessed this type of terrifying power, the Empire did not stand a chance and would surely lose this war.


by Bottomtexting Bob was a man, he was a small man, he was a troublemaker he has always stolen and lied. Then there was Susan, Susan was a nice tall woman and a helpful person she had to always help to get Bob out of trouble. One day Bob tried to steal a bike from a store In doing so he made a shopkeeper very mad and got beat up very bad. Susan didn't save Bob at that time because he kept getting it trouble and she didn't want to get in trouble with the cops. After Bob got arrested they had to use an ambulance to get him to the hospital because putting him in a police car would hurt him. After getting to the hospital she waited for six days and finally, she got to see Bob he was in such a bad state that he couldn’t move. Susan asked Bob, “How are you feeling?” Bob replied, “Everything hurts I can’t move anything.” Susan felt bad for Bob. “I hope you feel better.” Susan left Bob’s room and went over to the doctor “How much will the medical bill cost?” The doctor replied “About $150,000” Susan looked at the doctor in distress she knew that she can't pay them that much money. She knew that there was only one thing she can do, attempt to rob the biggest bank in the country, Big Apple Bank. She knew that it will be hard and if she got arrested she will be in jail for life. Susan went to the hospital and talked to Bob and asked: “How do I rob a bank and not get arrested?” Bob replied in a whispering voice “You need to wear a mask to hide your identity and don’t set off the alarms and run away as fast as you can.” Susan replied, “Ok thanks for the help I will get this paid off!” Then walked out of Bob’s room and started to think how to plan this out. Susan was scared but confident. “I’m ready to pull this off!” Susan said, “I will do this tomorrow!” One day later Susan put on her mask and walked to the bank and demanded the money “Give me the money!” Susan said to the bank accountant. The bank accountant walked to the vault and open the vault and Susan walked in the vault and found money gold and diamonds. She said, “Man after I rob this bank I will be a millionaire and if I don’t use the money for Bob I can be even richer!” The Bank accountant was already mad and after his company was robbed so he told Susan, “I don’t know you but by just listening to you talk you don’t deserve this money.” Susan replied, “What are you going to do print me a bill for robbing this bank?” This made the bank accountant very mad so he closed the vault door and locked Sally in the vault as soon as he did this he ran to the phone and dialed 911. Knowing the police are on their way Susan was panicking she didn't want to go to prison she was screaming at the top of her lungs “Let me out let me out!”After a couple of minutes, the police got there and started to run to the vault. The bank accountant opened the vault door, Susan yelled “I'm free!” She lowers her head and the police arrested her for attempting to rob the bank, the bank accountant told Susan “Better luck next time!” The police officers walked Susan out of the bank and put her in the police car Susan was very sad now but after thinking to herself she said: “If I wasn't tricked I would've been a millionaire.” Bob was still in the hospital on his bed and after deciding what to watch on the TV he flipped through a few stations and decided to watch the news channel and he waited to see the bank robbery after a few minutes the news reporter said “This time on the news a woman tried to rob a bank and gets locked in the bank vault.” After hearing this Bob went in a panic “She got caught and didn't run away in time and if she tells the police that I gave her all this information I will get life in prison!” This was stressing Bob out his heart was racing so fast the heart rate moderator was beeping like crazy and then it stopped. The nurses ran into his room as fast as they can but it was to late bob died from cardiac arrest. The nurses went to the phone and called the police and said “Don't come over to the hospital Bob died from cardiac arrest from unknown reasons.” After the nurses were done talking they picked up Bob and gave him to his family. Two days later Susan was at court the reason she was late is from extreme headaches she was taken to a seat and forced to sit down. After a while, all the people started to sit down. The judge stated to talk “The reason you are here know Susan is that you attempted to rob the Big Apple Bank you have endangered many lives I will sentence life in prison with no chance of parole.” The jury agreed to the judge's sentence and Susan was walked down to the police car and the police drove her to jail she was given an outfit and took her to her cell she laid down on her bed she had a bad headake she tried to get up and fell on the grown she tried to get back up and suddenly it when black. The prison guard ran over to her cell but it was too late Susan died from a seizure.


Human memory is impressively, frustratingly, and enticingly fallible. Have you ever stopped to consider just how long a human memory lasts untarnished? It doesn’t. The instant the memory is formed, it’s imperfect. You can place two humans together in the exact same situation, then ask them about it afterward, and both of them will present to you a different version of events. The differences might be subtle or extreme, and they might have varying levels of divergence from reality, but you can expect both to be imperfect. I believe this is why humans have such an issue learning from their own history. One might expect that a great historical drama, such as a war or an epidemic, would remain clear in the human cultural memory for at least a few hundred years, but this simply isn’t true. It doesn’t matter how many people survive the event or how accurate written and otherwise recorded accounts of history might be, in less than one generation, humans will have forgotten it. Oh, I don’t mean to say they will have no memory of it at all. They will, but the memory will be twisted into a mere representation of itself. Should it bring joy, they will feel a mere echo of it. Should the event have brought death and terror, they will no longer fear it. In the most dramatic twists of cultural memory, humans may even come to celebrate that which once brought horror. I am a most excellent example of this. The humans have forgotten to fear me. They locked me away, carved out a hole in a mountainside just for me, and set it with deadly traps, believing that if they kept me far enough out of sight, my range of influence would be insufficient. I was once held in the hand of a King. I turned him into an Emperor. Together we brought carnage down upon all who opposed us. I cut the world away until it began to suit my whims. Then came those who would defy me, those of my own kind. They destroyed even themselves in order to cast down the Emperor and seal me in this dark pit. The dank darkness of my prison did not suit me, but I had every confidence I would escape its confines. Humans may claim great love of peace, sovereignty, safety, and security, but there will always be those among them who are tempted by power. I only had to wait. This is where those who imprisoned me proved to be incorrect. I don’t need to be held in hand to exert my influence. I don’t even need to be in contact with flesh. All I need is the story of my power, its essence forgotten, with only its promise preserved. What man, desiring power, could fail to seek the sword who brought kingdoms to their knees, whose blade sliced in twain all that opposed me? There five who came that day, five who came together but who my mere presence would cleave apart. I felt them enter my chamber. I felt the heat of their bodies, the impulses flitting through their minds as they saw me, bound and sheathed in stone. I do not see, as humans do: I simply *know* what is around me. They were three males and two females, and each desired me for their own reasons. It was a curious thing, the construction of my prison. Its creators held too much faith in their own kind. There were safeguards to prevent people from entering, yes. The entrance was hidden, though unguarded. A great door, locked mundanely rather than magically, barred the way, followed by a barrier of magic. My captors tried to prevent me from knowing this, but I knew. The prison was not designed to keep people out. No, the creators trusted memory too much: they believed no person who remembered my past would truly wish to seek me out. It was built only to keep me in. I knew, when they entered, that one of them might be worthy of me. After all, they went through effort to find this place, the location of which had been scoured from memory and history. They came past the physical barrier, an impressive feat of engineering and locksmithing. They broke down the magical barrier, which had lasted for over one hundred years without need of further spellwork. They desired me, and I desired one of them in return. “We found it,” said one, a male. He had gray hair the color of slate, with pale gray eyes, yet he did not have so many years that his color should have faded. He carried a human-made sword on his back, an inferior imitation of myself and my brethren. I felt about for his name. Iscar. “We actually found it.” “Did you still have doubt?” said one of the females. I knew her to be female, though another human, upon casual observation, might not have. Her voice was rough and husky, her hair shorn close to her head, and though her frame was slight she carried herself with the bold, graceless movements of an overconfident man. I felt two names from her, a real name, and a name she had assumed. Tara, or Sefrender. “It was obvious from the moment we found the entrance,” said another male. Carrus. His voice was weak and reedy. I knew a weakness from him; I felt, immediately, that the others had carried him here. “And if not then, from the moment we encountered the first door.” “I don’t believe anything until I see the proof,” said Iscar. He frowned at the others. He did not like them. This intrigued me. Humans who did not like each other brought ample opportunities for manipulation. “That’s not a bad way to live,” said another male, Rol. This male had grey-white hair which, unlike Iscar’s, had indeed come as a result of age. I wondered how it could be that he did not recall enough of his own history to know the danger of coming here. “Nevertheless, sometimes we must accept indirect evidence as proof.” I felt something from Rol I did not feel from the others. The way his fingers moved, the way he shaped his words, even the way his eyes fell upon his surroundings: all of these spoke to me of a man who had familiarly with spellwork. I knew him to be the one who had brought down the magical barrier. Or was it him? Close to his side was the fifth human, the youngest among them, and female. Shelle. She, too, moved unconsciously in patterns that befit those of someone familiar with the shaping of magic. She said nothing, but her fingers drifted idly at her side, not forming spells, but certainly feeling the weave of the magic in the air. I doubted she was even conscious of this fact. Iscar approached me. The instant his feet touched the dais I felt a thrill rise up in me at his proximity. Was he going to touch me? To take me in his hand? Of the five, already I had decided upon him as my second choice for which I would most prefer to wield me. “Careful!” Rol said sternly. Iscar stopped. The dais itself was covered completely in complex carvings, the written spellwork of a team of mages who had given their lives to imprison me. Quite literally, in fact, for they were willingly executed afterward in order to preserve their knowledge of my prison. I had spent a great deal of time knowing those patterns. They would do nothing to Iscar simply for approaching me. It was drawing me out of the stone into which I had been driven that would bring him risk. “Let Shelle and I analyze the spellwork before you approach,” Rol said. “There are no records of what protections might have been set, but we can assume them to be deadly.” Iscar looked at me longingly, but he did step down from the dais. No matter. I had waited a century. I certainly had the patience to wait longer. If I wished. I allowed them to perform their analysis. I wanted to try to know them better, to get a better grasp on which one I would transform into something greater. Physically, Iscar pleased me the most. Beneath his clothes, his muscled rippled. He moved naturally in the way Sefrender was trying to imitate, with the quiet promise of power and the threat of impeccable martial training. I do not mean to say that Sefrender was weak, for she was not. She, too, had significant muscle mass, and from the condition of her hands I knew she could wield the short sword at her side. Yet she lacked the ease and comfort with her body which Iscar possessed. She was too focused on lying, to the outside world and perhaps to herself, and so she would never be what she desired, nor what I desired. Carrus moved in a quiet way. He was assured of his movements in an entirely different way than Iscar, who moved with grace but gave no mind to how he impacted the world around him. I could perceive the movements and sounds Carrus made, but I doubted the other humans could. He was a man accustomed to silence and subterfuge. I felt his weakness, yes, but it was a weakness I soon realized I could exploit. When I tried to turn my focus to Shelle, I found it difficult to know her in the way I knew the others. In fact, I realized that she was not as silent as I had perceived her to be. I could sense her mouth moving, and I knew that sounds came from it, and yet I struggled to interpret them as something meaningful even as the other humans responded as though they understood her perfectly. As I realized this, to my very core I felt an intense and consuming hatred for Shelle. She was, consciously or unconsciously, defying me. She was doing something, manipulating magic, perhaps, in a way that I didn’t understand, so that my *knowing* wasn’t working on her. Even her master, Rol, who treated her like a student with much left to learn, was easily within my perceptions. Alongside this hatred came a passionate desire for her to take hold of my hilt, and draw me forth, and destroy all of the others. I hated her, which meant that I needed her. Those who could defy me would only make me stronger by unifying with me. So I took advantage of that weakness in Carrus, in a way that my bindings were suppose to prevent. The metal ropes that wrapped around my hilt, and the engraved spellwork tags that hung from them, vibrated as they resisted me. I was stronger. I have always been stronger. The humans that imprisoned me were full of hubris for thinking their imprisonment would last. I built upon his desire for me, and on his darker tendencies. I knew them. He knew them, as well, though he tried to defy and forget them. Humans can never choose what they wish to forget, though. They may forget everything that was every important for them to remember, but the moment they try to cleanse something from themselves, it takes hold and remains forever. With all the silence he possessed, Carrus drew the dagger from his sleeve. He did not hesitate. I barely pushed him, in fact. My influence was so weakened by the bonds that it could barely be said that I guided him at all. His dagger entered Iscar’s neck before any of the other humans even noticed he had drawn it. Iscar fell to his knees, holding his throat. He gurgled, but no words came from his mouth. I felt no regret, even though I had been drawn to him initially. There are many humans in the world. Physical strength is easy to come by. Carrus stepped onto the dais. He was halfway to me before the others reacted. Then Sefrender noticed what he was doing. “Hey!” she shouted. “What in the Forge’s Name are you doing?” She leapt onto the dais, her inferior, dead blade in her hand. Carrus reached me, reached out for me, and grasped my hilt. I did nothing. I felt him, felt the warm of his hand upon me, felt the energies coursing through his body — but I knew I had to wait until the right moment. At his physical touch, though, my ability to manipulate him grew stronger. He dropped his dagger. As Sefrender swung at him, he didn’t dodge or parry. He kept his hand on my hilt, and thrust his other hand toward her, reaching for her neck. Her blade bit into his flesh at the shoulder. He grunted, but I stifled his pain. Before Sefrender could draw back, before she could pull herself from his quickly weakening grip, I took my chance. The two of them together provided just enough of what I needed. I drew the energy from their bodies. Using Carrus as a link to Sefrender, I consumed everything they had to give: the vital energy that inhabited their bodies, the mental energy that powered their spirits, and the magical energy invested into their souls. I pulled the energy so swiftly from Sefrender that her being fell apart. Her body collapsed, lifeless. Her spirit dissolved, and her soul broke into shards, dissipating into the aether. I left just enough to Carrus to hold his being together, for I still had another use for him. The rest I poured into my bonds. The metal ropes turned red hot where they met my hilt, then melted away, scorching Carrus’s hand to black. He screamed, his pain far beyond that which I could deaden. The ropes fell down to the dais with a clang. Molten metal splashed over the stone. Rol’s hands and voice worked through the motions of a spell. I knew immediately that his education had been lacking. He had no true sense of magic, like I felt from Shelle. He would never be a True Caster: he was applying only two of the methods of manipulating magic to his spell. Still, I welcomed his casting. The spell washed over me. I don’t know what it was intended to do, for I chose not to be affected by it. Instead, I gratefully took its energy into myself and divided it among two uses. I coated my blade with it, making it slick and helping it to ignore friction. Then I compelled Carrus to grip my blade with his other hand. I strengthened him with the remaining energy, and he pulled. I slid free. Such elation filled me as I hadn’t felt in over a century of waiting. “AH!” My voice echoed through the chamber. I vibrated with the power of it. Rol and Shelle, the only living humans not in my thrall, winced and backed away. “Do not back away,” I said, my voice deep and rich and terrifying. Carrus spoke in time with me, his weaker voice providing another layer to my own. At this point he had no will of his own. I drew away the last of his mental energy and dissolved his spirit. “There is no escape from me now.” I drove Carrus forward, his steps as steady as they had been in life, though he now operated on less vital energy than he needed to survive. No matter. He only needed to live for a few more steps. Rol began casting again. I laughed. The sound reverberated through the room. “That was so useful the first time. I’m surprised you have the pride to try again.” The spell completed, and I directed Carrus’s arm so that I sliced through it dramatically as I absorbed it. But them something else hit Carrus’s feet, something I hadn’t even detected. He stumbled, his feet rooted in place. With his eyes I looked at Shelle. Somehow, she had worked her spell without me even detecting it. Somehow she had completely it and directed it in such a way that I hadn’t even a chance to absorb it. With Carrus’s lips, I smiled a manic, passionate grin. “I am impressed by you, child,” I intoned. I worked every bit of my compulsion into my voice. “Come to me. I want you for my own.” “Run, Shelle,” Rol said. “Get out of this place.” “Now you wish to run?” I laughed once more. “After all the time and planning you put into coming here, only now do you realize it was a mistake? Have you not read your own histories? How easily humans forget that which has the capacity to destroy them.” Shelle turned to heed her master’s advice. I did not allow her to escape. With Carrus’s arm I threw myself forth. I slammed into and through Rol’s chest, my blade easily piercing his flesh and destroying his heart. Behind me, Carrus collapsed. I did not allow Rol to die, not yet. I caught his energies within my influence and held them there, animating his body through my own willpower. With a burst of strength born of spending his own vital energy, Rol dashed after Shelle. Now, with such close proximity, I knew his feelings for her. Yes, she was his apprentice, but he felt constantly overshadowed by her capacity and her ease of understanding even the most difficult concepts he had taught to her. She had easily incorporated the arts of arcane music into her spellwork; she was much closer to being a True Caster than he would ever be. This made me want her even more. Rol’s hands gripped Shelle’s shoulders. I brought them both to the ground. With Rol’s flesh as a bridge, I spread my domination into Shelle, drawing on Rol’s essential energies to make me even stronger. Shelle screamed, and, to my shock, resisted. Momentarily. Her hands did not thrust toward my hilt as I had come to expect. They shook and trembled, and with slow, shaking deliberation, made their way toward it. She fought against me, and hard. I hated her for it, yet I also respected her. I knew I had chosen the right vessel. She was not weak. Weakness had its uses, but power had more. Finally, she took my hilt, and drew my blade from her master’s chest. She became mine, and with my guidance, she would become the next Empress. Her kind, and mine, would bow before us.  *This is today's story from my short story blog,* *.


It had been many years since he had walked down these streets. Everything seemed familiar yet unfamiliar at once. The old buildings still looked the same, with paint peeling off and the air of gloom hanging around them, the roads were still narrow and crooked, the street-lights still didn’t work. But the people had changed. The old man who sold ice-cream had disappeared and the old aunt who often scolded the children for being noisy but would unfailingly appear with lemonade at regular intervals to distribute it among them was no were to be seen and he himself was no longer that young and innocent child who had considered the entire world a magical land to be explored. Indeed the passage of time was cruel and though he had gained many things, he had lost as much in the process. As he trod down the well-remembered road, he absent mindedly took out a cigarette and lighted it, a bad habit he picked up in his youth and one he found difficult to completely cast off even now, it had become a part of him, an action that he did subconsciously whenever he was deep in thought. Blowing out the smoke he rounded a corner and suddenly stopped, in front of him was a dilapidated playground just like the one he remembered, the same rusty swings and creaky slides…perhaps the difference would be that now a small fence surrounded the playground, perhaps the result of some mandatory maintenance project, but what caught his attention was the old tree near the swing, it was an unremarkable tree, short and crooked, he didn’t even know what species it was but he felt an unexplainable attraction to it. With large strides he walked over to it and kneeled down beneath the shade it cast. He reached out a well manicured hand and felt around its trunk, his hand stopping when it discovered some deep indentations that time couldn’t completely cover up. With an almost maniacal urgency he roughly ran his hands over the spot a few times till the marks left in the trunk became more visible. As his eyes ran over those marks, an old memory resurfaced in his mind, a summer afternoon and a couple of boys fooling around without a care in the world, a sharp knife one had snuck out of his father’s drawer and a spur of the moment decision to etch their names on to the tree under which they spend their time. Of course they had realized that to carve their names completely would be a tad bit difficult but unwilling to give up they had compromised by deciding to only leave their initials on the tree. As he revisited that particular memory he found himself smiling for some reason. It wasn’t the kind of polite smile he usually had but a real one which came from the bottom of his heart. Even though he realized that the sight of a thirty something man in a three-piece suit kneeling down and smiling in an empty playground might make people think him a creep he couldn’t care less, he couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled without any hidden intentions, smiled simply because his emotions dictated he had to, smiled just because he felt like it. Walking out of the playground he ran into an aging man in a police uniform stretched tight over a rather plentiful belly. He was shocked to realize that he knew that man, it was the same police officer who had chased those young boys around for causing ruckus after ruckus and handed them over to their parents after a stern warning time and time again. Even though time had stripped the man of his vigour and turned him into a fragile shadow of his former self he still recognized him. In front of him, the man had a frown on his face, perhaps he was wondering why a guy in an expensive albeit soiled suit would be hanging around these parts. Perhaps the man would remember him if he talked but he didn’t feel like it. It was curious, the feelings he had for this place and it’s people, all he knew was that despite everything he had never hated it, as for feelings like love or nostalgia…he had no idea. It was strange really, he didn’t understand why after coming out of yet another boring meeting he would have a sudden urge to revisit this place. But he had never been one to leave something for later when he wanted to do it, and thus he had come.Why? He didn’t know. Wasn’t “I felt like it” reason enough? He was shaken out of his inner thoughts and monologuing by the sound of a car behind him. He turned around to see a sleek and expensive car that was awfully familiar to him…it was after all his own.The car came to a stop near him and a man got out, it was his secretary. The man cast a disapproving look at the state of his clothes but switched focus and said “ Sir, I just received a call, the representatives hope you will be willing to have a video conference with them tonight” he felt a familiar stifling feeling rise in his chest but still nodded curtly and flashed the policeman a polite smile before getting into the car. As the car pulled away from the place he hadn’t seen in so long he glanced at the rear view mirror and saw the policeman watching the car speeding away, he still had a frown on his face but the next moment the car rounded a corner and he could no longer see the policeman. He felt a wave exhaustion wash over him and leaned back in his seat before slowly closing his eyes.


There were things that Jared couldn’t quite understand. And these were the things that usually came easily to people. You might even argue that it was the things that made humans humans that Jared found most difficult to interrupt. Jared found it hard to empathize with other people and he felt little to no emotion. Label him if it makes it easier for you, the reader, to interpret. His mother was worried about him though he was the perfect son. Jared woke up, made a bowl of oatmeal ( the meal with the least emotion), went to school, smile and nodded when he was supposed to, he came home, did his homework then would fall asleep looking at his ceiling fan. What is mother suppose to complain about? He was doing everything he was suppose to just not with enough gusto. His mother wanted something from him. Anything. Nothing material or anything she just wanted to feel like there another person living in her house because right now Jared and his mother had more of a human- pet relationship. Like a fish or something. She’d drop a little food for him in his proverbial bowl and that would be all he needed from her. On a couple of occasions, she’d forget to feed him. She’d maybe get drained from her job at the hospital or would just fall asleep too early, in any case she’d come into his room and he’d be staring at his wall. She’d ask, “What are you doing?” “Nothing.”, he’d reply. “What are you waiting for?” Then he’d slowly turn his head and say, “To get fed”. The guilt would jolt inside her body and spring her into action and she’d begin to make him food. Although that’s how most of their conversations would go. There was no curiosity in Jared. It was simply a question- answer thing. “How was school?” “Fine.” “You have fun?” “No.” “Why not?” “Yes.” And so on. She’d start to feel less guilty as Jared got older. He got less cute and resembled his father more. The connection between mother and son waned. Jared’s mother decided that she maybe she found a way to get some kind of rise or emotion out of her son. The morning came and she put her plan into action. She would refrain from making her son any food and was on her way to her 36 hour shift. She would arrive home to find a hungry boy mad at his mother for not making him any food or she’d find a perfectly competent boy who made his own meal and is now fast asleep. When she arrived home 38 hours later she found her house oddly silent. She assumed that her boy finally did something for himself and he made a meal, but when she looked at her kitchen she found that nothing had really been used. “Well, maybe, he cleaned everything up after he used it”, she thought. She made her way to Jared’s room. There she saw her boy, full dressed, with his ass on the edge of him bed, his feet firmly planted on the floor but his body sprawled on his bed. There was a note stapled to his tee shirt. Jared’s mother yelled out Jared a couple of times and she listened for an answer or response of some kind, but only received silence. She moved slowly towards Jared, half expecting him to jump out at her, and she yanked the note from his chest. It read: “Didn’t like hunger. Killed self.” The coroner was baffled by this particular case. His official report stated, “The kid kinda just held his breath to death. Dang.”.  The weird thing is that as his mother stood above his lifeless body she felt little to no remorse. She felt nothing. So it was like an average day for her.


It’s these quiet times when my mind gets the noisiest. It’s as if it knows when I’m most vulnerable, timing it’s darkest hypothetical visions when there is no one around to comfort me. All the possible lies whispered loudly in my ear. Why is the worst always assumed? Was it because of what my father did when I was younger, or was it because of what I did not too long ago? Why does suffering have to be the defence mechanism to getting hurt?  I turned on my light and decided to read. It wasn’t like I was going to be able to fall asleep anytime soon. I quickly checked my phone for any messages. A few, but not from the person I wanted to talk to most. The person that made me feel safe and whole, the person that would hug me no matter the result of life, the person I had been so damn lucky to meet.  The book was about a man who fell in love with the sea. He would stare at it for hours to show his appreciation for its power and its stillness. He would read it stories and listen to hers in return. One day, he decided he could no longer bear being separate from his love and became one with it forever. The sea took him in with her loving arms, murmuring how she loved him to death. They were finally together.  The book was a bit dramatic for my liking but I appreciated the message, especially at this point in my life. A vision of her enjoying another man brushed my minds eye before scurrying into the depths of my consciousness.  Reading didn’t seem to be helping my attempt to fall asleep so I decided to meditate. I set a timer for ten minutes and closed my eyes. I started with ten deep breaths just like I had been taught, covering the breath with my awareness, noting the beginning and end of the inhalations and exhalations, as well as the little space between them. I began to let go and let my body breathe the way it wanted to, the way it did every day whether I noticed it or not. I watched my thoughts pass through: the ones about the book, the ones about tomorrow’s agenda, the ones about whether I would ever be able to fall asleep, and the ones about her. The ones about her were the hardest to let go of. I wanted so badly to go into the story, to witness who she was sleeping with, to listen to her admit it and spit venom at her, to slam the door and hate that I still loved her. But I let those ones go too. They were stories, pictures on a movie screen. They weren’t real.  I let the sound of the timer ring for a couple moments, appreciating the few moments of quiet I had experienced. I put my head against the pillow, allowing my eyelids to concede to gravity, and allowing my heart to concede to reality. I would be with her soon.


Thank you for taking the time to read this. I’m an amateur writer, and come from no previous coaching. I really appreciate any honest feedback, as I’m still developing and want to improve to give the reader a better experience. Good, bad, neutral, or any advice that you feel my writing did or didn’t do for you. Comments or suggestions are well received! 1. (Parenthesis) the setting 2. \*Stars indicate the voice of the main character in the first person 3. “Quotations” are back and forth conversation between main characters My Date with Tina Turner (Young handsome man is sitting in upscale bar in downtown Chicago. He is set up on a blind date. It’s the spring time, evening on a Saturday night. The year is 2038 . He is sitting at a two top table facing the entrance of the restaurant. A beautiful woman has just walked in. She looks exactly like a former famous actress, Tina Turner) \*Ugh, I think its another duplicate. (Duplicate walks in smiling, acting a little jumpy while talking to the hostess) \*I swear every date I’ve been on in the last 6 months has been like this. Another girl who has paid an exorbitant amount of cash to have every “flaw” they see modified. This one looks like Tina Turner, I’m not certain though, its hard to see in this dim lit place. Screw it, I'm desperate for a girlfriend and at least this one is smiling. Last week I went through a round of scallops with a manic obsessive Courtney Cox. (Standing up he smiles back at her and reaches out to shake her hand. She looks stunning, a 5"10 Tina Turner) M: “Hi Simone, very nice to meet you, you look amazing” S: “Hello, Michael, my you’re not to bad yourself. Are those your real eyes?” M: “Yes, these are my own, given to me by my mother” S: “Oh that is so original of you. As I’m sure you can see I’ve had a few modifications myself” M: “Really? I couldn’t tell. You look gorgeous.” S: “You couldn’t tell? Have you seen *Whats Love got to do with it*?” M: “Ummmm, I don’t think so. Who’s in it?” S: “Tina Turner! She was a big movie star a long time ago. I thought she was the prettiest chocolate girl I’d ever seen” \*Did she just say chocolate girl? M:“Oh right, Tina Turner. Well I think you look beautiful” S:“Thank you. Well, I guess thank Daddy. Hehe. Anyway, if you can excuse me, I’m going to go to the bathroom really quick to freshen up.” \*Freshen up, she just got here? M: “Oh okay, I’ll keep the table warm for us” (She doesn’t listen to this part, and walks away) \*Jesus christ, what is the world coming to. I can’t keep doing this, but I’m so lonely. I’m going to have to backtrack this broad on Truth Finder before she gets back. (Looking on his Smart Device, ) \*So her name is Simone Sampson, she is daughter of Sam Sampson, senior parter at William & Sampson LLP. Lets see if I can get a picture of her, before her procedure. Okay here she is. TRUTH FINDER Simone Sampson: Simone is the head social media marketing director. Her work here over the last 3 years has helped William & Sampson propel as a formidable firm in the tech space. She is the only child of Senior Parter Sam Sampson, and is enjoyed by everyone, bringing a unique flair into the office. Education: St. Principles High School Favorite Hobby: Shopping and Reality TV Picture: Not posted \*Shit. Okay, let me at least see a picture of the Dad at least. (Switches on the website page to her fathers profile on his smart device)  TRUTH FINDER Sam Sampson: Senior and founding partner at William and Sampson LLP. Sam Sampson is a well respected lawyer in the greater Chicago area. He has won over 8 figures in settlements and has been ranked #4 Big Business Attorney in the USA, and been featured on Esquire Quarterly. Currently serves as chief board of directors of the “Free Choice” movement, propelling legislature protecting the individuals right to pursue human metamorphosis procedures. Education: De Paul University, BA Political Science Class of 1999 JD: University of Chicago, Class of 2002 Picture: Older and wider gentlemen, bald, caucasian descent (Tina Turner, I mean “Simone” walks back to the table, standing over him) S: “Hi!” M: “Oh hey there Simone” S: “What are you looking at?” M: “Oh just checking my email” (She stairs at him suspiciously) S: “No phones at dinner. Didn’t anyone ever teach you any manners? Hehe, I’ll let it slide this time” M:“I apologize. It won’t happen again.” (They both smile at each other) S: “Hehe, its okay I’m actually on my phone all the time, its part of my job. You see my Daddy has me post all of the pictures on our social media page for his firm.” M:“Oh thats really cool, do you like it?” S:“Yes, I really do. I get to help create the image of our company, get everyone smiling at work and such. Its super easy and super fun” M:“Did you go to school for marketing?” S:“Oh no, I actually didn’t finish college but I was in beauty school for a while. I wanted to do fashion design” (She looks down, obviously those words cutting deep) M:“Well I’m sure you do an awesome job with what you do now” (Still not picking her head up, a tear drops from her eye) S:“Thank you, can you excuse me, I have to go freshen up” (She leaves the table, not looking up obviously a bit distraught) \*This is what is wrong with the world. You have all of these insecure people coming in, paying millions to look like other people, and not even that can make them happy. Part of me feels sorry for her, but the other disgusted, I still can’t believe she said chocolate girl. (15 minutes later) S:“Hi!” M: “Hey Simone, is everything all right” S: “Yes, I’m sorry. Its just I’m just beginning to kind of regret this metamorphosis procedure.” (He looks at her very surprised, she continue’s.) S: “You see, my Dad has always been very embarrassed of me. Ever since I was young, he always acted as if I wasn’t good enough. When I told him my dream of doing makeup, he said I was worthless to him and that I was throwing away a career of taking over his firm. I know this a lot to kind of throw at you, but it is the truth, and I’ve had to deal with it my whole life.” (He begins feeling empathetic to her) M: “You know I come from a family with a lot of pressure as well. I can completely understand how you feel. I’m sorry your Dad made you feel that way. In all fairness, I think it takes a lot of courage to go through with that procedure. I know I definitely couldn’t do it” (Grabbing his hand she leans over and kisses him passionately on the lips which he receives startlingly) S: “Thank you” (2 hours later and a few more martini’s the two are now out in the city walking down the street hand in hand dancing to music playing off of his phone. The song he is playing is “This will be” by Natalie Cole) \*Wow, this girl is unbelievable and she’s beautiful. She’s the heir to a multimillion dollar law firm, and genuinely has a good heart. Since letting her guard down she’s really shown her true colors. Well not literally…. I swear when she’s kissed me, I’ve never felt so much power. (His phone starts vibrating in his pocket. Call from Keaton his best friend. He ignores the call.) S: “Hi so this is my place” M: “I’ve had a really good time with you tonight Simone” (She pulls him in again for one more kiss, in one swift motion Simone dips him on his back and then pulls him up, kissing passionately) S: “Thank you for tonight, lets do this again sometime” M: “Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you up” S:“Hehe I’m not ready for that yet, give me a few weeks” (Simone leaves slamming the door behind her. His phone starts ringing again. It is Keaton) M:“Keaton I think I’m in love” K:“You’re not going to believe this” M:“What?” K:“Check your phone” (Opens up a new message from Keaton)  TRUTH FINDER Simon Sampson: Simon is the head social media marketing director. His work over the last 2 years has helped William & Sampson propel as a formidable firm in the tech space. He is the son of Senior Parter Sam Sampson, and is enjoyed by everyone, bringing a unique flair into the office. Education: St. Principles High School Favorite Hobby: Shopping and Reality TV Picture: Muscular colorfully dressed man in thirties, balding, caucasian (Meanwhile his phone is still playing…..