The fire dances to the wind this November night, the moon a full circle of light shining above it. I am covered in a blanket surrounded by my friends Kai, Diana, Emi, Theus, and Dmitry. Echoes of “Happy Birthday Effie!” sing beside me. “Thank you, guys!” I smile, “I’m not getting up because the fire feels nice and I’m freezing to death!” What’s your birthday wish?” asked Kai… “Uhm, probably for my loved ones to be healthy,” I said, “I don’t think I want to face any more deaths this year.” Six months ago, I lost my grandfather to cancer and went through the worst heartbreak the week before. “Yeah Effie, you went through a lot of shit this year,” said Diana, “you need a break and some wine!” I didn't want the party to get depressing, so I think of something witty. “Well, since there is a full moon tonight,” I stand up, holding a glass of wine, “I wish none of you turn into a werewolf.” I take a sip of wine and feel a hand pulling my arm. Let’s DANCE!” said Emi. We drank wine to keep ourselves warm and danced around the fire. “Effie, Effie! Your phone is ringing!” I walk towards Kai and grab the phone. “Who is it?” I ask. “I don’t know, but they're from the area,” he says. “Hello?” I answer. “Hey, happy birthday.” I recognized the voice and stay silent. “It’s Rio hahaha.” “Oh hey,” I answer quietly, “uhh thanks.” What are you up to tonight?” he asks, “sorry if it’s weird to call, I just wanted to see how you’re doing.” Rio broke my heart twice. I couldn't grieve my grandfather because I was grieving him, and the second time he texts out of the blue, hoping to rekindle the relationship, and once I lure him back, I find out he was dating someone else. Rio was a narcissist, a manipulator denying his errors and not holding himself accountable. The wise thing to do was tell him to go to hell, but I thought, maybe this time, he finally acknowledged everything he did. After all, the transformation was part of a full moon. “I’ve been doing well,” I said, “I’m actually celebrating at the beach right now.” How nice, he softly answers, “I moved back to the city.” It surprised me mostly because he tried moving out of it since we first dated. “Why’s that?” I ask, “I thought you hated the city.” “Nah,” he said, “you were right about how lonely the east side was.” Before luring him back for the third time, I reminded him of the crap he put me through in July. That’s over,” he said, “You probably have every right not to believe me but, I do want to apologize in person sometime, I know I hurt you a lot.” I did miss Rio, despite the 2 heartbreaks I went through, I missed his presence and warmth. The third time’s a charm I guess. “Well, we’re at the beach right now,” I suggest, “you can join if you want.” “Of course,” he says, “I’ll be there soon.” My friends were all sitting by the fire covered in blankets. I sit next to Theus who’s singing along to his favorite song. “Who was it?” asked Emi, cuddled next to Dmitry. I awkwardly smile. “Oh no, don’t tell me,” answers Diana. Dmitry turns to look at me. “What did he want?” he asks. “Nothing, just wishing me a happy birthday.” Theus puts me on the spot. “You were on the phone for like 10 mins!” He slaps me on the shoulder, “Tell me, girl!” I look at the fire for a second then answer. “It was Rio, the guy I was dating earlier in the year." Theus wasn’t around much after he moved out of the house and I was too busy to update him on anything. “Ugh, you should have called me!” he responds. “Well, he texts me out of the blue in June and wants to hang out,” I explained, “and in July, Diana showed me a picture he posted on Instagram and I find out he’s two-timing me, or her I don’t know." “He also denied it,” Emi said. I look towards her. “Yeah, typically narcissist,” I turn to Theus and jokingly add “Oh and he’s an Aquarius like you!" “I mean yes, Aquarius can be narcissistic, but did he make it official again?” Theus asks. "No," I answer softly. Theus continues asking questions. “So, he denied the other girl he was seeing, even after you showed him the picture?” he asks. I pour myself more wine and avoided Theus’s interrogation. “Anyway, he apologized,” I take a sip and say, “but 3 strikes, he’s out, FOR SURE." “Did you invite him tonight?” Dmitry asked in a stern voice. “Mmmaybe,” I slowly answer, “he’s back in the city too.” The whole circle grows quiet. I couldn’t see Emi’s face buried in Dmitry’s chest, but I felt her concern. Emi and Dmitry were my closest friends, so I understood why they thought I was dumb, but they never judged, they worried. “Yeah, just be careful,” Emi said, “this is the third time friend.” My phone rings, the same number as before. “Hey, I’m here, you’re the ones sitting by the fire right?” I get up and see the tall silhouette standing by the parking lot. “Y-yeah,” I say, remembering the shadow I saw earlier, he wasn’t wearing the fisherman hat though. “come on down.” “So who’s going to call him out?!” laughs Theus. “Shut up!” I say, punching him in the arm. “Hello.” Everyone turns around and sees Rio walking towards us. He immediately sits next to me. “I brought wine.” “Whooo!” cheers Diana and Theus. “Thank you!” I say. Rio turns to me, “Of course, happy birthday,” and kisses me on the cheek. Theus pokes his head towards Rio. “Hey, I don’t think we’ve met before,” he puts me on the spot again, “SOMEONE here never introduced me!” Rio laughs, the same laugh that gave me goosebumps. “You did hear each other through the phone though,” I remind them, “that one time Theus, when we asked you to come over, but you said he lived too far.” “Well, he DID.” Theus pointed out. Rio caresses my blanket. “It’s so soft, I like it.” He gets closer, pulling me in his arms. I place my head on his chest, feeling a lot warmer. Across me was Kai sleeping soundly by the fire. “How long has Kai been sleeping?!” laughs Diana. “He just came here to start the fire guys don’t worry,” Dmitry says. We all laugh together. I suddenly feel something sharp poking my leg. “Oww!” I look over at Rio, “is there a knife in your pocket?!” “Oh yes,” he says, pulling out a gray object shaped like an arrow. He opens it in an L-shaped form. “It’s a wine opener.” Kai wakes up looking confused. “How long was I out for?” “About an hour,” I say, “but you looked so peaceful we didn’t want to wake you up.” He sees Rio and waves hello. “Have we met?” he asks. “No, I don’t think so,” Rio says, “would you like some wine?” Kai disregards the question when he sees the sharp object in Rio’s hand and asks, “Omg is that a wine opener?!” “Yeah, do you want to look at it?” Kai grabs the arrow-shaped object. “Careful it’s sharp!” I point out. Rio pulls me closer to him, kissing me on the cheek again. “You okay?” he asks. “Yeah,” I respond, “just being dramatic.” We danced for another hour and sat by the fire. I look at the time. It was barely 9 pm. “What are you guys doing after?” asks Rio. “Probably just take an Uber home,” answers Dmitry. “What about you Theus?” I ask. “Well, some friends invited me to a club, but I don’t know if I want to go home and change,” he says. Everyone gets up and starts picking up their belongings. “Want to come over?” Rio asks quietly. For the first time, I hesitated, but mostly because I didn’t bring anything with me to shower or sleep in. “…Sure,” I said. An SUV pulls up to the parking lot. “Uber’s here!” says Kai. He hands Rio back his wine opener. “Before I forget!” “I call SHOTGUN!” Theus says. “You going to be okay?” Dmitry asks. “Yeah,” I nod, “just text me when you get home.” The SUV drives away and it’s just Rio and I alone at the beach. The fire continues to dance by the sea breeze under the full moon. “Did you drive here?” I ask. ‘” No, I actually went back to the place I was at before,” Rio says standing behind me, “it’s a 15-minute walk from here.”

I’m snuggled in my blanket and think about the walk. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll keep you warm the whole way.” I turn around and see Rio standing by the fire. An orange hue casted on his face, hair receding from his head, and a much rounder shape than I remembered. He sees my eyes wandering at his entire shape. “I know, I look a little different,” he answers, softly laughing, “you don’t mind right?” I nod my head. “No,” I say, “we should start walking, I’m really cold.” As we walked back to shire, I recalled the night he spoke about his weight, how his fatphobic aunt refused to look at him and didn’t want him near her. I met Rio slender, tall, with a lot more hair. I didn’t really recognize the man walking with me. “You’re quiet,” he points out, “are you sure the weight doesn’t bother you?” “No, sorry I’m just really tired,” I tell him.  “Was it stress again?” I ask, “You told me how you lost a lot of hair because of stress.” “Yes,” he said, “that happened 5 months ago too.” Five months ago, was around the time he contacted me. From what he told me in the past, relationships, his ex-wife, and now, most likely the girl he was holding from the back, looking like a high school prom photo. “Did she break up with you?” I asked, expecting an excuse, “Is that WHY you’re here with me right now?” “No, no,” he quickly answered, looking as if he was making a political speech “I broke up with HER.” Rio continues his speech, trying to sound correct. “I gained weight and lost my hair, and she didn’t like that.” I didn’t need to ask him for the truth or for him to admit the girl in the picture from July was in fact a partner, not his “friend” which he switched to “stylist” in the same sentence. “Hopefully you find a new stylist,” I say. Rio sighs in frustration. The full moon’s light made it easier to walk up the parking lot. My heart felt heavy again, triggered by patterns of lies and excuses.  I grab my phone and cancel Rio's request back to his house. “Hey,” I say, “I’m just going to call an Uber home no worries.” His eyes widen. “Is something wrong?” he asks. “No, I’m just too tired to walk.” “Okay, why don’t you call it at my house, you’ll be a lot warmer.” I stay quiet, trying not to shiver so much from the cold, hoping a driver is 5 minutes away. Rio walks closer to me, grabs my phone, cancels the request, and pulls my arm, wrapping my body inside his arms. I scream and pull away from him. I wasn't thinking clearly and ran back to the beach. “GO AWAY!” I scream. I keep running, feeling the cold wind numbing my face. “What did you say?” he responds. There was no distance between us, and I knew, as I heard his voice next to me that he caught up. Once again, I am wrapped around his arms, my body falling on top of his next to the ocean waves. “Stay calm,” he whispers in my ear. I am too cold to say anything. “I knew you were just like them; you hate how I look, and never trust me.” I stay quiet. “You’re too paranoid,” he says breathing heavily, “I hate when people doubt my good intentions.” As the waves crash onto us, I can no longer feel my body. He pulls us farther from the waves. The only thing on my mind was death, and facing it once again, on my birthday. Rio, the narcissist won the battle against me. This day was never about me; it was about a man’s ego I destroyed. A man, once a boy, blamed women for his insecurities, failed marriage, weight gain, and hair loss. How does a narcissist prepare for battle? First, he’ll be alone, he’ll start running every day, lifting weights, using products for hair growth, and wearing nice clothes. He will look in the mirror and won’t recognize the insecure boy anymore. He is ready for the next prey, the one who met him as the gentleman with a slender figure who doesn’t know about the insecure boy underneath. The prey figured him out by her intuitive powers the 1st time, the 2nd, but was too late the 3rd time. I’m the one that has to pay the price. How does a narcissist kill? Strangling? Asphyxiation? My watering eyes capture the constellations in the sky right before death. “Cupid’s Arrow,” I say to myself. As my eyes cleared out, Cupid’s Arrow was a gray sharp object in front of me. Death by wine opener. I close my eyes and face Death. "Ahhh!!" I’m woken up, no longer feeling Rio’s weight behind me, no blood falling out my throat. I’m still at the beach, or maybe in purgatory. But there he was, in pain, looking up at me and struggling to speak. “E-Effie,” he says, “I’m burning!” I stare in shock. “C-Call for help!” No, I couldn’t trust him at all, especially now. I escaped Death and only had one chance. I stretch my arm out as a test. “You have my phone,” I remind him, “hand it over.” “L-left p-pocket,” he says, struggling to speak. The arrow-shaped opener was still on his hand so I tell him to throw it as far as he could. Before doing so, his whole body shakes until he stops moving. “Rio?” I ask, puzzled. No response. His fingers curled up near his shoulders, eyes, and mouth open, looking up at the sky, the full moon lighting a blue shade to the narcissist’s fate. My heart stops aching. Seeing death in front of me made me feel…liberated. I walk closer to him to grab my phone from his pocket until I notice something crawling up his stomach. It moves closer to the moonlight and I realize the large black venomous insect on top of him…. I quickly jump back. A SCORPION?! AT THE BEACH?” … “Death by venom,” I say to myself. The scorpion looked calm, trusting, and I didn't feel threatened. But there was no strength left in me anymore. I wouldn’t make it out of this beach alive. My body, slowly losing blood circulation, numbing everything inside, I lay on top of the sand, facing death for the 2nd time. I look up at the full moon shining above me until a shadow stands in front. My eyes grow and I scream quickly getting up. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” said the shadow. It was an old man holding a flashlight. “I’m looking for Artie, my pet.” How much shit would I go through tonight? I thought. But the old man looked harmless. “Umm, I haven’t seen an animal sorry,” I said. He saw me shaking and handed me my blanket and…right, I forgot about my tote bag with extra clothes in it. “I found it near the steps before walking down here,” he says handing me the bag. “Thank you so much!” I said, “Let me change really quick if I feel warmer, I can help you find your pet.” “You should probably go home,” he smiled, “I got it from here.” I smile back, “if you call Artie’s name loud enough, it can probably hear you.” I suggested. I hide near a boulder and feel the warmth of my clothes in my body. I grab my blanket and walk over to see the old man near the dead narcissist. “There you are!” the old man cheers, grabbing the large black insect. I am in shock. Artie was the scorpion that killed Rio! My eyes were probably the size of the moon. The old man looks towards me and smiles. “Don’t worry,” he says, “he’s not going to hurt you or anyone anymore.” Before I said anything, my phone rang. I sigh in relief, thankful it was still working. Emi was on the other line. “Hey,” I said, “what’s up?” “Effie are you okay?” she sounds concerned. “Yeah, I’m still at the beach, I was going to call an Uber home.” “It’s ok, we came back!” I hear Dmitry in the background. “Yeah, we got home, and your location stopped moving so, we got worried,” Emi said. “Are you at the same spot?” I cried from happiness; thankful I had friends that looked out for me. I tried not to sound mopey over the phone, so I swallow tears before answering. “Yeah, I’ll meet you here,” I said. Before walking up, I had to thank the old man, but as I turn around, he was gone. Rio’s body is also gone. I take a second to see the night’s beauty, shining under the full moon. All I see are the waves in front of me, pulling the narcissist to his grave of water, taking every trace of the night back into the ocean. "Thank you," I say.


A noble colleague of mine at the University of Colorado went skiing one day on Aspen Mountain and was never heard or seen from again. Around the water cooler in the teacher’s lounge I heard it through the university grapevine that maybe his sudden disappearance was not and accident, but foul play may have been involved. It was also whispered around campus that his 25 year old wife is now dating another man even older than him. He was 52 years old when he was accidently involved in a one on one match with an avalanche. Professor Ashbury’s remains hadn’t nearly thawed and his gorgeous widowed wife was gallivanting around the snow covered plains of Aspen with millionaire playboy Walter Countbassey who was 90 and six days years old. Everyone knew the older playboy, days on the planet earth were numbered, before he met the most famous playboy of them all Hugh Hefner down below. Professor Ashbury was believed to have had taken out an 8 million dollar double indemnity life insurance policy 3 weeks prior to his sudden disappearance. His benefactor would receive double if he was accidently covered with over 6 to 12 feet of snow.

All the faculty members were unrelenting on pointing their middle fingers at the Anna Nicole look alike in her direction. The Chief of Police, the Lieutenant Governor of Colorado and the Mayor. All agreed that she was as dumb as a box of pet rocks and surely wasn’t mentally capable of plotting his disappearance, besides she was sleeping with all three at the time.

Most of the wealthy and prominent men residing in Aspen, Colorado (population 7,365) demanded that the lovely Rachel Lawrence Hewitt Smithe-Ashbury shouldn’t never have been included as being the number 1 suspect. Professor Ashbury’s death was ruled as an unfortunate accident by the coroner’s office Dr. Warren Chapman. Who also cleared her on another accidental death of husband number 2? Dr. Amos Hewitt the famous plastic surgeon was found hanging on a hook upside down like a giant cow with an incision made with a sharp knife in the jugular furrow at the base of his neck, the knife being directed towards the entrance of his chest to sever all the major blood vessels arising from the heart, in a hidden laboratory in their secluded mansion. He weighed over 800 pounds soaking wet. I heard it through the cold cellar storage grapevine that Rachel spent a lot of nights in his doomed and gloomy bodies on ice domain? His famous line being. “The dead can’t tell on you”. I guess he never considered the array of security cameras planted all over the place ever since Harvey Weinstein’s body was stolen. It was “alleged” that it may have been taken by 122 of those women he allegedly raped over a 40 year span, led by Cynthia Burr. Dr. Chapman is now under intense investigation. It was believed that he got caught on tape having late night sex with some of the frozen corpse female and male. A person who engages in sexual activities with a corpse is called a necrophiliac. I teach Psychiatry at the University of Colorado, having had my tenure over the last 4 years. I posed the question to my students is it any way possible that Mrs. Ashbury could have been Socially or Psychologically involved in her husband’s sudden disappearance. I gave them 3 weeks to complete the assignment. I had hoped to stop all the gossiping going on by giving my brilliant students something else to focus on what really may have happened to Professor Ashbury, who also taught Human Behavior. A young mind is a terrible thing to waste and not manipulate. When I got 103 hypothesis papers back. I immediately copied each and every one of them and gave all of those who completed the assignment an A. Except for the pot smoking Luther Vangross. I gave him an A+. Everyone in all my psych classes knew he was a slacker. I truly believed by giving him the best grade I would be cutting two apples with one slice. I took all the papers home with me and when I truly had enough time to thoroughly examine their minds I would re-grade them properly. My classes were getting larger and larger each semester. In the meantime, I did a little background check on the ex wife of my prodigious friend Professor Rufus Ashbury. They had only been married less than two years. I was the best man at their wedding. The first place I knew where to look was LinkedIn, Snap Chat, Facebook, Instagram, Myspace, Twitter, YouTube, Pinterest, Tumblr, Reddit, Flickr, Kik, Periscope, Medium, SoundCloud, Tender, WhatsApp and Slack. Rachel must never had a job because she was posted on every single social media I discovered. Our, I mean Rachels net worth was over 27 million. How could someone supposedly being that dumb be able to acquire that much income at just turning 25 years old. I found out later that she was actually 35 years old all due to husband number 2.  The Plastic Surgeon. Rachel was also a child prodigy. A child prodigy is defined in psychology research literature as a person under the age of ten who produces meaningful output in some domain to the level of an adult expert. The term wunderkind (from German: Wunderkind, literally "wonder child") is sometimes used as a synonym for child prodigy, particularly in media accounts. Wunderkind also is used to recognize those who achieve success and acclaim early in their adult careers. Rachel’s real name being Nancy Thurgood. Nancy’s three fields of study where she degreed in were Abnormal Psychology, Forensic Science and Theater. I always found her fascinating at the two dinner parties I seen her attend. Anyone with even one glass eye could see that Dr. Ashbury was over matched. All the men she married and concubine with were no match for her. I purposely steered cleared of her captivating beauty and wit. She was a far cry from being dumb as she had many others to believe. Even the women she slept with. I had just gotten out of the shower when I her the sound of my Mozart GE 2-Melody Doorbell Chime. I wasn’t the least surprised to see the lovely Rachel when I looked at the camera monitor. I would not entertain her at this present time. She must have heard about what I assigned my students to do. She was a very brilliant woman. I also knew that I had better switched cars. No telling how devious and clever she could truly get. I estimated that she was probably responsible for taking over 10 to 12 lives including her own sister who was said to have drowned at age three. In sibling rivalries, the first born can’t sometime adjust to now being second fiddle. No one ever suspected Nancy of doing something such as that. Her parents never had any other children. What Nancy didn’t consider at that young murdering age is that she actually destroyed the family. Her mother and father blamed one another for their daughter’s unexpected death and eventually divorced. I watched her get into her brand new convertible Aston Martin One -77 and drive away. A minute later I received a call on my cell phone from someone unknown. I never answer those kinds of calls. When I got to work that following Monday. My secretary handed me a mailed envelope. I handed it back to Margret and told her to return to sender address unknown.

Four days later I found that exact red envelope on the windshield of my car. I tossed it on the ground and purposely ran over it. I knew that Rachel was probably watching from a distant. The plot was thickening for real. A sociopath can be defined as a person who has Antisocial Personality Disorder. This disorder is characterized by a disregard for the feelings of others, a lack of remorse or shame, manipulative behavior, unchecked egocentricity, and the ability to lie in order to achieve one's goals. Sociopaths can be dangerous at worst or simply very difficult to deal with, and it's important to know if you have found yourself with a sociopath, whether it's someone you're dating or an impossible coworker. I wasn’t dating her, but my coworker and very close best friend had. I knew running over that letter would drive her insane. The next day all my car tires were slashed and the side of my car was painted with a can of paint, “You’re as good as dead”.  I called the police and AAA at the same time. When I called the cab service I had the driver drop me off at a dimmed lit bar. After ordering my drink no sooner than it arrived it was none other than Rachel who climbed in the barstool beside me. I pretended not to know who she was and that irritated the hell out of her. Look Blane she clamored. When I try to get in touch with you, you better respond. I say who are you lovely lady loud enough so the female bartender could hear? She pulls out a gun from her purse and tells me to walk towards the door. I get up and take the gun from her. Slap her in the face hard and walkout of the place with her gun. The police had arrived when I got to the door. Rachel had pulled out a back up gun and started shooting. She shot me in the chest as the two police officers gunned her down just inside the door of the now famous bar and grill. I was wearing a bullet proof vest. Three days later miraculously my brother Professor Rufus Ashbury returned. You see we both planned to get all the money Rachel had. When my brother signed away his life to Rachel. She willingly did so too. Thinking that she would one day dispose of him just like the rest. You know the saying. “Two devious anti-social minds are always better than one”! After editing my ending 4 times. I thought maybe I could give my readers a better ending or they could decide which one they preferred or better yet mentally write and ending themselves. You see I met Nancy 20 years ago when she was just 15 years old. She was having difficulties dealing and adjusting with college. Most prodigal children do, except for a few like myself. Her parents chose me because of the reputation I had for helping brilliant minds to adjust to the real world. Right away after 3 sessions. I realized that Nancy Ann Thurgood was a natural born killer. I taught her a lot about conning men and women it was quite easy because Nancy was asexual. Asexuality is the lack of sexual attraction to others, or low or absent interest in or desire for sexual activity. It may be considered a sexual orientation or the lack thereof. It may also be categorized more widely to include a broad spectrum of asexual sub-identities. We were married. When it became apparent to me that Nancy’s thirst to kill was steady increasing over the years. I knew it was time for her to expire from this world. I killed Professor Ashbury. I buried his remains somewhere on that mountain by causing an avalanche with the help of a stick of dynamite. Nancy and I had to lay low so I knew it would be easy to get her in killing “me” mode. She never really liked being away from me no matter who we planned to milk. Her anger hit the apex especially when I didn’t allow her to come to our home or when I returned her letter and ran over it. She thought that I was having an affair with Margret my Secretary. The police did the job for me. Your choice reader.


I’m really a nice guy. I am a husband and father of two little girls and a boy. I love my family dearly and am a good provider. My friends and family know this, but most people do not. For I am a professional wrestling villain. You know me as “Man.” Not “The Man.” Not “Mountain Man.” Not “The Big Man.” Just “Man.” I wouldn’t have it any other way. Of course, like everyone I have a birth name. It’s Marvin. Marvin Manley. A good name and I like it. But it’s not a good ring name for a villain. I did not ask to be a villain. It was simply the way things worked out. The boss took one look at me when I walked into his office and said, “Man." That’s who you are. "Man." You’ll be one of the greatest heels of all time.” And that’s how my ring name became Man. It’s an apt name, I think. I’m six foot seven inches tall. I weigh anywhere from 340 to 350 pounds. My head is shaven, and I have tattoos up and down my arms. Though not built like an Adonis I am a big man. I have the voice to be a villain too. Not too deep. Not too soft. One of those that carry so that everyone can hear it no matter where they are. My voice goes over very well inside the ring and out in interviews. Fans can hear me from the last row when I growl or scream. When I speak into a microphone the people tell me to shut up while listening to every word I say. I find it quite amazing how I can do a complete 180 degree turn from being the nicest guy in the world to a total pain. I leave my home as Marvin. I kiss my wife, hug my kids then head out the door. Wherever I may be going, I will be away for a while and really do miss them. The time away is a strain on all of us and one of the things I least like about my job. On the plane flight to whatever city my performance is, I am quiet and reserved. I try not to be recognized, but that’s not easy at my size. I get looks from the other passengers. Some stop by to speak. Others, just look and move on. Some give me looks that if they could kill, I’d be dead. It’s all part of the show I know. Once I arrive in a city, I usually must go straight to the arena. There is a van that waits for us so that we all arrive on time and each man’s opponent is present. We talk a little. Laugh a little. Share our experiences on the road. Catch up on family. We’re a tight-knit group. We don’t all get along, but we are civil to each other for the most part. At the arena we go into the locker room and prepare for the show. This is when Marvin starts to become “Man.” The time in which I enter the ring depends on how important my match is. If it’s a grudge match or non-title fight, I’m in the middle of the card. If I’m fighting for a title or am the marquee matchup, I’m at the end. This dictates how long it takes to change my persona. Once I know when I’m on, I begin to change into my black wrestling one piece and began to become mean. I’m still reserved, but now in a different way. This reserved is a “Get out of my face,” persona. One that says. “I’m here to seek and destroy. To break my opponent and all his loyal follower’s hearts. And I dare anyone to stop me.” I’m on a mission. A mission to wreak havoc. I start to slowly pace the room. Slapping myself on the arms. Saying bad things about my opponent. Shutting out the rest of the world. I have a job to do. I must become “Man.” Then the moment, I’ve been waiting for. The call to the ring. I make my way down the tunnel toward the aisle. I can hear the crowd as they know I’m coming. Music starts to play, and the booing and hollering begin. I’m prepared for anything. I know I will be called names, spit on, have drinks thrown on me. Signs directed at my weight and intelligence. Dummies of me hung in effigy. Sometimes, if it gets too crazy, the police must escort me into and out of the ring. I’m hated that much. But the hatred fuels my adrenaline. There is nothing like causing a crowd reaction. Especially when it’s a packed house. Whether it’s cheering or booing, it doesn’t matter. It causes a rush that no drug can match. When the stakes are at their highest and you’re the main attraction, the title match, it can be almost overwhelming. Those who experience it can tell you they will never find anything outside of the arena to match it. I get to the top of the aisle. The crowd sees me and goes ballistic. I can see the hatred in their faces. And I give it back. I raise my hands to the sky and yell as loud as I can, “I AM…..MANNN!!” This ticks them off big time. I do not rush down the aisle. I take it all in. The yelling. The name calling. The wads of paper that hit me from time to time. I brush it all off. What do the fans know? They wouldn’t know a championship wrestler if they were picked up and body slammed by one. I get to the ring and step through the ropes. The crowd is in a full frenzy. They have come to see me leave with my head on a platter. To them, I represent everything that makes them angry. The boss who won’t give them a raise. The politician who they didn’t vote for but got elected. The policeman who gave them a ticket when everyone else was speeding too. The man or woman who stole their girlfriend or boyfriend. I am the enemy. Pure and simple. I eat it up. “Come on! Bring it! Is that all you got?” I bellow. I run at them in a fake charge, and they give it to me even more. This goes on for a few minutes and then my opponent comes out. Immediately to my dismay the attention turns to him. He is the golden boy of the moment. The man who is going to destroy me and right every wrong. The “real” man of the ring. As he makes his way down to the cheers of the crowd, my opponent hams it up. I don’t blame him one bit. There are few places where a person can find so many people in one place cheering for them. I would say at least ninety percent of the people in the world never do. So, when those moments happen, I don’t begrudge anyone for playing it to the hilt. My opponent steps into the ring and I glare at him. Of course, we know how the entire routine will work, but it still must be done. And it must be done in a way that people feel it. People get into it. People believe it. We are introduced to the crowd. Depending on who is the bigger name, I may be introduced first or second. It doesn’t matter as the crowd reaction is always the same. Total hatred. I put my hand to my ear to hear it. I wave to the crowd to bring it on. When my opponent is introduced, I completely ignore it, or feign indifference. Let him have his time. I’m going to put a world of hurt on him. The seconds and emcee leave the ring, and it is only my opponent, the referee and myself. Three men in the squared circle. Millions waiting inside and outside the ring for the match to start. The moment has arrived. It’s time to put on a show. And I do. I bring the crowd to the edge of their seats with the dastardly things I do. Gauging eyes. Kicking. Throwing my opponent through the ropes. Then stepping through them myself to wreak more havoc. I grab my opponent and slam his head into the ring post. A padded ring post I may add. I love to see the look on the fan’s faces as they see their golden boy in trouble. Looks of absolute horror from some, distain from others. I throw my opponent back into the ring. I have the upper hand for most of these matches. Then the tide turns, and my opponent gets his second wind. He starts to get his licks in. Throws me off the ring ropes and I get the clothesline right below the neck. I’m dazed and shaken, and he dropkicks me to the mat. While I’m down I get an elbow or “soup bone” as we call it to the head. Then he stands me up and gives a good strong karate chop across the chest. I’m the one hurt now. I’m the one in trouble. The fans eat it up. This is what they came to see. They would love it if I didn’t walk out of the ring. If the golden boy put me out for good. If he chopped “Man” down to size. This back and forth goes on until either one of us wins by pin, which doesn’t happen until we’ve made enough money on the circuit for everyone, or someone is disqualified. If there is a disqualification, the feud continues to the next city. Either way, all involved whether in or outside the ring are totally exhausted when the match is over. When it is, I head back to the locker room defiant. Always defiant. There is no other way to be as a wrestling villain. If I’ve done something illegal, I don’t know what it is. If my opponent has beaten me and I’m taking the walk of shame, I think that there is no way it could have happened and vow revenge. If I’ve won, I shove it into the faces of all who are there. Time back in the locker room is spent coming down from the high of a fifteen to thirty-minute adrenaline rush. My opponent and I shake hands and congratulate each other on a good show. I get some fluids into my system. Maybe eat something then take a shower. Then it’s back into the van and off to a hotel or an airport to fly home or to the next city to fight again. But my wrestling world does not end there. Things get a little interesting outside of the arena as well. When people recognize me, it is usually okay, but not always. I can remember a little old lady seeing me in a grocery store. She came up to me eyes blazing swinging her cane. “How could you do that to that poor Ryan Rogers?!” she yelled. “You out to be ashamed of yourself you big moose! You’re no man you’re just a big bully and coward! Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?!” She whacked me at least twice before the manager and her son could restrain her. Believe me, I have respect for that woman. She had guts to stand up to a man as big as me. And she packed a wallop with that cane. I’ve had people pull up, see me in my car and flip me the bird. Been yelled at in malls. I stopped going to the movies, because of the booing I get. Guys get pretty brave with their tongues when the lights go out and you can’t see them. I didn’t want to subject my wife to that anymore. In restaurants, people look at me as if I’m some animal in the zoo. They seem surprised that I can actually think and say a complete sentence. That I’m human. That I have a nice side. Some of the letters I used to get before social media were downright mean. How they wished my opponent would break my legs. How I am a disgrace to the sport. Many questioned my IQ and ancestry. Some said that if they were to meet me on the street, they’d tear me limb from limb, which I found very funny. The really brave ones signed their names and actually put a return address on the envelope. Now, people post their thoughts on social media under display names so all can see. Some make videos or post some of my matches online for viewing and commenting. The show has really grown with the advancements in technology. It’s good in that we get more publicity, but bad in that our lives are even less our own. It’s also bad in that I could hide the letters from my family, but social media is accessible to all. My family may not see it, but eventually will hear about it.

But I know that this all goes with the territory. It’s all part of the show. However, not everyone is against me. The people who feel like they are villains in life cheer for me. They want to see the bad guy win every once in a while as Billy Preston famously sang. Especially if it’s against a pretty boy wrestler they don’t like. I’ve had my share of cheers too. Not many, but some. I remember a young black man with one of the biggest afros I’ve ever seen coming up to me one day. He was dressed dapper and smoking a cigar. “You that wrestler they call “Man,” he said. “I saw you at the Civic Center the other night. Man, you put on a show. And I’m glad you put a hurting on that guy Billy Ray Stone. I can’t stand that dude. I like your style. Keep it up brotha.”

It was one of the coolest moments of my career. I’ve seen little boys wearing T-shirts with my picture and name on them. Which I always like, because unfortunately many of the little ones are scared off by my size. Fans have brought signs to the arena with my likeness and words for me to do bodily harm to my opponent. I’ve been quoted in movies by bad guys! How cool is that? Yes, I am “Man” in and outside the ring to most people. My wrestling persona is that of a mean and nasty villain.

But I am a nice guy. Really, I am. Marvin Manley is one of the nicest men you’ll ever meet. However, “Man” is one of the meanest. In my book he IS the meanest. There is no greater villain in all of wrestling than “Man.” And I wouldn't have it any other way.


I messed up. I messed up badly. I sat across the table from my ex-wife and watched as she evaluated the cup of coffee that the waiter just placed on the table. Meeting at her local food joint seemed like a better option than her driving two hours to see a man that requested for them to meet. Plus, Elena never liked to waste her time, so I ensured that every moment that she spent with me would not go to waste. After two years, she looked much younger than when I last saw her. Her forty-ninth birthday

was coming up in July and she didn’t look a day older than thirty. She wore light purple and red eyeshadow and a dark purple lipstick that almost looked black. The only grays in her hair were the random ones that popped out during moments of high stress. The dress she wore was, ironically, one of the dresses that I loved to see her wear – though I never told her: a form fitting, long sleeved red dress with a low V neckline, a slit down the left side and see-through sleeves. Adorning her neck was a fat ruby necklace and amber earrings, probably given to her by her new boyfriend. Leave it to me to show up in a baggy T with jeans and tennis shoes. This meetup wasn’t anything “special”, I suppose, though Elena always showed up at her best and she did it so flawlessly that I always felt… I readjusted myself in the chair and gave the best smile that I could. “You, uh, look good.” Elena’s gorgeous blue eyes, now covered in pretty red contacts, stared right into my eyes. The combination of colors made her eyes a dazzling purple, adding more dimension to her gorgeous features and her outfit. Damn, I messed up. “Thank you, Xavier.” Gently, ever so elegantly, Elena grabbed a small cup of coffee creamer and poured it into her coffee. Her nails were red, too. “How have you been? You look well.” She took a sip after slowly applying some sugar. Then, those beautiful eyes, once so soft and loving, pierced my spirit more than the Great Lord could. “You didn’t drive all the way from Dallas just to ask me how I’m doing. What happened?” My teeth rubbed against my bottom lip. I figured that we could have a good chat while lunch arrived. Apparently not. “In truth, it’s been a while and I wanted to see you. I…had a dream about you a few nights ago.” “Mhmm?” She sipped, completely eyeing me the entire time. There were many nights where I dreamed about her, and those dreams will never pass my lips. This one, however, I needed to share. “You and I were sitting at a table just like this one and we were talking about everything that ever bothered us. When I woke up, I was crying, and I knew that I needed to talk with you.” She lowered her cup. “Funny. Didn’t your wife help you with that?” I exhaled then leaned back. I knitted my fingers together and placed them on my lap. “Elena, she’s the one that encouraged our meeting.” “Mhmm.” She sipped again. There was a heavy energy in the air when the waiter returned to take our orders. I hadn’t looked at the menu once, but I ordered my usual. Elena did the same. When the waiter left, Elena leaned back on her chair as well and kept her attention away from me. The lost look on her face told me exactly what she was doing. “Let me be frank, I didn’t come here to become friends with you. I asked to have this exact conversation with you a few months ago and you refused.” “I wasn’t ready to talk back then.” She huffed at me. Normally, I’d call her childish. In truth, I deserved her reactions. I hadn’t been the greatest man to her. I treated her very poorly after our breakup and I was too far into my own head to fully express how sorry I was. Elena was always a talker. She loved working through her issues through words. Even though I didn’t solve my issues that way, and she knew that when we got together, she still tried to work with me so that we could both communicate. Unfortunately, my mind was occupied elsewhere. My wife, Anna, and I recently got into polyamory. We saw our friends open up their monogamous relationships and the Reddit stories online showed us that relationships like that could work. Anna was my first everything: first kiss, first marriage, first love making, everything. So when she expressed that she felt my fire dying inside and that she couldn’t revive it, I was stunned to hear her confession, but I accepted the reality that I didn’t feel the same passion that I had before, though that didn’t mean that I loved her any less. One day, Anna and I attended my company BBQ, an event that I usually didn’t attend, but that year, I felt compelled to go. Anna, also a prone talker, nearly became friends with everyone. She brought over one woman who was a Tech Writer just like her, sweet Elena. My heart instantly skipped a beat and the fascination on my face was something Anna noticed immediately.

That night, Anna asked me if I was interested in Elena. I confessed that I was. It didn’t take long for Anna and Elena to have a chat about a possible relationship. Anna was always a straight woman, so mainly, Elena and I would be sharing each other while Anna enjoyed our relationship from the side. At first, everything fit very well. We spent months in bliss. Elena and I even decided to take our relationship to the next level. We got married in the Winter of 2018. Instead of moving into our home, Elena decided to have her own home, to which Anna and I disapproved of…thankfully, she kept her place. Six months after getting married, Elena and I had our first fight. It was a major one. Elena had issues opening up to romantic partners. She told me that when we first started dating. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand how or why she wouldn’t open up to me. I wasn't like those guys from her past. I wouldn’t hurt her the same way they did. So, I didn’t understand why she didn’t see me as different from those other partners. Ultimately, I ended up telling her how wrong she was to feel this way and Anna intervened. She waved her finger at me, telling me to behave, and so I apologized to Elena. That was one of the many fights we had about her inability to open up Our fights became more frequent, ranging from her opening up to her being upset that I wasn’t spending much time with her. I do have to admit that I was not very good at communicating. I people pleased. The more time I spent with Elena, the more that Anna became upset and needy. I made a promise to one woman and ended up disappointing the other. I told one woman one thing while acting like a completely different person to the other. Elena called me out on a lot of behaviors of mine, to which I told her that I understand my actions and promised to never do it again. I broke that promise many times. In the end, Elena called off the relationship. I lost it. I ended up yelling at her, saying things like, “You don’t even care how I feel, do you?” and “You’re just going to end it? Just like that?” A heart that was once so beautiful and open turned colder than stone. I told Anna about everything and she consoled me. Her and Elena spoke many times throughout that process, until they started getting into arguments as well. Their arguments consisted of one not understanding the other. Elena wanted me and Anna to take responsibility for our actions, or lack thereof, because Anna’s refusal in acknowledging my changes in personality and blatant lying enabled me to continue to emotionally break everyone. Anna wanted Elena to forgive me for not knowing better and to not be so cold towards “a man that is trying his best.” After losing her patience, and a part of her soul, Elena left, unfriended, blocked, and got rid of us entirely. She moved 2 hours away from Dallas and I hadn’t heard from her for several years. The only way I was able to contact her was through a friend of a friend at the company. Thankfully, I was able to contact her before she submitted her two week resignation. After a few weeks, Elena agreed to meet at her local restaurant. It took all this time to present myself to her and even as I sat in front of her, witnessing the burning fury in her eyes, I still wasn’t ready. There was no better time than the present and holding myself back from her anymore seemed to be futile. “I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry, Elena.” “You’ve apologized many times and those times meant very little. Why does your apology matter so much now ?” It didn’t. My apology honestly meant nothing…to her. “I’ve grown from my experiences and I realize that I was too immature, upset, and lost in my own head to truly be what the man you needed.” Elena continued to stare at me. Her cheeks were heated. “I’m sorry that the promises I made to you were not up to your expectations. I dreamed about you and reached out to you. So…there.” If anything else happened, I knew that I did my best. If she didn’t accept my apology then at the very least, I could return home with some solace. Elena’s heated face started to settle. Her shoulders jutted as a humorless laugh passed her lips. She shook her head and rubbed her temples with her thumb and pinky fingers. “You don’t get it…” When she brought her head up, she smirked with watery eyes. “Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” "Why else? “For not being the man you needed to be?” Now, she laughed. “No.” She kept her voice low, but loud enough for me to hear. “Your broken promises and personality changes were not what made me angry. They upset me, but my hatred of you comes from the sheer fact that you and Anna refuse to grow up and actually accept the truths of your own individualities. You both claimed to be adults that knew how to have a poly relationship, that you knew how to cultivate healthy relationships and neither of you have expressed this or proven this. Both of you are immature children parading yourselves as adults. ‘Adulting’ does not make you an adult.” Elena rose, threw her hand into her purse, and threw a $20 bill on the table. “Thank you for the confirmation that I needed to move on. I hope you and Anna find peace.” The waitress arrived with our food ten minutes later. There was hardly anyone around us, yet I felt so suffocated. I thanked the waitress for the food then began eating. “Did your friend leave?” “Yeah,” I replied, “she did.” Elena’s meal, steak with mashed potatoes with a side of steamed broccoli, sat in sadness. As I looked at her plate, it presented itself in front of me, sad and abandoned, just like me, even though the knowledge that all is well coursed through me. There was nothing else I could do, nothing else I could apologize for. Anna and I needed to grow as a couple, yes, and that was that. I knew that Elena's eyes would never hold love for me again, not the love that I so desired before. Maybe, in the midst of my mistakes, both her and I could make amends for our own misdeeds.


It started with a subtle, anticipatory inhalation, an almost sound. He pressed his hand flat on her ribs. The long deep exhale resonated through her body in a low steady hum. The lowing call unfurled. The languid melody grew from a rich bass note and rose to a mid-range timbre producing a soothing earthy note. John leant on the wooden gate, his hand over the side, resting on the side of the cow. The early evening air cooled a degree or two. The change of temperature plucked at his forearms with tiny fingers. He shivered, waiting for the rest of the cows to make their way to the gate. They came in a line, full of sleepy sighs and at a leisurely pace. Lower in the valley the ground mist returned to herald the end of the day. It crept into the swells of the fields that edged the river bank covering the riverside with a silver-white hue. John didn’t have to go down there to smell the damp earth and coolness, he couldn’t, his bones wouldn’t make the journey now, but the years ingrained the smell of the earth's exhale into his very being. His nostrils widened as if to capture the delicate odour. A quick jagged flight of a thrush caught his eye. Startled from the leafy green hazel hedge it sought the safety of a spike-covered holly tree. He followed the bobbing flutter. The flutter. He fought the memory's approach focusing on the rough whirls of the cow's coat. The man's hands. They didn’t have the strength they once knew; they flapped on the bedsheets like broken birds with broken wings. ‘Be extraordinary,’ John muttered under his breath, trying to rid himself of the coming image. He could taste the memory on the tip of his tongue, a metallic tingling harbinger. ‘Be extraordinary.’ ‘Johnny, I don’t have long,’ the bedridden man said. The substance behind the words weighed down, barely there. ‘Come here, son.’ This memory hadn't shown its twisted face for many years but here it was in multi-coloured glory. A skeleton covered in taut yellow skin lay on the sweat-stained bedclothes that stank of urine and vomit. The sweet effluvium pierced Johnny's nostrils with sharp acidic tones. All John knew, when he was Johnny and the tender age of five, was that he didn’t want to be in this room, with this man. He no longer recognised his father; this wasn’t the man who filled his childhood with the sound of hearty laughter. Against his will and small strength, Johnny’s mum tugged him forward. He wrapped his arms around her leg squeezing it tight and turned his face into her soft skirts breathing deeply. Her skirts were full of the safe scent of cows and hay. ‘Son.’ Johnny stayed hidden in the comforting embrace of his mother’s skirt. He could hide his face but he couldn’t stop his ears from the blood-clotted speech and this man was not one for empty words of affection.

In his final moments, the once robust figure imparted words of responsibility, not sentimentality. ‘My father died of this illness and his father before him, don’t you be a fool and die of it.’ Johnny heard his father suck in a tortured breath and swallow a cough, he looked up from his mother's skirts and watched as the shaking hand dragged a twisted cotton handkerchief, red and navy-blue plaid, to non-existent lips. Johnny focused on the movement of the hand, he wouldn’t, couldn’t, see the remnant of the man. As if his father felt Johnny’s gaze, he pulled away the handkerchief. ‘You have the brains; lord knows where from.’ His lips barely moved, red creased at the corners of his mouth, garish against the yellowing flesh. ‘Figure out what killed me. Use your talent, be extraordinary, striv to live to a ripe old age. Look after yourself to look after the family, look to the farm and the cows-’ The man didn’t get a chance to say anymore. He fell into a coughing fit. Scarlet droplets erupted from his mouth. He coughed again, then again. Each cough sprayed the sanguine fluid onto his face, his pillow, and the bedsheets. The sight of the blood and the hideous sound of the choking cough overwhelmed young Johnny. He twisted his shoulders out from his mother's shocked grasp and fled to the meadow. Within the hedgerow of the high field sheltered from the lifting breeze, Johnny found refuge in the den he crafted over the past summer. He built it to avoid the hushed corridors and foul smells and filled it with hay and his favourite broken toys his mother said should be thrown away. He huddled, wrapped into a ball amongst the hay and discarded toys, his face hot and hard, burnt with tears. A rustling of leaves by his ear ended with a gentle moo. A cow’s breath blew across his ear. Johnny opened his eyes to see a curious eye peer at him through the leafy green of the hedge. He sat up, startled. The cow moved away. For hours he watched the gentle interactions of the cows. They spoke with little sounds as if they knew, on this day, to be quiet, to mourn the passing of the man who cared for them. They took and shared Johnny’s grief, softening its raw edges into sadness. John's worst memories, connected by trauma, jostled for attention, woken and lively as if they were willing partners at the side of a dancefloor. John buried his head in his arms as they lay crossing on the top of the gate, his skin cold against his forehead. He didn't want what he knew was coming, yet at the same time he longed for it. A quick sleight of hand, a do-si-do and his father stepped away. Another memory stepped promptly forward and John looked down on the face of the love of his life, his wife Ava. Ava knew the birth of their fifth child, Toby, wasn’t the same. She said as much but he refused to believe it. She lay exhausted, the child birthed. Hidden beneath the covers of the bed, her blood pooled and the room filled with the metallic, tangy aroma of blood. ‘You'll have to be extraordinary,’ she whispered. He flinched, surprised by the words, his father's death leapt vividly to his mind from where it had lain hidden, deep within, for thirty years, her words yanked the memory up and out, like a reluctant fish, it caught and thrashed against the line, resistant, but unable to resist the hook's pull to the surface. The bed, the blood. John held himself firm against the urge to leap up and run from the room and seek the freedom of the high meadow. To do so would mean releasing his dear Ava’s hand, irrationally convinced, as he was, that she would stay with him if he never let her go. Iron grew in him, he swallowed down the vomit that swelled to his throat tsunami-like at her poison-tipped words. The bitter smell of vomit in the room would be too much. ‘Promise to love them all, as I would,’ she said. The tiny bundle in the crib cried, she turned towards the sound and tried to lift her head. A sound born from the depths of a dying soul escaped her lips, a low bellow carrying the weight of unspoken pain. John knew that sound, he heard it in the language of the cows, he pressed his cheek against her hand unable to control the tears that forced their way out. 'Stay with me,' John begged. Ava licked her blood-drained lips. ‘Promise to love little Toby.’ She waited for his nod. ‘Bring the children up right. Make their lives the best they can be.’ John couldn’t find the words; his eyes held out his promise for her to see. When Ava stopped breathing John held on to her hand as it turned cold, staring at her face, willing her to live. Toby, his new baby boy, cried a tiny breathless cry. John drew in a deep breath and laid Ava’s hand gently on the bed. He picked up the tiny pink mass within the bundle of quilted sheets and took him down to see the cows come in, for the first of many times. His mind, now romping in morbid delight hauled forward memory after memory for his aghast perusal. He focused on his mother. The gentlest death he knew. He nursed her in her last years surrounded by his children and his children’s children. The family drew close in the failing years of the woman so pivotal to all of them. Like most farming wives she dealt in practicalities, her death was secondary to the farm's needs. ‘It’s your farm now, Johnny boy. You'll have to take over. You've done your bit. Your father would be proud but it's time to come back. Don’t let them beat you, John. Don’t let them have it. I know it's hard but you’ll have to be extraordinary.’ Be extraordinary, the words had changed for him. They fortified the rod of iron that ran through him. Commitment forged from pain. The words held him firm when he wanted to break. So, he beat them. It was his duty. Big business. The bank. Even the government and their petty little officials. The years wound in and out, the dusty bluebells filled the woods, the wheat grew in the fields, the tractors brought in the harvest, the frost broke the ground, and the cows and calves and cows and calves and cows. And every time the world got too hard, when the iron in him weighed him down, he took his worries to the cows. He listened to the curious wickers, the contented murmurs, the evening lows, and the gentle huffs until his soul was soothed once more. Twilight turned the world into silvers and greys. 'Hasn't it been enough?' John asked the cows. The cows gathered close now, seeking warmth in numbers. John dreaded the memories that would come if he stood there a moment longer. It was time to go home. He pushed himself away from the gate. His muscles creaking. The cold, bone deep. He turned from the cows and walked the lane to the house in which he was born. He'd done his duty and kept his promises he longed to rest and join Ava in sleep. Death followed his steps to the house, moving to walk beside him. 'I've been extraordinary,' John whispered to the moon. He’d kept his promise to his father. In school, he studied hard and became a researcher in the biomedical field. By the time he was thirty, before Ava's death, he'd discovered what killed his father, and his father’s father, and found a cure so no one else would suffer that bloody death. His father wanted him to live a long life and take care of the family and farm and he had. He lived an exceptionally long life, too long for his liking. At ninety-five he had had enough and that was twenty years ago.

He kept his promise to his wife. One by one their children passed through university. They had good lives. He’d loved them all. Then they passed away, one by one, each time shattering his heart into fragments. Two from cancer, one from a stroke, one in a car accident, and little Toby, Ava’s last, from a heart attack right in front of him. The unwanted memory of Toby clutching at his chest leapt into John’s mind. He pushed it back into the dark and thought of the cows and their gentle ways. He saved the farm as his mother wanted. He kept it safe but he no longer had the energy, or will, to keep it up. Unable to tend the fields, the trees began creeping into them like uncertain rabbits, testing the air before they ran rampant. The days of striding down to the river and watching for fish were long gone. The hours he spent now, were leant against the gate talking to the cows as they’d come to check on him one by one, gently frisking him with their warm wet noses for the apple slice treats he sparingly handed out. John didn't feel the cold in the house. Too tired to light the fire or even turn on the light, John moved to sit where he always sat, in the timeworn chair squatting in the shadowed corner of the room. The chair squeaked and moved under him protesting at his slight weight. The walls bore the creeping artistry of mould, a morbid patina of black and grey. Dust blanketed the furniture, muting the once vibrant wood to sombre grey. Spiders made their homes in the corners, under cupboards, and across the ceilings of every room. Shadows danced and frolicked across the walls as the wind moved the overgrown undergrowth against the moonlit window. He traced the erratic dance with rheumy eyes. A dark figure stood in the doorway. John lifted his gaze, surprised. He raised a hand and then stopped in wonder at the waiting figure. He drew in a slow deep breath ready to ask a question, some question, something to explain what he saw. His heart lifted with hope. The breath was his last one. The question didn't have to be asked. His mouth widened in relief.


Sensitive data for Australian Aborigines. Suicide. Phenomena ************************************** Australia does not have castles, nor have I ever been in a castle. The official date of European occupation occurred on the 26th of January, 1777. The dark history of colonisation started the terror forever placed in the ancestrial genetic memory of all Aboriginal people continuing today. On January 1st, 1901, a group of hairy, long bearded, glim men sweltered under canvas shelters established the Commonwealth of Australia for Whites to govern in their own right. The washout photographs remind me of garden gnomes piled together in the overgrown weeds and grass of an abandoned house. The sensitive land energy, the Ley lines, the Dreaming paths became agriculture, mining, and cattle stations to fill our coffers. The original nomadic caretakers were hunted, killed, or indoctrinated with Christianity, and children put in reserves stolen from their families. They were depersonalised, demoralised, and segregated as slaves and non citizens. As a child, a mansion was a double storey brick house with three or four bedrooms with maybe a shed and chicken coup in the backyard. The old, large residences in my hometown of Ipswich, often from wealthy landowners, once boarded and lodged house staff, such as cooks, nannies and farmhands. In my childhood in the 1970's. Ipswich was built up and I rarely travelled to Brisbane. There was a song called "Little Boxes," sung by Malvena Reynolds, a Californian lass. I remember once a week, the higher primary school grades, grades 4,5,6, and 7 would be tuned into ABC radio for children's singing lessons broadcast, today that would be probably be called a podcast. Before the broadcast at 2pm would start, we would be instructed to find our music books, printed and delivered to our school before each school term in our desks. We had four school terms per year and between the earlier school terms, usually two weeks holidays and end of year term, a six week holiday. Our music books, under our table, on an open wooden shelf, would be found and opened on our desks tops in a sort of passive military fashion; that day, we turned to page 42.

The broadcast did its usual format of playing the full song first. There would be a basic discourse and a space in the broadcast of around 15 minutes, where the teacher and class discussed the context of the song and its deeper meaning. Little Boxes was a satire on suburbian housing development. We would then learn the chorus followed by the verses. I still remember today joyously singing with the rest of the students., "Little Boxes on the hillside little boxes made of ticky tacky... ...Little boxes all the same..." My husband belonged to the middle class, he worked a teacher's job. Mine was a sewing job from home where I could work and mother my kids. We were renting and, to our delight, had saved money for a bigger family home, one where I might have a sewing room. The local Queensland Times newspaper, each Saturday, printed a life out local real estate section. There in the tiolet, my only private place and refuge of uninterrupted reading, I saw our home! A fibro teal house, with three bedrooms and sleep out. The price is $35,000.

We bought the house, now our home. I remember being told to always start a garden first, as an established garden, in the future, could add at least $20,000 to the sale of property. Tall gum trees and two Acacia trees shaded the property, so we added rose bushes, salvaged native cuttings and ground covers from our late afternoon pram walks, bought shrubs, and hung old man's beards in the front garden on the Acacia. The shade gave easy growth and along with summer high humidity and rainfalls the samplings flourished. We polished the floors, fixed the plumbing, painted the walls, and hung fairy lights on the verandah. Soon, we had our own oasis. The local children would say to my daughter, as they walked home together after school that our home was "The Witch's House" I got to know all three neighbours adjacent to us, we lived near a bend in the street. One an older lady with disabled adult son, another a married couple expecting their first child, and the last a couple of childless Swingers.

Danni, the Swinger, would often visit me in the afternoon for a cup of tea and chat. I think she was basically lonely, but i could not dismiss the fact that it was around 3pm, the time our school would finish and my husband would usually arrive around 3.30 pm, where she would sheepishly smile at him entering the front door. That day, my 3 year old son sat on the lounge, sheet draped over him talking to his imaginery friend. Danni heard him. "Does he do that often?" With a raised eyebrow, I replied, "Kids have imaginary friends, " Danni persisted, "I knew the last owners of this place. I visited them once here, and it put chills through my spine!" Half heartedly, tired from a sleepless night, I gave, "Ah ha" Danni persisted, "Mrs Rodgers across there had to have her house blessed. A child spirit switched on her television, flushed her tiolet and could be heard laughing and playing with two other spirit children. She taped it so she would be taken seriously by the catholic priest"

Squinting my eyes and looking at my tea, "Yer?" As Danni left, "He could be talking to one of those spirits?" I said nothing. Two years later, the memory of what Danni had said come to mind, when the usual smell of burning toast came from the kitchen, the usual cafe curtains rolling and tangling themselves on the curtain rod above the kitchen sink, the usual feeling of the house feeling 40 degrees Celsius occurred on that winter's day. I wondered?

To put an end to thoughts, I had time on my hands as my son was in Grade one then. I decided to visit the City's house and land history library. A beginner, I asked for assistance from the grey haired volunteer librarian. Scattered copies of our land and home covered the table to reveal our land was once a rental home for defence personnel. The original home was destroyed in a house fire June 23, 1978. The land was left vacant until 1983, where a private buyer built our current home. My first thought was our home was very differently structure from the layout of all the old Officers homes built around us. It was the same cheap fibro, yes, the same all the other houses in the neighbourhood however the house layout was different. Our bedrooms were larger, we had a sleep out and we had heaps of storage cupboards. The wood floors were mahogany coloured and tight in their placement. The kitchen and entrance was where the original homes loungeroom was. Our laundry was outside and we had a large wheelchair access ramp to our backyard. We had a lock up carport also! A hasty, investigative, fast car drive took me to the Queensland Times archives at Warwick Road, Ipswich. I explained, "Um I'm researching a house fire that happened June 23rd, 1978 at 9 Berry Street, Leichhardt". After showing my drivers license of the same address, I was lead to a dim lit room.

A large square dinosaur computer hogged the space and chair was available. The secretary pull a square box from the archived high shelf labelled with a sticker, "June 1978". A microfilm roll was placed on a gadget and rolled out and fastened to a permanent empty roll on the left hand side of the viewer, so the film would roll. The computer screen, revealed photographs of the day after the fire. The front page showed the construction of a new shopping centre. There was a car yard sale, adds for Holden's and the next page had a car sale yard for Fords and Country Women's association stall of knitting, crocheted coat hangers, shawls and a close up of a group of women posing casually.

The secretary invited me to sit. I was shown how to operate the machine by pushing a fast forward button and as the film noisly whirred thru the contraption. There it was! Cover story 25th June, 1978, "House Inferno kills Leichhardt mother and three children" The secretary interrupted, "It's 10 cents per photocopy?"

After a couple of hours, I left with a manilla folder of papers of information about our home. My husband browsed that, "Well we have a bit of a haunting here then?"

"Hmph, yer guess so?" Each afternoon, I would tend to our garden, it was relaxing. Hand hosing our herb section near the mailbox. Mrs Rodgers saw me, quicly went inside her house, a her screen door banged. I looked up from my meditative state. Next, she returned, walking towards me with letters in her hand. "Hi Georgia" Extending her hand,she passed me the letters wrongly delivered, "New postman I think"

They were mostly junk mail except for a Christmas card. "Sorry, I forgot all about them" Smiling and rolling my eyes, "It happens" She stood still. "Hey look" I said walking to the tap, with her following, I turned off the water supply and spied her out of the corner of my eye as I rolled up the hose on a partly rusted car tyre rim bolted to the stump. I casually spoke, knowing she had something on her mind. "Do you want a cuppa" The tension went from her body, "Yes, that would be nice lovey". The kettle boiled and small talk followed something deeper. She broke the ice of polite conversation to her own subject, her son was moving into State care, as he needed extra care. Saddened, I listened to the brief details, but they were very brief, I felt like she had not finished. "Your husband mentioned you know about the fire?" My mind changed to a different gear. "Yah" I replied fumbling the tea cup "What another cuppa?". Shc followed me to the kichen with her cup. I rinsed our cups placed new teabags in them and got the milk from the fridge. She persisted, "The family was a nice family. The kids were friends with my son and daughter you know. It was tragic. Our loungeroom windows cracked from the heat..."

Going to our lounge with new fluid, "... When the new people built, they had teenagers. They would often travel and those kids would have noisy parties..."

I remembered myself , those time in the 1980s. The Airforce kids were called "RAAF (Royal Australian Airforce) brats". I had attended Ipswich State High. The RAAF brats stuck together. I was included at school with my age RAAF friends but never allowed to go to the parties. "Too Wild", my father said frowning. Mrs Rodgers touched me on my hand interrupting my thoughts. "At the parties, the kids would get drunk and hold seances with oujii board..." Her eyes grew large as she clutched her tarnished silver cross securely on her necklace, draped near her heart. Her cashmere jumper so soft reminded me she was a conservative, neatly presented person even in her home clothes. "...My daughter was at one of those parties, where they summoned the dead mother and her kids. I remember her banging on our door, "Mum, let me in", she yelled near midnight. "Our Kelly had the hairs of her head standing on ends, her face was white, and she was shaking" In the disclosure, Mrs Rodgers said our home had to be exorcised. The house was freezing even in the middle of Summer. A dark heavy shadow enveloped the house. A rancid smell of sulphur would catch her nose and stay in her nostrils when the wind blew from that direction. She would emphasise, "I said my protection prayers for my family and the neighbourhood. I was worried" The previous owners had strange things happen like doors opening and closing by themselves, the lights flickered all day, curtains would plait, spectres appeared in their garden, but the worst could not be ignored!

Mrs Rodgers asked me for a paper and pen. She scawled our front porch, horror rocking the pen, to sketch an outline of what looked like two oval sticks in the ground at the base of our stairs, Pointing Mrs Rodgers exclaimed, "I saw that myself! They found the handle of their two knives, which disappeared found buried so the blades stuck up. Mrs Smyt was pushed by something at that staircase. She fell rolling and grabbed the rail to be pierced in her thigh by that knife." Mrs Rodgers pointed at the left knife. "I mean lucky her. she was able to stop her fall or who knows? Blood! ambulance! And the likes". I learnt a fairly happy family became angry, fighting. The kids were having nightmares, they became more than rebellious and the marriage was strained with Mr Smyt loosing his job. The eldest child was killed in a road accident, so bad the police could not identify him. And Mr Smyt hung himself exactly where Kelly told me they had the oujii board. A catholic priest and his trainee were called to our home. The exorcism started. The loungeroom where the seance occurred was the pit of activity. The blinds rolled up and down by themselves. The main window glass bubbled inwards, then pushed out exploding shatters of glass out towards the street and then pulled back in to be its original state. The house temperature went below zero and then orange light moved with an airy, gluey force through the house returning to blow both priests off their feet, onto the floor. Their clothes were scorched and their body and face had third-degree burns. A loud otherworldly voice on the exorcism tape yelled, "Get out!" Mrs Ridgers finished, "As it started, it finished!" Peace was returned to our previous owners home with the price of cataclysm, a child's and husband's death, and a knife accident. The youngest training priest left the priesthood. Mrs Rodgers lightened up, "They say that poor young fellow, the priest, went to Byron Bay Hippy community , probably smoking dope, to forget. Bless pom and his poor soul" We were living in an Australia's Amityville horror house and like the American current owners, had really not experienced any phenomenon that could be not explained. Our toaster was quirky. Some of the mold growth suggested artisian waters from earlier mining, not recorded, and maybe causing heating or coldness in areas of the home. My son had grown and forgotten his imaginery friends opting for computer games like Sim City. If we were haunted, at the very least, it could be tolerated!


Christmas was never the same after the year I turned fifteen. Of course, I was nearing the end of puberty. Like other boys my age, I had a dark air around me. The storm of it washed away the naivete of my childhood. My mother, a crude and cold woman called it, "finally growing a pair". She wasn't the same after that year either. Not when my father had the nerve to die the day before Christmas Eve. I was a quiet child. My mother was loud. She and her girlfriends were like catbirds fighting with crows at all hours of the day. Now that my father was gone, their favorite prey was me. But I do not like to dwell on my mother. She was gone now too. I had no other family to give me grief about skipping her funeral. She didn't deserve one. If I had my way, I would've found a tall hill with soft dirt, so the ground would never settle, and she would never rest. Many of the people I consider friends call me cynical, rude, and depressed. The truth is that these people are just the people I share an office with. I had no choice but to talk to them. They were kind. It was something I didn't understand. We worked in a labyrinth of cubicles. The only sound was phones ringing and the ruffling of paper, but every once in a while there was a sound that brought life to the dense office space. Caroline's laughter. I took every chance to feign thirst at the water cooler just so I could watch her twirl her blonde hair as she laughed with the person on the other end of the phone. Depressed was her descriptor of me. I take the same path home every night after work. I'm a creature of habit, and stubborn like my mother. Construction had started along the path over the weekend. It was nearing six, but there was still a team of workers working under the glare of flood lights. I thought I might be able to sneak through as they were distracted, and that's exactly what I did. There was incoherent yelling behind me, but I kept my head down and walked quicker. I was sure the yelling was about me until I heard a terrible hissing, and I hit the ground hard. "Jamie, it's Caroline. Can you hear me?" Caroline? Who's Caroline? The first thing I saw was her blonde hair lit up like a halo by the light from the window. She was beautiful. I wish I knew who she was. I couldn't find my words, so all I did was point at her like an idiot. "I'm Caroline. Do you remember?" I shook my head. "What do you remember?" I shook my head again. Caroline sighed. There was something about her that was familiar. I just couldn't think of it. She leaned back in her seat and twirled her hair between her fingers. That's what it was. Her hair. Her beautiful hair. I pointed at her again. "Caroline." She sat up again and laughed. I laughed too. Even though it caused me an awful headache. Her laugh was like waking to songbirds on a Saturday morning. It was easy and bright. "What did I do?" She looked at me like I said something wrong. "You didn't do anything. You got hurt. They said you were walking through a construction site and one of the cranes failed while you were underneath it. You could've died." I would've preferred death. I may not remember much, but I know not to say that in front of her. She was here with me in the hospital. I didn't know of anyone else that would do that for me. "I don't remember." "I know, but it'll come back to you." She scrunched her eyebrows and took my hand. "Listen. I talked to the nurses and convinced them to let me take you home when you're ready. Home with me, that is. But, since it's Christmas Eve I'll have a lot of family over so it might be awkward." I felt like a lost puppy wandering on the side of the street getting picked up by a stranger, but she was the perfect stranger. "Okay." "Okay? That's it? You're alright with staying with me for a bit?" I nodded, and she scolded me for moving my head too much. Two excruciatingly long days in the hospital later, I was put into Caroline's Honda Civic, and we made the treacherous drive in the snow to her home. As we drove, she pointed out to me locations I should remember. The park, our office, and the grocery store where we always buy snacks for the break room. She said Pringles were my favorite. I rubbed at the gauze wrapped around my head. I grew increasingly frustrated at the fact that I couldn't remember any of it. The only consolation was having her next to me. It was even more frustrating that I didn't know why. We got to her townhouse twenty minutes later. A Christmas wreath hung on her door and her windows were plastered with stickers of Santa and snowmen. "What about my stuff? Don't I have things I'll need?" "The doctor said it might be too stressful. Don't worry, I have an extra toothbrush and a change of clothes. We'll go over to your place tomorrow." She brought me in and introduced me to her family. The whole lot of them. Her parents, her aunt and uncle, and her two nieces and nephew running around the living room. It was a surprise they all fit in her small home. I was bombarded with them telling me, "We're so happy to meet you," and "We're so sorry to hear about what happened". "We can leave and get some breakfast if this is too much," Caroline whispered to me. But I shook my head. She took me up to her spare bedroom. "I kicked the kids out so you'll have your own space. They'll be down on the air mattress in the living room." She scrunched her eyebrows at me like she did in the hospital. "Say something, please. I know we didn't know each other that well, so if this is too much for you just say so." It was perfect. More than perfect. I knew my life was bleak and dark. Caroline was kind enough to take me into her life, even for a short time. I didn't know anything of love, but if I had to guess, this was the start of it. "It's good. Thank you." She hummed. "That crane must've hit you hard. I've never heard you thank anyone." She left me to get settled. There were clothes on the bed that I changed into. The jeans hung above my ankles, but I was happy to change. The clothes I was wearing stunk of sweat and were covered in my blood. I came downstairs and was greeted with a beer from Caroline's uncle. Her mother immediately took it away from me. "He just got out of the hospital, George. He can't be drinking." It was almost funny. If my head didn't hurt so bad I would've laughed. I hung around the kitchen the rest of the afternoon. Caroline was helping her aunt bake cinnamon rolls and Christmas cookies. Since I refused to go back up and rest, Caroline put me to work. It was mostly making sure the mixer didn't fall over. "So, Jamie," Caroline's aunt started, "I hear you two work together. How is that?" I looked at Caroline and she smiled at me. "Um, it's good. I enjoy it." Caroline was the only thing I remembered. She was the only thing I wanted to remember. Throughout the day I had flashes of my life. I saw the office we worked in and our coworkers. I remembered how much of an asshole I was to everyone. I couldn't remember my childhood, except my mother. I wished that crane hit me harder so I could forget her altogether. I looked around Caroline's home. I looked at her family trying desperately to talk over the Christmas music her mother put on, and the kids stealing fresh cookies that just came out of the oven. It was warm, unlike what my life was like. "Caroline, can I talk to you?" She shared a look with her aunt and followed me to her spare bedroom. She sat on the bed with me and waited for me to speak. "I've been remembering things, and I want to apologize if I've been rude to you in the past. I haven't had an easy life and I let that affect me for way too long. I'm sorry, Caroline. I do really like you. I wish I talked to you more." She laughed again. "You really don't remember? I tried so hard to talk to you, but all you did was shut people out. I think that crane did you good." "Is that why you were the only one in the hospital with me?" "I'm sure they'll have a card or a little get-together when you go back to work." I smiled pitifully at her. "You know they won't. I'm not a good person. An accident like this," I pointed at my head, "doesn't change that. Does it make sense if I say I want to be better for you-like you?" "Yes, it makes sense." She placed her hand gently on my cheek. "Why don't we go back downstairs and get a cookie before the kids eat them all?" We ate cookies and cinnamon rolls until we felt sick. The sugar rush distracted me from the pain of my wound. Caroline distracted me even further. She was the light I was missing in my life. I couldn't say it enough. It was frustrating that I lost my memories, but Caroline was the opportunity to make new ones.


My family. A strange bunch they were. They all had the personality of the colour beige though they did have their small colourful times but they were only seen about once a year. I was lucky to experience it twice if they felt generous. But they spent most of their time being selfish and mean. I never found a liking to anything they did, they always irritated me in the slightest way possible. And no I'm not going to blame it on my short temper because they knew how short tempered I was and did everything they could to aggravate me. And succeeded every damn time! No matter what I tried I wouldn't have been able to stop their behaviour. They were superior to me! Because of them I’ve been short tempered since the age of 4 and would blow up if I found something remotely the slightest irritable.

My eldest brother took away my comfort teddy once and held it above his head and laughed when I couldn’t reach it no matter how hard I jumped. The worst part was that he got my other brothers to laugh and mock me. Gosh it sucks being the only girl in the house! I even tried asking one of the boys for help but they just kept making fun of how small I am, telling me to “Jump froggy” and i’d be lying if i said it didn’t get under my skin. I’ve always been the smallest of the six of us and if they were to comment on something to me it’d always be my height. I was adamant I’d be moved out by 15 because I couldn’t stand the boys. I didn’t go with my plan exactly. I moved at 16 with my best friend. Living with her was and still is so much better than living with my annoying brothers!

When it comes to family gatherings I’d always be sat by my second eldest brother who didn’t really get on with me as stable as the others did and that really displeased me more each time. This was because he’d always put something in my drink or put food on my chair to sit in when I got back from the loo causing the whole table to erupt in laughter but my mother who gave them an eye roll with a smile. She tried her best to get the boys to leave me alone but she didn’t try hard enough. They continued to do it even when we had guests over. At least they found it funny though right? The echoes of their laughter rang through the halls as I sat in the living room or bathroom just to get away from them. My father and I always had a rocky relationship. He had extremely high expectations of me and they grew as I got older. It wasn’t fair on me, because I had a lot of other things to do such as extra curricular clubs, cheer practice and writing my books. When I try to explain to him that I cannot spend hours doing schoolwork because I have other things I need to do he would just tell me to manage my time or just to cut out writing my books because they aren’t important. Whatever! My books are just as important to me as my cheer practice and grades and I won’t give them up for his satisfaction! My mother and I had an on and off relationship. One day she will be all nice to me then another day she will be agreeing with my father and brothers on how I need to buck up my ideas and focus on what's important. They make no sense and it really bothers me how they contradict themselves.

Though after being away from them for quite a few years I can say I’ve missed them irritating me a bit. Living with my best friend has been a bit bland. She wasn’t as adventurous as I was after we left school. I mean, yeah I was still in the same ways as I was when I was in school but I’ve lessened on them and I’ve gone out more and explored my surroundings, She on the other hand was quite boring. I kind of missed my brothers making fun of me for my height, my mother laughing at me when I walked into the doors, my father down my ear telling me how important my work is. I missed my home. Now that I look back on it, I have found joy in everything they did with me. Besides me being really short tempered of course. But they also had indirect lessons. My brothers taught me not to take any rubbish from anyone, my father taught me that working hard will always do me good and will open many doors for me in the future and my mother taught me that a maternal love will last forever even underneath all the arguments. I was ready to visit home and welcome them all back into my life after not having any form of communication with them for 9 years out of spite and frustration. I’m normally not one to hold a grudge against anyone but my family felt different. All the things they’ve done for me I have found an appreciation for because without them I wouldn’t be a strong woman who doesn’t listen to people's judgements and criticisms. Without them constantly patronising me from a child to the age of 16 I'd probably still be a weak little girl who takes everything to heart. Without my father constantly reminding me to constantly perfect my grades I probably would be one of those girls who just sponge off their fathers. Not anymore. I’ve become grateful for everything they’ve done though it still has the irritation factor. But I’m going to thank them and tell them that I appreciate everything they’ve done. A new found appreciation for my family that I had high doubts of developing.


Christine twiddled her thumbs as she stared at her computer screen. The page she was trying to access was still loading. She had been attempting to buy some material for her job for the last 30 minutes, but the internet wasn't running as quickly as it usually was. The dentist she worked for approached her. “Have you been able to order the material I requested?” Her hands flew into the air in frustration. “I've been trying!” she said louder than she had intended. “The internet isn't working and the typical sites I go to don't seem to be online. I'm sorry, but I have to do this tomorrow!” “Whoa!” Dr. Hansen said defensively. “I was just curious. When was the last time you had some time off?” he asked. “I don't know,” she replied shortly. “Well, I'm ordering that you take some time off. I'll have Hector deal with this tomorrow. You go home, get some rest, and do something fun.” “I don't have time for a vacation...” Christine started to say. “Go!” Dr. Hansen interrupted. Christine exhaled sharply. “Okay,” she finally surrendered. “I'll see you next week.” Dr. Hansen wasn't wrong. It had been years since she had taken time off work. She needed a break. She needed to do something fun. As she walked to her car, something in the parking lot caught her eye. She squinted her eyes, trying to make sense of a shiny object. She walked towards it, and saw that it was a rock; it sparkled blue in the sunlight. She had never seen anything quite like it before. Fascinated by it, she took it home and put it on her dresser as a decoration. She stared at it for a moment, mesmerized. Shrugging, she went into her living room where her boyfriend was sitting his lazy boy rocking chair. “Any luck finding a job today?” she asked crossly. “Huh?” he asked as he pried his eyes from the TV. “Uh... no, not today.” he shoved some pop corn into his mouth. “You know we're behind on rent,” she said angrily. “The least you could do is at least try to find a job.” “Yeah, I will,” he responded without looking at her. “That's it,” she said, exasperated. “I'm going to take a nap, and when I wake up, you had better be on that computer looking for a job!” “Okay, okay!” he said. “You don't have to get so angry.” Gritting her teeth, she slammed her bedroom door behind her. Her boyfriend was just a moocher. She honestly didn't know why she stayed with him. Burying her feelings, she climbed into her bed and closed her eyes. All she needed was some quiet alone time. As she attempted to fall asleep, she was interrupted by what seemed like a flash light blaring into her face. “Tony, I swear if that's you, I'm going to kill you!” she said angrily as she sat up. To her surprise, she was alone; just her and her glowing rock. She stared in shock and wonder. What was this rock? She wondered. Was it magic? She got out of bed and walked towards it slowly. She reached a hand out, seemingly unable to control herself. She touched it, and there was a brighter light that consumed her. She shielded her face and in an instant, it was gone. She looked around, confused. She felt grass beneath her feet. Looking around some more, she noticed brightly colored plants surrounding her. She stared in awe. What was this place? Had this mysterious rock taken her to some sort of fairy-tale land? She looked towards what appeared to be a brightly lit night sky. There was blue light emanating from two moons. “Hello?” she called out. “Where am I?” obviously, no one answered. Finding a trail to her right, she followed it. The trail consisted of dark red dirt and it was lined with bright blue plants. Ahead, she saw a town that was lit up with what appeared to be glowing plants. She gasped; it was the prettiest thing she had ever seen in her entire life. She entered the town and found a strange looking animal taking a nap in some sort of nest. “Hi there little guy,” she said as she petted its head. “Hey!” the animal said, causing Christine to jump with surprise. “What do you think you're doing? How would you like it if someone came up to you and started to pet your head?!” “I...I'm sorry...I had no idea,” she stuttered. “Aw, new around her, 'aye?” the creature asked her. “Well, you wouldn't be the first.” “How did I get here?” she asked. “Last thing I remember is being in my bedroom with a...” “...glowing rock?” the creature finished. “Yes.” She eyed the creature, unsure of how he knew that. “That rock senses when someone needs an adventure, or maybe a fresh start. It brings you here, and you have to decide if you want to stay or go back home.” “Isn't that choice obvious?” Christine asked. “Go home, of course.” “Is there anything worth going back home to?” Christine pondered on that question. He was right. She was behind on rent, with a mooching boyfriend who never showed any affection towards her and her parents were long since deceased. And her being an only child, had no siblings to go home to. What was there at home for her? “Being here, you can live out the remainder of your life in peace,” the creature explained. “There are other people who live here as well, but they are few and far apart, so you don't have to associate with them if you don't want to.” “Is this a dream come true?” she asked in astonishment. “For some, yes. Others prefer the comfort and familiarity of home. Which one are you?” She knew exactly which one she was; and that was exactly what her choice was going to be. If it was you, what would you choose?