So...I am basically a zombie. My body is rotting, I can't feel pain and other sensation either, my heart stopped and my head keeps rolling on the floor every time I turn it around. But I must say I am STILL not a zombie. As to why here is my story. It all started in the year 2050 when Science was taking over the whole world. Flying cars were invented, food turns into pills, houses were portable, and gadgets and other daily necessities can be stored in just a whip of a finger. Thinking back 50 years or maybe 100 years back it was impossible, that it will be something unconvincing like magic. But we, scientists made it all possible. Playing with our science knowledge and adding a little bit of imagination we made it all possible. Until that time when our team finally made a cure to all sickness with the help of a mushroom. Yep, Mushroom!

Ophiocordyceps unilateralis or also known as Ant-Zombie fungus.  It was discovered back in the 18th century by a British Naturalist called

Alfred Russel Wallace  and it was a study of a fungus taking charge of an ant somewhere on a certain tropical forest. It is a fungus that takes over an insect to be zombified, creepy? yes, but when we look at it medically it was known that this fungus and it's related species can produce

secondary metabolism  for the production of substances acting as

antibacterial agents  that protect the fungus-host ecosystem against further

pathogenesis  during fungal reproduction. Because of this

secondary metabolism , an interest in the species has been taken by natural product chemists and was discovered to produce small

molecules agent  that can be used as a human immunomodulatory  (something to do with human immunity) , anti-infective and anti-cancer agents. It's all good and these hundreds of years of research are all for the humanities advantage but it all came to a halt when we test it to human clones. At first, it was all going well, the surgeries went well because their feeling of pain is not that active and the small molecules produced by the fungus can be controlled and it indeed helps us cut the spreading of cancer cells but all hell broke when those human clones used for testing newly crafted cure wreck havoc in the lab and turn us into zombies. It's a shame but the hundred years of work is still a failure, now here I am lurking around aimlessly while picking up my rotting eye and sticking it back on my eye socket. I walk towards the gas station and sit on the bench. I saw a vending machine filled with my favorite chocolate milkshake but my rotting tummy will surely fail so I just look at it and reminisce the flavor of it. My friend, Julian which is also my colleague sat beside me and growl. "What should we do now?" He asked. I pull out my eyes and gave it to him. "Just talk to my eye, Julian. I can't turn my head since I am tired of picking it up on the ground." I said. My eye may be out of my body but I can still see him. I wonder why too. I roam my sight and saw how rotten he is. He used to be the best looking guy in the lab but now look at him. His jaw that used to be his asset is barely hanging on his face. You might wonder why we can still think, well for a further explanation this fungus can affect the body but it can't affect the brain. That's good news if you ask me but the probability is only 10%. In short in every 100 only 10 people can think so 90% of the population in the whole world are our enemies! Our goal? Look for zombies that can think like us and regain humanity once more by delivering our research to a certain person. But the human soldiers are not that smart. Since they claimed that all of us are just a lump of rotting meat walking and killing humans. Actually, we are not. A human may be infected when they sniff the pollen coming from our head but we don't infect them by biting. We are not harmful at all except to those bastards that caused the misunderstanding. They scare people for fun that's why their heads were blown off making them dead. Most of the fungus is on our head but it does not affect our brain so if someone blows our head into pieces our body automatically stops functioning. And oh, at night we have fo find a place with the perfect temperature to hide so that the fungus continues to grow and we won't die. Sun is not harmful to us but It can slow the fungus growth causing us to stop moving for a while. I saw him snort while looking at my face. "what?" I asked but the guy just snort again and said. " You look funny" I roll my other eye and snort back at him and said. "I saw a gun tucker inside that abandoned house. Use it to tucked back your falling jaw, Julian." He snorts back at me and I do the same. When our attention was caught by a crying child. A child seriously?! At this place where unconscious zombies might infect her?! I hurriedly walk limply towards the crying voice, leaving my eye with Julian. And upon arriving at the place I saw a girl hugging her doll tightly while crying. I hush her but the girl cries louder making me panic a little. "Stop! Don't cry or those zombies might hear you and approach you!" I said but the girl cries more when I saw a flying arm towards my direction slapping my face. It was from Julian. "Why did you slap me?!" I asked but my friend shut me up.

"Don't talk! Remember, we lost our communication ability. All humans can't understand us except our growling!" He said. Oh yes, Humans don't understand us. Sorry, I forgot. Julian then looks at me with furrowed brows and looks at the girl slightly lifting his eyes and curving it into a smile. The girl miraculously stops crying and looks at him.  Seriously, this guy is insane. We found the little girl shocked on her spot shivering. "Julian you can stop now! Julian!" I exclaimed Startling him and making his head slips off his hand. What should we do? We need to communicate with this girl and deliver her back home safely. I roam my eyes when Julian's head comes rolling at me making my eye pop out of its socket and roll around the grass. I was about to fight Julian to death, even though we are dead when my eyes was poked by a stick. I walk towards it, pick it up together with my eye, and walk back at the girl. I start to write using the burnt part of the stick. "Who are you? Where you came from? Who are you with?" I asked the girl. The girl with shivering lips said. "I am Anna Hutchins, I was with my father, his name is George Hutchins. He is looting on that grocery store but I got distracted by a beautiful butterfly and got separated from my father." She explained while holding her tears. I look at him pitifully and wrote on the ground again. "Do you remember your house?" She hesitated for a moment but she gingerly nods her head. "Don't be scared, I and my stupid friend will take you home" I wrote as she smiles at me and nods her head. When I remember the most important thing. I hurriedly wrote on the ground again. "Who's your father again?" She looks at me and answered "George Hutchins" Our eyes almost fall out and realized something. George Hutchin is the head researcher and the most knowledgeable in our field. We thought he turned to one of us but he did not! I'm so glad! Now we can deliver that to him. Julian look at me and said. "We can gain humanity again!" He growls and cheers making the girl gasped in fright. I slap him and reminded him to stop growling at the girl. He just smiles and nods as we cheer together, pumping our fist in the air. I look at the girl and wrote again. "Listen, Anna, don't get too close to us you might sniff the pollen on us and turn into a zombie, and don't get too far from us either or we can't protect you against those curious zombies that can't think. Don't take your mask off too, you understand?" I asked. She looks at us and gingerly nods then I offer her the stick and she holds it tightly as we walk on the road towards the lab to fetch the research papers bearing the last after-effects of the drug. We just walk the road limply with my hands connected to the stick that Anna is holding from the other side while Julian drags his feet while singing a song walking alongside us. Sometimes we stop and let Anna rest a little. Walking without stopping is not a problem for us even with rotting bodies but to Anna, It's difficult. We also stop on empty houses to let her sleep until morning while we guard the house all night and feed her almost anything edible we saw on the way. Days and weeks past just like that and slowly we saw a glimpse of Anna's heart finally opening to us making me and Julian happy. It's been almost a year since that unfortunate day when the whole world turns into chaos but looking at it now, It's quite peaceful, at least in this place... I'm pretty sure the soldiers are doing their job by eradicating the scattered wandering dead bodies on the place. Anna suddenly stops on her tracks and whip her head towards a certain house. "Anna?" I called but she did not leave her eyes on that house and walk towards it with somber eyes. I was about to stop her but Julian stops me so we just watch her as she walk inside the gate and sat on one of the chairs. It was a modern house that looks like it's been left out during a birthday party since a Happy Birthday banner is still hanging on the wall of the house and the rotten cake was all over the ground. I saw Anna wiped her tears and sobs. I poke her with the stick and write on the ground. "Is this your house?" I asked. She look at me somberly and nods, her tears are still flowing down her cheeks.

"It was my 10th birthday when suddenly a group of wounded people came at us and bit our guest. Dad was quick to shelter me but too late to shelter mom back inside the house. We saw how those guys devore mom and turned her into something scary." She explained.

"Devour? As far as I know, It can't affect even if we bit people" I said when Julian reminded me of something. "It was those hooligans fault. Remember Jack with his followers who scare the humans and act like those zombies on the movie?" Julian said. Oh yeah, Those guys whose head were blown by the soldiers. I sigh at the thought of it when Julian walk hurriedly and fix the banner. Picking up his idea I quickly pull up the chairs and tables and put the cupcake I got from the abandoned grocery store and put the candle on top of it without removing the plastic. I tap Anna with the stick and wrote on the ground. "Happy Birthday Anna, Sorry to know what you've been through" I look at her apologetically knowing how we start it all. Jullian and I sing a happy birthday song that sounds like a growling animal on Anna's ear but luckily it made her happy. She pretends to light up the candle and blow on it and with that, we happily celebrated her birthday, though it's just a pretend birthday party hoping that It could cheer up Anna a little. Then Julian lean down and get the stick from me to write on the ground too. "It's okay Anna, We'll restore humanity and celebrate your birthday again!" He said making Anna broke into a small smile, relieving us. She then runs towards a big box and rampage through it, she then both gave us a magic blackboard toy with a pen. "By the way who are you two? I was too scared before to know who you are...but you sure are different from those who we encounter before" She wrote on the board and smile at us, we both look at each other before we answer. "I am Jeraldine Anderson and This is Julian Ward. We are both from the City and our job is the same as your father." I wrote. "Your father is our colleague and we must give the papers to your father before Humanity was swept out by this fungus that turned people into zombies," Julian explained further. She then pulls the button that erases her notes and writes again. "I can help you too! I promise I won't hold you back!" She said and pump her fist on the air. We chuckle and thanked her as we exit the house when a shotgun suddenly burst my arm. Jullian hurriedly pull my other arm and hid us behind his back. "Let go of that child!" An angry and rotting old man with a shotgun said threatening us to burst our heads if we won't let her go. "Child let's go here," He said. Looking at him he's like us too. He's infected maybe just a month ago since he's still fresh. "Are you an idiot old man?! She can't understand us! All you're doing is making her scared!" Julian explained. The old guy then burst Julian's arm making Anna scream in fright as he hurriedly reloads his shotgun. Without knowing what to do. I pull out my liver and throw it at him making Anna's face contort in disgust and pull the stick and run. "Jullian hurry up and run!" I screamed but the old man shot his limpy leg making him stumble. Our eyes widen as we saw Jullian hug the old guy's leg buying us some time to run. "Run now! Go to the lab and bring the research paper to Profesor Hutchins!" He said while struggling. Then we run as fast as we could away from the place. I turn my head around and saw the old man pointing the gun to Julian's head. "Remember bring back the humanit-- BANG!" He didn't finish his words when the old man burst his head off. I am crying but i was too dry so there are no tears falling. I quickly enter the password in the lab and get the research paper. The old guy is still hunting us so I put the research papers on a sealable plastic bag and put it to Anna's bag. I hurriedly wrote on the lab's whiteboard telling her to go and gave it to her father while I am stopping the old man. She cries and shakes her head, not wanting to leave me behind. "Anna! Don't be stubborn go now!" I growl but as expected she doesn't understand me so I quickly poke her with the stick and asked her to hide under the table. The old rotting man finally came and cock his shotgun at me. "Where's the child?" He asked. But I just look at him. I pull my right kidney and throw it at him but he's not deterred. At this rate, I might lose all my internal organs. So I quickly think of a way to get that gun when my eyes laid on something. I slowly walk towards the red button and look at him. "Go to hell mother fu*ker!" I said and push the button startling him. The whole lab turns red because of the emergency button that I pushed and a loud noise filled the whole place making him panic a little. I use the opportunity and pull the gun with the help of my intestine and shot his head off. I slowly approach the table where Anna is hiding and urge her to come out. We left the place and walk towards the city where the soldiers and other humans are.

The things that happened are still fresh on my mind and I know, that I shouldn't feel pain but my chest feels like it hurts every time I remember Julian. His contorted smile, his rotting face, his falling jawline...gosh! How stupid it is to just realize that I am in love with my best friend? My thoughts were cut by Anna's voice. "Father!!!!" She exclaimed and let go of the stick to run for his father's embrace. I smile at that image knowing that Anna suffers miserably due to our mistake and probably most of the people in the world including me. Noticing my love for my best friend when my body is already rotting. I was about to turn my back when I heard Anna's voice. "No father! Don't!" She exclaimed as bullets shower on me erasing my whole existence.

Too bad, I was hoping to have a heartwarming farewell to Anna but I guess looking like this, It's impossible. Goodbye Anna. "Hey! What are you laying on the ground for?" I heard Julian said. I quickly stand up and face him. His face is not rotting and his jaw is still intact...I smile at him and said. "I love you!" She smiles at me and holds my hand. "I know," He said as we walk towards the stair up in the sky.


It was the year of 1982. The people of the Indian subcontinent witnessed a phenomena known worldwide by the name of ‘Skyquake’. It was named by the author James Fenimore Cooper. Apocalyptic noises started coming out of the sky. There were no signs of any lightning in the area, there was even no rain that day. Some people were giving the opinion that it could have been the earthquake. That theory was dismissed soon as the Richter scale picked up nothing. With both thunder and earthquake out of the equation, people’s superstitious beliefs started coming as an explanation to these strange haunting sounds, seemingly, coming from the sky. The sounds were almost like a lion’s roar mixed with the loudest of thunder you can imagine. The media was trying to pass it up as a govt experimenting with some kind of weapon. It was a plausible theory but truth be told, even that was far fetched. Each person had a different theory as to what the noises were, or what their origin was but on one point everyone had the same opinion, whatever the sound was or whatever its origin, it didn’t bode them any good. Many independent investigators, along with the officials, set upon the case. There were quite a few unusual facts about the Indian subcontinent Skyquake ( in short, ISS quake). Firstly, the sounds were strong around the coastal areas, which was bringing in another round of theories. It was possible that the sounds were coming from the sea, experts laid down many theories, stating the ways the noises could be coming from the Bay of Bengal. Secondly, it happened only in the daytime, when the sun was up. The noises would come down almost every day but only during the daytime. Third point, many species of the animal kingdom, such as birds, monkeys, even elephants, could detect the noise before the humans. Many people had correctly guessed the timing of the noises by seeing the animals. Another interesting fact was that whenever the Skyquake, the birds would fly away from the coast. No matter where they were, the birds would always fly away from the coast. This strengthened the theory of many experts who were of the opinion that the Skyquakes were coming from the sea. Situation escalated when reports of various sea creatures sighted in the Bay of Bengal. Fishermen who had their livelihood in that area. They refused to go to the sea. The export of fish played a huge part in the economy of the Indian subcontinent nations, so it was after the boycott of the fishermen, that the governments decided it was to get into the matter. Before that they were not really interested, yes, it was mysterious but it was not hurting anybody. But then, after the fishermen boycott, it became a big problem. The sightings were nothing substantial. A couple of murky photos and about 20 odd witnesses were not enough to prove anything, but given the situation that was, everyone was on the edge, it just needed a spark which was provided by the supposed sightings. Paranoia was in everybody’s head, the frequency of the skyquakes had dropped down but still it was happening, and people were afraid, they were really afraid. Saleh Ahmed Selim, a photojournalist for BTV( Bangladesh Television) was sent to investigate the case of ISS quake on 6th March, 1981. The channel wanted to make a prime time story of the issue. Saleh, an ardent young man 24, was sent with the hopes that he can capture the Truth or at least something controversial on his camera. BTV was not known for serving spicy stories or giving fuel to conspiracy theories. But here, they had a reason. The people, the normal folks, will be much interested in a mysterious case such as the ISS quake. The govt was recently caught in rather shady businesses, so what BTV were doing was to divert the attention of the public towards something else. In this case. The ISS quake mystery. Saleh had already arrived at Cox's bazar. He would start his job from there. His job was simple, just observe, be vigilant, anything unusual, catch it on the camera. And also if the skyquake happens again, he should record it with a video camera. Mr Saleh was certainly the best in his business. The equipment given to him was not given to many during that time. He had everything the job needed. Athletic, smart, observant, careful and had a knack for mysteries. In Cox's bazar, he found there about a dozen specialists sent by the government to investigate the ISS quake. The specialists were part of a joint operation conducted by the nations of the Indian subcontinent. In total there were 5 nations which took part in it, Srilanka, India, Bangladesh, Myanmar and Maldives respectively. Also, the US, Russia, UK, China, Germany and Japan gave their help. Saleh knew that there would be a team to investigate the case. Saleh, with his dashing personality and smiling face, went one evening to have a small talk with one of the specialists. His name was Hussain Khan. Saleh had a long chat with him. He jotted down the information he got in his notebook after the chat ended. He was only a photo journalist but he certainly knew the job better than an actual on field journalist. He sent the information to the BTV headquarter. The information was given like this in his letter…. “A test has been conducted by the ST ( special team) which has led to some findings. The sound or the skyquake is actually coming from somewhere in Barisal. It is either coming from above the sky or in the waters. They cannot determine whether it is coming from the sky or from the water, though tests and research show that the noises are coming from inside the Bay of Bengal. The alleged sightings of sea monsters are not considered a joke anymore. During the tests, they discovered a lot of information and signs, all which point out that there might actually be something Big inside the Bay of Bengal. Saleh didn't need to send a detailed report. He just gave them an idea, the channel would then send other journalists to inquire and pursue the inside news he gave them. After sending the letter, he decided to go to Barisal himself and see if he could find anything. He couldn’t find anything in his short stay at cox’s bazar, nothing happened, apart from him getting the information regarding the special team’s finding. Their investigation was not something top secret, in fact, as Saleh suspected, they could just have been set on to show that the govt was doing something. Though they certainly did their job with all the enthusiasm, which showed that whatever the government’s interests were, the team were genuinely on the job. It took Saleh a whole day’s journey to reach Barisal. He quickly went into the coastal areas, the last that he wanted was to miss something while he was on his way. He reached the place on 17th march 1981. It was a sunny day. The wind was blowing fine. He had taken the bus to reach the place. Suddenly the sky exploded. He had heard the skyquakes before, but after hearing this one.. They all seemed like tiny squeaks. He understood then that the ST were probably right, the skyquake sounded louder and more ominous here in Barisal than it did in other places. He brought out his recorder and recorded the thunderous roar that had erupted from the skies. The people around him, however, were running for cover like it was doomsday. After the skyquake had finished, everyone returned to their work. Saleh was exploring the place a bit. He was walking down a road he liked. It was nice, with green grass and trees covering the road on both sides. The sunlight was falling on the road, giving it an ethereal look. He decided to record the place. He brought out his video camera and started recording. He continued going down the path. More he went down the path, the more beautiful it became. Suddenly he came to a stop. There was in front of him a 20 feet wall. He was surprised, the place was a rural area and you don’t just find a wall in the middle of the road. Then it came to him that it could be a wall of a local landlord’s mansion. That would also explain the beautiful road he was treading on. He looked at the wall and noticed there was a door in the middle of it. The wall was old, very old, so he thought it was perhaps an abandoned landlord’s mansion. The landlord might have died, and without anyone to look after his mansion, it fell into decay. He decided to explore what was inside the house. He opened the door and went inside through a dark tunnel. After a brisk 10 minutes walk, he came out into the sunshine but lay in front of him was something he never expected. The road led to a staircase, a big,finely made staircase, a staircase fit for a wealthy king. He went up the stairs and then he noticed the strangest thing he had noticed so far. The stairs led into the sky. It actually led him into the sky. And on both sides of the stair, about a 1000 feet under was a big blue sea, as deep as the deepest ocean, which could be deducted by the colour of the sea, which was the darkest blue you can imagine. As he went higher, he could see the sea even clearer. Remember that he was recording it all in his video camera all that time. He was walking for about 2 hours, even though he was very athletic, he got tired, but just as he gave up, he saw the top of the stairs. The last flights of the stairs were quickly done by him. When he reached the top, he saw the wonder… A single road lay in front of him, about 200 metres in width, the road was the same as the one he had tread on before going through the door. But what was the strangest thing in sight was this huge castle , almost a castle that would dwarf any castle that he had seen on TV. He was curious when he saw that, so he went ahead to get a better picture of it. As he got closer, he noticed that the ground was shaking. He found it very strange but when he came to the castle itself, he was thunderstruck. The castle had four towers on four corners of the castle, towers that really could perhaps touch the stars, so tall they were. The castle was ancient, it had become gray by the years. One look at it was enough to tell that. At the front was a huge iron clamped door, though he could see through the bars what was inside. Suddenly the sky had turned red, something large, very Large was coming to the iron clamped doors and then it came to Saleh’s mind what the castle was, It was a prison. At that very moment a big eye looked at him through the iron bars and then it roared, it roared so loud, so loud that Saleh couldn’t hear anything for the rest of his life. The ground shook like it was being thrown across the oceans. Saleh quickly took to his heels and ran like there was no tomorrow. While he was running, the monster kept roaring and stamping, each creating earthquakes. Saleh was found unconscious by a group of villagers on 20th march. He was taken to a hospital, where he found that he could not hear anymore. He was distraught by this tragedy. After spending a week in the hospital, he decided to go and give the recording he had to the ST. The recording was said to be lost during a fire at the ST office that year, or Saleh reported. After getting out of the hospital and stepping out on to the sunshine, he  realized one thing, Humanity didn't need to know this.


“Guardians of the watchtower of the East, I do summon, stir and call upon you to protect us in this rite. Breathe into us the spirit of the true joy of life.” “Guardians of the watchtower of the South, I do summon, stir and call upon you to protect us in this rite. Kindle within us the spirit of spiritual awakening.” “Guardians of the watchtower of the West, I do summon, stir and call upon you to protect us in this rite. Water our deepest roots, so that we may find peace of mind.” Then there was a long silence. I opened my eyes to see three women, their hands clasped, silhouettes framed by velvet curtains, faces softly illuminated by candlelight and turned expectantly in my direction.

“Oh, my turn? Uh, ok,” I stammered. What was my direction again? Never. Eat. Soggy. Waffles. Well, in this case Eat. Soggy. Waffles. Never.

“Guardians of the North, I call on you… to…” Everything I knew about directions and elements dropped suddenly out of my head, leaving a cold, empty space where my brain should be. The others’ faces were beginning to harden in that familiar way that I knew masked annoyance. But the more I tried to recover my balance, the faster panic began to set in. My pulse pounded in my ears and dizziness overtook me. Not now! I begged.

Too late. Hurry up, I need to pee!

She is so awkward, I KNEW we shouldn’t have- What idiot doesn’t know that North is Earth? “GUARDians of the North” I began again, too loud. The voices around me mercifully stilled, though the staring continued. I cleared my throat. “Watchtower of the Earth , I call on you… to… ground us in this rite. Me especially,” I added with a nervous chuckle, glancing around at my compatriots. West subtly crossed her legs.

East impatiently pulled her hand out of mine, breaking the circle, and raised her arms to the ceiling. Billowing sleeves slid down to her elbows to reveal skin covered in intricate blackwork tattoos. “I conceive this circle as a place of contemplation and protection, blessed by the Goddess. So mote it be!” “So mote it be,” the others echoed.

“So mm hmm hmm,” I mumbled behind them.

West rushed out of the room in a whirl of honey blonde braids. The rest of us settled on velvet cushions scattered around the center of the floor. I stroked the fabric absentmindedly as I gazed around the room, observing solemn portraits hung on creamy plaster walls, lush houseplants tucked into corners, and a mantlepiece tastefully arranged with crystal and gold implements. “So you’ve never been part of a coven before?” East interrupted my reverie. “Or so I assume.”

South rested her face in her hand, tapping her cheek with shining black acrylics, awaiting my reply.

“This would be my first one, yes” I said, forcing a cheeriness into my voice.

“So why are you here?” South asked, looking me up and down. I suddenly wished I’d changed into something black. “Is it about that thing you did before?” The others turned to look at West, who was now perched cross legged on a turquoise cushion behind them. Neither of them had noticed her return; come to think of it, neither had I. “What thing?” East snapped. “The…” she tapped the side of her head. “You know.”  South rolled her eyes and exchanged a smirk with East. Keisha shot them a dirty look. Why do they always do that? I heard the thought and, before I could stop myself, offered a sympathetic glance in response. Keisha’s eyes widened and she jabbed her finger at me. “Ah hah!” she exclaimed. “You did it just now, didn’t you?” Reeling at this sudden validation, I realized I might not be insane after all. When I could speak again I asked, “Do you know how to make it stop?” “Stop?” She looked at me questioningly.

I laughed, holding back the tears threatening to escape my eyes. “It’s torture .” “What the fuck are you two even talking about?” demanded East.

“Shut up , Abigail.”

East huffed. “It’s Isis.” “Are you Egyptian?” Keisha shot back, “I thought your great-grandparents came over on the Mayflower.” “They did!” Abigail insisted.

Keisha held out a hand as if to say, well there you go. Abigail smoothed down her hair with a pout. Keisha turned back to me.

“So you’re a telepath.” “My therapist calls it being a highly sensitive person.”

Keisha laughed. “Your therapist would call it that.” “You know telepathy isn’t real, right? It’s just in the movies,” Abigail proclaimed disdainfully. South also spoke up. “If you’re a telepath, then what shape am I thinking of right now?” She leaned back on her hands and narrowed her eyes as if daring me to guess.

“That’s not really how it works,” I offered lamely. “I only…” I trailed off, staring down at the floor. Overhear the nasty things people think about you? My head shot up. Keisha was gazing at me with something like pity. Was I imagining it or had she- Yes bitch, I did, she smirked.

Abigail had been tolerating this nonsensical conversation for quite long enough, thank you. She stood up and crossed resolutely to the doorway. “Well, Callie, it’s been great meeting you, but we’re going to need to discuss amongst ourselves whether or not it feels like a good fit.”

Which she is obviously not. Freak. My heart, a thing which I had retrieved and smoothed out many times before, was once again crumpled and tossed in the trash. Tensing my jaw to keep my face from betraying emotion, I rose to go. Keisha rose too, dark eyes boring holes into Abigail’s.

“I don’t remember anyone appointing you the leader of this coven,” she began softly. Abigail stared defiantly back. “I might as well be. Lilly doesn’t want it, and you-” She stopped herself, pursing her lips. Keisha’s mouth smiled, but her eyes didn’t follow. “Me, what? Why don’t you just go ahead and say it? I see you two giggling and making faces at each other whenever I talk. So say it.” Abigail snorted incredulously. “You’re reading into it, there’s nothing to say!” “Callie, since Abigail is too cowardly to tell me how she really feels, I’m gonna need you to check.” I froze, eyes wide. “It doesn’t- I can’t-” You can’t?

Keisha turned to look at me. I saw the pain etched in her face, carved deep by every moment of disrespect or turning away. I set my jaw and wincing, sputtered, “She says that you’re weird and probably mentally unstable and that the only reason you’re still here is because three are more powerful than two.”

What had just happened? Before I had time to consider it, Abigail whirled on me, rage painted across her face. I took half a step back. Keisha shook her head. “That’s what I thought.”

She sighed, and with a wry grin added, “Well, good luck getting anything done without me. I was trying to spare your feelings, but neither of you can do magic for shit.” Then she slammed the door.

“Crazy bitch!” Abigail shouted after her. I stood frozen in this room which no longer seemed quite as impressive as it had before. The shimmer over everything had dissipated, leaving it all feeling a little dirty and old. Lilly still sat on her cushion, looking blankly at the wall. Abigail sat down heavily beside her and leaned her head on her shoulder. Anxiety swelled up inside me like helium in a balloon, and I began to drift toward the door. “I’m gonna go- I hope you… have a good weekend?” Then I bolted. When I burst through the door into the crisp air of dusk, I took a shaky breath. My head felt stuffed with cotton and slightly achy. I flung one leg over my bicycle seat and was about to kick off when a wave of dizziness washed over me. I set my foot back on the concrete and decided to walk. As I rounded the block, I spied a figure leaning against a car on the curb. It was obviously Keisha. I seriously considered walking back the way I had come, but she had already seen me. I very casually wheeled my bike up as she quickly wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Hey,” I muttered and nodded as I began to pass. “Thanks for backing me up in there,” Keisha said. Reluctantly, I stopped. “No problemo,” I replied, cringing even as the words left my mouth. We looked at each other. “Well, goodnight,” I chirped, giving a tight little wave, desperate to escape before my social skills failed completely. Keisha returned my wave, wearing an inscrutable expression. “Night,” she said. Despite my rush, I was too close and too tired to avoid overhearing her as I walked away. She must think I’m crazy too.

The thought hit me between the shoulder blades, stunning me into stillness. I turned to see Keisha circling the car and opening the driver’s side door. After a brief internal struggle I stunned myself by calling out,

“Hey, do you want to go get a drink or something?” Keisha paused, hand still on the latch, and finally smiled. “Yeah.”


March, 1 st , 2020 Today is the first day of school! (1) My kids are excited, especially Dana, who is almost 7 years old and is starting her second grade. She already knows her classmates and has spent the last week of her summer holidays deciding on whether she should sit next to Casey or next to Luke. Last night, she helped me set the school uniform and I prepared her a delicious lunchbox: a meatball sub, a big, whole apple, and just a bottle of water, as they give her juice at school. My youngest is 3 years old, and though Harry is not as aware as his sister of the huge day he has ahead, we have explained to him that he’s going to begin kindergarten; he’s going to have a new teacher and little friends he will get to play with every day. I set my alarm clock at 7 AM. By then, my husband has already prepared some coffee and toasts. While the milk warms up in the microwave, I wake my children and they spring from their beds. “Yeah, today’s the first day of school!” shouts Dana. I help Harry put on his clothes; she dresses by herself. After a quick yet nutritious breakfast, I comb her hair in two ponytails, I tie the shoelaces of Harry’s sneakers, they pick up their bags and we rush to school! Many parents and grandparents crowd the school gate: everyone wants to get a picture of their child with a spotless uniform and a happy face before homework, sitting straight, and short break-times wear the enthusiasm out of them. I push a little bit to get a good close-up of my daughter, and after she waves good-bye and gives a big hug to her new teacher, it’s time to take little Harry to kinder. I walk into the small classroom along with other parents, and we all remain there until the teacher is confident that the children are not going to cry. As I walk away, I see Harry puts a finger in his nose and I resist the urge to correct him in public: after all, he’s already playing happily with wooden blocks and he has forgotten all about me. I can’t help but feeling a little anxious: will my girl do well in math? What if my little boy misses me and starts to cry? Wouldn’t it be terrible if adaptation to kinder took him longer than a week? I try to push aside these dreadful thoughts. Judging from this auspicious beginning, it seems we are heading towards a good school year! March, 1 st , 2021 Today is the first day of school. (2) For my almost eight-year-old daughter, it seems so weird going back, after almost a year in front of the screen, seeing teachers and classmates only in Zoom meetings, and getting email responses instead of hugs, colorful stickers, or little hearts for homework well done. My four-year-old doesn’t understand a bit. What is a kinder? He cannot remember that colorful building which he only attended a couple of weeks, a year ago, before the lockdown. He doesn’t get why he can’t remain at home with mom and dad. Harry grabs my leg and says “mommy, I don’t want to leave you!” It’s almost no use explaining to him we are no longer allowed to do home-office every day, and that he needs to get in touch with his peers once and for all. I assure him it’s just for some hours, and then I am going to pick him up. I wish I could promise him he will have a great time, but with schools opening up their gates with so many protocols and limitations, the year ahead is just one big question mark for all of us. Dana is sad because she already knows she is not in the same “bubble” that her best friends. Her pal Casey is no longer attending the same school: her parents lost their jobs and had to move to another city. And we haven’t seen Luke in a year: his dad has a heart condition, and thus the boy hasn’t gone to the park or done any activity for fear of contagion. I try to comfort my daughter, she will still get to be around children her age and spend some time in the classroom instead of in front of the computer. “Can I take my Barbie to school?” she asks, as I put inside her bag the books, the notebook, a bottle of gel hand sanitizer, paper tissues, and the pencil case. “No, sweetheart, no toys are allowed this year”. She looks disappointed: she spent half the afternoon sewing a little mask for her doll. Dad and I have told the children that their teachers are going to be great, but we haven’t met them yet: no parent-teacher meetings have been scheduled so far. All I know is that the 3 rd -grade teacher is someone new: Mr. Florio, the previous teacher, is at home, still recovering from pneumonia after he caught the virus. “Such a young man”, my neighbor told me, “I wonder why it hit him that hard!” I don’t know what to say: my sister got the virus last September and it went away like a common cold, but a friend of mine almost died, and she isn’t forty yet. Last night, I set up the school uniform, which is spotless because it has been barely worn, but looks small for my big girl. I prepared a lunchbox too, although she is not allowed to eat it at school: I have to pick her up at noon and go to have lunch at the nearest park, on a bench. There are no outdoor food courts in our neighborhood. Restaurants and fast-food chains are yet to open. And schools may be active, but children aren’t allowed to eat anything in them. I put an apple but decide it will be better to cut it in slices. “But mom! It will get all brown, yuk!” I also have to pack a juice box for her, as drinking fountains have been forbidden. I also set two masks for each child: one that they should wear the entire morning at school, and a spare one just in case. I set my alarm clock at 6:15 AM. My husband is doing home-office for all week since there was a confirmed case among his coworkers. Oh my God, there is so much to do… Although I have already set the clothes, which we wash every time we go outside, the children are no longer used to getting up this early. It takes me forever to get them out of bed and into their school uniforms. We have a big breakfast –I shouldn’t eat so much, those long months indoors have left me with extra weight. I take my anxiety medication together with a glass of water. My daughter is complaining about the pink mask she can’t find. “Sorry, honey, it’s not dry yet!” I had to wash it last night. As for my little boy, we have been teaching him how to put on and take off the mask by himself, but he is still perfecting the skill. I tell the children to go brush their teeth while I double-check my bag: extra mask, hand sanitizer, a bottle of water, an extra pair of shoes to change mine when I walk into the office (the latest request from the management), more anxiety pills because I have such a big day ahead… I comb Dana’s hair, which takes forever: it has never been this long, but I’m terrible at cutting it and I won’t risk going to the children’s hair salon if I can avoid it. And my little boy looks like a young Beatle. They put on their bags, and I ask them for the tenth time to wash their hands, to avoid physical contact with their classmates, to follow the directions, and to respect the protocol. “Don’t share your school objects with other children”, I say. “But mom, wasn’t sharing supposed to be good?” asks Dana. “I know, sweetheart”, I smile at her, but I frown when I picture a dozen little dirty hands getting inside her brand new pencil case. We arrive early to school: children are supposed to enter in different timetables according to their grades. I can no longer walk my daughter to the door, as parents shouldn’t spend more than the strictly necessary time in front of the school. She can barely distinguish her classmates behind the masks so she looks lost, and oh so small… There are other parents around, but I don’t see many cameras. Nor grandparents. Until the vaccine is available for all that age group, we won’t be counting much on them. We want to keep them safe. My daughter waits in line until a janitor, wearing a face shield that makes him look like an astronaut, checks the temperature of every child, and, only after applying more hand sanitizer, allows them to enter one by one into the building. My daughter waves goodbye. I can’t see whether she’s smiling or not, but her eyes look sad. And now I have to wait for at least another 25 minutes before it’s time to take Harry to kindergarten. I can no longer go inside with him, and of course, he cries when I tell him he should go inside to meet his new teacher. He doesn’t remember his friends: he has only seen them a few times in the playground. Nobody hugs him; the principal does not even tap his head. Physical contact should be completely avoided among children and school staff, it doesn’t matter if it’s a 4-year-old being apart from his mother for the first time in almost a year, or a 10-year-old who just bumped his head into a locker and is bleeding. Everyone should stay at least 3 feet apart from one another. By the time Harry finally calms down, I rush to the bus stop. I know I’m already late for work, but I couldn’t imagine it would take me another half an hour for a bus driver to let me get in: there’s a limited sitting capacity and it is the rush hour by now. I go inside the office, I change my face mask and my shoes, sanitize my hands, and have my temperature check. I finally sit in front of my desk and I’m about to turn my computer on when my cell phone rings. It’s my husband. He tells me he’s going to pick up Dana because one of her classmates threw up and has a little fever, so the school is closing the whole grade preventively and sending everybody home. She won’t be back, in the best possible scenario, for the next two days, and if the other girl happens to test positive, Dana should be locked inside for the following two weeks. I don’t know what kind of year we have ahead. I don’t know what kind of day it’s going to be. And still, somehow, I’m ok. Perhaps it’s the medication, but I prefer to think that all of this we have been through has raised my tolerance threshold to uncertainty. Time will tell. (1)   In Argentina, where I’m from, school years begin in March (when the summer is ending) and finish early in December, when the days are already scorching hot. Last year, on March 16 th all schools were closed because of the Covid-19 pandemic, and classes went full-time remote for the rest of the year. (2) In March 2021, schools in Argentina reopened following strict protocols.


“She’ll hang by her freakin’ balls!” The sixteen mercenaries she’d sent to kill him met that fate too, so it wasn’t an idle threat when Lance swore that his own mother would perish. He chugged his ale and slammed the tankard onto the table, forming a crack across its wood. His sword stood unsheathed beside him, blood dripping from its edges onto the open wounds of his latest kill. She was growing more desperate to finish him off. He still didn’t understand, but he understood enough as he stared down all the faces gawking back at him. To send a woman into a crowded bar during daylight, seduce him, and try to stab him in public, though? That epitomized cruelty. One by one the faces cowered. He snickered. He was getting good at this. Lance picked up his sword, left the appropriate amount of gold on the table to cover the costs of wood and corpse removal services, and left. The city of Thead was smothered by the high heat of summer, the sky colored crimson as desert dust wafted through. He glanced in the direction of the walls to the east, travelers coming and going, those coming more threatening to him by the day. Any one of them could be out to kill him. He masked his face with his bandanna and disappeared into the alleys behind Main Street. Thead was a city erected around a deep underground station. The desert in which it was built was too unpredictable for daily tasks, so the founders dug tunnels. And those tunnels forked into other tunnels, which forked into marketplaces, banks, homes, and everything else you’d expect to find in a major city. Electricity was flowing all day and night to light the routes. And, somewhere in the depths of the underground pit city, his mother was waiting, a knife in one hand and a concealed knife in the other. He was four years old the first time she ordered a hit on him. A boy approached him, a couple of years older, and asked to share toys. Lance was so glad to have the opportunity to make a friend, growing up alone with no siblings and no father. His mother was a soldier of the Queen’s Contempt, an order of troops thought to carry out Her Highness’s secret, merciless agendas. So he often spent his time alone, never learning to read nor write, but only to wait and play. He was thrilled to have a boy his age talk to him at the playground. Someone was watching, though. Someone he did not know and never met again. Lance named the boy Hits in his memories. Hits made flying sounds with his wooden dolls and tied capes around their necks, turning them into superheroes. He ran around the playground, making earnest effort to enjoy time playing. Lance was too young to suspect foul play as Hits ran out of the playground and into the busy city, talking to hooded strangers. Hits returned from one of those ventures with a knife concealed in his sleeve. He charged at Lance, the caped doll tight in his hand, then dropped it, revealing the knife behind it. Lance was confused, but it did not last when Hits started slashing at him. He cut through Lance’s sleeve on the first strike, leaving a scar the length of his arm. Hits bared his teeth and growled at him, then licked the blood off the knife. “I’m a present from your mother,” he said. Then an arrow pierced his neck. The boy fell dead onto the tiled playground and, when Lance turned, saw a cloaked figure being subdued by local guards. A bow fell from his belongings, and he never saw the person again. Twenty years passed since that day. The second attempt came nine years later, after Lance was old enough to register for military training. He’d hoped the lessons would bring him the discipline and guidance he missed from having suitable parents. And, with the assassination attempt always lingering in his mind, he thought weapons training would benefit him. And he excelled. So, when another young man his age approached him with a raised sword on the training grounds, he already had the skills and alertness to make quick work of killing him. He gained fame in military school and, with that, came more assassination attempts. Eight have come in the last year. And so, he battled with the question, why did his mom want him dead? Often, when his mother would come home from work, she pummeled him with the blunt side of her weapons. Taking himself to the playground and spending the day there seemed the safer choice. Until he met Hits. Perhaps that is also why he excelled with weapons training – he already had enough exposure to garner his interest! His mastery followed. He abandoned his military training. If fame meant more promotions, and promotions meant fame, then he didn’t want his mother to learn about him. He spent some years above ground for a time, but those efforts, too, were futile. She proved that she was going to find him no matter what he did. He sheathed his bloodied sword and took his first steps into the depths of Thead. Forgetting her was not a choice for him. She was not going to forget him. She had the money to pay the finest swords and best detectives to ask for the whereabouts of her “missing son.” He was going home today, a thought which sent goosebumps from his head to his heels. The main market at the bottommost level was busy with its usual activity. Vendors were barking at passersby, hoping for a sale. Construction workers were lugging metal rods shaped like the letter I on their shoulders. People bumped into each other and didn’t apologize, their eyes locked on their destinations. Lance disappeared into another alley. There, he entered a local tailor’s shop and plucked the finest looking clothes from the shelves, sight unseen. His mother was not the most important knight of Queen’s Contempt, but her stature was high enough that a man in shredded clothes would draw much attention lurking around her office. He dressed in the darkness under some blown out light bulbs. He emerged in the bustling city again, with a different pace and posture. He crossed the least busy streets and made his way toward Sabtacks Keep. The keep was built of a shining material the builders called presentium. It had a dark, obsidian color up close, but a reflective, sparkling surface when viewed from the city. It was an abundant compound, and quite sturdy as well. The keep aged two hundred years without a crack or loss of luster. Sentries manned its grounds, archers it walls, and eagle-eyed scouts from lookout towers high above. Lance snuck in without issue, knowing all of their movement patterns. He didn’t know where his mother worked, but he guessed it was nearer the top of the castle. He remembered that recruits were kept on the first floors. And he saw young boys, worn and beaten just like him, as he passed through the shadows. He reminisced and wished them well. Lance was also familiar with the next few floors. Soldiers and their dormitories occupied the floor above the recruits. The captains and sergeants had their offices and rooms above them. The dining hall was on the fourth floor, and would be easiest to navigate now that lunch was done. Above that, though…. He shivered. That was all unknown. So, when Lance climbed the final step onto the fifth floor, he crouched and peeked around the wall. He was in a dark hallway. Traces of light from the fourth floor were bright enough to reveal light bulbs along the walls. Yet, none were lit. There was a room across from him, with a glass door and glass windows. The lights within were also off. He squinted, eager to catch the slightest hint of what might be inside, but reasoned the fifth floor was an infirmary. And an inactive one at that. But, don’t soldiers get injured all the time? Something moved behind the door. Lance was thankful he hadn’t moved since he reached the top of the stairs. He squinted again and held his breath, laser focused on the shadow that moved within the shadows. He resumed breathing after a minute, certain his imagination took hold of him. Something behind the door growled. And then, it banged on the glass. The windows shook. Lance jumped. The ground moved a little too, enough for Lance to feel it in his legs. He gazed deep into the shadows, unable to see through the darkness. Bang! This was more forceful than the last. The windows shook again. Lance looked harder, and thought he saw orange, polygonal eyes staring at him. He escaped up the stairs next to him to the sixth floor, the growls and banging on the glass more fearsome now that he was moving. His heart trembling, he peeked upstairs. He wanted to move fast because, now that something was making so much noise so close to him, he needed to flee from it. Voices approached him from the hallway below. He saw the nearest staircase was on the other side of the sixth floor. The sixth floor was quiet like the sixth, but it wasn’t an eerie quiet. It was a sophisticated silence and, looking around, Lance saw office suites. Men and women in fine silk suits strode around lugging large, hard covered books in their arms. They were bookkeepers, but there were others in white gowns too. He did not know who they were. He entered while crouched, hiding underneath walls, as the voices below him grew closer. He saw two men in armor asking the workers on the sixth floor questions as he crept his way up to the seventh. The seventh floor led into a well lit hallway. This was decorated with swords, shields, and axes on its walls. He did not see movement from either side of him, but he needed to traverse his way around until he found the next flight of stairs. He stayed low and tiptoed as the voices under him crept closer. He started left. He passed by many large wooden doors, many of them lit from the cracks above the floor. Traces of voices trailed into the hallway, but he could not decipher the words. He thought he recognized one voice – his mother’s friend Leslie. And Leslie was also a member of Queen’s Contempt. He was getting closer, should his guess be right. But, a pair of voices echoed from the end of the hall, and Lance was forced to leap behind a crate as they turned the corner. He crashed into it, causing it to slide an inch. The voices stopped, their eyes scouring ahead for movement. They continued their conversation after a moment, and Lance crawled into a vestibule behind him. One of the voices was elderly, and he heard the sound of a cane clapping into the hard floor. She was saying something about new responsibilities to other, who remained quiet. But he recognized her voice when she spoke. Then saw her , as he peered through the vestibule. His mother was a short woman with brown hair. She had an average build, but it had grown some since last he saw her, eleven years ago. She kept her hands folded behind her back. The older woman with the cane spoke about things the Queen wanted her to accomplish, most of which involved killing. Lance’s heart leapt from his chest. Doubts pillaged him. Could he really kill his own mother? Would that make him any better than her? How could he do it when she wasn’t even alone? She was a knight too – could she best him? Had he come all this way for nothing? He remembered the corpse he’d left in the bar. No. He didn’t have a choice. He rubbed his cheek, the last place she’d ever hit him, then exhaled a deep breath. Sooner or later, she would catch him. Lance emerged from the vestibule and followed them. The armored guards from the sixth floor found their way upstairs, along with some white coats too. So, he spied his mother entering a doorway on his right, and disappeared into an unlit room. He stepped back into the hall, once he was certain all were gone, and marched up to his mother’s door. He reached for the handle. There’s no turning back if you open this door . He shook his thoughts away and opened the door. His mother was sitting at a wooden table, staring out of the window across from her. She had just finished wrapping a blanket around her as she sat down. Lance closed the door without a peep. He took two steps inside when she stopped him. “I thought I heard you outside.” He stopped and thought to leap behind the couch next to him, but she turned and looked at him. She snickered, then turned her back to him. “Come to kill me?” Lance did not answer, but he did reach for his sword. His mother stood and walked up to him, her shoes clapping against the floor. “But, you should know something. We are not allowed to have children in the Contempt. The Queen would have killed us both if she ever found out about you.” That did not make sense, then. She should have killed him as a baby. “So,” she continued, “go ahead and kill me then. I won’t stop you.” She grabbed his hand which grasped his sword, drew it, and held its point to her throat. “If this is how you repay your mother after all the years of life I’ve given you, then go ahead and kill me.” She closed her eyes. But then she opened them again, two seconds later, glaring at him through her eyebrows. She turned her back to him again and stepped away. “You could ask her, you know. The Queen is right upstairs.” She took her seat facing the window again and did not look at him. So, the Queen’s Contempt were not allowed to bear children. Was it true? How could he know for sure? Something he knew about Queen Cerim, though, was that she loved killing so much, she assembled a group of skilled women to murder anyone that displeased her. She called that group her Contempt and the people lived in fear of Her Highness. Lance disappeared into the hallway, silent as a spider, and found his way upstairs. The eighth, and topmost, floor of Sabtacks Keep opened into a grand court. Stone pillars supported the vaulted ceiling, some thirty feet over his head. Torches were burning along the pillars, more for an effect than a need. A throne stood on a dais fifty feet across from him, shining with hues of presentium, gold, and jewels. Queen Cerim sat upon her throne, beckoning him forward. “Come forward, young man.” Lance obeyed. Sweat formed upon his brow as he crossed the blazing torchlight. Beads rolled down and into the corner of his eyes, burning them with salt. He wiped them dry with the back of his hand. “I know you,” she said. She relaxed back into her throne, astounded. “You are that talented young boy that disappeared from the military school some years back.” She uncrossed her legs and opened them wide in her throne. “Tell me, how did you learn such skills?” Lance detected a sarcastic inflection in her voice. And, he guessed that she wanted him to look between her legs. He grabbed his sword, but it was already too late. Someone’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and a sword protruded through his chest. He spat blood everywhere. He turned and swung, his hand still tight on his blade, but his mother batted it away like a balloon. The sword clattered to the floor. She caught his head and eased him down to the ground. He watched her smile from the corner of his eye as she stepped over his body and approached the Queen. She knelt before her. “I’ve gotten rid of an age old nuisance,” she confessed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it sooner.” The Queen remained silent. “We encourage you to breed with our knights to sire strong offspring. None of the others in my Contempt are callous enough to kill their own children.” Cerim cackled. “You deserve that promotion.” Lance spent so many years away from his mother that he forgot how manipulative she was. And there, in the Queen’s court, she finally got the best of him.


Content Warning: Threat of impending doom No matter where we are, Uncle Julio always ends up the center of attention. He’s not trying to be the center of attention, yet it happens all the same. At his bar and grill, he usually sits at the same corner of the bar, with a group of laughing, talking friends who go silent if he leaves them for only a minute. At the bars in the town where he grew up, people congregate like moths around a porch light, slapping him on the back as the Packers game blares in the background. At my Grandfather’s house, when there are family gatherings in the summer, everyone sets up the folding chairs and coolers in a ring, and Uncle Julio is the focal point. Such as now.

As usual, Uncle Julio is grilling hamburgers, this year over his new Solo Stove instead of on a grill. He and other adults have started a ‘beer garden’—empty cans in a pile on the grass, to be picked up later. Also, the annual kids’ fire has been kindled. It starts with a stick poked into the adult-made bonfire, until the stick catches fire. The torch is then rushed to the dry twigs and dead, crunchy leaves we’ve prepared, and the flame is fed with bigger twigs, then sticks, and finally dead branches. No adult assistance or supervision (or so we think). A difficult feat in our younger years, now a matter of tradition. Another thing you should know about my Uncle Julio: he always has an eagle-eye out, especially on the youngins. Be you his son, niece, nephew, or of no relation at all, he’s watching all the kids, all the time. As I contemplate his face, animated in conversation, my memories unfurl… A muggy summer night at Uncle Julio’s bar and grill, kids running around outside, having scooter relay races and waving neon-colored glow sticks. A water fight briefly broke out, my cousin Luis appearing with a plastic water bottle poked full of holes, squeezing the contents at one of his friends; but Auntie Estela put the kibosh on that, saying, “Your dad paid for those, don’t waste them!” Believing it prudent to distance myself from the scene of the possible crime, I took a break inside. As in many bars, several taxidermied animals and parts of animals adorn the interior, one of them in the low entrance hall: a turkey skin spread flat on the wall, feathered wings outstretched. As I passed, I unthinkingly lifted my hand… “HEY! Guadalupe! Don’t you touch my turkey!”

My head snapped up, and I stepped away, probably looking like the guilty incarnation of “Who, me?” Uncle Julio was behind the bar, pointing an accusing finger at me as patrons laughed. To this day, I usually hug the wall opposite the turkey when I go in.

At Uncle Julio’s house, we’re even more aware of his gaze. He’ll randomly stalk into a room, take a slow look around with brows furrowed, say, “Hmmm,” or grunt, and then leave. He has the ability to be very loud and intimidating, and he knows how to use it. There is one thing he has used this ability to impress upon us more than anything else: Do not break the Arizona vase.

Oh, that vase! Nobody likes it except Uncle Julio, and maybe Auntie Estela. Big, red-brown pottery shaped like a bulging four-foot-tall amphorae of the Roman empire, but without handles. Rings of tiny triangles, red, orange, white, and pale blue band the entire surface, and the black stick figure of a dancer playing a flute is front and center. Ensconced in a decorative alcove in the hallway, everyone walks softly past it. We all wonder fearfully what will happen if we ever break it, for Uncle has not even issued his customary threat of “I’ll beat you with a shovel!” in relation to this. In the heat of dart gun wars, if a dart hits even that angle of the wall, everyone freezes, and all remind the rest, “BE CAREFUL!” A permanent armistice has never been discussed as an option. After all, Uncle Julio is the one who buys his sons more darts and guns, so that is taken as sanction enough to continue. But he’s not always giving us the stink-eye. On our last visit, he stomped into the kitchen from working outside and held up a foot-long brown-striped feather. “You want this, Guadalupe? You could make it into a feather pen.”

I looked up from my notebook and smiled. “Yes, please.”

He set it on the edge of the counter, and I went back to writing. When he came in again later and saw that his gift was in the same place, he barked, “Hey, do you want this feather or not? I’ll throw it in the trash if you don’t.”

“I want it.” I retrieved the feather and set it on the back of the couch near my head. Uncle left and returned a third time, looked around for the feather, and took it into the kitchen. I heard him rummaging in a drawer, and a minute later he came back and dropped the feather into my lap. The anchor point of the feather had been cut off, and the ink barrel of a dissected ballpoint pen had been shoved inside the hollow quill. Black tape—maybe electrical?—was wrapped around the tip to keep the pen from falling apart. Grinning hugely, I said, “Thanks, Uncle!” He smiled and walked away, and I immediately began practicing a fantasy code which I hadn’t worked on in months. I love looking at Uncle Julio’s eyes when he’s happy. It’s like a cross between melted chocolate and brown stained glass with the midday summer sun shining through, but his eyes are, of course, alive and brilliant. I saw his eyes like that when he visited our house one time.

Walking past the couch he was sitting on, I noticed something shiny on the floor, and picked up a penny. “Did you drop this, Uncle?”

“Naw, I put it there. I’m seein' who notices.” Grandpa used to throw change on the floor when he walked past us grandkids, laughing as we scrambled and fought. Maybe Uncle had done the same. I did a swift scan of the area, and—aha!—spotted another coin. But as I bent to pick it up, Uncle said, “Just leave it, see if anyone else notices.” No one did. I was two cents richer.

“Hey, Rafe!” Uncle’s call brings me back to the present—roasting meat aroma in my nose, greasy food on paper plates, beer cans on the grass, afternoon is drawing on.

Uncle Julio beckons my cousin over, pulling him down so he can murmur in his ear. “Go get some of that cedar wood and throw it on your fire, but don’t tell Pablo until you finish.” “Watch this.” Already chuckling, Uncle Julio directs the attention of the adult circle to the kids’ campfire. We were expressly told not to take from the trailer of dry wood brought by a great-uncle. That cedar is only for the Solo Stove. “Hey! What are you doing!” Pablo yells a lot, and he’s doing it now, panicking as his older brother throws the forbidden wood into the kids’ fire. After Rafe has chucked several pieces into the now-healthy blaze, he turns to his younger brother with a grin. “Dad said I could.”

Pablo’s chest and cheeks deflate. “Oh.” Uncle Julio laughs with his head back, teeth showing white through his black beard.

He’s always watching…and often laughing.


I’m going to pass out. I’m going to pass out and hit my head on this disgusting, stained tile and catch a deadly infection and die. If I weren’t freaking out when I flew through the bathroom door, I would’ve taken my time to look around before squatting over the dirty, cracked toilet and struggling to balance against the stall while holding the test between my legs. It was clear this bathroom needed some TLC and I was not about to be the one to be wheeled out of it on a gurney. I rested my forehead against my palms and tried to take a deep breath as a wave of hot nausea washed over me. Every second seemed to be taking its sweet time in passing.

I was so nervous when I came in that I could barely even pee. I mean, what idiot can’t pee? Now, as I sit and wait, all I want to do is pee my pants and scream and quite possibly pass out from the rate my blood pressure is skyrocketing. I couldn’t keep my hands still. They were shaking so badly that even fidgeting with my necklace was getting difficult.

I never imagined myself in this scenario. No, not me . The careful, responsible friend who you could rely on to get you home safely after a night out. The friend you called when you needed sound advice. I was the one who talked my friends out of texting their toxic ex on lonely nights. Me . The one who always had the tissues when needed. The girl who never drank too much just in case she had to pick up her friends in the middle of the night. Where was she when I missed that pill? Huh? What happened to the angel on my shoulder that night? My eyes were already overflowing with tears. Once again, I’m not sure if it's the pungent scent stinging my nostrils or the fact that I’m sitting hunched over on the toilet in a gas station bathroom, praying to fail a test for once in my life. Dear God, I’ve passed every other test I’ve taken, I think I can afford a hit to my otherwise perfect record.

Each breath came labored. My chest was aching as I sat and watched the timer on my phone. Thirty-seven seconds . It’s only been thirty-seven seconds since I set the small, plastic stick face down on the square container connected to the stall. The reality of the situation slams into me over and over as I search the small square stall for any sign of hope. The maroon paint was chipping and had random names scribbled here and there. If my eyes weren’t betraying me with tears, I’d probably be able to make out what the clearly written text in front of me says.

The sound of laughter poured into the bathroom from the hallway. I could barely hear it over the thump, thump, thump of my heartbeat in my ears. At least someone is having a good time. Any other day, that would probably be me. I can almost taste the wine my friends would surely pour me as we laughed off this scare. I’m just being silly. There’s no way. I mean, scientifically it is completely possible and even probable. My mind is having a hard time wrapping around that fact. It’s as if I’m the main character of a horror movie that’s been paused and I’m the only one moving. There’s no way out but I’m grasping at anything here. I can’t believe I’m now this woman. The woman taking a pregnancy test in a gas station bathroom so that her roommate doesn’t see. The woman who let one thing lead to another that led to this exact moment.

Fifty-four seconds. “Dear God, if you get me out of this, I’ll become a nun. I swear, or no, I don’t swear-” I bit my lip to keep from cursing in the middle of my plea to the heavens above. A fresh wave of tears began to pour down my face. I watched them spill onto my jeans. The dark spot on my thigh was growing by the second as my tears soaked into the denim.

I’m not pregnant.

I am not pregnant.

I wrapped my arms around my torso and hugged my abdomen. There is no baby in there. There can’t be. But the waistband of my pants digging into my stomach says otherwise. I’ve been bloated for the past two weeks. I tried convincing myself that I was just bloated because my period was due. But, it never came. Three weeks and not a sign of Ms. Flow. I steal a glance at my timer, one minute and thirteen seconds. In less than a minute, I’ll know. My fingers were itching to flip the test over and glare it into a negative, but I know that’ll only work in my imagination. Which, happened to be running wild with images of children. All the children in my life. My sweet little niece, Remi. Her little curls bouncing around as she jumped into the puddle her mother told her to stay out of.

Then, Reece. My cousin's son, who was a spitting image of his mother. Every time he saw me he would throw his arms up in the air and scream, “Lou Lou!” For the longest time, his L’s sounded like D’s. So my name was Dou Dou. Thank you God, for speech therapist.

Then my mind betrayed me and plagued me with images of Davis. He doesn’t deserve this. His career just took off. As a lawyer, I’m sure he knows how to legally get out of the responsibility of being a father. But I’ve known that man my whole life and I know he’d never be able to get out of the emotional obligation. He’s honorable. He’s dependable. He’d never let me go through this alone. He’d probably marry me just to do the right thing by my parents and his, who would be happy to see us together.

There is no baby in my uterus, but if there was, it would surely have his blonde hair and our blue eyes. We would have the most gorgeous baby, with a lawyer father and a realtor mother. It would be set for life. A good life, too. But now? Do I really need a baby now?

One minute and forty-seven seconds. My heart was beating out of my chest, every single muscle in my legs twitched with my need to get the heck out of here.

Davis would probably laugh in my face if I told him I was pregnant with his child. He’d think it was a joke. We only ever hooked up once and it was a huge mistake. I’ve known him my entire life and I’ve never once heard him mention wanting a family. We were friends. We were really good friends, who got entirely too drunk on a bottle of champagne after his sister’s wedding and made a mistake. Could I love him? Absolutely. Any woman with eyes would love to get this chance. Heck, I would love to have this chance, without the baby.

When I think about feeling for any other man the level of comfort I have with Davis, it’s laughable. No other man could compare to the man that’s held my hand through every breakup, every sad movie, and laughed at all my jokes. He was there the night my prom date stood me up. He held my hand and walked me into prom like I was the queen.

If I flip this test over and it’s negative, I still have to call him. We still have to talk about what happened and who knows, maybe we’ll make a go of it. How am I supposed to focus on building a relationship with any man, let alone Davis, with a ball of hormones growing inside of me for the next nine months? Okay, so technically it would be almost eight months, since I haven’t seen Davis since that night over a month ago. “I’m just stressed. Maybe it’s something else, like cancer. Maybe I’m only late because I’m going into early menopause. Please, let it be early menopause,” I whispered. I closed my eyes as I

The ringing of my timer nearly stopped my heart.

Instantly my mind flashed images of me in the hospital. The nurses were surrounding me as I screamed and cursed, throwing any and every threat at Davis as he flashes me his panty dropping grin. The nurse asks him if he wants to cut the cord, he says yes. Of course he would say yes. As the nurse laid the baby on my chest gently, my eyes met Davis’ teary ones and we both smiled. Happy. We were happy.

In all my panicking, I never let myself imagine a happy ending for us. A white picket fence wasn’t in the cards. But, as I lay back against the toilet seat and let my alarm ring into the silence, I can see it. The calm washes over me as my mind settles on the image of him smiling down at a baby boy, or girl, I couldn’t care less which. The idea of having a baby scared the shit out of me, still does. But part of me wants it. I always have, I guess.

My hands were still shaking as I reached out and flipped the test over. All of the air left my lungs in a rush as I stared down at it. Nothing could have prepared me for this moment. The emotions swirling around in my mind were too much and I couldn’t contain the loud sob that worked its way up my throat. The two lines on the test were clear. They were dark. There was no denying that I was pregnant. I’m going to have a baby. Davis is going to be a father. He’ll be a good one, that much I know.

Me, a mother, who would’ve imagined that.

Something shifted as I shoved the test into my purse. A lightness fell over me and for the first time in days, I felt like I had something to look forward to. Despite being scared to death, despite my heart still climbing up my throat, an overwhelming calmness washed over me and cooled the heat of terror.

I’m going to be a mother.

I’m going to be a mother and I’m going to be okay.


The bus rattled as it flew along the dark highway. The lights of the big city had twinkled into the distance. I was too uncomfortable to sleep. I hugged my backpack and rested my head. Out of the window, all I saw was my face reflected on the glass. The brightest lights for kilometers around were the dim lamps onboard. I was in my first year of college in Vizag, heading home for winter break. My parents lived in a small, frosty, town called Lambasingi, a few hours away. They had taken early retirement and moved there from Vizag, soon after I joined college. They wanted to trade the big city life for something slower. As we climbed higher up the slopes, the winding roads slowed down our progress. A thick, cold mist enveloped the bus. Well-lit four-lanes had melted into skinny mountain roads. I pulled on my jacket, grateful I had remembered to pack it. I took out my phone to look at the time. It was close to midnight. Out the corner of my eye, I saw someone watching me. A man a few rows behind me. He was staring, unaware that I could see him in the reflection. I bristled at his audacity, cursing all lecherous men under my breath. I turned and glared at him. He looked away hurriedly. He was skinny, wearing square glasses, and a white woolen cap. He held a worn leather briefcase across his lap. He didn't seem threatening in any way. Maybe, he was just curious. Wondering what a young woman was doing traveling on her own. My thoughts wandered as I dozed off to the gentle swaying of the bus. ****** I was startled awake by the loud squealing of brakes. The driver was calling out the name of the stop. It sounded like Lambasingi. I panicked, gathered my stuff, and got off. The bus stop was a battered bench lit by a single street lamp. One of those old-school tungsten lamps that flickered eerily. There were no houses nearby, only dirt paths winding into the dense forest. The few shops around had been shuttered for the night. I peered at the name of the stop, still not fully awake. It was not Lambasingi. The people who got down with me walked off purposefully into the dark, and I was left all alone. This was not my stop. It was a Vizag to Lambasingi bus. So my stop would have been the very last one. I had gotten off too early. Idiot!

I took out my cellphone to call my father, but there was no network. I checked the time— I was 10 minutes away from where I should have gotten off, if the bus was on schedule. The only thing to do was to walk in the general direction the bus had gone, and hope my parents were waiting for me. The wind began to pick up. It started to snow. I was walking alone, on a cold winter night, in the only town in the whole of South India that ever got snow. Miserable, miserable, me. I spied a street lamp around the bend in the road. But my relief was short-lived. It was not a bus stop. It was one of those small-town supermarkets that stocked everything. From onions to cigarettes to pastries to menstrual pads. The snow was coming down in increasingly opaque sheets, so I was grateful for any shelter. I ducked in. There wasn't anyone at the counter. “Hello? Sir? Madam? Anybody there?” I said. "I am trying to get to Lambasingi, but I got off here. Do you have a phone I could use to call my parents? Hello?" I was getting hungry, so I gathered a soda, a chocolate bar, and a bag of chips. Still nobody. I felt a stab of irritation. What if I just walked out with this? I wasn’t going to, but I could. Standing around was making my feet hurt, and my bag was weighing painfully on my shoulders. Serves me right for bringing all my books home like a stupid dedicated student. As if I was about to spend my holidays studying! I put the bag down by the door, behind a box of potatoes. I pushed a sack of onions in front of it, just in case anyone turned up and had ideas. I sat on an upturned crate and ate some chocolate. I immediately felt better. By the time I had gone through the chips and washed it down with soda, the night looked positively rosy. It was 12:30. The bus would have reached Lambasingi without me. My parents would be getting worried. I decided to leave a note and money for the shopkeeper, and head out. As I was rooting though my bag for a pen, there was a crash and all the lights went out. I just stood there, frozen in the dark. Until the rational voice in my head said, "Its a blizzard. A tree must have brought down some power lines, and the nearest transformer blew out.” Over the soft swish of driving snow, I heard a rustling. Like fabric brushing against legs. I was torn between calling out to the mysterious person, and being absolutely still until they went away. Then I heard the rustling again, louder. Maybe it was just a rat, but I was not about to wait for it to come any closer. I switched on my phone's flashlight. It threw enough light to see the back wall a few meters away. There was a rustle again, closer. I stepped back, alarmed, and tripped. I hit my head on something. A sharp pain, and a flash of flight. ****** I don't know if I lost consciousness, or whether I was just dazed. But I think I lay there for a couple of minutes. I heard the rustle once again. This time there was a sound, like a cat crying. I sat up. My eyes had adjusted to the dark. The world outside was white and faintly luminous. There was a moon somewhere, hidden behind the clouds. The wind had calmed down a bit, and the snowfall was thinning. I had better get going. I stood up to get my things and nearly tripped over a bag of potatoes on the floor. The bag moved.

I yelped out loud, certain it was a whole family of rats. Instead, an arm popped out. A baby's arm. What? I cautiously bent over the bag. By the faint moonlight, I could see that it was indeed a baby, swaddled in layers of cloth. It was the most serious baby I had ever seen. It wasn’t crying anymore. It just looked at me with large solemn eyes. It appeared unhurt. I looked around, wondering where on earth it could have come from. Who would leave their baby on the floor of a shop? I really had to get going before the snow got heavier again. But I couldn’t just leave it there. To be an easy meal for the rats, of which I was certain there were a few. I picked up the bundle and put it on the counter. But what if nobody was coming back till morning? What if the baby rolled off the counter? I decided to take it with me. My parents would know what to do. I picked it up and gently tucked it into the front of my jacket—unzipped halfway— and wrapped my arms around it. I carefully swung my bag on my back — one arm at a time. I stuffed a few more chocolate bars in my pocket, for later. God knows how much longer I’d be walking. My sneakers sank into the powdery snow outside and my socks became soggier with every step. Even though my companion was a baby, I was glad to have company. “Don’t worry baby, I got you. We are going to find a way home.” I said to it, with more courage than I felt. I trudged through the snow for what felt like hours but may have only been minutes. The moon had come out and was illuminating a block of stone structures ahead. Clinical and institutional, with snow-laden coconut trees framing them on all sides. A cross perched on the top of a spire. The sign on the tall green gates read Saint Mary's Academy and Convent. Should I stop here and get help? Maybe they could call my parents for me? The gate was open. I walked up the driveway, to the stone stairs that led up to a great wooden door. I knocked loudly. I waited for what seemed like an eternity and knocked again. Behind me, I heard urgent footsteps crunching through the snow-covered grass. I spun around, front and back bulging, and nearly lost my footing.

It was a skinny figure. It looked like the man from the bus, except he carried no bag and wore no hat. Was he following me? I swatted that unreasonable thought away. It was probably an entirely different person. The door opened a crack, and the alarmed face of a nun peeked out. “Sister, I’m so sorry to disturb you. I need help, I need shelter. I have a baby.” From where she was standing, she must not have seen the baby’s face. She probably thought I was grotesquely pregnant, because she held my elbow, put an arm behind my backpack, and ushered me in, tutting. “Sister?” The man was right behind me, “Please, I have been robbed.” He looked like he'd been in a fight. A huge bruise swelled over one eye, there was blood on the corner of his mouth, and his glasses were cracked. The nun, bless her, didn’t skip a beat. She smoothly shut the door behind us. We were brought warm drinks. My jacket, shoes, and socks toasted by a fireplace, and the feeling slowly returned to my toes. I told them my name, and that I had found the baby in a shop up the road. “That’s not my baby,” I told them, repeatedly. They were nodding their heads pityingly, as if they didn’t believe me, but were too holy to contradict me outright. They probably had countless unwed mothers bringing them their children.

I said my name again, and that my parents lived nearby and asked if I could call them to come and pick me up. The nun, Sister Agnes, told me that all the phone lines were down. When I asked if they had a cellphone, she pursed her lips and said they couldn't afford such extravagances. She conferenced with some others and carried off the baby to be changed. Or fussed over. Or whatever they thought was necessary. I was relieved. When I stretched out my aching back, I found I was truly tired. The warmth lulled me into a dreamless sleep. ****** Bright light seeped through my eyelids, and I could feel a gentle warmth on my face. The sun was streaming in through the stained-glass windows. It took me a moment to remember where I was. I sat up with a dull ache in my head. “You’re awake!” a plump nun said cheerfully, "I'm Sister Prema. What's your name child?" I told her. And asked her if the phone lines were working now. "Of course they're working! When were they not?" I was confused. I asked her about the baby. "What baby?" said Sister Prema. "The baby from the shop." My tongue was sticky with sleep and my head was throbbing.

"The shop? I don't know about any baby, but Ravi, the shopkeeper up the road, brought you in late last night. Unconscious. He said he found you on the floor, with a big bump on your head. And your cellphone lying next to you, all broken." She held out my phone. The screen was cracked, and it wouldn't switch on. Sister Prema busied around me, folding up the blanket I had been sleeping under. I felt a growl of hunger. I remembered the chocolate bars I had stuffed in my pocket last night. But they weren't there now. “Could you find out about the baby, please? Sister Agnes will know.” “Sister Agnes?” She followed my gaze to the portrait that I hadn’t noticed before. It was a familiar face, with the words Mother Superior written along the bottom. “No child, that’s Mother Agnes.”

Behind me, the doors burst open, and I heard voices. “Sister, they found a girl, unconscious—“ I turned around at the familiar voice of my father. He was standing at the door, my mother right behind him. My father stopped mid-sentence upon seeing me, and relief flooded his face. In a flash, his arms were around me. “We so worried. We waited at the bus stop. The driver said he remembered seeing you. That you had gotten off at an earlier stop, but he wasn’t sure where!” he said. “We tried to look for you, but it was snowing too hard.” My mother said, fussing over me, inspecting the cut on my head.

“We took care of that madam,” said Sister Prema, proudly, “She’ll be fine in no time.” I assured my parents that I was ok. I turned to Sister Prema again. “Where is Mother Agnes? She’ll know about the baby. She was there.” My parents looked shocked. My mother threw a helpless glance at my father, “Mother Agnes told her?” My father sat down, his brow furrowed. “We didn’t want to tell you until you were ready. This is not going to change anything. We love you.” He addressed me by my sweetest diminutive and kissed my forehead. I must have looked idiotic with confusion because he said “You found out, right? That you’re adopted?” I clearly hadn’t, so they spilled out the story, all haphazard. My parents had been married for a few years and found out that they couldn’t have kids. My father was visiting a relative, right here in Lambasingi, on a snowy night. He got lost in a blizzard, was mugged and beaten up. Fortunately, St Mary’s gave him a warm place to stay the night. A young mother had also found her way there. All my father could remember was that she was wrapped in something red, and kept saying her name and that the baby wasn’t hers, over and over again. She was probably trying to hide the shame of being an unwed mother. Come morning, she had disappeared. Mother Agnes decided to settle the child at an orphanage. My parents later adopted that child and gave her the woman’s name. My name. My head was spinning. I wasn’t sure if it was from my injury or from what my parents were telling me. I didn’t know what to say. Just then Mother Agnes swept into the room. She greeted my parents warmly. She looked older and greyer than I remembered from last night. My father said, “Mother Agnes, I’d like you to meet our daughter." “Ah!” breathed Mother Agnes, her eyes lighting up. She started to say something, but hesitated, looking at my parents, enquiringly. “It’s alright,” said my mother. “We just told her.” Mother Agnes nodded approvingly. She clasped my hands affectionately, “You're all grown up now! I remember when you were just a—." She stopped abruptly, confusion clouding her eyes. “My, you look just like her!” My parents were gathering my things, insisting I go home to rest, and promising that I would be back to visit properly. Mother Agnes and Sister Prema stood at the top of the stairs. as we walked towards the car. I felt a chill in the air and reached for my red jacket. I draped it around my shoulders like a shawl and turned to wave goodbye. Mother Agnes stopped mid-wave. She stared at me —standing there wrapped in red— her eyes wide with shock and recognition.


Your wedding day is supposed to be magical, romantic and the most memorable day of your life. You are excited and can’t sleep the night before. You and your bridesmaids sit up all night talking. Every bride wants it to be perfect, right? Nothing can go wrong. For my friend, things were working out perfect. The wedding date was set. We had gone together to pick out her wedding dress. Oh, it was beautiful and she couldn’t have looked more beautiful wearing it. I helped her with invitations and picking out the wedding cake. She and the groom met with the pastor at her church. No, nothing could go wrong. Then it happened. She woke up in the morning of her wedding day in pain. Not a small pain but an I want to scream pain. Her jaw was swollen and throbbing. It radiated up the side of your face to your head. The gum which had been a little sore the past few days was now throbbing. It felt as if every tooth in her head was in protest. “How can this be happening?” she cried. “I’m getting married today.” This was happening to my friend. Yes, she had an impacted wisdom tooth. “We aren’t going to panic,” her mother calmly said. “I’ll find a dentist. Everything will be fine.” She gazed at her daughter’s swollen jaw. “Everything will be fine.” Her mother found a dentist who would see her. They rushed off leaving us bridesmaids waiting in limbo. Would the wedding go on? It had too. How do you tell over a hundred guest the wedding is postponed? I called the groom to let him know. I felt he should. I then found myself calming him down. “It will be fine. I’m sure the dentist will know what to do.” A few hours passed. The bride was home wisdom tooth in place and two prescriptions; a bottle of antibiotics and another filled with pain pills. The wedding was in two hours. We began the process of getting her to the church to prepare for the big moment. We all prayed nothing would go wrong. Now to say the bride was happy would be an understatement. The pain medication made her giddy, well drunk would be a better word.  She couldn’t even put on her underwear and hose. Her mother and I, the maid of honor had to do it all. I fixed her hair and applied her makeup. When we were done, she was beautiful even if her smile was a little crooked. She stood at the mirror admiring her image. “I look pretty good,” she said and staggered a bit. I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I hope she can walk,” I whispered to her mother. The wedding was a few minutes away. The wedding began. The groom his best man and groomsmen waited at the altar. The groom was nervous. Everyone could see it, but few knew there was an underlining tension he held buried inside. Although he hadn’t seen his bride, he knew the her condition. He prayed silently nothing would go wrong. He and his groomsmen watched with smiles as the bridesmaids walked up the aisle in rhythm to the music. The bridesmaids and I stepped up to the altar. The groom glanced over at me. “Is she okay?” he whispered. I gave him a nod. The wedding march began. I jumped nervously and turned to wait for the bride to enter.  Family and guests turned in their seats waiting to view the bride. The air was filled with magical anticipation. On her father’s arm the lovely bride appeared. Her white veil covered her face. Her father wore a pride, but nervous smile on his. She appeared composed as they walked up the aisle together. No one would ever know she was high. No one would ever know just hours before she was in excruciating pain. The groom stepped down to meet her. I held my breath for a moment and let it out slowly when everything moved as planned. Her father gave her hand to the groom and he escorted her to stand before the pastor. “Dearly beloved we are gathered here…” All was going well. The vows began. The bride pronounced each word, each vow with preciseness and didn’t stumble once. The groom was smiling happily down at her. She looked so beautiful. Soon they would be married. Nothing could go wrong. “May I have the rings?” The pastor asked. He held up the two rings. “In ancient Rome it was believed that the vein in the fourth finger of the left hand ran directly to the heart. It became a tradition that wedding rings should be worn on this finger as a pledge of love and a life together. As all rings they are a circle. What might be the significance in this? Your lives together seem to go out into the future in a straight line. In the end that line meets at home and in the heart. These rings represent your journey in life together.” He handed the rings to the groom and bride. The tension grew for everyone who knew her condition. Would she drop the ring or say something wrong? She placed the groom’s ring on his finger and repeated, “I give you this ring as a token and pledge of our constant faith and abiding love.” She placed it on his finger. I think you could hear the sighs of relief. The groom held out her ring and waited for her to hold out her hand. Then it happened. Her drugged state of mind took everyone by surprise. Instead of holding out her left hand for the ring, she presented the groom with her right. He gazed at it for a moment and whispered. “Give me your left hand.” She gave him a confused look and jabbed her right hand at him. “Left hand.” She shook her right hand at him giving him an angry stare and blurted out for all to hear, “Put the ring on Jay.” Not even the pastor could hold back his laughter.