Amelie Brekhart's nose wrinkled, disgusted with the rickety staging ramp leading up to the pipe's 4 foot wide black hole. "I knew the Starfleet 679 airships were ghetto, but this is ridiculous." She said to herself. The 679 looked like a giant ocean cruise ship with wings. The top levels still had windows for cabins but doubled in a collision reduction frame. That way the ship could handle the pressures of outer space. She was in dock at the Centra space station for minor repairs and maintenance. From the cabin levels to the machinery rooms, and the recreated atmospheric City, the 679 was in overhaul. Amelie worked on the 23rd floor where the engines were surrounded by monstrous steam pipes, pumps and valves. The engine room pipes were painted red but topped with gray dust from long exposure to failed ventilation shafts and floating skin debris. Gross. She thought, as she climbed down the ladder into the space. Her black pony tail swung from the gap between her hardhat and the head strap that ratcheted tight. The incandescent lighting in the space was accentuated by a flood lamp pointed at the black hole at the end of the open pipe. David Arnand came around from behind the 20 foot steam plant. He walked over the air propulsion piping that snaked its way around the ship. His hardhat was tilted because it was too big for his head. He was a weasel of a man, all skin and bone with beady eyes. "What's wrong, Amelie? Can't get your big behind up to the main steam cover?" He heard what she said. It was written all over his slimy sinister smile. She glared at him. She hated this guy from a previous job they did together. "It's sloppy, like you set it up in a rush. The blue cleanliness tarp is sagging, not to mention the gangway is 1 foot 10 inches wide. That's too narrow to stand side by side. We can't line up the cover with the bolt holes." "Yeah yeah. Stop your belly-aching. You got fall protection gear on anyway." He spat. Amelie was a fair skinned, black haired woman. Standing 5'9" and not a frail thing but not rotund either, she could hold her own in a fight. Let's just say, her biceps were strong but her hips could kill. When David spoke so arrogantly, so, so, machismo- all she could see was red . "I still need to stand on something, Dumbass! The staging is only good for 130lbs per square foot. How heavy do you think that cover plate is, Arnand? " She didn't wait for a reply. "Its 350lbs and I am 160lbs, which makes the 4 foot by 4 foot plate maxed out. It's resting on the staging that I can't stand on. If I fall through because of your poor communication skills, I'm going to ring your neck! Now, I have to straddle the staging, just to get the cover plate in the air." She yelled. Her red face made Arnand pause but didn't stop him from talking back. She tuned him out. It was hard working for the Starfleet as a female. They only want the strongest, fastest men. Sadly, the fastest talkers weasel in too. Amelie had to show them what she's made of. With no delay, she got to work, even while Arnand continued to berate her. She skipped the ramp and climbed into the overhead piping to set her pick points. "So, you complain about the ramp and then don't even use it?" David's squeezed his hands into balled fists. "If I stand up by the hole, I can receive the cover plate while you do, whatever it is you're doing." Out of the corner of her eye she saw a tall, dark haired man come down the ladder and stand next to Arnand. Oh great. Another boy scout to hate on me. She scooped up her gear over her shoulder. "If you stand there like an idiot, you'll be under the load. By the time it's lined up for your part, I'll have to stand there and hold it for you." "And?" He spat. She deftly clipped her harness around a square stock of metal framing and stepped onto the ledge of the 4x4 foot main propulsion steam pipe. "And- if I'm gunna stand in front of the hole, I should do the whole thing and not put you in a dangerous position." She said. Amelie swung a hydraulic cylinder hoist off her shoulder and clipped the hook onto her shackled anchor pad she made. "Terry- you hear this crap?" Arnand asked his buddy. Amelie grimaced. Yeah Terry. You hear your boy mouthing off? What a couple of jackasses. She thought. Terry stood at 6 foot with his legs wide, feet splayed apart, and with his beefy arms across his chest. His deep baritone voice rang louder in her ears than the hiss of the hydraulic hoist. "She's got a point even if it's a stupid one. You screwed the setup, David. Improvise." Uncoiling the 20 feet of chain, she gently lowered it smack-dab centered in front of the pipe. David Arnand, always playing the victim, said, "She's more of an asshole than you are, Terry!" Her second pick was directly over the cover plate on the gangway. The transition from deck to pipe would happen as it drifted in the air between the two hoists. "So she outsmarted you. And you gave up." Terry retorted. "No! She wants to do everything her way. So I let her." Amelie stopped the hoists. The silence was palpable. The guys watched her as she rappelled down the side of the steam pipe to the gangway, and straddled the section with the cover. She could rest her left foot on a secondary pipe and her right foot balanced on top of a hand wheel. "He's lying." She said. "I can see that. What's your point?" Terry said. The hoist chain's hook was attached to the anchor pad on the cover plate. She pulled the long ropes connected to the hoist trigger to pick up the plate, from lying flat, to a vertical. Slowly, she lifted the plate into the air. With one hand, she held the cover steady from spinning, and the other pulled the hoist's trigger rope. "So David," Terry said, "she's aligning your steam plant cover plate without any prior inspections. What are you going to do about it?" He had a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "I tried!" He whined. She bit her lip to stop herself from screaming in rage. Deep breath...two...three. She stopped drifting the plate. Her head snapped around to stare down her accuser. Terry was a tall, workman's muscular Spaniard with a goatee. Her long black bangs slipped loose from her ponytail and feathered across her vision but nothing could stop her piercing gold eyes. She was laser focused. "David ordered staging that was too small for more than one person at a time and too low capacity for the work to be done correctly. He..." "So!-" Terry's voice boomed in the empty space. "You took charge, knowing exactly how to rig the cover. But do you also know how to attach guide rods and gaskets before bolting it in place?" He echoed across the engine room. When he flexed his chest muscles and swung his arms, she couldn't think straight. "Are you qualified to do steam-plant cleanliness? Do you know the process for inspections? What's your name, Miss?" He thinks he's so damn smart. I'll make him wait. She thought. Amelie finished her drift and tied off her hoists, now that the cover plate was in front of the 4 foot black hole. She climbed down to sit on the staging, before her right foot could give out on the loose hand wheel. His green hazel eyes were gorgeous and never left her face. She locked eyes with him while walking halfway down the staging. She wondered where his eyes were when her ass was in the air climbing over the piping? My, how confident he is!

Let's see if he's a good leader or just a name with a sexy face. She sat down and flipped her ponytail over her shoulder then fixed him with a glare. "No, I'm not steam plant qualified, but I know the process. The name's Amelie Brekhart and don't forget it." She said. "Oh, I don't forget anything , Miss Brekhart." He said. Did he have a twinkle in his eye when he said that? What did he mean by 'anything'? She thought. He was talking about my ass! He crossed his arms again. Flexing his biceps. "My name is Terry Jones. I am the lead mechanic for the Starfleet's machinists, and if you mind your P's and Q's, I'll instruct you how to install that cover plate." Even if he's right, he's such an ass. She thought. "This is so stupid!" David whined. "That's my job!" Terry stared him down until David looked physically ill and hung his head low. "I'm taking charge of this job, and since it requires a strong rigger to move that plate, I suggest you try not to stand in her way. You already fucked up on the setup, so how can I expect you to finish the job safely?" David puffed up his chest and grabbed his bag, handing it off to Terry. "Whatever. I'm out." He tried to stomp off, out of the space, but got turned around. And, 10 seconds later, David had to come back and trudge up the ladder. Totally embarrassing. "What a mess." Amelie said, as David left. "Are you done gloating, so we can get back to work?" Terry asked. She got up and dusted herself off. "I knew old men had to sleep more but they still need to get here on time." She said. She knew he was smart enough to pick up that her meaning was about him. Terry stared her down with those smoking green hazel eyes. If he was trying to intimidate her, it only made her horny. He must of seen something because suddenly he ran over and jumped 5 feet up onto the staging behind her. That was hot. "Did you hear what I said?" "Hmm? Nope, I was waiting for your Ego to sit on the back burner. You were saying?" She asked with a false innocence. She still didn't hear him because she was taking in all the details of his face. He had very Spaniard features almost Mediterranean with dark brown almost black hair, cropped shorter on the sides and longer on top. She could tell because the bangs poked out from underneath his hard hat. He had a heavy brow and strong nose with a thinner top lip to his thicker bottom lip. He had a neatly trimmed goatee, with his square jaw accentuated by his cleanly shaven cheeks. Those glowing green eyes were outlined by a shadowy halo either from ancestry or lack of sleep. He looked wild, dominant and masculine. She blinked and lurched back as she felt his hand gently on her cheek. "Sorry! You surprised me." She said. He smiled a wicked grin that made his eyes shine like emeralds. "Gotcha. Are you ready for me to show you how this works?" He asked. "Yes, Sir." She said. Wait, why did I say Sir?!? "Okay. Head up to the plate and hold it steady. I'll come around you with the gasket and hold it in place." She got up to the plate and held it firmly with both hands. She heard his heavy boots drop to the deck and he grab something with metallic scraping. Then he walked back up the gangway to stand right behind her. She could feel his warmth, he was standing so close. "Crouch down Amelie, so I can reach over you and slide this gasket between the pipe and the cover." He said. Oh. She crouched down. He leaned over her and clicked on a pocket flashlight. His body blocked the flood light with his massive shoulders as he slid some kind of metal ring down the gap between the cover and the hole. He took two metal guide rods and twisted them into the bolt holes at the ten and two o-clock. "Okay, now push the plate onto the rods so I can get a nut on the face of it." Alright now he's messing with me. She thought to herself. I'll show him. Two can play at this game. She pushed the 350 lb plate by hand and as it swung on the hoist chains, she carefully lined up the holes with the guide rods he put in. "Okay, nut in the face." She said. He dropped two metal nuts right after she said that. They rang on the pipes as they fell into the belly of the ship. "Ahem, I got more for that exact reason." He said, as he dug for more in his bag. "For what reason, exactly?" She asked. "Being a klutz, Mr. Mechanic?" Amelie looked up at him with a smile. She was glad she wore red lipstick today. It always made her feel sexier and her lips seemed bigger. He looked down at her with a straight deadpan expression. "No, for having slippery fingers, my dear. They're so fast, they sweat." "Ahuh. Well, Badass, can you put your nuts on already? My arms are getting tired." She said. Which was true, she was getting tired and she didn't want to be seen panting in front of this guy. Already he knows she thinks he's hot. Which means she lost two advantages: knowing more about the job, and staying a step ahead on controlling the flirting. She didn't mind flirting at work but when they know you're into them; they expect more than words. Terry put the nuts on the rods and she was able to relax her tension on the plate. They were almost done with the job, and in good time. He added more rods and nuts to the bottom and as he was screwing them on, she felt something hard pressing against her back. She slipped backwards, out from between his spread legs. He paused his wrenches when she moved. "You good?" He asked. "Yep. Just getting out of a tightening situation." She said. Gawd, I've resorted to puns. Ugh! He chuckled and continued tightening down the bolts. "I guess my screwing around got you all tied up." She smirked and grabbed a section of the slack chain and pulled it around his waist. She leaned in close and whispered in his ear with a sultry voice. "Speaking of, I'm going to take back my rigging." "Yes, Miss Amelie. Anytime you want to crawl over me is A-okay by me."


TW: substance abuse, gore “Don’t you see them?” Esmeralda asked, as she twirled an unlit cigarette between her thumb and index finger.  She and her friend Lucy lounged on an outdated, wraparound couch in her grandma’s 1970s designed home. Despite the age of the décor and furniture, everything was in pristine condition, a time capsule of that era. It was foggy outside, but Esmeralda could still see the two teens jogging as clear as day, just across the street, where they always jogged in place and in unison. They wore thigh-high jogging shorts, long, fuchsia-colored sweatshirts, bright pink leg warmers, and purple ear warmers. Both teens had ponytails that flopped up and down in unison with their robotic movements.

“No, I don’t see them right now. But I’ve seen them before,” Lucy replied, licking the chocolate drops off her straw and dipping it back into her chocolate milk. She picked up the joint she had rolled earlier from the ashtray on the coffee table and contemplated it.

 “Dude, they’re right

there ,” Esmeralda said, imploring Lucy to look outside, pointing her dainty finger towards the large picture window. The teens appeared to Esmeralda again, jogging, and jogging, and jogging. Staring at her blankly with dead grins on their faces, their braces melted off their gray-yellow teeth.

     “Okay, sure, dude. They are there,” Lucy said. “Are we gonna smoke this blunt, or what?”

      “Yes, we’re gonna smoke it, but, first, I need you to acknowledge those two freaky joggers outside my grandma’s big-ass window,” Esmeralda whined, tossing a neon green lighter over to Lucy. Lucy caught it quickly, lit up the blunt, and inhaled deeply, letting out an enormous plume of smoke.

     “That’s where it’s at,” Lucy said, smiling with deep satisfaction, ignoring Esmeralda’s pleas to acknowledge the two, odd, teenage joggers across the street.

      “Let me have that,” Esmeralda said forcefully. “Wait,” Lucy said, holding out her hand. She took another hit and inhaled deeply again. “Fine. I’ll come to you.” Esmeralda moved over to the long part of the couch upon which Lucy sat. Lucy blew smoke in her face. Esmeralda giggled softly, momentarily forgetting about the two gauzy, gray joggers outside her grandma’s house. Lucy handed her the blunt. She took it. Esmeralda threw her blue stockinged feet onto the large, wooden coffee table, drew her knobby knees together, perched her elbows on them, and proceeded to take a long drag from the joint. While she exhaled, she leaned back into the deep, lime, green cushions.

       “Have you forgotten about those teen joggers now?” Lucy inquired, twisting a soft, red ringlet of Esmeralda’s hair between her fingertips, while looking at her lovingly.

        “Not really,” Esmeralda said, feeling the effects of the marijuana. Her eyes suddenly grew bigger. “Wait. Fuck! They’re still out there!”          “Christ—not them again. Ez, look, you’ve gotten worse ever since . . .”          “ Shhhhhhhhhh  . . . S hhhhhh  . . .” Esmeralda got up slowly, placing her index finger to Lucy’s lips. Lucy pushed her finger away, frowning with her mouth open. Esmeralda kept saying, “ Shhhhhh  . . .

Shhhhhh  . . . I know they can hear us in here. They’re still out there – I can see them too and they can see us.” She pointed again towards the outdoors.

          “I’m telling you,

dude , I’m not seeing them right now, and I am high as fuck,” Lucy said, sucking on her straw, relishing the sweetness of her chocolate milk. “They don’t always appear to us at the same times.” She took another hit from the blunt and placed it back in the ashtray. “Don’t you want some more, Ez?”         “Goddamnit, that’s so annoying!” Esmeralda bellowed, rolling her eyes. “Why don’t you see them when I see them? I don’t get it.” She ignored Lucy’s question and grabbed the joint from the ashtray.

The joggers continued to move up and down in the same place, but now they were doused in buckets of blood. Esmeralda gulped. She took another hit and tossed it aside. The joint hit the side of the coffee table and landed on the lime, green, shag carpet.        “What the fuck, Ez? You’re gonna burn your Gee-Gee’s carpet, and she’s gonna blame me for it!” Lucy yelped. Esmeralda scooped up the joint quickly, rubbed out the small black stain, and carefully placed the joint in the ashtray after taking yet another huge hit.

        “You’re right, Luce. I don’t want Gee-Gee to chew you out like the last time. I’m sorry,” she replied, trying her best to regain her composure after seeing the joggers covered in blood. “But seriously, why the fuck don’t you see them too? Like I said, I don’t get it.” Esmeralda grabbed the joint again and inhaled more deeply than before. After she placed the blunt back in the ashtray, she got up and went into the kitchen to grab a huge bag of chips, ignoring the two freaky, blood-drenched joggers across the street.

       “I dunno. Why don’t you ask them?” Lucy suggested, pointing outdoors into the dispersing fog of the night air. She picked up the joint to take another hit.

       “No fucking way will I talk to them! They freak me out,” Esmeralda hollered from the kitchen, munching on chips. “They’re covered in blood right now!”       Truth be told, Lucy was lying when she claimed she’d seen the two mysterious, jogging-in-one-place teens. She thought Esmeralda was whacked out of her mind and hadn’t been acting like herself ever since her abusive father had died six months earlier. It had gotten especially worse since she’d moved in with her grandmother three months ago, and she’d begun describing frequent visits from this invisible jogging duo.

     The sounds of wheels squeaking on the driveway could be heard. Lucy suddenly saw lights flash across the old tv set in the corner of the room.

     “Oh my God! Put it out! Put it out!” Esmeralda squealed, waving her arms around wildly as she ran into the living room.

      “Shit! Is it your grandma? Is she back already?” Lucy moaned. “I thought you said she wasn’t coming back for another couple of hours.”        “Yes, it’s Gee-Gee. She’s already fucking back!” Esmeralda exclaimed, as she grabbed the joint out of Lucy’s fingers, and smashed it into the ashtray. Esmeralda looked out the picture window again; she was struck by terror.

       “Ez – it’s just Gee-Gee. She isn’t gonna be

that

mad at you,” Lucy said.        “It’s them again!” Esmeralda whispered.

The joggers had reappeared and did what they always did – they jogged in unison. But this time they weren’t in their usual spot, across the street from her grandmother’s picture window in the living room. Instead, they were right in front of it, on the grass.

 Their long, giraffe-like legs bounced up and down in unison, as did their ponytails. Even worse, the amount of blood dripping down their bodies was more profuse.

“Goddamnit! I can see them again, Lucy! They usually disappear when my Gee-Gee is around. They look totally disgusting, too!”

      “Yeah, about those

girls ,” Lucy said.

     “They’re right fucking

there!”

Esmeralda said, crying. “And they’re bleeding. It’s horrible.”

“Ez . . . we need to talk,” Lucy said firmly. The two girls could hear Gee-Gee unlocking the door that led from the carport to the dining room that was affixed to the kitchen. The jogging girls turned their heads in unison to look towards the door where Gee-Gee entered.

     “Girls, girls, are you still home?” Esmeralda’s grandma asked. “I bought Kentucky Fried Chicken tonight for all of us to eat.” The girls could hear her rustling around in the dining room and then in the kitchen. About ten minutes later, she entered the living room from the kitchen.

       “Hi there, Gee-Gee,” Lucy said, waving nonchalantly, sucking on the last remnants of her chocolate milk. Gee-Gee moved closer to the coffee table and discovered the joint in the ashtray; she could also smell the pungent odor of pot.

       Gee-Gee first looked at Esmeralda and then at Lucy. She crossed her arms across the many gold-braided belts wrapped around her waist and 1970s, brown, bell-bottom pants. The bands of gold bracelets she wore on both of her arms jingled, too, as she looked at the two of them sternly. She flipped her dyed red hair back and asked, “Have you two been smoking that Mary Jane again?”

      “Gee-Gee, we don’t call it that anymore,” Esmeralda explained. She looked back at the bloody joggers. They both waved at her simultaneously.

      “Well, I don’t care what it’s called, Ez. I’ve asked you many times before. I don’t want you smelling up the house. If you’re gonna smoke weed, you need to take it outside on the porch out back. You know that already,” she said smiling while gently grabbing a small bit of Esmeralda’s cheek.

       “I know, Gee-Gee. I’m sorry. I am just irritated and

really

scared by those two joggers again,” Esmeralda replied.

       “Oh, honey. Let’s go have dinner. I know those joggers keep bothering you. They bothered me, too, when your mama first died. God, rest her soul,” Gee-Gee said, crossing herself, and then leaning down to kiss Esmeralda on the forehead. “Don’t you worry one little bit about them. They’re harmless. They’ll go away as soon things start looking up,” Gee-Gee said assuredly.

       “Thanks, Gee-Gee,” Esmeralda said. “But they keep getting closer to me and they’re disgusting to look at.” Esmeralda got up, trying her best to ignore the joggers who were now jogging in place together in the living room. Blood seeped from bullet holes in their heads into the carpet. Lucy stood up as well. Blood pooled around her feet.

Gee-Gee gave Esmeralda a big hug. “I know, honey. I know. We’ll do something about it later tonight,” she said. “Now let’s all go into the dining room and have some dinner.”

      “Okay, Gee-Gee,” Esmeralda said. “I love you so much.”        “Oh! I love you too, Ez,” Gee-Gee replied, giving Esmeralda another kiss on her forehead. “We’ll get through this journey, and those ghost joggers will go poof! I promise.”       “Well, anyway, I’m super hungry, Gee,” Lucy chimed in, bewildered by this odd conversation. “And Kentucky Fried Chick-Chick sounds like the perfect choice since I’m feeling high as a fried Frito.”        The three of them laughed.        “I’m sure it does, you goofy girl,” Gee-Gee replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

The three of them walked into the large dining room. Gee-Gee had already set the table with soda pop for the girls, a glass of Franzia for herself, and the bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken in the middle of the table.

       The joggers continued to jog in the middle of the living room. The bones to both of their right legs were now fractured, exposed, and bent backwards.

       Esmeralda looked at them in horror just as she bit into a drumstick. “Gee-Gee!        The joggers keep looking worse! It’s like they are disintegrating before my eyes!”        Both of their right eyeballs popped out of their skulls right out as Esmeralda put down her chicken. She gagged.      “That’s what you want, honey. You’re passing them onto someone else. Just let them do their thing,” Gee-Gee said softly. “I can see them now, too.” Unlike Lucy, she wasn’t lying. She could see the two girls as well. “Try and ignore them and finish your dinner." Gee dipped her spork into the red and white cup of mashed potatoes and gravy.

      Lucy’s bewilderment had suddenly changed to curiosity. Ever since she was a little girl and had known Gee-Gee since that time, she respected and loved her. Gee-Gee had practically raised Lucy, since Lucy’s mom was a drunk and her dad had disappeared when she was a month old. Thus, Gee-Gee could do no wrong in the eyes of Lucy. Lucy’s eyes widened as Gee-Gee spoke of these dead girls.

    “Why can’t I see them, Gee-Gee?” Lucy asked earnestly while munching on a fried wing of chicken.

     “Well, honey, I think it’s because you aren’t experiencing a type of deep grief like Ez and I are. And perhaps you will never have to see them – some people don’t.”       “ Ohhhhhhhhhhh , I see. I think I get it now,” Lucy said with keen interest. She put her chicken thigh down and took a sip from her grape soda pop. “That makes total sense.”

      “You see, I saw those ghost joggers for well over two years when Ez’s mama died. Ez probably saw them as well, but she was just a baby back then, so she’s probably forgotten when they appeared to her. Her daddy was always drunk in his grief, so I can’t say for sure if he ever saw them – if he did, he probably just thought it was a hallucination from a night of heavy drinking. God, rest his soul.” Gee-Gee crossed herself again, adding, “As for those two ghoulish joggers . . . At first, when they appeared, they were fully intact. They’d come around every morning, smiling at me, outside the picture window. It lasted for months. I thought they were girls of one of our neighbors who had just moved in . . . but then their appearance became more gruesome over time, so I realized I was contending with a form of death that had to do with my own grief. The more I let go of Ez’s mama, the more grotesque they became and the closer they got to me.”       “Gee-Gee, what happened to you, and to them, when you truly let go?” Esmeralda asked with desperation.

       “Oh, honey. I’m afraid to tell you. Because those two ghost joggers,” she said, looking at their broken bodies and now severed heads. “They took me to the absolute pits of hell. I’m afraid to tell you what it was like. I’m just hoping it will be easier for you when the time comes.” Gee-Gee crossed herself once again.

        “Oh, Gee-Gee, I’m so scared.”         “I know, Ez. I know. I’m scared for you.”

         Nightfall was upon them and so were the girls.


“You never told me your secret.” We walked through the vacant halls of the Louvre, golden light streaming through the skylight glass panes and illuminating Mona’s curious amber eyes. “Well I have no secrets anymore.” She raised an eyebrow, prompting me to continue. “Does it matter if it’s not my secret anymore?” She stopped walking and turned to me fully, no hint of her usual mischievous grin. A soft smile graced her face as she gently grabbed my arm.  “Tell me anyway?” I looked down, her piercing gaze too much as I bore my soul out to her. “I was afraid of the future. After college, I didn’t know what I was going to do. But you’re here now, and now I’m not scared.”

I glanced up to gauge her reaction, and watched as something unidentifiable flitted across her face, quickly replaced with a flashy smile. “I’m glad I could do that for you.” She dropped her hand to fit with mine, and began walking again. “What’s the weirdest thing someone has ever confessed to you.” Her eyes scrunched up with laughter. “I’ve gotten stories about cheating and murder to stories about kids making dumb mistakes. One kid told me he tricked his brother into eating worms.” She led me into a shockingly vacant room with a stunning golden frame, the one I had first met her in. She opened the velvet ropes that closed off the frame to the public, and pulled me forward until we were close enough to touch the intricate carvings in the sides. “Reminiscing about your days as a painting?” “Something like that.” A playful grin crossed her face. I stumbled into the museum, hundreds of thoughts ricocheting through my mind. I wandered through the empty hallways, each statue looking rather different without the golden rays pouring through the windows. They somehow looked sinister, like they were plotting against me. Their lifeless eyes bore into my soul, like a reflection of their own emptiness. I could hear the soft thump of my heart in the empty room, the only reminder that I was somewhat different from these artifacts. I am alive.

I stop in front of the exit, my feet placed in the scuff marks where hundreds of others had stepped before. My hands tremble as I push open the heavy doors to the next room. The floor is rather pristine here, given the grime collected in the room prior. I walked around the room, taking in each and every painting. Even if my heart could not connect with them, my mind could, and I allowed it to wander into the world of each artist and their precise brushstrokes. Finally, I turned to the infamous painting. The Mona Lisa. Her eyes stared back at me, depth within them that I had never seen before. Unlike the statues who saw right through me, her eyes seemed to be searching. The soft smirk on her lips made her seem all knowing, and perhaps she was from the amount of secrets people dared whisper to her.

I stepped past the velvet ropes that were meant to keep people away. My hands were not made for destruction. I gently ran my fingers across her cheek, the roughness of the canvas startling me after being so engrossed in her skin that looked pillow soft. I looked back into her eyes, and searched as well. Loneliness.

“What is your secret, Lisa?” Her eyelashes fluttered, and her eyes finally met mine properly. Perhaps I should’ve been startled by the painting moving, but I was rather mesmerized by her beauty. Even if thousands had seen it before, no one has the way I have. Her smirk turned into a genuine smile, and she moved forward, wrapping soft hands around the golden frame and stepping out onto the floor next to me. “You’re alive.” “I am.” She lifted her chin proudly, and smoothed her flowing dress that wrapped around her curves in a delicate way. I forced my eyes to meet hers, and a knowing glint took place in her eyes. “Are you here to tell me your secret?” She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know you. Why should I tell you my secret?” “There’s nothing to know.” I sighed, my shoulders drooping. “I am an empty shell of a human. You’re a painting and you have more life than me.” “I somehow doubt that.” “I know that it’s true.” I gently reached forward to brush a strand of hair out of her face. “Is there any other way for me to find out?” “Well, then I’d like you to prove to me you have nothing within you. Let me know you.” I furrowed my eyebrows. “How do I do that?” “Well I’ve been staring at this awful room for what feels like an eternity.” Her lips turned to a mischievous grin. “If you want to know, you’ll have to take me on a date.” She touched my shoulder, pulling my eyes away from the same smirk I had seen all those months ago. Suddenly, it hit me. “You never told me what your secret was either.” She smiled and gently ran her hand across my face, memorizing each dip and pore with her fingertips. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” “Avoiding the question?” “I just wanted you to know.” She turned to me fully, one hand still gracing the painting while the other cupped my cheek gently. “You’re also the only one who’s ever asked me my secret. Since then, my secret changed too.” “Tell me?” I delicately echoed. “I love you.” I watched in horror as she disintegrated in front of me, starting at the beautiful locks I once ran my fingers through. Her smile never wavered as she decayed into dust, her fingers just as gentle until they too, were finally gone. All that was left was the dust that graced the floor, and the painting which was finally restored. I gently touched the painting that had once been my lover. “I suppose I have a secret too then.” My voice cracked, and I used my other hand to wipe my damp cheeks. “I love you too.” Then the alarms went off.


Tomorrow will be a better day. You say this to yourself while looking out of the living room window. Despite the forecast saying it would be blue skies today, it is now raining a steady gray drizzle that casts everything in a faded, drab light. You shake your head and collapse onto the single sofa, maybe pouring a glass of wine first, and try to speed up the last few hours of the day by flicking through the television channels. It offers some background noise and a distraction from the day if nothing else. At 8.00 AM your alarm goes off. Pouring cereal, or making some toast after you get out of bed, the morning news is talking: It looks like a sunny day, with a steady temperature and light breeze. The kettle boils and you make a tea or coffee, glancing at the calendar on the fridge while finding the sugar, or milk, or even both. You have a lunch appointment at the nice new local restaurant with your colleague. It looks good, and your colleague is paying as thanks for covering one of their shifts a while back. Then in the evening, your son is going to visit. Yes, you promise yourself, it will be a good day. With a deep breath, you finish breakfast and get dressed for the day. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror you smile slightly, it is a professional look. Business fashion might not be exciting, but it is more effort than a lot of people can muster, and that small effort is commendable. ‘Dress for the job you want,’ you say to yourself, heading out the door to catch the bus. The phone screen says 08.50 AM. The bus was supposed to arrive at 08.40 AM but for the last 20 minutes of waiting, it has not shown up. The sky above is overcast, clouds covering the forecasted blue skies. You shake your head - the haze will burn away and the bus will show up. The forecast did say sunny, after all. You are right about one of those points, but it takes another 15 minutes, and the phone is already showing several texts from the office asking if everything is fine. Maybe you reply, maybe there is no point since you will be there shortly anyway. Ultimately, it does not make a difference. Arriving at the office there seems to be far fewer people than usual. “There’s a cold going around, half the office is off sick today.” your colleague explains, sniffing loudly. “You know what that means...busy day for us.” They give you a smile, but you know it is forced – no one likes working with only half a team. “But we’re still on for lunch!” they finish, disappearing to their desk. You are not convinced. They sound sick enough to be off themselves. With your coat hung up you try to get started as quickly as possible. There are 3 hours until lunch, and then 5 more to the end of the day. You can make it. There is a lot to get done, but the restaurant menu is available online, and a quick look over that is motivation enough for the morning. At least the time will go quickly. In fact it seems to go very quickly - too quickly really, and you are approaching lunch without anything from the morning complete. There is only 40 minutes until your reservation. The delicious menu has now turned from a motivation into a taunt, mocking you from near the ever-growing mountain of unfinished tasks. To top it off, the overcast skies outside seem to be making their way into your head, and you fight to manage the fog in your brain. Another cup of tea or coffee gives you a temporary boost, just enough to get you to noon. Your colleague appears and you open your mouth to ask them to wait just a few more minutes. That is enough time to finish the task you are on before leaving, but they speak first. “I’m sorry,” they say, blowing their nose so hard you have to wonder if someone just started up a chainsaw. “Boss is sending me home. He doesn’t want me getting everyone who’s left sick. I should be in tomorrow, hopefully, we’ll do lunch then? I’m still buying.” You nod, your shoulders dropping. It has to be admitted that they do sound terrible. You tell them to go home and get some rest, and thank them for their help already. It is not their fault. A glance around makes it clear the whole office is behind for the morning. There are too few people in, and there is far too much work to do. Everyone is hunched over their desks, brows furrowed. You sigh, perhaps make another cup of tea or coffee, and decide that lunch can be short today. There is no one to enjoy it with anyway, so what difference does it make? You work for another 30 minutes before the hunger gets too much to ignore, and there is no sense to putting it off further. As you leave the office alone you notice the cloud cover has increased. The sky is darker and the temperature a few degrees lower. The forecast for today was definitely wrong. Lunch is a simple affair at a nearby food stall. There is not enough time for a proper meal, so you get a hot pasty, or a box of noodles. Something simple that won’t take long to prepare or to eat. The wind is starting to pick up, blowing dust around in swirls, so you hurry and get back to the office. At least the office is warm. You return to work. It is 1PM and chaos now reigns. Orders have been delayed, paperwork is not filed, and somehow even fewer people are present than before lunch. The manager has rolled up his sleeves and is helping wherever he can. At least he tries, even if it does not help much. You give a glance to your clock. Only 4 and a half hours to go. Time for another cup of tea or coffee for a final boost. The sky outside has turned a thick, dark gray. It will definitely rain today. For the next few hours all you see is the work, trying to ignore the ticking clock as you try to get as much done as you can. Anything left will only be there tomorrow. The phone vibrates, breaking your flow of work, and on the phone screen your son’s face is showing. The clock says 4.30 PM. Strange, why is he calling so early? “The contractors have brought the wrong cabinets, naturally, so they need to return them and re-deliver this evening instead,” He says, clearly unhappy. You know what this means. He will not be visiting today. “I managed to get free labour from it though, and tomorrow they are going to set up the whole kitchen for us as compensation for the mistake! So, maybe you want to come over for dinner this weekend when it’s all finished? See the final kitchen, we will cook, if that would be ok?” Of course it would, even though you had been looking forward to seeing him today. It is not his fault. You close your eyes tight for a moment and agree to the new plan. With the phone hung up you glance around to make sure no one is looking and let out a long sigh, letting your head fall into your hands. Keep it together. Slow breaths. There is only one hour to go, you can manage. As it turns out, the manager gives up early today anyway. He says there is no need for anyone to stay past 5.30PM, despite how little has been completed. Maybe you wonder if he has his own reasons to finish on time today, maybe you admire him for not trying to push a clearly hopeless day. Not that you were planning to stay even after your own plans had changed. As you sit on the bus home the rain starts to fall in earnest. You look out the window and, not for the first time, think about how wrong the forecast had been. You sigh to no-one in particular and pull your coat a little closer to keep what little warmth there is around you. Maybe you get off a stop early to get some takeaway for dinner, or maybe you microwave something from the freezer. You just want the day to be over now, and cooking a full meal is just too much effort. It is unlikely you would eat it all anyway. The television provides background noise but not entertainment as you rub your head, taking a few long, slow breaths. Tomorrow will be a better day. You repeat it several times. You, and hundreds, even thousands are saying exactly the same thing. You are not alone though. At some point it will be true. Maybe not tomorrow, or the tomorrow for a while, but eventually a tomorrow will be a better day.


I have always known my Mom would be this stubborn. Whenever I wanted to do something. She always contradicts. I even think that she doesn’t love me that much because she doesn't want me to be happy. Ever since I was a kid. I always live to her rule. I always nod and agreed with whatever she says. It’s always been her and me as far as I can remember. She worked hard to feed me and give me the basic needs that a normal kid should have. Shelter, clothes, food. That’s it. We seldom go out and those were the best times for me whenever it happens. And that was just a yearly event. Every year, on my birthday.

Though she seldom gives in to my wants, she always provides me with my needs.

Good thing I can make yearly requests without questions and what-ifs. My Mom becomes Miss Because I said so when I reached 13 years old. She always says no whenever I want to buy something for myself. And whenever I asked her why I couldn't have it, she always answered “ Because I said so, that’s it.” There was a time when I saw these designer shoes when strolling in the mall with my friends after school before going home. I saw that it is kind of pricey but it looks so good and I know it would look much nicer with my feet on it. My heart went out upon seeing the red shoes and I knew everyone would envy me if I had those on.

As a teenager, at that time I felt like it’s my right to get that thing and I would die if I did not have it. I know very well that my birthday has passed and I cannot claim another request as per my Mom’s rule.

I really don’t know where she got that idea though. For me, that is absurd!

Why can’t she be like any other normal Moms? Like my friend’s moms who always give in to their requests. At that, I felt so unloved. “Mom,” I started. With my hands at my back, crossing my fingers.

She was sitting on the couch with his feet up to the table. She just came home from work. I actually don’t know what kind of work she does right now, as she is not at home almost the whole day and night. I know that she is a nurse and works in the morning, my friend’s mom and my Mom are coworkers. But I am not seeing her even on her rest days lately. She said she needs to work harder for my college, so I assumed she got another job. “Yes?” She said bluntly and looked so dead tired. “Can I buy those shoes I saw in the mall earlier today?” “Why? What happened to your old shoes? You still have two pairs that are still good to wear, right?” “Yes, Mom. It is just that the shoes that I saw are so nice and I know that they would look much better with me wearing them? I do love the shoes Mom! Can you please give me money to buy it?”. I begged. “ Chloe, we already talk about having priorities. Those are the things that you want, not what you need. You can still wear the old one. Why buy new?” “Because I am a teenager, Mom and teenagers ought to look good”, I answered teary-eyed.

“You do look good, honey. You are and you always will. With or without those shoes.” “But Mom, why? Why can’t I have those shoes when all the kids of my age can?” My Mom sighed in submission and looked me straight in the eye. “ Because I said so.” Here we go again with those words I so much hate to hear! With that, my heart was totally broken and I ran to my room and slammed the door. Leaving my Mom that I didn't know shed a tear. Things have always been like that thereafter as the years passed. Whenever I beg for my wants. She always answered me with a No, followed by “Because I said so. And I always ended up broken-hearted. At sixteen years old, I learned to earn money for myself. Without my Mom’s knowledge, every evening when she left for his other job, I also left the house to work as a part-time helper in a restaurant near our place. I worked as a dishwasher and realized that the job was not easy at all. I can feel the sweat flowing at my back as I work. But then, I decided to stay and keep working so I can buy the wants that Mom refused to provide. I am paid every day after my four-hour- shift and made sure that I got home before Mom arrived at 12mn. I was paid ten dollars every night for four hours and I kept and hid it from my Mom. The owner who happens to be Mom’s friend luckily agreed that we can keep it a secret. Months went on and I enjoyed my life with having money of my own to buy the things that I want. I knew Mom saw the things that I have and I wondered why she never asked me where I got the money.

Until one day, as I am very busy washing a pile of soiled dishes and working hard till it pains my hands, I got wounded by a broken plate and sliced my hand accidentally. The owner ordered me to go home for the night and rest my wounded hand.

I was astonished to see my Mom waiting for me outside the restaurant.

She looked not so happy at all.

I felt half guilty. Only half as I knew to myself I wouldn’t be doing this if only she gives me money for the things that I want and not just for what I need. I really feel that it is my right. To be loved and well provided. I got in the car with a door that Mom opened and she drove safely to the house without a word.

I can feel the tension between us. I am holding my wounded palm as it ached a bit and I saw her glance my way every now and then. I noticed her mood changes from being worried and being mad a couple of times.

I sighed. I know and I understand my Mom that being a single mother is not an easy job. I know! I am not blind! I just couldn’t understand why she is so stiff when she has me to share it with. “Sit.” She ordered me as soon as we went inside the house. I sat on the couch with a grumpy face. Selfish as I am, I blamed everything for her. I even thought that maybe the reason my Dad left us is because of her stiff attitude. I saw her go out from the kitchen with the medicine kit in hand. Without a word, she took my wounded hand and peel off the bandage. I looked away as I felt pained and closed my eyes to endure it. I can feel her soft hands, carefully cleaned the wound and applied topical antibiotics on it before she covered it again with new clean gauze and bandage. Then, I heard her cried softly and felt my hands wet.

I opened my eyes and confirmed that my mother is crying. For the first time in my sixteen years, I saw my Mom’s weak side. I could not utter a word.

I am speechless.

I felt guilty. It was the first time that I was able to see her face this close. My Mom is pretty but she looked so tired and stressed out.

I wonder when was the last time she took care of herself.

She wiped her tears with the back of her palm. There goes that stiff face again. “This will be your last night working there. I already talked to the owner and she will have someone to replace you starting tomorrow.” I sighed. I know this time would come.

“For as long as you live with me, you have no right to keep secrets. You are my daughter and as your mother, it is my responsibility to feed, to dress you, and to provide you everything you need. You have no right to ask me and you will just need to do as I say. Once you finish college and get a job then you can decide to be on your own.” “Why am I not allowed to ask you questions Mom?”I asked even though at the back of my mind, I know what answer I will get. “Because I am your mother and because I said so.” She said without looking at me.

“I am so unlucky to have a selfish Mom like you,” I said without thinking and walked away from her.

I slammed the door and left her, unknowingly she cried all night. It has been 5 years since I left home and I decided to work abroad after I finished college. This will be the first time that I am going home to my Mom.

I am now a successful interior designer and have established my career in Italy. I am one of the highest-paid interior designers in the field. Going home to Florida, my homeland brings back so many memories. I took the letters out that Aunt Lucille sent to me. Aunt Lucille is my mom’s best friend. I am not understanding why Mom needs to keep everything a secret. I blink my eyes not to shed a tear that was about to fall. I never know how my Mom suffered. She explained in one of her letters that she doesn’t want me to feel sorry for her.

My mother was a rape victim and she kept it all to herself. She flew all the way to Florida on her own so her parents would not know. She lied to everybody to avoid shame and criticism. That is what she wrote. She has been writing these letters since I was born, hoping that she can say it to me but she decided not to as she doesn’t want me to carry the burden. That is why she is stiff and pretends to be a brave Mom. I felt so ashamed for being a selfish daughter all these years. And now, she is very sick.

My stubborn lady is ill. Looking at her frail face, my tears shed un endlessly. I kneeled down beside her and kissed her hands. She opened her eyes and smiled lovingly. She caressed my face and I can’t help but cry more. “Why didn’t you allow me to help you carry the burden Mom? Why did you not trust me that I will understand? Why didn’t you tell me that you worked four jobs just to give me everything I need? Why did you just tell me now that you are sick? Why? Won’t you allow me to take care of you?” I saw her smile sadly and wiped my tears that flow like a river. “These tears are the reason why. I never wished to see you sad. I just wanted you to always keep your life, like what you are doing now. Soar high, my child. Mom is so proud of what you have become.” With those words, I cried harder. “Here.” She handed me a passbook and sobbing I took it to read. I am so surprised!

She has saved a million dollars and the name in the bank is Chloe Margaritte Schilly.

I looked at her and she smiled.

“Mom this is too much! Let us go get some doctor specialists to cure you. With all this money, you will be healthy again, Mom.” I cried for hope, but she shook her head. “No, no Chloe. That is yours, Used it so you can start a business and be the boss. Remember every time I declined your wants? That is where I put it in. Just remember to know your priorities. You can always live without your wants but you will not live without your needs.” “Mom, can I say no to that? And choose to have you instead? I need you, Mom.”

“ I love you, always and forever my little girl. But no, you have to do as I say. Because I am your mother who knows what is best for you. You have to follow me because I said so.” Tears of regrets and deep sorrow. I blamed myself for being too focused on my happiness then, that I forgot to take care of my stubborn lady whose life was dedicated to me. I will forever be sorry and grateful to my mother and I will continuously live to her rules for as long as I live.

Because she is my mother, who wants nothing but the best for me and I will follow her because she said so.


Rai was an old time politician. He was known for his probity in politics but had retired. His first and second sons were in paying government jobs and shunned politics. The third known as Pete was a high school dropout. Early on he had joined the political party which had the elephant as its symbol. As elections were now due, Pete got busy since the political bigwig Bala-G was standing for election on symbol elephant. Bala-G called for a meeting with his party members. When they met he said “We’ve to work against 3 candidates. One of them is a female named Ruth. Ruth has women behind her and we should be wary.” Pete said “She is no problem. I can create discontent.” Bala-G said “I want more people like you. The other candidate I’ve to be careful about is Margo. He has labour unions with him besides migrant labour. In fact he presents a real danger to my candidature.” Pete said “I’ve noted it.” Bala-G continued “The other candidature has no following at all and can be easily beaten.” The meeting ended. Pete then called a meeting of his henchmen. He said “We’ve Margo who has to be taken care of first.” One worker said “He is a liquor addict. He in turn has distributed free liquor to voters. His party has fallen on bad days. There’re said to be no contributions of money. So he can’t sustain distribution of free liquor.” Pete said “We can’t be complacent on that one count. We’ve to devise a fool-proof plan so that his voters desert him.” He thought a bit and said “Margo is old and his liver is failing. I’m sure he is looking forward to retirement. Still his party relies on his name and past records.” Another one said “If he has to be stopped we must make him curtail his oratory.” Another worker said “I’ve a suggestion. We should tackle Margo’s son. He is only a graduate and isn’t known to be bright. His dad is on the lookout for a job for the fellow.” Pete said “Margo was a farmer who quit to enter politics. I know he has a kitchen garden and the son is taking great care of it. There’re 2 computer companies and one drug manufacturing unit in the vicinity of Margo’s residence. All three companies are making big profits. They can afford to have a landscape designer on their payroll. I’ve influence with the drug maker but the computer companies have to be tackled.” One worker said “We could say that expenditure towards landscape improvement won’t be taxed. Or perhaps say.....” Pete said “That is a good suggestion. After all we’re promising people that we would hit the stars. At least let us hope we hit the moon. I’ll meet the computer company heads. What will I say?” “Take Margo’s son on contract as landscape consultant on a substantial salary. The 3 companies should share in it.” Pete now said “We’ve now to tackle candidature of Ruth. She is popular with female voters.” “I suggest that a woman is used to create problems for Ruth who’s now in charge of women’s welfare.” Pete said “Thanks. Let me think up strategy to tackle Ruth.” The meeting ended. Soon one day a woman went to Ruth and said “My name is Radha. I work in the school for the deaf and dumb. I’m married and have 2 children. My husband works in a private nursing home.” Ruth asked “What work do you do in the school?” “I take care of the cleanliness of the place and toilets and keep the area dust free.” “Okay. Tell me further.” “Two days ago I was taking a small girl who was ill to the toilet in the rear, when the security man suddenly came and hugged me from behind and put his arms around me and tried to fondle me. I fought him off by biting one of his fingers. I complained to the police but they merely said they would advise the man that he should discontinue such practices. If I don’t complain people will say I’m unchaste. This matter has to be investigated and the security man must be punished.” Ruth asked “What’s the name of the man who molested you?” “His name is Pi.” Ruth said “I’ve all the details. I’ll investigate it. You can go.’” Ruth summoned Pi and questioned him. He said “I was going fast in that narrow passage when I tripped on the floor where there is a crack. To avoid a fall I shouted and blindly caught hold of the woman. I was in the army and I’ve a wife and two children. I didn’t need to molest that fat woman who has wrongly complained.” Ruth said “Don’t insult women about their size. Remember you men alter their shapes with your doings. I’m in charge of welfare of women and I’ve to investigate further. I’ll call Radha again and get to the root of the problem.” Ruth again summoned Radha and questioned her. She however stuck to her point. She said “Madam, Pi clasped me from the rear and his palms were free and he was excited. Shall I say.....”: “I don’t want to hear such things. I know what you mean. Exposing all this will demean you. If your husband comes to know.....” “I’ve kept my husband informed.” “Good. You see we women have to be patient and not publicise matters like sexual exploitation. You must think it over. Your complaint will also cause a problem in Pi’s family as he’s also married and has 2 children.” “Could be. Let his wife know what sort of husband she has.” “You shouldn’t go to extremes. You can go now. We’ll meet again next week.” A video channel got wind of the story and reported it in the vernacular: ‘Radha a poor woman works for a deaf and dumb school. A colleague groped her. The complaint went to Madam Ruth of women’s welfare who is expected to stand for election soon, but it seems she practically ignored the complaint. She has advised the woman complainant not to go public with such matters which are degrading to women. Ruth has however, bowing to public pressure, booked a case which is under investigation. As a sequel to this story, our channel will telecast a one hour program next Friday on the way women’s issues are suppressed,” Of course the public were not aware that the case had been engineered by Pete who paid off the complaining woman and husband, besides Pi and the video channel. Bala-G said “Well done Pete. I greatly appreciate your moves.” Pursuant on Pi’s case Ruth announced she was retiring from public life and would not stand for election. The party went in search of another candidate. Margo’s son was made landscape consultant to 3 firms. In the long run, Bala-G was elected by a big margin. Pi was found not guilty. Pete was appointed as head of a government corporate body. His brothers and family had decided they would have nothing to do with him as they had heard of his nebulous dealings. However they reconciled when family members needed government demarcated plots for house building, improvement to their roads, and better water supply! END


I wish I could tell you everybody took it the same way. It would certainly make for a neater story, but, unfortunately, it wouldn’t be true, not in the slightest. See, as much as we would sometimes prefer to deny it, each and every single one of us is different, and to pretend that the humankind’s reaction to all the world’s clocks having stopped out of the blue was in any way organized, or even unanimous, would be as artificial an invention as the idea of letting one’s life be ruled by clocks in itself was.

No, in reality, it was much more complicated. At first, you saw people checking their phones (hardly ever their wrists at that point of history) more than usual, as though on the edge of their minds they suspected something was wrong, but since all of them were so removed from the reality surrounding them, their minds swirling around the hectic succession of “I have to do this, I have to do that,” numbers, calculations, complaints, and other seemingly life-defining entities, it took them longer than you might expect to notice that the time, 10:24, did not change at all. It didn’t stay the same for merely a few seconds longer, nor for a minute, not even for hours, as though it were some kind of a glitch. Ultimately, it stayed that way forever, as one is now able to witness for themselves in all the national museums of the world. Anyway, you’d think that this type of people would generally be glad to be rid of the burden of time, of rushing to that myriad of different places, desperately out of their breath, before the clock strikes, say, eleven, but no, with those people, it was the very opposite – they were the ones who panicked the most, and they were the ones who panicked most profoundly, the panic shaking their bones, their worlds, their very beings.

Now, you’ll think I’m exaggerating (or you won’t, depends on the degree to which you rely on restrictive regularities in your life, we all do it in one way or another) – I mean, they could still sense the passage of time, right? The sun still moved, the light still changed, and so would, eventually the months and the seasons alter. But the contrary was true – they were utterly and irrevocably lost. What they thought had been confining them, containing their lives and in general tormenting them, was, in fact, a guide to their day-to-day existence, without which they recoiled to the darkness of uncertainty. They were forced to realise that they no longer ate when they were hungry, but, rather, when the clock told them to; they no longer went to sleep when they were tired, but, rather, yes, you guessed it, when the clock told them to, and the same logic, they soon realised, could be applied to next to everything they ever did, including such unmentionable tasks as going to the bathroom. Imagine the horror those people came face to face with when they had to relearn to listen to their bodies, when they felt as helpless as babies, when they could no longer stand the sight of their unchanging phone screen (or laptop, or the TV, or, for that matter, even good old mechanical clocks pointedly

not  striking all over their hometown), and shielded their eyes from the terror of the still 10:24.

Although you could easily attempt to claim that this was the majority reaction to this end of an era, of a world order, even, don’t be so quick to pass judgements just yet, because there were the scientists as well, and oh, was this a field day for them. Figuring out what had happened and how to fix it became the main aim of their very existence. But though they all agreed upon it having something to do with the earth’s magnetic field (don’t ask me what exactly it was, I may try to explain, but I’ll definitely fail miserably and in the end just waste precious time of mine as well of yours, and as we have learned, time’s nothing to be taken for granted, nor is it a mere joke, this is serious, people, okay?), they simply didn’t manage to fix it. That did a number on their self-esteems, too, although some kept trying for years, for which I applaud them heartily, because at that point people have already accepted a new world order and if somebody did manage to construct a clock (or, would it have a different name already?) that would actually work, would probably only get a few hesitant smiles and shrugs, but, the dedication to a cause was surely appreciated. Still, the longer they spent on trying to fix the problem, the longer they kept losing and the harder it was to simply let it go, move on to another problem, though there was plenty to solve.

Of course, there were those who were happy, elated even. It all made for quite a nice experiment, and to watch the humankind crumble and attempt to build itself up was an exceptionally special opportunity that was absolutely not to be wasted. Sociologists thrived (although to ask people for an appointment at 1pm was no longer possible, so they, too, did run into some difficulties, but they mostly liked to attempt to use that for their research as well). They surely did milk it out as you can see by the number of studies published in the years following this life-changing catastrophe (and this is not to say that they weren’t of value, that they weren’t helpful, don’t go thinking that, but in one way or another, this was a welcome opportunity for them). Therapists and psychologists (at that point already overwhelmingly required) were wholly flooded by masses of people seeking aid in navigating the New World, but as a collective, they were less happy about the increase of their work. They were more compassionate, perhaps (as they, in all honesty, ought to have been). You certainly didn’t get a sense they viewed the people coming in as mere objects to be measured (even if you’d probably find some less admirable exceptions to this trend).

Then there were those people, mostly philosophers and students of the arts (of literature in particular, if I’m being 100% honest with you), who were interested to see what happens when objective time disappears and subjective time takes over (supposing that subjective time was not always in its own way dominant, which many of them would tell you it was, because what are people composed of if not of memories of the past and imaginings of the future, what are they if not flailing through time haphazardly and fluidly – they certainly do not live mechanically and mathematically, although these entities do keep imposing their presence on all of us). These were the people who tried to make sense of it all artistically, to put into words what most people couldn’t and so relieve them of their burdens. In fact, how many books were written about this period of transition to time after clocks you can probably see for yourself, which is what makes this little introduction of mine feel so superfluous, but a part of me thinks it needs to be done, to, you know, fix the image of the time a little bit since it’s now being written about by those who didn’t live through it at all, and you’ll excuse me if I say your ideas are getting increasingly distorted, starting with the notion that all of humankind simply lost it. Some did, yes, but not all, and I thought we were past generalisations. And this may be my last chance to make a statement of this kind, so here we go.

Everybody was as different as they are now, and everybody was differently dependent on clocks per se. I personally didn’t notice what happened for a day or so, because well, I was busy camping and falling in love and stuff and I thought I may get rid of digital devices altogether anyway because, well, my friend told me it worked wonders for her (of course, at that point I didn’t know even analog clocks would betray me). And for some reason, all I felt when I found out was relief, that thing that most people hoped for, but it never came. But maybe relief is too big a word, maybe I was just indifferent – world without clocks or world with clocks, I didn’t see such a difference after all. Perhaps this is what’s lacking in today’s accounts of how the world changed and how people lived without those little displays measuring the speed of their lives which, in turn, measured their worth - it’s that we kept going on, although in singular ways. You wouldn’t be here if it were such a catastrophe, would you now? But however they adjusted, it was another change, transformation, anarchy on the part of technology, probably. So, please, whatever you believe, don’t go thinking the reaction of the humankind was unanimously devastated or unanimously ecstatic. No, don’t go thinking that. It all went much, much deeper. But perhaps you’ve grown tired of my preaching already. Have you?


I know it’s not ideal, but we have to be smart about this. It’s crisis time – the family is on the line here, Sarah.” The ball smacked the pavement with a noise like a gunshot, neon yellow fuzz fusing with the green paint of the court for a millisecond before bursting apart. It was a good shot, and Evan obviously expected her to let it go, but she’d been practicing her game and was able to counter with a pretty good backhand, sending it back over the net, where it bounced once, then twice against the court before landing neatly in a shrub. It was a Tuesday afternoon and the club was a trickle. A few mothers with their toddlers lounged at the pool and a slow stream of regular seniors, ears pressed low to the ground for gossip, haunted the tables around the bar. The courts were near-deserted save a rather haphazard game between an aging CEO and the sallow-faced son he was (unsuccessfully, if the chatterers were to believe) trying to groom.

They weren’t exactly close by, but still Evan kept his voice low People were already talking enough.

He made no move to chase the ball. There was always a pile handy, and he tossed one to Sarah with an attempt at a smile. “Your serve.” As Sarah lined up, bouncing the ball a few times in warm up, her brother continued. “I know it’s not ideal,” he repeated, in the familiar tone of one politely scolding a wayward child. She lobbed the ball over the net and he sent it back easily,

“and dad is torn up about the way it’s all turning out, believe me.” His return was further to the right than she expected. It soared over the next court. She grabbed another. At 32, Evan was still more than 12 years Sarah’s senior, and this was the first time she had spent time with him alone in -well- ever maybe. The age gap had proven just one of many insurmountable obstacles to the pair’s sibling bond. She found him cold and manipulative (not unlike most of their family) and the lot of them thought her flighty and emotional. It was well into August and the sun was high and hot, it beat on the back of Sarah’s neck beneath her swinging ponytail. She set up for the next serve, determinedly not meeting her brother’s eye, though he was just as insistent at trying to catch hers. “Everyone’s been beside themselves, not being able to reach you.” “It’s your serve.” Evan was exasperated, but a furtive glance at the CEO and his son was enough to keep the game moving. A man used to people jumping at his every command, she could tell her lack of proper and respectful response was grating on him. For a few moments, they played in silence, listening to the sound of the revelers across the expanse of courts and the hollow sound of ball hitting pavement.

He was here to find her, she knew. She’d been dodging her family’s calls and texts since the news broke, and the pitch of their desperation was steadily climbing. They’d known little about her life since she moved out, which luckily precluded them from showing up unannounced, but she’d kept the same tennis lesson every Tuesday since she was 11. When she’d finished up today, Evan had been waiting for her.

She’d considered ducking out the back side –it wasn’t too difficult to make it over the shrubs if one was diligent- but then she couldn’t claim that she wasn’t avoiding them. A heart to heart -or whatever her family had in mind- was far from appealing either however.

At first he’d insisted she come back to the house and she’d begged off, claiming an urgent appointment. The decision to start playing had been unspoken. Both knew the value of the game. She could have walked away. No one would have stopped her. But part of her had to know-

Evan managed to swallow her silence, plowing on ahead unacknowledged, “We need to meet. All of us – and soon. Later tonight, if you’re available. It’s vital we get the details in order before things move forward. A group of workers, dressed all in pressed white, scurried by, collecting balls and old towels and offering fresh hot ones and iced drinks on trays rimmed with fruit as replacements. The pair lapsed into silence until after Evan had waved them away.

Sarah was grateful for the time to think. Details in order? For the first time, she was off balance. “But I don’t know anything,” she blurted, low and fast, incredulous. This was true. As the accidental baby of the family by almost a decade, she had been alternatively doted upon, dismissed, and abused, but certainly never trusted with anything serious.

The father and son had left, slouching in mutual disappointment, to be replaced by two women in their late middle-age with matching severe haircuts in shades that were not quite silver.

“I know that,” Evan snarked, but immediately rearranged his features. He wanted something from her, she was sure of it now. She just didn’t know what. He was nothing if not cunning, however, and he wouldn’t risk it -whatever it was he wanted- by angering her. On some rare occasions, her reputation for a hair-trigger temper came in handy. “I know that,” once again with the repetition, his voice silk smooth, “you don’t need to.” He served with practiced nonchalance and they volleyed a few times. From the curious glances they were getting from the new arrivals, she guessed they’d noticed with whom they were sharing a court.

But she was starting to get exasperated. An inkling of what game they were playing was forming, and it made her sick to her stomach. “Then why are you here? Why does it matter what my story is?” She thought he was here to tell her -maybe to warn her-. She should have known better.

Evan was watching the eyes of their companions just as much as he was watching the ball. Sarah scored two more times. The naughty-child voice was back, “It doesn’t matter what you know, Sarah. It matters what you’ll say. Katie was subpoenaed last week and…” She smacked the ball, hard, in a move that did nothing for the game, but did succeed in again drawing the attention of the ladies across. Evan waved them away with a smile but his teeth were clenched.

It was her serve again. The ball soared over the net.

“You want me to lie.” This one was straight down the center and Evan followed up easily. He was trying to retain his composure, but the effort was starting to look strained, ugly. The ball hit the net, and instead of retrieving it she tossed her racket to the ground, where it landed loudly, and went to take a sip of water. She considered walking away, but her curiosity was still getting the better of her.

He waited while she took several long sips, particularly as the two ladies were now as many owls, head constantly on the swivel to watch them. “Sarah- this is serious,” his whisper was a hiss, “if this, goes wrong – it could be the end of all of us.” He paused to take several deep, steadying breaths, “you don’t want Dad to go to jail, do you?” For many long moments, Sarah said nothing.

“Is it true?” The question hung in the air for some time. He did not answer at first, either, the ladies were watching, talking loudly between wide-brimmed hats. Just like everything in her life, she hadn’t wanted to believe it at first- had argued and fought, certain the news was wrong.

But in the silence Evan was losing his cool. His next words were icy, “What the hell does it matter if it’s true? This is business Sarah – and our family.” She let a ball bounce by her and didn’t move to grab another. “But people died, Evan.” His voice was blank, “People die every fucking day, Sarah.” “Yeah, but we didn’t kill them!” All pretense of the game was dropped now. Evan tossed down his racket and went for his water bottle. The last of hers had been loud and the two ladies had also abandoned their game to watch as the pair as though spectators in a sporting event.

Her brother’s regard for them was cold, but their attention instantly put him back together. “I can see you’re obviously not mature enough to handle this like an adult. Dad will be in touch to try to get you to see reason.” As collected her windbreaker and the case for her own racket, the man was already walking away from her. But there was one more thing she had to know, “And Brandon?” she called after him.

The look Evan gave her, turning back, was solid steel, “Brandon will do what it takes to protect the family.” Something, slowly, was dawning on her. He was almost out of earshot.

“You’re…,” her voice was low, pained, but he caught it anyway “This was… this was the plan.” It caught in her throat, “You’re going to let him take the fall.” Evan turned back to give her one last look, cold as steel.  “Brandon will do what it takes to protect the family – it’s a lesson you’d do well to learn” Evan waved at the ladies as he passed, all politician’s smile once again..

Sarah slowly and carefully collected her own things, rubbing her racket down with a towel and then zipping it into its case.

As she drove home that night, in a car that wasn’t hers to a life bought and paid for,

it would be with the overwhelming feeling of threads coming apart. But maybe, just maybe, that meant one day she would be free.


Timmy Jenkins was a bright little boy with a fascination for sailboats. On his walls were posters and pictures of various kinds of sailboats that inspired him to someday sail the open sea. His dad would buy him model sets and they would stay up late at night gluing together small pieces and painting them vivid colors. So, Timmy thought he knew a thing or two about building a sailboat.

Timmy had some tools his grandpa gave him. Old hand tools that didn’t require electricity like a hammer, some screwdrivers, a saw, even a drill. He collected wood from the construction site in town. He took a bed sheet from his mom’s linen closet. He borrowed screws and nails from his dad’s workshop. He carried all those things to the beach where he would build his boat. He spent every day after school, and Saturday, working on building his sailboat.

When Timmy was done building his sailboat, it didn’t look anything like the sailboats in his pictures. It was square, like a raft, had four walls, and a sail. He was proud of his sailboat though because it floated and didn't leak. He just had one more thing to do – name it. All the boats he had ever seen or read about had girl names, usually two. He went with his favorite girl, his mom, Bonnie May. He grabbed a can of black paint and wrote it as clearly as he could on the side.

Excited to take it sailing, he rushed home and grabbed some things for his trip: a bottle of water to drink, an apple to eat, and a comic book to read. He slid those items in his backpack and ran back down to the beach. There, he untied his sailboat from the tree, got in, and paddled out into the ocean. Once he was far enough out, he raised his sail and let the wind take over.

Timmy was so happy to finally be sailing, and in a sailboat be built. He watched the sail fill with air and could feel the saltwater mist spray him in the face as his sailboat skipped along the gentle waves. He giggled to himself and sat down to eat his apple and read his comic book.

Once Timmy was done with his apple, he looked back to the shore, but it was gone. He had sailed too far. He wanted to paddle back but didn’t know which way was back. To make things worse, he felt raindrops on his arms and heard thunder. He looked up and the sky was as black as night. A wall of rain was coming straight for him, and it was bringing thunder and lightning with it. The wind blew so hard it ripped Timmy’s sail and it flapped in the wind. The waves were getting bigger, taking him up and down, up, and down, spinning him around. The rain came down harder and the thunder got louder. He was scared. He curled up in a corner of his sailboat and squeezed his eyes shut, as tightly as he could, praying his little sailboat wouldn't sink.

Timmy woke up on a beach, his sailboat broken. He was greeted by what looked someone who was half frog and half man. He was as tall as Timmy and had a white beard. He had big flipper-like hands and flipper-like feet. He wore frayed purple shorts and walked hunched over with a staff. He croaked when he talked. His name was Horatio. He told Timmy he could show him how to get home if he followed him back to his house, so Timmy followed him.

They came upon a little hut shaped like a mushroom. It was not a crude hut, but rather homely. It had skinny logs for walls and a curved grass roof. Inside was a stone fireplace with some sort of soup cooking, a bed made of moss, and a little wooden table. Along the back wall was a shelf filled with old-looking books. Horatio invited Timmy to sit down and poured him some soup into a wooden bowl. While Timmy ate, Horatio pulled a book from the shelf and a box from the drawer below.

Horatio opened the book and said that to get home he would need a map, a compass, and a sailboat. Horatio tore out a map of Lost Island from the back of the book and showed it to Timmy. He told Timmy that he must first go to the library in Savanna City to get the map. Then he must find the packrats hideout in the Stoney Ridge Mountains and get the compass they stole. After that, he must follow the river to the sea and defeat the Dark Knight in battle so he can use the sailboat.

“How am I going to do all that? I am just a boy,” Timmy asked.

Horatio opened the box and presented a ring with a jewel in the center that changed colors. “This ring will give you the power to change into any animal you want," Horatio said.

The next day, Horatio gave Timmy a satchel of food, a jug of water, and the map. He wished Timmy good luck and pointed him in the right direction. Timmy enjoyed his walk through the jungle. There were many frog-people living in the jungle. They all had homes and families and were busy working as Timmy walked by. He met a red parrot by the name of Jeremy who talked to him while he walked.

The jungle ended and the savanna began. To get to the city faster, Timmy turned into a cheetah and Jeremy grabbed on tight. Timmy took off running as fast as a car with Jeremy bouncing up and down on his back as he ran, his beak chattering. He ran through the river where the hippos and crocodiles fought. He ran past the elephant-people, standing upright with their long trunks hanging down, wearing armor, standing guard over their land. He passed the lion-people and the hyena-people as they fought a terrible battle. The savanna was a dangerous place where everyone fought for survival. Timmy was glad to be running so fast that no one could catch him.

They came to the great walled City of Savanna with its shining marble walls, beautiful statues, and enormous buildings. The biggest building of all, in the center of the city, was the library. They followed the road and Timmy saw people of all sorts. People like him and people like Horatio. There were people who called themselves land pirates, pirates who have been shipwrecked on Lost Island for hundreds of years and not allowed to leave. There were the cat burglars, skilled thieves who looked like cat-people. There were the city guards, gorilla-men with painted faces, large axes, and armor who patrolled the streets. And every now and again you could spot an angel with their mighty wings and sharp swords amongst many other types of people. There were people selling food, clothes, jewelry, art, songs, and stories along the road. Timmy had never seen such a place.

When they reached the library, they asked for the librarian. A man-like owl named Oliver stepped forward. When they told Oliver which map they were looking for, Oliver let out a long, low hoot and said the map was in the Chamber of Relics, that he would take them to it, but they would have to stay close.

Oliver grabbed a torch, and they took the stairs down to the Chamber of Relics. It was dark except for Oliver’s torch. They walked until they came to a dead end. Suddenly, the bookshelves moved. Timmy, Jeremy, and Oliver moved forward. Then they stopped, waiting for the bookshelves to move again. Then they turned right. The bookshelves moved again and cut them off. They waited until the bookshelves moved and then they hurried forward and stopped. The shelves moved again, and they turned left. They ran fast and then stopped. They waited a minute, and the shelves moved. Oliver grabbed the map and dusted it off. They turned around and went out the same way they came in.

They thanked Oliver and left the library. The sun was setting when they got outside so they had a light dinner, just some bread and water. Timmy turned into an eagle and he and Jeremy perched on top of a statue to get some sleep.

Morning came and the sun peeked over the mountain tops. The packrats had a hideout in a cave in those mountains. So, Timmy, as an eagle, and his parrot friend Jeremy, took to the skies and flew to the mountains.

They found the packrats hideout up on a ledge where two of the rats were standing guard. Timmy and Jeremy swooped down and carried them away so they wouldn’t tell anyone they were there. Then, Timmy had to think of a way to get in there without being seen. He decided to turn into a tiny ant. He snuck in as Jeremy stood watch.

The packrats were dirty rats that needed baths. They had big yellow teeth and carried pins and needles as swords. When Timmy got to the main chamber of their hideout, he saw all their treasure piled up. It was a mountain inside a mountain. All around the treasure were thousands of packrats. Timmy turned into a spider. He crawled along the wall to the top of the ceiling and lowered himself down by a web on top of the compass. He then turned into a cat, surprising the packrats, sending them scurrying. Timmy swatted and scratched at the rats as he took off down the main hall with the compass in his mouth. The rats chased after him, stabbing him with their needles and pins. When he burst through the cave opening, he scared poor Jeremy who flew into the air, shrieking. Timmy jumped off the ledge to get away from the rats and came soaring back up as an eagle where he met Jeremy in the sky and the two of them flew down to the river below.

They followed the river until they got to the ocean. There, the Black Knight guarded the dock leading to a sleek looking black and red racing sailboat, like the one on Timmy’s poster above his bed. The knight didn't want anyone to leave the island and would fight anyone who tried.

Timmy and Jeremy landed. Timmy turned into a tiger and rushed the Black Knight, jumping on him. The Black Knight wrestled with him, picked him up, and threw him. Timmy charged him again and then turned into a bear, swiping the Knight with his huge claws, knocking him down. He then turned into a gorilla and leapt into the air, landing on the Black Knight, and started pounding on him. The Knight hit Timmy hard and knocked him away. Timmy rolled to a stop. He was tired and hurt. He looked up and the knight was charging him, ready to swing his sword. Timmy turned into a mouse and the Black Knight missed with his sword. The knight went to step on Timmy, but Timmy turned into an elephant, knocking the knight off his feet. With his long trunk, Timmy picked up the Black Knight and threw him in the ocean.

Timmy turned back into a boy. He ran to the boat with Jeremy flying alongside him. Timmy looked at the directions on the back of Horatio’s map and put the map and compass where they needed to go. Then, like magic, the sailboat set sail.

Timmy and Jeremy sat on the floor of the boat and ate the rest of their bread and drank the rest of their water. When they looked out across the ocean, they could see that the sailboat was taking them into a storm.

Rain came down and so did the sails. The water grew rough and tossed the sailboat around. Yet, it kept its course. Thunder banged and lightning flashed. Waves were the size of mountains. Timmy and Jeremy desperately held on as the sailboat pushed through the storm. When they came through on the other side of the storm, Timmy could see land. The sailboat raised its sails and it sailed to the beach where Timmy built his sailboat.

Timmy took off the ring and put it in Horatio’s satchel with the map from the book, leaving it with the sailboat to give back to Horatio. He then turned and ran home with Jeremy flying behind him. He burst through the front door, so happy to be home. He rushed into his mother’s arms and begged her forgiveness for being gone for so long, telling her all that had happened.

She laughed and kissed his head. “Timmy, you’ve only been gone an hour.”