We’ve been following you for some time, Dr. Freud. Where did you come from? I just told you. No. I mean, are you a figment of my imagination, or are you real? I believe you should be asking yourself this question. Are you, or are you not, the expert here? I suppose I am, but since you showed up, I’m no longer sure. You’ll have to come with us, I’m afraid. And where, might I ask, are you planning on taking me? I’ll give you one guess. The asylum? You see, I told you, you were the expert. What if I refuse? You know what happens to people who refuse, do you not? I suppose I do. Then will you come willingly, or will we have to restrain you? Can I think about that for a minute? I’m afraid your time is up. How do you know my time is up? Because the timer has already gone off, did you not hear it? I guess not. I didn’t even know there was a timer. Perhaps that’s part of the problem. Let’s go now. Pick up your hat—no need for a coat. We have a jacket for you in the van. A jacket, huh? I don’t suppose there is any way that the word straight won’t appear before that jacket. I’m afraid not. I can’t really see the need for a straight jacket. I am being quite compliant. You are now, but things can change. What sorts of things? Your mood, for one. I can assure you my mood is quite stable at present. There really is no way to tell. But, I am telling you. Your judgment has been a little off of late. How so? Do I really need to remind you? Apparently. Very well. You’ve been obsessed with sex lately, especially of the homosexual kind. That in and of itself does not make you crazy, but we have had some complaints lately from a certain man who says you are obsessed with him. Might I know this man’s name? I suspect you already know it. No. I mean, will you tell me the man’s name who has made this accusation? I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. Why not? The man wishes to remain anonymous, invisible as it were. So what you are telling me is that an invisible man is accusing me of being obsessed with him, and you can’t tell me his name? Yes, sir. That, apparently, is what I am telling you. Do you know how crazy you sound? That’s the pot calling the kettle black. We were not just discussing kettles, were we? I suspect not. Alright then. Let’s get back to why you’re here. Very well. I am here to take you to the asylum so you can be analyzed and ascertained. What the hell does that mean? Which one? Both. I cannot say, sir. I’m a policeman, not a psychotherapist. That’s entirely obvious. Is it? I thought I came off as a shrink. What is a shrink? Shouldn’t you be telling me this? I really do not know. Then we are in more trouble than I thought. Please step out of the bath, sir, and grab your nightshirt. I’m not in the bath. Then why are you soaking wet? Because I’m sweating, that’s why. And why would that be? Because you are making me nervous. I have that effect on people. Are you coming or not? I have decided not. Well then, you leave me no choice. I will have to put the jacket on you. Allow me to find my assistant, Dr. Jung. Jung? No way. That guy is a quack. Are you acquainted with Dr. Jung? Very. Then you will understand how imperative it is that you come with us. I’m afraid I don’t follow you. Yes, that’s been the entire problem all along. Dr. Jung is a part of our psychiatric apprehension initiative. He assists us in bringing in difficult patients. Am I considered a difficult patient? What do you think? I think I’m not a patient at all. That’s pretty much what they all say. What is this initiative you mention? The Psychiatric Apprehension Initiative, or PAI, is a program designed to relieve the world of unqualified practitioners of the mind. That sounds made up. Everything is made up when you really think about it. That sounds awfully philosophical. Why aren’t you rounding up philosophers? We did that already. How did it go? About as well as you might expect, there was a great deal of argument. Some say the argument continues as we speak. What have psychiatrists ever done to you? It’s not what they have done to me, sir. It’s what they have done to others. What others? That’s hard to say. There are so many of them. Them who? The victims. Of what? This sounds a little too solipsistic to me. Are you sure that’s the correct usage of that word? I’m not a wordsmith, sir. Those were rounded up a long time ago. For what reason? I think the reason should be obvious, don’t you? I’m afraid nothing is obvious at this point. Nevertheless, I refuse to go anywhere with Jung. It just wouldn’t be right. We’re not going to argue about rights, are we? Perhaps. It seems a little late for that. Let’s get you in the van, and we can discuss it further. Van or not, I refuse to go if Jung is involved. Alright. I’ll tell him to go ahead without us. We will follow him. Let me grab my suitcase before we go. I’m afraid I can only allow you one item on our trip—any item of your choosing. I choose my superego. Good choice, sir. Probably best to leave your id at home. You mean I can’t take that with me? It would be best if you did not. Very well. If you hand me a towel, I will dry off, and we can be on the road. I see no towels here, sir. Quite right. I got rid of those a long time ago. Perhaps I shall go soaking wet. I’m not sure that’s advisable. I could use the blow dryer to dry you off. The what? It’s called a blow dryer, Dr. Freud. You plug it into the wall, and it blows hot air on your skin. And you think I’m that madman. That sounds insane. Right this way to the van, sir. Dry or not, you’re coming with me. I suppose you’re the expert.


“Great!” the wife exclaimed, shaking her head with her hand to her forehead. “You missed the damn ramp!” “If you were better at giving me a heads up, this wouldn’t happen!” the husband threw his hand up at the windshield. “I’ll just take the road straight in, maybe the scenic route will help loosen you up.” “Oh, I’m uptight? Here we go again!” she attempted to quiet her voice halfway through. “I’m just saying, you are always stressing over every little thing,” he uttered with a low breath. “If I didn’t worry about everything nothing would get done,” she mumbled watching the trees pass. That’ll change tonight, she proudly thought. “There it is. You always make me feel like I’m useless,” his grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Well, then you need to start being more useful,” she glared back at him. “Everything I do is never good enough. I gave up trying because I was ‘damned if I do, damned if I don’t,’ so why waste my time?” his eyes jetted off the road to her for a moment, feeling the water build up in the corner of his eye. “Well, you could at least try. I’m tired of taking the lead and having to control everything. If I wasn’t around this family would fall apart,” her voice stretched and enveloped the entire car. That’s why this is happening. Not me, them, she thought. “Mommy, are you okay?” A tiny voice came from the backseat. “Yes, baby. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so loud,” she grinned reaching back to touch his leg. She turned to look behind her. Well at least the teenager is in her own world, she rolled her eyes facing forward again. “How much longer, Mommy?” the tiny voice let out a heavy breath. “I don’t know, baby. We went a different way,” her shoulders shrugged then a heavy sigh came with it. The way we needed to go at least, she smirked slightly. The husband glared over the steering wheel. “Of course, it’s my fault,” he placed an arm on the door window and rested his hand on his forehead. “Don’t start,” she snapped her head to face him again. “Hope there’s a gas station soon,” he expression stoic. “There is,” she stated, her voice taking on an unsettling tone. And I hope we get this over with quickly, she thought to herself, her body shivering at the thought. ---------------------------- Here they go again, the teen pulled her headphones tighter. Every trip it’s the same argument. I rather just stayed at home. She slumped further into the seat crossing her arms. Why did I get stuck with this family? Why did they even have kids if all they were going to do is fight? The perfect influence and example they are of why not to have kids. She rolled onto her shoulder, eyes staring into the forest as it passed by. Mesmerizing as it was she continued to lose focus on the outside world. Her eyes and ears were drawn back to the stimulation within the car. “Mommy, are you okay?” her brother called out. Great, now Mom’s attention is on us. She fixed her eyes on the outside world. A sensation tingled across her then disappeared. Great, she didn’t try to get my attention. Win for me. She glared through the window at the passing world. The leaves scattered across the ground fluttered in the wind. The darkness encroached on the road as they went further into the forest. She wrapped her arms around herself and pulled her knees up into her hoodie. She let out a deep breath, it condensed into a white fog as it drifted to the ceiling. “Mom, Dad? Can you turn on the heat?” she asked, rubbing her hands on her arms for warmth. “Why? It’s 90 degrees out,” the dad raised an eyebrow in the mirror. “It’s freezing in here,” her teeth chattered as the cold air inside the car nipped at her skin. “We’re looking for a place to stop for gas soon,” he gestured to the road. “I’ll cut off the AC until we get to a gas station.” She rolled her eyes and uncrossed her arms. “I guess that’s good enough,” she cracked the window. The warm breeze caught her hair, it whipped wildly catching her off guard. Her headphones slid back and down her hair. The seat cushion sent them flying forward as they bounced into the floor. She leaned down reaching into the dark floor. A rough scrape nudged her fingertips, she gritted her teeth at the feel. What is that? she thought. With a raised eyebrow, she pulled the object out from the dark. A thick, leather-bound notebook - it was scratched and dent all over, a sign of its frequent usage and age. She ran her fingers over the corner edge, pulling but the cover didn’t budge. She placed the notebook on her lap the spine down. Over the fore-edge was a four-digit combination lock. Why is this locked? She contemplated caressing the lock. This must be Mom’s journal, a smirk rose on her face. She began ticking the numbers with her finger. First, her mother’s birthday. Nothing. S he continued with her father’s and brother’s, then her parent’s anniversary. Nothing. There’s no way she used my birthday. I’m nowhere close to her favorite. Her fingers began to tumble the numbers, and a grin popped up as she tumbled the last number. Nothing. Of course. The grin faded quickly, her pride had built up only to be shut down in an instant. “Hey, Mom?” she smirked a little. “What’s your favorite day of the year? Not including all of our birthdays or your anniversary,” she added quickly. “Well, honestly birthdays are my least favorite anyway. It’s so much hassle,” the mom waved her hand to the side. “I guess May 9th.” “Why May 9th?” the dad chimed in. “It’s my grandmother’s birthday. Rest her soul,” the mom placed a hand on her chest. “No, it isn’t. We did a memorial for her birthday this year. It was May 12th,” the dad furrowed an eyebrow. “Whatever,” the mom gritted her teeth and turned to face the window. It’s okay I’ll try both, her fingers itched to get into the journal. She remembered her great-grandmother’s memorial and it was on the 12th, but nothing. She tumbled 0-5-0-9. Bingo! ------------------------------ The book opened its heavy, leather-bound cover. The inside was filled cover to cover with writings. Dates were scattered throughout with various lengths of writing following them. Yep, definitely her journal, the teen thought. August 2, 1999 "Finally on my own. Well close enough. I got all my stuff into my dorm room. My roommate doesn’t seem so bad. She’s very peppy, quite the contrast between us. I am so ready to get this chapter in my life started!" Wow, Mom has really been writing in this thing since college!, the teen smiled and nodded. Curiosity burning inside her, the teen turned to her mother. “Mom, can you tell me how you and Dad first met?” she asked, her gaze filled with interest. A smile tugged at the mother’s lips as she took her husband’s hand. “It was sophomore year,” she replied, nostalgia evident in her voice. “November 4th.” She continued to talk about it but the teen quickly tuned her out, flipping through the pages to find the entry. November 4, 2000 "It was an amazing day! I met a guy at the quad! He knows one of the people in our study group. He came over and introduced himself and we could not take our eyes off each other. I giggled so much I feel so embarrassed. He probably won’t even remember me. But WOW the feeling I got!" Eww. Enough to make me barf, the teen held a hand over her mouth. Definitely skipping on the Mom and Dad early years. She skimmed through the section until she got to important dates that she could recall herself. Dad proposing, their wedding day - skipped a large chunk until after the honeymoon, her birthday, her brother’s birth, job changes, moving days, and deaths in the family. My Mom’s really an emotional person , she thought to herself. Everything she does to just be strong for us. The teen was curious if Mom was still as emotional as the younger version. May 12, 2023 "The weight of the day’s events presses heavily on me. Grandmother’s memorial went well, but the emptiness in my heart persists. I wish Dylan could have been there to comfort me. He’s been my rock lately. Stephen, on the other hand, remains distant and emotionless. I fear he’s becoming aware of my feelings for Dylan, or maybe it’s just his normal mood swings. I can’t continue deceiving myself or my husband any longer. What happened the other day has left me torn, and I must make a decision before the stress consumes me entirely." Wait, what? Who is Dylan?! The teen felt her heart race, grabbing at her own chest, ‘The other day’? What day? She began to flip back and skim the passages of the last few entries. May 9, 2023 "My head is spinning. It actually happened. Me & Dylan! I don’t know what to do! Is this my fault? I mean I did come on to him. I mean how could I not, he was just so hot without his shirt. His chest, his abs. The way he picked me up and tossed me on the bed…" She quickly closed the cover before seeing another word on the page. What the hell, Mom!? She felt the heat in her cheeks. She cheated on Dad! Is she still cheating on Dad?! Her fingernails dug into her palms. She swiped open the book, eyes darting across the page, and skimming the entries for any mention of Dylan. May 27, 2023 "Lately, I find myself growing increasingly restless within the confines of my own life. The weight of responsibilities as a wife and mother feel suffocating. Stephen is always distant, and I yearn for the passion we once had. Perhaps it’s just a phase, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something missing. It makes Dylan come to mind." June 10, 2023 "The distance between Stephen and me continues to grow. I try to reach out, but he seems disinterested. The kids provide some comfort, but even they feel like a reminder of the life I’m trapped in. I crave excitement, something beyond this mundane routine. Dylan helps lift me up, I’ve been seeing more of him lately just to feel alive again." July 4, 2023 "The 4th of July celebrations were supposed to be joyful, but I felt hollow inside. The fireworks illuminated the sky, yet I couldn’t help but feel like my life lacks any spark. There’s a part of me that longs for adventure, for someone who can ignite a flame within me again. Stephen and I have become more like roommates than partners. The more I am around Dylan the more alive I feel, he really helps me escape all the stress." August 1, 2023 "My heart races as I write these words. Tomorrow, I take a step towards a new life. I’ve met someone who makes me feel alive again - Dylan. He’s shown me a world of possibilities beyond my current reality. He doesn’t want to be a father, and I no longer wish to be a mother burdened by responsibilities. Together, we can start afresh, free from the constraints of our past. Tomorrow, I will burn this journal, symbolizing the end of one life and the beginning of another with Dylan. My heart aches for the fate of my family, but I must follow my heart’s true desire. Farewell, dear journal, and farewell to the life that was once mine." “Dad!” The teen shrieked trying to keep her tone calm. Quickly shutting the book and placing it back on the floor. “Dad, Mom’s going to do something to us,” she began hysterically crying. “Honey, what are you talking about?” the dad tried to console her reaching back to put a hand on her knee. “Ask Mom about Dylan!” She demanded, “And their plan!” ----------------------------- A few more miles and we’re exactly where we need to be, the wife felt her chest beating as she held on to her necklace. “We really need to stop for gas soon” she motioned to the gas indicator on the dash lights for her husband. “I see it. I think the gas station is coming up soon,” he gestured out the windshield. “This road has nothing on it. Hard to believe there is an open gas station way out here.” “Well, a good thing since we missed the on-ramp.” Just like I hoped , she added thinking with a small smile. “I wanted to stop before that but you insisted we make it a little further first. And then we missed the ramp.” “Again. I shouldn’t have to baby you and tell you everything,” she poked and antagonized him. “You’re giving the directions. I assumed there was another ramp coming if you didn’t say ‘This is the ramp’,” he scowled hitting the steering wheel. “Well, sorry for not being able to do everything and be everything for you!” she gripped the door handle trying to control her outburst. “Oh, come one. This again!” he shook his head and leaned on the door rest. “Dad!” came a shriek from the backseat. “Dad, Mom’s going to do something to us,” the teen continued. What is this little brat doing? The wife felt sweat building up on her face. She watched him try to console the daughter, everything around her was muted and numb. Her chest was bursting open she swore. “Dad, what’s wrong?” a tiny voice cried from the backseat. “Nothing, son. Everything is okay,” he reached back behind himself trying to console their son. “Give him your headphones,” he stated to their daughter. “He doesn’t need to hear this.” Great. Now I’m about to get a thousand questions while stuck in this car. One more mile I’m sure of it. She felt a bit of hope build. “I know,” he spoke with a stoic voice and expression. “I’ve known for a while.” I knew he had suspicions. “Knew what honey?” she tried to be as sincere as she could but hate for them all was strong inside her. “Dylan, he’s just a coworker.” “Stop lying to me and yourself!” he raised his voice and hand to his wife. “Oh, you try it! Put a hand on me and it’ll be the last thing you do,” she sat firmly in her seat. No matter what it’s about to be the last thing you do anyway , she screamed in her mind. “Well, that’s the plan. Isn’t it?” he looked her firmly in the eye, emotionless. ----------------------------- The teen sat with her knees to her chest, her shirt was soaked from constantly flowing tears. Why can’t everything just go back to the way they were? S he placed her head down on her knees and looked out the window watching the darkness swallow the trees and roadside. It was hard to tune out the ongoing argument between her parents now that she was without her headphones. She gathered Dad knew some about what was happening with Mom and Dylan. Maybe she took the journal too literally thinking that Mom would consider harming any of them. Dad doesn’t seem that concerned or upset about it. She caught sight of the gas station sign. Great, I need to get out of this car, fast. “Dad, Mom. The gas station. Can I get out, please?” “No,” they said simultaneously. “Sorry, I asked.” She mumbled. They pulled into the gas station. “Full-service. Great, I don’t even have to get out,” Dad said sarcastically. “It looks abandoned,” Mom added. A few moments passed and no one came out. “There’s a car here. Someone must be in there.” “I guess I’ll go check since I don’t do anything,” he muttered to her. “Shut up and stay here. I need to get out of this car anyway. You start pumping the gas,” she replied swinging the door open. “Yes, ma’am. Anything you wish.” He stated slamming the door as he got out. He started to pump the gas until she was in the building. As he opened the driver's door he looked into both children. “Hey, you too.” He pilfered in the door while he spoke. “I love you both. You know I’d never let anything happen to you.” Why is he saying this now? Is it because of how freaked I was a moment ago? “I just want to get out of this car, Dad” she stated shakily. “It’s best you stay in here, okay.” He started to have a tear run down his face. “As I said, I’ll protect you from anyone.” He closed the door and started to walk toward the building. Where is he going? “Dad!” She called hurriedly. What is he doing? A few moments passed, What is taking them so long? When are we going to get out of here? This place is creepy. Thoughts continued to swirl adding the tension to her body. She looked over at the car sitting at the station alone. Its personalized license plate on the front was slightly covered by darkness. Squinting she started to make out the plate, D-Y-L-A-N. Panic set in and she leaned forward looking around to get her bearings. She looked down into the front seat. Did Dad leave his phone? She reached to grab the dark object in Dad’s seat. It was leather, oddly shaped. She sat back in her seat to examine it. Finally, in clear she recognized it - a pistol holster. She looked up and out the window. BANG! BANG!, was a short pause. BANG! Dad? She quickly rolled down the window. “ Dad! Dad!” she yelled frantically. Then she heard it one last time, BANG!


To my Tammy, I bequeath my toilet bowl seats because you liked to sit your fat ass in my bathroom for hours sticking it up every day. Then you would go clean your tail with my good towels. Girl, you lucky I was too sick to grab you when I noticed you used my $30 rags to wash your ass. You need to go to that boy house you always complaining about and shit up his toilet and towels. To my granddaughter Pam, I bequeath to you my pots and pans, maybe one day you will learn how to finally cook and finally keep a man. Girl, only you can burn boiling water but what you have now are cast iron skillets, you can’t possible burn what’s already burn. Hopefully! Go to school to be a chef and upon completion and receipt of your chef credentials, my estate will reimburse you for tuition cost and all monies spent on classes. To my grandson Tommy, I bequeath my tool sets. You always did try to call yourself building shit. Oh and by the way Tommy, that bench you made was booty. The wood pieces stuck me in my ass and snagged my cloths. Oh and the paint job looked like little Sally Jensen painted that crap. You should go use it for fire wood and take Bob the Builder classes because your skills are amateur. So when you receive your architect license, my Estate will also, reimburse you for all tuition monies invested and spent. To my James, I give you my automobile set. No, not the cars in my garage but my little toy cars I let all those bad ass grand kids play with and break up. When I think of it, you can't even drive so why would I give your dum ass a real car. Sorry son, keep bussin’ it or bumming rides or actually get your driver license and when you do come see Mr. Dickson. To my sister, Salty Sally, I bequeath my hair combs and brushes and my good hair greases for you to use on your ashy ass head. You bald headed heffa. I know you broke my Easy Bake Oven when we were young. That's why I pissed on all your teddy bears and said it was the dog. But I still love you so, I will also give you my wig collection and my Estate will pay for your hair appointments for the next 6years if you actually wear them. To Johnny, I bequeath my living room coffee table. You come in my house dam every day and plopped your stinking ass feet right on it, with those dirty, holy, funky ass socks. You better be lucky I was too sick to shoot your mother fuckin toes off. So, I give you my dining room table too because I see you scratching your toe jam on my chair legs, so now they are all yours. To Sammy, I give you my good rags and towels and bathroom rugs. You know, the ones I got from Macy's. One rug was dam near one hundred dollars but you can have them all, I don’t need them where I am now. Maybe you should use one of those $30 “for show only” rags to wash your sticking ass too. It don't make sense why a grown ass man, who don't work or get physical smell so dam bad. To Venus, you sat around with me for many a day and I thank you for your time. I bequeath my rocking chairs, slippers, and robes. Yes, those run through slipper you always complained about me wearing. And you bet not throw them out neither. Maybe you can use the robes and house coats to cover up your naked ass body. Because you are a size Zero don't mean folk wanna see all your bones bouncing round like a frigging puppet and rocking back and forth like that Annabelle doll.  But Granny Love you. To Pastor Black of the Church of God and Christ, I bequeath unto the church $200,000. I was a little behind in my tithes and offerings but I give you this to make up the difference. I only ask that the Church opens an evening night care center for the young single parents of this community, male and female. Build it where dinner and meals are given freely to the recipients and neighborhood families. I only ask that the Center be named it after me, The Sister Odella Johnson Community Night Care Center.  As long as the Community Center is open and growing my estate will continue to help finance the center yearly. Last but not least, I bequeath to you Mr. Jones all that is in this case. (Mr. Dickson places a large case on the table). I will not allow Mr. Dickson to share the content with all here today, but I do want you to enjoy all that is inside.  Take this case home with you tonight and call me in the morning, lol. You brought a different kind of pleasure to my life when you came by with those sweet potato pies each Sunday and I thank you. To all I have given my lot too, I need you all to understand why I have chosen those items for each of you. You all may not like my final decision on how I distribute my belongings but hey, there is nothing you all can do about it but keep my gifts or throw them away. But, I need you all to know there is a reason behind my madness and my giving. Each of you have touched my life in a ways that money will never be able to show my appreciation and love. Each of you have shown me how much my time and presence meant to you by your telephone calls and your visits. Many of you brought me joy, some of you just was a pain in my ass. You all came in and ate up my biscuits and sweet potato pies and drunk up all my homemade teas then left me to wash all them dam dishes. But I’m not mad, I’m grateful to know many of you still loved me enough to call and even come over in spite of my attitude and mental state. I appreciate you all and love you most. So, as I journey to my Father’s house, I leave you all with these stipulations. As I have left gifts to everyone, I ask that in 6 years to the day of this meeting, you all gather here once again.  Mr. Dickson will contact each of you to see if you all still have the items I bestowed upon you. If you do, additional instructions will follow. Love Always Granny Ma Odella Johnson.


The smell of an earthy dark roast coffee permeates through the air, enlightening my sense of smell with pure bliss as I take the last sip. The clock strikes six forty five and I feel the sun rays creating the first beam of light through the coffee shop windows, warming the skin of my face. Just as I am in the midst of daydreaming about my future, A bolt of energy jerks me back into reality, as the sudden chatter of twenty year old’s flood through the doors. I should become a coffee shop owner, they seem to do just fine with business, and I am tired of not knowing what I want to do with my life. I wish i didn’t have to worry about the financial troubles that have wreaked havoc in my life lately, but I digress . I mouth the words as I write the name and date on my essay, “Sierra Barre - August second, twenty -twenty four.” dragging out the R under my breathe a-midst packing up for class. The hot august sun is creeping its’ way further into the blue- cloudless sky, and trickles of sweat begin to form in my hairline as I make my way across campus. I decide to take a path that diverts from my usual one as I have some time to spare, and it’s still a path nonetheless. Wildlife overcrowds the area which makes for plenty of hidden trails for miles in every direction. I take in the beauty of my surroundings and the smell of pine bares my senses, causing a flashback of mere torture. The last family Christmas I experienced, just days before I had lost my parents and little brother to a house fire. Sadness begins to take over my emotions, losing all train of thought. A sudden ding jolts me out of my sad mind and I look down to see the name Alec across my phone screen. A little message below reading; “I missed you this morning, I’ll catch you later.” I look up from my phone, I must have really dug into the trenches of my emotions as I don’t know how much time has passed. I had led myself into a dense forest, not a single beam of light making an appearance. A reminder that the depths of my mind is a dangerous place, always leading my way to consequences of sorts. A dark feeling rushes over me as there is no sign of the path I was once following. The sound of snapping twigs and an orb emitting a red aura. I decided to follow the red orb, at which, is causing my heart to pound more intensely. The twigs still snapping as if a man in boots is stomping all over the grounds. Seconds flow by as I am welcomed into a large open circle of dirt. the trees around the circle protruding through the ground with force just before they grow in abnormal directions at the trunk. I notice the trees are outlining the circle in perfect sequence where not a single bit of vegetation seems to exist. My thoughts start to fade, as I no longer remember what was overtaking my sadness, and the orb comes to a halt in the middle of the bare grounds. A rush of energy drives through my chest and a cold chill shivers through my body, The world is now lifeless of color, events of my past start flooding my mind like a movie and an eerie whisper sends chills down my spine. “Follow me.” as if the devil himself has spoken. I am stumbling over the dirt that is below my feet, struggling to move my body forward as regret is the only thing left on my mind. I am being lead into the abyss of the woods, I stop dead in my tracks shaking like a leaf, I swear I just saw a shadow run past me. “ Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the lord my soul to keep.” the nursery prayer echoes voices of children in the distance, yet I cant distinguish from what direction. “If I should die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take.” The voices continue eerily right as I hear rustling in the darkness of the trees. “hey!” an ethereal voice speaks out, I jolt around in pure terror, my eyes bulge from my head. It’s my little brother, Tucker. Tucker! I shout in excitement. “shh” he holds his finger up to his mouth motioning me to stay quiet. “Don’t let him hear you.” who?! Tucker runs deeper into the woods, and I chase after him, desperate to hold him in my arms again. A few minutes go by before he disappears once more, and an old abandoned cabin catches my eye in the distance. A loud drawn out squeak echoes in the silence as I slowly open the door to the cabin, so quiet, that the sound of a fly zipping through the air would send me running. The cabin looks as if it hasn’t been touched in decades and old white sheets drape over the windows. I make my way through the cabin, the floor boards releasing a creak every few steps. I round the corner of what looks to be a living room to find another door, once again releasing another drawn out squeak as I slowly open it. I glance down at the open door, with nothing, but the sound of my heart thumping. A staircase leading downwards and an even worse feeling dreads over me. It’s dark, more dark than the shadows of the night. Tucker? I whisper quietly to see him once more. I take a deep breathe in to find myself making my way down the steps. With each foot I drag in front of the other shredding my body into the most terrified I have ever been. My breathing at this point is overpowering the sound of my heart thumping. I place my foot at the last step, looking into the obsidian distance, I hear a faint cry from what sounds like Tucker, I slowly make my towards the cry. Tucker.. I place my hand on his shoulder as he turns his head around slowly. My face drains itself of every last drop of blood, freezing myself in my tracks as I notice, this is not Tucker. His face is distorted, the holes where his eyes are supposed to be are hollow. I am filled with immense terror as I sprint back up the stairs and out of the cabin so fast, sprinting my way back the way I came through the woods. I come to an abrupt stop, confused as I have been running until my feet feel like their bleeding and I am yet, still surrounded by the abyss of the dense forest. I try to bare my focus back to the present, and right when i feel myself calming down just enough. I see shadows from all around me start coming in closer to my space and faint singing of children echo in the silence, “If I should die before I wake..” I start turning in circles as my heart is once more thumping loudly, a voice emmiting from behind me “I pray the lord my soul to take.” vibrates my hearing by that murky voice. I immediately crouch down in terror, and I let out a loud shrilling cry as i cover my face. Please.. please.. take me out of this place, I plead under my breathe. Then suddenly the songs quit and the world around me goes silent, I take my hands away from eyes, to find color fills the world around me once again and just ahead is the trail I was walking along earlier. I run back up the trail and the campus ahead lights my eyes, I have never been so happy to be back to reality. I open the coffee shop doors, not caring about the class I have missed, I just need another coffee, and time to think about what the heck just happened. An earthy dark roast scent meets my senses once again. I sit at the same spot as earlier, looking right ahead of me at the large Victorian clock to find it, striking six fifty. Blood drains from my face once more, and a hand reaches out softly toward mine. “Sierra? are you okay?” I look up to find my boyfriend with a worried look in his eyes. I met him here at school, in this coffee shop to be exact. Yeah.. I’m just tired my voice strained from the crying. He sits next to me and I can feel him looking at me as I recollect my thoughts. Hey … I say warily.. has anyone ever talked about anything weird going on in the woods? “yeah, we call it the the devils doorway. I would advise to not go in there. There’s been stories about kids never coming back out. It’s Probably just some myth, but I also don’t want to take my chances.” Fear rushes through my veins. I think I’m gonna go home and take the day away from classes. “okay babe, Ill see you when I get home.” Alec says reluctantly. I lay my head on my pillow, my clock next to me emitting a red light with numbers reading seven fifteen. It is still morning, but after what I just went through I need to get some sleep. I am exhausted and after this I may need some therapy as well. Just as I enter the stages of sleep, I hear a lullaby, the same lullaby as earlier. “Now I lay me down to sleep.” My eyes bug open and fear riddles every ounce of my body. Once again the sound of the devils vibrates my insides “sleep tight.” I look up and the world around me is once again, lifeless of color.


Elisya Shuzuki hoisted her backpack higher on her shoulders. She walked down the streets of her hometown, San Francisco. It was afternoon, and she had just gotten out of school. Elli stopped at the crosswalk and hurried across. She strolled into her favorite hangout, Bella’s Bistro. She walked over to her usual booth in the corner and sat her bag on the seat, plopping down beside it. She opened up her bag and rummaged through the mess, looking for her homework. A waitress walked over to Elli, opening up her notepad.

“The usual?”

“Yes, please. Thank you Olivia” Elli pulled out her homework folder and opened it. A groan came out of her when she saw the huge pile of papers. Better get to work. She thought.

Olivia came over and set down her food. Elli thanked her and sipped her root beer float. Her eyes wandered out the window to the wall of the next building. She was surprised to find a strange mark there. “Olivia!” Elli called. The waitress made her way to the back.

“What can I do for you?” The tall brunette asked.

“When was that symbol put there? It wasn’t there yesterday.” “What symbol?” Olivia sounded confused. Elli pointed out the window to the building.

“That mark right there.” “There’s nothing there sweetie.” “You don’t see it?” Olivia shook her head. “Oh. Sorry for bothering you.” “You feeling okay?” Elli nodded. “Okay then. Enjoy your food.” She walked away. Elli stared out the window, wondering what the image of a shattered star was doing on the building.

While Elli walked back home, she paused to stare at an old abandoned apartment building in front of her. Drawn on the side of the building was the same image as earlier: the shattered star. And she was the only one who seemed to notice it. As she lay in bed that night, she thought about the strange sign she had seen in two different places today. Elli yawned. It had been a long day. As she continued to think, she drifted off to sleep.

Elli looked around. She was in a beautiful city. The buildings were all clean. The streets looked freshly paved. The city was covered in shimmering gold and pristine white. Confused and amazed, she slowly walked down the street. It was impossible to believe that this place was real. It simply couldn’t be. It seemed...magical. Elli took a deep breath. Even the air seemed too clean. A rumble sounded in the distance. She turned around to see...darkness. There was no other word to describe it. It was the blackest black she’d ever seen, darker than a raven against the night sky. It was a void of nothing. It seemed to be moving forward, moving towards her. She turned to run, but she was stuck in place.The darkness came at her, moving faster and faster. “HELP! Somebody help me!” Nobody came. It was just her, alone, against the darkness. It swooped over the city, consuming the pristine buildings. It swallowed up everything in its path. It barreled towards her and Elli braced herself. She waited to be swallowed up, and then...nothing. She opened her eyes. There was a burning symbol in front of her, holding it back. She gasped. It was the shattered star. She turned to go when she heard a smash. The burning star had disappeared. She tried to when the darkness came over her, consuming her until she was nothing. Elli jerked upwards. She sat in her bed, gasping for air. “It was just a nightmare. Nothing important.” She told herself. Still, she couldn’t help wondering about the shattered star. Why did it keep appearing everywhere? What was her dream about? Most importantly: What did it all mean? Later that day, in school, Elli was walking through the hallway. Her head was down, as usual, not looking at anyone or anything. She turned a corner and ran straight into someone. Her books fell everywhere, same as theirs. She picked up all her books and started to pick the other person’s books up. She gathered a few then stood up to hand them over. She paused. The person she had run into was a tall boy, with black hair that flopped over his midnight blue eyes.

“Hi, I’m Jack.” He said.

“I’m Elisya, but I go by Elli.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Elli. Where are you going?” Jack asked. “Algebra” Was her response. “I’m headed to Science. Not a huge fan. Unless we get to blow stuff up-that’s cool.” Jack smirked. Elli grinned. “I love blowing things up!” “You sound like a very intelligent person.” Jack looked at her book. “Sword of Crows? I love this book!”

“You’ve read Sword of Crows? Who’s your favorite character?” Elli was astonished. Jack was the only person she had ever met who read that book. “Blaze is definitely my favorite. Alvara is really cool, too.” “Alvara is my favorite. She is such a strong character.” Elli agreed. The warning bell rang. “We better get to class.” Elli said, disappointed.

“Yeah. It was great to meet you. We’ll have to get together some time. See you later, Elisya.” Jack headed down the hallway to his class. Elli did the same. She got to her desk just as the bell rang.

“How nice of you to join us, Miss Suzuki,” Her teacher, Mrs. Peters said. “We will be on page 394 in our textbooks.” Elli obediently sat down and opened her book to the correct page. She stifled a gasp. On the page was a small scrap of paper. On it was the shattered star, with the words Beware. We will be watching. Avoid the nothingness. Elli clutched her backpack tighter. She had skipped going to Bella’s today. Right now, she just wanted to get home as fast as she could. The shattered star had been on her mind all day.

She couldn’t figure out how she was the only one who could see it. And how it kept appearing everywhere. Or how it got in her Algebra textbook. The whole thing gave her a creepy and ominous feeling, like something bad was going to happen.

Elli turned down a street and there, on the side of a building, was the shattered star. Under it was an arrow and the words Come. There is danger. written on it. Elli hesitated, but her curiosity got the better of her.

She turned down the alley the arrow pointed to. She walked until there wasn’t much light left. She turned around, but she couldn’t see the way she had come in. Panic set in. How would she get out? What should she do? What was happening? Thoughts swarmed her brain, overwhelming her, when a bright light shoved them all away. There in front of her, was the burning image of the shattered star, hovering in midair.

“Welcome.” A deep voice said. “We are glad you are here.” Elli looked for the source of the voice, but found nothing.

“Yes.” A female voice this time. “Without you, we stand no chance.” “Who are you? Where are you? A chance against what?” Elli screamed. A flash of light. Then, in front of her, stood two cloaked figures. The male spoke again. “Why, a chance against the nothingness, of course.” “What?” Elli was confused. “Who are you?” The girl spoke again. “We are some of your only allies.” “Why would I need allies?” Elli asked. “Because,” spoke the man, “You are the only one who can defeat the nothingness.” “The only one who can save us all.” The girl said. “The only one who can save the world.” The man followed. “And the only one who can wield the shattered star, the one force that can stand against the nothingness.” The girl finished. “So come with us. Come, and save the world.” The man held out a hand, waiting for Elli to come.

“It is the only way.” The girl said. “You must come, or the world will be destroyed.”


“It has to be you.” The old man said in a harsh, subdued tone. “The King will remember you.” The meeting was held near the towns square. In the only barn that was not facing the main street. A single candle was lit, bathing the old wooden building in more shadows than light. Around the candle 5 men were crouching. The elders sat on crates so they did not have to put up the struggle of getting up from the straw covered ground again. Only Mad, the youngest men in the circle, sat there cross legged, arms folded and shaking his head. “No, no. I can’t!” his whisper as loud as a shout inside the barn. “It was ages ago! What if he gets angry at me for speaking up and throws me into the dungeon? What if they kill me right on the spot? I have a wife! I have children!” He looked at the old men, meeting everyone's eyes one after the other. A noise outside interrupted his plead for mercy. Stiff and full of fear the men did not dare to move, nor to speak. Mad held his hands above the flame, covering the low gleam of light and the room became dark again. Just as the rest of town. During these times no one was allowed to walk outside their homes in the little town called Sanitysville. People were banned from the streets, from the fields and from their taverns. Restrictions issued by the King himself forbid the townsfolk to linger, gather and meet. For their own protection and the protection of their kingdom. And like everywhere else, it was enforced by the men who has taken the Kings coin and became soldiers in his name. Through messages, baked in bread, a secret meeting between the town elders and the young man named Mad was held. The noise faded and Mad lifted his hands from the candle. The old men were all staring at him, still alarmed and half of terror. “Mad,” the eldest said. “If you don’t go, we will all die. Food is already low, almost empty. If folks don’t work there is nothing left. If folks don’t work there is no coin left to buy from the market in Halfswitsville. If people don’t get out of their houses soon, men will start beating their wives, wives will start killing their husbands and everyone else is just going loony. “Mad,” the old man was almost inaudible now. His defeated look only intensified in the flickering of the candle, “if you don’t go and convince the King to lift the Lockdown, we all will die. Your children, your wife and all other folk. The town needs you Mad.” The Lockdown was harsh and forced upon the whole Kingdom. The fields stood empty. The markets were closed and neither traders nor tinkers could be found on the roads. The only people allowed outside were the Kings soldiers and one representative from each town, who had to be chosen in advance, sent 10 days into solitary confinement and then travel along with the soldiers to the castle. There he was allowed 5 minutes of the Kings time. In the end Mad agreed to the elders proposal and went into the quarantine soldiers had set up just out of town. It was not more than a shed. Without a bed, a table and a chair. There was no window and the only light piercing through, were by cracks in the uneven wood. Twice a day he was given food, cold stew and stale bread. At first his stomach revolted yet settled after realizing that bad food was still better than none. He spent his time sitting in the corner opposite his bucket to shit into. With closed eyes he listened to the sounds of nature and low murmur of the soldiers passing by. He thought about his family and friends, wondering if he would ever see them again. In the nights he dreamed of the times they drank in the tavern. He would wake with the lingering taste of ale and wine on his tongue and smiled. These were good times. He missed the conversations with his wife and the jokes he used to trade with his neighbors. But here in quarantine Mad was not allowed to speak. Not a single word could be talked for the soldiers had the order to kill him without a warning nor a trial if he did. When they finally let him out he was weak of not having moved. He stank of not having washed and was desperate for human interaction. Even with the soldiers, whom he thought by now as prison guards. They were grim looking young men. By the way they talked, Mad guessed, they haven’t had any education. Yet they enjoyed their role and the power inherited by it. After a hard day of walking through the woods and over the plain land of the kingdom they arrived at the castle. “The guards inside take over, they will.” One of the soldiers he traveled with said. “If you come back, other guards take you back home, they will.” What did he mean with that? Did it often happen, that spokesman not return to their homes? Mad did not dare to speak up and ask. He did not even knew when he was allowed to speak at all. It was the first time that Mad entered the castle of the King. He followed the guards who led him inside and gazed around, fascinated and overwhelmed by the monumental size of everything he saw. The bare stone walls stood three man tall. From the ceiling hung chandeliers, its diameter larger than his outstretched arms. The floor was smooth, made of slabs large as men and maybe four times the weight. Inside the hall, where the King received the spokesmen of towns, red carpet covered the path to walk. It felt soft under Mads feet, as if walking barefoot on grass. The King sat on his high chair in the middle of the room, elevated from the rest of the hall. He was a man of middle age and round features. His beard was as black and bushy as a dogs fur. Yet he did not look bitter or mean. Mad had the feeling that is was worry that engulfed his features. To his left sat the Queen. Half asleep in her seat, bored and restless from the ordeals of being the first lady. To the Kings right sat Paranoos – his adviser. Rumor in town was, that it was his word the King followed and led him to the decision to forbid the interaction between folk. Mad just stood there, motionless. His eyes averted, looking at a particularly bleak spot on the floor. He did not know about the rules or how to behave, but not addressing the King before being ask sounded to him like a good start to survive this lunacy. “Speak, townsman.” The voice that rolled through the hall was dark and commanding. The King himself had spoken. “Your majesty,” Mad said, bending the knee and avoiding eye contact. “I...I am your humble servant.” “So you say, boy.” Mad could hear a question out of the Kings voice, but he didn’t dare to react. “What is the matter of you coming here?” “I...We...My...” Mad stammered without saying anything, then caught himself, “The elders of my town, Sanityville, your majesty, they sent me. I...they...we...we ask to be released.” With his eyes staring holes into the ground, he could not see the reaction of the King nor his wife or adviser. Yet, the following silence was enough to let his whole body shiver. He said the wrong thing. He was sure of it. “Tell me boy,” the Kings voice heated, “why would I end the Lockdown? Why would I end the only thing that keeps me safe? Keeps you save? Keeps us all save?” Mad didn’t know how to answer. Mad didn’t know what the King was talking about. Why would they be safe by not being allowed to leave their homes? But this wasn’t the time to be the ignorant farmer. He knew he only had this chance to speak up to the king and save his town from poverty and the upcoming starvation. “Your majesty, my King,” Mad said, “you always have been a benevolent ruler.” Mad risked a glance at the Kings face. He was still impassive and looked angry. “You cut the taxes when harvest was bad. You sent soldiers when bandits were looming the country. You build churches for the God fearing folk and offer the coin for men who wants to join the ranks of your army. “We, the town of Sanityville thank you for all that, your majesty.” The King seemed pleased with what he heard. He leaned back in his enormous chair and motioned Mad to continue. “My King, your folk is dying.” Mad said. “For months now the markets are closed. People can’t go to work and produce the goods which pays their food. The farmers cannot harvest their fields. Men go mad with wife and children at home, my King. Folks are not being made for staying in a cage. We need to be free! We need to go out and see! We need the taverns back! We need the brothels back!” “All you want is the Crown of the King!” Paranoos, the adviser shouted. “You want to spread the disease for the Crown and kill your King! You peasants, filthy and uneducated are not realizing that your majesty is saving your life and that of your townsfolk! And how do you thank him? With betrayal and threats?” Paranoos pointed a finger to the guard standing next to Mad. “Soldier, arrest this fool and hang him for treachery!” “HOLD!” the King boomed and stood up from his chair facing down on his adviser. “I am the King. I decide whom to hang!” Paranoos slouched in his seat and nodded dutiful. The King turned back to Mad. “What is your name, boy?” “Ma...ma...my name is Mad, your majesty.” “Mad...hmm...” The King mused. “Are you the one who saved my son from the boar?” The Queen asked, suddenly awoken from her daze. “I am, my Queen.” Mad sad, with a slow bow of his head. “Stand up.” The King commanded. He looked Mad over as if seeing him for the first time. “Why do you risk the talk of treachery, when you once have been bathed in the grace of your King?” “It is not my intend to betray my King. Nor have I intend for the Crown.” Mad looked at the Kings adviser with a frown. “I am merely telling your majesty what is going on in your countryside.” “You say you are not carrying the disease that is spreading through my kingdom?” The King asked. “I am not aware of having any disease, my King. I am healthy as I have ever been. So is the townsfolk.” “My adviser tells me, that the townsfolk in my kingdom is spreading the disease of the Crown. Are you suggesting that Paranoos is lying?” “No, no, my King!” Mad folded his hands and started praying under his breath. “But...how can I know of any disease? I am not a physician. But neither are your soldiers. And I don’t recall people have been treated by physicians in the past, my King.” Despite his trembling body and the sweat forming under his hair Mad’s blood froze under the King’s stern look. He thought about his children, watching them grow up. His wife who bloomed during pregnancy and always smiled when he got home from a hard day in the fields. The times were never easy, but they were better. Life was better. Without turning away from Mad the King said: “Paranoos, explain to him the disease for the Crown.” The adviser stood up and walked over to Mad, regaining his posture and sense of status. Looking down at Mad he spoke: “The lower folks, such as you, are infected. Infected with a disease that spread through the minds of the uneducated. It is contagious, a virus that have its seeds in the heads,” he tapped his temple with the index finger,, “and grows from there. Like a spark lighting fire it grows and consumes. Until there is not enough space left in those exhausted minds it stretches and reaches out for other minds. And when all and everyone are infected-” Paranoos left the sentence unfinished and just mimicked the outcome with his hands. “That is, when you start for the Crown.” Mad looked confused between Paranoos and the King. “I...I don’t understand. What spreads between the people? Is it like the pollen of flowers and trees? Or spores from the mushrooms?” “Ideas!” the King bellowerd. “Ideas are spreading between you and your fellow citizens. Ideas to take over my Crown!” Was that was it was all about? The King in his High Castle is afraid of being overturned by farmers? The simple thought of him sitting on the thrown and ruling the country was amusing and he fought the urge to start laughing. “My King, it is not my place to question your decision nor your the choice of advisers.” Mad avoided eye contact as he said it. But he knew he had to say something. The whole situation was beyond himself, but he was here and the only one who could save his town, his friends and family. “When I grew up, your grace, I was taught the laws to obey. I knew from when I was at young age that caught stealing you may loose your hand. Evading taxes may cost your freedom and that taking a life in anger or revenge is punished by death. I accept these rules, for they are wise. And not only me, but all of your kingdom benefits from it.” The King nodded in agreement and motioned Mad to go on. “I lend you the strength of my body and work to feed my family and pay your taxes. The artist lends you his creativity to fill your ears with music and view with art. The soldier lends you his life for fighting under your command. “The mind however, with all due respect my King, is not yours to command.” The silence that followed was danger lingering in the air. Like dark clouds forming to become thunderstorm. Lightning about to strike. The Kings face was a fury of emotions. How could a peasant of his dare to speak to him like that? He took a deep breath to let out his anger. But before he could speak, his wife the Queen interrupted. “Let him speak, my King. I want to know what more he has to say. After all, if the disease is only contagious among the uneducated, we have nothing to fear, have we?” Outraged Paranoos spoke up: “My King, we cannot allow this to happen! The mind of this boy is already corrupted and will--” “Silence!” The King boomed. “My wife has spoken and I honor her wishes.” With squinted eyes he said to Mad: “Continue.” Mad swallowed hard and tried to bring his breath back under control. After a few seconds he continued. “The minds of men are not to fear my grace. We are simple men, with simple needs and simple ambitions. We have neither aim nor intention to claim the crown of yours – and never had. To me, it looks like harder work than tending the fields, your grace. No offense.” “None taken.” The King said with the hint of a smirk. “Caging a man for wrongdoing is the right thing to do, but imprisoning the mind is worse than death. Men are made to be outside in the nature. Men are made to interact with men. We are connected, one to another. Ideas are meant to enlarge our society in wealth and purpose my grace. Ideas are the small steps humankind takes to become better, to improve and progress. Without ideas my grace, roads could not have been build. Without ideas, weapons could not have been built. Without ideas, food could not have been grown for all of us. “Ideas are spreading like wildfire, I agree. But it is not burning the thoughts of people and leaving ashes and a barren mind behind, unable to grow anything after. Ideas are the fertile ground of imagination. And without imagination even a fairytale story are just words strung together.” Mad looked his King in the eyes. “Is your grace really afraid of the ideas of simple men just like me, or put an educated mind this idea in your head?” The Queen stood up from the slumber position of her seat and walked over to Mad. She took both his hands in hers and leaned closer to whisper something in his ear. With the grace of a woman who is accustomed to power she then brushed by her husband and gave him a look, without saying a word. There was no need for talking anymore. It was said enough. The King nodded to his personal guard and gave him permission to act, like a performance studied and rehearsed a thousand times. As the King and his Queen sat back on their chairs, a man was taken in custody and never seen again. Later it was said, that the root of an idea lit himself on fire.


“I’m not competitive.” “Neither am I.” Kaley and Sam thought they knew themselves, but how well did they know each other? They’d been friends for what felt like an age. They’d done everything alongside one another for decades. It wasn’t planned, but their lives just seemed to converge time and again, like planes in a coordinated display -  but they’d never been the fighter kind, just the friendly kind. Friendship is a tenuous thing. It can all change in a minute over something seemingly innocuous, like something slight that the wind carries in. People believe nothing can tear them apart until they’re looking at their own shredded halves of what was once one, shared page. They thought they’d always be on friendly terms, until the house appeared. They were house hunting in tandem. They both sent each other any promising prospects they found online. They weren’t looking for the same thing at all – Kaley wanted something airy and city-based while Sam wanted to be sequestered away in a countryside cottage. It wasn’t a rivalry; it was a supportive search shared between friends. That was why they were surprised by each other at the open viewing. They’d told each other they were both attending one, but neither had dreamt it would be at the same location. They had both fallen in love with the place before they’d even got out of their cars. It was one of those idyllic places that look like they can only exist in airbrushed magazines, but it was real and with an affordable price tag. Kaley gave Sam a strained smile and Sam returned it. They didn’t hide how unhappy they were to see each other well at all. They had genuinely always been happy to see each other until that moment. It’s funny how one small, added weight can tip the scale in the other direction. The agent greeted them at the door, while he also greeted all the other viewers. There were so many keen potential bidders; everyone knew their chance of getting the place was as slim as the hallway felt with twenty people crammed into it. Each potential buyer lingered in the rooms, showing how loath they were to leave. It was a competitive atmosphere. One person looked another squarely in the eye, as if to say, are you going to dare outbid me? It wasn’t a friendly atmosphere, however friendly the house felt. Kaley stepped in front of Sam and made her way inside first. Ordinarily, she always would have held the door open and said, “after you.” They both basked in the beauty of their new home – the one they would, they realised, lose a friend to get. After being ejected by the agent whenever he jangled his keys to tell them the viewing time had ended, they left in separate cars without exchanging a word. Kaley went home, where she awaited a message from Sam, offering her the house, but it didn’t arrive. From there, the bidding war commenced. The price kept jumping up, and no one seemed to find its increase unreasonable. They just thought of the pink horse chestnut trees in the garden and the little brook at the end of the lawn. They thought of the sun-filled rooms with the dancing shadows of tree branches that moved on the walls. They thought of the heady scent of roses and the joyous moments they would spend inside its walls. Kaley had always hated expressions like “forever home,” but that was what it was to anyone that had the pleasure of viewing it. They both went beyond their budget to outdo each other. Each of them had the estate agent as a regular contact on their phones. They both sought out constant updates on the status of the house sale. But in that whole time, they didn’t talk to each other – they didn’t even send a single, civil message. The sisterhood they’d spent their lives building had become nothing but a sham. They couldn’t bear to face each other, because doing that would be like facing up to their own disappointment, to their own need for acquiescence where the house was concerned. Neither of them was prepared to acquiesce and let the other have it, for the sake of friendship. The place had a personality as strong as a person’s. It felt like it would be enough to fill the void left by their dead friendship. Their phones rang, simultaneously, with two different agents on the ends of the lines. They had both been outbid. The price had skyrocketed to the point that they could no longer match it, never mind outdo it. The professional tones of the agents weren’t sympathetic enough to their plight. They had invested their whole hearts in the house, and it was never going to belong to either of them. They didn’t know who the highest bidder was, and they didn’t know that it wasn’t each other. They just knew that their dreams were like mirages that had vanished, shattered like broken shards of mirror on cold, tiled floors. A month passed by, and they individually drove to the house – an idea at once in their two heads. They pulled up on the opposite side of the street and parked under the draped veiling of the trees. They tried to approach the place, circumspectly, investigating to see who had taken up residence there. Neither of them believed it was right to do that, but they had to know anyway. And so, they ended up standing side by side, on the same side of the street, looking at the occupied house than neither of them owned. Their eyes met at that moment of realisation, as they watched a kid they didn’t know playing basketball in the driveway, sinking shots they never could have made. The longer they looked at the house, the more they realised it was never meant to be theirs, to be theirs to fight over. They looked at each other with coy smiles, mirroring each other, and took a simultaneous step towards each other’s spot in the sun.


“I can’t believe we have to do this,” Allie huffed, tossing her phone into a bin labeled with her name on it. She grabbed the required headphones–earmuffs really–and moved through the queue. “It’s too far. If I make it through this I might just quit anyway.” Ginny, her coworker and best friend, rolled her eyes and she shuffled along, fidgeting with her headphones, trying to size them correctly. She tossed her phone into a bin as if it was on fire, smiling and sighing like she actually enjoyed keeping it distanced from her. “I think it’s nice spending a whole day in silence,” she stated, and really, she would. As a mother of two toddlers, this was a vacation. A whole day at a silent retreat–mandated and paid for by work. “Now quick, get your talking out now before they shut it down!” She winked, and Allie huffed again. Ginny offered her a granola bar and Allie accepted it with angst, hating that her friend knew her so well. She shoved the snack into her mouth in large bites as they grabbed the rest of their necessities for the day, which turned out to be a bag full of notepads, pens, and resources about meditation and taking time to listen through body language and facial cues. “Noooooo,” she groaned, mouth full. “I don’t even have my phone to play Scrabble on the sly. What am I going to do all day?” The queue led to a medium sized conference room with a stage and small two-chaired tables scattered throughout the floor. There were only about 30 people attending, all local HR departments torturing their reps with an exercise in patience. “Let’s sit by each other and we can play tic tac toe the whole time,” Allie said, elbowing her friend and pointing to an empty table. She searched her bag for a bottle of water and couldn’t find one. Ginny nodded, handing a water that she pulled from her bag like magic. “That’s what I’d do with my kids if they were here, she agreed.” Her tone wasn’t lost on Allie, but she didn’t care–games sounded much better than whatever this would likely entail. The two sat down and waited for instructions. Allie had assumed a silent retreat meant yoga and yurts, not sitting in a stuffy brown room with a bunch of strangers with plastic smiles on their faces. She was sure no one wanted to be there, but honestly she couldn’t tell by looking at them. She glanced at the schedule, seeing yoga was in fact on the agenda at the end of the day. She nodded to herself, mindlessly smoothing her hair and pasting her own smile across her betrayingly expressive face. After a few moments a small woman walked to the stage microphone, seeming to tiptoe or float, her heels making absolutely no sounds against the wood floors. Allie was so focused on that feat of magic, she barely heard the quiet voice through the speakers around the room. Snapping to attention, she tried to put the shoes out of her mind. “Welcome, everyone. We’re going to get started on an exercise in just a few moments. It’ll challenge you, and hopefully educate you on the forms of communication that exist without words or sounds.” She mumbled on about the research, and Allie nodded to herself, thinking the shoes must have pads on the bottom of them. This woman went far in her quest for silence, that’s for sure. “Pads on her shoes,” she whispered to Ginny. “I’m sure of it.” Ginny looked oddly at her, then raised a finger to her lips in a shushing manner.

“Whatever,” she mumbled and turned back to the woman on stage, who had moved on from research and onto the rules of engagement for the day.

“So when you’re ready, I need you all to rearrange yourselves to share a table with someone you’ve never met before. This works best with someone you don’t already have a shorthand knowledge of.” Allie looked around the room in panic. There went her plan of sticking with the one person she knew. She felt like an HR imposter. Who worked with people without liking people? Ginny hit at her shoulder. “Pay attention!” Allie nodded, not paying attention at all. She wondered if there would be a silent lunch after, and how would they even know if no one could tell them? The thought made her snort. Ginny nudged her again and pointed to her noise canceling headphones. Everyone was putting them over their ears. Shit, she missed something again. She followed everyone else and slid the headphones over her head, huffing again when she had to adjust her ponytail to accommodate them. Suddenly she couldn’t hear anything, and everyone else seemed to know what they were doing. Panicking again, she stayed seated in her chair. Surely someone would notice and guide her to their task if she just sat there. Like when a child is lost, she thought. They always say to stay where you are and wait for a grownup to find you. “Is that what they say?” she mumbled to herself. “Or do you go find someone?” She couldn’t even remember how to be a lost child, she thought, rolling her eyes. She looked down at her shoes, wondering how she would attach magic sound muffling pads to them. Someone sat down in the chair across from her, startling her. “I guess staying put was the right way to go,” she mumbled, raising her eyes to her guest. She started to wonder how she’d pretend to know what the frick was happening, but embarrassment reddened her cheeks. The man across from her was gorgeous. His suit–SUIT–was fitted, and fit well, she thought, before cursing herself for objectifying him. The suit fit well but didn’t look overly expensive. He had a short hairstyle that allowed for his headphones to easily fit over his head. He was clean shaven, had an open and approachable face, and looked to be in his late 20s or early 30s, if she had to guess. Allie herself was only 25, just a few years out of college, the baby in the room, which looked to be mostly jaded 40 year olds trying desperately to get promoted out of the job they’d had for a decade and a half. The man held out his hand and Allie offered hers in return. His handshake was firm, the way you’d expect from someone who worked with people all day. He smiled and she could see his white teeth. One tooth had a small chip in it, but why did it look so charming? She wondered how he’d chipped his tooth. Falling asleep and knocking his face on a table at a convention like this, probably. She sighed. “I’m Allie,” she said loudly, and then slapped a hand on her mouth, feeling like an idiot. She stifled a laugh, and then because she tried so hard not to, she burst out into a snort. She was so glad at that moment the man couldn’t hear her. She mouthed sorry and he held back a laugh too, a dimple appearing in his left cheek. Then she grimaced. She still had no clue what they were doing, and she didn’t know how to find out. Sighing again, she motioned to him and put her hands out in a “What do we do?” shrug. He motioned back to her in a “go ahead.” She narrowed her eyes at him and stared him down. There were brown specks in his green eyes. She narrowed hers more so he wouldn’t see that her brown eyes had green specks. It seemed like information he just didn’t deserve to have. Without breaking eye contact, she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. She could do this all day, she thought. Except really she couldn’t. The truth was, Allie was bored. She turned to look at what everyone else was doing, and honestly, it just looked like they were playing charades. Their arms and hands moved around and their faces held exaggerated emotions. She shrugged, and reached for her bag to grab the pen and paper. “I give up,” she wrote. “I don’t know what we’re doing. Oh, and I’m Allie.” She grimaced and slid the paper toward her partner, shrugging and handing him the pen. She expected him to be angry or at least exasperated for wasting his precious time. She waited for him to write something scathing about wasting her time, but he just winked and wrote something down, using his hand to cover it so she couldn’t peek. He looked left, then right, and then slid the paper across the table. It reminded her of when she was in school, passing notes to her friends in Study Hall. She mimicked the exaggerated looks to make sure no one was watching, and then looked at the page. She instantly laughed–snorted again–and glanced up at him, one eyebrow raised. “I wasn’t paying attention,” he’d written. “I was hoping for puppy yoga. I’m Daniel.” She looked at his hastily drawn lines, a big X in the center square. “Tic tac toe?”


It’s not yet 5am. It is dark still. I turn over to face the window. Moonlight settles reluctantly on the tree outside. I trace the tree’s dull outline with my eyes, a thick trunk grotesquely twisting into small branches. I count 27 branches visible in this light. I grow bored.

I feel the weight of exhaustion pulling at my limbs in mockery and wonder if sleep may still take me. It is unlikely. My head still throbs from the noise of the night, the relentless berating. I become aware of a small part of my ankle protruding from my pyjama bottoms, sitting uncomfortably on the mattress. It must have been four days since I had last stretched a sheet over the bed. No, five. Maybe more. I have lost track. The bare mattress disgusts me, but I won’t do anything about it. I can’t. Maybe I can. No, it must be impossible. I am too tired for this. I hug the flannel tighter around me. His flannel.

The last time he wore it, summer had only just begun to subside, and fall had curled lazily around Us. I had held on tighter to his sleeve than usual, feeling the soft fabric against my skin. When he asked if I was ok I had smiled at him and kissed him on the cheek. “Perfect.” I was. It all was.

I had convinced him to take me apple-picking. “It’ll be cute,” I whined when he had protested. “We’ll look so picture-perfect it’ll make other people sick.” He rewarded me with that laugh I loved so much and his reluctant agreement. The apple orchard was about an hour’s drive from my house, but I relished the long car ride, the happy chatter and the watching of the autumnal trees along the roads in their slow burn, some tinged red at the ends and some entirely eaten up. When We got out of the car the air had a crisp edge, so I had curled around his arm. Now the air is more than crisp and there is no arm to cling to. I curl up more to shelter from the biting winter cold. I consider turning up the heat, but it’s so far away. Away from the cocoon, I am swaddled in. Maybe later.

I question if I should do something. It is clear that once again sleep has rejected me and I am to stay awake. I won’t get up. Perhaps I could read. I used to like reading. Or watch a movie. There was a time when my days would start with yoga and coffee. I would be at work by 8 or on campus by 9. All I did was move ceaselessly through time and moments. The last moment I remember being entirely present in was the apple orchard.

We were moving our way through the labyrinth of trees slowly, me taking my time to teasingly inspect each apple three times over, him smiling lazily. I felt We were something out of a montage in a romantic comedy and said as much. “I’m sure we’d be dressed better if we were,” he had responded.

I don’t remember my retort exactly, it was unimportant. I remember thinking how wrong he was, though. He looked perfect, with the soft mid-morning light caressing his cheeks and the red of his flannel blending seamlessly in with the red apples around Us.

We continued moving through, stopping at a little arch in a clearing that had vines twisting around it. The vines had not yet felt the cool touch of autumn and still shone with brilliant green. I made a comment about how perfect it would be for a wedding, surely that was its purpose? I barely registered him stiffen beside me. I split from him to investigate the one small white flower that remained on the tangled branches. I think often about that moment.

I hadn’t resented his lack of interest in the arch, or the small flower adorning it, but I wish I had stayed, just a little longer. I wish I had sat down under the arch for a moment, taken a deep breath, relished the perfection of the moment. Instead, We kept walking. It aches to remember these things. I wish I didn’t. I wish I had crawled into bed in an old hoodie last night instead. I seem never to notice the way I infect things until I am left gangrenous and in need of an amputation.

I decide to put on a movie. A distraction. The light of the laptop hurts my eyes a little and I squint while I peruse the options. No romantic comedies. No movies with sad endings. No movies I haven’t seen before, I don’t want surprises. No movies I saw with him. The options I am left with leave a bad taste in my mouth. I pick one at random, something to not feel the interminable drip of time so profoundly.

I immediately regret my choice as the movie starts. It was one of my favourites when I was younger. I must have watched it upwards of 30 times. I’m sure I could quote at least three-quarters of it by heart. I shouldn’t tether it to this moment.

My alternatives seem so unappetising that I let it play. The plot rolls past me without me even noticing it. Instead, I spend my time wondering. I wonder if I should have seen the emptiness in his eyes. I wonder if I could have known that with the sickening of summer the home I had built inside him was falling into disrepair, the walls cracking, the garden browning and dying off. I wonder if I could have stopped it.

Of course I couldn’t have. I had no way of noticing the shift, no reason to question his refusal to come up after dropping me off that day on the excuse that he was tired. It had been a long day, I was tired too. When everything was dying outside, I had no reason to think that extended to my life too.

I wonder what I did wrong, if my wedding arch comment was too much, if I was too pushy, if he grew bored of me. I wonder what he would think of me now. I imagine he would be disgusted. Freezing in a half-made bed with the credits for a film I didn’t watch rolling in front of me, I am disgusted.

I get up to turn up the heat. A small beam of light peers in through the window. The sunrise, the dawn of a new day a promise that, in spite of myself, I keep. I don’t go back to bed.


EVENING “There have been a lot of wild rumors surrounding your life, so I’d like to begin with just the facts,” the young woman said, fumbling with her tape recorder in the darkness. “Lead the way,” encouraged the older lady with a chuckle. “But you may find that facts and rumors look awfully similar in the dark.” “First, you were born Anna Prescott in the Eastern Demilitarized Zone. Your parents died when you were young and you were sent to the Riverside Youth Education Facility. It was there that you developed a severe form of solar urticaria, a rare reaction to sunlight. So severe that you can no longer be exposed to light at all.” “Yes, that’s correct.” Anna said, beckoning the young reporter on, as if getting a kick out of hearing her life repeated back to her. “On your 18th birthday you were moved to a government facility on the west coast and right before the War ended, you were kidnapped by William Blair, the famous double agent for the DLP and traitor of the Regime. You disappeared for nearly 50 years, until now. Is that all correct?” “That is the public narrative of my life, yes.” The old lady laughed. “And then there are the rumors,” the reporter continued. “First, many people don’t believe that you actually exist. Others say you developed psychic powers due to your condition. There is still at least one religious faction that worships you as a diety.” “I can assure you that’s not true, but please don’t tell them.” “They also say you were employed by the Regime as a soothsayer, a spy, and a courtesan, dephending on who you ask, and you were code named the Pale Lady.” “Certainly a fitting name, but surely I was never pretty enough to be a courtesan in the Regime’s harem. Even in the dark.” “So after 50 years, you decide to come forward. Why now?” The reporter listened as Anna took a moment to consider the question, her breathing deepened. “Because even an old woman with one foot in the grave starts to look back and consider what she’s leaving behind. So I wanted to set the story straight. Beyond the facts and rumors.” MORNING "The Riverside Youth Education Facility was a large beautiful manor house up in the Eastern mountain region and home to some 200 children, mostly sons and daughters of prominent figures in the Regime. I was a precocious girl. I talked a lot and was always getting in trouble. I’m sure I was a little nightmare, but even so, I like to believe the attendants had a special fondness for me. All in all, my early childhood was a happy time. But I suppose I can’t tell my story without also telling Billy’s." “That’s William Blair you’re talking about?” the reporter asked. “Yes, the one and the same. He was a year or so older than me and not yet the most hated man in the whole Regime. I was maybe seven when he first arrived.” “You knew William Blair as a child?” “Yes, but it’s not common knowledge. His Father had just received a prominent military promotion and no longer had time to raise him. Nobody seemed to know what happened to his mother; he never volunteered the information and nobody ever asked. He was probably my opposite in every way, but we became unlikely friends. He was smaller and quieter than the other boys his age and kept to himself, which is probably what drew me to him. I was never one to stand still, I flitted about from group to group, but I always seemed to come back to Billy. And then the sun spots started to appear. It started as a batch of itchy reddish spots on my cheeks. It lasted for a few days, only to reappear a week later on my back and shoulders. They called in the district physician and he seemed to think it was a sun allergy that would just go away on it’s own, but with each week it just seemed to get worse until it covered my entire body. I was confined to a private bedroom out of direct sunlight which helped for a while, but we all know how it turned out. It got so bad that even the tiniest bit of indirect light would cause my skin to erupt in rashes and hives. The physician made the final diagnosis. I was highly allergic to all forms of light and would forever be imprisoned in darkness. As I became more and more secluded, my friends came by less and less frequently, except Billy. He was so sweet to me back then, he was my tether to the rest of the world. He never tired of telling me all the Riverside gossip and he never grew impatient when I lay crying in his arms for hours. We spent every day together, at least until his father showed back up.

He was traveling abroad on a diplomatic assignment, something to do with the DLP, and he wanted Billy to accompany him. The DLP has of course now morphed into the National Liberty Party and is nearly indistinguishable from all the other sanctioned political parties, but at the time they called themselves the Democratic Liberation Party and were classified as a terrorist organization. So Billy left with his father for three months, and when he returned, he brought back two items. First was a permanent disfigurement across his left cheek, a scarred swatch of skin that curved from the base of his ear to the corner of his mouth. Billy never volunteered what happened and I never asked.

The second thing, and of far more consequence to me, was a large crate, dropped off unceremoniously by his Father’s porter.

“What’s in it?” I asked. “They’re books,” Billy exclaimed excitedly, opening the crate. It was rare that Billy got excited and it was clumsy but contagious. “My father has a library full of them. He thinks I want to read them, but really they’re for you.” “What am I supposed to do with a bunch of books?” I asked. “I can’t read in the dark.” “I’ve been thinking about it and I want to try something. It may hurt.” I heard Billy fumbling with something and then a very dim - almost impossibly dim - red glow appeared. “It’s a flashlight that filters out every wavelength except red light. It’s supposed to be easier on your eyes, so I thought it might be easier on your skin as well.” The next few nights I experimented. It was true that it didn’t immediately burn my skin like regular light, and if I held it pointed away from me with the face obstructed except for a small pinhole, it only caused a slight itching sensation but nothing more. I began to dig through the stack of books. They were mostly history and military strategy type books, but they were certainly better than the pro-regime propaganda that the library carried. So I began to read, sweeping the narrow beam of light back and forth across the pages, line by line. Having nothing much else to do, I went through the entire crate in a matter of months and then started over. Billy continued to spend each summer with his father, and every fall he would bring me a fresh crate of new books to consume. It was the morning of my 18th birthday when the Regime arrived for me. They had heard of my condition and wanted to move me to a hospital where I could be studied and given the best care in the world. I fiercely objected but who was I to resist? So I was taken away. It was the summer and Billy was off with his father, so I never even got to say goodbye. DAYLIGHT “I’m sorry to hear that,” the reporter said, clearly not all that concerned. “And what did they do at the hospital?” “They never sent me to a hospital. That was a lie. They took me and shipped me off to the Ranch.” “The Ranch? Wasn’t that the name of...” “A brothel, yes. You don’t hear much about it today, but back then, that was the place to be. Especially if you were a senior member of the Regime. Everybody who was anybody came through that place, and I probably catered to most if not all of them. With my condition I became something of an exotic delicacy. It’s true what I said before, I never was that pretty. But everything happened in the dark, and deprived of light for the last decade, I had become something of an expert on the other senses. But that wasn’t even my main claim to fame. It was Billy who had accidentally sent me on a path of notoriety.

I had read every book on the Regime that Billy had brought to me. I probably knew more about the history and inner workings than most of my clients. And when they found out that I could actually hold a conversation, Jesus, would they talk! I couldn’t get them to shutup. The novelty of discussing their job with someone like me - a woman, a courtesan, an invalid - delighted them. And the darkness probably helped as well. They got the feminine touch without being fully confronted by a woman’s presence. So I became something of a sensation amid the upper ranks. They called me the Pale Lady.” “Your claim to fame,” the reporter said. “Yes, but you have to understand, I was their slave. I’ve brushed over the details, but a lot more went on than just a bunch of dry conversations about political theory. They were a nasty bunch, and every day I felt a little more broken. I can of course say all this now, but back then I would have been shot for blasphemy. “So how did William Blair get involved?” “Ah, William Blair,” Anna said, sighing deeply. “I didn’t recognize him when he first came to me, but I could tell there was something different about him. He would come and talk to me - about nothing really in particular - and he never did anything besides talk. Which wasn’t necessarily unusual, but with him...it was different. He didn’t talk endlessly about himself or brag about his accomplishments. He didn’t carry the sense of entitlement and control over me that I could hear in the other men’s voices. He treated me like an actual person. And then one day, he even brought me a gift. “What is it?” I asked him across the darkened room. “It’s a book,” he said. “Do you still have the red light I gave you.” Anna paused. The reporter waited for her to continue. “That one sentence,” Anna said, struggling to get the words out, “that one sentence completely knocked me off my feet. Could it really be him? After all these year? The rush of emotions...” Anna paused, silence filled the room. “I’m sorry, I can still feel it like it was yesterday.” A long pause and finally Anna continued. “Billy continued to visit me about once a week, everytime with a new book for me to devour. He was still the same serious boy, sensitive even, but all grown up now. And it was like we had never been separated. We must have carried on like this for at least a year. Billy visiting, us talking, often late into the night. It was the happiest time of my life. Until the one day that it all fell apart.” EVENING Billy came to me that evening and I could just feel that something was wrong. He sat down on the bed beside me. I could feel his tension, a tremor in his body. “I’m going to try to keep this brief.” Billy sounded more serious than I had ever heard him. “I’ve been compromised, which means you’ve been compromised. I haven’t been completely honest with you, Anna. And for that I’m sorry, but I thought at the time that I was doing it for your own good. You know me as William, or Billy, a ranking captain in the Regime. That part is true. But what you don’t know, and what the Regime didn’t know, is that I’m also a part of the DLP, I’ve been acting as an informant inside the Regime for the last 5 years.” “The DLP?” I asked, shocked. “There had been rumors that the Pale Lady moonlighted as a high-priced call girl for members of the Regime. There were also rumors that she had a way about her, a way that would make men spill their deepest secrets. She was a seductress of the highest order.” “I was an assignment?” My mind was racing ahead. “Yes. I wanted more time, but my hand has been forced. We need to escape. As soon as possible.” My thoughts came crashing down on me. “Escape? What do you mean escape? I can’t escape.” I got up in distress and Billy followed, grabbing my arms as I turned away. “Yes you can. I can help you. I can get you out of here.” I struggled against his grip - he was strong - but he let go as I backed away. “No,” I said. “I can’t leave this place. It’s not possible” “In the next few weeks, I will likely become a wanted man and my life will be ripped open. And once it’s open, it doesn’t take a genius to question how a Captain in the Regime can afford the most expensive call-girl in the city every week. And if the money’s not coming from the Regime, why would the DLP fund a low-level member’s high-class sexual appetites?” “But you haven’t told me anything.” I was struggling to put together the pieces, both the shock of Billy’s hidden life, the threat of my own life coming unravelled, and the fact that I couldn’t yet figure out why. “Why am I in danger? I serve lots of important clients.” “Exactly. I haven’t told you anything but they have. And when the secret police start questioning you, every one of those important men will start looking for a way to cover their tracks.” Suddenly all of their secrets flashed in front of my eyes. Billy was right. They would trace him right to me, and by that point it didn’t matter if I knew anything or not. But the thought of leaving was just too impossible. I couldn’t just walk out the door. “I’ll be back in a week,” Billy said, intercepting my thoughts. “You need to be ready to leave.” “So he didn’t actually kidnap you?” the reporter asked, now on the edge of her seat. “No, quite the opposite. He set me free. He returned the next week just like he said. Instead of a book, this time he had a thick burlap suit. He had apparently been working on it for months, preparing for this day. It was designed to cover my entire body head to toe with only small eye holes, covered with heavy red UV filters, and a breathing tube poking out in the middle of the face. I slipped the suit on - it was heavier and bulkier than it looked - and we waited. I didn’t know what we were waiting for until I heard the sirens in the distance swiftly approaching. As they got closer, the squeal of the sirens becoming deafening, I could hear clients and courtesans rushing out of their rooms in panic, chaos enveloping the entire establishment. Billy gently squeezed my hand as we waited for our chance. “Now,” Billy said, slipping out of the room, Billy holding my hand, leading the way. We snuck down a corridor, down some stairs, and outside. This was the first time I had stepped foot outside in years. I heard a car pull up. “This is the part where you need to trust me,” Billy said. I heard a click and the trunk opening. “You will get in the trunk of this car and be driven to safety. I still have things here I need to do, but I will meet you in a few weeks. I’ve already arranged your passage through the Military checkpoints. You’ll be safe.” I climbed into the trunk and before I had a chance to think, the door slammed closed behind me. I was once again returned to darkness. And that was the last time I ever saw William Blair. Rumor has it that he was killed trying to cross the border. Trying to get back to me. MIDNIGHT The young reporter got up, her ankles cracking under her weight. It was late, and the interview had run its course. “I’d like to thank you for your time, Mrs. Prescot. This story is set for publication in two weeks. It could be front page material” The reporter had clearly gotten more than she expected. Anna could hear the excitement in her voice. They said their goodbyes, and the reporter left Anna to her darkened life. The old woman slowly got up, and made her way to the next room. “She’s gone.” Anna said into the darkness. “Already?” a cracked voice replied. An old man slowly emerged into the room. Anna and the man sensed each other’s bodies in the darkness and embraced. “How’d it go,” the man asked. “It was hard, but I fumbled my way through. Just like I always do.” The man laughed. “Did she ask about me?” “Of course she did. I set the record straight.” “Hopefully not too straight.” Anna laughed. “Your life is safe. You saved me from the Ranch and then disappeared, most likely killed. One more casualty of the old Regime, lost forever.” The old man smiled. “Thank you,” he said. Anna squeezed his hand. They stood together in the darkness.