Mushrooms, why'd it have to be mushrooms? Today started off so well too. My mother used her usual secret technique of luring me down stairs with the sweet smell of bacon. Dressed in just a gown and slippers with the bed hair of the Wicked Witch of the West. I was in no mood to find my plate devoid of pig. Instead of breakfast I found an envelope. I willed my stare into a pair of daggers and aimed my weapon directly at my mother. "Woman! Where is my bacon?” I said with deadly intent. "Open it." she said a bemused smile upon her lips. My fingers were already working. “Another rejection? Let's hope it's from the Origami University. Then I'd know what to make of it.” I replied. My mother just scoffed at me as I read aloud. "Dear AMELIA FINN, We invite you... Interview... apprenticeship... at Oddity?” My eyes widened and I read on. "The interviews today! It's in two hours. What the frick mum!" I said. "You better hurry then." My mother said. I scrambled. Snatching the grizzled pork from my mother's outstretched hand with my teeth. Like a hurricane I ran to my room throwing objects in every direction. I found the only smart blouse I owned, some reasonably serviceable pants and hung them up to 'self iron' as I showered. I was ready in record time. A personal best! My reflection in the mirror showed me as presentable. My eyes shone hazel instead of the *‘I've been up all night playing computer games’* look they usually bore. My hair however made me look a relative of cousin IT from The Adam’s Family. I ran downstairs to find my mother by the door waiting patiently. We hopped in the car. My mother graciously driving as I used what little time I had to prepare for the interview. You see I've only recently got out of college. For the last few months I've been applying anywhere and everywhere for a culinary position. Lots of rejection letters, few interviews. A nervous wreck I frantically searched for interview tips online. My mother obviously reading the look upon my face rather than watching the road laid her hand on my arm. “Relax hun, you'll be fine. Just be yourself" “Be myself? That’s the problem” I retorted. The car slowed as we pulled up outside the restaurant. "You are awesome Em, now keep that shit up." She said with a sober look. My lips couldn’t help but draw into a smile. She was good at that. I took a deep breath, paused for what seemed like an eternity and got out of the car. Oddity is an upmarket restaurant with its name displayed on a canopy out front. I stepped into the building. They hadn’t opened yet. Everything was ever so still and quiet. As I waited; I inspected the interior. The dining room was split into four sections, each representing a motif of an overarching theme. Which as far as I could tell was Fairytales. Cool. One of the quarters looked like Jack & the Beanstalk. Another; Little Red Riding Hood. My favourite, Hansel and Gretel, had a giant gingerbread house where diners would sit. I was trying to decipher what the fourth one was when a voice called over from a nearby doorway. "Hello, can I help you miss? We're not open yet." A hostess said as she approached me. "I'm here for the apprenticeship" I continued. "Oh right!" she exclaimed. "Please come join the others in the back. Kenneth is about to start the interviewing process!” "Kenneth!?" I gulped as I followed her lead. Kenneth is the owner & head chef I remembered. Well known for his quirky cooking *'odd but delicious’* was the restaurant slogan. I was both excited & nervous. I didn't think he'd be conducting the interview himself. The hostess led me into the kitchen. Inside I saw a group of people standing around a man wielding a pot and ladle. "Ah excellent! That makes seven. All of our hopefuls have arrived." He said before whacking the pot with his ladle like a makeshift gong. "Welcome" He exclaimed. "You are the lucky few. Who will have a chance to join our crazy little family here at Oddity?" Kenneth said using the gong to emphasise the name. "Tonight we have a special guest; Vinny Van. My friend and renowned food critic!" This was followed by a sharp intake of breath from the other candidates. I scooched over to one of them. A girl similar to my age with a cute cat emblem on her bag. "Hey, who's Vinny Van'" I said hushed tones. She startled at my touch. "You don't know? He's TV famous! La Chabot gained fame and Glasshouse closed due to his review" "Thanks" I said. She threw me a smile and turned back to the master chef as he continued. “Now the interview is simple. Mr.Van has a particular weakness. Does anyone know what it is?" Kenneth said. He directed his weapon among the crowd. A guy wearing a green coat raised his hand. "Yes? "Kenneth said. The boy began to talk but was cut off instantly. "Yes! Fungi!" Kenneth said. I visibly grimaced. The rest of the initiates had a similar reaction. "More precisely. Mushrooms." Kenneth continued. "He's absolutely mad for the stuff!” He said. The guy in the green coat spoke up obviously taken aback at being cut off. "What does this have to do with the interview? "He said. "Ah I was getting to that," Kennett said. "You seven will be creating the five course meal he dines on tonight." He continued followed by gasps from the crowd. "You task is to eat nothing but mushrooms for lunch and then come up with a suitable dish.” He finished. "How will we be marked for the interview?" I said poking up from the back of the crowd. "Well I'll judge each dish combined with the critics reaction." Kenneth replied. "Does it have to be mushrooms?" The Girl with the cat badge said. "Of course. It's known that the little devils take up mushroom in our guests heart.” Vinny said emphasising the word by wiggling his eyebrows. Silence followed for a very unfortunate amount of time until the host cleared her throat. “Come back by 3pm to start cooking. That corner of the kitchen is reserved for you. My chefs will help you out" He said with one final ring of the gong. Mushrooms. Ack. I hated mushrooms. One reason I leaned towards baking in culinary school. What kinda fricking interview was this? I expected to have to cook but not under such strange conditions! I needed a plan. I needed a partner, someone that I could bounce ideas off of. I looked around the room and my eyes locked with cat girls. "Hi! I'm Amelia, Thanks for earlier." I said. She looked down then back up to me. Shy. “Hey, no problem. My name's Kat with a K!" she said enthusiastically. I had to stop my eyes from rolling it was just too much of a coincidence. "So... do you have any idea what you're gonna do?" I said trying not to sound desperate. It didn’t work. "Uh, I've got an idea but this is a competition right?" she replied. "I guess. Fair enough. Know anywhere that'll be good for brainstorming? Mushrooms aren't really my thing." I said. "Well there's a vegetarian place just around the corner. I thought I'd go there if you'd like to join me?" she said. I could see the pity in her eyes. “Sure!" I replied a little bit too enthusiastically. We gathered up our things and made our way out. We chatted little during the short walk to The Collared Cabbage; Which I hoped was a misspelling of Collard. It was a small place and people were already sitting down for lunch. We were guided to a table and sat in awkward silence for a minute or two as we checked out the menu. "What're you going for Kat?" I asked hoping to stir conversation. She looked up from the menu her eyes darting each way before resting on me. "The um, mushroom risotto and rooibos tea. You?" she countered. “The Portobello Burger. I mean it's a burger right? How bad can it be?" We ordered our food and the waiter brought us our drinks. Taking a break from sipping her tea Kat said, “You really don't like mushrooms?” I nodded. "I mean they don't even fit the theme of the restaurant. I mean at least broccoli could be trees, walnuts could be brains. What do mushrooms look like?" I said. Kat blushed, spat most of her tea out and choked on the rest. Ignoring my rant she said. “Well there are plenty of interesting things you can do with them; Stuff them, saute them, make them a burger." she gestured to our food as it arrived. "That was quick” I said. "Yeah they're really good here & it's cheap!" she replied. We tucked into our food. I grabbed my 'burger' and imagined cow, and nothing but cow as I took a big bite. Chomp chomp chew.... spit! Argh it tasted just like shiitake.... I giggle to myself then grimaced. How was I going to do this? Kat must of seen the look on my face. “Cook what you enjoy.” She smiled as she raised her tea towards me. “I’m doing mushroom tea & sandwiches, as a starter." She said. "I want to be a pastry chef." I said trying to match her smile but failing. "Oh... that might be hard” She replied. We ate the rest of our meal in relative silence. Kat jotted down some notes while I sulked, trying to come up with ideas. Mushroom cookies? Cupcakes? Creme caramels? After awhile Kat got up. "I'm going to head back & make a start. I can't wait to see what you come up with!” She said paying her half of the cheque and leaving. A few minutes later, frustrated, I left my burger and decided to go for a walk. Maybe I wasn't cut out to cook? Chefs had a large pallet right? Kenneth’s crazy experiments proved that. My stomach growled. One bite for lunch wasn't enough. Beside me two kids walked out of a building with an ice cream in each hand. I mean literally two ice creams each. Instantly I wanted one. I walked into the parlour and was astonished by the amount of flavours they had! Mint, chocolate, mint chocolate, coconut, walnut, broccoli.... wait broccoli? That's when the idea hit me. I took my ice cream, orange chocolate, and ran back. Well I say ran but have you ever tried to eat and run? When I got to Oddity lunch service was already underway so the hostess led me to the kitchen through the back entrance. A few of the other candidates had already started on their dishes. I hadn't noticed any dessert or sweets yet. I saw Kat kneading bread with one of the main chefs. I smiled at her and received one in return. I moved over to the counter with my name on it and a man in a tall hat came over "What do you need? I'll get it for you." He said. I listed off the items "Whole milk, cream, dried shiitake, chocolate & bacon.." I continued to list off my ingredients. He brought everything in minutes, then I was away! Mixing cream, milk and sugar. Cooking bacon... mmm bacon. Grating mushrooms. I had to make a few executive tastings with the dark chocolate but I was in the Zone! I churned it all up in the mixer & everything was looking great. Dipping my spoon into the mix for one last taste; There was a recognizable flavour of mushrooms but then it transitioned, evolved into a psychedelic mixture of sweet & savory. It was magic. Which differed greatly from the taste of car tire that I had expected. Then I waited. Waited, watched & helped out where I could. Kenneth was cooking but I had no doubt he was paying attention to our work. A few hours later I finished off my creation. The kitchen went quiet as a hostess walked in and announced Vinny Van had entered the building. I could see the same look of nervous excitement on everyone’s face. Each course went out with several dishes. One from Kenneth and the others from us candidates. There was a horizontal slit in one of the walls in between the kitchen & dining room. We gathered there to spectate as the food went out. Vinny was a refined gentlemen in a suit and a stylish pair of glasses. The appetisers were first to go out. Kat and I held hands as Vinny tackled the course. I remember squeezing Kat's hand as he picked up the tea, sipped and downed the rest. He then poured himself another. Kat was ecstatic. The next few courses came and went, including the main. All some flavor or theme of mushroom. I began to worry. There was so much food. By the time he came to dessert he'd explode! Then the time came. Two covered plates were brought out to Vinny. Mine and Kenneth’s! I was sure to fail. The waiter lifted the dish revealing a sparkling frosted toadstool stuffed with chocolate moose, Kenneth’s dessert. Next was mine. Shiitake mushroom ice cream with chocolate-covered bacon bits. I was filled with dread. It was too basic... too simple... to compete with the master chef's dish. My heart thumped as I watched. He took a spoon then cut a slice of Kenneth’s dessert. Then a bite from mine. A bite from his. One more from mine - it was even! "Good job." I heard whispered in my ear. It was from Kenneth! Afterwards the masterchef brought us into the dining room and introduced us to the critic. He gave us his critique there and then. He loved Kat's tea as it was refreshing but thought the sandwiches bland. As for my ice cream. Kenneth said "Thank all the god's for bacon bits. After having nothing but mushroom all night I fear I was starting to go mad. The ice cream was delightful!" I beamed at the mixed praise. I mean he didn't not like it. Finally Vinny spoke to Kenneth in front of all of us. "Now Kenneth. when I told you my favourite food I didn't expect it in every dish! Good heavens man not everything needs to contain mushrooms." He said finishing with a hearty laugh. Which I took for a good sign. In the end Kenneth thanked us for our time and rewarded us for our efforts with an exquisite meal. Kat and I remained friends, Vinny gave the restaurant rave reviews for its commitment to uniqueness. Oh and I got the job! Along with Kat and another candidate. First day on training and Kenneth gave us chef's hats shaped like mushrooms... I nearly quit there & then.


Logline: A researcher finds a way to send modern technology to the Allied powers during the Second World War, effectively securing victory and saving lives, but also has repercussions beyond the war. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Jason Reese, a research scientist working for the U.S. Army, is on the brink of a breakthrough. Jason has degrees from Harvard, Yale, and Brown, in the field of quantum physics. He works with a research and development team from a clandestine lab deep in the Nevada desert. Irene Tang, a Japanese graduate student from MIT, holds degrees in organic chemistry and quantum mechanics. There is also Aaron Massey, a budget guy who maintains expenditures under the supervision of the Army and serves as a contact with other branches of the military. Aaron has a Bachelor's degree from Arizona State. After serving in the Army, he was the number one insurance agent in Arizona for three straight years. Jason's breakthrough, hopefully, would enable him to send things through time using a wormhole. The device is the size of the breadbasket. He delivered a letter via the wormhole last night. There was a message in return this morning, his great-grandfather, Wayne Reese, a Command Sergeant in the U.S. Army, responded, while serving in World War II. He had just lost several soldiers the night before, and he was concerned that they weren't going to make it out alive. "Wow, that's incredible," Irene says, looking over Jason's shoulder. "We could give some details to support them, we know how the war is going to end, we know what the German strategy was, giving him a few tips is only going to save lives," Aaron says, realizing the value of this technology. "I don't know; we shouldn't play with the past, who knows what sort of effect it would have on us today. Besides, who knows what harm we've already caused," Jason says. "Although we're all here. If there were any changes, they were so slight that we couldn't perceive them. What if you're dealing with a parallel universe, one that doesn't have any effect on the one we're living right now?" Irene speculates. "She's right; if this device succeeds, it will transform the universe, you will go down in history as the greatest scientist in human history," Aaron says. "How about a little test, your great-grandfather included the date, the 9th of March, 1942, we could very quickly lookup where his brigade was and give him some advice. If there's no difference in our universe, we'll know it's a parallel universe," agrees Irene. Jason decides to go with Irene's idea; he researched the brigade of his great-grandfather and discovered that they were battling in France on that day. Sadly, he also found out that his great-grandfather was about to be killed in a machine-gun ambush in Calais. With full hindsight, Jason can guarantee that if his great-grandfather moves his brigade south of the area, they would be able to surprise the German forces. Jason prepares the letter carefully, submits it through the wormhole, and it works! His great-grandfather took the south route, shocking the Germans, and won a vital battle. Jason felt proud; he had done something that wasn't in the history books before today. "Look, we're linked to the U.S. Army, we can get them some top-of-the-line 2020 weapons, sit back and watch your grand-grandfather become a goddamn hero," Aaron entices. Jason says, "Let's see what this wormhole can do ." Aaron brings General Andrew Scarlett to the facility the following day. The general is very knowledgeable regarding the Second World War and is also in charge of the very substantial arsenal of 2020 weapons. The general asked Jason if he'd be able to construct a bigger wormhole, Jason said he'd be able to make one around the size of the garage door. The general returns with all kinds of high-tech weapons that can fit inside a garage, Jason includes a letter for his great-grandfather, which consists of a few instructions about how to handle such modern advanced weapons. The next week, Jason received a letter back, the latest guns performed beautifully, they moved Germany closer to its original border, something that took four years to do in the original timeline was achieved in a matter of five months using 2020 technologies. But Aaron and the general were greedy; they wanted Jason to create an even larger wormhole, one in which they could bring tanks, warships, jetplanes, and much more comprehensive high-tech weapons. "Don't forget, we still have to defeat Japan, imagine if we can achieve that without the A-bomb," the general says excitedly. Jason agrees and will construct a wormhole the size of a building in the middle of the desert. The general instantly submits a requisition for larger equipment. Jason got another letter from his great-grandfather, they defeated Hitler in June 1942, and Japan is set to surrender by the end of the summer. Their strategy succeeded, the advanced technologies and the 80 years of development involved, gave the Allied forces a significant advantage over the Nazis of the 1940s. Jason gets up the next morning, but he's not in his bed. Confused, he looks out the window, he's in London. He heads out and suddenly meets Irene and Aaron. London looks odd, there are American flags everywhere, Jason looks in the center of Trafalgar Square, and there's a massive statue of his great-grandfather, Emperor Wayne Reese? Jason, Irene, and Aaron are shocked by all the American patriotism. General Scarlet steps up behind them and pushes them into a building. "We did it, America controls the world," says the general. "What do you mean, why are we in Britain?" Jason questions. "It's not Great Britain; it's America, it's all America, London is just the capital of the American colonies in Europe. After defeating the Japanese, we continued to colonize almost 90% of the world," explains the general. "It's impossible, according to the letters with my great-grandfather, they were only in August, 1942," Jason tries to rationalize. "What did you suppose would happen when the U.S. Army got hold of the 2020 weapons, they made more of them! They deployed satellites; they built the Internet, they established advanced surveillance technologies, years before it was invented in our timeline, what did you think, he was going to write you about all of it?" the general asks. "How did this happen, we confirmed that it was a parallel universe; it wasn't our timeline!" Jason told Irene. "Do we even know how parallel universes work? Maybe there was a way for timelines to merge, it's all theoretical," Irene speculates. "Hey guys, listen to me, it's all going to be all right, this is the best of all worlds, all these nations are paying America to defend them, the planet is at peace, sit back and appreciate it," Aaron says as he marches away with the general. When Jason walks through London, he finds that conditions are better, the buildings are cleaner, hardly any homeless, people seem happy under American rule. It wasn't until they entered a cafe to get breakfast that he realized, everything wasn't the same for everyone. The barista at the counter takes one look at Irene, "We don't serve her kind here, the japs have their restaurants on the south side of the city, I'm sorry, that's the rules," says the barista. Jason and Irene leave the coffee shop and conduct some analysis to see exactly how much of their timeline had changed; most people were living on a par with what was expected from the original timeline. However, life is harsh for citizens who fought American occupation or citizens from Axis nations. They exist under an authoritarian rule, do not have all the rights and liberties of the Allied countries, and do not exercise the same economic freedoms. A powerful military crushes uprisings with zero tolerance for acts of disobedience. Jason and Irene are eager to undo what they have done; they travel back to the Nevada facility, which has been locked up and abandoned. The equipment is gone and such materials have been outlawed in America. Above all, Aaron and the general were aware of what was going on due to internet monitoring. Soldiers were dispatched to arrest Jason and Irene onsite. Locked up for six months, they were sent to Germany upon release, and their American visas were stripped away. A dark and seedy place, rife with corruption, and military on every corner. Stuck in Germany, they become friends with several dissidents who want to see America crumble. Mistreatment gives Jason and Irene a new perspective on things; they become jaded. "They have to be stopped!" Jason says, addressing a group of revolutionaries. Jason was obsessed with wormhole technology, and after his facility in Nevada was ruined, he remained determined to re-create the project. Living on the Axis side of the border rendered it difficult for him to access the necessary materials. However, Jason holds a wormhole party, a maneuver once attempted by Stephen Hawking. If anyone in the future develops wormhole technology and wishes to escape the control of the U.S. government, come back to the 1st of January, 2021. He doesn't tell anyone or send out any invites until after the party has already taken place. The 1st of January arrives, and it's mostly uneventful, but, at 10 p.m., a wormhole opens, and an army marches out. Jason's wormhole technology was already responsible for ending a World War; it's now going to be responsible for beginning one. Jason's journey took him from a reluctant scientist who helped the Allied powers in World War II to harden revolutionary, with an army at his disposal, obsessed with destroying the world he helped to create. There are winners and losers in war; perspective is everything. The winners write the history books; the losers have to suffer the repercussions. Sometimes in the universe, things are meant to happen the way they happen, there's no improving on it. Jason rescued his great-grandfather from certain death, but through man's unpredictability, his great-grandfather went on to take over the world, the very thing he was trying to stop in the first place.


He flicked the handlebars to the side to swerve around a pothole, pumping his knees to accelerate once he had straightened out the bicycle. He always liked to ride fast, but tonight Bobby was in a hurry. It probably would have been safer not to go out tonight, he thought. But biking down to the river helped him clear his head, and he was tired of being stuck inside all the time. Tonight, he had seen a turtle near the edge of the water. He had become entranced watching it swim aimlessly in circles for minutes, his eyes going out of focus but not able to look away. It had been a welcome sight, but it kept him there longer than he intended, and now he was in danger of being out after curfew. Living under an authoritarian ruler certainly had its disadvantages. Bobby sped up even faster, the cold wind stinging his throat as he gasped for air. Suddenly a car flying well above the speed limit zoomed past Bobby on his left, the shock almost knocking him over as he swerved again. At this hour, the only cars on the road drove as if they were trying to set the lap record at Daytona. A siren sounded in the distance. As he looked to his left and saw flashing lights, Bobby’s pounding heart skipped a beat. He took a quick right turn and tried to pedal so fast he would be invisible, hoping the cop wasn’t following him. Seconds later, he turned his head back and saw he wasn’t being tailed. But he didn’t slow down. Taking his bicycle to top speed was the only time he ever felt free. The city around him became a blur, the lights blending together like a Van Gogh painting. His hands and his two-wheeled machine were all he could see clearly. He squinted his eyes and a smile crept over his mouth as for a split second he forgot the immense deadline he was racing to beat. The sky was getting darker, close to pitch black, and Bobby remembered he only had a few minutes to get home or his life could be over. A friend of his got stuck out after curfew three weeks ago. Bobby hadn’t seen him since. His headlight began to flicker, and seconds later it was out. He had been meaning to replace it, but he only thought of it at times like this, when he was riding home as the sun went down. Bobby had nothing left to guide him. He was flying blind. The safe thing to do would have been to slow down, he knew, but he didn’t have that kind of time. He would rather crash than risk being caught out after curfew. As if the cruel road had heard his thoughts, suddenly his front tire ran over an unseen object, jerking him forward out of the seat. He was able to land his right foot on the ground to keep himself from falling down, holding the bike by the handlebars as he stumbled forward. He came to a stop, unhurt, but fearful. He looked back and saw he had run over a wooden plank with sharp nails sticking out of it. His thoughts went to the worst, and as he looked back at his bike, they were proven true. He had a flat tire. Luckily for him, he had prepared for a flat, knowing the risk of getting stranded far from home. In his backpack he had a patch kit. Unluckily for him, it would take time. Probably too much time. And this flat was clearly a bad one. The tire already looked visibly deflated just seconds later. He walked his bike into the nearest alley, ducking out of sight and finding a dark spot against the wall. He pulled the kit out of his bag and got to work. He had done this before, but he was still out of breath from the pace he had been pedaling, and his hands shook with the fear that he was too late. He found the leak and rubbed the area around it with a small piece of sandpaper before pulling out the rubber cement. He fumbled with the bottle and the cap fell on the ground, but he didn’t waste the time to grab it. After placing glue around the hole, he put the patch onto it, pressing it down with his two thumbs. He held it there for a few seconds and then pulled his portable pump out of the bag. He placed it around the tire’s air valve and blew into it with his mouth until the tire had inflated back to its normal level. The next part was the worst step, the wait. He would need to make sure he gave the glue enough time to dry so he knew it had worked. He couldn’t risk having to make another pit stop. He tried to take deep breaths to slow his heartbeat, but his nerves overwhelmed him. A light drew his attention back toward the road, but it was just another car speeding home. The seconds felt like hours as he waited for the glue to dry. Eventually, he decided it had been long enough. He squeezed the tire with his hand and it still felt firm. The patch seemed to be working. He got back onto the bike and continued on through the alley to the next side street. He knew a back way that could get him home quicker than his usual route. But the back roads were darker, and he still didn’t have a working headlight. He decided this time he would heed the voice in the back of his head and proceed slowly. It was already past curfew, he knew, so there wasn’t much difference between being out 15 or 20 minutes too late. After gliding around several corners, he was finally back to his neighborhood. Pulling up to his house, he got off his bike and began to walk. But before he could sneak around back, a red-faced woman opened the door in haste. His mother. The tyrant who controlled his life and told him what time he was allowed to stay out. “Bobby! You’re 30 minutes past curfew! I don’t want to hear any excuses. What do you have to say for yourself?” “I’m sorry mom,” he sulked. “Please don’t ground me.


My world cracks with a sudden brightness and then goes dark. A great force, behind me or from within, seems to scoop me up like a wave and washes me onto a barren black shore. I try to scream out, but the echoing clamor of hundreds of terrified cries around me drowns the sound. “Hello?” “Where am I?” “Mother?” “What is this place?” The screams are increasingly frantic as more bodies dump in on top of us. My legs buckle underneath me as the weight crushes my shoulders. I climb out of the pile and gasp for air. Taking in the dark scene around me, I only have time to notice one thing: “We’re all children!” With a lurch and a shriek that pierces our ears, our cries unify in one giant plea for help as the floor shifts beneath us. I recognize my brother and crawl towards him, fear and the moving belt challenging my legs to keep the rest of me upright. My feet stumble over one another as I arrive at his side, and my face lands right onto the shoulder of his soft downy coat. Without a word, I feel the warmth of his embrace trying to calm my trembling body. “SHH, be still, little chick,” he says to me. I cry into his shoulder, silently wishing our mother were still with us to tell us what to do. Then, I remember our sisters. My head lifts and I dart my gaze around the clusters of sobbing children screaming for help. Cluttered piles of squirming limbs rise on either side of me, one body part indistinguishable from the next. I turn back to look at my brother, whose grim expression tells me without words the last thing I want to hear: *They’re on their own, just like us.* Right then, a rubberized claw reaches down and yanks my brother from my side. I have enough time to catch a glimpse of his thrashing legs as his dying scream disappears along with him. Now, I am alone. The others look at me with wild, frightened eyes. Tears stain their faces. Their legs tremble. Some of them have soiled themselves, the waste still unattended at their feet. *We’re just children*, I think again, and my own eyes drip with tears. Another claw grabs my neck and I nearly swallow my own tongue. My heart is racing. I hear the whirring sound of a motor near my face and then muffled screams of the others in line before me, when suddenly my mouth is met with the fiery kiss of pain. I try to scream, but all I can manage are muffled cries, my own weak warning to the child in line behind me. The fire feels as though it might start to dig through the bone of my face when the clamp around my neck whips me around and releases. Weightless, my body sails through the air, and I wonder if this is death. Not yet. I land on a pile of the other children, bits of white bone visible through their bloody mouths, and it occurs to me that only the girls are left. A small girl with round eyes and a shorter girl beside her inch towards me, and we all instinctively huddle together for protection. Our bodies all shiver in unison with our shared fear and pain. Before we can even look one another in the eyes, our hearts jump into our throats. One more time, we drop through the air until a grated plastic floor breaks our fall. More girls come tumbling in after us, their tiny scared screams drowning out my own, their faces twisted in the same terror. The tall walls bend and creak on rotating joints, and start to close in on top of us like a lid. I meet the round eyes of the girl beside me one last time before darkness stifles us into silence. **Day 31** When the first crack of light blinded us twenty-four hours later, we were in what can only be described as a concentration camp. I was never good with numbers, but there must be thousands of us in this large warehouse, pacing around in our own filth. Our captors bring us a bland food supplement which is keeping us well fed. It tastes maybe like corn but seasoned with something foul. Though, that may just be the smell of dead bodies tainting the flavor. Sassy and Clara have survived, the round-eyed girl and her short friend that I met right before the kidnappers sent us here. So did Fiona, the other girl who shares our cell. But Telly died shortly after we arrived. The infection in her mouth from the burning machine started small, but after a few weeks, her right cheek was bright red and sagging with pus. No one ever came to check on her, despite our cries that she was dying. Now, her rotting corpse sits in the corner of our cell, uncovered: a constant reminder of our own expectations. We still have no idea why they abducted us, what they want, or who *they* are. We only see an actual human being once or twice a day, but the rest of our prison is automated. Even when they do come in—to spray us with antibiotics to calm our festering wounds, or to unclog a feed dispenser—they seem immune to our sobbing cries. Covered from head to toe in protective polyester, they march by stone-cold stoic as they scan our cell blocks, riddled with dead children. Though, we are already starting to change. I had no idea at the time, but our kidnappers took us from our mothers just as we were about to reach our adulthood. This celebrated milestone of a girl’s life has, for us, become a horror under the microscope of captivity. They touch us, grab at our breasts, check for any signs of maturity, all the while, eying our bodies with hungry anticipation. Over what, I am still unsure, but it frightens me nonetheless. **Day 136** Just when I thought things were at their worst, our captors moved us to another prison. Here, we have become no more than objects. We have grown so fat without exercise or movement, and our tiny young bones break under the pressure of our weight. My ankle is healing, but Clara’s broken leg keeps her on her backside all day. Instead of healing us, they run experiments, take our gametes for who-knows-what. My imagination runs wild based on the torture to which they subject us in order to get them. The girls and I have been in this new prison for twelve days now. Sassy, Clara and I still share the same cell, but Fiona’s body was uncooperative, not producing whatever it needed to satisfy our captors. They came for her after only a couple of days. Two different girls we had never met before, also just reaching their womanhood, joined our cell the day we arrived, but at this point, Sassy, Clara and I have stopped learning new names. It just gets to be too painful to say goodbye. **Day 572** Something is happening! This morning, they came and took Clara without warning. Sassy and I watched up and down our cell block row as they hand-selected a few others to end up wherever they sent Clara, but we never saw them again. Now, they are packing the rest of us up to go. Where? I have no idea. Even though I have said this and been wrong before, I cannot fathom anything much worse than what we’ve already endured. Eighteen months of this torture and my body feels like a wet rag. I barely have the energy to look up at the masked-face captor as he grabs me by the legs and tosses me into a crate with at least twenty others. The air is suffocating. The others’ bodies are just as rotten and exhausted as mine, so we just lie there together in our own disgustingness, praying without real hope that this final move will bring an end to the abuse. An engine starts, the cage jerks, and our cramped bodies pinch one another. The crate bangs against others beside it as the movement jostles us around, and I know this means we are all packed in here together, the same scared little faces I watched grow up along with me over the past two years. I try to remember what life was like before that day when they dumped us onto the conveyer belt and took away the boys, but I have no other memories, only pain and torture from then on. The engine stops. I feel the transport vehicle shake and the back door creaks on its hinges. Light starts to break through as arms reach in to remove the crates from around ours. Then, fingers jam through the handles of our crate and we go flying through the air until slamming down with a crunch on top of another. Other slams jostle our crate two more times, and we feel our bodies soaring, though none of us can lift a wing. My eyes lift from the pile of exhausted chickens underneath me as we pass through a pair of swinging doors. I hear motors running, gears turning, a saw spinning, and screams. Our crate drops onto a table and another masked face appears as he peels back the lid. His goggled eyes meet mine, and I want to beg him to stop, but all I can muster is: “Please.” Without hesitating, the man grabs me by the legs and storms towards a giant machine. At first, being upside down and utterly drained from grief and terror, all I see is metal. Only as we get nearer do my eyes open to the horror. The other chickens, the young girls less than two years old who suffered at my side during our lives in captivity, hang in a row by their feet watching the others just ahead of them stunned in an electrified water bath so that the saw that comes afterward can more easily split their necks. They start to wriggle against their shackles as it approaches, but then they hang deathly still. Gushing blood rushes over their faces. I see Sassy ahead of me and I choke back tears, knowing we are next. The screams flood my ears and my wings start to flap uncontrollably. I think I might be screaming too as they clip my ankles into the assembly line. What am I saying? Anything! *Help! Can’t you hear me?! Please, I don’t want to die! Please, don’t do this! I don’t want to—”* When you pay for animal products, this is the kind of torture your money keeps in business. Without your support, the unnecessary slaughter ends. #GoVegan.


It wasn’t that long ago I looked upon Wanderers with disgust. They had been the scum of the earth. Rejects. Scavengers. Ultimate leeches of our world. And now that I saw them again I couldn’t even muster half a teaspoon of hate. I was invaded by an overall sense of weariness. I saw my neighbour, a tall large man yell at them, face contorted out of human shape. He had mastered the hate. And he looked ridiculous for it. I wanted to get out of here. I didn’t care about those sad parades of men and women in chains. I couldn’t join the euphoria of the crowd. The woman on my other side spat at them. I shrugged and pulled my scarf closer to my neck. It hadn’t been my intention to be here at all. I’d been caught by the tide and had no way of going against the general flow. Why would you exhibit people like that? Strip them of their humanity, and then execute them in front of the angry, hateful crowd. There were three executioners on stage. Each one of them had a speciality. Each one of them had a nickname. There was the Axe, the Flute, and Iron Hand. All were dressed in uniform black robes, face hidden by the traditional hood. They were only differentiated by a personal insignia printed chest level. Everyone knew that the job of executioner was passed down from generation to generation. The families kept their anonymity, but were given an emblem. Some people wondered if executioners were human at all. The unconscious collective fear being that they were eternal monsters always there to take human lives. Masses were so gullible. The streams of captives were Wanderers. Not even real criminals. Wanderers’ only wrongdoing was of adhering to different ideals to ours. I would have been publicly stoned for saying such a blasphemy. Well, only if I hadn’t been untouchable. The crowd started to chant for their hero: the Carver. Except he wasn’t here. This was no surprise. He specialised in violent criminals. He was feared and revered at the same time. His name enough to delightfully chill a crowd. They were terrorised by the shear idea of ending up in his tender care, and at the same time they relished in the blood he spilled. Because he was no ordinary executioner. In fact executioners were rarely ordinary. The Flute had a beautiful talent. All his family had had the gift of music. He could possess people with his instruments. Make them dance until they died of exhaustion. He transformed human tragedy into an ultimate artistic sacrifice. His dances were extravagant, captivating and ultimately very deadly. Iron Hand was an obtuse brut next to him. But that butcher was a real crowd pleaser. He had the power of strength. His delicate attentions consisted in pulverising captives and unashamedly spraying the crowd. Nothing much ever remained after he had taken care of it. The Axe was more traditional. Not all executioner blood lines were consistent in power. Axe chopped heads, not always managing the clean one strike decapitation. But that was part of the thrill. People took odds. Exchanging money on whether he would or wouldn’t this time. Only then did I realise I would have to watch the whole show. I grimaced. What a waste of time! Today was my first day off after five months of training and work. It had taken me three hours to get down here. I hadn’t intended to spend my time like that. I’d wanted to go back home. See my mother, brother and sisters again. I only had a few hours to spare. After that I had to go back to the castle. I sighed. This promised to be excruciating. Unless I could spot a member of my family. Then, at least, their company would support me through this ordeal. But it was packed and hard to see any individuals. I massaged my head. I could feel the headache rising. Then I saw a glimpse of white. Across from me, on the other side of the fenced prisoner passage, was someone wearing a scarf matching mine. I didn’t have to see it from close up to know it was the same wool. This had to be my younger sister. She had sent that one for me during my absence, telling me she was wearing its twin. Only my family made wool so fine. Except she was on the other side. And I’d probably changed since the last time she’d seen me. I’d grown thinner, taller, whiter, hollower. In a way the crowd wasn’t too bad. They kept us warm, heat rising off them like a good herd. I raised myself on my toes, making ridiculously large arm movements. I didn’t care if people stared. It would only increase my chances of Illiotrope seeing me. Finally, I caught her eye. She had been mesmerised by the execution scene. Three men had already lost their heads, five women were dancing and something was in the process of being turned into crimson mush. But amongst the butchery, someone had been kind enough to let her know a young man was trying to get her attention. She squinted at first. I must have changed more than I thought. But then her face opened in a smile. She waved at me and got closer to the barrier. We looked at each other from across the fence for a while. This was absurd. I was so close! A burst of bloodshed slashed my mind. It was a violent thought bubble. The big man next to me trembled and an enchanted smile settled on his lips, he didn’t realise a bloody slash had opened on his face. The other people huddled against me shivered. We had all felt it. I saw the ripple of anticipation run through the crowd. They started to yell out for the Carver again. They had recognised his touch. He had to be somewhere around here. They wanted him on stage. After his absence from the scene they were elated by his recent return and wanted him everywhere. The Carver was ferocious. He peeled his victim’s minds apart, projecting the visions of carnage he found in their heads to the whole crowd. As the visions occurred the prisoner would find himself covered with the wounds he had once inflicted on others. Without touching the perpetrator, the Carver managed to hurt them more profoundly then any meaningless violence would have. But Wanderers were innocents. The Carver couldn’t do anything to them. I finally decided to jump the fence. Another stupid law I saw no reason to obey, I wasn’t a parked sheep. And I believed I had a fair chance of being overlooked anyway, people were too absorbed in the action, law apprehenders just as enthralled. I got my first leg over the barrier. Illiotrope gaped. She backed up a little and shook her head. She didn’t want me to risk my freedom for something so... so brainless. I swang the second leg over and started crossing. Suddenly a big hand dropped on my shoulder. I turned. It belonged to a massive sheriff. He was enormous in every way and direction. His face was lumpy, as if he’d been hit many times. A smaller official came to my other side. He wore a nasty smile. My face was blank. I let him pull my sleeves up so as to cuff my hands with a magic deadener, just in case. I watched his face grow grey before he even pulled the deadener out of his pocket, as he recognised the symbol on my wrist. I watched him back away from me. The big one understood fast. He swallowed noisily, but grabbed me by the collar of my coat and lifted me over the last fence. He dropped me exactly where I wanted to be. Illiotrope stared. ‘How did you get away?’ She yelled so I would hear over the crowd. ‘They recognised I worked for the king.’ I shrugged. ‘I’m so happy to see you!’ She finally exclaimed, before throwing herself in my arms. ‘Let’s go home.’ She nodded. And strangely enough we were able to walk away. People mustn’t have been as oblivious as I thought, or perhaps they were just street wise. They parted like the seas for prophets. The streets were smaller than I remembered, darker too. Perhaps spending most of my time in small enclosed spaces had made me unrealistically brighten my previous life. Once we passed the crowd, the streets were deserted. Everyone always went to executions. They were free entertainment and they occurred once a week in this part of town. The sound of whatever Illiotrope had on her feet reverberated happily against the uneven pavement. The fabric of her skirts sighed. Her coat clapped in the wind. And her breathing was loud. As noisy as she was, I made no sound. ‘Don’t you talk anymore?’ She asked. I forced myself to smile. ‘You look like father.’ She said with a grimace, ‘you sound like father.’ She added, ‘Is it the archives which turn men into sad shadows?’ ‘You should not foul mouth the dead.’ When our father had died six month ago a message had been sent from the court. It read that I was duty bound to inherit my father’s position by the king’s side. I would be trained, and I would become a Guardian of the Arcane. My mother had cried – a second separation was painful. My sisters had been proud; the position was well remunerated and had a special social status. My younger brother, Ernst, had felt relieved. He had always been afraid he would inherit that intellectual role because I was so little interested in old paper. Everyone believed the arcane to be the king’s secret archives. But it was me they wanted, not him. Ernst was now free to become the merchant he had always wanted to be. And I was officially a Guardian, proudly wearing the emblems of the position on my wrist. We arrived in Glory Street. Our house was the twelfth on the left. Like the others it was made of dark stones, unlike the others it had a shop front advertising the softest wool. We walked through the door and the bell chimed. Delellia, my elder sister, tentatively came down the stairs to look after the prospective customer. Her eyes opened wide when she saw me. ‘Lelio!’ She cried out before running to me herself, ‘You’ve become so pale.’ Delellia had the gift of dream-weaving and a fertile imagination. As such she worked for a number of rich merchants. She would send them lovely illusions and forbidden fantasies during their nights, awake all that time. She was so good, a number of courtesans had already asked for her services. Soon she would move closer to the castle and work for a more sophisticated audience. Because of this exhausting profession, she was usually relieved from shop duty, it was Illiotrope’s responsibility. Illiotrope, like my mother, was exceedingly good at needlework. But this was her day off, execution day was an institution. ‘Lelio’s home!’ Illiotrope called out to my mother upstairs. I heard shuffling. And then there was the distinct sound of two people getting down the stairs. My mother appeared first, her hair whiter than I remembered. Behind her was Ernst. Like me he’d grown, but while I’d become pale, he now bore a dark tan. In the last missive I’d received, I’d been informed he was conducting all the trade for our family shop, travelling the countryside in search of wool and pigments. ‘How’s the arcane?’ My brother asked. ‘Still as secretive, and I’m still under the same imperatives of silence.’ ‘Just like your father.’ My mother said, ‘God rest his soul.’ She took my head in her hands and kissed my forehead. ‘You look tired my son.’ I was exhausted. It would be lunchtime soon. My mother and Illiotrope disappeared towards the kitchen. I sat heavily at the head of the table. Delellia sat next to me. She had blue shadows under her eyes and an ethereal air about herself... growing into a creature of the night. Ernst settled himself down opposite from me. ‘What good are your powers for the archives?’ Delellia asked. She had always been able to tell when I used my gift, part of her second sight. ‘You are straining yourself.’ ‘I’m training, I’m getting better everyday.’ ‘But surely you do not need them for reading!’ Ernst cut in. This was another reason why he thought he, rather than I, would be going to the king. It was considered criminal to waste powers, and I had shown great potential very early. ‘The arcane might not be what everyone thinks it is.’ I answered. Ernst’s brow shot up. I realised I might have made a mistake. Delellia didn’t blink. The question Ernst was going to ask was prevented by the exuberant appearance of Illiotrope. Mother followed and lunch was brought in by the kitchen hand. From then on we avoided talking about my work. We talked about my brother’s and sisters’ lives, the latest rumours at court, the latest news in town… The afternoon slipped away and soon night’s belly stretched above our heads. I got up. I had to go. I would be required at dawn. My mother’s smile wilted as I kissed her goodbye. I promised that had been my longest absence. I was now fully trained, but I belonged to a low rank – I was still new. I was allowed a free day a week from now on though. I would therefore come back next week. She nodded. In a few years I wouldn’t be at the beck and call of the ministers and then I would be able to settle in my own house away from the castle. ‘Why didn’t you come on a horse?’ Illiotrope asked. ‘I did.’ ‘Where is it? Why didn’t you show me!’ ‘There were too many people. I left it at the Inn up the furthest stoop. They have a stable.’ I said. ‘I’ll walk you.’ Delellia announced. I looked at her, surprised. ‘It is not safe for a woman to walk those parts of town without an escort.’ I reminded her. ‘I’ll only be alone on the way back.’ She said. ‘And you’d have to be insane to attack a dream-weaver!’ Ernst interrupted. ‘Imagine the nightmares you’d get.’ He shuddered. ‘It’s not written on her forehead what she is.’ I said. ‘I’ll take my chances.’ She shrugged, pulling on a coat looking too heavy for her fragile frame. I’d heard the determination. ‘I’ve got to talk to you.’ She added. She wanted to talk... I’d known she would not be as blind as the others. I held the door open for her to follow me into darkness. We took our first steps in silence. I looked at the ink sky. Full moon. Delellia would be busy tonight. ‘Are you happy Lelio?’ She asked. I hadn’t expected the question. I wasn’t sure how to answer it. But she continued. ‘I never told anyone about it,’ she said, ‘but once, I walked into one of father’s dreams. I was young then. I didn’t have much control.’ My blood went cold. I wrapped my coat closer to me. But its warmth wasn’t enough anymore. ‘I believe I know what you do at the arcane.’ She said. I turned to look at her. She was probably the person I was closest to. I had been so afraid of her discovering, of her judging me. And here she knew. Would she hate me? Would she reject me? Would she be disappointed or frightened? But she held no judgment, no accusation. Not even curiosity. She knew. I suppressed a shudder. We had arrived at the inn. We waited in the stable while the boy saddled my horse. I found it hard to hold Delellia’s gaze. She saw me for what I was: a slave to my powers. I had hoped for a trace of admiration. This was discounting the fact she did not have the barbaric taste of our fellow men. And the fact that she knew what it was to be overworked and thrown against your will into terrifying universes. I clenched my teeth. I was getting ready to swing on my horse and leave but she hugged me. I was breathing again. ‘You do a good job.’ She whispered and I heard she was crying. ‘Don’t you ever feel our lives would be so much easier if we didn’t have power?’ She asked. ‘Perhaps for you,’ I smiled, ‘You would spend your day in the shop with mother and Illiotrope. You wouldn’t have to witness other’s nightmares. But I would still have been called to the king. And I would have had to learn to use an axe.’ She paled. ‘At least now I have a kind of notoriety.’ I said. ‘The Carver.’ She murmured so low I almost didn’t hear. This time I did mount my horse. Delellia took a step back. She would be fine tonight. I’d discreetly payed the boy to make sure she got home safe. I’d made certain he saw my wrist. ‘I’ll be back soon.’ I told her. She knew. She waved, even exhausted, as I galloped away. Away to the under castle and the donjons. Away to the prisoners. Away to the condemned. But ultimately not that far. She knew I came back regularly under my black robes and hood. She knew that each time the Carver was on stage she would see me – be closer to me. And she alone shared my secret.  THE END  Thank you for reading it until the end. I'd love to know what you think about it. This short story unexpectedly gave me an idea for a whole novel, but I'm not sure if anyone but me want to see more of Lelio and Delellia.


Three miles south of the harbor there's a small reservoir by the sea. I've walked around that pond no more than five times in my life, but each time there was a kind, older gentleman sitting on the levee that kept the salt water out. When I passed him, I'd smile and nod and he'd do the same in return. He kept a tackle box and a small fishing net with him, but I never saw him catch anything. I always assumed no fish could survive in the grubby water. But the old man had sat there waiting for them as long as I can remember. I pulled my coat tight as the sea spray pelted my back on my walk along the beach. My feet automatically find the path ahead of me, my mind had been focusing on the worries of tomorrow. I realize where I am before tripping over a bucket. The old man by the pond slowly raises his gaze from the turbulent water and smiles as warmly as always. "I'm Josh, by the way," I blurt out. I hold out my hand and he gently shakes it. "I see you out here all the time, catch anything?" "Nice to meet you, Josh," he replies. He gets up off his stool and stretches, I wince at the sound of his old bones grinding and popping. "Ahh, I needed to stand. Care to walk around the pond with me?" I hesitate but nod and we begin our slow meander around the edge. He pulls a small brown paper packet out of his pocket and pours some of the contents into his weathered, knotted hands. It's pungent stench causes my eyes to water. He takes the handful and carefully scatters it into the water below. The surface ripples as the fish come up to the surface and splash and writhe as they fight to get a bite of the food. "Pardon the smell, just a bit of food for our aquatic friends here." He hands me the bag to take a look. The initial shock gone, the food actually smells sickly sweet. "Go on, give it a try." I dump a small amount into my hand and give it a toss. I see the multitudes come up from the depths and again fight for each morsel. I notice the variety of the pond for the first time, each fish appears to be of a different species, but they all love the food equally. The old man smiles and we keep walking "What do you do with them when you catch them? Do you even catch them?" "Well, I wouldn't eat any of these, they're still very immature. This pond is an old farm used to help the young fish spawn in safety so they can thrive out there." He gestures back to the great blue ocean behind us. "That's why I use a net. I'm taking the ones that are ready to go and setting them off along their journey." "How did they get in here to start? Does someone stock them in there?" "Nope, they restock themselves. I put a few in years and years ago and they just went to town. Quite the sustainable system." "But don't all of these different species fight with each other? Don't they see the others as competition?" "Of course, that's why I pull them out when they get too big. If I left them in, they'd kill each other and I'd have to start over." "Very interesting," I say. We continue the walk and end up back at the stool we had started at. He slowly sits back down and gestures for me to sit with him. I sprawl out in the cool grass and we watch the seagulls circle the pond, looking for an easy meal. Seeing none, they eventually abandoned their effort. The muck and algae growing in the pond camouflaged the fish inside perfectly. "How do you keep them safe?" I ask. "Surely someone could come and fish for them or they could be eaten by birds or something." "Well, it's not a perfect paradise in there. Sometimes a few get picked out by the egrets that come by, or occasionally there's diseases or heat spells that can kill a few off before they are ready for the ocean. But the few that make it to maturity and get to the ocean thrive. I can't imagine they would be happy living in small, safe aquariums. They'd never fully mature or be ready for the ocean if they did." "How do you know when they're mature?" "You can kind of tell when you've done this as long as I have. Some of them are eager to go. Some go thrashing and biting the whole way. But once they realize they're in the ocean, they jump for joy. It's really quite the sight to see, you'll have to stick around until I catch a few." "That's amazing! Do they all want to go to the ocean?" "No." The old man wiped a tear from his eye. "Some flat out reject it. As soon as I pull them out with my net, the life drains from their eyes and they go limp. Some get into the salt water and beach themselves, the gulls pick them off quickly after that." "Can't you train them? Or introduce them to the ocean for a little while so they can understand what comes after the net?" "I've tried, it works for a few but most not so much. The best I can do is keep feeding them this krill mix I make to get their appetites going for the next phase of their lives." He picked up his net and cast it into the pond. As he drew it back out, I saw a few fish flick and twist around inside. He quickly put them in the bucket and we walked them down to the sandy shore on the other side. He waded out into the surf until he was knee deep and dumped the few fish into the water. He turned back to me and grinned. "Watch this." It started with a few small splashes here and there, but in a few moments, I saw hundreds of fish jumping out of the waves. A moment more, and it looked like the entire ocean had come to life. Fish of all sizes and types were leaping into the air, as if a great dance had begun. I saw whales and dolphins join in, gleefully singing and splashing. Jellyfish lit up the dark sea with their bioluminescent glow. I had no words, the old man laughed and beamed as he watched the show. As quickly as the spectacle began, it faded away. I took the bucket for the man and we went back to his spot. I glanced at my watch and realized I needed to return home. "I can't thank you enough for that, will you be here tomorrow?" "You can count on that," he said with a wink. "Make sure you bring a thicker coat if you come back, there's a cold front blowing through.


Sometimes it’s a dream so good that, as reality pulls at you, you dig desperate claws into it. *The feeling is so nice here. There’s no reason really to leave. Let me stay here a little while longer.* Sometimes it's a nightmare that wakes you in frenzied fear; then the wash of relief. *Of course I’m not drowning in fire. There’s no pain. I’m safe in my bed and I think I’ll have pancakes for breakfast.* But what if your brain can't tell which is real? Is it the pain or is it the pancakes? Do nightmares split open and bleed? My fucked up brain can't tell sometimes. Sometimes it sees things that aren't there. Sometimes it hears dead animals. It brings my nightmares to life, my busted brain, so demons have always been very real to me. Of course, no one gives fuck all what’s real to me. And why would they? My brain can't be trusted so neither can I. Everyone’s been telling me as much for most of my life. But you guys understand, right? We're the same. The sick ones. The dark ones. We live on the fringes and we don’t need sleep. That’s why I come here. To feel understood. I guess that’s what I’m supposed to get from therapy. "No judgement zone." That's the idea, right? I’ll bet you guys have therapists too. Is yours useless? I hate mine. I keep telling her about the new things I’m seeing -- how they’re different. She won’t listen because it’s all in my head and I can't be trusted. She changes my meds to chase it away. But see, this shit won’t *be* chased away like the rest. This is something new. That’s my problem right now, guys. I know what I am -- I'm used to being what I am and seeing what I see -- but I’m telling you, this is different. Like now. Erica is no demon. Erica is beautiful. I once saw her swallow the sun. Erica is kind to me -- her warm hand is on my shoulder. She’s always smiling at me. I would never hurt Erica. I know I wouldn't because I know I couldn't. *I know that.* I know it like I know what's happening here isn't happening. I know the dead, spider-like duchess isn't bathing in my blood again; isn't spinning her acidic web and tempting me to join her. I know the hanged men aren't gasping and kicking in their burned, black trees; aren't hissing "*Swing Low, Sweet Chariot"* through sewn-up lips, aren't choking on swollen tongues. I know the bloated, blue, balloon men aren't crawling on my ceiling; aren't blowing big, blue smoke rings with small, blue mouths and spitting yellow teeth at me. I've got them figured out, I'm pretty sure -- you know, the new things I’ve been seeing -- my brain can't tell the pancakes from the pain. It's only a new nightmare. A nightmare that split open and bled. I can’t wait to get home, to get back to her -- to Erica. She’ll be there waiting for me with a smile. I nearly lost her once, but I found a way to keep her. Erica isn't covered in blood and she's isn't in pieces. Erica’s right here and she's whole. She can't be this cold because she swallowed the sun. I can feel her warmth -- her hand is always on my shoulder. Look, she's still smiling! See how she shines? Erica isn’t dead. I didn’t swim in her. I wouldn’t. She swallowed the sun and it's smiling at me.


As I sat there looking at the display I was nervous. It had been far to easy to get away; sensors and video could be fooled. “Cass”, I called. “Get to the aft porthole and see whats behind us.” As she came through the door from her lab she looked at me quizzically. “I thought we lost em’”, She said. But she continued walking aft towards the small porthole window next to the airlock. After a couple minutes I heard her voice over my cochlear. “*I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, just space rocks from this death trap you pulled us into.*” I reply back with my inter-phase “*It’s a planetary ring debris field not a death trap. Keep an eye out there for a bit. Look for straight lines. The universe doesn’t work in straight lines.”* “*Whatever you wanna call it.”* was the response I got as I flipped a switch and the metal plates that covered the forward facing portholes slid back. In doing so the revealed the beautiful “death trap” as Cass so eloquently put it. We had the ship in a slow orbit around the planet a midst its gorgeous rings. The debris were all colors but mostly blue for some reason. With my inter-phase I got a hold of the pilot. “*Hey Derek can you nab a small sample of one of those blue rocks?”* “*Sure thing boss. Are we hidden well enough?”* He asked. “*I don’t know.”* I sent back over my inter-phase. “*I have Cass looking out the aft porthole. But it felt to easy to me. Kill the main power we can drift around with the maneuvering thrusters for a bit. I want as small of a power output as possible.”* “*Done and done.”,* Derek said. As I settled back into my seat I peered into the scopes on my instruments; looking for a blip, listening for some static, trying to see what I sensed; that we were being hunted. While I was scanning the radio frequencies looking for any anomalies I felt the familiar pressure in my head and Cass got back in contact over the inter-phase. “*Hey Captain, I just saw stars wink out and reappear in a line. It looks like it is moving towards us. I saw it aft about 270 degrees and up from our plane about 65 degrees.”* “*Thanks. I’ll dial that in on my scopes.”* I replied. As I dialed the scopes and instruments in I got a hold of our gunner on my inter-phase. “*Taylor load up. We have incoming. We didn’t shake em all the way. What do we have left for ammo?”* Her frazzled reply came over the inter-phase. “*We don’t have much left. One nuke, four conventional warhead missiles, two counter missiles, and about enough plasma for one laser burst of 15 seconds or less. We burnt through most of it blasting our way out of that mess we stumbled into.”* “*Okay,”* I reply. “*Is the defense shield back online at least? If not this is gonna be a short fight.”* “*Yes,”* she thought back at me. “*I just finished getting it set up. It’s priming the charge now. We need 45 more seconds till we can deploy it.”* Just as she finished speaking the radio scopes locked on to the ship following us. From the outline we may be fortunate. It looked like a scout/research vessel. It didn't seem to have spotted us yet, or at least they were not letting on that they had. I looked at our power readouts wincing and not for the first time wishing we had better stealth capabilities. Knowing roughly the capabilities of their ship, their location, and now being able to now track them on scopes I started to come up with a plan. I opened up my inter-phase to the other three and started to explain, “*Okay everyone here is my plan. First Derek get us out of line of sight with that ship. Bring us around that larger asteroid. Taylor I want you to take one of our conventional missiles and eject it out of the ship but leave it inert. Let it drift away from us. When I give the signal remotely activate it and sent it toward that ship. That should draw their attention away from us at the same time bringing them closer. As soon as they drop their shields to launch their counter missiles fire the last three conventional missiles at them and then fire the nuke. Then bring up our shields and Derek, get us out of here as fast as you can. We can use the laser to knock any of their missiles down that happen to get through the nuke and the debris field behind us. Cass you are going to be charting a course so we can slip away from here and back to friendly space. Any questions?”* They all agreed to the plan and started preparing to implement the operation. While the crew were all working on their tasks I was keeping an eye on the enemy ship. They had begun a grid pattern search and seemed to be focusing in on the most blue of the asteroids. This peaked my interest, anything that the enemy was interested in we should be as well. So I entered a command for the computer to do a spectral analysis of the sample that Derek had gotten earlier. Mostly magnesium with some unknown chemical compounds. I tucked that knowledge away in the back of my mind for later. Returning my attention to the enemy ship I noticed that the grid pattern had reset and it was moving closer. I opened up the channel on my inter-phase again and asked, “*Hey everyone how are we doing? Their ship is getting a little to close for comfort.”* Derek was the first to respond,” *I am ready to fly as soon as the fireworks start going off. Been keeping us out of sight behind the astroids. One button, five seconds, and we are out of here at speed.”* Taylor came in next, “*I have sent the missile out of the ship and it is a good distance away from us now. It will be a good distracion. Shields are primed and ready to activate. All the other missiles are primed and in their tubes set to launch in the sequence you wanted.”* Cass came in last and said “*We have a course plotted. I sent the slip point to Derek already. It is three miles out of the debris field we are in. So almost five miles in total. We will need to make two slips though. Our slip field generator cant handle a sustained slip that whole way. We are much farther out into the unexplored regions that we have been before.”* “*Excellent work everyone.”* I said. “*Lets wait for them to get a little bit closer.”* So we all sat there. Waiting. Watching. Hoping that they didn't detect us before we could start the plan. When I felt that the time was right I opened the team channel with my inter-phase and said, “ *It is almost time. Get strapped in if you are not already, we don't need a mess on the bulkheads. On my mark. Five, four, thee, two, one... MARK!”* With that word, mark; it all started. The missile floating in space reoriented itself and shot off toward the enemy ship. I was slightly surprised at how far it had drifted away. Immediately the enemy ship turned and lowered its shields to send out a counter missile. By the time its shields had lowered all our other missiles were in space and rocketing toward them from a different angle. As we were flying away with our shields up nearly bouncing off asteroids at points I saw the flash of a nuclear explosion in space, the porthole automatically dimming to save my eyes. I turned to my scopes and didn't see anything following us at first. Then with dread my mouth went dry as I saw two blips on my scope start to move towards us at a terrifying speed. Over my inter-phase I said urgently, “*Taylor we have incoming! Get the laser ready! Cass divert power from forward shields to rear and mid sections! Derek don't hit anything and how far are we from the slip point?!* Derek replied, “*We are nearly there one point seven five miles to go! Slip jump generator is primed and ready. What is chasing us? How did they survive a nuke?!* Then Taylor came through, “*They are fighters, they must have been powered down and didn't power up till the fighting started. That ship had an escort. Now just get us out of here and let me shoot!”* As she finished speaking the rear laser array came online and crackled to life. I knew with the shields those fighters had there was no way a 45 second laser burst would destroy one but it might hold them off long enough. As I had that thought the super-heated plasma laser spouted out of the array and hit the shield of one of the ships and it peeled off to let its shield recharge. The other kept on us and let two missiles fly. Taylor made short work of those with the laser but we were getting perilously low on ammo. As the slip field began to glow around us both of the fighters came in for one last pass. Both let go two missiles each and began firing their kinetic weapons as well. Taylor took out the last four missiles and as our shields began to dip dangerously low everything went white. I leaned back into my chair and sighed with relief. We were in slip space; safe from weapons and enemies. I unbuckled from the command chair and began to walk to the bridge. I walked up to Derek and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Nice flying.” I said as I reached around him under the console. His eyes went wide as I pulled a brand new bottle of whiskey from his hiding place under the control panel. “Uhhhh I don't know how that got there.” Was his statement as I looked at him with a grin. “You sure?” I asked. As I pulled the cork out with a satisfying POP. “You know that its against regulations to have alcohol on a ship during a mission like this.” “Yes sir.” He said. Suddenly sounding a lot more formal. “That's why I am just as surprised as you to see it there.” I just chuckled to myself and asked him. “How long until our next slip jump?” He looked at his instruments and replied, “We have twelve hours of this slip jump, then we have to let the generator cool down for at least two hours. Then its another ten hours of slipping till we get to the closest outpost.” “Okay,” I say. Then take a pull off the bottle. I put the cork back in and turn around. I open up a channel to the crew with my inter-phase. “*Everyone get your things in order and meet me in the mess hall. We have a twelve hour slip to kill and Derek brought something special to share with the crew. I figured that surviving a fight like that; we earned a reward.”* At that the ship adrift between realities, floating in literally nothing, resounded with cheers and the sounds of footsteps on floor panels. I took another pull from the bottle. When every mission can be your last; you have to enjoy the little things when you can.


As the moon shone through the blinds, I rolled over in bed and gazed at my wife, Lauri. Her breathing was quiet as she lay there. Her hand was tucked by her head, underneath her tangled hair. Strangely, her hair seemed to glisten in the soft streams of moonlight, almost like a halo encircling her face. I could stare at her for forever; the mole underneath her left eye, her little button nose. Everything about that face was the definition of perfection. Yet, something else in the corner of my eye, held my attention. Pulling the sheet down, I reached out to touch Lauri's swollen belly. Gently, I cupped my hand over her belly button, feeling the rise and fall as she breathed. Through her silk night shirt, it was almost like I was already holding our baby. The long months of daydreaming, the weeks of emotions, and the snack-filled days were almost coming to an end. We would finally get to meet her. There was no way to describe the amount of love I already felt for this child, which seems ridiculous, yet I was ready to give my whole heart to her. I would protect her always, through every season for many years to come. Just as I plan to as a family, her mother and I. Rolling back over to my side of the bed, the world seemed to spin a bit slower. The clock ticked by even slower, as I lay there in my muddled thoughts. As I thought about Lauri and the baby, life as I knew it just seemed slower. Slower... and slower... So much slower, that my breathing, had become shallow. I lay there as I felt my own chest rise and fall, images flashed before my eyes of the life we will have, of the memories we will make. Until finally, in my rapture, I let myself give into sleep. \- - - As I opened my eyes, sunshine blinded me as I sat up, shaking the sleep from my mind. I reached over for Lauri, but her side of the bed was empty. Thursday was shopping day and she always tended to be the early bird. I wondered if she would bring me back the lemonade I asked for, along with whatever treat she'd been craving last night. I believe it was an eclair? Not entirely sure... So I did my morning routine. Brushing my teeth, a clean shave. I looked in the closet, and for whatever reason, the yellow t-shirt seemed to be the obvious choice. Normally, I don't like yellow, but I made an exception today. I made my way down the stairs, looking around for Lauri in case she actually hadn't left yet. I made my way to the kitchen and poured myself a bowl of cereal. As I stood there, eating my cereal, I couldn't help but notice that there wasn't a dirty bowl in the sink. Nor a plate. Usually that's not like her, especially nowadays, to leave the house without eating something. Maybe she was going to visit a drive-thru? Yeah, that's probably it. Can't judge the random cravings. After rinsing my bowl, I headed into the foyer and grabbed my keys from the bowl. As I reached for them, Lauri's keys were right on top. Maybe she went for a walk? She has been very keen to stay fit lately. I smiled as I heard her voice in my head, "I read that if you walk every day during the third term, the labor is much easier!" with her wide, brown eyes and her dimple as she smiled at me. So, I just brushed her keys to the side of the bowl and grabbed my own. As I opened the door, the sunlight seemed exceptionally bright, blinding me for a good second as I walked out onto the porch. When my eyes finally focused, there I was face to face with a girl. She wasn't too young, maybe what, sixteen? Maybe even seventeen? As I tried to make sense of this, there she stood in a bright yellow sundress, her brown hair resting on her shoulders. Her pensive eyes seemed to stare right through me. "Michael?" A little surprised, I nodded. "Um, hi." I wasn't too sure who she was, but something seemed off. "And you are?" She reached out her hand, "Faith." I stared at her hand, that feeling just was too strong. Something was definitely off about this girl. Splaying out her fingers, she motioned for me to take her hand. "Come on, I need to take you somewhere." Her voice was very soft, but I was disturbed by this. "Why? Where?" I asked. I could feel my heart beat rising, the blood rushing near my ears as I continued to feel more and more unease. After a moment of a pause, she looked at me with a hint of what I thought could be desperation. "Please, it's- it's for Lauri." That's when my heart dropped. My knees buckled, and the world seemed to spin. What could she mean? What about my Lauri? Was she okay? Where was she? Why did she go? What happened? And a million other thoughts at one moment. Until the damning thought... Our baby... So I reached out, and took her hand. Before I really understood what was happening, she and I were already walking. \- - - Outside of LoneValley Hospital, I could feel the tears stream down my face as my world began to crumble. "Why are we here? Is Lauri here?" I asked. "Yes," Faith answered, looking at me through the corner of her eye. "She's on the seventh floor. Room B14." We made our way into the hospital. Faith lead me to an elevator and we both got in. The ride felt like an eternity, as the tears only became heavier and more frequent. My shoulders felt like they were being crushed by some unseen thing, as the weight of the world only seemed to become more unbearable. I don't remember much of the rest. I remember glimpses of doctors, nurses, and assistants running about. Vaguely, I remember a sign above the hallway we were walking down, the Intensive Care Unit. Harsh white walls, streaked laminate flooring. An overwhelming smell of alcohol and other cleaners, but not much else other than a blur. Finally, B14 was in front of me. Faith stood behind me, as I hurried and opened the door. The sigh that escaped my mouth was so sudden, as tears pooled in my eyes. Lauri was sitting in a waiting chair, back towards the door. I was so relieved to see her alive, to see her breathing. No other feeling on this earth will ever come close to that. I walked over to her, so happy to touch her again after what felt like an eternity of long hallways and fluorescent lights. I reached out and held her shoulders, so incredibly happy... Until I saw who was in the bed. I saw myself. Next to me was a large machine, full of buttons, lights, and a small screen with numbers I didn't understand. A blue hose snaked from the machine into my throat and a little wire was clipped to my ear. Everything I saw before me was overwhelming, as I didn't know what to believe anymore. Lauri made no reaction to me behind her, holding her. It was almost as if I wasn't even there. That was when I saw something else... As I looked down over her shoulder, there was a little yellow bundle in her arms. No tummy in sight, just a small blanket wrapped around something small that my wife was cradling. I couldn't see into the bundle, but I knew exactly what it was, which is what made it hurt even worse. I just broke down and cried. Sobbing on the cold floor, kneeling, I pounded my fist on the laminate. "Why did this happen?" I screamed at Faith. Putting her hand on my shoulder, she knelt down beside me. "I don't know," she responded, stroking the hair near my ear. "All I know, is that life is never predictable. Things like this happen to the best of people, and here it is, happening to you." I sobbed, "Is this it? Is this the end?" After a moment, she shook her head. "No. This is entirely your choice." Helping me up, she continued, "If you choose to, you can wake now and be with Lauri and your daughter. But life will never be the same, especially for you. You will have a long road of rehabilitation, as your lungs aren't what they used to be. It will take months, maybe even years to regain a sense of normalcy after this." "Or," she sniffed. "You can pass on. Finish your journey here and now, because you'll eventually meet Lauri again when it's her time. There is no guarantee what she will do between now and then, though." It wasn't much of a choice, because I had already made my mind. "How do I go back?" She sighed, "Spend the rest of today with Lauri, waiting for night. When it's time to rest, you'll become one again with your body. If you decide otherwise, you can leave this hospital, and you won't ever come back. You will move on." Faith hugged me then, kissing my cheek. I could feel the wet on my face, as her tears touched my skin. "Whatever you choose, I hope to see you soon." Before I could stop her, she was already gone. So there I sat, watching my wife, waiting for the sun to set. She coddled our baby, who slept soundly in her mother's arms. I could tell my wife hadn't slept in quite some time, as she had been waiting for me for a while. As the sunlight streamed through the blinds, illuminating the golden hair that draped her soft face, I could see the hope in her eyes that I might at any moment, wake up. That's when I realized, that even hope can be considered something more. A belief that something can happen. A synonym for something else. Something that others might even call faith.


It started when I was watching TV with my boyfriend and his sister. It was past midnight and we were all stuffed with the food we bought earlier that day. Ever since they subscribed to Netflix, it became a routine of ours to binge-watch movies, usually until four in the morning. They had a family area on the second floor of their house, just outside each of their bedrooms. They had a huge terrace outside and the sliding screen doors were closed most of the time. That night, it was so humid that we decided to open them. Halfway through The Pianist, my boyfriend’s sister says, “What’s that smell?” I didn’t know what she meant until after a few seconds when I smelled it too. “Yeah, where could that be coming from?” I asked. She shrugged and then I jokingly added, “Weird time to be doing the laundry.” She just gave me a weird look and replied, “I’m pretty sure we might not be smelling the same thing.” My boyfriend didn’t seem to care and pretended he didn’t hear anything. It was this sweet smell of flowers, the kind you’d usually smell from scented fabric conditioners. But for some reason, I knew it wasn’t from a fabric conditioner. It had a more natural aroma to it. And after several seconds, it was gone. I figured it must have come from a neighbor’s and the wind just happened to get it mixed up with the late night breeze and made its way to the second floor of my boyfriend’s house. The second time I smelled it was in a mall. I was alone at the time, doing some late Christmas shopping. I remember it was afternoon. I was walking past a drug store when the smell came to me out of nowhere. I stopped and stood where I was for a good five to ten seconds just trying to figure out where the smell was coming from. I didn’t realize it right away that it was the exact same smell from two days ago at my boyfriend’s house. I know it didn’t come from my clothes because I do my own laundry and I don’t use any type of fabric conditioner, particularly with the kind of scent that I was smelling at that moment. I didn’t let it bother me that much, maybe it was just some sort of perfume that people were into these days and I just happen to catch a whiff off it every now and then. I went on with my errands that day and forgot about the smell as I did the first time. The third time was at a bar. I was with my boyfriend and his cousin that night. It had been five or six days since I last encountered that smell. Just a little past midnight, we were drinking beer and laughing at a ton of jokes my boyfriend made up. We were just having fun. When I smelled it, I just started glancing around, left and right. I simply told myself that there had to be someone in the bar carrying that scent. And just like always, after a few seconds, it was gone. Of course I couldn’t just go sniffing around one random person after another so I could satisfy myself into finding the culprit behind this recurring smell. And since we were drinking, I immediately forgot about it and went on with my night. Now the fourth time I smelled it was at my house. I was in the dining room having breakfast. My mom was outside doing her laundry and my two brothers were at work. I was unemployed at the time. I realized that finding a job during the holidays was the worst time to do such a thing. So there I was, waking up late every morning, doing whatever routine I had in mind for whatever time I had left before I had to go job hunting again. I stopped eating and just sat there, contemplating. I wanted to go ask my mom if she was currently using a certain type of scented fabric conditioner. But I didn’t. Because even if she was, I knew it wasn’t that. The smell was too fresh, too close. I most certainly knew it was something else. But what? I then tried to tell myself I shouldn’t be scared because for a fact, my boyfriend’s sister sort of smelled it too? I don’t know why I didn’t ask my boyfriend or his cousin if they smelled it the time we were drinking. Somehow, I also knew they didn’t smell it then. It was just me. After having these thoughts, the smell was gone again. And I went on with my day. This went on for almost three months. I would keep smelling it at random times and at random places. During all those times, I never spoke about it, and I never asked. I just let it be. I’d smell it when I was in the car while my boyfriend drove me home. I’d smell it in my room when I was about to go to sleep. I’d smell it when I was outside feeding our dogs. I’d smell it when I was reading a book. I’d smell it on the bus, I’d smell it in a restaurant, I’d smell it anywhere I go. I learned to disregard it, as if it was just a part of life, as if it was some normal thing. It didn’t bother me and it never did. And that was that. The last time I smelled it was when I finally knew what it was and where it came from. I was waiting for a cab on the highway. There wasn’t much traffic but the streets were busy. Of course I was facing the direction from where I could see a cab that would drive by so I could flag it down. Just a few meters ahead I saw one with the vacant sign lit. I raised my hand trying to signal to the driver that I needed a ride. At that same moment, I heard someone yell from across the street. “Watch out!” An SUV lost control of its brakes and the driver panicked and was just swerving the vehicle while it was running at a very high speed. It found its way down the opposite lane and I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I wasn’t able to brace myself at all. I never even got to see the car that hit me. The next thing I knew was I was lying there on the pavement, facing the sky. People were yelling to call an ambulance. I didn’t bother to move. I didn’t even feel anything. I knew I was still breathing. Although the voices and sounds I heard were all muffled. It was like they were slowly fading away. I was just there, looking up. And then the smell came. I think I was trying to smile. Then it sounded like someone was running to approach me and said something about making sure I was conscious. So when I expected to see that person as his or her footsteps drew nearer, I was in total shock - a good kind of shock that also somehow feels like relief? Or maybe it was shock and relief. The person I saw kneeling beside me, looking at me, was my dad. He was smiling. It was so soft and friendly. And welcoming. That’s when I knew I was definitely smiling back. He was holding some flowers. It wasn’t a bouquet. Just a bunch of flowers that looked like they were hand-picked from some exquisite garden which he held with one hand. They looked so beautiful and smelled so nice. I think the relief I felt was because now, I could fully smell it. That glorious, wondrous smell. It was uplifting. I didn’t want it to go away. As my dad was smiling at me, and I at him, I slowly closed my eyes and just continued smelling the sweet smell of those flowers. I’ll remember to ask my dad what kind of flowers they were. And when I find out, I can’t wait to start sharing that exact same smell with my mom. And with my brothers, my boyfriend, my friends. I’ll share it with them one by one. And when the time comes, they’ll know about the flowers, and soon everyone will know. They’ll all know about the smell of flowers.


She woke up on a tear stained pillow. Her red swollen eyes gleamed with silent sadness. The eerie silence of her was maddening. I had no strength to see her so broken. But then, no words could erase what she had been through. I stopped uttering words that would pass through her untouched. Her grieving was the only possible sign to know she was alive. Every morning would be the same. She was like a clock; like a machine fit inside her petite figure. She would always cook breakfast for me. It never failed to taste good, but now it lacked her love. It’s been 3 months and I don’t remember the last time we touched each other affectionately. We’ve been married for just 7 months; 7 months and 18 days to be precise. I had always been in love with her. Her careless laughter would captivate me for hours. The way her eyes sparkled when she looked at him was just pure joy. Sometimes I envied what he had, but I knew, I could gain her affection but not the happiness she felt being with him. By the way she saw him, I knew her love was pure and far beyond passion. But for him, she was just another girl. I used to overhear her friends wanting her not to be with him. But she was truly, madly, deeply in love. I was far too beyond to be noticed and so I drifted away. She would cross my mind not all the time but I would lie if I said I forgot her. I met her again a year ago. I was at the hospital for my regular check-up and there I saw her. I recognized her instantly as if we just met yesterday. She was the same, nothing changed. Except I noticed she had bruises all over her which she unsuccessfully tried to cover with make-up. I went up to talk to her. I always knew she could open up to people easily. And so she revealed , she had his baby and he was nowhere to be found after leaving her bruised the other night. My heart sank to see her in pain. I didn’t want to leave her in such situation so I told I would take care of her. Yes, few months later I got her affection and we got married but no, there was no sparkle when she looked at me. Then the baby arrived. For me it was our first child but for her, it was the reminder of her love. I knew she never got over him. She loved him unconditionally. I too loved her unconditionally so I had no intentions to change her. It was the first night of the baby in our house. I was the happiest person at that moment. As the night arrived, so did our lives darkened. He broke into our house and took away our baby as we were out in the porch discussing how she loved him through thick and thin. Then our lives turned upside down. We did our best to find him but we couldn’t. And so did we tried finding love in each other but we failed there too. We tried not to fight but blamed each other for being careless. Since then things aren’t the same. She wakes up in a tear stained pillow with red swollen eyes. But my hands hold back from giving her affection.