Isla del Paraiso was a picture of peace and serenity. Even the beautiful turquoise water surrounding it was still. Suddenly the silence was disturbed by a very excitable mermaid bursting through the water, swimming towards the sandy beach, flanked by a couple of playful dolphins. Aerwyna had a very good reason to be excited, the baby sea turtles were going to emerge from the sand tonight! They’d hatched several days ago but she got the news that they were going to finally come out of the hole/ nest that their mothers had made. She had to make sure that it all went smoothly. It was her job after all as one of the guardians of Isla del Paraiso, specifically the turtles’ nesting beach. “Wish me luck”, Aerwyna said to the dolphins as she hauled herself onto the beach. “Good luck!” the dolphins said through various clicks and whistles. They swam away while the mermaid waited patiently for her cerulean blue tail to change. It wasn’t long before the blue-green scales slowly disappeared, her tail splitting in two and morphing into a pair of legs. Aerwyna slowly stood up, wobbling slightly as she wasn’t quite used to being on legs for some time. Once she was sure that she wasn’t going to fall over, the young mermaid picked her way up the sandy beach to where the dusty path began. The brunette wandered up it to where a wooden cabin sat, her home away from home during the turtle hatchings. She ascended the steps and pushed open the door, stepping inside. The cabin itself was small which suited her fine. She didn’t need a big place for somewhere she only stayed in for a few nights at a time. On the left was the door to her bedroom, complete with ensuite bathroom. That was her first stop given that she wasn’t wearing anything. Contrary to popular belief, her people, specifically the females didn’t wear shells over their chests as they were covered in scales instead. Aerwyna went into her room and over to the dresser where she pulled out the first clothes that her hands came into contact with: purple tank top, denim shorts and underwear. She then pulled her long brown and cerulean dipped hair into a messy bun in order to keep it out of the way. Her next stop was for food. Aerwyna headed into the kitchen which was opposite the bedroom. She opened up the cupboards, pulling out a can of peaches. Canned food was the only thing that lasted long periods of time. There wasn’t much of it left either not that it was a problem given that the island had a plethora of fruit, coconuts and of course fish. The mermaid cracked open the can and settled down in one of the squashy chairs that was perfectly situated so that she could look out of the window at her home away from home. Aerwyna slowly ate the sweet peach slices as she watched various tropical birds flitter from tree to tree chattering away in their bird speak. The young mermaid couldn’t understand what they were saying unlike aquatic creatures, but they sounded happy. Once she’d finished the can, Aerwyna tipped the remaining syrup type liquid that kept the peaches so sweet onto a small dish which she set onto the porch. It wasn’t very long before a small flock of Bahamian Woodstar Hummingbirds landed on the wood and surrounded the dish. She smiled at the sight and headed back indoors. The brunette grabbed a book from one of the many shelves in the cabin and sat back in the same chair to do a little bit of reading. There she stayed for good several hours until she dozed off. It wasn’t a big surprise that she’d fallen asleep since she had been too excited the night before to get enough rest to make it through the day. When Aerwyna was jolted awake by a loud screech in her ear, the sun was going down. She rubbed the now ringing ear, glowering at the parrot that was perched on the back on her chair. She knew those unique colourings anywhere, it was the cheekiest bird on the whole entire island. He was very brazen too, not afraid to saunter into the cabin and pinch her food. The parrot cackled as if satisfied for scaring her awake and flew off, out of the cabin. Aerwyna rubbed her face, grumbling in her native tongue, cursing that blasted bird. Then she realised that the sun was setting! She jumped up from her chair and hurried over to the sink to splash cold water on her face to properly wake herself up. She fixed her bun and then headed out of the cabin toward the beach. As she grew closer to the nesting site the excitement in her grow. She actually did a little skip at how happy she was about this very special moment. Aerwyna settled down on the sand and awaited eagerly for the first signs of the hatchlings emerging. She didn’t have to wait very long before her chocolate brown and gold speckled eyes spied the soft ground start to shift in front of her. The mermaid leaned forward barely daring to breathe in case it prevented the baby turtles from appearing. She clapped a hand over her mouth to silence her squeals as one by one the hatchlings crawled out of the sand. Then all across the beach, more and more of them surfaced. Aerwyna slowly raised herself into a crouch and got to work ushering them toward the sea. As she’d successfully gotten a group of hatchlings to the water, she heard small cries of ‘help’. She spun around, eyes flashing in anger as she saw two crabs stalking toward some baby turtles. Aerwyna shot over to them, taking care not to step on the other terrapins that had yet to get off the beach. She kicked the crabs away and shielded them with her body, hissing at the crabs, daring them to try again. Thankfully they seemed to do the smart thing and scuttle off. “Thank you” , the hatchlings said in a series of small noises and pressing their small bodies to her, gratefully. “You’re welcome, now lets get you home”, Aerwyna said. She gently scooped them up and carried them to the water, setting them down when she got there. It was about a good four hours for every single hatchling to get into the water. Now that her job was done, Aerwyna tugged the hair band out of her hair, shaking it loose. She laid down on the beach and looked up the stars, one hand on her bare stomach, the other behind her head. She would spend another couple of days before she too headed into the depths of the sea.


  "Tell us another story!" Cindy and Lewis asked their grandfather, once again.

It was a night like any other night, the moon bright and the stars glowing against the dark sky. They sat up in Cindy's bedroom, the children on the pink-sheeted bed and Grandfather in the comfy hanging chair. Every night they would sit down and listen to his adventures.   "I think I've run out of happy stories. All that I still remember that I haven't told you yet are sad. Some of my stories are not quite ready for you to hear yet."    Every night he told his tales of living before the Europeans came to Canada. Before the whites took over. He lived peacefully with the others of his tribe, uninterrupted and happy. But that was before. And all the stories left were of after.

   "Please, Grandpa!" The children's begging eyes were too hard to resist.

   "All right. But be warned, it's much different from the others." Were his grandchildren ready? Oh well, too late to disappoint them. He began telling them his story, the way he always did. I remember...

   "I remember the day like it was yesterday. It was the middle of the winter, the sun was warm for once and the wind whistled in my ears. My parents had 3 children, me and my two younger sisters, Dyani and Catori."

   "Those are nice names." Said Lewis. Do they have meanings, like yours?    "Yes, my name - Animkii - means thunder. Dyani means deer and Catori means spirit. Very nice names, we were all quite proud of them."    "Lewis," Cindy spoke sternly, "Don't interrupt again. Grandfather needs to tell his story."

   "Yes. Well, that day, we were all playing outside together when someone from the government came to our camp. They asked to see our parents and they had a lengthy discussion before our parents spoke to me and my sisters.    "They said, 'Animkii, you and your sisters are going to school.'"    "What's so sad about going to school?" Lewis asked.    "Hush, Lewis," Cindy told him. "Grandfather's not done his story yet."    "They took us to the school and made us change into scratchy, uncomfortable clothes very different from the ones we were used to. They caused us to lose our language and religion, and now I can only speak English. Me, Dyani, and Catori were separated. We only saw each other during church, where we were punished if we talked.Then one day, Dyani didn't show up to church, and only Catori was there. She had died from this torturous place. We came back home and things were different. Me and Catori could only communicate well with each other, because we'd lost our native language. We'd grown accustomed to the new things we'd been taught and forgotten our traditions. Yet worst of all, we knew everyone thought it should've been us instead of Catori. I still suffer greatly from the loss and the terrible flashbacks of things that happened at the school."    He looked over at the children. Lewis was asleep, Cindy was crying. He wanted to comfort her but didn't know how. He couldn't say, 'It's okay.' Because it wasn't. He couldn't say that he was fine now, because he wasn't. That school had ruined hundreds of lives, including his. It had completely destroyed him, and he would never, ever be the same again.


The smell of rotten eggs woke Harper from a dead sleep. Or maybe it was the waves of intense nausea. Her innards felt like they were being stomped clean, like dirty laundry in a remote, rural stream. Through eyes weary and half-shut, Harper watched a red light pulse. It filled the space around her with spasmodic, blood-hued flashes. Uggghh… Moving wasn’t high on her list of priorities. Her head was heavy. It felt like a pumpkin propped on a toothpick, and inside sloshed thoughts and images that threatened to fuse together but, instead, bobbed haplessly in the groggy backwaters of her mind. She closed here eyes and turned to lay on her side. Too difficult. She motor-boated her lips.

That's when the poem began. The absurd wordplay could have come straight out of the dusty vaults of Captain Beefheart. The strange sonnet danced on the tongue of some faceless woman as it corkscrewed into Harper’s consciousness, like a stream of buttercream frosting atop a cake. Harper grasped at it. It evaded her clutches, verbal confetti in a breeze.

“Roll bed. Feel free to pull and retest it.”

What in the world? “Toad said, its feet avulsed. Infected.” Whoever was speaking whimsically sliced and diced words, the way those theatrical, knife-juggling chefs at the vintage Japanese restaurant chain (whose name escaped her) diced sushi. The vowel scheme, however, remained curiously consistent. “Road bled. A vehicle dissected.” She struggled to make sense of it. But she was no poet. She never had the knack. It was a god-given talent, she was always told, and, in her life, she had never taken seriously even the slightest inclinations towards being an artist. When she was young, however, she dreamed of being an astronaut. She recalled how the stars outside her childhood bedroom window would whisper to her at night. They would tell her of her destiny, of her future living in their midst.

“Joe fled. The bees on skull reflect it.” As a matter of fact, now that she thought about it, she had a faint recollection of donning a spacesuit at one time: one limb at a time, into the suit, a silent dance, a sacred ritual, all in preparation for sleep.

Again came the verse. But this time, the words cut through the mental murk and dripped with a sobering clarity. “Code red. Debris on hull detected.”

Oh god , she thought.

Harper blinked herself awake. She swam up through the mental soup, lifted a hand and pawed at the mask that was pumping oxygen and hydrogen sulfide into her lungs. She finally pulled it off and the smell of rotten eggs disappeared.

Harper grumbled. She slipped the IV from her arm and threw it somewhere next to her. She hoisted open heavy eyelids again and glimpsed the hyper-sleep chamber. The space was tight, just big enough for an average sized adult. A glass door lay above her, and on the other side of it, the flashing beacon intermittently bathed the large cryo-room in that haunting crimson glow. Between the scarlet pulses, the room would descend into darkness, lit only by the feeble lights of the keyboard panels which stretched across the room, under monitors that were inert and black with sleep.

The red alert continued to blare in her ear as Harper attempted to move her legs. She was numb from tailbone to heels, a result of the three year hibernation. The nifty LSD-style dreams were one of the perks of hyper-sleep too — a side-effect of the hydrogen sulfide. The gas slowed her metabolism, helping her body withstand the long trip on the scantest of nutrients. The rotten egg smell was just another bonus.

“Christ, Cheryl, enough with the goddam code alert , please, ” Harper mumbled. The onboard AI turned off its alert protocol, which, to Harper, had sounded like word-salad just a moment before. The rhythmic red light clicked off too, which immerserd the room in the twilight-like glow of the the keyboard lights. “Welcome back, Captain Gordon,” Cheryl said, in an amiable female voice. Harper responded with a guttural noise that was somewhere between a grunt and a moaning. The door above her hissed open. The air in the room permeated her nostrils with the trademark aseptic smell characteristic of sterile environments. She sat up in her cryo-bed, hitching forward gently on wobbly arms. Her blonde-dyed dreads fell down around sandy-brown shoulders.  The white tank top and blue underwear she'd climbed into the cryo-bed with had lost their snugness, despite the small army of electronic muscle stimulators that dotted her body. Harper filled her lungs with the cabin’s perfect mix of earth’s atmosphere, taking in a deep breath and stretching her limbs, which were coming back to life — slowly. For the time being, they moved like gum in molasses.

She shook the cobwebs from her head. “Status report,” she said. “All systems are nominal, chief.”

“Really?” Harper tipped her head back and rolled it on her neck.  “Then why wake me?” “Well, as we crossed into the Perseus Arm, the ship picked up debris on the starboard-side hull.” Harper arched her back, getting in a good stretch. She moaned in pleasure. “What kind of debris?”

“I’m not sure. My analysis didn’t match it to any known life forms in my database.” “Life forms?” Cheryl paused. “Yes.” Harper shook her head. She needed a hot cup of coffee, one big enough to be hauled around on a dolly. With loads of cream. And sugar. And a jelly donut. She’d kill for a jelly donut.

“What kind of life form?” she said. “That’s just it, I don’t know.” Harper sucked her teeth. “How long has this… lifeform been clinging to the ship?” "Three days." “Three days? Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” Harper said, furrowing her brows. “I would’ve but… I ran the calculations: the debris posed no threat to the integrity of the mission.” “And what changed?” “It started… growing.” “Growing?” Harper shook her head again and held up a hand. “Do you have an image?” “Yes.”

A picture of the ship’s hull came up on a nearby screen. The image moved easily across it until it came to a stop at a series of bumps. The bulges were backlit, providing a hazy profile view. They were covered in what looked to be hair. And the hair was… moving, like it was grasping at things in the void. The protrusions were dark, maybe black, or purple. Maybe even a deep red. From the camera’s vantage point, it was hard to tell. “What the hell?” Harper squinted and leaned towards the screen. She swung a spindly leg over the edge of the cryo-bed, touching a toe to the floor.

“Careful, Captain. Your muscles. They’re not —. ” “I know. I’d make a scarecrow jealous. I’ll be fine. Shut off the gravity, will you?” Cheryl slowed the spinning of the main bay of the ship, causing Harper’s belly to lurch. She belched in her mouth. Another delight courtesy of the space-trekking business. “How big is it?” she asked. “When it first attached itself to the ship it was roughly three inches in diameter," the AI explained. "It remained that size for three days. Today, within the last two hours, in fact, it more than quadrupled in size.” “Quadruple?” Harper thought for a moment, wiping a lock of dreads from her eyes. The fuzzy mass moved slowly as it slid across her face, the artificial gravity wearing off. “So, a foot across now,” she said. “Give or take, yes.” “And you don’t know what it is?” Harper asked flatly. “No. It’s not coming up in any known databases." Harper nodded, processing the information. Inside, her belly was waning towards full queasiness. Her body had lifted off the mattress. She grabbed a handrail that was attached to the cryo-bed to stabilize herself. “Chances of it covering the ship?” she asked. “I can’t say for certain. It could continue to grow at this rate, or grow erratically, or not at all. But if it does grow unchecked, I don’t see how it wouldn't." Harper nodded. “So, at this rate, how long?”

“By my calculations, it could cover the starboard side in four days, and reach the starboard booster in five. That’s my real concern.”

Harper bit down on her bottom lip. Her gray eyes twinkled in one of the panel lights. “Yea, we can kiss maneuverability good-bye then.”

"Exactly." "And probably our asses." "Bingo." Harper fixed a blank stare at the screen as her mind sifted through alternative scenarios. She settled on two options, both fundamentally uncomplicated, neither very good. One: abort the mission — but that would mean the end of decades of hard work and the dashing of a life long dream. Two: sticking it out — and possibly getting it wrong. Dealing with this... entity poorly, though, could mean hurtling out into space. For an eternity.

Fun , she thought.

She chewed on it a while longer. “Apprise Houston of our status," she said. "Then prep my suit. I’m going for a walk.” “I can’t clear you for a walk for at least 48 hours and not before a full physical, Captain. The effects of the hyper-sleep —.” “Override,” Harper said. “Directive twenty-four point four.” The crisp edge of authority was sharp in her voice. “Counter override, directive eight-alpha. Captain, I cannot in good conscience let you —.” “Goddam AI, just…” Harper steadied her breathing. Her pulse throbbed in her ear and she had raised a clenched fist, unknowingly, ready to slam it against something. “Override,” she said, “directive two-four-two-seven. You will not keep me from checking on that debris. Unlike you, I have a heart and lungs and a brain, and along with all of those things — which are near and dear to me — I want to get my ass out to the California Nebula, then back home to Earth. Waiting 48 hours to check on this thing is not an option.” A silence bloomed between them. “The sarcasm is unnecessary, Captain. I may not have the same parts that you do, but I don’t want to die out here either. You’re not the only one who contemplates their mortality.”

Harper rolled her eyes. These things had become far too life-like.

“Protocol overridden,” Cheryl continued. “You've got your space walk, Captain. But I think it's a bad idea.” **** After her stomach completed a few back-flips, Harper adjusted to the zero gravity. She was in the belly of it now, floating along the starboard side of the Caelum , tethered to its polymer skin.

Her suit was bulky. Under the earth’s gravitational pull, in her condition, it would have been unwieldy. But in the vacuum of space, she moved gracefully in it, like a Mylar-clad athlete.

“Coming up on the foreign object debris now,” she said. “Roger,” Cheryl responded.

Harper wasn’t sure what to expect. She had been with NASA for 32 years. Fresh out of the candidate program, she was one of only ten women who were accepted into the program. More than three decades later she’d been to Mars and captained three voyages across the solar system. And in all those years, not a single person had encountered an alien life form. Yes, they found bacteria within the crust of Mars. But had they made contact with anything larger than microscopic organisms, ever? No. It had never happened. And here she was, on the verge of discovering a new species.

She couldn’t tell if she was excited or nervous. Maybe she was just terrified and in complete denial — the potential downsides, despite the monumental discovery, were especially grim.

Harper pulled herself around the hull using the handholds that speckled the ship’s shell. She spotted the silhouette of the debris and pulled herself closer. When she swung herself around and on top of it, Harper found a cluster of spiny, spherical objects. They were purplish-black and each was roughly the size of a tennis ball. Long, slender spines radiated out from every organism’s center, reminding her of sea urchins back home — the little critters that gathered in tidal pools along the crisp Northern Atlantic shores. But there was a glaring difference: the eye at the center. Each of these creatures had an eye that took up at least half of its body.

The sight sent a shudder through Harper.

“Christ, are you getting this?” “Crystal clear on this end,” Cheryl said.

“What the hell are these things?” “I don’t know, chief.” Harper leaned in. The set of eyes looked into hers, sending a qualmishness bubbling through her belly.

The irises were yellow stippled with green specks. The pupils were as black as the emptiness around her. But they moved. The spiral-shaped openings revolved, and spun in a swirling pattern. Harper stared at them in awe, her respirator humming rhythmically in her helmet. "Captain?... Captain, are you okay?" “What?... Yea... I’m gonna get a sample.” “Be careful.” Harper paused. Her eyes narrowed. Ok, mom . She prepared her drill and the empty bag that was typically used to hold drill bits. Crude tools, she thought, for collecting a species that will break science. But NASA hadn’t planned on her bumping into an undiscovered life form on this trip. She had to make due. She pulled herself closer. The cluster of eyes followed her every move, squishing and squirming in their body-sockets. She held the drill over the tiny creatures. “Here goes nothing,” she said.

She wedged the tip of the drill bit under a specimen on the edge of the group. The bit hardly slipped beneath it. She shifted the bag further up her shoulder, then tried with both hands. Still, nothing. “Damn, these things are stuck on here good.” “Take your time.” Harper shook her head, again. Yes, mom. Out of some deep-seated Pavlovian habit, decades in the making, Harper nearly flicked on the drill.

Christ. She chuckled. Then asked herself if she was nuts. She took a deep breath. Harper gripped the top edge of the animal with her free hand and slid the drill bit under the other side again. She pulled on it.

Ouch! Harper recoiled in pain.

She looked intently at her glove. It couldn’t be, could it? She flipped her hand over to get a better look. No way. It felt like the creature had bitten her.

Through the Mylar, through the Dacron and through the Teflon-coated glove.

As she tried to process the queer sensation, the sight of the ship began teetering in her view. The critters and their curious eyes started spiraling in a blur further and further away. She was tumbling into unconsciousness, and she knew it.

Harper's mind gradually became alert again amidst the blackness of catatonia. The profound silence there felt like it pervaded her very soul. An image crystalized. It crackled with color. It was a moving picture of a black hole swallowing up space debris. Among the flotsam, trapped in the thing's maw, was the Caelum . And undulating across the ship from tip to stern was a purplish-black skin, glowing, rippling, with eyes, thousands of eyes along it, peering back at her. Harper’s breath caught in her throat. She watched the black hole suck in the ship, spinning it across its aperture, and down towards the chute of its endless belly. Inside the black hole, Harper could feel something, a being or a consciousness. It spoke to her in a deep, wordless rumble. A piece of it, a feeling maybe, or possibly a warning, slithered across the vivid vision and touched her, the sensation rifling across her chest. It pulled at her. Harper screamed.

“Nooo!!” She jolted awake. Her respirator was whining in her helmet. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths. Harper looked down to find herself floating several yards above the Caelum , her tether at full length. Her head was pounding again and she felt weaker than when she emerged from cryo.

She peered down at the ship. The colony had spread. The creatures had commandeered nearly the entire starboard side of the ship. “Captain? Are you okay?? Captain?” Cheryl said. “Yes, yes…" she muttered. "The… the creatures, they’ve… taken over the… how?” Her voice cracked with anxiety. “You’ve been out for more than three days. I tried to wake you, but there wasn’t much I could do from here.” The hairs on the nape of Harper’s neck stood on end. She needed to be back on the ship. She needed to get ahead of this. She reached for the tether. Her arm barely moved at her command. Harper tried the other: a similar incapacity. “Captain,” Cheryl said tentatively, “between the hyper-sleep, your unconsciousness and going without food for as long as you did, your body is terribly weak.” Harper blinked uncontrollably, her mind grasping at the situation, trying to make it all stick. “Slow movements, Captain. Take your time.” “We don’t have time.”

“Time is all we have now.” Harper gnashed her teeth. Her insides burned. She wanted to scream. She could hear herself breathing, the respirator purring in her ears. Stars twinkled all around her. At length, she collected herself.

Cheryl was right. Mother-jokes aside, she was always right. Harper took a deep breath and reached out for the tether. It seemed like an eternity, but all she could do was move, go through the motions, try.

While stretching for the life-line, something below caught her eye. A long row of the prickly creatures, a bit smaller than the rest, were pulsating. They were mid-inception, giving birth to themselves. They encircled the colony, a fresh layer of lethal interlopers — their amber-colored eyes wet and fully formed, their spines stunted and still fleshy.

Harper’s jaw tightened as a heat rose like a halo through the top of her head.

“You bastards!!" she screamed. "You goddam… sons of bitches…” Her voice fell to a whisper. She bit her lip, holding back sobs.

The blanket of eyes looked up at her coolly, following each of her labored movements. They glowed and they squirmed. Then swiveled in their thorny sockets.


Glen was up to bat. The final inning. The score was tied. He gripped the bat tightly. A bead of sweat went down his forehead. He looked over at the other players. If he can get just one of his teammates back home, they win. He starred the pitcher down. He knew his strategy. Curveball. Glen knew he would do it. Glen also knew he might trick him. It was fifty-fifty. The pitcher was ready to throw. Glen’s heart raced. He could feel it in his chest. He took a deep breath as the pitcher pulled his arm back. He started the throw. Glen could see the ball leave his hand. It was like slow motion. The ball flew towards him. Not yet, not yet, not yet. He said to himself. The hairs on his arm stood up. NOW!. He swung the bat. The ball went right past him.

“Stike one.” The umpire shouted.

The pitcher shook his fist in a small cheer. He was taunting Glen. They have had their issues in the past but to Glen, this was personal. Glen took another deep breath. A raindrop landed on his nose. He looked up to see the dark clouds above him. Nothing to worry about. He got himself ready again. This time he will hit it. The rain started to pick up. The pitcher tossed the ball again. Glen swung the bat. This time the bat made contact with the ball. The loud smack roared through the field. Glen dropped the bat. He took his first step and ran for first base. The ball soared through the air. Just as the ball reached its maximum height. A strike of lightning hit the ball. The thunder followed immediately. Glen stepped on first base not knowing about the lightning strike. He made his way to second. The crowd was in disbelief over the event that was happening in front of them. No one had ever seen something like it before. Glen rounded second base. Nothing was stopping him. Third base was the only thing in sight. The mud sloshed under his feet. He made contact with third base “Run it home.” He said to himself. Just a few feet away from home base, Glen lunged himself and slid the last few feet. He stood up and cheered. The coach walked over to him and Glen wrapped his arms around him.

“Glen stop.” The coach said. “We won, why should I stop?” “The ball is gone. It was struck by lightning.”

“Oh. So, now what?” “The refs decided that the last inning is going to be played at another stadium.

“When do we leave?” The next morning, Glen sat in traffic. The cars were moving slowly. Glen kept checking the time. The flight was leaving in an hour. He looked over at the car next to him and saw Chuck. The pitcher for the other team. He was also on his way to the same airport to catch the same plane. It was unusual for two teams to take the same plane but with last-minute flights to the same city, it was all they could get. Chuck kept trying to get in front of Glen but Glen was not letting him in. He tried to ignore Chuck for the rest of the ride to the airport.

When they arrived they had just missed the flight. Chuck was the first one out of the terminal and over to the car rental place while Glen tried to get on the next flight to the other stadium. The next flight was leaving in three days—the day after the game. He was quick to run to the rental agency but when he got there all the cars were rented out.

“This is like some bad comedy movie,” Glen said to the cashier. He walked back outside and tried to call a taxi. As he walked toward the curb, he tripped and stumbled into the road, and a car backed into him. The driver got out and helped him up to his feet. “Are you alright mister?” The driver asked.

Glen stood up and replied. “Yeah, I am fine. Just kind of annoyed that I can’t get to…” He looked at the driver and saw it was Chuck. They made eye contact.

“Look let me make it up to you. Hop in.” “Alright, but don’t think just because we're traveling together means I am going to take it easy on you at the game.” “Ditto.” They got in the car and started driving. Glen looked at the map and planned out places where they could stop for food or rest. The first place they stopped at was a diner. They walked inside and sat at the counter. They sat apart with three seats between them. The waitress walked over and took their orders. Another patron kept looking back and forth at them. “Yall want to sit together? I can move.” Glen took a sip of coffee. “No,” Chuck replied. “You sure? Aren’t you buddies?” The man asked. “Do you know who we are?” Glen asked as he looked at the man. “We’re baseball players for opposite teams. We ain’t buddies.” Chuck shook his head in disappointment. The man looked back and forth at the two. “I can give one ya a ride. I’m headed back to the city today.”

Glen perked up. “Yes, I would. I just have to grab my stuff from the car and I will be ready to leave when you are.” “Well alrighty then. Let’s get to it.” Glen walked outside and grabbed his suitcase. He went to put it in the bed of the pickup but the man stopped him. “Oh, I am sorry there ain’t any room back there. You can put that in the back seats.” The man said. “By the way, names’ Tom.” He stuck his hand out to shake hands with Glen. Glen shook Tom’s hand. Chuck watched them leave before he climbed back in his car. He turned on the radio and started listening to the news. “Police are searching for a man named Tom Clipper. A serial killer on the run. He picks up hitchhikers or will offer rides to strangers. He was last seen driving a blue pickup truck. He is also a known drug smuggler. Do not engage with the suspect.” “Of course,” Chuck said. He stepped on the gas pedal and started following Tom and Glen. When he saw the back of the truck he called the police. “I have a visual on the truck of Tom. You need to hurry because he has a passenger with him right now.” “Okay, the police are ten minutes out. Try not to look suspicious and keep us updated on the location.” The dispatcher replied. Tom looked in the mirror and saw Chuck on the phone. He slammed the brakes. Chuck swerved out of the way. “What are you doing?” Glen asked as he looked behind them. He saw Chuck in the car as he swerved off the road. He then looked in the bed of the truck and saw some bags of weed. He slowly looked up at Tom. He had a gun pointed at him. “Okay, let’s just take this easy.” Chuck caught up with them again. He was parallel with Tom on his driver's side. Chuck pulled his steering wheel over and crashed into the truck. Both vehicles went off the road. The truck rolled over twice before coming to a stop. The weed in the bed busted open and spread everywhere. Glen got out and walked around the truck and saw Chuck. Chuck stepped out of the car and waved for him to come over. Glen grabbed his suitcase and walked over. He looked around at the weed falling to the ground. “It’s like a Ganga Christmas.” He climbed in the passenger side and Chuck sped off. They looked in the mirror and saw the cops arriving at the scene.

They continued to drive through the night. The sun started to rise the next morning. Glen had taken over driving so Chuck could sleep. Chuck started to wake up and sat up in his seat. He looked out the window and the sunrise. “Big game is tomorrow, how much further do we have to drive?” Chuck asked. “Couple more hours.” Chuck looked at his phone. His coach texted him that they had an extra day while they waited for them to arrive. “So we do have a problem. We’re almost out of gas.” Glen stated as he side-eyed Chuck to see his reaction.

Chuck looked at the GPS on his phone and saw that they were over twenty miles away from a gas station. “How much do we have?” “About sixteen miles worth.” “We can push it the rest of the way if we have to,” Chuck said.

They continued to drive until the car stopped from the lack of gas. They pushed the car to the gas station. Chuck walked in to pay for the gas. Glen went to the side to use the restroom. Chuck looked at the snacks and drinks. Glen came back and held the door open for someone. The man put on a ski mask and pointed it at the cashier. Glen ran back behind the shelves. He made eye contact with Chuck who was holding an apple. Glen picked up a novelty plastic cup that was two feet long. Chuck pitched the apple and Glen swung the cup like a bat. He was able to hit the apple and it hit the robber knocking him out. Chuck walked out the door holding some snacks and drinks. Glen placed some money on the counter. “Keep the change.” They got back in the car and drove off.

The rest of the trip they sang together to the radio. After a few hours, they arrived at the hotel. They grabbed their suitcases and parted ways. The day of the game arrived. The crowd watched in anticipation. Chuck took his spot at the pitcher's mound. Glen was gripping his bat tightly. As he looked at Chuck he had some flashback memories about the last two days.

Glen opened his eyes and took a deep breath. Chuck pulled his arm back and pitched the baseball. Glen swung and hit the ball. The ball soared across the field. When the ball reached the top of the arch it was struck by lightning. Glen’s coach threw his hat on the ground in anger. Glen started to run but stopped when the ball was struck. He looked at Chuck. Simultaneously they shouted “Road trip!”


The birthday boy sat in a chair made of donuts and caramel apples. There was a squirrel head made from cake batter and frosting resting upon his left shoulder, because he hated those buggers and wanted to represent this dislike on his special day. He looked graciously out at his adoring friends. There were only around eight of them, but they were adoring nonetheless.

Snow fell from the sky and landed on the edges of their noses. They lived in a place where the seasons whirled around like sirens. There was also a lot of crime in the area, so sirens were an appropriate analogy for the weather. It could be sunny one day and blustery winter the next. The weather was, to put it simply, more unpredictable than a Walmart bag filled with scorpions.

The birthday boy’s heart swelled with pride to see that he had accomplished socializing. His face also swelled, but that was because there was a large amount of sardine in the casserole his mother had made for him, and it turned out he was exceedingly and perhaps fatally allergic to sardines. Not all seafood. Just sardines. Actually, it wasn’t even all sardines. It was all sardines that came in the blue can with the smiling fish (ironic considering…) on it that came from the seventh aisle at the neighborhood market on South Hunca Munca Street. Yeah. The sardines. Well, it turned out that the birthday boy was allergic to them, and so his face swelled up like a ripe papavocado (a papaya avocado hybrid first discovered by the Spanish in 1439 when the esteemed Franchini Poriverri and his crew came to the land on their thirteen boats, the main ones being Phineaskin, Ferbilicious, Isabellini, and Bjorka.)

and he fell over onto the table. His adoring friends gasped. They howled. They sobbed. They threw themselves to the ground and rolled in agony.

They… were not very helpful, come to think of it. The birthday boy’s fate hung in peril. His airway constricted. His eyes popped like popcorn in a really hot microwave. He opened his mouth and uttered, “I need a hero. I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night. He’s gotta be strong and he’s gotta be fast and he’s gotta be fresh from the fight.” Instead of taking this opportunity to call the proper medical care, his adoring friends decided to join in on the chorus. It became a karaoke festival.

“He’s gotta be sure and it’s gotta be soon and he has to be larger than life. LARGER THAN LIFE!” They continued for a solid eight and four halves of a minute before realizing that a hero couldn’t really be summoned by song, no matter how enticing the idea was.

Lo and behold, as soon as Yancey Klum-Wilder (Adoring friend number five. She had met the birthday boy in fifth grade when) pulled out her cell phone to make the call of need appropriately, a hero emerged from the, well, behind the throne of donuts. No one noticed him at first, so he had to clear his throat a couple of times before someone said, “A star is born!” And the hero said, “I am no star.” And the birthday boy didn’t say anything because he was going into anaphylactic shock. So instead, Jimmy Durble (slightly adoring friend number three) yelled, “Then what are you?” And the hero said, “I am Sonny! Not of Cher's brother variety!” “Ahh, okay.”

Sonny picked up the birthday boy and flew up towards the sky. His friends kept eating. Sonny threw the birthday boy into outer space, counted three seconds, went back to earth to get a latte macchiato from Starbucks, came back, caught the birthday boy, and said, “I am Sonny, the great wizard, and I will turn you healthy if you can tell me what my old nickname was when you knew me… long, long ago!”

The birthday boy woke up and he thought and thought but he couldn’t remember the name. “Um, is it Squirrel Nutkin?” Sonny the Wizard said, “No!” “Is it Emma?” “What? No! Why would it be Emma?” The birthday boy shrugged. “What about Lombardi? Was your nickname Lombardi?” Sonny the Wizard shook his head. “It’s definitely not Lombardi. You have two more chances, and if you don’t guess it by then, I’ll have no choice but to send you to live on earth as a cat named Lloyd. Do you want that for your life, birthday boy?” “No, I’m allergic to cats.” “And sardines, apparently!” “I think… your nickname was…” The birthday boy thought and thought as much as he could. “Froot Loop Magee?” “NO.” “Huh, I kind of had you coined for a cereal type guy.” “You have one more chance.” Sonny the Wizard squinted his eyes. “Just the one.”

“Was it Sonny the Wizard?” “YES, IT WAS!!!!” “OH, GOOD.” “YEAH.” “YEAH!” “Okay, well, I guess you can go back to your party and your adoring friends now.” “You should come too!” Sonny the Wizard looked off into (further) space. “No. Sonny the Wizard never rests. I must go, and save more children. Don’t eat sardines again. If you want to hang out or eat cereal, call me.” “How? I don’t have your number!” “Don’t be weird. Just ask Yancey. I gave it to her last time she choked on a pork chop.”

“As in she’s done it more than once?” “Well, yes. It became a habit. Until I gave her my number. We should all have a club, don’t you think? I can apprentice you to be wizards. It’ll be pretty popular, eventually, and maybe you could even start a school one day and call it… Razorbackacne.” “As opposed to Hogwarts?” “Why, yes. Just make sure you invite me.”

With that, the birthday boy was thrown back to his party, where he threw a pork chop at Yancey and so Sonny had to come back and save her and then they all ate squirrel head cake.

THE END


An old scab was ripped from my heart when I read an email which began, “They say blood is thicker than water - but is it always?” I laid in bed that evening unable to sleep, recalling that disastrous time three years ago. It all began when Darla and I decided to drive from the east coast to Iowa to celebrate our granddaughter’s second birthday. It had been four months since the last time we visited, and we were excited to see the entire family, but when we arrived, our excitement began to erode. When we pulled in the driveway, we found our son, Mark waiting for us. “Hey, Mom and Dad. How was your trip?” “You know the deal. Long and tiring, but we’re glad to be here.” I looked around, finding no one else present. “So, where’s the birthday girl?” “Sarah’s in the house with Sharon. I think they’re working on a birthday cake.” Mark waved us in. “Come on. Let see what’s cooking.” We went inside and marched to the kitchen. there, we found Sharon working on a mixing bowl. “Hi,” was all she said. Then, Sarah popped her head from behind the counter. A smile gleamed across her face and she walked up to us with her hands in the air. As soon as I picked her up, I realized she hadn’t gained any weight since the last time we visited. Thinking it was my imagination playing tricks on me, I brushed it off. I stroked her chin and made her giggle. “Hi Sarah. Happy birthday.” “Hi,” she replied. I put Sarah back down to let her continue in her play and turned my attention to Sharon. “Need any help with that?” “Nothing to do here. I’m just about to put it in the oven. Go sit down in the living room.” Darla and I looked at each other and left Sharon to herself. We sat on the couch and flipped on the TV and started watching a game show. As we were about to settle down, Mark came in. “I need to go to work for a bit. If you need anything, give me a buzz.” After he left, dark clouds began to gather overhead. As we sat in front of the television, Sarah became fidgety and went to the kitchen to see her mother. Through the din of the TV, we heard Sarah say, “Food.” A moment later, she returned to the living room sporting a small juice pack. She sat down in front of the TV and began to sip on it. Darla and I looked at each other wondering what’s going on. This wasn’t how we fed our children when they were little. Though we communicated with our eyes, we remained silent. Not long later, Mark returned, and we sat down to dinner. I can’t remember what we had, but I’ll never forget seeing the slice of bologna on Sarah’s plate. Mark must have seen the look on my face, for he tried to answer my unspoken question. “Sarah is very picky about what she eats. We usually give her this since she likes it and she does get her protein this way.” I glanced at Darla and recognized the fire burning in the back of her eyes. Somehow, she kept her temper in check and dinner resumed and was concluded by serving birthday cake. We retired that evening and as we laid in bed, Darla vented. “Did you see Sarah eat anything today? Does she ever eat anything good for her?” “It’s hard to imagine Mark would let this go by,” I replied. “Did you get a look in the kitchen? The trash can was overflowing and dirty dishes all over the place. Mark told me they cleaned up before we arrived, but I can’t see any sign of that. And did you hear Sarah talking? The last time we were here, she was a chatter box. Now, she can hardly put two words together. Something’s wrong here and I don’t like it.” “I know what you mean. Let me talk to Mark in the morning and see what he has to say about it.” We finally fell asleep, but it wasn’t for long. Sarah’s voice broke the silence and awoken us. We laid there, listening to her babbling. “Why is she awake in the middle of the night?” I asked. Darla answered, “She’s hungry.” “Should we ger her something to eat?” “Let’s wait,” Darla whispered. “Maybe Mark or Sharon will feed her.” So, we waited and listened to Sarah’s babbling. No one came to her rescue. She continued to babble for an hour, wen she finally fell asleep again. Darla didn’t say a word, but I knew a storm was coming. The next morning, we went downstairs for breakfast and found everyone present. I watched Darla look at Mark and her eyes went down to his feet. On them, were a pair of socks. One black and one white.” Mama Grizzly was awake and got out of the wrong side of the bed. She pointed at Mark’s feet. “Are you planning on going to work like that?” He looked down at his feet. “Like what?” “Are you blind? Can’t you see your socks aren’t matching? It looks stupid.” It was then I saw a side of Mark, I’ve never seen before. He glared at her. “What are you worried about? It’s not that big of a deal.” “Is that how you want people to see you? You want them to ask themselves, “How can someone who doesn’t care if his socks match can care about his work?”” “You know what, Mom? I tired with the way you treat me. You always try to control everything in my life and everything that I do.” “Mark, I’m your mother. I care about what happens to you and if I see something that’s wrong, I’m going to point it out.” As they went back and forth with each other, Sharon swopped in. “I’m getting sick of your crap, Darla. Get out of this house, now, before I call the police.” Darla and I were stunned to silence, then she continued. “I don’t ever want to see you again and for you, John, if you ever divorce Darla, you can come back.” At that moment, I felt the claws of responsibility release me. I clasped Darla’s hand and spoke calmly to her. “Let’s get our stuff and go.” I guided her to our room, and we packed our bags to go. Without saying another word, we walked out to our car and drove away. As we headed out the driveway, Darla turned to me. “What are we going to do?” All I could do was shake my head. “There’s nothing we can do about Sharon or Mark. But as for Sarah, there is one more thing we can do.” Before we left town, we decided to make one more stop. We pulled up to an old brick building and enter the front door. A policewoman standing behind the counter called us forward. “How may I help you?” “We would like to talk to someone in Child Protection Services.” After we told them our story, we began our drive home. Halfway through Illinois, Mark tried to call me on my cell phone. I let it ring two times, then I rejected the call. Through this whole calamity, we learned to accept the fact not all people are good, even if they were brought up properly, and parents aren’t always to blame in how their children act as adults.


It started to rain cats and dogs right after I left my small flat viewing the most crowded city of the town. I found the little gate to that garage which I had never seen before to cover. I didn’t know why I had the impulse to hit the little, steel door to open but I was content to be under a roof finally. While I was trying to get rid of the water drops on my jacket, something shiny caught my eye. It was all dark and due to the extreme dampness, I could figure out that this place hadn’t been visited for so long.

I decided to approach that shiny object slowly as if I was cautious. I wasn’t, not at all. I had never been cautious or sensitive about anything in my life. I was very proud of describing myself as a “logical, brave and realistic person” which was just an excuse for me to ignore the very best part of life; my emotions. I was acting confident again to touch the shiny part of the object, the rest of which was in darkness. Suddenly it woke up with great tones of colorful stripes of lights and sound! She welcomed me with a soft voice “Welcome to the new generation cars with EQ! Are you ready for a bumpy journey?”

I was stunned, maybe the very first time in my life. The cars with EQ? What did that even mean? Responding with a hesitating voice, I could say, “Hello, uhm…” I was really talking to a car! It was a familiar thing for me to interact with artificial intelligence and benefit from the new technology but I had a feeling that this car was far more than that. Couldn’t keep my fascination to myself and asked, “What do you mean by a bumpy journey?”

“We are not talking about a journey that you are used to, sir. Human beings can face some difficulty in this journey where you are taken to the places you need to be at.”

I tried to understand the things she said while trying to accept the fact that I was talking to a car at the same time. “I need to be at my office in 15 minutes. Can you take me there?” “You have good ears but poor listening skills, sir. We meant the places you need to be at, not the ones you are supposed to be at.”

It took a moment for me to figure out what she could mean. “If you let me, I can take you to a journey that would change your life. We are designed for that.” I was in the driver’s seat when she finished her sentence. The lights were off now and even though I didn’t touch anything, we got out of the garage from the door at the back. Thanks to the daylight, I could see that I was in a classic car from the 60s which I had no control on at all. “You can keep your hands on the steering wheel if you feel bothered to draw any attention from the people around.” “Yes, let’s not stand out. I wouldn’t like people to think that I am crazy for driving a classic car like it is autonomous.” She responded like a psychologist. “We cannot control what others think about us, so let’s not torture ourselves with this burden for now. Can I have your name, sir?” “Martin. Martin Blackgoat.”

“And my name is Sarah, pleased to meet you Mr. Blackgoat. Have you ever wondered about the origins of your surname?” I had a deep breath to stall to find an answer but I couldn’t. “I don’t think I am interested in my ancestors’ history at all.” “Understood. Have you been sleep deprived lately, Mr. Blackgoat?”

How could she know that? “Your nervous system also tells me that you need to reconsider the daily amount of caffeine intake, sir.” “How can you know all these?” “The seat you are sitting on right now has the latest technology. I know far more than that but you don’t need to know any more of this for now, sir. We have three main destinations to go to, Mr. Blackgoat. Shall we start with the easiest one?” I was about to convince myself that I was in a dream when my colleague called me to get mad at me for being late to the meeting. I didn’t respond to the call and turned my phone off.

“I don’t know what it means but take me to my first destination then Sarah, please,” I responded. While Sarah was going down the road for whatever reason I didn’t know, I felt the need to crack a joke. “Are you taking me to my ex fiance’s cookie shop to confront her for leaving her?” I thought this joke would sound funny but Sarah didn’t even react to it for seconds.

“No, sir. You have already confronted your mistakes and accepted your faults when you wished for happiness when she got married to her current husband.”

My jaw dropped. She knew about my life than I had imagined.

“Obviously you have access to my memories. Can you also read my mind Sarah?” “I am able to, sir; but I am not doing it as I haven’t got your permission, yet. However, I have access to many parts of your brain such as the cerebral cortex, frontal lobe, hypothalamus, corpus callosum and so on. I can also assess the biological states of your organs and hormones that would provide me more information about your biological and mental state more than any other human being has ever attained throughout history.”

I was supposed to be scared at this point most probably, but I somehow felt like a really good doctor was examining me and I had been longing for such help for a long time. When we turned right at the traffic lights, I saw the college that I had applied to and accepted to the Department of Fine Arts 20 years ago. “You can’t be serious Sarah, ” I mumbled.

“We have arrived at the first destination, Mr. Blackgoat. You have as much time as you wish to go in and reconsider the decision you took 20 years ago to drop school and start studying economics instead.” “What am I supposed to do now? Should I go in and do what?” “Take your time, sir. When you come back, you will be ready for the second destination.” I got out of the car complaining and regretting getting on it in the first place. What was I supposed to do now? It was too late to reconsider such a decision. I had spent my life working as an economist and making a lot of money. But when I entered the hall, with the invading smell of paint and tinner, I remembered my youth. I teared up, was I about to cry? What was that? I couldn’t even remember the last time I cried. But my tears started to fall even before I realized it. My youth… I had lost it long ago and now I could hear the sound of the brushes touching softly to the canvas, I could feel the indecisiveness about which brush to use, which colors to mix again. I remembered drawing my first love and leaving the portrait I made for her in her locker. I remembered getting lost in time while drawing. I never felt the same while I was counting money. And these all happened with my first step into the hall? After wiping my tears, I started walking slowly to the classrooms that I hadn’t chosen to walk on 20 years ago. It was too late. I decided to leave the building and turned to the exit when I saw maybe the oldest student of the department. He was probably 65 years old, holding his case and pencil case like any other student and his classmates were saying goodbye to him after an obviously enjoyable session. I felt envy and admiration at the same time. His smiling face was telling me that he knew he was at the right place. Was it that easy? You would just follow your dreams and be happy. Maybe I myself complicated the life that was supposed to be enjoyed in simple manners.

I started to complain to Sarah when I sat on the driver’s seat back. “You told me that was the easiest destination Sarah. I cried after so many years!” “And how do you feel sir?” I had a moment to realize that I was quite relieved and my mind and body were relaxed after a long time. “Good,” I could say. “Then you are ready for the next destination. Could you please fasten your security belt, Mr. Blackgoat?” … I thought about it the whole journey while looking out of the window. We were going down on a very crowded street with horns and sounds of gearboxes but all I could hear was the sound of dancing brushes. Lost in confusing emotions, I realized that we were in a bit more silent area of the town now. I couldn’t even question Sarah’s decisions any more. Then, I saw the big gate above which there was written “Every living thing will experience death one day.” Here we were. At my family’s cemetery.

“Do we need to do this seriously Sarah?” I whispered. I was in a respectful and calm state of mind already.

“I am sorry that you have lost all of your family members, Mr. Blackgoat.” I sighed, “Thank you. Sarah.”

“Obviously, you still hold grudges towards your parents due to being neglected by them and because of the childhood traumas you experienced. And you thought the best way to overcome the pain would be to forget about their existence. But now, you feel guilty because you weren’t there when they died.” It was hard for me to confess this even to myself but Sarah was in my brain to deliver the thoughts I had buried for years. “Now, it’s time to talk to them. They will hear you, sir. All of your ancestors can hear you because you carry the pieces of their unfinished stories in your soul. They would like to hear what you are going to say.” “I don’t think they would be proud of me.” “It is time to change that, Mr. Blackgoat. Not by doing what they told you to do, but by searching for yourself in the first place.”

I don’t remember how many hours I spent in that cemetery by visiting each and every grave my grandparents were lying in. I remember crying by some of them or laughing out loud by telling them the stories I heard about them from my parents. I felt that I had a family once. Maybe they really heard me, maybe not. But what I knew was that I wasn’t feeling lonely any more. … The afterglow was fascinating when we left the cemetery. After such long conversations with my long gone parents, I was feeling a bit happier rather than feeling awkward. “You are changing my life, Sarah.” And I was genuinely happy about it. “You have one more destination left, Mr. Blackgoat. This is going to be the threshold for the life you subtly dream about.” “But I have everything I need right now. Please do not bother to tell me stuff like ‘go out of your comfort zone, travel the world’ Sarah. I am happy where I am right now.”

“Your needs compose only a single part of your life, Mr. Blackgoat. I assume that you are allowed to retire now in terms of formal requirements. And I can see many digits in your bank account.” “Gosh! What a technology is that?!” “Here we are, at your last destination, sir. You have visited your youth which was waiting to be remembered. You have visited your elders and betters. Now, we are here, at the moment of your current age; the only time period we have control on. Please go and see this house that you’ve been visiting on a website for the last couple of months. And when you come back, please carry out your decision.” We were in front of the lovely villa I had been checking out for the last two months. It was in the countryside and had just the opposite features of the flat I was currently living in. It wasn’t a luxurious villa with a swimming pool or a cool barbecue. Instead, there was a very small garden at the back with many beautiful flowers attracting birds and giving the house the most beautiful melody in the world. I had the money and everything else I needed to move there. However, I was stuck in the small flat I’d been living in for the last ten years. Having already stopped thinking about how Sarah could find out these details of my life, I thought about why whether to get retired and move into this house or not was the most challenging process I had recently.

“Are you going to leave me after I reveal my decision, Sarah?” “My service is already over, sir. It was a pleasure to work with you.”

“What do you mean it is over?” “You have decided that you are home now.” “Did you sense it with your latest technology again? What a time we are living in…”

“No, sir. You just can’t help smiling since you first set foot here.” She was right. I couldn’t keep my excitement to myself. I was finally home and Sarah… She was already gone.


Author's Note: This is part two of "The Guilds of Atmos", my Reedsy-cast series. The prompts didn't fit well for it to take place where part one left off, so this is one week before part one. Sorry if this isn't a great continuation, the prompts were hard to continue it with. Hope you enjoy it! 𝓞𝓷𝓮 𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓴 𝓫𝓮𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓷𝓮, 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓁𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓕𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓪𝓵: Luminescent fairy lights weave through the slender branches of every tree in Atmos. Multi-colored tents are set up in the park at the center of town, they vary in color. Sherbet pink, canary yellow, shamrock green, periwinkle blue, and wisteria purple.

The tents also vary in shape, some with steeply pointed tops, and others with round caps on top. The fabrics are adorned with patterns of mountain ranges, flowery meadows, and starry skies. Children from every guild stand in the fresh green grass, admiring the sight. The night is drawing near and with it the start of the Starlight Festival. Every month on the full moon, all of Atmos gathers for the event, regardless of their guild.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ Sapphire, Luna, Amethyst, and Celeste make their way through the winding, majestically lit paths of the park. Occasionally stopping to watch a performance or examine the magical items for sale. “Look, over there,” Saph says, pointing to a series of metallic purple and gold necklaces laid out on display.

“What is it?” Ame asks as the four girls make their way over to the tent.

“Amulets, for good luck,” Emerald responds, she’s already at the stand examining the charms, “Apparently they offer some sort of protection from dark magic.”

She has short red hair and green eyes, charcoal dust covering her fingertips. A winding pattern of roses and vines is drawn on her arm, her artistic talent making her obviously from the Artists Guild. “Wow,” Ame says, taking in the table. The violet streaks in her dark brown hair shine in the dim lighting. “They’re pretty, in a mysterious way,” Luna says, looping one of the delicate chains around her finger. “I’ll take the one with the purple gem,” Celeste tells the woman standing inside the tent.  “What?” she asks her friends watching, “I could use some good luck, lately.” “We probably all could,” Saph replies, laughing lightly. After some consideration, Luna picks a silver star-shaped one, Saph and Ame pick ones with gems corresponding to their names, and Em loops a heart-shaped locket around her neck.

If the city of Atmos is anything, it is superstitious. ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ At the edge of the park, most of the Warriors Guild sits perched in the branches of the towering magnolia trees. Most of the other guilds watch them cautiously, never daring to mess with the fighters and respecting them for their service to the city. Nainika, Lily, and Isaac sit at the very top of one of the remarkably large trees, slowly licking their melting snow cones. Isaac’s black kitten named Ti sits on his shoulder, purring happily. Their feet dangle off the branch, hanging high above the heads of people passing by underneath. “What do you think of the festival so far?” Lily asks them, swinging her legs back and forth.

“I love the tradition, the lights are always so beautiful,” Nainika says, her lips stained bright red by the cherry syrup. “You?” “I found these new matching knives I like,” Lily says, holding them up to show the others, “I think there is some sort of hieroglyphics engraved on the handle.” “How about this,” Isaac says, smiling mischievously, “We’ll see which of you can hit the very middle of the tree trunk across from us, what do you say?” A spiraling knot in the wood forms a bull’s eye, perfect for knife throwing. “A competition?” Lily asks, “Sounds fun.” “I’m in,” Nainika says enthusiastically as Lily hands her one of the knives.

“You first,” Nainika holds out an arm to aim, narrows her hazel eyes at the target, and throws the knife crisply through the air. The blade buries itself at the very center of the circle, a perfect throw. Lily tosses the knife into her right hand and pulls her arm back over her shoulder. Her wrist flicks and the second knife goes whizzing through the air, landing at the exact same point as Nainika’s. Both knives stuck in the same crack in the wood. “Let’s call it a tie,” Isaac says laughing and licking his tangerine snow cone. Down on the ground Varsha, Ivy, and Haripriya are making their way through the trees from tent to tent. The girls have chains of lavender flowers woven into their hair, the petals glowing under the light of the full moon. “Where should we stop next?” Varsha asks, taking a bite out of the chocolate croissant in her hand. The pastry tent offered all sorts of desserts; strawberry tarts, coconut macaroons, and chocolate truffles. “How about the tent right over there,” Haripriya suggests, pointing to a magenta-colored tent tucked at the very edge of the park. “Sounds good,” Ivy says, popping chocolate drizzled with raspberry syrup in her mouth. Almost instantly, her whole body seems to rise up in the air, the tips of her boots only barely brushing the grass. “Looks like that was one of the ones with magical enhancements,” Haripriya says, laughing. They eventually make their way to their destination, stopping right in front of the amber-colored curtains of the tent. “Get your fortune told,” Varsha reads from the sign, whispering as not to disturb whoever may be inside. Ivy pulls open the curtains and enters the tent. Inside an ancient-looking man sits at a low table. A soft carpet covers the ground, and plush pillows circle the table. “Have a seat, children,” the Prophet says, gesturing to the ground. They each exchange a doubtful look before taking a seat on the cushions.

“Which of you would like your fortune told?” he asks, looking between them. After a few seconds of silence, Varsha comes forward. “What should I do?” “Just look into my eyes, child, and try to clear your mind,” his sharp gaze fixes on her, his eyes becoming distant as he reaches out to the universe for an answer. “Magi spirituum, id est sors, in copia tamen haec cara puella?” he murmurs softly, then his eyes snap back in focus and he takes a deep breath. “Dear child, what comes will not be easy. However, you are strong. If you stick by your friends, you will make it through the night to see the sunrise.” The tent is silent again for a little while after those words. Looking shaken, Varsha hands the man a few gold coins and abruptly stands up. Haripriya and Ivy watch her, concerned, none of them looking so excited to see the future anymore. “Thank you sir, but we should be going now,” Ivy says quickly as the girls rush out of the tent, eager to put distance between themselves and the Prophet. ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ On the other side of the park, Carolina, Luke, Katelyn, and Sophie wait in line for Atmos’s Ferris wheel. The ride is one of the most well-loved events of the Starlight Festival, which isn’t surprising considering the remarkable size and the fact that it’s powered by magic. After five more rotations of the wheel, the group finds an empty box, Luke and Carolina sitting on one seat, and Katelyn and Sophie sitting across from them.

As the grinding machine ticks around in a circle, like the hands of a clock, the group waits patiently to reach the top. Katelyn grips the edges of their box and shakes it, leaving them to swing precariously back and forth. Luke glares at her, the other guilds never seemed to appreciate the Warrior’s recklessness. “Come one, Luke,” Carolina says, holding back a laugh, “Don’t you want to enjoy the ride?” “I’m perfectly fine enjoying the ride without feeling like I’m about to fall to my death,” he says, but he’s barely able to keep the frown for long. A few minutes later, their group reaches the top of the ride.

“Wow,” Sophie says, sounding in awe, “The view of Atmos from here is absolutely incredible.

The other nod along in mesmerized silence, enjoying the bird's eye view of their city.

The Warrior’s flat barracks line the edge of the city, just inside the wall to the east. And on the other side, to the west, the elegant forest of Aramark stretches across the land, home to the Writers and Prophets. In the middle of the city sits Dragonspire palace, home to the Artists. Multi-colored light is fractured across the roofs, casting rainbow shadows on the cobblestone streets of Atmos. “It really is beautiful,” Katelyn agrees, resting her elbows on the edge to peer over the side of the box.

Eventually, their ride comes to an end and they find themselves on stable ground, but the sight isn’t easily forgotten. ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ A roaring fire gathers people at the center of the park, the warmth from the flames licking their icy skin. People from all guilds sit around on logs, making smores and spinning tales of the Unknown. The Explorers ramble on about everything they have seen, while others sit listening, captivated by their words. “What exactly is it like wandering the desert for days on end?” B asks shyly, her pale purple eyes shining in the firelight. “It’s definitely never boring,” Meg says, smiling at their small audience. “Never a dull moment,” Brooke agrees, most likely remembering all they have encountered on their travels. “What is the most interesting thing you’ve seen in the Unknown?” B questions again, nervously fingering the fraying drawstring of her jacket. “I found a crimson feather in the sand once,” Brooke starts, “It was larger than the feather of any other bird. Almost as big as one from a- What’s the name again?” “Dragon,” Megan says, “But it couldn’t be that, those creatures are only a myth from the Old World.” “I could imagine it would be dangerous,” Annabelle ventures, curiously, “Aren’t you ever afraid?” “Of course we are sometimes, but then we use the fear to our advantage. Instead of making us smaller, it makes us stronger, faster, better fighters,” Jay tells her softly, staring thoughtfully at the shapes the flames form before their eyes.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ Under the glow of the fireflies, Danny and Billien walk side by side through the park. Paper lanterns hang from the branches of the trees, amber light reflecting off the bark of the birch trees. The sidewalk is still slightly wet from the night before, making it look polished under the shine of the full moon. “It’s been a while since we last got together for anything other than business matters,” Billien says, thoughtfully.

“That was your choice,” Danny reminds him, regretfully, “Ever since we were five years old we were tinkering together, building things, you always said you would be an Inventor with me, start a shop together.” “I wanted to,” he starts. “But you chose to be an Explorer instead,” she states, simply, “The pull of the Unknown was just irresistible to you. It’s not your fault we drifted apart like this, but you chose this.” “I did, and there are times I wish I would have chosen differently. But in my guild, it feels like I could really be a part of something bigger, maybe bigger than even Atmos itself,” he’s pleading with her to understand by now. “I can make a difference without exploring, all I need is my work to make a change,” she says, brushing some of her raven-colored hair behind her ear. The tense silence surrounds them as they continue on the path, very aware of each other’s presence. Until Billien breaks the silence, not easily backing down. “I can’t change the bloody decisions I made in the past, as much as I may want to, but can we at least try to stay in touch? Separate guilds don’t mean we can’t be friends like before.” After a moment of thought, Danny looks up at him and nods, “I’d like that.” He nods, satisfied, and a soft smile spreads across his face, “It’s getting late now, we’d best be heading home.” “Of course, see you soon,” she says. He kisses her hand lightly before walking off into the moonlight leaving her smiling softly under the fairy lights. ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ Once alone in the isolation of his cabin, Billien collapses on the dusty couch in his living room and pulls off his light coat. He rolls up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a mark of metal chains wrapping around his forearm. The ink is faded as if it has been there for a while, keeping him chained to stale decisions for years. A mark depicting him as a traitor to everything he ever truly cared about. The mark of the Obsidian Hand.


With a sigh, Charles Abbot placed his now empty cup of coffee on the table. He lowered the rims of his horn-rimmed glasses and pinched his nose as if he was willing his headache away. He could feel the eyes of his two colleagues on him, and with a grimace, he said, “This is the second time today that we have a potential candidate not show up for their interview on time. Does your generation care nothing about punctuality, Cassie?” As Charles Abbot, a man just beginning to gray around his sideburns, sighed and placed his empty coffee cup on the table, his young colleague, Cassie Fisher, frowned. She was now the same age he was when he initially hired her for the company. Ten years later, she had his position, but Charles still insisted on treating her like the newly graduated twenty-two-year-old he had first met. She looked at her notes and gave him a smirk. “Although I appreciate you still thinking I look like I’m in my twenties, I’d appreciate it if you stopped grouping me with everyone under forty. After all, I don’t curse your name whenever someone is going under the speed limit.” Charles scowled at Cassie and eyed his last colleague, Maggie Kilfer, who was stifling a giggle. Meanwhile, Cassie checked her watch and lightly drummed on the table. With a nod, she continued, “I don’t see any problem with giving this guy until I finish my coffee. I’m in no hurry to get back to work anytime soon.” “I’m fine with that,” Maggie said approvingly. She flipped the applicant’s resume before her and reread his name at the top. “Frank Horton seems worth the wait. He’s everything we’re looking for in an applicant. He has a couple of years of experience under his belt, and he even has a couple of solid recommendations.” Charles waved the comment off and flicked the resume away from himself. “Do we really want some who can’t even…” Before Charles could even get the last of his complaints out of his mouth, the door to the meeting room flung open, followed by the panicked voice of the receptionist, “Excuse me, miss? I told you! You can’t just barge in like…” The young woman quickly closed the door behind her and cut the receptionist off. She was out of breath and sweating and leaned against the wall to steady herself. All three watched the young woman as she finally steadied herself and gave them a rather mischievous grin. “I’m sorry to barge in like this, but this is where you are interviewing for the new sales consultant - the one for The Wagging Tail pet store off of 5th and Lilac?” Cassie looked at Charles, who stared at the unknown woman with his mouth agape, while Maggie raised eyebrows as if trying to put the situation together. Cassie cleared her throat, and everyone’s eyes fell on her. “That’s right, but you might have gotten the date wrong. This interview is actually for someone else.” “Frank, right?” The young woman said without missing a beat. That surprised Cassie, who only gave the mysterious woman a nod. A look of relief washed over the younger woman who walked over to the seat opposite the table, the one meant for Frank Horton, and began jabbering, “That’s great! I’m here to tell you that he’s running a little late! Also, I hope to convince you not to bail on him. I’m Arty, by the way. I’m not sure if I introduced myself yet, but now I have! Anywho, Frank will be here soon.” With that proclamation, a dead silence lingered for a good while until Charles took the task of trying to bring the situation under control. “Listen here, miss…” “Arty!” the young woman supplied with a helpful and youthful tone. “Yes…Arty,” Charles said with annoyance. “If Mr. Horton was running late, why didn’t he just give us a phone call?” Arty leaned in conspiratorially as if she had been waiting for someone to ask this question all this time and said with a bit too much exuberance, “Ah, you see, the thing about his phone is…” — Frank looked at Arty with the same look he always gave her when she dragged him into a situation that he knew would be a story he would be telling his grandchildren forty years from now or another trip to the emergency room. “So, let me get this straight,” Frank started as he tried to piece everything together while Arty bounced on her feet with anticipation. “You want to take my old mattress…and you want to ride it down the hill?” “It’s a perfect idea, right?” Arty said with the amount of energy that only she could muster, and threw her arms up in the air as if she was trying to release some of it before she exploded. “How else will we graduate you into adulthood by getting rid of your old twin bed? Obviously, by riding it down a snowy hill like a sleigh, like any responsible adult would do.” “Ah, I see…so we are responsible adults because we are riding an old mattress down a hill?” Arty nodded, glad that he finally understood. “Yup! I’m also sure it will be the most action that bed has ever gotten. I mean, if I walk into a guy's apartment and see that he’s still rocking a twin bed, I’ll assume that he’s never grown up and find myself a real man.” With that said, Arty jumped on the bed, which was currently teetering precariously on the hill, and beckoned Frank to join her for the ride. “Now I’m only going to say this once, as I’m sure no woman has told you this while you owned this thing - are you ready to ride this thing with me or not?” Frank gaped at her. “Wait, did someone use that line on you?” “Someone?” Arty scoffed at him. “I said that line to Caleb. Do you remember Caleb? I wanted to see what crazy things I could say to the guy to where he would consider not having sex with me. It was kind of like a sociology experiment. Turns out that you could say anything to the guy, and he would be more than willing to jump in the sack with you.” “Wow. Thanks so much for the tip,” Frank muttered as he glanced around for an escape route. Arty was now patting next to her and spoke in a tone that would suffer no more disobedience. “Now. Get. Into. Bed. With. Me.” Frank chuckled at that and, without complaint, sat next to his childhood friend.

“Oh, give me your phone,” Arty said with complete glee. “We should definitely record this.” “Yeah,” Frank said with a mock groan as he handed her his iPhone. “It’d be great to have something to show the paramedics as they bring us to the hospital.” — “...and that’s what happened.” Arty finished as she leaned back against the chair of the interview room, and her audience waited for the rest of the story. “What?” Maggie said with a frown. She waited a few more seconds until she realized Arty finished with her story. “That doesn’t tell us what happened to his phone.” “Sure it does!” Arty exclaimed like nothing was ever so obvious in her life. “So, we rode down the hill with the phone recording the whole thing, and that was when we rode straight into a tree, the phone flew out of my hand, landed in the middle of the street, and that was where a Tesla Model X ran over the damn thing. Luckily, no one was hurt…except, you know, the phone…” Charles could only stare at the young woman sitting across the table from himself. He was tapping his pen against the table, and that was when he asked the obvious question, “How long ago did this happen?” “About four days ago,” Arty said helpfully. “And Mr. Horton couldn’t have bought a new phone within that time?” Charles asked inquiringly. “Well, he just bought a new mattress,” Arty said pointedly. “Mattresses these days are pretty expensive, and he waited until he knew he had a new job before deciding what phone to get.”  “That sounds perfectly reasonable,” Cassie chimed in, remembering what it was like when she just graduated from college. “I’d probably would have done the same thing. It also explains why he couldn’t tell us he was running late.” “Silly me,” Charles said sarcastically as he eyed Cassie disapprovingly. Cassie had now finished her coffee, and this “interview” was now running far beyond schedule. He needed to end this nonsense and get on with his day. “So, tell me this, as a couple more questions come to mind.” “Sure, I’ll be glad to help in any way I can,” Arty replied without missing a beat. Charles cleared his throat as he leaned across the table inquisitively. “First, how did you know that Mr. Horton was running late if he didn’t have his phone? Second, and probably most important, why is he not here?” Charles punctuated the last question by pressing his index finger hard against the desk.

“Oh yeah, I guess you would like to know that, wouldn’t ya?” Arty stated while she gathered her thoughts together.

Charles opened his mouth to snap, but Cassie interrupted him before he got the chance, “If you wouldn’t mind, we’d appreciate it. At this point, we’ve waited this long. What’s the harm in waiting a tad longer?” “Our sanity,” Charles scoffed. Arty snapped her neck to the side with a grimace and began her story, “It was about half an hour before this interview was going to start, and…” — “Yup, that cat is definitely stuck in that tree,” Frank said bluntly as he and Arty stared up at the orange tabby, meowing worriedly at the humans below. The tabby's owner, a young girl about ten, stood beside Frank and held his hand for emotional support. “I’d call the fire department, but you know, my phone got Tesla’d.” “Geez, you still haven’t forgotten about that? And did you just make Tesla into a verb? I approve!” Arty said happily with an impish grin pointed in his direction. As for Arty, she had gone for a run and had forgotten her phone at her apartment. Frank had called her a psychopath for running without music, but she often used her runs to collect her thoughts and enjoyed the silence. After her moment of self-inflection, Arty waved her finger at Frank and spoke with a lecturing tone, “That was like a month ago. Women don’t like a man who holds a grudge.” “It was four days ago!” Frank said a little too loudly while giving Arty a look that made it seem like he wanted to strangle her. He glanced down at the small girl who was holding back her tears.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure we can find someone to lend us their phone.” “Why don’t you go up and get it?” Arty asked inquiringly. “Because I haven’t climbed a tree since I was her age, and I’m wearing a suit for an interview that starts in less than thirty minutes. Speaking of which, why don’t you climb the tree and get the damn cat?” Arty punched Frank’s shoulder and pointed at the little girl before he could complain. “Language, mister. I’m afraid of heights, and Frank, we both know it’ll be at least an hour before the fire department arrives. What if something happens to the poor cat before then?” Frank opened his mouth, but any argument he had died quickly as the little girl’s grip grew tighter, and the waterworks flowed freely down her cheeks. The cat even began to take on a more pleading tone, as if it was asking Frank why he was going to abandon it.

Frank felt a light pat on his shoulder as Arty grinned at him. Her typically sarcastic and flamboyant nature faded to reveal one with a hint of admiration hidden behind her eyes. “We both know you would have climbed that thing eventually. I’ll tell you what. I’ll run ahead and tell them that you’re running late. I promise that I won’t let them leave until you get there. Deal?” — Arty finished her story and gratefully took a glass of water that Maggie had given her. “And that's about it. Do you have any other questions?” “Do you honestly expect us to believe that story?” Charles Abbot said with an air of frustration. “Believe what?” Charles leaned forward and pointed accusingly at Arty. “The whole thing! You expect us to believe your friend is running late for his job interview. Mind you, this is a position for a pet store, and he is late because he was getting a cat out of a tree?”

Cassie could only give Arty a sympathetic shrug. “He does make a good point, Arty. It seems too fantastical of a coincidence. Plus, your friend still isn’t here.” Arty opened her mouth to argue for her friend, but at that moment, the door swung open to reveal a bedraggled-looking young man. His jacket had several rips across the sleeves and the shoulder to the point where one looked like it was about to fall off. He had a singular scratch across his right cheek that would match a cat’s paw perfectly, and finally, a few leaves were tangled into his hair. “I’m sorry I’m late,” the man said, trying to catch his breath. “There was this cat stuck in this tree. I would have called, but my friend threw my phone at a Tesla, and…” Frank Horton stared at the four people in the small meeting room and flushed slightly with nerves as if he had just remembered that he had come for a job interview. “What? Am I too late?”


“Luke, we can’t afford a second car.” Tara whispered into her cell phone as she made her way to the meeting. “I don’t have money for it. Do you have money?”    “Sure, throw that in my face.”   “We can’t get a second car until you get a job again.”    “I can’t get a job without a car.”    “I got to go.”    “Yea, yea, yea. You’re at work. You’re important.”     “Luke.”    He hung up. Tara wondered what he would be like when she got home to the apartment that night. Would he be the angry man? The crying boy? The drunk? Well, they were both drinking too much lately. The wine was killing her stomach since most of her day-afters were workdays.    Tara was the last to arrive at the meeting. She sat herself and her boss began. “We liked to thank you, Mr. Patel, for your initial contract with us. We’d like to review how you thought the import went under our arrangements and what sort of future opportunities we might explore between our companies.”    Mr. Patel nodded a few times, then shrugged.    My boss, Lacey, looked over his reaction and then she smiled. “Mr. Patel? Perhaps you could elaborate on that thought? How did you think we performed?”    “I was not as impressed as I thought I would be.”    “We heard no reports of excessive damages or shortages. The shipments were within the timeframes we agree on.”    “Yes, yes, they were. But, I don’t know, I thought I would be more impressed.”     There was a long silence. Lacey was stone. Mr. Patel smiled at her. A weird little condescending smile.    Lacey stood up and tapped my arm to join her. She walked out of the meeting and I followed like her puppy who wanted to go back to see if they’d offer me a bone. “What happened?”    Lacey shushed me until we got into her office and she closed the door. “He’s full of crap. We’re not going to be doing business with him.”    “Why?”    “He’s a bad faith dealer. We hit all his targets and now he’s playing coy like we’ve got to court him to the alter all over again.”   “Why?”   “He wants a discount from here on. He wants faster service. He wants a deal. He wants to hold court. He doesn’t like doing business with women. Who cares?”    “How do you know?”    “Experience. I’ve been on treadmills with guys like that. Round and round and you’re not making any distance. He's not a client we can live without, he’s a client we have to live without.”    “So, we don’t even negotiate?”    “There was nothing to be gained in that meeting, only things to be lost.”    “Well, maybe he’ll get the message now. And if he comes back to us, we can ask for more money the next time?”    “No, we can’t trust him now. Oh, he might offer us more, but then he’ll find another way to get the money back. You think he wouldn’t report shortages that never happened? Damages? I won’t trust him. Do I think he’ll get the message? No. Our message was we gave him our best. Almost no damages, no shortages, everything on time, and that’s how he treats us? Bye-bye.”    When Tara got home to the apartment Luke greeted her at the door. “I’m sorry.” He had made dinner and it was on the little half table in the dining area of their one bedroom. The lights were low and the candles were lit. “I’m sorry, Tar. I know we can’t afford a second car. And, actually, it wouldn’t have been my car, anyway. You’re driving my car. Because it’s still in my name, like the insurance. I know, you’re paying, but it’s still my car. I am looking for work. You know, every day I think about our situation. I worry all the time. I know, it’s been eight months. I’m applying. I am. I know, you think it has to do with that soft skills stuff. But, you know, soft skills is just a smile and a pretty face and that’s not what employers are looking for when they go to hire a guy like me. Anyway, I know, you’ve told me not to call when you’re working, but it was a decision that had to be made by both of us. The car I found was a great deal. I think you would have really liked it. But I get it, we’ll kiss that one good-bye, because you don’t think we can afford it. Just means when I am working, we’ll have to pay twice as much for another car. But I get it. Not now. Not until you say when. You’re working so you’re in charge. It’s not a partnership until I have a job, too. We’re equals, but you’re just a bit more equal right now, because you have a job. You know, there’s a lot of times I don’t think you even appreciate what I’m going through. Like, I am trying. I am really trying. It’s not easy for me. Like it’s easy for you. You know how to talk to people. You’re used to all that paperwork, and handshaking, and crap. And you know, some of the people you work with are just being nice to you because they want to hit on you. Like, you know that, right?”    Tara stood up and walked out of the apartment. She stopped in the hall, then went back in and put the car keys on the little table. She walked out again for good.    The next day at work Lacey stopped by Tara’s desk. “We don’t have a dress code but that blouse looks a little big on you.”    “It’s my sister’s.”    “Changes at home?”    “No, just what I wore yesterday.”    Lacey smiled. “No, I mean, has your situation at home changed?”    “Yes, can I take some time? I have to change things at my bank, too.”    “Of course. Do you need an advance?”    “Yes, but don’t let them send it until I fix things at my bank.”    “Call when ready.”        In the following days Luke called Tara’s sister’s house repeatedly trying to contact Tara, and was told not to call. Luke even came to the sister’s house twice, but her sister’s husband got him to go away. One day, Tara’s sister handed her the phone.    “I’m not talking to him. There’s nothing to say.”    “It’s not him, this guy says he’s your former landlord.”    Lacey answered to hear Luke had thrown all her belongings off the balcony onto the apartment front lawn below. The landlord was asking her to come get them.     “Oh, they’re not mine anymore. I left them. He can do what he wants with them. Well, the clothing you can donate, and anything else he throws away. No, I’m not coming for them. I not coming back there for anything. Well, if you call the police, I think they might end up talking to Luke, and then they’ll find out he threw the stuff on the street, and then they might arrest him. It’s not my problem, Mr. Foster. I have nothing to do with the rent. I don’t live there anymore. I gave a deposit when we moved in, I’m not asking for it back. Well, talk to the man who lives there. Thank you for being my landlord, Mr. Foster, and good luck with everything.”

   It was two weeks later in the middle of the day that Luke stood outside the office building Tara worked and started shouting.    “You think you’re better than me!” He screamed from the sidewalk. Security had stepped outside and stood on the office property but could not order Luke off the sidewalk. He was badly dressed, unwashed, and carrying a white plastic shopping bag that held ladies’ underwear. Tara’s underwear. Underwear that she had left with everything else she had abandoned when she walked out. Of all the things of hers he had thrown off the apartment balcony he must have saved these. “Tara! Tara! These belong to you. Come and get them.” Luke dangled them in front of the guards. “Do you recognize these? Are there other guy she works with who have seen these?”    One of the security guard stepped up and started giving Luke belly bumps to provoke him, but he wouldn’t take the bait. He ducked around the sidewalk dodging the guard and screaming at the office. Traffic slowed and people gawked.    Her boss, Lacey, was away from the office that day. Tara went down to reception.    The receptionist met her. “I think that man is shouting for you.”    “Yes. He is.”    “I think he needs help.”    “Yes. I’m sure he does. But I’m not the one to help him.”    “He brought something for you. Do you want me to get it?”    “No, that’ll only encourage him.”    “Should we just let the guards handle it?”    “Sure.”    “What if he comes in?”    “I don’t think they’ll let him. But if he does, he has no business here. So, use your discretion. I’ll be in my office.”    “What do you think he’ll do?”    “I don’t think about it anymore. I only know what I do. I’m going back to work.”    Though it shook her inside, Tara returned to work. She never knew what happened next with Luke, and she never asked anyone.

   Four days later she left the office to get some lunch. Dining alone was becoming one of her favorite past times. She felt so independent and grown up when she treated herself. She was two blocks from the office, and about to cross the street to the tea house when she felt a hand on her arm.    “Stop it!” she turned and hissed.    It was Mr. Patel who held his hands in front of himself defensively. “I’m sorry. I recognized you. I just wanted to speak with you for a moment. A moment. You want coffee? We go for coffee?”    “What do you want?”    “Please, please. Your boss, she is difficult. Yes? I think you – you could do anything she can do. Yes? I think you could. You could do these imports, couldn’t you? All the arrangements? You know how. You work for me, you make more than she pays you. You can do what she does, can’t you?”

   Tara looked at Mr. Patel. Then she turned and walked away, crossing the street.