It was a hard thing, being dead. Watching the rise and fall of the seasons without the heat of the sun on your face or the chill of a winter storm. Seeing the world change in flashes and cutscenes but with time standing still. Growing attached to the people living in your house (he always thought of them as lodgers) only to find them suddenly grown or gone.

Most of all, Art just felt so very, very tired. Whenever he manifested, it was with a feeling of immense sadness, and with the basement door at his back. He could go anywhere in the house but not beyond the garden. He never went into the basement. He didn't think he'd be tired. Weren't you supposed to sleep when you're dead? Instead he found himself roaming at all hours, and after all these years he could still never get used to the sensation of knowing his feet were walking without being able to feel wood or carpet underneath him.

He'd love to just stub his toe. Or bang his head on a doorway. That would be amazing. Because he was dead, but didn't feel dead.

If he concentrated hard enough, really put a lot of effort in, he could move things. More than once his frustrations had boiled into a blind rage and he had lost awareness for a few moments only to find he was standing in a room full of thrown furniture, or next to a chandelier that had been pulled from the ceiling. But he could never remember doing this, despite knowing that he had.

Those days tended to scare the lodgers. Some had walked around burning sage, or brought in priests to sprinkle holy water. That tended to sting for a long time, but he came back eventually, usually with the sense that something was incomplete. It was a very old house, though whether it was old when he was alive he couldn’t say. He could remember nothing from the Time Before. He didn't mean to scare people, most of the time. He felt he had been a good person when he was alive, and generally let people be themselves, but he could not abide the slightest injustice toward women.

Once, a very elegant couple and their two children had lived in his house. Avena was tall, with a carefree laugh that reminded him of somebody. She had some business that she ran from home.

Alexei was shorter, well-built, and worked outside the house. He sounded educated, but often reduced his wife to tears with demeaning vulgarity and cruel insults.

Then one evening in summer, he crashed a fist into her stomach. Once. Twice. A third time. As she collapsed, gasping for air as he draped himself on the leather couch, Art was overcome with a bitter flash of memory. It laid itself over the scene as if then and now existed at once. The oak and white furniture of now phased into heavier, darker cabinets and hard chairs. A man in a waistcoat, face crimson with rage (father?) standing over a woman (mother?) who was pleading for her life. “Please,” she said over and over again. “He’s yours, I swear it.” “You’d say anything, though, wouldn’t ya? I married you when ya had nothing, nothing, took ya outta the gutter where I shoulda left you. And all the while ya’d betrayed me with him, a damned foreigner, like I’m not good enough for ya.”

He punctuated each sentence with a slap of his leather belt and the woman threw her hands up to protect her face. He leaned in close. “I’ll teach ya a lesson, and that little bastard of yours upstairs then.” Faster than Art thought possible, the man wrapped the belt around her throat. She kicked and slashed his face to ribbons but he was fierce and implacable.

With her last breath she reached out, toward Art, her eyes wider with panic. As she slumped to the floor the man stood up and looked where she had been reaching. “There ya are, ya little bastard. I’ll show you and all.”

The man, his face twisted with blind rage, thump thump thumped across the floorboards and swept the boy off the floor and held him before the brass mirror in the hallway. “Look at ya, ya little pup,” the man said in a frenzy, as he throttled a boy no more than twelve years old until his eyes bled. The room spun and Art found himself back where he had been, standing in a doorway watching the two newest lodgers.

He raised his hands in front of where his face should be. He had always fancied that his hands were large, callused and rough, the hands of a man. Now they were slight and bony, the hands of a child with a lot of growing ahead of him. The two visions of himself sat one on top of the other, with the deep sense that had to act, for the sake of the woman who must have been his mother, murdered just a few feet away. Alexei got up and walked through Art. As Art turned around he saw the man briefly take on the hulking rage of his father before reverting to his normal, well-built shape. That morphing, and seeing his own hands transition from child to man to child again, put the kernel of an idea in Art’s mind, though he wasn’t sure he had the strength to accomplish it. He crept toward where the woman had pulled herself up by using a side table for support. She could not have been much older than his mother, and though they looked nothing alike Art realised he knew this all along. Drawn by long dormant instinct, he tried to hold his hand out to her, but all that happened was the lamp on the table started to flicker and pulse. The woman saw it, and looked around her. “If somebody is there,” she whispered, “please help me.” She limped off toward the small room he knew she used as an office. From upstairs came the sound of the shower, and Art’s half-idea blossomed into something fully formed. As he made his way up the stairs, each lightbulb he passed flickering for a moment or two, he wondered how he could feel so much older than a lad of twelve. Had it been the years of watching people come and go? Had he been an old soul even in youth? He knew there was an answer, could feel it rolling around the edges of his consciousness, but it was just out of reach. No matter. He had a job to do now, and he intended to do it well. Alexei came out of the shower and wrapped himself in a towel before going to the sink to brush his teeth. He slicked his hair back with his hand, then realised he couldn’t see himself in the steamed mirror, and Art knew his opportunity had arrived. He moved quickly behind Alexei, and as the man wiped the mirror clean Art came

forward .

Alexei wasn’t looking as he wiped the glass but then screamed in transfixed horror as he saw not his own face, but a dripping decayed mass of a thing, green in places with decay and mottled with neglect. It was a ruined mockery of a human being, mostly bleached white as if it hadn’t seen the sun in a generation. Its eyes were gouged out and its lower lip missing. The creature laughed at him, a rattling hollow laugh that Alexei could feel right down his breastbone.

“Look upon your sins,” the cadaver said. “Or next time you’ll be joining me in hell.” Alexei screamed and screamed and screamed and when Avena came up eventually, having enjoyed hearing his terror for over an hour, his hair had gone bone white and he had slashed his eyeballs with his nails. She held him by the jaw, this once supremely confident brute now blinded and hoarse, and laughed. Not a malevolent laugh, but the relieved laugh of one who has had long prayed-for justice. “My guardian angel must have been looking out for me,” she said, mostly to herself as she tapped on her breastbone three times. “Thank you.”

Art, exhausted by concentrating so much on his apparition, faded out to the sound of her whispering “thank you, thank you, thank you”. Do you dream when you’re dead, he found himself wondering in the void. Or are you remembering? He was not asleep, he could never truly sleep, but he was being overrun by emotions that felt almost ancient. It was like old muscles awakening after being long out of use. Flashes of faces, of darkness, of hands scratching in the dark and crawling through perpetual night. He felt the march of time, felt it flowing through him, and then past him. He saw new faces, families, felt their growth and traces of their memories. He saw lights turning on and off, heard soft steps on the landing, curtains rustling without wind.

When he became fully aware of himself, he was again standing with his back to the basement door. Yet things were different this time. It wasn’t just sadness that he felt. It was tempered now with resolve, determination. He was, he realised, ready to go down there - but he didn’t want to go alone. Avena, he realised, was not in the house. He could sense her absence, but felt also that the place had not been lived in for some time. How much time has passed, he asked himself. And yet, as he drifted through silent rooms and past covered furniture, it had not changed much. He knew without remembering that he had been here many times since that night, but only as a shadow of himself. He also knew that he had been welcomed. There was a jangle of keys and the front door opened stiffly. Two women came in confidently, as if it was a long familiar place. The bright winter sunlight obscured their faces until they shut the door behind them, and he found, happily, that one of the women was Avena. She was older, the passage of time marked in crows’ feet and silver streaks in her hair, but she was no less herself. She carried herself with the contentment of a life well lived. The other woman was shorter, with sandy rather than auburn hair, but the resemblance was remarkable. Her daughter, no doubt, and eventually he remembered her name had been Rebecca. No, Becky. She hated Rebecca.

The two took a few steps in and Avena held her hand up to stop Becky. “There,” she whispered, with the hint of a smile. “He’s here.” “Are you sure you want to do this mom? I mean, it’s his house. It wouldn’t be fair to hurt him.” “He did something incredible for me, once. He gave me my life back. I want to return the favour Becky. I’ve been waiting years, it’s why I’ve kept this place for so long and why I keep coming back. You know, you thought I was mad when I told you, but

then you felt him yourself, that time when your brother had a seizure in the bathtub.” The daughter nodded. “I remember,” she said gently. “He said he went under and then something pulled him out of the water and just held him up.”

“So now we owe our guardian angel two favours. You know something has trapped him here. That’s what all the books say, isn’t it? Unfinished business? He deserves as much peace as anybody.” “But we can’t force him out.” “We won’t. We’ll just give him a way, if he wants it.” Without thinking, Art made the crystals on a dusty Tiffany lamp jingle. “There!” said Avena. “He’s listening.” “Can you tap something,” said Becky. “Once for no, twice for yes?” With amusement, Art tapped twice on the sideboard.

“Do you want us to do something?” Two taps. He knew what he wanted, but how to tell them? They were looking at each other, trying to answer the same question. He moved down the hallway toward the kitchene, then tapped twice on the solid wood doorframe.

“Let’s follow him,” Avena whispered.

“I’m nervous,” said Becky. “What if…?” “Don’t worry. If we were supposed to be scared of him we would have known that years ago.” “That’s not what I’m worried about,” said Becky as they walked toward the back of the house. “I’m worried about scaring him.” Art was confused, as if he should know what they were talking about but couldn’t call it to mind. Having brought them this far, he drifted to the basement door. But it was hard. Part of him absolutely did not want to go down there. The rest of him knew it was time. He tapped twice on the door. Avena and Becky exchanged another look, and Avena unlocked it.

The door swung out into pitch darkness, and Art was overcome with fear. There was pain in the darkness.

“Do you want to go on?” asked Becky. One tap… then a hesitant second. “Do you want us to come?” Two taps. Avena flicked a switch but the ancient yellow bulb barely threw back the blackness. “I think I only came down here two or three times,” she told Becky. “I never liked it.” Art had already begun down the stairs, almost cringingly slow as he fought a rising panic and despair. It was pressing on him from the air itself.

“You’re not alone,” said Avena, and he knew she was talking to him. “But it’s the only way we can find out how to help you be at peace.” The light grew gently brighter, then changed colour, and Art felt himself abruptly shift between then and now. There was a thumping, raging charge down the stairs, right through him and the others. Though they couldn’t see anything, both shivered. The cruelly contorted man was dragging a barely conscious child down the stairs, not caring if his legs clattered and stumbled.

“You’re scum and you’ll stay here,” he roared at the child, before returning back up the stairs and turning the light out, locking the door behind him.

Art felt the sensations of scrabbling around on a dirt floor, inching one direction and then the other in the hope of finding something, anything. His legs weren’t working. It felt like it was going on for hours, before the door was flung open briefly and a heavy thing wrapped in carpet crashed down the steps, knocking the child over. The light lasted just long enough for him to see his mother’s dead face. Snapshots and sensations washed over him. Lights flicking on and off to taunt him with his mother’s putrifying face while he ate scraps; the sound, not the sight but the sound of rats eating at her eyes and lips in the abyss despite his efforts to fight them off; the hands of a child growing steadily to be the hands of a man, worn and callused from attempts to climb the stairs and pry the door open until his strength grew almost to nothing. And every day, the corpse of his mother kept watch over him.

Sometimes his father, spoke to him; other times, out of guilt or boredom perhaps, he left the light on and threw Art books. But mostly there was just the dark, and silence, and starvation. The flight through memories slowed, then stopped. His father was sitting by the end of the staircase. He had set a bright flashlight on the step next to him, the intense white casting shadows over every crag of his own decaying face. His great strength had turned to flab, and his breathing was loud and ragged. He had something wrapped in a thick tarpaulin at his feet. Art, having spent half a lifetime in the dark, could barely look in the man’s direction.

“There comes a time,” his father wheezed, “when all accounts … are settled.” He was staring at the floor as Art lay a few feet away, weak and feverish. His legs had never truly recovered.

“I don’t have much time … left. Maybe your mother … cursed me. Maybe … I am your father … isn’t life a blast? But no more of that.” “What do you mean?” Art was struggling to think, and was increasingly ill on the floor in the cold.

“I mean … no more of that.” And with a rush of speed belying his decrepit state, from the tarpaulin he dragged a hefty pickaxe, and crashed it down on Art’s stunned face. Floating outside of themselves, now-Art sharing the space and feelings of then-Art, newly freed from his mortal shell. His father was digging a pit, pausing frequently to rest, and when it was deep enough he used the pickaxe to shove Art’s broken body into it, along with the carpet and what remained of Art’s mother. Art watched the man begin to fill it in and drifted up and out of himself, losing contact with the world and disappearing into the void … before appearing for the first time outside the basement door, ignorant of everything that had come before. Now-Art walked down the steps, tapping as he went so Avena and Becky would follow. In the centre of the room was a rough, discoloured patch, wide and irregular. He slammed his foot down on it three times, they looked at one another, and then dug at the packed earth with their hands in a flurry. It was nearly an hour before they found the first shreds of carpet, and another fifteen minutes before they uncovered the skull of a young man. Both of them heard a gasp of pure relief and a whispered “thank you”. And then, for the first time in the longest time, Art slept.


 Dr. Keneth O'Shaughnessy and his four grad students Jacqueline, Blake, Denise, and Aaron, had been trudging through the thick jungles of the Amazon rain forest for nearly a week. It had not been easy, but the prize they were after would be payoff enough. More than enough as far as Dr. O'Shaughnessy was concerned. For more than twenty years, he had studied, researched, and explored in search of his prize. Not a lost city of gold, as some of his peers liked to say to poke fun at him. They thought it was a ridiculous endeavor. He might as well be looking for El Dorado as far as they were concerned. What a bunch of fools. He knew it existed. His research all but confirmed it. They would never understand until he brought the flower back. He'd had it already once before, that precious white-petaled flower. But his sample had decayed before he got back to the world. He'd been in too much of a hurry last time, hadn't taken the proper precautions. But not this time. This time he was completely prepared. That's why they were here, he and his illustrious students. He had hand-picked them himself for this incursion into the wild. Although they were young, they were nearly complete with the doctorates in their fields and were excellent students. Jacqueline was a chemistry major. Blake's degree would be in Botany. Dr. O, as they liked to call him, or 'Doc,' held a particular fondness for those two, as their degrees were the same as his. But where they had one each, he had both chemistry and botany. It is, of course, what made him superior to them he knew. Denise and Aaron both majored in Microbiology, a pivotal aspect to the Doc's work. Now they were only about a day away from what The Doc called "the Oasis." The place the flower grew.

I'll have to name it , he thought to himself. After himself, of course, nothing else but complete recognition would do. After all, it would change the face of modern medicine forever. That fool Fleming hadn't even named penicillin after himself. Dr. O would not make that mistake, he wanted that recognition, and quite frankly, he thought he deserved it. Why shouldn't I name it after myself? I discovered it.

"Hey, Doc, get a move on, or we are gonna leave you behind!" Blake yelled over his shoulder. Dr. O looked up. While he had been daydreaming, he had started to fall behind the group. "And reach the flower without me?" laughed Dr. O. "Not on your life!" He hurried to catch up with them. "We are only about a day away, so keep on your toes."

"Ya ya, Doc, we got our eyes peeled for the snakes, red capet and eveything ready for it when we find 'em," said Aaron in his thick Brooklyn accent.

"It's vital that we have a few samples," said Doc. "Normally, the fer-de-lance doesn't live this far south, but they seem to be drawn to this area. I believe it is because of the presence of the flowers. My data shows that the venom should activate the flower's abilities and that there is some kind of symbiosis between the two, although I'm still not sure what the snake gets out of it." "Well, that's what the data says," replied Jacqueline, in her 'London Tongue' as Aaron liked to put it. "But we still haven't confirmed it." "Always the skeptic," said Denise, rolling her eyes. "You've got to have more faith in the Doc." "I do have faith," Said Jacqueline. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be here. But I'm skeptical nonetheless of things that haven't been tested." "Don't you worry," said Doc. "You'll see. Once we have the flowers, I'll show you just exactly what they can do."

The party continued onward through the thick jungle. Although Doc was in the back of the little caravan, he would continue to point the group in the right direction, telling them when they strayed off course. He knew how to get to the flowers. How could he forget? What path in all of history had been more important than this one?

"This seems like a good place to make camp, I should think," said Doc. They had reached a clearing next to a small stream. They set up camp and began eating their dinners, which were military-style rations. They'd brought enough with them to last for weeks, as they had no way of knowing how long confirming the flower's abilities would take.

"Whaddya think ya gonna spend ya money on first?" Aaron asked Blake. "Probably grammar lessons for you," Blake laughed. It had been a long-standing joke between the two. Aaron's Brooklyn accent was often the target of jokes from Blake. Aaron didn't mind, he liked Blake, and although he sometimes thought Blake's sense of humor was dry, Blake usually managed to wrangle a smile out of the jokester.

"oh ho, sorry, Mr. Blake, I suppose ya gotta be born with that silva spoon in ya mouth in order to talk good," Aaron mused. "No, not that, you just have to be born with a tongue that does not waggle about all day trying to catch every word rattling around in that empty skull of yours." "That so? Well, explain me this smat guy. If my skull's empty, how come theirs so many words' rattling around' in ther'?." Denise burst out laughing at that one. She loved hearing those two go on. Although Blake was probably the smarter of the two of them book-wise, Arron had a quicker tongue.

"You guys are ridiculous," sighed Jacqueline, rolling her eyes. Although she acted annoyed, the slight smile on her face told a different story.

"Oh fo'give me ya royal highness, I did not mean to offend thyself or thy husband." For that comment, Aaron was met with a plastic plate to the face. "aw geez, I was only jokin'," he said, rubbing his nose. Although it wasn't anything too serious yet, Blake and Jacqueline had started getting closer on this journey, and Aaron would often joke about it, much to the annoyance of Jacqueline.

"Alright, campers," said Doc. "Let's not kill Aaron before we get to the flowers. The Sun is nearly down, and we should get some good rest. I want to start early tomorrow." With that, everyone started cleaning up the camp area and getting ready for bed. They slept through the night, with the sounds of the jungle soothing them to sleep. They woke up the next day just as the Sun started to rise. Because of the thick jungle, it was still quite dim where they were. It wouldn't grow truly light for them for another 2 hours or so. In the dim light, they started to pack up camp. Had they waited a little longer, or had the jungle been less thick in the area around the clearing, and they had had more light, it's possible that Blake would have seen the snake. As the group packed their things in silence, a yell rang out through the clearing. "SHIT!" Blake cried. "What the fuck, God damn it!" Blake fell back from his tent, clutching his hand.

"Hey, what the hell happened?" asked Aaron, rushing to Blake's side. As he kneeled next to Blake, he caught movement a few feet away. As he looked, he saw a snake starting to slither away. "Oh shit, man, did that snake bite ya?!" "Ya, it got me while I was rolling up my tent." "Let me take a look," said Doc, as he and the rest of the group hurried over to Blake and Aaron. "Professor, that's a fer-de-lance," said Denise.

"I'll get the anti-venom," said Jacqueline, rushing over to the medical bag. "Don't worry, Blake, you'll be fine," assured Doc, smiling down at him. "This is precisely why we brought so much anti-venom with us, just in case there was some kind of accident like this. A few hours, and you'll be right as rain." "Here you go, Mr. O'Shaugnessy," said Jacqueline handing him a syringe of the anti-venom. He took it from her and injected it into Blake's arm. "Aaron, would you please help Denise capture that subject while Jacqueline and I attend to Blake here?" "Ya sure, no problem, Doc," said Aaron. Suddenly Blake started to scream. "It feels like my arm is on fire!" he yelled.

"That's not possible," scoffed Doc. "You should be fine. We already tested all of you to make sure none of you were allergic to the anti-venom." "Mr. O'Shaugnessy, look at his arm!" cried Jacqueline. Doc looked down at the arm. It was turning black at the bite site. Even as he looked at it, the blackness was moving up Blake's arm in thin tendrils.

"What? What is this?" asked Doc. "Fer-de-lance venom does not affect you like this, and certainly not so quickly. Blake should have a few hours before any severe symptoms show up. I don't understand." As Doc contemplated what was happening, Blake suddenly passed out, slumping to the ground.

"Blake! Blake!" yelled Jacqueline. "Hey, wake up! Mr. O'Shaugnessy, he's not breathing! Please do something!" Doc started CPR While the others watched, each of them trading off once someone got tired. They did CPR for nearly 40 minutes, but Blake never woke up. They all sat back, exhausted from the CPR and in shock.

"Doc, what happened?" asked Aaron. "I never even heard of snake venom doing nothin' like that. And definitely not so fast as what just happened. Doc, that was minutes, and he was dead. What happened?" Doc sat in silence for a moment, deep in thought. "I... I just don't know," he finally answered. "I'm sure it has something to do with the flowers. It has to. Once we get to them, we'll be able to..." "What do you mean? We have to take Blake to a hospital!" Cried Jacqueline.

"What? Why?" asked Doc, looking confused. "I'm sorry about Blake, but there is nothing we can do for him now. He's gone." "Doc, we can't just leave 'em here, though," said Aaron.

"We have no choice, we don't have the tools to bury him, and we certainly can't carry him the rest of the way to the flowers, much less all the way back to civilization. Our only option is to keep going. Otherwise, Blake died for nothing." "Oh, what a load of shit, Doc. You can't just throw cliches at us and expect us to go along wit' you. Our friend just died, an you just wanna leave 'em here for da buzzards? Well, that ain't gonna fly." "What would you have me do?" yelled Doc. "If you have any other options, please, I would love to hear them!" Aaron looked around, desperate for an answer. "I don't know," he said.

"We must move ahead. Once we reach the flowers, it'll all have been worth it, and he'll be remembered in history for this discovery. Now come on, we are already behind schedule. Finish packing things up, and for Pete's sake, watch where you put your hands."

After they finished packing up the camp, they began to move out. "Wait," said Denise. She quickly gathered some large leaves from the trees around her and covered Blake's body with them. "It's not much," she explained. "But it's something at least." They marched in silence, remembering their fallen friend, still having a hard time dealing with the loss. The beautiful weather did nothing to lift their spirits. Only the hope of reaching the flowers kept them going. A few times, Jacqueline brought up the idea of turning around and coming back some other time. She thought that it was too dangerous to continue since they now knew that the anti-venom they had brought would not affect the Fer-de-lance. Doc insisted they move ahead because they now understood the danger they faced. But the jungle is an unforgiving place. No matter how prepared they thought they were, how careful they felt they could be, it didn't matter. Denise was now at the front of the caravan, which meant that she was the first one to step over a fallen log blocking their path. It's why she was the one the snake bit. It struck at her leg from underneath the log. The boots that she was wearing did nothing to stop the nearly inch-long fangs of the viper. She went down with a yell. "Ah, Christ, no!" screamed Aaron. He moved toward the log. "Where are you, you son of a bitch? I'll kill you!" He found the snake slithering away. He caught up to it and stomped it to death.

"Please, Doc, please, I don't want to die!" Denise was sobbing. "You're going to be OK," assured Doc. "We've got the anti-venom, and once we give it to you, you'll be fine." But he could see the black lines already moving up Denise's leg. Denise started to gasp for air, clutching at the Doc. He met her gaze and saw the panic in her eyes as the tears began to run down her face. She died in his arms, in the middle of nowhere, with her friends watching.

"Doc. We can't go any fa'tha," said Aaron quietly. "It's just too dangerous." Doc whirled on him, shouting. "I'm not giving up. We will still get there. We can't fail now!" "Look at her, Doc! That's the second person we lost today! I'm not risking my life anymore for this stupid flowa' we don't even know works!"

"We will continue forward!" shouted Doc. "We ain't doin' shit!" yelled back Aaron pushing the Doc. Doc pushed him back, each of them now grappling with each other. Each trying to keep their footing on the slippery jungle floor.

"Stop it, both of you!" cried Jacqueline. She rushed over to the two men, trying to pull the Doc away from Aaron. As she did, the Doc turned quickly, hand raised and struck her across the face with the back of his hand. Jacqueline stumbled backward, losing her footing on the slippery, rock-strewn ground. Her feet slipped out from under her, and she fell backward. As she fell, her head struck a rock protruding out of the earth. A large pool of blood immediately started to form around her. Both men stood there, shocked. Jacqueline laid there. Her chest didn't move with the rise and fall of breath. Her eyes, open, stared up at nothing. "You son of a bitch!" Aaron screamed and tackled Doc to the ground. "I'll kill ya, ya basta'd!" He began punching Doc in the face repeatedly. Doc felt around him for anything he could use to get the younger man off of him. His hand closed around a rock, and he swung it up at Aaron's head. The loud crack as the rock connected with Aaron's face could be heard for yards around if there were anyone else around to hear it. Aaron's face exploded in a bloody shower that rained over Doc, and Aaron slumped to the ground. Doc climbed on top of him, the rock still in his hand. He raised it and brought it down on Aaron again and again until there was nothing but a bloody pulp where his face used to be. He rolled off of Aaron and lay on the ground.

How did it come to this?

He thought to himself.

Why couldn't they just be more careful?

He started walking. He left behind the bodies, the gear, and the equipment. Once he reached the flowers, everything would be fine. He could still do this on his own, but now it would just take longer. He trudged through the jungle, being diligent to look at every step he took, aware of any kind of movement. And then, like the garden of Eden come to him, there it was. One of the flowers. Sitting on top of a small mound of dirt, beautiful and perfect. And behind it, more flowers. An entire field. Tears welled in his eyes. There were more than enough. The whole world couldn't go through this amount in a thousand years. It had all been worth it. He rushed forward and dropped to his knees in front of one of the flowers. Its white petals seemed to glow in the afternoon sun. The gold around the edges reflecting the light of the Sun like a small star. He'd have to go back to get the equipment. That was fine. It was only a fifteen-minute walk back to the gear. He just had to reach the flowers to see them. Now that he had, everything would be fine. He was just about to stand up when he heard something next to him. He looked over and met the gaze of yet another Fer-de-lance. He froze, not wanting to provoke a strike from the dangerous creature. He sat there for what felt like hours, but finally, the snake slithered off. He breathed a sigh of relief and stood up. He turned around to go get the gear and stepped right on another snake. The bite wasn't as painful as he thought it would be. He lay on the ground, trying to catch his breath, as the pain in his leg grew worse. As he lay there, he turned and noticed a mouse chewing on one of the petals. Of course. It all made sense to him now. That's why all the snakes. They eat the mice that have been feeding on the flowers. No wonder their venom was so deadly, so fast-acting. And why the snakes were so aggressive. The flower had, in a way, been ingested by the snakes. The last thing he thought before everything went black was,

Now someone else is going to get credit for finding these flowers, and I'll be forgotten.


MELANIE History, epic, that's what I call my love story. It was epic from the first moment my eyes landed on Matt. History was our love story and it all began on a sunny spring day. Three years ago, I was walling in the park when my eyes landed on a stranger. I walked passed him but I had this urge to look back so I did. He looked up and saw me. Our eyes met. I couldn't move. I was frozen in place. This perfect stranger started to walk towards me. He was tall with deep green eyes. I couldn't take my eyes away from him. He came up to me and introduced himself. His name was Matt. I was tongue tied. I didn't know what to say. I stood in place looking at Matt and his beautiful green eyes. I was afraid Matt was going to leave. So, I opened my mouth and told him my name is Melanie. Matt extended his hand to me. Strong and powerful he was. Sparks flew immediately. I felt it so did Matt. We walked around the park together getting to know each other. I was nervous. I never talked to a complete stranger. I let Matt do all the talking. He told me he was in the military, the Navy to be exact. He lives in Virginia, likes to go to the beach. I listened intently. Matt wasn't a crazy insane killer. We sat down on a bench to relax. Matt bought me an ice cream. He continued to talk about his Navy career. I can tell he was very proud of the work he did. Matt told me the reason why he joined the Navy. It was to get away from his parents especially his mother who is overbearing and controlling. He couldn't take it anymore. Joining the Navy was his escape. I sensed sadness in Matt when he talked about his parents. I felt just like him. I didn't come to Virginia for a vacation. I came to Virginia to escape from my parents and two brothers. I grabbed Matt's hand and I told him my truth. I told him I came to Virginia to escape my parents and two brothers. I told him my parents and brothers are controlling, they tell me what to do all the time and I couldn't take it anymore. Tears started to form in my eyes. I broke away from Matt because I didn't want to be near him but Matt wouldn't let go of my hand. Matt held on to my hand for a long time. In all my life I never felt comfortable with anyone but with this stranger I just met I felt more alive than ever before. I felt safe and happy. I didn't know what was happening between me and Matt. What I did know is that me and Matt shared a common bond. We both escaped our own families. Our connection was strong and part of me was scared. What was going to happen next? For the rest of the day and into the night me and Matt spent it together. He took me to the beach then to a nice restaurant. We talked about happy things like our favorite music, favorite food, favorite books and so much more. I had so much fun with Matt. He's funny and easy going, he's still like that today. Matt made me laugh so much my stomach was hurting. I didn't want the night to end. A true gentleman Matt was, he walked me to my hotel and up to my room. Matt kissed me on the cheek. He told me he wanted to see me again. I of course said yes. I walked into my hotel room happy. My smile was as big as the sun. Nothing was getting in the way of my happiness. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could be me, the real me. There was nobody telling me Melanie you can't do this. Melanie you can't do that. I only answered to me. Matt a total stranger understood me and I understood him and for now I wanted to keep on getting to know Matt. Something that day in the hotel room clicked for me. Maybe Matt's the one. In the ensuing days I would find out how much Matt meant to me and how quickly I fell in love with him. The next day Matt came to pick me. We went to breakfast then after breakfast Matt took me on a tour of Virginia. Matt was a good tour guide. He took me to some amazing places like Shenandoah National Park, Colonial Williamsburg. We went zip lining, a dolphin tour even a ghost tour. I had so much fun. After our fun day and night Matt took me to the beach for a night time picnic. I looked up at the night sky and I told myself I don't want to leave Virginia and I don't want to leave Matt. I had to make a decision fast because at the end of the week I had to go back to my nightmare. Throughout the rest of the week me and Matt continued to spend more and more time together. I was quickly falling for Matt but the real question. Was Matt falling for me? MATT Sitting here in my backyard of my home in San Diego watching my beautiful wife Melanie, I think back to three years ago when my eyes met her eyes. I just got to the park after yet another fight with my mother. I needed to escape my home. I walked around for a bit, then I ended up at the park. My back was facing the people, I was facing the trees. The side of my eye caught someone walking by. I didn't turn around until I sensed the stranger watching me. I turned around and saw the most beautiful woman starring at me. I took a chance and walked up to her. I introduced myself but she didn't say anything. As I was about to leave, she finally talked to me. She told me her name is Melanie. A beautiful name for a beautiful lady. I saw that Melanie was nervous to be around me. So, I did the talking. Me and Melanie walking through the park. I talked about my Navy career. She listened intently. I liked that. I spotted some benches and an ice cream truck. I went to buy Melanie an ice cream, then we walked to the benches. We sat down and I continued to talk. I told Melanie the reason why I joined the Navy. I joined the Navy to get away from my parents especially my mother. Melanie did something unexpected. She grabbed my hand when I stopped talking. It was and still is always hard to talk about my family. We use to be close but somewhere along the line we grew apart. What she told me next took me by surprise. Melanie told me the real reason she came to Virginia. She came to Virginia to escape her parents and brothers. I saw the sadness in her eyes. Tears began to form in her eyes. Melanie began to pull away from me. I didn't let her go. I had this urge to protect Melanie. She's so beautiful and I knew Melanie has a good heart. In all my life I never had a connection like this to anyone not even my twin. But with Melanie I felt something inside of me that is strong and powerful. Me and Melanie spent the rest of the day and night together. I took her to the beach, then to a nice restaurant. I love making Melanie laugh. Her laugh is infectious. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. At the end of the night, I walked Melanie to her hotel and up to her room. I kissed Melanie on the cheek and I told her I wanted to see her again. She said yes. I left after Melanie closed the door. That day and night I spent with Melanie was amazing. I never felt more alive than I did right at that moment. I got back to my place feeling like I'm on top of the world. Nothing brought me down that night. The next day I got up early, took a shower, got dressed and went to pick up Melanie. I took Melanie out to breakfast, then I took Melanie on a tour of Virginia. I took Melanie to the national park, to colonial Williamsburg. We went zip lining, a dolphin tour and a ghost tour. I watched Melanie all day long and I realized, I wanted to watch her forever. Later that night I took Melanie to the beach for a night time picnic. Melanie looked so beautiful under the moon light. I knew Melanie had to go back home soon. The truth was I didn't want Melanie to leave. I wanted Melanie to stay here in Virginia with me. I just had to tell her. The heart wants what the heart wants and I wanted Melanie. Knowing her for a day felt like a lifetime to me. I didn't waste any time. I told Melanie I wanted her to stay, that I needed her to stay. She looked at me with those beautiful hazel eyes and I knew her answer was yes. Melanie hugged me. We kissed. Our first kiss was magical. Our boned, our connection was made stronger that day. One day was all it took for me to find the love of my life. I know Melanie will say the same thing. MELANIE One day was all it took for me to find my happiness and end my nightmare. When Matt told me he wanted me to stay in Virginia with him, I was beyond happy and to this day Matt makes me happy. For our life together in San Diego the rest is history.


Once I read that 100 years ago, when war and famine still filled Africa, when corruption and oppression still ruled Asia, when death and past mistakes still haunted Europe, when ignorance and ego still tried to take hold of Oceania and culture and opinions were shunned in America. There was one thing that kept humans together. That was, the constant search of happiness. It was the reason to live and die, the motor that moved every person to work together and how they came to build a dysfunctional society. This journey never could be finished, because for them, happiness was a consequence of pain, it wasn’t a constant but a fleeting moment.

Then, the greatest minds of their time came together with one objective: Make all people happy.Scientists started to look for ways to artificially recreate the feeling of joy, accompanied by intellectuals who explained human existence in this new way of thinking and billionaires who financed the research. After years of theories, equations and sleepless nights the answer was found in a vaccine that would change the world forever. Today, the same day a child is born they are vaccinated and wished good luck in their happy life. We have never known of violence or war, we aren’t oppressed and we respect all kinds of thinking. Nobody harms others and the only cries are of laughter, we are something our ancestors could never be: full. I have always been fascinated by the past, I feel excited reading about the wars and problems that filled people's lives. I thank those great minds that saved me from those horrible things and I am filled with joy knowing my luck. I am who I wanted to be as a child, all my dreams came true and everyone around me was, well, happy. Of course, not all is perfect, the years that were used to make the happiness vaccine could have been used to find the cure to cure cancer. And the money that was used for the research could have been used for those dying children who didn’t have anything to eat. Still, sickness and hunger can’t bring us down. Death is natural, and nature is good, so we just let things flow. And I hated it, I hated my selfish society. And when I felt hate, believing I was freed from happiness, I laughed with joy. I became utterly confused, why, if I am feeling a negative emotion am I so happy at the same time? Am I turning crazy? I laughed as fear filled my body and I felt excited seeing the tears fall from my eyes. I couldn’t talk to no one, just like people felt long ago, I felt alone and it was thrilling. I looked up on the computer what made people sad and the first thing that appeared was loss. Loss, I have lost things! I have lost people! My teddy bear when I was six, well it could be in better hands with a loving owner. The death of my mother when I was sixteen, but she must be so happy in heaven. My girlfriend who cheated on me when I was eighteen, I loved her and wanted the best for her. My dog that was run over when I was twenty-two, still he was old and needed some relief. My job when I was thirty, someone would enjoy it more that I did Loss didn’t work, so I tried with envy. The rich kid at school that had those designer shoes I wanted so much, he was a good guy and his parents worked a lot. My sister when she went to the beach with my parents, but without me, she needed some relief and I danced around the house all day while they weren’t there.

That didn’t work either, how could I make myself feel pain? And that’s when I realized it, bad emotions made me happy. I felt fulfilled, there was no solution. I sat on my couch and grabbed a beer while I thought about my life. It was not perfect, but perfection didn’t matter, I lost things, I tripped and fell, but I stood up and laughed. Everyone was kind, everyone helped me, nobody consoled me when bad things happened because we didn’t feel them. We didn’t flow but floated. We weren’t like rivers who carry the water until it finds its end. In the end, we received the water from hundreds and hundreds of years ago and just stayed there. If I was a character in one of my favorite novels I would call it boring, but I felt thrilled every time I discovered something new. I was happy to be alive and happy to someday die. So I found the answer to my quest, if I could not go to the river I would become it. I wrote a little note and saved it in my jacket, started to grab my keys when I decided to just leave them there. Smiling and waving at the people passing by I walked until it became dark and went to the bridge that connected the city to the highway. I took my jacket off, folding it carefully and setting a stone over it so it wouldn’t fly away. It was a pretty stone I thought as I sat in the rail that kept me from falling. I looked at my watch and

smiled when a cop car stopped. The policeman came close to me and I just pointed to my jacket as I threw myself from the bridge. I felt thrilled as my heart stopped and my last thought was that little note that I wished would change the world. And how the policeman would react when reading those words.

“I am killing myself today because our world is a wonderful place. Cry thinking of me, tremble thinking how I am burning in hell. You are all horrible and I hope you curse me when you throw yourself from this same bridge. I wish you the worst and let me tell you this last thing: I never wanted anything that happened to me and neither did you, puppets of the world.”


Other people’s garbage. That’s what I deal with every day. They come into the Job Center and offload their personal share of the pitiful detritus of a creaking society into my brain-pan and leave feeling a little bit better. I, on the other hand, feel worse. There isn’t a single uplifting thing that floats past my eyes and ears in any working day. I get abused at least once a day, but the security guy Hamid is huge, so problems usually disappear quickly. Stamp, arrange, re-arrange, stamp. Next! A few nights a week I help clean the Roundhouse after the band audiences leave. I took on the job so I could save for a new guitar. All the dirty secrets, all the couldn’t-give-a-damn-about-the-planet plastic beer containers, all the condoms both unused and (retch) used. How they manage to have sex in public is beyond me, but it seems to happen. All the sweet wrappers and dropped knickers, lost wallets and phones, single shoes, wigs, hats, shirts, teeth, belts, iPods, charger cables…  That night it had been a grinding goth metal-fest from Estonia. There wasn’t a single color aside from black in the entire crowd. The spotlights shone into the audience would have shown ghoulish white faces that hardly ever saw the sun floating among a blackness of black leather, lace, extravagant black hair, corsets and the heaviest of thick-soled shoes. They left the venue and disappeared into the night as if they were the night and the sun never shone. I put my headphones on and joined my miserable late-night compadrés in lifting the hundredweight of garbage and sluicing the dried beer and Jägermeister off the floor. Goths, it seems, are just like everyone else. They couldn’t give a damn. The trick is to sweep it all into a pile in the center of the floor and then shovel it into big bin bags. I had the edge route. Around the outer wall, the stairs, the front of the stage, back up to the main doors. As I went, Jude the rude Australian and Bingo the Croatian gambler would turn and turn about take a pile from me and sweep a radius of garbage into the center. It was a well-choreographed process, almost a dance. They could have made a musical with our elegance and sophisticated banter if we weren’t so clumsy and incoherent from over-work and lack of sleep. Every now and then one of us would pick up something out of the ordinary and say what it was. “Wallet.” “Tenner.” “iPod.” “Ear-ring.” “Dental plate.” That sort of thing. It was worth keeping your eyes open. My broom bumped a skirting board that had been loose for months, ever since I started the late night job. On the next sweep the hairs of the broom caught under the board. “Ach!” I yanked the broom. Anything that disturbed the pattern of sweeping, sweeping, sweeping was a frustration too far unless it was worthwhile loot. I yanked again. The broom came free but the end of the board also snapped out a few inches from the wall and didn’t snap back. I was about to kick it back into place when I saw the edge of a piece of paper lodged behind it. I reached down and pulled it out. An envelope. Addressed on the outside in a young hand to ‘Mark Peterleigh Farnish, Lower Sunningdale, Melton Mowbray’. “Letter,” I said and waved it. “Letter?” Jude said and leant on his broom. “Letter?” Bingo said too. Letters aren’t all that common in the 2020s. I opened it and started reading the letter written in the same young hand. “Read it out meathead,” Jude said with his inimitable light-hearted cheeriness. So I did. “Dear Mark I love you so much." "Aaah," my workmates chorused. I read on. "You have taken my heart and made it your own, even though I know your mother disapproves of me. You have also taken another part of me, and this letter is to tell you that I am pregnant with our child. My heart is so full of love for you and the baby that I cannot tell you how happy I am. I know this will be a surprise but I know you love me and that you will also be very happy, whatever your mother thinks. Please call me on the phone number on this envelope after 5pm tonight.” I looked at the envelope. There was a phone number written on it, but it looked like an old number – Oxford 0092 865 377. Under the phone number she had also written her full name – Elizabeth Marjorie Fulmingham. I held up the envelope and pointed to the number. The lads nodded.  “I am staying with my Aunt and Uncle. My parents have thrown me out of the house – you know what my old man is like! To hell with them – we can make our own way in the world together. Love will conquer all!” “She’s drawn a little smiling elephant thing there,” I said. They nodded. It’s what young girls do, or at least used to do a few decades back. “I am giving this letter to my buddy Jane Parsons – she is going to a concert tonight but she promised she would give it to you in the morning as she has a lecture with you. I am catching a train to Oxford now. When you call we will make our plans. We will get a small flat somewhere and I will get a job. You must finish your university of course and in a few years we’ll be able to buy a place of our own. “I am so excited for the next chapter of our lives together. I know you’ve said you are not one for marrying but maybe one day… My body aches for you and my soul flies on wings of love and adoration to your arms until we meet again. All my love Lizzie

17 June 1968” “All right you lot, move those brooms!” the foreman yelled from the mezzanine. I jammed the letter in my pocket. We left at 1am, heads down, collars up against another drizzling London night. At home the next evening I thought it would be interesting to find out what happened to the young lovers. The internet is a wonderful thing for the inquisitive and downright nosey. I found a Mark P. Farnish living in Harnhill outside Cheltenham. Couldn’t find his wife’s name though. I searched for the loving and pregnant Elizabeth…and found a death notice for someone of that name who had died in August 1968. “Sadly missed, greatly loved, Elizabeth Fulmingham. Gone but never forgotten. From her loving aunt and uncle James and Meredith Fulmingham.” I had a sickly feeling in my stomach. I searched further for Mark Farnish and found a picture of a smiling couple at a Cirencester business event in 2010. ‘Local hotelier Mark Farnish and his wife Jane, daughter of renowned trainer Harry Parsons celebrate their 40 th wedding anniversary…’ I stared at the PC screen for a while. Did Jane lose the letter? But it was so completely shoved behind the skirting board! Did Jane hide the letter to ensure Mark was free for her to pursue? Was there another explanation? ... Did I burn the letter and wish I had never found it? Or did I mail it to M and J Farnish, Upper Street Farm, Harnhill, Cirencester with a copy of Lizzie’s death notice?


It had to be here somewhere. Time was ticking by and the document had to be submitted by 11am on Monday morning. She had looked in all the usual places; under the bed, the box above the fridge, in her parents’ bedroom and to no avail. Where the hell was it? She bit her fingernails and then started to chew on the loose skin at the base of her thumb. Fuck, now it was bleeding. When was she going to break this habit? She sat down hard on the floral bedspread of her parents’ bed and tried to think of other possible places it could be. The garage? No, they wouldn’t store things in there. Everyone knew that it smelt like mould and would often flood in the Autumn. Loft? Unlikely, but worth a try. Standing up, she went over to the wardrobe and felt for the hooked stick hidden behind it that they used to open the loft door.

The hook scraped on the metal ring as she tried to get it looped through. One, two, three attempts and finally there it was. The screech of hinges in need of oil as the loft door opened was enough to wake the dead. Dust motes escaped their dark prison as light eked into the loft for the first time in God knows how long. She was just about to step on the bottom rung of the ladder when she heard a key turn in the door. Finally , she thought to herself.

Surely enough, her Mum entered the house, two heavy shopping bags from the supermarket in each hand and her handbag slung awkwardly on her back. Her hair was dishevelled, the bun working its way out of the pins and loose strands falling down the nape of her neck. There was a sheen of sweat on her red face and she struggled to get through the door. She glanced up the stairs and after a moment of surprise at seeing her daughter there, she called to her. “Give us a hand, Cara, these bags are bloody heavy.” Cara was already halfway down the stairs as her Mum dropped them unceremoniously in the hall. “What have you even got in there?” “The usual.” “The usual?” Cara gave her Mum a sceptical look as she spotted two frozen turkeys for eight in one of the bags. “Mum, we’re a family of three and we only have Jean from next door at Christmas. I know it's November, but still. When are you going to need to feed sixteen people?” “Yes, well,” she could see her Mum’s cheeks flushing crimson, “some of the offers were just too good to pass up. You know how it is, love.” “Uh huh,” Cara gave her a knowing smirk. “If you say so.” Her Mum gave her a gentle prod. “Just help me squash them into the freezer. And then you can tell me to what I owe the pleasure of your company.” Cara beamed. Since leaving home for university three months before, she hadn’t seen much of her parents. Oh, true, she was loving uni life: living in halls, all the socials and the lectures weren’t that bad either, but a part of her certainly missed her family. Unlike some of her peers, she had always got on with her parents and hadn’t seen tertiary education as an opportunity to escape. The fact that she had moved to a university six hours from home was because of the course, not her parents. She put the food in the freezer as her Mum filled the fridge and then turned to put on the kettle. After doing battle with the other Saturday shoppers, there was no question that her Mum needed a reviving brew. “Thanks, love,” her Mum said as she took a sip of the murky beverage. “Just what I needed.” She exhaled deeply, closing her eyes as she communed with the Gods of tea. “So, to be clear, I am not complaining, but how come you’re here on a Saturday morning? You must have travelled through the night to get here.” “Yeah, I came with Finn. He was visiting his parents this weekend so he said he would give me a lift if I wanted to see you guys as well. But yeah, we didn’t leave until about 2am after his gig had finished. Don’t worry, Mum,” she started as she clocked her mother’s raised eyebrows, “he hadn’t been drinking, he’s a teetotaller. I think he’s the only sober guitarist the world has ever seen.” Her Mum laughed. “Well, it’s lovely to see you, however you got here. Are you going back tomorrow?” Cara nodded. “Finn is picking me up after breakfast so we can hopefully be back in time for dinner at halls.” “Then we will have to make this evening count. Any requests?” “Well, I’m really in the mood for a roast turkey for eight, to be honest. Do you have one?” “Stop teasing me!” she laughed. “Lasagne?” “Yes, please. You know that’s my favourite.” “Right, well, as soon as I finish this cup of tea, I’ll get on with that and you can tell me all your news while I cook. Your father won’t be back until half two as he’s on earlies all this week. Oh, how come you were going up in the loft by the way?” Cara took a sip of her own drink. “Well, to be honest, it was lucky Finn was coming home this weekend as I need to find a document for uni. They need my birth certificate.” The cup in her Mum's hand stopped its journey to her mouth and her knuckles began to turn white as she gripped her mug more tightly. She was making an immense effort to appear casual. “Oh? What do they need that for?” “Just for their records.” Cara tried to match her nonchalant tone while internally questioning what was going on. “Apparently I should have submitted it when I applied, but it got missed out. Nothing major, I don’t think. More just a way of checking they spell my name correctly if I ever graduate.” She attempted a laugh. “Of course you’ll graduate, don’t be ridiculous.” “Hopefully.” The conversation petered out and an awkward atmosphere hung between the two women.

“Well, I better get on with that lasagne.” Her Mum stood up with a tight smile on her face and headed to the sink to wash her mug. Cara remained seated at the table, trying to understand the yawning gap between them that she had never encountered before. She spent the rest of the morning fruitlessly looking in boxes in the loft. She had found boxes of framed photographs of long dead relatives - her Grandma, an Aunt she vaguely recognised holding a baby, the dog they had had when she was a child - along with boxes of baby clothes and old school books but nothing that resembled a birth certificate. Why couldn’t she find this bloody document? And why hadn’t her Mum just told her where it was when she had mentioned it? By the time her Dad arrived home from his shift, she was covered in dust and cobwebs and in a bad mood.

“Well, this is a lovely surprise!” he shouted up to the loft. Cara peered down through the door in the floor of the loft to see her Dad’s smiling face and grey eyes shining up at her and she began to make her way back down the ladder. “I’m a sweaty surprise, I’m warning you.” “Ah, that doesn't matter,” he hugged her warmly despite the thick dust on her t-shirt. “Always lovely to have my daughter home.” “It’s nice to be home. Though it would be nicer if I could just find this birth certificate.” “Ah, yes. Your Mum mentioned that you’re looking for that. Have you looked in the box above the fridge?” “Yes, twice, and in your bedroom.” “Hmmm. Under the bed?” “Not there either. Only place left is the garage and I can’t imagine it’s there.” “Oh no. Nothing important would go in there. It floods every Autumn.” “Exactly.” “Sorry, I can’t help you, love.” Cara sighed deeply. “I guess I’ll just have to tell the uni I can’t find it and hope they’ll accept my passport.” Her Dad nodded. “Sorry I can’t be more of a help, love.” “It’s okay. Maybe I can order a copy online. You can these days.” “Maybe. Love, I’m going to let you get yourself cleaned up and then we can have a chat together in the kitchen. Catch up.” “Sounds great. I’ll be down in ten minutes or so.” Cara scraped the layers of dirt from her body and watched clean skin emerge from under the grey filth as she stood under the shower, the hot water cascading down her legs washing her frustration away. She felt like a new person as she put on her freshly laundered green top and a clean pair of jeans. Then she dashed down the stairs and opened the kitchen door to see her mother’s tear-stained face and hear her father’s voice, raised, for the first time in her life. “...gone on too long, Karen.” Cara stood on the threshold awkwardly as she took in the scene in front of her. For a moment she didn’t know what to say. “Is everything okay?” Her Dad turned to get and slowly shook his head. “No, sweetheart. No, it’s not.” Taking her by the hand, he led her to a seat at the wooden dining table. “We need to talk.” Cara sat herself down on the cushioned dining chair and glanced over to her Mum, who stayed in the kitchen and wouldn’t meet her eye.

“What’s going on, Dad?” “Cara. Darling Cara. There’s something you need to know.” He pushed an A4 envelope towards her. The envelope was yellowing and curled at the corners. Looking up at her Dad to see a curt nod of encouragement, she opened the unsealed envelope to pull out a single sheet of paper.

CERTIFICATE OF COPY OF AN ENTRY.

BIRTH. She looked up and saw her Dad steadfastly looking at his calloused hands and massaging his thumbs. CHILD. DATE AND PLACE OF BIRTH: Eighteenth of September 2006. County Hospital. Cara felt her mouth go dry and swallowed hard. That was her birthday.

NAME AND SURNAME: Anna Cara Windsor. FATHER.

Cara looked up. It was blank. MOTHER. NAME AND SURNAME: Elaine Mary Windsor. Confusion rose up in her like a wave. “Whose is this and why do you have it?” she asked. “Sweetheart,” her Dad said kindly, “it’s yours.” Nothing made sense. “But it’s not my name. I’m Cara Elaine Sefton.”

“Try to understand, love.” “Understand what?” she stood up, angrily. “What are you trying to say?” “We did what we thought was best!” “Who am I?” Cara felt hot tears flowing down her face and she hadn’t even realised she was crying. “You’re my daughter!” her Mum shouted suddenly from the kitchen. Cara had almost forgotten she was there, she had been so quiet throughout. “Then what is this?” she gestured to the birth certificate.

Her Dad stood up. He was trying to stay calm but she could see he was trembling. “There is no easy way to say this. Not after all this time.” He took a deep breath and steeled himself to continue. “You are our daughter. Our precious, beautiful daughter. We have raised you since you were a baby. But biologically, no. You blessed someone else first.” “Who? Who is this Elaine Windsor?” “You know who she is. Who she was. She was your Mum’s sister.” Cara felt her jaw drop open as a bleak silence engulfed the room. Pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Auntie Elaine who had lived in the North. Auntie Elaine who had been a doctor. Auntie Elaine who had liked to listen to old jazz records in the bath. Auntie Elaine who had been killed in a car accident when Cara had been only two months old. “Auntie Elaine?” Now it was her mother’s turn to speak. “We promised her we would take you. When she was in the hospital…when she knew she wouldn’t make it. She knew we wanted a child and we couldn't, I couldn’t… We would have done it anyway. God, how we loved you before you were even ours… We made a promise.” “But the surname… it isn’t the same as Mum’s maiden name.” “She had been married and then got divorced before she had you. Never got around to changing it back,” her Dad replied. And now her Dad was handing her other documents. A certificate of name change, an adoption certificate confirming Karen and Geoffrey Sefton as the new parents. Each document she held had the weight of a feather but the value of gold. “There’s this too.” Meekly, her Dad passed over a photograph. It was the same woman and child she had seen in the boxes in the loft earlier that day. “I think you’re about one month old here.” Cara looked into the eyes of the woman who was her biological mother, trying to find similarities to her own features. Her insides felt numb. “Where were they?” she gestured to the documents and photograph now on the table, looking up at her, revealing their inky secrets.

Dad gave a half-smile. “In the garage. Top shelf though. The garage floods every Autumn, you know.” Cara read and re-read the documents in silence trying to take it all in, to digest impossible news and reconcile her previous truth with these new discoveries. There were questions and there would be even more in the coming weeks and months. But today was about her and the first, unsteady step on the journey to discovering who she really was.


The image of Earth filled the floor-to-ceiling window. Alex stared into its swirling depths and couldn’t decide whether to think

this is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen, or

good riddance. No, that was too harsh. Home would always be home, after all.

She turned to study her captors and saviors, all strapped into their chairs with safety belts. They were humanoid, but had eyes that were too wide-set, and heads that were too narrow. Their skin was a deep tint of blue. Alex wondered if it was from a lack of oxygen. She was the only one wearing a helmet and suit with an oxygen tank, which the aliens had helped her put on as soon as she arrived onboard, gasping for air. It was surreal to think that she had been living an ordinary life only twenty minutes ago, when she was plunged into this new reality. She laughed to herself at the irony.

The transport ship gave a shudder, and then stopped. Alex heard mechanical parts interlocking at the doorway as they docked at the main ship. Her companions unbuckled their safety belts and helped her off her feet. She followed them through the doorway and into the main ship, providing no trouble at all. They marched silently through several stark hallways and into a cavernous hall. Here, the surrounding walls were also made of floor-to-ceiling glass, so that Earth loomed in the background.

They gestured for her to sit at a lone table in the middle of the hall, across from a seated alien. The nameplate on the table in front of him or her (they were all bald) bore indecipherable symbols. More uniformed aliens stood in a semicircle around the table. All of them wore the same black discs on their right temples, which translated both incoming and outgoing speech. The alien seated across from Alex smiled with an unnaturally wide mouth. “I am Lieutenant Umore. Welcome to Zalua 54. What is your name and planet of origin, for the record?” he or she asked. “Alexandra, from Earth,” she said. She attempted to smile back. “I trust that the transport committee debriefed you on your purpose here?” said the lieutenant.

She nodded, although she couldn’t help but protest, “I wish you had warned me first. I was so shocked when they beamed me up. I was willing to cooperate once they explained, but…” Her words were echoing in the large chamber. “We attempted to contact you by means of Earth communication,” the lieutenant said. Alex suddenly remembered the growing pile of unread mail on her dining table. “We have a tightly scheduled program and do not have time to await responses or tolerate delays from any participant. To reiterate, we have thoroughly studied the technology and systems of each planet in the sector. What we need is first-hand testimony on what life is like for the sentient beings in this location. Our software randomly selects one representative from each planet to participate in this mandatory survey.” Alex nodded. “I understand. I was just...shocked. I didn’t even know there were...aliens...until now. And freedom is very important to humans. You're lucky I'm cooperating. Someone else might be giving you a hard time.” She looked around the room, emboldened by the sight of several aliens nodding in agreement. “That is a good place to start,” Lieutenant Umore said, sliding a long bony finger across the surface of a tablet-looking device. “Voluntary participation. You would say, then, that humans from Earth value freedom of the individual.” “Well,” Alex said, “some parts of it do. Freedom means something different in each country. And people don't really agree on how free we should be...” Lieutenant Umore nodded as the aliens standing around them frantically swiped at their own note-taking devices. “I will mark the answer to this survey question as ‘Somewhat agree,’” said the lieutenant. Alex suddenly felt the weight of the planet’s reputation resting on her shoulders. She glanced out the walls at the massive globe. “I don’t know if I can capture everyone’s experiences. There's over seven billion people and we're all so different. Maybe you should survey more people from Earth?” Lieutenant Umore gave her a stern glance. “We cannot deviate from our methodology. Seven billion people may be a substantial number from your perspective, but the financial limitations of our project do not give us the luxury of surveying every living creature." The lieutenant sighed. “Let us try an open-ended question. Why don’t you tell us what life is like on Earth?” Alex swallowed hard. “Well, we do have problems, like global warming. We keep ruining our environment to build things and get oil for our cars. We fight a bunch of wars, and we have people who are extremely rich and extremely poor.” She realized again that her cynicism was giving the aliens an unbalanced impression of Earth. “I mean, yes, humans can be cruel, but we can be kind too. We…” Suddenly, her brain went blank.

Lieutenant Umore remained silent. Alex blushed. “I’m sorry. There’s…” She thought of her mother's warm bear hugs, her father’s big bellowing laughs, her sister’s celebrity singing impressions, all of which she hadn’t felt or heard in years. “We do love each other, to the point where it hurts to be away from each other. We help each other when life is hard.” Tears were sliding down her face now, and suddenly, the words came pouring out of her mouth. She shared memories and stories until she was laughing as much as she was crying. She had missed allowing herself to miss home. Despite the imposing darkness of the room and the unfamiliar blue faces, she felt almost uninhibited.

When she had exhausted herself on words, Lieutenant Umore nodded. “Thank you for your information, Alexandra. We will enter your testimony into the records as a snapshot of life on Earth at this point in time.” He or she stood up, and gestured for Alex to do the same. “You will be pleased to know that we can return you to the exact time and location from which we retrieved you.”

“No!” Alex shouted before she could help herself. She felt as if someone had punctured a hole in her helmet, sucking out the oxygen. “I mean, I prefer not to return to that exact moment.” Lieutenant Umore peered at her curiously. “Why not? Is there something else you did not tell us?” Struggling to articulate the dread that had risen in her like vomit, she recalled the scene: she was in the break room at work, when a coworker rushed in and whispered they’re here! In the next room, black uniformed officers were already forcing people to the ground. She dashed for the back door, but officers had already seen her. That was the moment the aliens had sent their beam to retrieve her, giving her a temporary refuge. She whispered, “I…life was brutal in my home country. I left to make a better life in a new country for my family, but I don't have the right papers to stay. When you picked me up, I was about to be discovered and sent back. Please, can you return me somewhere else?” The lieutenant looked at the aliens that had picked her up, and they nodded. “Please,” Alex said quietly. Lieutenant Umore shook her head. “The protocol is to send you back to the exact spot and time we found you. To do anything else would have drastic and unpredictable consequences. Please wait here as the transport committee prepares the ship for your return to Earth.” Alex nodded. Fate was fate. She closed her eyes and sat down again, dizzy with anxiety. After a while, the transport committee came to escort her back onto the smaller ship. As the aliens strapped her into her seat, the view of Earth through the window threatened to swallow her whole. They were nearing the outer atmosphere when the nearest alien leaned in close and slid something into her jacket pocket. “Do not mention this to anyone, or the Lieutenant’s job is on the line,” the alien whispered, then sat back upright. Alex reached into her pocket and took out a stack of folded-up papers. She skimmed through the documents, picking up words here and there that made her heart beat faster. Not everything was solved, but it was enough to restore her faith.

She placed the stack back in her pocket. Maybe Earth was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen after all.


They know that I'm pedantic. I'm a neurotic, OCD, perfectionist and I live alone. They know that I hardly venture farther than the post boxes that lined the front of our apartment. They call me Sheldon Pooper for goodness sakes! They know that I over analyse every single move I make, or anyone else for that matter. They also know that I don't do pets. I don't pet them. I don't look at people with pets and say, Oh, what a cutie. What's his name?". And I certainly don't take care of them. So why on earth would my entire floor go for the long weekend and leave the Rudd's bird with me? It is beyond me. I mean, don't they know that they might come back and only find a lone feather laying somberly at the bottom of the cage. I don't know... Maybe the bird looks tempting and I'm hungry (gross), or maybe I accidentally leave the cage open and little birdy Rudd decides he wants to go and meet his siblings in the Rain Forest or something. I really don't know! You see I'm already losing my marbles. Everyone knows that you don't just start a story in the middle of nowhere. A story needs an introduction, a body and an end. I started my story with all of the above. That's just not how it's done. I really don't know. Let's start over, shall we? My name is Marrie. Not Marie. You've got to drag the -ar in Mar, like car, and then say the rie. Not like pie, but more like tree. Mar-rie but without the dash. Right. My name is Marrie. I live in an apartment, on the second floor, because if I lived on the first floor and someone decides to rob the place they would get to me first. And the third floor is too high that if I had an accident and fell over I would die. And I wasn’t ready to die either way, by robber or by falling. So, the second floor is perfect. I know everyone on my floor because I need to know who I'm dealing with and how they would affect my life. I actually know everyone in the building, but just for this story about the bird, I will only speak about the people on my floor. There's Elsa, she lives next door in apartment 5. Elsa loves men, and can be seen bringing a different man home every night. I know. I checked through the peephole. Also, if Elsa is really into it I can hear the excitement as if I was next to her. Well technically, our rooms are back to back. My other immediate neighbour is Wesley. He is secretly in love with Elsa. Every night when Elsa brings home a new man and the sounds behind my bedroom wall, I get bored after a while and go to the lounge to make sure everything is in place and fetch my headphones before going to bed. That's where I hear Wesley on the side of the wall, sitting in his lounge and crying over a lost love. Then there's Mrs. Norrix. She is seventy five years old, but likes to think she's 16. Mr. Norrix kicked the bucket before I moved into the apartment shortly after I moved in. Don't judge me. I didn't ask him to walk into the wet hallway just after I had mopped. Mopping was essential. Probably they hadn't mopped the hallway since the apartments were built. I couldn't stand dirt. So everyday at exactly seven in the morning, I mopped the hallway and all the way down the steps all the way to my own postbox. If my pathway was clean I could be content. Right, let's move on to the Rudd's. The reason I'm in this predicament in the first place. They moved in just three months ago and also caused havoc. Staying just across the hallway, and next door to Mrs. Norrix in the bigger apartments, and also the apartments with the better view, I am convinced that they moved in just to toss my life upside down. They were over friendly and wanted to get in your space all the time. Boundaries! They had one kid, a little pig-tailed girl that everyone on our floor seemed to dote on. I mean, what was so special about the kid anyway. I guess I should be grateful they didn't leave her with me. I just got stuck with the bird. Anyways, I think Mrs, Norrix was secretly super wealthy and rolling the bucks or something, because she invited everyone on the floor for an all expenses paid trip to some holiday resort. What did she expect? I don't know. That she would get some tips from Elsa on how to get shagged, or maybe that Wesley would be the one shagging her? I really don't know... Why she would invite the Rudd's is beyond me and how they fit into her plan. She probably did have a plan. Maybe she needed them to pretend she was the granny type. I really don't know. Back to the bird. So, obviously, with everyone on the floor gone, what were they going to do with the bird? Of course, everyone knew that I never ventured past the post boxes so I was the perfect candidate to keep the bird. But the problem was, oh there were many problems, who was I kidding. I already said that I didn't like pets. I hate sharing my space with anything else, I didn't even keep plants. Everything in my apartment had its place and was kept out of sight, otherwise I broke out in hives. And that was precisely what happened when I opened my door at seven this morning to mop the hallway. I was greeted by the Rudd's bird, his large, overbearing cage and a packet of bird-food or seeds or something. Of course I shut my door as soon as I realised there was a thing on my doorstep. I didn't do well with people, or pets, or plants, or rodents, or anything really. I only knew what I knew and wanted what I wanted. I don't know. I really don't know how they expected me to look after a bird. After a while, the bird started creating a racket. I put my headphones on and played Chopin's Minute Waltz on full blast. When it ended I decided to check the hallway again, loudly praying that it would all be a nightmare. BIG mistake! The dumb bird was still there. So I shut the door again. That's when the hives flared up. The bird started making silly squawking noises, so I played Chopin's farewell waltz piece this time in the hopes that the bird would bid farewell to out apartment building. I don't know how long I kept the headphones on, but besides the itching due to the hives, I was starting to get irritable and edgy because I could continue with my normal daily routine and that was messing with me big time. It was also right about this time that my battery died on the headphones and I heard the bird screeching, "Open the door, Sheldon Pooper, Sheldon Pooper, Sheldon Pooper!" That was it! I opened my door with such force, it banged against my wall and caused a chip in the paint. Now that would haunt me for the rest of my life because I was too afraid to take a walk to the hardware store to buy paint. I also refused to buy online from paces I didn;t know because I needed to screen who came to my apartment door. And they wouldn;t just leave the paint in the postbox like they do with bread and milk every Monday morning at 8, precisely the time I'm done wiping down the postbox. The bird was now making a song out of the name the floor nicked me. I didn't particularly care about the name, secretly it made me a little proud to be called after somebody on TV. What irked me was that this bird was literally begging for me to confront it. I really, really don't know. I have never even said two words to anyone in the hallway. Not Elsa, nor Wesley or the Rudds, and not even Mrs. Norrix when Mr. Norrix slipped on the wet hallway, bumped his head and bled to death. I just continued to mop around him. That;s when it hit me. I grabbed my bucket, measured out exactly 2 scoops of washing powder and exactly 6 jugs of water. On the way out I collected the mop from the cleaning closet and proceeded to continue my daily routine. If the bird's cage should fall while I was on duty then I would treat it exactly like Mr. Norrix. For the first time in a long time, I actually knew.


Miram and her husband Basz short for Basil. Held the most articulate dinner parties. Where to be known in the village of Knowel you attended one of their super rich dinner parties at least twice a year. Or monthly if you were game? In with the circle of people who attended these parties. Had moving to Knowel a picturesque village on the outskirts of the M25 been a mistake? Her husband Jamie had thought of a better life style and gold  clipped clients. When they had first moved to Knowel, Marigold had felt out off her depth. Although her husband Jamie bought home a good salary from his job in the city. Trouble  being with their son Simon six at private school. Jamie  sometimes stayed over night in the city. On these nights she had missed the family closeness and there son Simon always asking so many questions. Why could he not go back to his old school. He did  not like wearing a uniform. Although Jamie was only a phone call away. She found it difficult, when her son refused to go to bed, becouse he did not like his new school. So it was that one day Marigold had met Viola at the school gates, who had insisted on Marigold attending one of Miram and Basz's parties. Quickly she had arranged a baby sitter for Simon and phoned Jamie . Who did not seem keen to attend the do. On arrival at Miram and Basz 's home Marigold had felt out of place. Like a cod, swimming along with salmon. Her dress was pretty rose pink and Italion design, so why did she feel so out of place she did not want to remove her cashmere wrap. With much clinking off glasses , people chatting in groups and Jamie enjoying himself. She really hoped they would leave early. All these people seemed to do was drink and bragg about each others wealth. Marigold felt she would never be part of their world. She did not want to be. It was all very distasteful. None of these people seemed genuine. Although the antiques and paintings on the walls and china were lovely.  The view of the gardens from the Old Vicarage Miriam and Basz could home was  most delightful. How hard she tried  Marigold could not settle. She had even tried to imagine painting such a land -scape with apple orchards and delicate rose garden. While Miram waddled around the room in clothes that were for too tight white silk dress with plunging neckline that showed off a buxham pair of breasts and pantee line. Well, she looked like a huge bleached Marshmellow. Fifty seven. Trying to compete with her sixteen year old daughter. Maybe mother and daughter  swopped clothes?You could scrape the make up off their faces with a trowel. People gossiped, mad out that Miriam was the next Victoria Beckham. Basz kept the champers flowing well. He must be at least twenty years younger than Miriam. Who bragged constantly about her luck choosing Basz as her fiancee . When he came to prune her roses. When she said this Miriam gave a vulgar wink at Basz. Nasty vulgar people thought Marigold, all show fast cars and filthy habits. They had arrived at 10pm now everyone was pairing off with each others partners . Where was Jamie? Quickly she searched the bedrooms . There was Jamie asleep while two woman made love beside him. Had Jamie's drink been tampered with? Well Marigold would have it out with him in the morning. Taking the car from the parking lot she decied Jamie could walk home to sober up. Tears had sprang to her eyes as she drove their five year old BMW home a car only used weekends . She and Jamie had known each over since kindergarden. Jamie had come back in the early hours dropped off in a roaring red Spirite minus his blue jeans. Its a wonder that their son slept so soundly with the dine. Next day Jamie had looked sheepish"I can explain it was a bet. We wore each others clothes. " Well it had to be said, "disgusting. " Jamie had seen the hurt in his wifes eyes. As she spoke those words. He could not risk losing his wife who he had known for thirty two years. So it was that Jamie and Marigold decied to put the house on the market and go back to a simple life in Devon amid sea and sunsets. Home made bread and a quaint two bed cottage. It maybe overcrowded, they would survive. Before they had left for Devon Simon had had a fight with Miriam's grandson Oscar. Stating what his mother thought of Miriam has a large bleached marshmellow. Well I suppose that had to be said too. We Simon had a lovely black eye, so Marigold thought he had learn't his lesson listening to adult conversation, between her and Jamie. Although the poor child was only telling the truth. Marigold felt her tummy, the stomach ache was a new arrival on the way. And she had saved her marriage to Jamie. A few more miles down the motorway and life in Knowel would be soon be forgotten. She thought of harvest rich fruit and what the future held. Simon back at his old School , not some posh private school. Happy with his old school pals. Jamie every so often checking that she was okay. More like the Jamie she knew. Loved and cared for. Marigold dreaded to think about what could have happend, had they stayed in Knowl. She had never been a city lass. Her parents would help out once the baby was born and she and Jamie would spend more time together as  a couple. He would run his accountancy business from home. A smile had come to her lips. "What are you laughing at mommy." Simon had said. " Oh "I am just happy, becouse your happy and daddys happy" she had said. " Never can understand adults." Simon had said in a sleepy voice from the back seat off the car.  "Oh you will do when your older, his dad had said. Maybe I do not want to be an adult? Came the reply. As Simon slowly  closed his eyes. Once in Devon he would forget about this conversation . Catching up with his friends. Marigold and Jamie felt sorry they had put him through so much stress at Knowl. Once the baby was born they would give him an extra hug. Praising him for being good, when he deserved it, at School and in the home. If he put his  picture books away tidy. Simple tasks that meant so much to a child.  Letting him know that he was  loved  just as much  as his new sibling.