INCOMING TRANSMISSION….SENDER: HIGH COMMAND……….DOWNLOADING…….4% ……. 36% ……. 78% ……. ERROR! TRANSMISSION MISSING CLOSING REQUEST. DECODING PARTIAL TRANSMISSION….. _______START PARTIAL TRANSMISSION_______ [SOL 127 - 0724 ] Sergeant Jay Hopkins, you are to head east of the town of Grenrik. Our foot soldiers are being pinned down from Imperialist artillery fire in that direction and data shows you are the only Javelin in the area who is capable of dealing with the threat. Reconnaissance suggests two artillery guns with t… _______END PARTIAL TRANSMISSION_______ “Well shit,” said Jay as she re-read the transmission. “The rest of that message could say anything. Artillery guns with the most dangerous soldiers this side of the Red Line. Artillery guns with the best brownies recipe stabled to them….Hey K-5, any chance of getting the rest of that message?” The 30 foot tall bipedal mech stood towering behind Jay, with it’s rifle sweeping around their perimeter. “I’m sorry Jay,” said the computerized static voice coming from the Javelin’s external speakers. “Seems as soon as High Command started transmitting to us, the Imperialist activated a radio jammer. I’m not receiving any external communications or data at the moment. Although a new brownie recipe would be a nice change of pace.” “Yah, I figured that must be the case,” Jay said looking at a blood smeared picture of what looked like a happy family from a time long ago. She tossed the picture and dropped the bullet ridden bag it had come from. She had been inspecting the Imperialist troops her and K-5 had just killed while on patrol. These troops were nothing more then grunts. Possibly doing some reconnaissance to see what defenses we had. By the looks of their gear, the Imperialist did not expect a Javelin pilot to be making the rounds since they had no armaments to deal with such a threat. Standing up and brushing the dirt off her pants, Jay started walking back to K-5. “I guess we better get going. These grunts don’t have anything useful. Do you at least have our heading?” “Yes Ma’am. I cross referenced the transmission with our own downloaded maps of the area. If we head south east at our usual pace we can arrive in 15 minutes. I’ve sent the data to your PDA.” Jay looked at her wrist PDA to see a detailed map of their current location, heading, and projected path. She furrowed her brow, analyzing the new data. “We don’t know what we’re walking into. There’s some high ground just south of the artillery. Lets go there first and see if they’re hiding anything.” “Roger that Sergeant.” Jay walked up to K-5 who had knelt down and opened it’s cockpit in the center of the javelins bipedal body. She climbed up the lowered hatched door and sat into the padded leather interior of the mech. With familiar gears whirling and a final airlock hiss, K-5 closed its hatch and stood up. “Passing controls over to you Jay,” came the computerized static voice inside K-5’s cockpit. ______________ Jay and K-5 could hear the artillery fire before seeing it. It’s thunderous booms rattled Jay’s eardrums, even through K-5’s thick hull. About half a kilometer from the source of the explosions, Jay brought K-5 to a halt. “We’d better keep a low profile until we know what we are really dealing with,” Jay said as she hoped out of K-5. “I’ll go ahead on my own, you hold down here.” As she crested over a crater filled hill, Jay noticed 300 meters away, a small enemy foxhole dug into the side of a cliff. It looked like a wave of dirt and rock hovered over, ready to crash onto the Imperialist underneath. She could see two long range anti-personal artillery rifles surrounded with sandbags. Each artillery rifle had four grunts assigned to it, working in unison to fire an anti-personal round every two minutes. Beside each artillery rifle was a single Scarab Class Javelin posted on guard duty. “Son of…” Jay whispered to herself. Scarab Javelins were tough little machines. Hard to kill, but thankfully they were no where near K-5’s Class, Mantis Javelin, fighting power. Scarabs were more like thick exo-suits then mechs. They had no A.I. like K-5 and were completely driven by a pilot. Standing only 10 feet tall, they were usually equipped with basic grunt weaponry. However, their thick armor can cause some problems. Normal bullets won’t penetrate it. Luckily K-5 comes prepared for any situation. Jay continued to survey the encampment. Watching the Imperialist shoot shell after shell. She committed the enemy soldier’s movements to memory, analyzing every nook and cranny, looking for vulnerabilities. K-5 was the only mech around that could deal with this threat. All other’s were probably on the Red Line. If Jay failed this mission, the town of Grenrik would be a loss for sure. Jay couldn’t let that happen. As Jay was turning around to crawl back down the hill, she noticed pressed inside the wall of the dug out cliff, a 10 foot metal door. “Interesting…” Jay whispered. Jay continued crawling down the hill. When Jay reached K-5, he was watching the perimeter with his rifle aimed. Jay began to talk in a low voice, “K-5, looks like Command’s intel was accurate. Two artillery guns maned with four infantry. We’ve also got two surprise guests, Scarab class Javelins.” “Those are easy to take on. How do you want to do this?” K-5 responded, continuing to watch the perimeter. Jay looked at her wrist PDA and reviewed the maps K-5 had sent her. “Ok K-5, I’ve got it. I want you to go half a km west of their foxhole, towards the town of Grenrik, and hide. We can’t signal to each other since they’re jamming us. So when our clocks read 0810, I want you stand up and start sprinting towards their encampment to draw their fire. If my timing is right, you’ll be their focus as I swoop in and kill them all.” “Roger Jay, beginning to move to position. You stay safe Ma’am.” “You too. See you at 0810.” ______________ K-5 reached 500 meters east of the enemy encampment. Looking around, K-5 noticed tall shrubs to hide in until it was time. Wood branches scraped their tough metal armor, as he laid down. Hiding from anyone who’d be taking a stroll in the battlefield; not that it was likely. K-5 never liked it when Jay would separate them. Their primary goal was keep her safe and with maneuvers like these, it was never a guarantee. Jay and K-5 had been in their share of fights together, so he knew to trust her judgment and intuition. But does not mean he had to like it. 0805, almost time to go. K-5 laid there noticing the clouds lazily drifting by and thought, “Jay, please be safe.” K-5 continued to lay there until an alarm sounded in his system. Turning it off, K-5 pushed out of the shrubs, unintentionally taking some branches with him, and ran towards the enemy artillery. It did not take long for the enemy to notice K-5. He was a gigantic mech trampling war torn farmland with pieces of branches stuck to him. K-5 shooting his rifle at them didn’t scream subtlety either. But K-5 would do it’s job to the letter if it meant having all the attention on him to keep Jay safe. K-5 could see the encampment clearly now, both artillery rifles were spinning towards him. The artillery grunts were screaming at each other to move faster. The Scarab Javelins broke formation and charged their oncoming foe. This had been Jay’s plan all along, K-5 rightfully assumed, because as soon as the Scarabs had left the encampment, K-5 could see Jay cresting the cliff above the encampment. K-5 planted his feet and raised his rifle at the oncoming Scarabs. Focusing his rifle on the closer of the two, K-5 unloaded the rifle into it. Bullet after bullet slammed into the closest Javelin, slowing it down. The Scarab raised his hands, deflecting the oncoming bullets. K-5’s rifle fire wouldn’t be able to penetrate the Scarab’s thick armor, but that wasn’t the point. K-5 wanted to slow them down and do everything possible to hold their attention away from Jay. The suppression fire only helped for so long as the other Scarab Javeline readied it’s own rifle and started shooting at K-5. While K-5’s armor was very strong, he wasn’t impervious to gunfire. One stray bullet, hitting the wrong place, and K-5’s systems would be in jeopardy. K-5 knew this, so he jumped to the nearest mound of earth to use as cover. K-5 put his back to the earth mound and waited. The Scarab continued to fire, trapping K-5 while they advanced. K-5 waited, tracking the Scarabs as they closer. 100 meters. Thunk, thunk, thunk. Bullets continued to drive into the dirt behind K-5, sprinkling dirt over his chassis. 50 meters, the Scarabs were almost on top of him. Relentlessly shooting and cutting through the earth. 20 meters. The branches still stuck to K-5 started splintering from the gunfire. 10 meters. K-5 holstered it’s rifle and bent into a crouch. It’s gears winding up and hydraulics pressurizing in it’s legs and arms. 5 meters. “Now,” K-5 thought to itself. K-5 grabbed the top of the mound and used it’s whirling mech arms and legs to push himself up. Leaping over the mound and landing inches from the nearest Scarab. “Nice of you to come to me.” K-5 belted out of his speakers. K-5 grabbed the arms of the Scarab’s with his own and with one swift movement, ripped the metal arms off. Oil and hydraulic fluids spewed from the Scarab’s open appendages. K-5 could hear the pilot’s scream as it looked like K-5 had also ripped the arms off of the pilot inside. “One threat eliminated.” K-5 exclaimed towards the remaining Scarab. The last Scarab, stunned, looked at K-5 who was still holding the limp arms of his fallen comrade. The remaining Scarab pilot howled in horror, raised it’s rifle, and sprayed bullets in K-5’s direction. K-5 swiftly dropped the appendages and grabbed the fallen Javelin mech. He then raised it between him and the enemy. Bullets screamed off the armless Scarab as K-5 advanced closer to his target. The enemy Scarab’s pilot bawled as his fallen comrade inched closer and closer. When within range, K-5 reeled back and threw the lifeless mech at his friend, knocking him over. The pilot tried using his Scarab’s arms to push his fallen comrade off of him, but it was too heavy. As K-5 walked to the defeated man, the pilot started cursing at him. “When my men are done with you, your soul will be dragged into the deepest pits of hell where it belongs!” K-5 leaned directly over the Scarab pilot, blocking out the sun. “Luckily for me, we AI don’t come equipped with souls.” K-5 clasped his right hand’s fingers into a spear like shape, and stabbed into the Scarab. Piercing through the thick metal armor straight into the pilot’s chest. K-5 removed his hand out of the now slumped enemy’s body. Unfolding his blood soaked hand, K-5 began shaking off the filth. He stood up and looked to where Jay was hunkered down. He could see Jay smirking back at him from atop the cliff. Raising his right arm K-5 gave a thumb’s up to her. “He can clean himself after we get through this,” Jay thought to herself. A thunderous explosion erupted below her. Ears ringing, she saw the horrific site in front of her. An artillery shell streaked towards K-5, ripping through K-5’s chest, shearing the cockpit and sending him back 20 feet. Jay watched from atop the cliff, helpless, as K-5 landed on his back, lights flickering. “No! K-5! You fucking bastards!” Jay screamed through gritted teeth. She took out two grenades, pulled the pins, and lobbed one to each of artillery gun. Two concussive explosions were followed by screams of pain. With her rifle armed, she slid down the cliff looking for survivors. She noticed a disoriented soldier who was struggling to his feet. Jay kicked in his knee with a gut wrenching crack. The enemy cried out in pain, falling back down. There was no sympathy in Jay’s eyes, or pause, as she turned her rifle to his head and fired. Silencing the man instantly. Jay risked a quick glance at K-5, lying there. His lights looked out. A crack of a bullet whizzed by Jay’s head. She instinctively crouched behind the closest artillery crate as more bullets peppered the air she used to occupy. “You scum!” A surviving Imperialist grunt screamed at Jay. “We’re going to fill you with holes like we did with your robot friend over there!” “Yah! You’ve got nowhere to go! " said another grunt. Both recklessly shot at Jay’s cover. Splinters of wood struck her face as she peered around her cover. “Shit,” Jay whispered, assessing her surroundings. There, within arms reach, she noticed a dead soldier within. She patted the soldier down, finding a smoke grenade in his breast pocket. “I can make this work,” Jay thought as she pulled the pin and dropped it at her feet. Thick green smoke billowed all around her, making it impossible to see anything, including her. “You think we got them?” The first Imperialist grunt said cowering behind a wooden crate as the second continued to shoot into the smoke. “How would I know? You should go check. I’ll cover you from here.” The second one had stopped firing but didn’t dare take his eyes off the thick green smoke. “You kidding? I’m not going to walk blindly into some smoke where a crazy soldier is waiting to ambush me. You go in there!” The second grunt ponders, weighing his odds. “Fine, how about we both wait and keep watch. The smoke will eventually stop and they can’t go anywhere. We’ll pick them off then.” “Good idea! We can just wait and see!” Both men agreed, trying to hide the fear in their words. A female voice came from the smoke, “Thanks for talking dick wads. You make this much easier.” A bullet streaked through smoke, creating a thin vortex protruding from the green cloud, slamming into the second grunt’s head. The first Imperialist yelped as his fallen comrade hit the dirt floor, blood leaking out of his head. Screaming in terror, the last Imperialist scrambled to his feet, attempting to dash away, jumping over dead bodies and spent artillery shells. Jay, stepping out of the green smoke, aimed her rifle and fired. Crack! The last Imperialist fell. Panning the area, she confirmed the area was clear, and sprinted towards K-5. Jay screamed at him, “K-5 are you ok? K-5 respond! Damn it K-5 respond! That’s an order!” Jay could now see black smoke coming from K-5’s chest as she got closer. “K-5! Failure to follow orders will cause immediate discharge. Now you get your ass up!” K-5 remained motionless on the ground. Jay’s eyes started filling with tears. “No. K-5,” Jay choked in a whisper. She slowed her pace upon seeing the extent of K-5’s wounds. His body was littered with dents from gun fire, oil from other Javelins or his own, and one big hole at the center of it’s chest where the cockpit used to be. Tears streaked Jay’s dirt covered face as she knelt next to him. “Come on K. Can you hear me?” Silence. She lowered herself into what was left of the destroyed cockpit and looked around. She prodded at the remnants of a central control panel, tearing off the screen exposing five control drives. These drives were what stored K-5’s core functions and saved data, basically K-5’s soul if he had one. Three of them were cracked, who knows if they’d be salvageable. She undocked each one carefully and put them in her pack. Jay slumped down, legs folded into her chest. “You can’t leave me K-5, ” Jay whispered. “I need you. We need to finish this war, together.” Jay laid in K-5 for several minutes before standing up. She stepped out of his metal body and brushed the dust off. A rough smoker voice echoed in the back of her head. “Buck up your bootstraps Jay. Mission’s not over.” A faint smile washed over Jay. “Roger that Dad,” Jay whispered. Jay walked through the battlefield, stepping over javelins bodies alike, to the mysterious metal door. She examined it, noticing it had not been opened and didn’t appear locked. Jay readied her rifle and rested herself next to the iron door. She listened for anything on the other side. She could hear computer beeps and what sounded like chains moving. Jay grabbed the door handle, took a deep breath and the flung the door open, aiming her rifle into the unknown. As sunlight bled into what looked like a small warehouse, Jay’s eyes adjusted to see the contents. Jay gasped and lowered her rifle. ______________ INCOMING TRANSMISSION……SENDER: SERGEANT JAY HOPKINS……….DOWNLOADING…….2% ……. 28% …..57%……. 95% ……. SUCCESS!….DECODING TRANSMISSION….. _______START TRANSMISSION_______ [SOL 127 - 0958 ] Command, the artillery east of Grenrik has been taken care of. Tell our soldiers in Grenrik to get a move on. I’ve destroyed an Imperialist jammer causing the issues with our communications. You wouldn’t be receiving this otherwise. You’re welcome. Reporting single casualty of the Mantis Class Javelin “K-5”. Retrieved memory drives for possible recovery. Returning back to Frethlin base to resupply. Will not be alone. Requesting eight fresh beds. See you in two days. Over and Out. Jay _______END TRANSMISSION_______


Beacham corners was a small town which most people drove straight through. They only had one stop light, one firehouse a police station and one school. In the center of town nestled between the coffee shop and the copy shop stood the library. It stood tall and proud. The building was an old school house.. Tall and white, the entrance lead you many different ways..The first section was all best sellers All, you would have to go downstairs to see the children's section, classics were upstairs behind the librarians desk.. All walks of life come to the library. Children loved coming because they had a reading every afternoon. One of the seniors would come down and read from the many choices that made up the children's section.. People stood in line to use the computers which they were allowed for use for 30 minutes. Students, seniors and many more would line up they had 5 computers. A few writers rounded out the customers who found inspiration just by surrounding themselves with all the books.. Clara Berk joined the staff last month. She was a student and always did the morning shift but this week she was scheduled to be the closer.. She came in at noon and closed the library at five o'clock. "This is mandatory according to the rather severe librarian. Vivienne Snard was strict and her rules were simple. The doors must close at 5 pm no matter what. The staff must leave at five o'clock. People have intrigued Clara by saying that magic happened in the library. Clara believed in magic and always found the library to be a special place. She enjoyed each book and lovel to find new books, as well as read the classics. She had her favorites and was happy to point these out to patrons. Clara, lived about 500 yards from the library. She walked to work and she would dine at the cafe but many nights she would, see the lights in the library. Clara was a no nonsense woman and thought perhaps Vivienne was working late or perhaps she forgot to turn off the lights. Ever mindful of the rules but never understood why the lights blazed at night. Night after night the lights turned back on. This made no sense what so ever. Noone could explain this. It was 445 pm today her first night shift. Clara was unnerved the room had a dozen people lingering. She had to clear the room but there were Children sitting on the floor downstairs and seniors on the computers even a few engrossed on their laptops. Clara eyed the cart there were so many books to return that would take her a half hour or more. She made the announcement that they were closing a little frantic now the clock ticked away.. A few started to pack up but Clara was feeling anxious she knew Vivienne was adamant doors close at 5 pm. She shut the last patron out at 458 pm. After locking the doors she decided to put the books away. Knowing the morning person would expect this.. Surely Vivienne would not know she was late. She would just stay long enough to put the books away. She knew she was breaking the rules but just this once.. She would finish and sneak out. Noone need know she was still there after 5 pm. She just wished that she would of put away these books earlier. Maybe if there weren't so many. She grabbed the books on the counter and put them on the cart. As she moved the cart putting back the books she began to hear a hum. A slight hum coming from the shelves. Slight, but definitely a hum. Feeling nervous she began to slam the books back into their slots. The hum began to turn into a buzz it was louder this time. Clara could swear she heard the last book she put on the shelf whistle. She must be working her imagination overtime. As she looked at the shelves she was positive she heard whispering. Gathering her courage she pulled the nearest book down and bravely opened it. Lights flashed and banged and then a deep voice began to say "Call me Ishmael". Clara slammed the book shut it was a copy of Moby Dick. The book was actually reading itself. She was more curious then scared. She pulled down another book at random. The flash then a distinct voice said "it was the best of times..." she slammed the book and traveled to another section it was the very same no matter what book. The books were reading themselves. Feeling like a intruder Clara decided she must come clean with Vivienne. She needed to tell somebody.. She picked up the phone and punched out a number. Vivienne's voice was reassuring. She explained she was still at work but was hesitant to say more suddenly she didn't know what to say, would she be believable? She hardly believed it herself as she cowardly stood behind the desk. The whispering came into focus she was not losing it. Vivienne broke the silence. "So you've learned the secret of the books." You are not crazy! Every night they came to life and no matter what book you pull down it will read itself. I find there is a magic on our shelves but I never told another soul. I was afraid that the magic would disappear.. " she was not angry at Clara, she sounded relieved.. Clara left that evening as she slowly walked away. Then suddenly the lights switched on and now she understood. Noone was there, the books took on a life of their own. She understood for the magic to continue it had to remain a secret.. it was truly magic and that needed to be cherished.. Clara never told another person she preserved the magic but when she walked by to go to the Cafe she knew why the lights were on. She made sure she always left at 5 o'clock. She never heard the hum the buzz or the whispering again. Somethings are sacred.


She lost everything but somehow managed to gain comfort from the only thing she taught herself to love, or probably became obsessed with, after the death of her family. 11th January 2021, it is so simple to say and vividly remember the occurrences but they are shattering. So much that Maya suffered from severe post traumatic disorder. She didn’t need anyone’s help because according to her, she had no one. Two weeks earlier, her whole family, except her decided to fly in a parachute. It was their first time but her dad promised everything would be okay. She still remembers his assuring words in a deep, calm voice shat she never got tired of hearing but she will have to get used to his absence. She insisted on being left home because she has height phobia which made her eleven-year-old brother make non offensive jokes aimed at her. She remembers everyone laughing at her which pissed her off and she run to her room not knowing that would be the last time she would not only see them alive but also hear them laugh. Thirty minutes later, Maya was scrolling through her phone when she heard a thud, almost as if an aircraft had crashed. She decided to mind her business and sit tight but after minutes of intense screaming from her neighbors, she decided to go check it out, after all, she had nothing to lose. She slowly walked outside only to find people running towards her neighbor’s house. She took a few steps closer and the first sight almost made her lifeless. The colorful parachute her family was in was partly hanging on the neighbor’s roof. Her phone slipped out of her hand as her eyes were glued on the colorful patterns. She tried running towards the site but she couldn’t. Every part of her had suddenly became numb. A sharp sting of tears turned to continuous crying and screaming seconds later and she couldn't contain it anymore. It was her family in there and she didn't know whether they were alive or not. She involuntarily fell on her knees still crying and screaming, she was hitting the ground so hard that she started bleeding. If not for Mrs. Wendy who came to her rescue and comfort, she would have done worse. Her family unfortunately passed away and The funeral was a week ago but there’s not a day she hasn’t visited the cemetery. Yesterday however, something happened that will probably change her life for god. She was lying on her mother’s grave crying when suddenly a bearded dragon showed out of no where and rested on her dad’s grave. It looked at her unblinking which made Maya curious and scared at the same time.

She accepted the challenge and stared back at it. The animal was an adult, golden and with amber eyes just like her.

She wiped the tears on her cheeks using the back of her hand and slowly stood while still staring at it.

The animal looked down when she approached it but looked at her again when she squatted next to it. Maya was confused, it was not moving or trying to defend itself from her. She had only seen such an animal in pictures but it looked quite scary in real life. She looked around but there was no one. Just her and the wierd animal, she didn’t know what to do next. She looked at her father’s name, then her mother’s and then finally her brother’s. She couldn’t help but cry again then look at the animal which was still looking at her. She slowly lowered her hand while maintaining eye contact with the bearded dragon and finally touched it. Its skin was so rough but it felt kind of right. The animal still did not move. She run her index finger on its back which somehow gave her a comforting feeling. She cautiously lifted it and rested it on her left palm and using her right hand, she run her fingers on its body. She looked down at the graves and for once since they died, she smiled. She took the animal as a gift from her family and decided to keep it as a pet. Her walk back home was a short one since she had company. She pet it until she got home and didn’t stop until she went to bed. The feeling of touching its skin reminded her of her own life. She is alone, stressed and certainly going through very rough times. Maya decided to name her new friend Gin. She used the first letters of her family's names to come up with the name, in their remembrance. Her father, Gilbert, Isabela her mum, and Noah her brother. Today, she hasnt let Gin go for a second or take him out of her sight. She is sitting on the floor where she spent the night still petting the animal. Her messy hair is all over her face and she prefers it that way. She has grown to hate showing her face to the world because she should be with her family wherever they are, laughing and creating more memories. She should have flied with them and she certainly wouldn’t have walked away on them. The poor animal tries to free itself but she doesn’t let it. She holds it tighter fearing that if she let it go, it won’t come back and she will be all alone again. Her phone rings in her pocket but she doesn’t bother to look who is calling. She holds Gin close to her chest and lies down again.

A few minutes later, there is a Knock. She opens her eyes but still doesn’t bother waking up. She hears the door slowly open and then there are footsteps towards her.

A pair of black stilettos appear in front of her forcing her to look up. It is Mrs. Wendy. She squats next to Maya and gently moves hair from her face. “Hey, how are you feeling?” Mrs. Wendy asks in a low and soft voice but doesn’t get a reply. “Who is your new friend?” She asks after seeing Gin almost buries inside her palms. “She is very beautiful but looks like she needs some air.” Mrs. Wendy says referring to Gin. “It is a he and he is fine here.” She says angrily. “Whatever you say darling but has it eaten. Have you eaten? You both look weak." She says but Maya is silent which answers her. “What should I get the two of you then?” “I don’t know what he eats.” Maya answers in a weak voice crying. “Sssh its okay honey. We will figure that out. Sit up.” Mrs. Wendy says trying to help her. “We will get you something to eat okay? Where did you get him?” “My family, they gave him to me.” Mrs. Wendy is speechless. Maya seems to be obsessed with this animal and her condition is getting worse day by day. She is afraid the animal might die if not well taken care of making her more devastated. She helps Maya sit on the couch and goes to prepare something for her in the kitchen. Maya is still holding the animal close to her chest which makes Mrs. Wendy confused.

Maya suddenly has a weird animal which she claims she got from her family and she has never been a pet person. Either way, she is going to get her help because she needs it. Its all in her head that her family gave her the weird animal but if that is what is going to make her the old happy, naughty, smart, friendly Maya who didn’t suffer from post-traumatic disorder, then so be it.


I'd been pondering on loads of options to cope with the terrible breakup that took place a couple of weeks ago. I didn't feel like talking to the jerk, David who chose to ditch me for my best friend! Well, EX best friend. I mean seriously, could it be any worse? I still couldn't believe Nina actually double faced me the whole time she entertained that jerk to cheat on me. What could I possibly think then? Whatever happened, happened in reality. Anyway, among all the potential coping mechanisms I'd scavenged so far, the one suggested by my cousin, Casey seemed to be more appropriate and lesser aggressive than the other ones. So, basically the task I was to perform was simply writing down messages by pouring out all the rages and curses that had been terribly brewing inside my heart. Then instead of sending them to the jerk, I needed to leave it in the note app of my phone. But interestingly, I came across the mysterious story of Mark Twain and his unsent letters more or less around the same time. In the case of Twain, he used to write down letters addressing to particular people, then tore them down without sending to those addressed. The interesting part was, he still got letters from those people answering the questions he asked or talking about topics he mentioned in his unsent letters. Never mind! I was just another girl who got dumped by the one she thought the love of her life, for the one she thought to be her best friend. No magic, no psychic power involved whatsoever. So, I aggressively typed out a whole Essay-length message trying my best to let out all the entrapped anger intending to the fricking cheater. Heaving out a deep, heavy breath, I gave it a read. Wow! My mind was quite murderous at that point! "Choking the life out of him on his own car seat… Banging his head constantly against the metallic body of his favorite minivan until the head becomes a heap of blood and flesh... Making his sweetheart, Nina regret doing what she did so much so that she'd be possessed terribly by the self-loathing which would make her hang herself...." Woah! Only if I could make these happen! However, writing them down definitely helped to ease the weight on my shoulders. That was Thursday when I left the message unsent locking it down inside the note app.

Friday... Saturday... Sunday... Monday...Tuesday... Wednesday had passed just like that. Of course, nothing would happen! I was just a regular girl...

As a whole week passed without any fuss, I chose not to sweat my head over it. "Lily! Did you hear what happened?" Mom's voice filled with shock and anxiety.

"No, why? What is it?" "David had an accident an hour back, and they couldn't save him. Gosh! The boy died; I still can't believe!" O wow! David died? Must be some coincidence, and not anything related to my message!

"How's that happened? I mean, the accident?"

"He was found in his car, head like a distorted heap of blood and flesh! He was heading towards this way, inside our locality. The weirdest thing is, he told his mom he's gonna have to meet you ASAP before leaving the house. Didn't you guys break up? Don't wanna get nosy but was it anything important between you to talk about?" "Uh-huh" I indistinctly uttered. Now Mom's words cut through my numb brain like a flash of lightening. Is it really happening? God! I can be dead aggressive in writing notes on my phone but I don't have the heart to murder someone. Still there was a flicker of possibility that it was a mere coincidence.

Mom took her purse before ducking out of the house, "I'm going to Brenda's place, she must be devastated after losing the only son. Poor thing! Oh! Casey asked me to tell you something else, um… Some girl from your class, Nina hanged herself this morning. God bless the young generation! Why would you guys die at this age!" she exhaled a deep sigh.

 How could I keep living with the guilt of a murderer! Being a murderer without even attempting to murder... Being under the "magickal" force when the whole time, I longed my life to be "magical"! I was a regular girl until... I was not anymore.

The story could end right there. But did it? Nope. I woke up from the nightmare panting heavily. Cold sweat started rolling down my temples. I looked up at the ceiling for a while before clambering down the bed to drink water. The kitchen light was on which seemed a little weird cos it was almost 3 in the morning. Maybe mom forgot to turn it off after being done with the huge workloads her boss shoves at her every day. I pour a glass of water when I heard the sound. Instantly my heart leapt up to my throat. And again! "What is happening over there? What's this sound?" gulping hard I look over my shoulder. I was almost paralyzed with fear when a shadow seemed to move around the corner of the stairs. Shakily, I move towards the kitchen door.

"Lily? You there?" Dad's voice filled with fear and something else I didn't quite comprehend.

"Dad? What is it? Why are you up this late?" "It's your mom... She, she hanged herself." "You kidding, right? Why would she do that?" "It's not her! It can't be her... She acted like a total possessed... I tried to stop her but she just shoved me away. She seemed so strong and I failed to save her, Lily!" his eyes tearing up.

Now! How would I describe it? Did I bring the curse on my own mother by writing down a silly text?

"Dad, wait up. You shouldn't go outside now. Please, no..." Before I could finish my words, dad was already outside the house. He actually could've just called 911 but he went out himself instead. Why? To become a heap of blood and flesh? My limbs stiffened and I kept standing right there thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. I really was a regular girl until... I was not ANYMORE.


When October came, the fiery colours of the oak trees around the farm looked like they were burning from afar. Even though it was noon and the sun was shining, there was a faint cool mist in the air. The day would have been quiet then, if not for my father, who was chopping down trees with his trusted axe to expand the farmland. Thud. Thud. Over and over, for hours, father would tirelessly strike a tree until it collapsed. I wanted to help, but father told me just to watch. He said having me around gave him strength and focus. Ever since mother died, father said that I was all he had left, and so quietly, silently, I just sat there on an unsteady stool father crafted a few years ago.

Father embedded his axe into a tree stump and called me, “Cassidy, come.” Father spoke slowly and gently but maintained his stoicism, with every smile buried under a frown and every sentence spoken with the same emotion as his axe.

When I approached father, he placed a hand on my shoulder and directed my eyes with his other arm to the faraway river hidden by thistles and thickets. “By January, I shall have made a field up to that river. Now that you are eight, you shall double your efforts and help me plant crops during the spring.” “January! There’s no way you could clear a field by yourself, by January!” I exclaimed. “Then I will need your help to clear the field.” A spark of enthusiasm glimmered in my eye and I hurried to the stump where father’s axe was firmly planted in. “If you really need me, I’ll be glad to help,” I gripped the axe handle and pulled with all my might, but no matter how hard I pulled, it wouldn’t budge. Father moved my hands aside, placing his palm onto the axe handle and effortlessly plucking the axe out. He pulled it close and scanned the axe-head, softly brushing his fingers along the edge. He reminisced for a moment, then turned to look down directly at me, “Take up the plough, not the axe. While I may use it to chop down trees, many more use the axe to take lives.” “But I won’t use it like that. I want to be strong, like you, father.” “Do not be like me, Cassidy. Be more.” On my father's solemn face, I saw the faintest smile crack through his perpetual grimace. He quickly returned to his usual frown, but for a moment, he had tried to reassure me. In the distance, we heard thunder approaching us, but there wasn’t a cloud on this clear Autumn afternoon. No, it was a horse’s trot, steadily coming closer on the cobblestone path leading to the farm. On the horse was a stranger draped in a rose-patterned poncho, with a wide-brimmed hat hiding his face.

Overhead, the clear sky was enveloped by clouds approaching from the west. Father took his hand from my shoulder and approached, embedding the axe back into the tree stump. He yelled out at the stranger, “We do not take visitors or travellers.” The horse came to a halt and the stranger took off his hat to reveal his shaggy blond hair. “No problem, I ain’t planning to stay a while,” he retorted. The stranger scanned both my father and I. He was trying to look calm, but his grim expression and demeanour gave away that he was on the edge of his self-restraint. Father stepped between me and the stranger’s view and broke the silence, “Who are you?” “Jesse Shaw. You remember Elijah and Olivia Shaw?” he responded as he lifted himself up and hopped off the horse. “You thought you could just leave Arizona, start a new life, and just leave everything behind?” Father was silent. He clenched a fist and grit his teeth. Dreary grey spots filled the blue skies, and the light cool breeze had become a fierce rattle. I felt Jesse’s eyes fall on me, his disdain and his hate. “That your boy?” Father didn’t hesitate with his response, “Leave him out of this.”

“Why should I? You didn’t leave me out of your business with my pa. Say, wanna know what he did, boy?” “That’s enough.” “My ma and pa owed him a lot of money, but when they couldn’t pay him back, he took an axe and –” “Enough!” the world came to a still when my father roared. I stood completely still, frozen and staring into nothingness. “Inside, Cassidy.” Jesse jeered at me while I processed what father said, “Best listen, boy. Else he might cut you down too.” I followed at once and hid in the farm. I watched them through the living room window, careful not to make a noise. Father and Jesse simply spoke. It was a conversation that lasted a few minutes, and while I could not hear what was said, I could feel the malice and loathing Jesse felt towards father.

Father remained steadfast, unflinching and unfazed as he spoke. On the other hand, Jesse seemed to go through every emotion imaginable in the span of a few seconds. Sometimes he howled like a wolf with laughter. Other times, he ducked his expression sheepishly behind his hands, as if he was afraid to show father that he still feared him. But throughout the whole conversation, the whole time he was here, I could tell there was an indescribable emptiness in him. No matter how flustered or furious Jesse became, there was no light behind his eyes, black and lifeless and devoid of emotion like obsidian. Over time the clouds shifted and transformed and the skies became completely grey. Father and Jesse’s voices were overwhelmed by the howling wind and rustling of the shifting oak trees. As their conversation went on, I became restless, unable to sit still with just watching father and Jesse speak. I went to get water for my father to drink, heading to the kitchen where we stored water fetched from the river earlier in the morning. Bang . I had poured water in a tankard for my father when I heard the crack ringing through the house and into my ears. I rushed to the front and crashed through the door. My eyes fell on father, who struggled on the ground with his fingers digging on his bloodied chest. His breathing was erratic and rugged. It was the first time I saw my father wince in pain. Then my eyes fell on his attacker who stared back at me. He watched me with the same animosity as an owl observing a shrew in the forest. Jesse turned back to father and barked at him, “I told you. After I kill you, I’d kill the boy.” Jesse took a step forward and turned his body to face me. I saw now the silver instrument in his right hand. A Colt single-action army revolver. I faced the muzzle of the revolver – the same image that countless others before me had seen as their last.

Bang . I thought I was dead. The bullet brushed my shoulder, gashing and burning my skin, and landed in the walls of our home. Before Jesse could have cleanly shot me, father mustered strength and ignored the pain in his chest to pull Jesse down to the ground with him. Father threw himself onto Jesse’s arms to stop him from aiming the revolver. “Run, Cassidy.” I looked at my father grappling and thrashing despite the pain of his chest wound. He refused to fade away, fighting with the last embers of his life. At once, I ran into the house.

An indiscernible growing weight gathered in my ribcage. I struggled to move my limbs against the terror and panic I felt, fighting against my weakening knees and constricting throat. The house seemed to shake as I staggered through the living room and into the kitchen. Bang . The crying wind fell silent and the world turned colder and grey. I stopped and hid by the kitchen door and peeked into the living room. The front door slowly crept open with a painful creak and a figure stumbled into the home, groaning and gritting his teeth in pain. It wasn’t father. “Come out, boy,” he yelled out. I didn’t respond. Jesse shambled through the living room with the single-mindedness and voracity of a hunter in a dark forest. He searched behind furniture and the curtains, and when he couldn’t find any life, he simply moved to the next room: the kitchen. Likewise, it was just as unremarkable to Jesse as the living room was, with the only notable part of the kitchen being the open back door, where Jesse could see me scurrying into the thistles. I hurried into the brambles. I heard Jesse’s heavy footsteps encroaching behind me, becoming louder and louder.

Bang . A bullet whizzed by and ripped into the bark of a tree beside me like an invisible claw. Bang . Another bullet tore through the air, leaving behind a terrible ringing in my ears. I wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I kept running, into the thickets and trees to escape Jesse. If for a moment I slowed down, he would reach me in a matter of seconds. He was bigger, faster, and stronger than me, and even though I had a head start, he was rapidly approaching. And so, when I reached the riverbank, I jumped in, letting the current sweep me away. When I looked back as I swam, I saw Jesse standing by the river with his revolver. His poncho was smeared and stained by blood – both his own and my father’s. He pulled back the hammer of the revolver, which let out a click , and aimed at me. His eyes, still filled with resentment and darkness, stared at me hungrily, telling me that there was no escape. I was ready to die. I was ready to be murdered by the man that killed my father. But he never fired. A flicker of life flashed in Jesse’s eyes. The anger in his expression faded and he lowered the revolver. Looking down at himself, he held his bloody poncho in the palm of his hands, and without another remark or thought, he walked away.

I doubted his mercy. I kept swimming. I swam until my arms and legs were heavy and sore. It wasn’t until dark that I crawled out of the river. I was covered in sand and mud from the riverside, and my clothes were smeared and stained in dirt. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to move. My body ached. My clothes were wet and heavy. I wanted to go home. But there was no home for me to return to. I sat down by the river and looked down at my hands. Unlike my father whose hands were rugged and calloused from years of labour, mine were smooth and soft. These hands couldn’t even hold an axe, let alone save my father. Jesse. That man had taken away everything dear to me. It didn’t matter if he spared me in the end, he killed my father. But he wasn’t a natural disaster. He wasn’t a force of God. He was just a man. And so, I made a promise. I would kill him. I will kill him. For what he did to me, to father. I sat upright and leaned over the river water to wash away the mud and dirt on my face. But when I looked into my reflection in the river, I saw his obsidian eyes as my own.


The just-risen rosy sun nestled in the boundless blue sky as the gleam of dawn pierced into her room. Long blonde locks, tall, slender body, a perfect smile and a bright blue cap, that seemed to mirror the intoxicating colour of the sky, donned on top of her coiffed tresses. A striking, fearless blue. She was ready. The sky wasn’t the limit anymore. The sky was the goal. “Good morning, Heff! Pre-boards done?”, she asked the boarding staff with a charming smile as she smartly walked through her favourite haven, the airport, exuding a perfect aura of poise and chutzpah. A compact, black pilot’s bag rolled smoothly behind her on the glossy terrazzo floor. It was an early morning transatlantic flight departing from Paris Orly Airport headed for Philadelphia. Just when she was about to board the aircraft and head for the flight deck, “Tan, come get your breakfast”, summoned her mother from the kitchen. Tania let out a sigh of despair and landed down to reality. She caressed the doll’s hair, then carefully placed it on her ornate dresser and sprinted to her mother. She stuffed a toast with sparsely spread butter on it in her mouth and grabbed a water bottle in one hand. Tania hurryingly finished her morning meal. “Will 20 taka suffice for lunch today?” her mother asked quietly, dejection resonated in her somber voice. “Yes Maa, I’ll buy myself something, don’t worry, love you!” was Tania’s hasty attempt at helping her mother take heart and curtailing her mother’s worries. Tania had waved her father one last goodbye when he dropped her off to school on that fateful day six years back. He breathed his last, unconscious on a hospital bed after a fatal road accident as his wife wailed in inconsolable agony and his perplexed daughter stared at her mother with blank eyes. Too young to comprehend death but not too young to understand hurt. Since then, life had been painfully arduous for the two hapless loved ones he left behind. Tania’s mother toiled day and night to make ends meet and earn a meagre amount to provide for her family. She had suddenly been coerced into becoming the sole breadwinner overnight while mourning in silence. She felt wronged, aggrieved, lost and despondent. Life had dealt her a cruel card that she did not know how to play. She felt like her little bubble of a happy family had been shattered and her wings had been clipped. Having lost her father at a delicate age where daughters held their father’s hand to find the most endearing sense of security and lay on their father’s chest for solace, Tania showed precocious characteristics as she navigated the excursion from childhood to adolescence without her doting dad. Beyond all the persistent hardships of their new reality, the ceaseless challenges and the unwavering void she endured lay a determination-driven dream. The dream to fly. The dream to reach the sky. The dream to give her mother a new pair of wings. The dream to be her father’s pride. The dream to become a pilot. And this dream burgeoned the day her father had gifted her the pilot doll on her fourth birthday and the month after, he was gone. The doll’s cap was a captivating shade of Egyptian blue. Tania dreamt of landing a plane in an Egyptian city one day and flying over the longest river in the world. The dream seemed far-fetched, the sky seemed unreachable but Tania’s doll of dreams was a sign of hope, bedizened in bold blue. Her doll of dreams clung to her like the unrelenting glossy pages of the travel magazines Tania fondly collected. The doll of dreams went everywhere with her. She took it to the biannual restaurant visits that her mother could afford for them, family gatherings, friends’ birthday parties and when visiting her father’s grave. Tania held her doll of dreams dearly. Over the years, the once tranquil, stable life that Tania had known only got increasingly difficult at an accelerating pace much like a plane mustering up speed to take off gradually after taxiing slowly. Yet, the engines on Tania’s metaphorical plane of will to achieve her childhood dream never failed. Its tires were awaiting takeoff and its pilot was in the making. She took her doll to various pilot schools, it sat in her locker on top of her Pilot’s Manuals and aerodynamics textbooks while she was in training and attending aviation classes. Her doll of dreams was realizing her dreams with her - the very dreams that it had helped foster. Months passed with Tania focused and diligently pursuing a career in flying commercial planes. “Maa, I’m home”, she said breathlessly one evening. Exhausted, she callously dumped her half-open bag on the floor by the kitchen counter and the doll of dreams fell out onto the run-down, rustic floor. “Hi, Tan, how was training today?” her mother asked, carrying a bowl of freshly cooked rice and steamed vegetables into the room. The two were engaged in rudimentary conversation till Tania’s mother’s gaze fell upon the cherished doll. “You take that doll everywhere you go, Tan, and one day you will go places, you will go everywhere”, her mother said gleaming with pride. Tania had met her husband at Flight School. They fell in love quick, like a short domestic flight. Soon after, they fell pregnant and Tania’s career aspirations made an unexpected emergency landing. A beautiful baby girl with eyes a brilliant blue. They named her Dolly. The year Dolly turned four, Tania knew she had a special present for her. The family gathered in the living room and watched the ecstatic four-year-old rip apart the wrapping paper to get to her gifts. ‘Happy Birthday my girl. This helped me get close to living my dream of soaring in the skies. I hope this present drives you to fulfil any unattainable dream you have. Love, Maa’, read an intricately written note on top of a rectangular box neatly wrapped in California blue wrapping paper that had clouds painted on it. It was the doll of dreams. Tania passed it down to her daughter and the next day, she went back to flight school. Several months later, Dolly was on her first ever flight on a family trip to Australia along with her grandmother and the doll was firmly clenched in her little hands, the brave blue cap sat tightly on its head. The pale crescent moon faded behind a congregation of velvety, wispy clouds before it blended into the vast darkness. Long kohl black curls, slim, sculpted figure, a welcoming smile and that bright blue cap. A striking, fearless woman. She was ready. The sky wasn’t the goal anymore. The sky was her realm.

 It was a red-eye Trans Indian Ocean flight taking off from Dhaka en route to Perth.  “Ladies and gentlemen, good afternoon. This is your Captain, Tania Iqbal welcoming you all aboard flight 86A to Perth where the weather is looking sunny, hopeful and like a dream. We will be taking off shortly”. The brave blue cap sat tightly on her head.  And so her dreams took flight.


August 11th, 1385 Today, I chanced upon the most unlikely friend. He’s somewhat diminutive, and his form seems to flux and shift. Encircling his head are rings, and his visage boasts tens of hollowed eyes, each brimming with a boundless curiosity toward me. Never before have I ever beheld a creature consumed with the same zeal for existence as I. Alas, he hasn’t got a name, which we must remedy as I do not believe our last conversation was the final time we will ever speak.

Mother would never approve of this arrangement, so she mustn’t ever know. She hates this entity nonsense, as she puts it. She goes on and on about how it’s such a waste of time and energy to study that which we cannot see and her lectures persist without end.

I say that is why we must study it. All that lies within our sight has long been unearthed. There’s nothing novel about book studies or maths. I find that all to be a waste of time and energy, and a lot of rubbish, might I add.

Back to my new friend, of course, with whom I crossed paths over in Merton Priory. Engaged in my obligatory studies, I was startled by a most peculiar sound—a faint whistle seeming to emanate from the very earth itself, amongst the buried. It was absolutely haunting. The way the tune carried on the wind was wistful and echoey, like a shadow of itself. Of course, I sprung to my feet, hiked my skirt, and took off running after it.

Following my diligent pursuit, I met the critter, clad in shadowy black, and he told me to be not afraid. He was staticky and flickering in the setting sunlight, seeming to be almost caught betwixt and between—neither wholly present in our world nor entirely belonging to any other. I mistook him for the spirit of a child who had recently been laid to rest. He quickly corrected me and said he had fallen from a great height and was simply finding his bearings.

Oh, the marvel he be! I haven’t got any other words to describe just how incredulous the little beast truly is. He told me about from whence he came: ‘nother world like ours but void of colour, save the brilliant golds that I saw capriciously coursing through his form like lichtenburg scaring. I inferred his appearance must be representative of this other plane of existence.

And his voice! It reverberated bizarrely. When you close your eyes, you should be able to tell where a sound is coming from based on direction and proximity. These two laws of the world did not apply to him. He would speak to me, and his voice was not derived from a single point like how my voice would my mouth; rather, it would swirl about my head, confusing my ears as to where it was coming from as it seemed to be coming from everywhere all at once.

I don’t know if I should be afraid of him. I suppose if I am meant to be, what a gift it is to feel no fear at all. I am walking with the serpent, unescorted by any higher powers to protect me. I find them needless, for this serpent is a friend. Regardless of the sharp teeth and erraticity, he is my friend.

GC June 29th, 1386 I never did believe it was possible to have an entirely individual and unique experience, yet here I am living out each and every day unlike anyone ever has before The beast and I have spent most afternoons and evenings together, reciting our histories to one another. He’s told me more about where he came from, but I’m afraid most of what he says goes right over my head, as such tales are incomprehensible to me. I cannot fathom them. The beast did present me with a gift. Its nature eludes precise definition, but it has transported me between realms. I find myself simultaneously within his world and mine, and though I remain flesh and bone, I fancy it a sort of third eye. He’s gifted me sight, for I was blind, but now I see.

This new gift has taken most of my time to explore—fascinating things, really. I’ve filled countless journals with discoveries that defy earthly logic. Mother berates me daily for what looks like staring at the ceiling is actually staring into a vast expanse of stars and galaxies unseen by any other human. "Look too deep," she nags, "and you'll find the back of your own head." Perhaps she is not entirely mistaken. I’ve neglected my practical studies, but what I’ve gotten myself into is greater than any equation or fable. Mother mustn’t find out.

GC September 17, 1387 I fear I may have befriended a true beast. While I called him this before for his appearance, the title now holds a new meaning.

The beast has taken up new hobbies, for lack of a better term. While I trust he means no harm, his curiosity often gets the better of him. I’ve seen him tear rabbits apart with his claws only to dissect what’s inside. While I explained this to him beforehand, he insisted he sees it for himself. His relentless pursuit of understanding, devoid of malice yet terrifying in its intensity, troubles me deeply. The concept of life and living and breathing and dying are positively enrapturing for a creature who has never experienced any of it, I suppose.

He doesn’t derive pleasure from the torture. At least, it does not appear that he does. The shrieks of the little animals that have fallen victim to the beast don’t enhance the experiment any. However, they also do not deter it.

Chilling is the best word I can find to describe this behaviour.

GC December 2nd, 1387 I cannot, in good conscience, continue to turn a blind eye. His experiments are growing, and he’s now targeting higher life forms, seeing nothing awry with his behaviour. I do believe there is a possibility of stopping him. Anytime I express any sort of disagreeance with his behaviour, he throws a tantrum as a toddler would if you told him he couldn’t do something he’d already set his mind to. He’s becoming more erratic and unpredictable, unleashing new entities from his other world.

He’s told me about this phenomenon: a soul link. Through this ritual, two willing (in one sense or another) souls can be joined in an unbreakable bond. I believe I hold his trust. Once he and I are joined as one, I can only hope I am strong enough to keep him at bay.

GC September 19th, 1456 This will be my final entry.

The beast and I are one now, bound by our souls, intertwined forever in a dance of control and submission. With my gift, I’m able to suppress him, and while I’d like to trust myself to keep mine own head on straight, the beast has a talent for letting you think you’re the one in control. Should I ever find myself torturing something for being alive, I shall know I am not. Not fully. I often look back on these entries. There must be hundreds by this point, filled with my discoveries about this beast, who I’ve recently taken to calling The First. A pandora’s box of terrific creatures, spirits, bogeymen, and other shadows one would encounter in the night. I’ve dedicated the rest of my life to hunting down as many as I can, but I fear I may not live long enough to fix all the atrocities The First has committed.

Sometimes, I believe I should have looked deeper into mathematics and literature. At least then, the world wouldn’t be plagued with enemies only mine own cursed eyes can see. I’ve noticed I’m starting to sound like my mother, stifling The First's desire to learn all he can about the unseen world around him. I understand her better now. I still hate her for everything, just as I’m starting to hate myself for starting to sound like my mother.

Bitterness in its purest form.

Much like The First but so painfully unaware of it.

That’s one thing the beast had on her. GC


Oliver threw his scarf around his neck, stepped off the train and walked along the platform at Boston’s South Station. He was surrounded by other holiday travelers pulling large suitcases, sporting heavy, overstuffed backpacks and pushing strollers with travel-weary children. He entered the grand concourse of the train station and scanned the expansive space. Even without the festive decorations in place, he admired this building for its artistic and majestic character deriving, in part at least, from its high ceilings, ornate chandeliers and expansive marble floors. He found Jessica standing next to a display table perusing the latest paperbacks at the Barnes and Noble shop. She looked up as he approached and carelessly tossed the current John Grisham onto the pile of books. Oliver let his suitcase come to rest and dropped his shoulder bag to extend his arms for a welcome-home hug. Oliver squeezed hard around her back and lifted her off her feet. “I’m back,” he said. “I’ve missed you so much!”

“Me, too,” Jess said. “What are we doing first? Drop your bags? Drinks? Shopping?” “Yes.”

Jess adjusted his long tartan scarf. “You look great! Love the shoes. Can’t wait to hear all about the New York City boys whose hearts you’ve been breaking.” She hefted his shoulder bag onto her small frame and started walking to the exit.

“Sorry to disappoint but my adventures in love will only take until the Uber arrives.” “Slim pickings in New York?” Jess asked. “I don’t know. To be honest, I haven’t even been trying. I threw myself into work when Jake and I split.” “Okay, let’s argue about that over drinks. I’ll tell you how stubborn you were and you’ll tell me how immature he was and then we’ll order another round.” “But, we can’t wallow in it too long

because I have a busy, holiday-themed itinerary for you. We have a lot to fit in before you venture out to the suburbs to face the family Christmas gathering.” She exaggerated the drudgery of a family gathering with well-executed sarcasm.

“It’s not the gathering that’s the problem. It’s the feeling that my entire family, including our twelve year old, deaf Shi-Tsu, loved Jake more than me. When I get there, I’m setting a timer on my watch to see how long it takes before I hear his name mentioned.” “Only you could screw up a relationship with Mr. February from the 2022 First Responders Calendar.” They stood outside waiting for the Uber. “So, about this holiday itinerary you’ve arranged,” Oliver lifted his hands in supplication. “Are you really going to make me do those awful, common activities that everyone does at Christmas?” “First of all,” she said, playfully poking his chest with her finger, “everyone loves skating on the Frog Pond. Next, The Nutcracker is a classic. And, most importantly, you promised me.” “Fine. Drop the bags, get a drink, then shopping. In that order.” # Jake’s phone buzzed as he exited the gym in his workout shorts and tank top oblivious to the chilly December air. The text read, Am I picking up? He responded, No gonna run late. See you there. He shook his head. After working a twenty-four hour shift to help cover for a friend at Engine Company 37, he really wanted to stay in tonight. After showering, Jake arrived at McGrath’s Pub only ten minutes late. He felt like a new man after following his daily ritual: clean shaven, hair combed, comfy jeans and a tee-shirt.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said to the guy at the table wearing an irritated expression. “Those cats don’t get themselves down outta the trees.” He smiled and pulled out his chair. “How did you know this was my usual table? That’s amazing.” The pub flaunted a lot of wood. Wooden tables with wooden chairs. The bar was stained wood. Signs made of wood and imprinted with Irish phrases like Slainte . The wall behind the bar was littered with back-bar mirrors advertising various brands of beer, whiskey and rum as well as a collection of object d’arts selected by the bartenders because of some sentimental connection. Strands of colored lights illuminated the kitschy artifacts. “Hey, Jake,” said the server. She looked at the other guy. “Steven, right? I remember you from last time.” She wore a necklace of tree garland and a Santa Claus pin that flashed. A Santa hat completed her ensemble. “Yeah, hi. Thanks,” Steven said. “The usual, please, Erin.” And, to Steven, “Again, I’m sorry. I was moving kinda slow at the gym.” “It’s okay. I just feel funny sitting here surrounded by all this law enforcing, fire fighting, life-saving testosterone.” Steven gestured around the room as if Jake was not aware of his surroundings.

“Jake, what’s good, my man?” A man patted his shoulder as he passed by the table.

“No one here cares that you’re gay, Steven. Relax.” From far across the room, “Yo, Jake!” Jake gave a quick wave to some distant fan. Steven looked around in disbelief. “How often do you come here? Everyone knows you.” “I like my routine. These guys are my friends. Sorry, and the women, too. Are you jealous? I wouldn’t blame you. I mean, some of these guys are pretty hot. But, they’re all straight so you don't have too much to worry about.” Jake’s chuckle did little to alleviate the tension present in Steven’s face. “Well, I wanted to talk to you but doing it here is strange.” Steven leaned in closer. “It’s like we’re on your turf. I feel a little off balance.” “Being here is like wearing comfy pajamas. It’s my ‘go to’ place. See that Charlie Brown-ish Christmas tree in the corner? It’s there every year with the same decorations, blinking and flashing its tacky little heart out. And those ceramic stocking hangers behind the bar – the N - O - E and L. By tomorrow, Erin will have switched it around to L-E-O-N just to piss off the bartender.” “That’s what I wanted to talk about,” Steven said. “About the Christmas decorations?” Erin returned with two tall beers. “Your Santa stopped blinking,” Jake pointed to her chest.

Steven threw his hands up. “That! That, right there. Everything has to be just the way it's always been. You don’t like change.” Jake shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “What?” “You’re stuck, Jake. You aren’t growing. You’re not changing. You just go to work, go to the gym, see the same people, do the same things. Day in and day out. It’s like you are perpetually twenty-three. You’ve lived here your whole life. Shit, I mean, you’ve had one job since high school.” “You think I’m stuck?”

Steven put his hands up to pause the conversation. “I wanted to ask you if you wanted to take our relationship to the next level. Are you ready for that?” “The next level? What does that even mean? Like, move in together?” “Well, yeah, that could be part of it.” Jake saw Erin coming toward them carrying his bacon burger and well-done fries. He remained silent while she placed the dinners on the table. Jake raised his eyebrows and gave her a ‘ it’s one of those conversations’ faces. She returned a wink. “Honestly, Steven, I kinda like where I am. I have my own place, a good job and lots of friends. I don’t wanna rock the boat, you know?” Jake peeked under his bun to inspect the toppings. “Nice! Paco remembered to skip the onions.” “Your life can’t stay the same forever. I’m ready to take the next step. If we don’t grow, we die. I’ll be right back. I gotta piss.” Steven stood and threw his napkin on the chair. “ Whether you want it or not, life is going to kick you in the nuts one of these days.” He strolled toward the bathroom. Jake bit into his burger, indifferent to Steven’s mood and to the beefy juices drenching his fingers and palms. Erin appeared out of nowhere and plopped into Steven’s chair. Jake looked up at her and smiled to indicate his satisfaction with the burger. Erin looked around before speaking. “What are you doing with that guy? He’s so…not you.” Jake shrugged.

“I’m keeping it casual. You know me…I like my routine.”

“Well, we are all in agreement,” Erin said. “We? All?” Erin motioned for him to look over her shoulder. His fan across the bar and the woman standing with him were both shaking their heads in disapproval. He gave a quizzical look. “He’s not Oliver,” she said. “Enjoy your burger.” She stood as Steven returned to claim his seat. She told Steven, “He’s all yours.” Jake dropped his burger, wiped his hands and face with a napkin that disintegrated immediately. His appetite disappeared when he realized the napkin might as well be a metaphor for his life. # After leaving Symphony Hall, Oliver and Jess decided to walk the short distance from there to her apartment.

“You work too much. You’re avoiding people. There’s gotta be thousands of respectable guys in the city that you could hit up.” Jess took quick, graceful steps in her heels with her shoulders hunched and her chin buried in her scarf. “I’m trying to make a name for myself. I can’t succeed in journalism unless I put my time in. To be the next Anna Quindlen or Barbara Kingsolver, I have to make sacrifices.” She laughed. “Of course, you’d give examples of two women you admire. Maybe shoot for something more realistic. The Pulitzer Prize will always be there waiting; your soulmate may not be so patient.” Turning the corner, Oliver and Jess walked along the tree-lined street leading to her apartment. Classic three-story brick row homes with ornate white trim around the windows occupied both sides of the street. The white-lit trees, wreath-adorned doors and evergreen garlands along the fences would have created a fairy tale atmosphere if it were not for the flashing reds and whites from the fire and rescue vehicles parked askew in the street.

“Are they at your apartment?” Oliver asked. They quickened their steps to investigate. Oliver and Jess stood at a distance behind a first responder who was bent over the gurney to secure their patient to the apparatus. “Mrs. Thorndike! Hey, I’m her upstairs neighbor. Is she okay? What happened?” The paramedic looked over his shoulder and said, “She’s okay. Low blood sugar but –.”

Oliver recognized Jake’s voice before he saw his face.

Jake froze for a moment, turned back to his patient then back to Oliver. Still looking in Oliver’s eyes, he called out to his colleague. “Let’s get her in the box.” Behind Jake, the gurney and its patient wheeled away leaving the three of them looking at each other.

“Hey, Jake,” Oliver said.

“Okay, this is awkward,” Jess said. “I’ll just go check on Mrs. Thorndike’s chihuahua.” “Hi, Oliver. When did you get into Boston?” “A few days ago. I’m just killing time with Jess until my family’s Christmas thing. I figured you’d still be on the job.” Oliver did not mean for the remark to be hurtful, although it was Jake’s relentless pursuit of the status quo that precipitated their breakup. He regretted saying that as it left his lips. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant. I meant, I’m glad you’re still here and doing what you love.” “Yeah, it’s good. Listen, I’ve gotta get Mrs. Thorndike rolling.” “I’m here for a few more days. Let’s get together. Same number?” Oliver sheepishly realized that he just transmitted the fact that he never deleted Jake’s number.

# Looking at his phone’s screen, Jake paced back and forth in his kitchen, which only allowed three paces either way.

He attempted to will a text message from Oliver to magically appear on his phone. He thought of Oliver and the rush of adrenaline that heated his veins when he saw him last night. His only thought of Steven was that he spoke the truth the other day. Steven was right about Jake’s life being in a permanent stasis. If he called Oliver, it could change everything. He could not have Oliver and his current life; they were incompatible. He dreadfully feared the upheaval associated with a new life of commitment. Butterflies danced and fluttered and trembled in his stomach just thinking about such turmoil in his life. No, it wasn’t the anxiety and uncertainty. It was just thinking about Oliver that caused his heart to race and his head to spin.

“Screw it,” he said. He swiped up to unlock his phone and opened his contacts.

His phone came to life before he found Oliver’s number. Buzzz . Buzzz . Buzzz .

No name appeared on the screen. In Jake’s phone, Oliver was listed as two emojis in sequence: a tornado next to a red heart.

#

Oliver, phone to his ear, stood in judgment of the half-size, imitation, pre-lit Christmas tree as Jess hung Hallmark ornaments from its sparsely covered limbs. Mrs. Thorndike’s chihuahua supervised the work from the sofa, offering his critique with an occasional bark or a shake of the head accompanied by the tinkle of his jingle bell collar. “He’s not answering. I told you. He’s afraid of –.” Oliver stopped. “Oh, hey, Jake.” There were intermittent pauses in Oliver’s speech as he waited for Jake to reply. “I thought we could get some drinks.” There was a pause. “Well,” Oliver looked at Jess, “tonight maybe not. Jess and I have –.” He watched Jess flailing her arms from across the room. “…wait a sec.” He muted the phone. “What?” “Bring him to The Nutcracker tonight. He can have my ticket,” Jess whispered.

“I was only going because you wanted to go,” he reminded her in an exasperated angry whisper. “Won’t it be easier to not have to talk the whole time?” Oliver nodded in understanding. “Tonight’s good. I have tickets to The Nutcracker and Jess,” he looked back at her to see her fake coughing and giving her best miming performance at vomiting. “Jess isn’t feeling great.” Longer pause than last time. “Great, meet me at Will Call at seven.” # Oliver and Jake held flutes of champagne as they walked through the grand lobby of the Opera House. The walls were covered with crimson silk and 18th century murals filled the space between round marble columns. Grand chandeliers hung from the ornately sculptured ceilings leading to the curved staircase at the end of the cavernous hall. The staircase split into two around a central circular landing. Oliver started his climb on the left side of the central railing while Jake chose the right. Jake stopped, inconveniencing and displeasing a delicate Brahmin woman as he turned around, and followed Oliver up the left side. They made their way, side by side, to the Left Center Dress Circle seats which offered not only a smidge of privacy but also

a spectacular, unobstructed view.

“I’ve never seen The Nutcracker ,” Oliver said. “Jess was making me go because she thought I was too elitist to attend something so… cliché , I guess.” He sipped from his flute. “You guess? She knows you better than anybody. I come every year. I’ll see it again with my mom and sis next week.” “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, you should’ve said something. We could have done something else.” “No, this is fine, really. I’m comfortable doing something familiar.” Jake looked around the overly-decorated theater. “But, you knew that already.” Oliver held his glass up higher and moved it toward Jake. “Here’s to being wicked stuck up,” he offered. Jake met Oliver’s flute with his own and, with a clink , he said, “Here’s to being too afraid to grow up.” The room darkened and the crisp musical notes of the Overture filled the air. # Jake absorbed the lush, expressive music of Tchaikovsy not only through his ears but also through the subtle vibrations that rippled through the theater's floor and seats. As he watched the fairy tale unfold, Jake experienced Clara’s sadness over her broken gift. He wondered if Clara still loved the gift as much as before it had been damaged. Despite his initial avoidance, Oliver surprised himself with his rapt attention and genuine enjoyment. He imagined himself as the Nutcracker: safe high up on the shelf, a distinguished icon

looking down at the world. He remained out of reach from the harm of others, unwilling to be vulnerable and unworthy of being loved.

They reflected on what they had lost by not taking a chance with each other. The magic of the story, combined with the visual and musical experience, conveyed vital messages to them about the directions their lives had taken. Jake, too afraid of change and loss,

stifled his growth and evolution. He realized that he was surviving, but not living. Oliver had abandoned any chance of receiving love and affection, thinking it could be replaced by respect and status.

Separately, they were imperfect but, when combined, each contained the antidote for the other’s defects, creating a flawless union of souls.

These realizations sparked an intense desire for action.

As the final note played, Oliver and Jake stood with the rest of the theater-goers to deliver the well-deserved standing ovation. As the clapping subsided, Jake turned to Oliver with tears in his eyes. Oliver returned his gaze, put his hands on either side of Jake’s cheeks and leaned in closer. With their lips just inches away, they closed their eyes. The soft, champagne-infused kiss tasted like tart apple; its efferessence transformed into electricity that flowed through their bodies. Eyes closed and still hovering in front of Oliver’s moist lips, Jake said, “I need to tell you something. I’m not afraid of change when I’m with you. You’re my prince, just waiting to come to life and show me a fairy tale world.” Oliver replied, “I didn’t come to life until I met you. You make me feel like the prince I’ve always wanted to be.” They kissed again.


“What are they looking for?” “Alien” “Why so far? We have one here.” “Do we?” “That strange jellyfish taken by the big ship and stranded here alone. Isn’t it alien too?” Look up and down, up and down, up and down “your brain must be eaten by aliens.” “Do I have a brain?” “Do we have a brain?” “Guys stop! They are looking for a new home.” “Why?” “They wrecked Earth down and forget how to fix it.” “Disassemble.” “What?” “’Wreck’ used when they know the consequences, but they were too stupid to know that. Remember when they found that oil from the ground? The whales were cheering along with them. Oh, poor whales, I was shouted out loud when I heard the news about the old Cachalot. They, humans, need to pay some price too.”  “We have four already, do we?” “Five” “What is it about?” “The mass extinction” “Ohh,”

“So, it’s better to stay or run away?” “Sssst, don’t tell them. Let they do their thing” “Why?” “They will know eventually. It’s almost there, the sixth.” “How did you know?” “Some birds told me last summer that the warmth was getting longer and longer.” “Yeaahh, it’s finally here!!! I want to be the soil this time.” “You will be the

ground. Layered by the dust and hold the water down.” “That’s better, you know? Up here was too bad. I can’t imagine, what’s another worse creature would arise after this one.” “I was creeped out by those dinosaurs and excited for nothing when that smaller creature was created. I thought, it’s finally peace, little did I know that they were even worse.” “Those dinosaurs might be scary and noisy but they didn’t take more than what they needed.” “I like Luca better.” “What’s Luca?” “The first” “Since when is it called Luca?” “Humans name it, I think it's cool.” “Why Luca?” “Because it’s the first.” “Luca is not better. They eat each other.” “But that makes them exist, living things.” “You know, what’s funnier?” “What?” “They tried to plant the trees. But same tree, all the same species.” “What? Monogenous?” “Ridiculous! What luck for us to have no brain.” “There’s nothing good about having one.” “Indeed.” “I thought it was the worst, when fire and all those meteors attacked Earth. Little did I know that humans could do this far.” “Actually, they are not that bad. Remember, when they used to give us food and share anything, they had with us?” “They didn’t do that anymore.” “When I was a melted magma down there, I heard something interesting from the plates.” “What? The land married with the water?” “ugh, muddy” “No, you silly! The glacier was in pain.” “’is’ in pain. It had been worsening for the last few decades. Don’t try to be the smart one. Everyone had heard about it. The wind told me yesterday that one of the lands in the south will soon be claimed by the ocean. It’s all because that human let the glacier melt.” “I hate being magma” “So, what’s you want to be when the sixth comes?” “Can I just be water?” “You are a rock, silly!” “You said nothing is impossible!” “That’s for humans! There’s something fundamental that is impossible, except for God.” “What God?” “This conversation must end here. Talking about God's existence would take time until the sun supernova.” “The worst was for the Mus. They owned this land before and then those bloody humans started to claim the land and now, they said that they were pests in their own land.” “But they’re warriors. After all of this madness, they managed to survive.” “What’s the point of surviving? When you are not worthy in your own land.” “I mean. The humans, aren’t they smart enough to be the global superpredator? Why didn’t they realize that their existence was in danger?” “If you think you are smartest of all, nothing can help you from catastrophic destruction.” “They even think that planting some trees would fix everything and it's monogenous.” “hahaha, I could die of tears, ahhh my stomach is hurt.” “How many times do I have to remind you? You are rock! A stone made from atoms. You have no stomach!” “Why didn’t I have one? I want to have one! When the sixth comes, I’ll pledge a wish to Zeus to give me one.” “Ask Zeus to give you a brain too.” “But they learn though, some are good enough to realize it. I saw some that tracked the ecological history.” “Where?” “In the north forest before I was drawn by the flood.” “I missed the Bramble.” “Why suddenly brought the Bramble?” “I see none of them recently. They are kind little mates.” “They gone! Four of five winters ago. I heard from people passing by that they were extinct.” “Now, even a small mammal is also extinct. I missed the Mammoth too.” “Why do you have to miss them? I always had to be wary around them.” “Not all of them extinct, some of ‘sane-enough’ humans had tried to save anything they could save. The old Mega was lucky enough to have a secure life in his old day. I heard that humans have an agreement to protect his family.” “Who knows what the future would be like, those big cats everyone always feared were gone now.” “What about us?” “What?” “Is there any among us that get bad luck?” “HAH! What could be bad luck for us? We’ve been burning, sweeping, freezing, and more. We still remain a rock.” “They didn’t care about us. Plethora of us here, yet they tried to find more on the moon.” “How did you know that?” “A human talked to me.” “That human must be crazy.” “She cried.” “Why?” “ She told me that no one in her family seems to care about the lost. She feels bad for Earth and me.” “I hope she died before the sixth comes.”  “How long until the sixth arrive?” “Soon, maybe a few years or decades.” “Do they know, human?” “I don’t think so.” “Don’t tell them then.”

*** If you wonder how was the rock's life


“You have any idea how this section is organised?” I ask, looking at the shelves lined with slim, emerald-coloured boxes that remind me of DVD cases. I pick one at random and read the label, ‘SER-☘-🐕’ “Hannah, I just work in the cafe here, I'm not a librarian," Lyra says, running pale fingers through her spiky purple hair. “Ladies, this is the Quiet Zone,” says a woman in a fitted grey suit with matching grey hair, pointing a dove-grey fingernail to the sign above our heads. I look up at the sign, then down to her name tag. “Sorry, Agnes. I can’t figure out how this is organised.” Her slate eyes assess me. “Uh, maybe you could help?” “Fine,” Agnes says. “Follow me…quietly.” We reach a large, silver-framed graphic attached to a wall. It’s a matrix with rows and columns, ranging from softer colours on the left that deepen into darker, more vibrant colours on the right. And strange symbols at the head of each column. “This is Melinoe’s periodic table to the unconscious,” Agnes says, standing on the left side of the graphic. “Named after Melinoe Göttin, who catalogued and cross-referenced common motifs, symbols and settings, across millions of dreams to create a Dewey Decimal system of Dreams.” “It’s beautiful,” I whisper. “You’re such a dork.” Lyra says, “You think spreadsheets are sexy.” “Each row represents a motif. This row,” Agnes says, tracing a path from sea-foam green through to emerald, moss, and ending in an inky seaweed green, “represents Serendipity. It includes Chance, Happenstance and Luck.” “Oh, is that why the cases were all emerald green?” I ask, “We must have wandered into the Serendipity section.” “Across the top, the columns catalogue symbols and shapes.” “Why is there a naked dude?” Lyra asks, pointing to a genericised image of a human body.

“That refers to the dreamer’s body, or parts the body. Eyes, teeth, hands.” “There was a shamrock and a dog on the case I picked up.” “That refers to Luck, as the motif, combined with animal symbology, and dogs in particular.” “Alright, so let’s say my friend wanted some, uh, alone time, with Santiago Cabrera…” Lyra begins. “Lyra!” “What? I didn’t say that you were the friend who wanted some sexy time with—" “We don’t stock dreams with specific people, for obvious reasons.” Agnes says. “Hannah, for sure we can get that on the black market. My friend Cyrus has a dark web—” “Though you can select regions, like Spain, or professions, such as Musketeer, painter, or pilot of a space ship.” Agnes says, a hint of a smile flickering. “Okay, well, thanks for explaining that. I think I’ll just go for a book this time,” I stammer, as I lead Lyra into the Bestsellers section. “Right, your turn to pick,” I say. “Surprise me. But nothing too heavy or horror-y.” I sit on a plush yellow chair as Lyra scans the tables stacked with books. We have very different tastes in movies, books, and men, but she knows what I like and I trust her to pick something interesting that I’d never pick for myself. “Jackpot,” she says, tucking two books into a cloth bag and handing it to me. “No looking till you sign them out.” We head to the check-out area, waiting in a single line that’s serviced by two librarians, one man and one woman, each standing behind a desk. “Look,” Lyra whispers, jabbing me in the ribs with a sharp elbow. “Ouch!” I shout. The customers in front turn to look at me. “Sorry,” I mumble. “That’s HIM,” she says, nodding toward the male librarian, a slim man with curly brown hair and blue eyes. “The guy who worked at the used book store. The one you had a huge crush on but were too chickenshit to ask out.” “Yeah,” I croak, my throat suddenly dry, my heart racing. I figure I have a 50-50 chance of not having to talk to him.

“You know, he looks a LOT like Santiago Cabrera. Except for the eye colour, he could be his twin.” “Yeah.” We’re next in line and I’ve got everything crossed, hoping I won't land at the desk of Mr. Cabrera’s American doppelgänger. “Next,” calls out the woman. I nearly collapse with relief as I start towards her. But Lyra pushes me out of the way, turning to wink as she reaches her desk. I’m backtracking a few steps when I hear him say, “Next.” He’s looking at me with a soft smile. I’m not sure my legs are strong enough to walk the five steps over to him. “Did you find everything you wanted?” he asks. “I uh, yeah.” I say, noticing his name tag, Ethan . I place the bag on the desk and reach inside. Our hands brush against each other as we grasp the same book. I withdraw mine, blood rushing to my cheeks, skin tingling. “I remember you.” he says, the scanner making a single beep as he draws it across the bar code. “You came into my book shop last September, asking for A Confederacy of Dunces . You were wearing a white skirt.” I stare mutely back. “The next time you came in, you were wearing a blue sundress, and said you were ‘just browsing.’” “I like old books,” I say, finally getting some control over my mouth and vocal cords. “I love the smell of used book stores.” “Me too. It’s the scent of all those accumulated lives, packed together in one space.” I notice Lyra sitting in a chair near the check-out area, gazing intently at my interactions with Ethan. “Hey, let me know if this is any good,” he says, as he turns the biography of Santiago Cabrera over in his hands. “People have said I look like him, can you believe that?” “Oh, oh no," I say, glancing over at Lyra. She smiles devilishly. “You don’t see a resemblance?” he asks, holding the book up to his face, so that Mr. Cabrera’s visage is next to his. “I, yes. Yes, there’s a striking resemblance. If you ever get a movie made of your life, he should definitely play you,” I laugh, relaxing just a bit. “This is a good book,” Ethan says, as scans the second one. “Your partner is very lucky.” “My, what? I don’t have a partner,” I say, squinting at the title of the book in Ethan’s hand. Sexual Energy Ecstasy: A Practical Guide to Lovemaking Secrets of the East and West . If I could kill Lyra with a stare, she would be a smoking pile of ash now. Instead, she waves and smiles and gives a thumbs up. A third beep interrupts my homicidal thoughts. I whip back to face Ethan. He’s scanning a green case. Lyra must have grabbed it from the Dream section when I wasn’t looking. “What’s that?” I ask, dreading the answer. “It’s a dream,” he says, raising one eyebrow, “about getting lucky with a librarian.” I wish for a chasm to open in the floor and swallow me whole. My humiliation is now complete. He slides the bag back to me. I can’t meet his eyes. I mumble thanks and drag it off the desk, but it snags on something. Ethan is holding onto one of the handles. “If that dream doesn’t work, I’ll be here tomorrow. I finish at five."