The bottles in Oswald's handa clinked when he walked inside the room, trying hold all of them, without dropping any. He tightened his grip with his left hand, and stretch his right hand, trying to put a bottle filled with pink on a high shelf, standing on his toes. Eventually he managed to reach the shelf. He couldn't wait to grow up and finally get tall. Every time he asked Warwick if he could help him get taller, Warwick told him to wait. He always told him to wait. Whenever he asked about learning magic, going outside or anything outside his room in the castle. He really hated to wait. He put the last potion on the shelf with a sigh. He looked in the room, searching for the broom. He sighed and opened the door to get a broom from under room. "Warwick, you've become weak." Oswald heard a female voice. The voice sounded familiar, but he wasn't sure. "Darrene, enough." Warwick said firmly. Oswald recognized the name. A faded memory of an old woman surfaced in his head. He knew he'll get in trouble if he'll keep eavesdropping. He started to close the door, but froze when he heard that they were talking about him. "Warwick, the kid has to die." Darrene said in a dark tone. Chills ran down Oswald's back. "Darrene." Warwick said louder, in a warning tone. "No!" Darrene almost shouted. "It's been almost thirteen years! You can't keep running away like a coward!" Oswald took few steps backward, toward the wall and fell over the broom that he was looking for earlier, creating a loud noises. Oswald tried to put everything back to its place, his hands shaking. Warwick opened the half-opened door. "Oswald?" he asked. Oswald turned around, trying to not show his fear. "Yes?" he answered, trying to keep his voice steady, unshaking. "Did you finish organizing the potions?" Warwick asked  in his usual calm and collected voice. "Yes, I was looking for the broom." Oswald gulped, trying to control his stress. "It's seemed like you have found it." Warwick look Oswald tried to force a smile, but he knew failed. "I think you should go to your room now. I'll call you for dinner." Warwick said, without changing his expression. His face was almost unreadable. Almost. They ate dinner quietly, well more quiet than usual. "I am going to my room." Oswald said, no louder than a whisper, standing up. Warwick just nodded. Oswald washed his plate, the sound of the water being the only thing breaking the silence. "Oswald."

He turned when he heard Warwick. "Don't worry about what Darrene said earlier. I promise you nothing bad will happen to you." Warwick sounded almost sad, even though he smiled at Oswald. Oswald nodded once. There was a lot of things he didn't know about Warwick, but during all his life, for thirteen full years, Warwick was the only one who took care of him, was there for him. Oswald laid on his back, his eyes open, staring at the darkness of the room. As much as he tried, he couldn't get Darrene's words out of his head. He turned around, burying his head in the pillow, trying to hide from the outside world. After what felt like eternity, Oswald jumped from his bed. No, he definitely couldn'y sleep. He stood next to the door, listening. When he heard Warwick's light snoring, he opened the door, sneaking out from his room. He felt his heart throbbing loudly, so loudly that he was sure it was going to wake Warwick up. He kept walking as quietly as he could, and when he finally arrived at the library, he let out his breath. He hadn't noticed until then that he was holding it. Oswald passed by the magic books, walking toward the end of the library. He saw piles of handwritten potion formulas and magic spells. He kept walking, passing shelves of books about raising kids. Eventually he arrived at the rear wall. Tthe shelves there held numbered notebooks, all written by Warwick. They didn't look like the rest of Warwick's records. He moved his finger across them until he saw one which looked different. It was a small book, so old that he could barely read the title on its spine. Oswald's hand floated above the book, hesitating. In a moment of bravery he snatched the book from the shelf. He turned the pages, skimming through the notes inside the book. When he saw his name written in Warwick handwriting, his eyes widened in disbelief.

"Oswald." The voice made Oswald jump, dropping the book. He turned around, shaking. Warwick was standing there, right behind him. The fire of the candle lit only half of his face and his expression was unreadable. "I think it is time for us to talk." He said and gestured toward the library's door. Oswald started to walk toward the door, trembling. Oswald sat on the chair near the table, watching Warwick pouring tea. "Now, I think I owe you an explanation." Warwick said, sitting at the other side of the table. "You should drink some tea." Warwick said, sipping from his cup. After few seconds of silence, Warwick put down his cup looking at Oswald, who was staring at his cup. He let out a sigh. "How much did you read?" He asked quietly. "Does it matter?" Oswald asked, his voice harsh. He looked mad and angry, but mostly hurt. Warwick felt the guilt clawing in his stomach. "You're right, I guess it doesn't really matter." Warwick smiled sadly. "Where do you want me to start?" *** Warwick wished he could stay at home and drink tea, and maybe also read a book or two. He sighed, looking upward. The sky felt so dark without the moon, so lonely. The cold nightbreeze blew his cloak. Darrene's impatient voice cut off his thoughts. "Took you long enough." "Darrene, glad to see that you are patient as usual," Warwick smiled. "Save that. It's not a friendly meeting. We have things to do," Darrene said harshly, "Did you bring the potions?" "Of course." Warwick gave her a small bottle with deep purple liquid. "How long?" She asked. "About an hour." Warwick started to walk down the path. "Is it enough?" He asked without even turning toward Derrene. "I suppose." Darrene said catching up with him. "Of course, it'll be better if we had more time, but it'll do." "Well, that's all the time we have," Warwick forced a smile. "Do you know which one we'll need?" "That's sound rude. We are talking about a human being. But no, I'll have to be near him to be sure." Darrene shook her head lightly. "I do know the general era. I think." "Sounds encouraging," Warwick said, regretting ever agreeing to Derrene's insane plan. "Don't you dare going back on me," Darrene said harshly, as if she could hear his thoughts. "We're here," Darrene said when they eventually arrived at a small town. "Great," Warwick muttered. "Cheers," Darrene said, raising her potion, and drank it in one sip. Warwick drank his potion when he saw Darrene appearance changing in front of his eyes. "I have to say, you never looked better Warwick," Darrene smiled mischievously. "Let's go. We don't have time to waste." Warwick started walking ignoring her. He longed to be back in his home, sitting in the living room with a cup of hot tea. "At least act like you care about me or the plan will fail," Darrene said, this time more distanced. Warwick knew she is trying to feel the one. The kid. "This way." Darrene walked toward one of the houses. "Are you sure?" Warwick followed her, worried. "Like I said, I won't know for sure until I'll see him." Darrene walked to the back of the house, trying to look in through the windows. "It's him," she eventually said, with a grin, "show time." Warwick knocked on the door, a hoarse voice muttered some unintelligible words before the door opened. "Can I help you?" a young woman asked with a tense smile. "Actually, you can!" Darrene said with a bright smile. Warwick forgot how charming Darrene can be. It was really scary. "I don't know." The nervous voice of the woman interrupted his self-pity. Warwick could see the woman's willpower give way to Darrene's charm, which was strengthened by her magic.  "I promise that we will take a good care of the child and give him the best home he could ask for." Darrene hold the woman hands with a warm smile . "I'll have to ask my husband." The woman voice trembled. She went back inside the house, closing the door behind her. "Do you think she'll give him up?" Warwick asked quietly. Darrene smiled slyly. "Have some faith in me. You're not the only with magic." Warwick sighed. He knew how strong Darenne's magic can be. Not strong enough to let him stay in his home. "I told you to trust me," Darrene smiled when they left the town, holding a tiny baby. "So, he is the one?" Warwick asked, doubt in his voice. "He is the one who'll conquer our kingdom?" "And kill you," Darrene reminded him. "But, yes, he is the one. I'm sure." She said firmly. Warwick looked at the small creature that Darrene held. So small and alone in the world. Innocent. He knew that they have to kill him, but couldn't stop feeling guilty. They have to. There is no other way. Is there? "Darrene." Warwick stopped in the middle of the path. She turned to him. "No. There is no other way," she said harshly. "But if there is, I'll raise him. I'll make sure that he is not a threat." Warwick became more determinate with each word. "Warwick, I warned you. Don't become weak," Darrene said. He could feel her wrath piercing through him, but he didn't move. "This kid is under my protection," he said quietly and took the child from her. Darrene wanted to protest, but she wasn't foolish enough to ignore the warning in his voice. *** Oswald stood on top of the hill, watching the castle that had been his home for almost thirteen years. The wind ruffled his brown hair. He took a deep breath, prepares himself for what is to come. He opened the front door, walking into the living room he knew so well. Warwick sat on his armchair, sipping from his tea. Everything looked the same, almost like nothing has changed over the last five years. Almost. "Why don't you have a cup of tea, Oswald?" Warwick gestured to the chair in front of him. Oswald put his hand on his sword, his expression stern. "Come on, I'm sure we can have a cup of tea for the good old days, before you kill me." Warwick smiled. It took a few seconds for Oswald's expression to soften, and he sat on his old chair, that felt so small. "Good." Warwick smiled warmly. "Now, how about your telling me what you have been doing all this time."


CARPE DIEM The ticking of wall clock, the clack of the bent fan blade on desk top fan. These are my companions. No attachments. No histories. No surprises in their futures. The basement sublet muffles most noise from the outside. No windows to pique curiosity. No television for current events. No radio for the latest music, only an internet connection for a work from home medical billing job. Its must easier this way. Relationships are messy, unpredictable and always painful in their ending. A therapist hired by my grandmother once asked me what my earliest memory was. I told him walking into my grandmother's kitchen as a boy of around 5 or 6. Smelling the aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and feeling the heat of the large, white oven that dominated the space. He asked me if it was a comfortable feeling. I told him it was. What I never told him in the seven years that I was made to visit with him was that I had two memories from before that. The memories of what brought me to be at my grandmother's house. I was playing on a lawn of freshly mowed, green grass and throwing a plastic ball, red as a clown's nose. I could hear my father's voice talking behind me in the distance. He was laughing at some comment the neighbor had made from across the fence. The ball soared through the air, across the grass and rolled toward the street and I tottered behind like a paper kite skimming the tops of the blades in a faint breeze. Shouts. Footsteps, labored breathing and the sound of screaming tires. The smell of burnt rubber on asphalt. An impact. “Thank God, Matthew, didn't seem to comprehend what had happened,” mother would say more than once in the days to come. “ He just stood there, dazed.” But I did understand. My blank look had not been a lack of comprehension or feeling. I had already seen it, many times, in the days before. My father's demise. The next few months were difficult. Mother cried, grew distant. The people who had filled our home in the days after my father's death had all gone. Their lives returned to normal. Ours were an unpleasant reminder of what could be. Mother took to sleeping and, in time, rarely rose except to feed me and even that became irregular. The phone would ring but go unanswered. Sometimes there would be knocks at the door but they too went unanswered. Mail dropped in the door slot went unopened. One night, mother went to sleep but did not awaken. I sat quietly in the living room. Day turned to night. Then day to night and day to night again until grandmother came with a man in a blue uniform and they took me away. Grandmother told the therapist I never cried. Not once in all the time from that day until I began my sessions. I wanted to say that it was no great surprise. Like the sun rising or water coming from the tap, it was expected. I had seen these things before. So many times I was numb to them. But even then, so young, something told me I could not speak it. And though I would test this knowledge in my reckless teens, at that time I remained ever silent saying only what I felt they wanted to hear me say and nothing more. In high school I had a friend. Heidi O'dea. She moved in awkward strides like a colt on wobbly legs and had a mane of golden hair than sparkled in the sun. We used to talk. I loved her laugh. What would we be when we grew up? Would we get Mrs Peterson or Mr. Taft for social studies next year? Was pizza really the best food ever? In tenth grade, students went on a weekend field trip to McConnell Lake. Ostensibly it was to learn about nature and ecosystems but we all knew it would really be about swimming and kayaking on the lake, staying up late and telling stories around the campfire and stolen kisses behind the cabins. We were teenagers after all. But I never went to McConnell Lake. I had been under the weather for several days before that. Or so I had told my grandmother. And on the day we were to meet in the school's gymnasium parking lot, I was retching and so ill that I had to stay home in bed. Fifteen students died in a fire in the main hall on Saturday night. Faulty wiring in the old building it was said. At least twice that many suffered injuries. It was the last year the school held the field trip. The day before we were to leave, I told Heidi. In a rambling rush of fear, adrenaline and hormones I laid out what would happen. I watched her face change from confusion to mild amusement to consternation and then dismissive resolve. Perhaps I should be a writer, she had said. She never new I had such a vivid imagination. She'd never seen me this way. She wasn't sure she liked it. Finally, she got up, shouldered her book bag and said goodbye. She hoped she would see me on the bus in the morning. But I wasn't sure she hoped that at all. Much like the way we form a kind, yet careful, response when we open up a surprise package that does not meet our expectation, I was not what she had supposed and, perhaps, no longer to her liking. School was canceled for the week after the tragedy. I only interacted with Heidi once after that. The first day we returned I saw her in the hall. We stopped, facing one another a mere three feet apart as people rushed by around us like water passing two stones in a river. She looked at me in the way my grandmother would, in later years, look at photos of relatives or places she had been. Seeing something familiar and yet not quiet explainable as if she did not trust that was she saw was as she supposed it was and the knowledge frightened her. In those brief moments that our eyes met, I saw that she knew I had been right. In every detail I had captured not only the incident itself but the fear and pain and chaos it had evoked. She did not speak to me. We never spoke again. She hugged her books to her chest and slid by me, merging with the sea of students in the hall around us like a piece of flotsam carried off by the tide. Sadly, precognition does not extend to my own actions. If it had, I might have never said a word and spared myself the loss of a dear friend. Or worse. As a Junior in college I exited the main library building after an evening of study and slipped on the rain soaked steps, sliding from top to bottom in a few, frantic seconds before twisting my left leg into a most unnatural position. It took over a year of surgery and physical therapy to put it right again. I was still in a cast when I hobbled across the stage to pick up my degree the following year. I walk with a limp even now. So I came to understand that it was of no benefit to those who did not believe me and no benefit to me either. Over the years I tried many times to understand the ability. I tried to see its usefulness, tried to be a force for change. One can only be patronized so many times or looked upon with fear, loathing, or worse, suspicion. One can only feel the pain of adversity and death upon those one loves so many times without hope or mechanism to provide aid. The psyche is only so strong. So the days pass. Numbers and zeros on a computer screen. Electronically deposited checks to a bank branch I never step foot in. Orders for food, clothing and sundries placed online and delivered, anonymously, to my door. The tick of the 2 nd hand on wall clock. The rising and setting of the sun. These are my days. A prison? Selfishness? Madness? Superheros are for children. Super powers are for fools.


Scene One Two brothers are playing a game of chess in their room. One side you have Daniel the younger brother and also Derrick the older brother. Daniel: It doesn't count if you're already planning your defeat! Derrick: There is nowhere I can go, you beat me. Daniel: (flustered) You and I know both that you let me win. Derrick: Well your always nagging me on how I never let you win. Daniel: Not true, (sighs) well thanks anyway. Derrick: Of course. Mom: Get ready. Derrick & Daniel: Yes Mom! Scene Two Both brothers put on there suits and black shoes to get ready to go to a funeral. The day was not like any other the sun was beaming, the sky was clear, and the birds were chirping. Weird day for a funeral. The family leaves out the house heading on their way to church were the funeral takes place. The whole ride no one said a single word. It was quite and bleak the entire ride there. When they got there people surrounded us telling us they were sorry for our loss. But the Mom was too sad to even speak. Mom: Could you get the seats up front dear. Daniel: Ok. Daniel: Hey, Derrick how am I always stuck with the chores. Derrick: I'll help you out. Derrick: Hey, Daniel those seats look good. Daniel: Oh yeah. Nice eye. Scene Three The brothers found a spot to sit with there mom and dad. The funeral was a different type of sadness almost dark in a way. Like a cast shadow over the church. As the ceremony started there were many tears but these tears were different in a way. They were heavier, like all of there sadness was put into each tear. You could easily confuse the tears hitting the ground with rainfall. Through all of this Daniel and Derrick still played around. Derrick attempted the entire funeral to make Daniel laugh. Daniel: Come on Derrick stop tickling me this isn't a place to be laughing (Giggling). Mom: (Crying). Dad: Daniel stop that now. Daniel: But dad it's not my fault Derrick is tickling me. Dad: Just stop it (with a gloomy face). Scene Four When the funeral was over the mom broke down crying while her husband comforted her. When they were all done they went back into the car and headed back on home. The mom was so sad that she couldn't even speak correctly. Everything that came out of her mouth sounded like gibberish. Daniel: Derrick I never know how you always stay out of trouble maybe it's because your older than me. Derrick: Not Maybe, it is. Daniel: Hey Derrick can you teach me how to do that magic coin trick again. Derrick: Sure, so what you want to do is grab a coin and rub it into elbow make sure you trick the audience into thinking its dissolving into your arm. Then you want to drop the coin and instead of picking it up you brush it off the table and do it again. Then you reveal that you don't have the coin. Disappear! Daniel: Wow! big brother your so talented. Could you teach me more tricks when we get back home. Derrick: Yeah. Scene Five They arrive home and just before Daniel could run up the stairs his dad calls him down to speak with him. Dad: Hey Bud how's it going? Are you doing good? Daniel: Dad I'm fine, now can I go upstairs to play with big brother. Dad: (With a concerned face) Go ahead. Dad goes into living room with his wife. Mom: How is he? Dad: The same, the doctor should be here shortly. Scene Six The husband and wife waited for an hour until the doctor got there. The doctor finally had gotten there. Then the doctor rang the doorbell. *Ding Dong* Dad: (Opens door) Hello Mr. Evergreen. Mr. Evergreen: Hello, again I want to say sorry for your loss. Dad & Mom: Thank you. Mr. Evergreen: So where's the boy hiding at? Both the mom and dad escorted Mr. Evergreen upstairs into the room were the brother's were playing. They slightly open the door to peek through. Daniel: Hey Derrick let's play the same game we played this morning. Derrick: Alright. Scene Seven The brothers both play the game as it comes to the same conclusion as it did that morning. The doctor pays close attention to the brothers and the game. Derrick: Well it looks like you got me again. Daniel: Big brother you let me win this morning so you take this victory. Derrick: Nope. Daniel: Fine I'll take it but don't be asking for it back. Mr. Evergreen enters the room. Mr. Evergreen: You ready to start Daniel? Daniel: Hi, Mr. Evergreen I'm guessing you are ready. Mr. Evergreen and Daniel sit across from each other, while Mr. Evergreen asks a series of questions. Mr. Evergreen: How are you doing? I know the funeral must have been hard for you? Daniel: I'm doing great. Big Brother Derrick kept my mind off of it. Mr. Evergreen: Oh is that right. Daniel: Yeah, Derrick just talks to me all the time and he is such a cool brother he teaches me magic tricks all the time too. Mr. Evergreen: That's great. Are you taking your medicine? Daniel: Yep Mr. Evergreen asks some more questions and then finishes. He packs his equipment and walks out the room and heads downstairs to speak with his parents. The brothers get ready for bed after a long day. Mom & Dad: (worried) So how is he doing doctor? Mr. Evergreen: He is the same. He still believes Derrick is still alive. Even after the funeral, In a way it's beautiful how he sees his brother the physical him is gone but somehow the spiritual him will always stay with Daniel (Smiles). Scene Eight Daniel: Good night big bro. Love you! Derrick: Love you too! little bro good night.


Time does fly. Sometimes it seems like it was yesterday and sometimes it feels like it was ages ago.    I met my wife when I was 15 years old. In high school. When I saw her the first time, I was in awe. I cannot explain the feeling. It is like my heart stopped beating. Time stopped. It felt like the world slowed down around me. All in slow motion. I remember, it was my first day of class of the year. Summer about to end. It was Tuesday after Labor Day. I was always and even today, a very punctual person. For some reason, that day, I was late.    It was the first class of the year, and it was math. My favorite subject. I enjoyed it and I exceled at it. As I enter the class, I explain to the teacher that the bus was involved in an accident. That I had to get off from it and wait for another one. That was not a made-up story. I did not have a proof but the teacher believed me. ‘’I will excuse you this time young man,’’ said the math teacher.    ‘’I can maybe call the bus company’s customer service line and get them a letter to be sent to the school if you wish Sir,’’ I replied.    Everyone started laughing. I don’t think it was funny. I was just being honest. I was raised in a very strict environment. My mom always told me to respect time and to be punctual. I started wearing a watch since I was ten. A digital watch. It was the trend among kids and teens. I had a Casio watch. At this point I was still standing in front of the class and the teacher was not laughing. It felt like he was going to let it out. Laugh out loud with the class. He refrained from doing it. I guess he wanted to stay professional. If we had a smartphone with the bus company’s app on it back then, no one would be laughing.    ‘’Well, well, well, calm down class! This is not funny. Can you sit there at your right?’’ Mr. Durand pointing to the desk.    ‘’Yes Sir. Apologies’’ As I head to that direction, that girl…oh boy. I mean, she was a girl, not a boy. As I was walking to my desk, our eyes crossed each other, and she smiled at me. That smile. I will never forget. Later on, I will discover that she laughed at my silly comment about calling the customer service of the public bus.    The first thing that made me fall in love instantly were her eyes. If she smiled, and laughed, then I was enslaved to her beauty. For me, she was the one! Okay, I was only 15 and life is just starting. But…I felt that she would be my soulmate for the rest of my life.    It took me many years to have the guts to ask her out. We did have a few classes together each year till the end of high school. In the last year, we had several classes. I think more than 70% of my classes were with her. We had many classes where we needed to partner up. For physics and chemistry labs. Now that we had many classes together and needed to work in teams, the attraction was mutual and also, I liked her for her values and her personality. I would say, she was in extremely pretty but she never really showed arrogance that she was better than others. A very humble, modest young woman. Honestly, I don’t think I had a chance with her. She saw something in me that maybe other girls did not see. Maybe also, I did not want to meet other girls after I saw her the first time.

We started dating in the last year of high school. I was talking about movies, and how good Stephen King was to get his art on tv or on the big screen. Gabriella kept arguing that King writes only horror and nothing else. He is not a respectable author. That really got me upset. I told her that he can write any genre but the public wants horror from him. The supernatural side. I told her, to read Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption . She would not. She was stubborn. And still is. When she makes up her mind, then that is it. In September 1994, the movie from that Stephen King novel was released. I ask her if she wanted to go see a movie. The Shawshank Redemption . She had forgotten that it was from the novel of King. I told her it is drama and that she would enjoy it. I had read the book. Not her. I knew the main plot of the film. Also, I never told her this. I saw the movie a week before. And I loved it! I was gambling on this great date and impress her. I told her I could pick her up. I promised her no touching, no kissing, no cuddling or hugging. I loved her so much that I think I would have waited till I was thirty to kiss her. When the movie ended. She grabbed my hand, squeeze it, and kissed me. Right on the lips. Then she smiled. My heart melted.

‘’Thank you! I loved it! Now I remember, this is a movie based on the novel of King, right?’’    ‘’Yes Gabriella. Now, promise me you won’t bash the great Stephen King. He is not any author of only horror.’’    “I won’t. I apologize Stevie. ‘’    ‘’Apology accepted My Lady.’’ She giggled. That made me lose my heart and give it to her. My eyes would always be on her.    That last year of high school was special. I thought I had met the woman of my life. The one I will spend my life together. Was she? Yes!!! We are now together. Married. Two kids. We are in our forties. My wife looks beautiful. Ageless. Young heart. Still the Gabriella I knew from the early 90’s. I know my love is beautiful but it is the combination of her inner and outer beauty that makes her so special. I can say also, she is a great mother. A beautiful mom. A beautiful wife. Anyone that can get to know her, will appreciate her.   Tonight, we are together, all alone. Our kids our at my parents for the weekend. I decided to clean up the house, cook, do the dishes, and give a good massage to my lovely wife. Then, we will watch a good movie. I let her choose. Tonight, Mickey Blue Eyes. She will laugh and smile, giggle, the way I always loved to see.


Small Acts The milkman always leaves the bottles right in front of the door, right where Esther could trip over them, so I make it my job every delivery day to move them to the side of the step. I leave the house at six every Monday morning so that I can do this, sliding the basket carefully to the side so that the bottles don't clink together. Today I notice that the hanging basket above the door looks a bit dry. I'll come back later and sort that out. One thing less for Philip to do.            It's a warm summer morning, already light, but the curtains are still closed upstairs. It's a bit late, I think, tucked behind the buddleia bush where I can see the house but they can't see me. I look at my watch. Seven thirty. They're normally up by now. Esther leaves for school at eight fifteen and I worry that she won't have time for a good breakfast if they've slept in. I know she likes Pop Tarts, I've seen them in the dustbin. Not the healthiest choice for her, but what can I do?            I lean back against the garden wall in the shadows. I can see the basketball hoop over the garage door from here. Esther doesn't play basketball. It hasn't been used for six months at least. I don't want to talk about how I know this.            I must have gone away for a moment, because I jump a little as the front door opens. There is a murmur as Andrea speaks to Esther on the doorstep, a jingle as she picks up the milk, and then Esther appears. She unlatches the gate and steps out into the street. I wait for the front door to click shut, give it another twenty seconds and then slip over the wall.            The school isn't far away, only ten minutes walk. I wonder, just like I've always wondered, how a parent could let something so precious to them wander out into the world alone. Esther looks to be about twelve. Too old to hold a hand, but too young to make the right choices. I follow at a safe distance. I'm good at this. She's never noticed me before. Her blonde hair swings from side to side across the back of her green blazer, but a little bit is caught under the strap of her bag. I hope it isn't hurting her. I hope nothing ever hurts her.            We're nearly at the school and I tense as we walk along the street where it happened. A child looks at me strangely as I clench my teeth and fists, refusing to look at the exact spot, the place where we were all tied together forever. I smile, the grimace of the walking dead - behind my teeth there is no soul. The child looks away sharply and hurries off.            Esther goes safely into school and I walk away. I haven't done enough for today. Esther is where she needs to be and by now Philip will be at work. Andrea will be at home, like always. I go back to the house and watch her through the kitchen window. She lights a cigarette and stares into space, seated at the kitchen table. It's like this every day. She smiles for Esther and sends her on her way, but then sits in her dressing gown and smokes, one after the other. She doesn't eat or drink, she doesn't even get dressed until three o' clock so that Esther believes that she's been dressed all day. She's trying her best, I know.            I wonder how she'd feel if she knew that I was out here, feeling the same grief, the same emptiness. Andrea fills the hole with cigarettes but I need to do more than freeze in time. I need to reverse time, to put back the things that are missing. To take each small heartache and replace it with an invisible solution. The little things that would disappoint or hurt - I make them go away before they even know it's happened. I remember about the hanging baskets and sneak over with the watering can.            It's the little things, you see. When you have been robbed of something so enormous, so vast in its absence, the heart can't take the small daily insults. A chipped cup or a wilted flower can be enough to break down what meagre defences you have left. So I try to be there to intervene. It's the least I can do.            Last month, when Philip's car door was scratched I repaired it before he'd even seemed to notice it. I crouched on the driveway at two in the morning wearing a head torch, applying coats of paintwork restorer, buffing it away until the scratch was gone. When Andrea fell in the street and cut her hand I had run ahead to the house and put antiseptic cream through the letterbox. It must have been confusing for her, but at least I knew she had what she needed. Esther's so-called best friend was talking about her behind her back outside of school. I sent her a note and now she couldn't be nicer.            I refuse to let them suffer a day more. It's three o' clock now so I go back to the school to walk Esther home again. She appears through the school gates, laughing with her friends, and I feel glad that she's had a good day. She has ballet later, which she loves. I wonder if she liked the new ballet tights that I sent.            They all cross the road and a man walks towards them, dressed in a leather jacket, swinging some car keys. I've never seen him before. He smiles at Esther and she and her friends stop to talk to him. It's clearly Esther he wants to speak to, as the other girls hang back, arms folded over their blazers. The man says something and Esther laughs and turns to her friends, signalling that she's going to go with this man. I feel a stab in my chest and a cold feeling that reminds me of the time before. The last time that I was outside this school watching a young life slip away.            She walks towards a silver BMW, chatting to this man, this stranger who I've never seen before. I walk faster, not daring to let her get further away. I'm struck by my indecision in this moment. I've walked behind her for months, not wanting any harm to come to her and now that her safety is finally at stake I'm hesitating, I'm hovering, I'm failing. Failing again, failing to go, failing to stop.            She slides into the passenger seat and I collapse inside like a house of cards, imploding slowly and then all at once. I run, not caring any more if I am seen. I have to stop this. I can't let this happen again to Andrea and Philip. The car pulls away and I claw ineffectually at the rear passenger door. Neither of them notice.            The car is still moving slowly enough for me to put on some speed and I run close alongside until I reach the bonnet. I see the man's stunned expression as I hurl myself towards it, bouncing off the metal as he tries to swerve. There is pain as I bounce from bonnet to road, my head landing heavily on the ground. Everything goes black.            I can only see a little through the slits of my eyes, only opening enough to see through the shade of my eyelashes. I'm on the road still. This feels familiar but also different. Reversed.            It's her, someone says. A man's voice.            It's her, I remember her from court.            Esther's crying and I want to soothe her, to reach out, but I can't. I'm trapped inside. I want to tell her I'm sorry, that I couldn't stop in time for her brother. But I stopped this for her. I hear more voices. An ambulance is coming. The driver, the abductor's voice comes again. He's calling Andrea, he says. He knows them. Esther knows him.            I can see hazily. She's crying against his leather jacket. Everything is so familiar, it's the same as when she cried against the teacher's jacket when her brother was lying in the road. When I was frozen behind the wheel, unable to move, unable to speak.            I've tried so hard to make it right. Little things to make a day easier, to relieve an aching heart. I know it was never enough. I close my eyes and think that maybe this will be the last small act of kindness.


The Anderson gene pool is extensive. Just about everyone knows at least one Anderson of some variation, so it is pretty safe to say that I probably have multitudes of cousins I have never met from nearly every continent. It shouldn’t have been too surprising to me that I should receive a call that my cousin Helen had passed away suddenly, and that I was expected to fly to Illinois and attend her funeral.

The surprise was that I had never heard of a Cousin Helen before, and she had apparently left me something in her will.

Now, from what I was able to figure out from good old Ancestry, Cousin Helen was my father’s uncle’s granddaughter. She was a ripe thirty when she died, which made it sadder when I learned that her young daughter had also died only about a year beforehand. Everything that I discovered when digging up info on who this woman could have been just intrigued me more. I never met her in my life, even though we were close in age. We lived hundreds of miles apart. Family reunions were not something a family our size typically did. Unless it was for a funeral or a wedding.

“I know all of this must be overwhelming for you, losing a family member so young,” Mr. Schwartz broke my train of thought with a clearing of his throat and a voice that didn’t seem to match his stocky appearance. Not that it mattered too much to me. I was still trying to figure out if I was actually sitting there in his small office or if I was just imagining this. Did I really just fly from Arizona to Illinois on a whim and a mysterious inheritance? “Honestly, I know nothing about her. Or why she wanted to leave me anything. We’ve never even met,” I declared, finally breaking my own silence.

“I see. Sometimes this happens, especially if the deceased had no close relatives. She did have a brother and a nephew, but nothing was left to them. Miss Anderson was known to be a bit of an oddball in life.” “Again, I wouldn’t know. I hate to rush things here, but I do need to start heading back home.” I could see a spark of irritation, but he couldn’t really be too shocked. I have a business to run and wasting time with this nonsense was all ready a bit too ridiculous.

“There is a stipulation in order to receive the inheritance –” “Naturally. What is it, a donation to some sort of charity? I should have known,” I chuckled and opened my purse to dig for my checkbook. I was an idiot, of course that’s why I was there. I had discovered that before her death, Helen was a psychiatric nurse for a children’s home in the middle of nowhere. She must have heard that I was successful and figured I could afford to make some brat’s Christmas a little jollier at the expense of her untimely demise. I really fell into the trap this time.

Schwartz waved his hands and shook his head. “No, no, nothing like that! The details of the stipulation are sealed in this envelope. She only wanted you to know what was needed and never discussed it further with me except to tell me that the inheritance could be released to you once you verbally tell me that it is done.” He then held up a red envelope, the kind that might have contained a Christmas card.

“That’s all? Well, what’s to stop me from just telling you I did whatever it is to get the stupid thing? This feels like a sick joke…”

He continued to hold the envelope out to me, not once wavering. “She said that you are too noble to lie in order to receive something unearned,” was his unwavering answer. I couldn’t help but scoff. She knew nothing about me, except my name and maybe my net worth. I snatched the envelope from his ruddy hand and made my way to the door. “I imagine this is probably the exact scenario you envisioned you’d find yourself while you studied for the bar,” I muttered with the shrill of the hinges. He forced a laugh, not moving from his desk. “Nothing ever prepared me for the death of Helen Anderson.” Snow was falling in slight drifts carried by the wind when I stepped out of Schwartz’s building. I detested the cold and I certainly despised snow, which was one of many reasons I preferred Arizona. The sooner I finished this silly business I could get on the next plane home and end the year on a positive note. After I climbed into my rental car and started the engine for the heat, I carefully opened the red envelope. Amusingly enough, it actually did contain a Christmas card, featuring a shocked child peeking through a staircase banister at a shadow that apparently belonged to Santa Claus busily placing gifts under a tree. When I opened the card, a small brass key fell into my lap. It was nothing special, but it did have the number 134 inscribed in its center.

Merry Christmas, Michelle. I hate that we had to meet under these circumstances, but better late than never. I also hate that just after meeting I must ask you for a favor. Trust me, I’m generally not someone who would ask favors from a stranger, but I’ll make an exception just this once. This key belongs to a safe deposit box at First Financial here in town, box 134. Inside that box is something extremely important, far more important than you can possibly imagine. All that I need you to do is take the contents to the address you will find once you open the box. The less that you know the better, and please trust me on this. No, it’s nothing illegal so you don’t have to worry about getting mixed up with my affairs or have it affect your internet business. By the way, I checked out your website before, well, dying. I must say I’m impressed! Not that it matters much to you what a dead relative should think. Thank you for coming this far, I knew that I could count on you. I assure you that the reward matches the effort that you will put into finishing this task for me.

Helen Elizabeth Anderson November 29, 2014 This woman was insane. This had to be a prank! I looked around to see if anyone was filming me for my reaction, but as far as I could see I was the only one parked and the road was empty. It didn’t make any sense… why me? Of all of the people in the world, why would she send for me, a distant cousin on the other side of the country, to do something that she could have just had a neighbor or her own brother finish? My head was beginning to throb at the reality that I might have very well been putting myself into a bad situation. All for an inheritance that might not have even existed! This was too much… And then, I took a deep breath and read the card again. I searched it for any clues, capital letters, or odd phrases. The entire thing was odd. She said that the less that I know the better. If that didn’t sound like dirty dealings then I don’t know what did. The smartest thing that I could do was take this key right back to that smarmy Schwartz and head home right away.

Instead, I plugged the directions for the bank into my navigator and put the rental into reverse. I came this far, I had to at least know what was in this mysterious safe deposit box. If it was something dangerous, I would return the key and leave and pretend I never made this trip. I would move on with my life and never think about Helen or this stupid request again.

A small lady led me to the safe deposit room and left me alone after bringing me to box 134. From first appearances it seemed like just an average box. It was larger than the rest, so that was initially interesting. I inserted and turned the key. Once I opened it, I was greeted by something that I was not expecting: a small shoebox that had once contained light up tennis shoes for a little girl. A large sticky note was placed on the lid. Hello Michelle, long time no write! You are doing well and are nearly at the end of this short journey. Please take this box to 441 Yellow Ln. The lady there will know what to do with it and you will be free to go back to Schwartz for your inheritance.

Don’t open the box. I understand you are curious, so I’ll just tell you what it contains. It’s a novel that I wrote. It took me a long time to put it together because it had to be done in secret. Now it’s finally finished and it is your job to take it to the publisher. Make sure the lady knows that it must have a red cover. I don’t care how it’s formatted or if it has pictures, but make sure it has a red cover.

All the best in life and death, H.E.A. December 12, 2014 A novel. All of this work to take a manuscript to a publisher. I couldn’t help laughing right there in the middle of the silent room. Would I take a shoebox supposedly containing a finished novel to a publisher? You are damn right I would. I honestly would have done just about anything at this point just for the closure. Yes, I did exactly as I was told. I carried the small shoebox to an elderly woman who greeted me with surprise at the door. As the note said, she was expecting me and took the box gratefully. She mentioned knowing Helen for some time before and was happy to know that she was finally at peace. It was a strange conversation. How peaceful could a death like that have been? She was mangled and hardly recognizable when she was found, and from everything I learned today she fully expected to die, and soon. What healthy thirty-year-old has a Last Will and Testament prepared along with a scavenger hunt for a distant relative to complete? None other than Helen Elizabeth Anderson.

It was nearly five when I arrived back at Schwartz’s building. The street lights illuminated the street and walk, glistening with that freshly fallen snow that still carried on the wind like a whisper in the twilight. I had made it just in time, I could see him through the frosted window of the door grabbing his coat from the hall tree when he spotted me and waved for me to come in.

“I wasn’t sure I would ever see you again,” he smiled and unlocked his office door.

“Neither was I, but I figured what the hell… might as well go on an adventure or else let her haunt me for the rest of my days,” I answered with a shrug and followed him. He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a final red envelope, this time a bit larger than the last.

“Congratulations for completing the stipulation. Deepest condolences on your loss.” I decided not to open the envelope until I was back home. How I withstood the curiosity the entire flight and ride back I’ll never fully understand, except I was too wrapped up with my thoughts to really worry about it. I found myself wondering more and more about Helen’s short life, how she could have pressed forward after her daughter’s death and continued to work through what must have been unbearable grief. I wanted more than anything to know how she died, was it really suicide or something more grim? However it happened she knew that it was coming, that much I was certain.

It was good to be home, to shake the cold and stress at the door and relax in familiarity again. I took the red envelope from my purse and sat on the couch. Finally, it was time to see what Cousin Helen had left me in her will.

There were three things in the envelope. The first was a final note from Helen. You did it, Michelle. Unlike me, you didn’t buckle under the pressure and you did the one thing that I couldn’t do. For that, I am immensely grateful. You will never truly know what you have done for me, so I reward you with my most prized possessions.

The first is a check written to you for the amount of $12,665. To someone like you I’m sure this is meager pocket change, but to me this was the exact amount I had socked away to escape a horribly toxic situation with my daughter. But life and fate didn’t work in our favor and my little girl was taken from me before we could leave. I hope that this money might help you accomplish a dream you might have. I wish you all of the happiness this nasty world affords you, and I hope with enough time and good news you might forget that cold day in Illinois and wipe me completely from your mind. Despite everything, I did have an interesting life filled with enough wonder and amazement than I’ll ever be able to carry to the next life. Oh, and the last thing I leave you is a bauble that fulfilled its purpose long ago. I don’t need it anymore. Just looking at it brings me pain. Perhaps it could aid you in some way, I don’t know. Its existence might have chained me to a lifetime of mystery, but as I said, it did serve quite a purpose in the end.

Goodbye, noble cousin, H.E.A. December 12, 2014 She was right, there was a check for $12,665 written to me and dated 12/12/2014. There was also a necklace at the bottom of the envelope, a small crystal vial stained a strange red color internally on a silver chain.

I felt a chill run through me as I clasped the chain around my neck. December 12, 2014. Only three days before her body would be found. What a gruesome inheritance.


Year 2158 Salih checks the Oximeter level on his right arm. Red dot is blinking alarmingly. He tries to breathe normally. But, it's difficult. It's like trying to take a quick breath before being thrown into a deep water when you're still a child. The night fog thickens before him. Leaning back against a gravel, he measures the weight of his plasma gun in both hands. He wishes for a nice bed to rest. How long has it been? he thought. 14 hours? He has a narrow escape from one of the Nameks awhile back. His spacesuit has withstood the alien's lava-web. However, he remembers from space training that Namek's saliva can reach up to 200 degrees Celsius. Salih's breathing slows down as danger descends. He scans across the grim thickening fog and slides down against the gravel. He checks his boots. Mud caked its soles. He has ran across a muddy field to escape from the alien creature. The mud was caused by the weather. It has been raining in Planet Rafet for the past 7 cycles. "In planets beyond our milky way, days and years are not measured like the ones we have on earth," Professor Hamid from University of Brunei Darussalam said during Salih's first year in college. "There are thousand of moons and it is near impossible to differentiate day and night." "How do we measure day and night then, prof?" asked one of the engineering students. "You will know once you're there." Now that Salih is here, it is interesting to note that all of those theories and practical experiments he has done throughout college have come to full use only when he is placed in imminent danger. Salih tries the caller button. "Calling Space Y. Do you copy?" The sky above spreads out purplish hue that scientist claims to have been caused by the four moon-sized Suns that orbits the Crono System. Planet Rafet has at least 50 moons. The gravity pull on Planet Rafet is unpredictable. In certain cycle, there are times when the ground melts, which causes the surface to evaporate and solidifies the condensed air into new surfaces . Salih is resting on one of this newly formed surfaces up in mid-air, hoping that his stunt could hide him from the Nameks . "Mouse Travels. Do you copy?" No response. He can hear his breathing again. He read somewhere that human lungs shrink when they are in danger. He agrees with this theory. It is getting very difficult to breathe. Something suddenly snores underneath. Namek. Salih pushes his back against the gravel. The plasma gun weights like a 10kg dumbbell. Tightening his grip around it, he slowly spreads his legs open. Looking down, he observes through the surface. A creature the size of an Earth's elephant appears out of the night fog. From where Salih is hiding, he can see the alien's back pulsating red and green flashes rapidly. A professor had mentioned about this carnivorous creature during one of the lectures. "When you ever travel into space and encounter a Namek with surging red and green flashes on its back, you better get ready." "Ready for what?" The lecturer simply smiles because he is the type of lecturer who wants his students to become curious and do an independent research for the answer. Salih wishes he has done his homework that semester. Trapped on a condensed cloud that could melt anytime soon, Salih checks his oxygen level again. The red dot is blinking furiously now. Salih swallows a lump down his throat. It tastes like ambuyat (a tapioca starch dish that was once a favorite meal for families in Brunei Darussalam) . Salih studies the back of the Namek. The creature is right below him. He wishes that his radar detector is still working so that he can detect any Nameks roaming the area. He steadies his aim at the Namek below. All he need is just one hit. "How do you kill an alien the size of your house?" Salih's best friend, Abdul, asked one afternoon on Earth. "Shoot the face." "Namek has no face," Abdul said with a laugh. "The mid section?" "The stomach you mean?" Abdul guffawed. "Namek has no stomach. It's body is likened our reptilian creatures here." "How then?" "My friend. I have been a space marine for 5 years and I have learnt a lot." Abdul flaunted his right cyborg-arm. "This is the scar I earned from the war for humanity in 2131!" "You haven't answered my question yet." "What's your question again?" The Namek snores again. Salih's eyes widening. He is face-to-face with the creature. The only barrier between them is the think layer of solidified cloud surface. The ambuyat that slides down his throat now reaches his gut. Something retched is trying to reach out from his stomach. He wants to throw out. The creature widens its mouth. Thorns of teeth jut out like broken glasses in a jar. Salih foresees a dreadful death if he were the victim. "Just wait for an opportunity," Abdul finally answered after a gulp of Root Beer. "Opportunity?" Abdul yawned and gestured a gun to his face. "Oh? Just like that?" "Yes," Abdul said with his mouth still open. "That's the only way." Shoot. Now? The Namek yawns at him. Salih squeezes the trigger softly. What if there are more? Salih stops squeezing mid-way. But this is my only opportunity. The Namek shrieks all of a sudden. Oh no! It is calling his friends! Salih aims at its mouth. The surface of the solidified cloud breaks. The laser beam from the plasma gun pierces through it and cuts through the alien's face. Salih floats down along with the shattered cloud-surface like broken glasses. He lands knees first on the wet ground and rolls across to safety. The alien is dead. Salih wants to celebrate. But, something snores a few feet across in the night fog. I should have known. Salih checks his oxygen level. It is no longer blinking. Something moves ahead... *


It was a dark and stormy night. Snow shot from the sky, already gathering in large piles. The wind howled like a lone wolf in the darkness. No one in their right mind would be outside on a night like this. In the wind, snowflakes transformed from fluffy cloud pieces to sharp ice daggers. One single figure fought its way through the unforgiving weather. Dressed in thick layers of wool, it moved slowly, working its way

Where was it going? The figure squinted its eyes, barely visible through scarves wrapped around its head. A light. Far away in the distance, flickering like a dying match. A long way to go yet. A man or a woman? A woman.

She wrapped her clothes tighter around her and battled her way through the storm. Her eyes, peering out through a sliver in her scarves were teary from the wind. The tears froze into small lumps and stuck in her eyelashes. Despite her warm clothes, the wind had seemed to find its way into her bare skin. Her feet started to get numb and toes felt like ten blocks of ice that would never be warm again.

She took a sip of hot coffee. A tad too dramatic. And it has been done before, about a million times. A lone woman in a snowstorm? No. This story was going nowhere. It only made her want to wrap her own legs in a warmer blanket. She decided to start over.

Once upon a time Definitely not. She sighed and shifted in her seat. This was a lot harder than she remembered. What on earth was she doing? That annoying man who nonchalantly had told her “writing is just like riding a bike” appeared before her eyes and she decided if she ever saw him again she would punch him in the face. This was the opposite of riding a bike. If anything, it was like learning to ride a bike and then suddenly being thrown into a plane and told to fly it. Just one scene. If she could just write one scene today, that would be enough. And then one or two scenes tomorrow. Before she knew it, she would be back in the game and writing every day. And even make a little money from it. Yes, after all, all it took was one great story and she could be set for life. Move into a beautiful apartment with a view of the park… Quit the job she hated so intensely… Yes. The writing life would fit her perfectly. She just had to get the writing part down. Okay. Let’s try again. Start with the character this time. No snowstorm. Just her, and then take it from there. Who is this woman? What does her face look like and what are her deepest regrets in life? What brings her happiness? She forced herself to see the woman again. The woman inside a room. She is no longer wearing layers upon layers. She is wearing normal clothes: black jeans and a beige turtleneck.

Yes, good. Now look at me. What is your name? My name? Yes.

My name is… Isabella? No, that name is overused lately. Thanks a lot, Twilight. Okay… How about Sandra? No, I don’t like it. Well, what do you want my name to be?

It doesn’t really matter. Just anything you can come up with that sounds right.

Mary? Amanda? Veronica? Clair? No… I think your name is Eve. Yes, Eve.

Eve rolls her eyes.

Hey, don’t you show attitude to me! It’s not my fault all of the names you came up with are the same as all my old classmates I hated! Eve’s facial features change and she looks as if she is explaining something incredibly simple to an incredibly stupid person. She does not have to open her mouth to communicate. Her words are: Whatever name is in my head is there because you put it there. Okay let’s just call that one a Freudian slip and move on. And don’t you dare say you only came up with my old classmates’ names because deep down I wish to write a best-seller and show all my old bullies how fantastic and successful I am.

Eve smiles quickly to herself before getting lost in her own thoughts. She is sitting on a chair in an empty room. She has long, luscious hair reaching down her slender figure. She has a pretty face, but not so pretty that she is not relatable. And she is smart. Smart enough to make readers look up to her and want to be like her. But not too smart so people will find her pretentious. She looks put together on the outside, but something is not right on the inside. She is hiding something. A great pain. Her legs are crossed and she is unconsciously tapping her foot in the air.

Oh. What are you stressed about, Eve? Are you waiting for a phone call? What’s been hurting you? Shall we take a look around the room?

The room is no longer empty. She is sitting on a grey couch, looking out of a window, as if lost in thought. The walls in the room are painted a calm cream colour and the pictures on it reflect the city the room is in. There are large, expensive looking windows on the opposite wall. Through them, a park can be seen with children playing. Instead of lush greens, the trees are naked, looking skeletal and pathetically skinny. In front of Eve and the couch is a carpet with a table, and generic, month-old lifestyle magazines scattered on top, as if someone deliberately tried to make them look thrown on there.

Is she sitting in a waiting room? Over at the reception desk, a girl is sitting by a computer. She keeps looking down at something, a hidden phone maybe, and every now and then her face will break into a smile.

Who is this girl then? Reception Girl is sitting and texting at work. Normally she is not allowed to have her phone on her during work hours, but today she gave herself permission. She was up all night, fighting with her long distance boyfriend over the phone. They almost broke up. Today, they are kind and loving to each other. They promised each other to prioritise one another and give it a real shot this time. There has only been one visitor all morning, and she came in one whole hour early to her appointment. Reception Girl looks over at Eve. It does not look like she minds. In fact, it looks like the waiting woman has no idea she is not alone in the room.

What are you thinking about, Eve? Eve is only half aware there is another person in the room with her.

Something about all of this does not feel… right. Eve was only half aware there was another person in the room with her.

Yes, better. Reminder to self: change everything to past tense later. It flows much more naturally and feels more comfortable. Eve had slept badly last night and had nightmares. Visions of dark suits and evil faces stained her sleep. She had once woken up, bathing in her own sweat, absolutely sure she had slept through her alarm and missed the appointment. That had been at 3 a.m. She felt fragile, as if one person bumping into her on the train would shatter her into a thousand pieces. The tragic death of her whole family had Oh no, no I can’t write this. This is so sad. I’m sorry, Eve. Eve’s head tilted to one side. Her eyes were teary and red, but her expression said: “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.” I’m your writer. I made you. Of course it’s my fault. You didn’t make me. I'm a part of you. Some of your memories will be mine, and some of your fantasies will be reality to me. All you're doing is isolating me and shaping me into my own identity. And now I’m sitting in this waiting room for some reason. Can you tell me what I am waiting for? I’m awfully nervous.

Whatever you are, you are far wiser than I am. If I’m being completely honest, I don’t know what you are waiting for. A lawyer maybe? But why would you need a lawyer, Eve? Eve’s head shot up as she heard footsteps from the very end of the corridor, coming closer. Whoever the source was had a confident, determined stride and was heading right towards the waiting room. On cue, the girl in the reception quickly put away her phone and straightened her back.

A really fancy dentist? A job interview? A private investigator? Some kind of doctor?

The steps stopped for a brief moment and the door swung open. A man dressed in an expensive suit stood before them. He was in his forties, well-groomed and had friendly eyes. His gaze turned to Eve and he smiled politely at her. “Eve?” he said, and his voice was calm and suggested they had never met before. Eve nodded nervously and tried to reciprocate his smile. “We’re ready for you now.” The man stepped aside, holding the door open for her and gestured with his arm for her to go inside before him.

Eve stood up and wiped her hands on her jeans, trying to make it look like she was just dusting them off. She stepped towards the man, nodded and smiled again briefly, and then walked into the corridor. This appointment would soon be over, she told herself. And then, the rest of her life would start. She continued through the corridor towards the only open door, right at the end. Her steps echoed slightly. She braced herself for what was to come as the man closed the door behind her. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard, refusing to move. What was going to happen next? Her mind was crowded with ideas, but all of them felt just out of reach. She couldn’t stop now. It was a good start. Dramatic. A best-seller in the making. She stood up from her chair and stretched her stiff legs.

Time had flown by faster than she had realised. She needed more coffee, and maybe a quick lunch, and then back to the story, she promised herself. She didn't want to keep Eve waiting for too long.


Tuesday, February 5, 2019 Just an ordinary Tuesday, or so you would think.

But I saw him again; the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

He was hanging with his friends like I was, so I faked having to tie my shoes just so that I could look at him a little longer.

I don’t know what it is about him…

Like this magnetic pull towards him.

I love looking at those amazing blue eyes.

They are framed by those shaggy dark brown bangs and an oval face.

I can only imagine that he must have been teased mercilessly as a child for that determined square jaw.

But it fits his face perfectly now.

Especially that cleft in it that I always want to trace.

I’ve determined that he’s a Junior at the university we go to and that he’s not on any of our sports teams.

Personally, I think he should be modeling.

He’s so rugged and playful. This doesn’t make any sense.

I don’t even know his name!

We’ve never even spoken and yet my dreams are full of his perfectly tanned, muscular image since I first saw him at the beginning of the semester.

I’ve never seen him in the same outfit twice, which means that he’s likely got more money for clothes and food than I do at this point.

This is ridiculous!

I don’t know anything about him.

I don’t know his major, his schedule, his friends…

I don’t even know his name!

All I know is that if I’m a few minutes early for my Classic Western Civilization class on Tuesdays, I can catch a glimpse of him with his friends outside of the Biology lecture hall.

Is he ending his class or is he beginning it like I am?

What is he talking about with his friends?

Is it something interesting or would I find it vapid?

It’s so crazy, but I have to know… Tuesday, February 19, 2019 He looked at me!

I was doing the whole “tying my shoe” thing, and he stopped mid-sentence and looked right at me!

Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, OH MY GOSH!!

It was only for a moment, but his stare was intense and focused.

I know what he probably saw: a frizzy-haired red-head with freckles on her cheeks and forest green eyes so green that people assume that I’m wearing contacts.

I’m a classic tomboy since my dad raised me with my five older brothers after Mama died when I was a kid.

I shop at the Thrift Shop.

I’m not ashamed; the prices can’t be beat and I prefer the flavor of the old styles.

But, watching a couple of those perfectly tanned, perfectly blond, perfectly awful cheerleaders giggle and flirt at him last week made me wish that I was a little more fashion-forward.

He seems completely comfortable in his own skin.

I envy him.

I’m always so awkward with anyone outside of my circle of friends.

I haven’t made a new friend since my Freshman year in high school!

I really need to work on that.

I’ll bet he doesn’t have that problem.

He looks friendly and approachable.

And I’d give anything for someone to spill their drink on him so that he would have to take his shirt off.

Whoo!

That was naughty, diary.

But I can’t help it!

I can practically see his toned abs through his tight T-shirts when I see him.

And his jeans fit him to a tee!

He strikes me as someone that doesn’t struggle with his self-esteem.

I mean, yum!

I’ve noticed that I’m not the only one that stares when he walks by.

Midterms are coming up, I know I need to focus.

But all I can think of when I get back to my dorm room is my Tuesday Stranger.

What would it be like to walk over and say hi?

No, I would have to think of something clever to say to him.

And you know that I don’t specialize in clever.

My tongue gets glued to the roof of my mouth and I start stuttering and blushing since my skin is so pale and I burn whenever I try to tan.

No, best to hold off on trying to speak to him.

Especially since I have no reason to, being a Sophomore.

But he’s so gorgeous…

Tuesday, March 12, 2019  I am so glad that my idiot brothers don't have access to my dorm, or more importantly my diary.

They used to raid my room back home and look through my diary until I hid it under a loose floorboard under my bed.

Now I don’t have to worry about that at least.

I’ve got it bad!

I can’t imagine what any one of them would do if they knew just how bad I’ve got it.

Or even worse, if my father found out.

I could just imagine him dragging me through the halls until he found the guy I’m crushing on and then lecturing him on why he hasn’t asked me out or something equally humiliating enough to have me switching schools.

Through the world’s most round-about interrogation, I found out that my mystery man is a RA in the guy’s dorms one floor down.

His name is David Addleston!

Oh, my gosh, doesn’t that name just suit him?

He’s so hot!

I haven’t had a crush like this since eighth grade.

But Tom Griswald doesn’t hold a candle to my David!

He’s a pre-med student and he takes kendo and he’s a writer for the school newspaper and he…

I’m gushing.

But I can't help it!

The more I learn about him, the more I like about him.

It doesn’t help that he seems to be worth learning about.

Turns out that he is a model.

You know, part time at the university.

I mean…

I don’t know if it’s voluntary or not, but he’s a nude model in an art class.

I would kill to be in that class. My roster is already full and Mrs. Riel said that she’s already full for this semester and the next.

Students are always clamoring to get into her class according to her, especially since David joined.

And since I didn’t cop an attitude with her, she promised to keep me in mind should someone drop her class.

God, that made me blush!

I told her that I was asking for a friend.

Ugh…

Thinking back on it, I guess that was a little obvious.

Just a smidge. Anyway…

Since I can’t justify a sudden need to re-register all my classes and lest I lose those precious few minutes of ogling outside of Western Civ, I just have to settle for finding out everything I can about him.

Is this what a stalker feels like?

Am I sympathizing with stalkers?

Look at what this man is doing to me!

I am not a stalker, for the record.

I was obsessed with him long before I found out that he was a nude model!

Tuesday, April 2, 2019 I was in a panic for a while there.

I couldn’t find you; how I misplaced you in my closet is beyond me, but I've been so scatter-brained lately thinking about him that I'm not surprised.

For a while there, I was having horrible flashbacks to eighth grade.

Adam and Peter found out about my crush and beat the snot out of poor Thomas, warning him away from me.

The poor boy spent the rest of the year refusing to be anywhere near me, practically running away from me when I tried to approach him.

Then the rest of the class found out why my older brothers had beaten him up.

The whole thing was so humiliating!

At least they can’t find out about David in another state.

It took some creative convincing, but Dad is finally okay with me staying on campus over Spring Break to study.

In truth, I have a couple of projects to work on for my engineering degree. The real reason I want to stick around is that I found out that David is staying on campus for Spring Break this year.

I want to have time to talk to him without his ever-present entourage.

Actually, I’m not sure if they’re staying on campus too.

This could prove to be disastrous.

But I’ve already convinced my family that they don't need to come to college and pick me up, I can’t just change my mind at the last minute if things don’t work out.

Tuesday, April 16, 2019 So, it seems that both of our groups of friends are headed out for Spring Break.

Yay!

I’ll have a chance to maybe talk to David.

Oh wow, my palms are sweating just thinking about it.

But I’m determined to go through with this.

As far as anyone knows, he doesn’t have a girlfriend, or worse, a boyfriend.

I can do this. Friday, April 19, 2019 Okay, so far I have managed to get all my work done for the rest of the semester by being magnetized to the library.

It’s like, everytime I see him, my feet immediately take me to the stacks to find more references for my term papers!

I pump myself up to talk to him and then…

I turn bright red and walk away.

But it doesn’t make sense for me to be in the library so much just because he is.

This is crazy.

I am a madwoman.

I’m a perfectly logical adult.

There is no reason I should be sitting here writing in my diary in a public space instead of doing something about my crush that would be worthy of recording here.

I

(interrupted entry) David came and talked to me!

I’m not even kidding.

Nor did I slip, hit my head, and hallucinate the encounter!

He sat down next to me and asked if I would mind if he sat with me for a while.

He noticed that I was spending an obscene amount of time in the library this Spring Break.

I just about swallowed my tongue when I looked up and there he was.

We actually had a great conversation about classes and nightmare teachers.

Turns out that he took Western Civ last year since it's a requirement for both our majors.

He offered to lend me some of his old notes from the class.

I jumped at the chance, nevermind the fact that I’m doing really well with the class already.

After chatting for a good hour, he invited me to the cafeteria for dinner.

I was gobsmacked for a minute before I agreed.

It was fun!

David is quite the conversationalist.

And it didn’t take long for my normal boisterousness to reassert itself as I got more comfortable with him.

He’s so nice.

Turns out that he’s the youngest with four married sisters.

And he’s also from out of state.

He wants to be a Pediatric Oncologist and has since his best friend in fifth grade died of cancer.

Isn’t that noble?

He’s so amazing…

I think I’m swooning.

In any event, it’s a much more noble reason than I have for my choice of future profession.

I’ve always been obsessed with the shape of things, buildings in particular.

It turns out that the science and art of architecture fits my mindset.

I’m not ashamed of it or anything, but I wish I had a more emotional reason for choosing that particular major. David didn’t seem to mind.

He said that there’s nothing wrong with being logical about one’s career choice.

We talked and laughed until the cafeteria closed and then he walked me back to my dorm.

I can’t believe it.

I’d almost call it a date, but everything was so casual and nice.

And I don’t think dates are allowed to be in the school cafeteria.

Anyway, he wants to meet me in the library again tomorrow.

Maybe I’ll learn more about him… Saturday, April 20, 2019 Here lies Alana Easeman.

Thief. Meddler. Blabbermouth!

She talked too much. No… She never knew when to leave well enough alone. No, maybe… She didn't know when to quit.  I'm thinking of what to write on my former best friend's tombstone when I get ahold of her.

How dare she take my journal, my diary, and show it to the object of my affection!

Oh, this is so much worse than eighth grade!

David told me yesterday during a lull in our conversation.

Apparently she, being the bold one of our relationship, decided to take it upon herself to go to my secret crush, introduce herself, show him my private diary entries, and then ask him if he might be interested in getting to know me!

And worst of all, she then had the nerve to disappear for Spring Break to somewhere I couldn't strangle her for embarrassing me like that!

I'm going to murder her!

I'm absolutely going to murder her this time!

I mean, she has pulled some hair brained stunts over the many, many years of our friendship, but this… this definitely takes the cake!

He kissed me when he saw how mortified I was.

He was so casual about it too! My very first kiss and he just…

It was so nice…

He is a masterful kisser.

It was everything I ever dreamed a kiss could be - warm and wet and wonderful.

I froze when it started; he leaned in like in the movies - slow and non-threatening.

And suddenly his lips were on mine.

My eyes were the size of saucers for a moment, I swear.

But then they slipped closed when he slanted his mouth over mine and licked my lips.

When I squeaked (yes, I squeaked), his tongue was suddenly in my mouth, doing all kinds of interesting, wicked things to me that had me moaning like a freight train.

And he didn't stop - well, obviously he did.

We had to breathe eventually.

But once we got our breath back, he did it again!

He gave my mouth a very thorough examination, right in the middle of the library!

Where anyone could see!

And with the kissing and the touching…

I was in Heaven. He said that he'd felt my stare on him for half the semester and that he simply didn't know how to come over and speak to me without scaring me away. I was laying in his arms, dazed at the time, so I couldn't protest.

Then he kissed me again and I could only think warm gooey thoughts as heat started pooling low in my belly…

I'm still going to murder Alana when I see her!

I'm just not sure if she's going to be my Maid of Honor at our eventual wedding (his words, not mine) or not afterward.


“Why did you turn me?” I asked Him once, a few months into my vampire life, and not out of maliciousness or a desire to draw out of Him any secrets. I was simply curious in my teenage fashion; I only wanted to know why I had become His companion in immortality, why He had chosen me and not any of the other beautiful boys at the Catholic school He plucked me from. He responded to this curiosity by ripping my door off of its hinges, by tearing my pillows until they exploded into puffs of down and cotton, by taking my favorite of His antique lamps and shattering it against the wall. There were certain topics which He was extraordinarily sensitive about, only one of which being the question of why He crawled into my boarding room that night and stole me away. He was unwilling to talk about His own turning, nor the existence of vampires aside from the two of us. Politics bored Him into slumber, most music irritated Him. He could tolerate few TV programs, with one nonsensical exception in the Andy Griffith Show. He petted my hair mildly while we watched it together, like I was some sort of exotic cat He had spent a pretty penny on.

He preferred, at least for that first period of our time together, to discuss our current life and reality. And it most thrilled Him and He was at His most jovial when, every night, we went on the hunt. My first time was a disaster. I had just accepted that I was truly a vampire, against all logic and the teachings of my childhood. For the days it took for me to escape my maze of confusion, He spoon-fed me blood from His own kills in His Manhattan penthouse. Besides, He said, my powers needed to develop. And develop they did. My hearing sharpened until I could, if focused, hear a bird chirping from three blocks away. If the neighbor downstairs cut himself shaving, the scent wafted to my nose. I was too fast for my own good, often overshooting my distance and ending up ten paces ahead of where I wanted to go. I fought my urges to do those human things, eating and using the toilet, now only out of habit rather than need.

On the very first night I was with Him, He showed me my first corpse, told me how He paid handsomely to have them disposed of discreetly. He knew everyone in this city, I found, had his fingers in everything. I spent the time from then until my first hunt wandering His apartment, probing my teeth with my tongue, waiting in fear of the day I would have to gather the limp form of a man and fly it over Central Park. I knew I would be inclined to drop it, to watch it splatter on rocks from this great height, to show the world what had been made of me. But I was far too scared of Him for that. He placed the most exquisite, soul-rending fear into my soul. He would have it no other way.

As we walked to the location of our first hunt, which He would not disclose to me, He explained which kinds of people we ought not to kill. “Policemen, obviously. Anyone rich. Celebrities, though they can be tempting. Those who may not be rich but are notable in the city, those popular with their peers.” The night was cold and dark and dry, so unlike my home in Atlanta. It was hard to keep up with Him, so quick and assured in His every movement. “So, who should we go after?” “The rabble.” He shook his hand dismissively. “Prostitutes, beggars. In general, the poor. People who will not be missed.” I supposed it made sense in a logistical fashion, but the thought made my stomach hurt. “But shouldn’t we kill the rich? Those who do bad things?” I could tell His easily-triggered temper was flaring up by the way the high heels of His boots clicked insistently on the sidewalk. I purposefully avoided His gaze by looking up to the buildings that rose high above us. I was forced not only to get acclimated to my new vampirism, but to a city I have never even visited. My whole life was in Atlanta, then Decatur, where my private school sat like a crown gem.

New York City, though, was the crown gem of America. Later, I managed to tease out of Him that He stayed here because it reminded Him of His original birthplace. Much later, I learned that this birthplace was Constantinople, a thousand and change years before it became as we know it now, Istanbul.

He did not dignify my supposition with a response. I knew He tried to be gentle with me, in those early days. From this I gathered that He had some sort of wound from His own turning that had never been quite healed over. He did not want to treat me as He had probably once been treated by His own maker. It was these pinprick moments of kindness, which I justified largely through fictions of my own creation, that stoked my love for Him. The hunt was the only thing that promised to turn His mood around. I watched His demeanor relax once more as we got closer to our apparent destination.

“It will be jarring at first.” He admitted to me, with a rare note of tenderness in His voice. “But you will grow to enjoy it. Everyone is different. Some go quietly. Others…” He trailed off. I knew He was trying not to upset me before anything had even transpired. “Are less so. But you are stronger than them, faster than them.” We came upon an empty lot, so rare in the city, dotted in makeshift tents of tarps. Grocery carts filled with piles of indistinguishable trash park next to them like cars.

He must have detected my confusion and said, “Building burned to the ground two months ago. They’ve already made use of the place.” His upper lip curled into a barely disguised sneer.

They , the homeless, I supposed were meant to be our meal. I nodded. “How are we supposed to get them? Seems as if they’ve all turned in for the night.” “We’ll wait.”

So we did. He led me to an alley across the street, where our vantage point was good, and the two of us crouched and bided our time. I took the time to use my newly acquired night vision, to observe every inch of His face. From the side, He looked like a grand statue, or a picture in a history book. His complexion was tawny and His hair was black and pin-straight, relaying a complicated racial makeup. He was quite beautiful, in a harsh way, like a desert of snow.

If he noticed me staring, He said nothing. I was sure that His interest in me, that the reason He’d taken me and me alone, was less than pure. But we spent years and years together after this (nothing, in the scheme of his 1,626 total years on earth) before He deigned to touch me in any way that mattered. I think I was still basically human to Him at that time, not yet ripened. He didn’t want me until I was as much a demon as He was. Eventually, one of the homeless wandered out of their tent and stumbled towards us. The man wavered, unseeing in the dark. My maker took me by the wrist and pulled me back, as gently as He could ever. “Quiet.” He whispered to me. “He will relieve himself. Sneak up behind him, and put your fangs into his throat, like I showed you.” The night before, He brought a man back to his (our) apartment and fed from him in front of me. He showed me the exact place where it was best to pierce the neck, when they stop spasming in pain, how much blood is enough to be satiated. I have never, in my decades after that night, forgotten the raw look of that man dying, the wildness of his hands as he tried to dig his fingers into the shag rug.

I felt confident that I could perform my task successfully, but I didn’t think I had the stomach for it. Despite His descriptions of my new life as a good thing, a powerful thing, a thing to be respected and cherished, I had a hard time seeing it that way. It felt like a tremendous responsibility to be 18, to be told that this is your life now, and you better give this man a good death, or he will die suffering and knowing that an unimaginable creature is killing him.

I looked to Him with real fear in my heart. “I can’t.” I whispered. “He didn’t do anything wrong.” “Of course he didn’t.” He whispered back. His eyes flashed menacingly in the dark. “This is the sacrifice you make for your power. Now do it.”

But greater than my moral compass was my terror of the idea of saying no to Him. I still didn’t know how a vampire could die, if He as my maker could snap me from existence with ease. I wasn’t yet aware that He was extraordinarily fond of me, despite his brusque manners, and that He might rather kill Himself than me. His motives still confused me, the idea of His hatred petrified me. And the hunger was setting in, quickly and maddeningly, with the ferocity of a wild beast. So I moved, as slowly as I could, towards the homeless man who had just unzipped his pants. I could feel His eyes on my back as I crept up, unheard. Before I could talk myself out of it, or cry for God, I wrapped my arms around the man's waist and pierced his exterior jugular vein with the new fangs that I still wasn’t used to yet, that will snagged on my lip painfully. Feeding is a whole, messy process, especially if you’re as inexperienced as I was. You’re supposed to bite, immediately release, and form tight suction around the wound. But with the first hint of blood on my tongue, I became deranged, ravenous. I sucked his blood around my teeth frantically, holding the man so tightly to me that I heard his ribs and spine crack and break in my grasp. He tried weakly to pull himself free, but He had been right. I was stronger. It was almost comical, how easy it was.

I slurped until the blood flow slowed to a trickle, until I was wet and sticky down to my shoes. Then I dislodged my fangs and looked up at Him, my maker, the man who put this monster inside of me. He leaned against the brick wall of the alleyway, floor-length jacket rippling. He had a smile on His face, the first one I’d seen of His. I am still shocked today when it’s directed towards me, the hint of pink tongue behind His teeth, the cracking of the stone resolve in His eyes. His approval was warmer than blood, could prop me up better than my own bones.


As the crimson sun disappears into the large dark clouds and the rain drips down on the green grass and a cave larger than the biggest mountains shows a dark shadow One with large red horns, crystal blue eyes, large red hands threatening to break the stone under and teeth that could break the finest of armor’s. As the beast steps out of the cave's shadow it reveals to be a powerful dragon with scales of crimson and wings as long as the god’s wisdom. Its powerful presence threatens to be larger than anything, as the dragon roars the earth, sky, and sea shake as the dragon stands tall, flaps their wings and flies into the storm clouds its scales turning dark with the rain as it flaps its powerful wings it spots a small village with many homes of straw and dirt. As it slowly makes its way down the townspeople shake in terror at the dreadful and powerful dragon. “Oh, thy great o thy powerful great dragon what shall thee desire,” cries a villager in fear as the dragon walks toward the villager it glares, seeing if they should waste their time with them. The villager is a man of wealth with a balding head and large stomach and a robe with a rope tight around his belly. “Give all forms of arts and music to me now or else,” glares the dragon. As the man sees the dragons eyes, the man quivers in fear as he runs to a wooden shack and brings various instruments from the Viol to the Crumhorn and works of art such as sculptures. The dragon looks down on the objects and throws a large piece of gold. Its long circular and round object rolls to a villager as they examine it. As they look closer they notice it is a precious crown made out of gold with colored rubies around it. “That shall be your payment humans,” says the dragon as it jumps and flaps its strong wings against the ground. It holds its new artifacts carefully to its hoard and realizes there is no more room in its enormous cave as it moves around its treasures but its new additions don’t fit anywhere as it realizes it has no more room they lay down but accidentally breaks a sculpture. “What shall I do?,” roars the dragon as it heads outside and heads to sleep it wakes to the golden sun making its scales warm and bright yellow as it stands it goes back to its cave it sits outside glaring at its hoard it thinks of the various kingdoms it is destroyed and ruined the kings and gods it's toyed with, it begins to feel its first ounce of regret as it flaps its wings and flies up to one of the kingdoms it destroyed it is still attempting to rebuild yet neighboring kingdom’s attack it so as it swoops down its people try to attack the dragon but he glares at the people and they stand down in fear of being stepped upon the dragon’s claws. “If you desire to have your art and music back come to the mountain cave north from here and i shall give it back,” as the dragon flaps its wings to fly again a child walks to them. “Sir are you really going to give us back our music?Thank you sir,” smiles the child as she gives them their teddy bear. “my gratitude but I am not a sir good day small child,” says the dragons as they fly across the skies to the village they went to the last night as they swoop down the villagers quiver in fear he tells them to go the north mountain cave and they will receive their treasures back and they repeat the same process until they get to the final kingdom and the dragon sits and roars “come to the north mountain behind the cave if you desire your treasures back” as the dragon jumps up, it soars across the sky’s and heads back home waiting and the first kingdom comes and the dragon gives the treasures from that kingdom back to them and so he tells them to go back home and he does this until he has only one kingdom left as the dragon begins to not want to give it back the king says. “You told us to go behind why,” says the king “Your people have never done anything wrong yet i destroyed it forgive me yet i don’t desire to give anything back,” and so the king replies “Give us only the necessary gold and our arts you may keep the gold,instruments and art of your choosing,”

So the dragon keeps a sculpture, an instrument, and the bear the child gave away without any regret and so the dragon falls asleep unknowing if they did the right or wrong thing. As it takes all the gold it didn’t give back it throws the gold and spreads it all across the big blue sky and when it begins to rain the golden rain begins as people head out they think they might be hit but not a single piece of gold harms a person. As the dragon falls asleep it smiles thinking to itself how it could help many people make others smile once more. As it stands back up it flies once more and makes more gold and as the gold falls everyone sits in their homes waiting to get their piece of gold hoping they will get rich but those rich dreams have become a shortcoming when the villager with a balding head comes and attempts to take all the gold for himself so the dragon swoops down and roars. “You desire to take away their happiness so take your precious gold and rot,” as a large golden bell falls above him and it chimes three times the golden rain stops and so the dragon now sleeps in its cave in hopes of a new hoard but the people of the village still celebrate them to this day for the dragon who helps them all sleep well dragon.