Death Chronicles #1 The Revelation I party. A lot. And I am good at it. If you would look at me at the nightclub, I would be surrounded by groups of friends, many who came there for my enthusiasm, my social skills, my endless river of Joy. My job as a DJ further supports my position as a cool and friendly social butterfly who can command a crowd to party like it's 99’. This ability to persuade a group has much to do with the details of my death, but more on that later. However, despite the happy appearance, I was miserable. No, not miserable, I was simply void of life, already dead, long before the events of that night. Endless beers every night, cocaine to speed up, weed to chill out, girls to forget, I became a machine, a party animal, and nothing else. In my despair I decided to take a vacation to SE to discover something else about myself, find even a small fraction of a man. I chose Laos, for it's the lack of connections I had in it. It was foreign, as foreign as it can get. Yet to no surprise, the party animal within me adapted extraordinary well in here, as it would anywhere else. The alcohol quantity doubled, western drugs, were replaced with eastern ones. The fake friends came like mosquitoes to a sleeping drunk. After all, this is what I was; a mosquito leeching of society, a fake friend/lover/ human, and a sleeping addict oblivious to the world around him. You could say it was the E Coli bacteria from a small scratch that killed a compromised immune system, but that's a pure lie. I could have prevented it, treated it, called for help, but I didn't want. As soon as I felt sick and weak, I knew it was over. I felt thankful for the disease, finally giving me an option out. I did not care about myself, nor did I care about others. And that made me free, completely free to do anything, ANYTHING! Even if it's for a day or two until the E Coli finally put me down. But not before I go out with a bang. The Judgement Who or what it did really not matter, I was ready to leap at anything. Unleash my fury onto anything. I was pissed at the wars, pollution, corruption, alcohol and drugs. I was pissed at the world itself. Here in Loas there was loads of trash everywhere so I made that my target, but it could have just as easily been a parking officer. I though of a Coca-Cola factory or a McDonalds, but after a quick chat with mister Google I was satisfied with a nearby factory producing packaged snacks for locals and shipping. I actually recognized the packaging of that brand littering the waterfall where I was too drunk to go rappelling down with the other tourists a few weeks ago. That was good enough of evidence to me. To top it all of, the “Tanner” natural snacks and chips factory was conveniently located nearby a tourist attraction. I rented a portable speaker and some basic DJ equipment, some LED lights, and even a huge disco ball, I could have outright bought it with my life savings at my disposal, but renting was just more simple. Next was the transport, I got a minibus Van including a driver, that could fit the equipment and at least 15 people, if you shove them in party style. The driver did look at me weird, considering that I was dripping in sweat from the fever, but since I agreed to his ridiculous proposed price, he convinced himself that it was just the tropical heat. Finally, I needed party animals like me. In the beginning it was hard, because I tried using new friends, but they all had forgotten, or simply not cared much about me. But, after a round though the local drinking holes, I had plenty of volunteers willing to have a blasting party at the jungle waterfalls. They even created a Facebook group and did the invitations themselves, saving me time for preparing the cocktails. The cocktails were of all types, some just good drinks, some really strong to make sure all reason is abandoned, and of course, at least 50 bottles filled with gasoline and a handy wick.


It’s dark, and the cricket song echoes loudly around me. The wind rushes past me and I watch the trees fly by as the stars stay in their place. The moon orange and full, still yet barely rising. The fast ticking of my bike wheel is the only unnatural noise. I look to the sky again, I see what looks like a cloud across the sky, like a river. Dimmer in the middle. The milky way. I look to the road, and watch as my light bounces on the lines. A cooling wind blows and rustles through the trees. Causing some leaves to fall. They flutter through the night, dancing like the bats catching moths above me. I hear frogs croaking in the ditches as I pass. Cicadas in the trees. The bats' and moths' fluttering wings. The leaves dragging along the ground in the wind. The crickets chorus sings louder then quieter. I see almost no sign of human existence, besides me and the road I travel. It is bliss. I see what looks almost like a large dead animal right in the middle of the road. I slow my bike down, so I can get a better look. Slowly I approach it, til I get off my bike. I see now, it's a person, laying across the road as if they've been hit. Though I see no blood or scratches. I wonder, is it dead? I get closer still, probably dangerous, but still. I see that is a teen boy, maybe my age, maybe a little older. He seems to be struggling. He looks at me with eyes that seem almost red in the moonlight. He looks at me with an expression of fear...do I see hope? I ask if he's okay. "Does it look like I'm ok? Do okay people just lay on a road?" He panted. He seemed exhausted. I sighed, he seems to have some humor. "Well no, you don't look okay. But when some one asks that they mean to ask if you want or need help." I swatted at a mosquito that was flying in my ear. They didn't bother me till I stopped moving. I keeled besides the boy. "What's your name? Why are you in the road?" He smirked at me. "My name doesn't matter. The reason I'm in the road isn't something you'd understand." He layed back on in the road, obviously exhausted, hungry even. I shifted to sitting Indian style. The the road was hurting my knees. "I could try to understand." I spoke in a softer voice. He looked at me with a sudden desperation. He sat up and faced me. his eyes piercing into mine. as if he was studying my soul. They didn't just look red any more. They were definitely red. I could see they were fading. like the life was dying in them. A shiver went through my spine. I'm no idiot. I don't play dumb. "are you wearing contacts?" I asked, suddenly intrigued. He smiled and showed his teeth. “no.” He had nice teeth. I saw the canines were exceptionally sharp. But they weren't extra long. A chill of excitement ran down my spine. I smiled at him, and he looked at me confused. "Why do you smile?" his expression becoming nervous. "are you what I think you are?" I whispered, looking deep into his entrancing eyes. "say it out loud, if you really think you know." I shifted closer, probably not a good thing to do. "A vampire right? child of the night, supposed servant of the devil." He nodded, "yes, sort of and no." He paused and looked away from me. "i guess you could call me child of the night. But but I'm not a servant of the devil just because of what I am. if I was I wouldn't be starving out here." "starving..?" I asked, already knowing what he meant. He looked at the sky, tracing the milky way with his eyes. suddenly a brilliant light shone from the distance. A car was coming, and we were sitting in the middle of the road. "GeT oUtTa tHe ROAD!" I screamed, terrified. Though the road was straight and we had time before the car was gonna pass, I ran. I grabbed my bike, and headed for the edge of the forest. I dropped my bike in the ditch and began to back into the forest. I wasn't supposed to be out here. I was supposed to be at home, asleep in bed, like a good teen girl. I waited till the car passed, then there was another right behind it. I waited, watching the road. one two three I begin counting. to calm myself, and make sure the cars were far enough away to not see me. five six I climbed a tree and sat in the branch closest to the top, but still strong enough to hold me and probably my bike. nine ten … “hey” I nearly jumped out of the tree in fright. “oh mY GOODNESS, you scared the living hEll outta me!” “sorry, you were about to push me out of the tree. I didn't think you'd climb the same tree, or sit on the same branch.” he shifted closer to the trunk of the tree. I leaned on the trunk, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving me shaky. The silence is closing in, and I hear the crickets resume their song. I wonder if there's any bats in this tree. probably not, they're probably out, eating. “so you're starving huh. shouldn't it be easy to get...umm..food..?” I looked at him confused. He sighed again, and looked directly into my eyes. The red even dimmer now. bags under his eyes growing dark. “I can't just attack any human for food. It has to be consented. They they have to say yes, and i can't force it. it's been almost a year since the last time I was able to feed.” He looked deeper into my eyes, searching. then looked back out, at the stars. The moon wasn't so red any more, like his eyes, it was fading into a pale yellow. “You didn't ask me” I stated, in a suggestive tone. He looked at me, surprised, and hopeful. then his hope faded. “don't play with my head, I know you wouldn't.” I sat up, away from the trunk, and looked him in the eyes. “You can feed off me, I give you my permission. as long as it doesn't kill me.” Within less than a second he had me pinned against the trunk. He held my head back by my hair, and I could hear his breath, ragged. desperate. my heart was pounding, as he lowered his head, and his lips grazed my neck, his breath cold, tickling my skin. “you sure?” He whispered, almost too quiet to hear. I nodded. He sank his teeth into my neck, I felt a snap, when my skin broke. I felt a wave of nauseating pain pass through me, and then the pain was gone. I can feel his lips on my neck, his teeth come out of the wound, and he drinks. I can feel him getting closer to me, he can't get close enough. He shifts closer, till his chest is pressing up on mine. He pulls my head back more with my hair. I can feel my heart beat faster, I gasp. my limbs are getting cold, and my head is swimming. I look out to the stars, the moon so full and bright. So, so full of life. my eyelids are getting heavy, I close them and relax. I feel my feet tingling. my limbs are growing heavier and heavier, as if i’m suddenly noticing gravity. I try to open my eyes, I try to move, but I can't.. my hands; that were gripping the branch I sit on, slowly let go. I can't hold on anymore, but I don't fall. He has me pinned against the tree. never have I felt so safe, so vulnerable and so alive, as while I feel like I'm dying. I feel him relaxing. letting go of my hair, and he pulls away from my neck. my neck feels cold, and naked. He touches my jawline and turns my head, to reveal the wound. my eyes flutter open, finally. I look at him, and he takes his hand from my face. I see little sparkles around my vision. I feel a trickle of warm run down the side of my neck, it gives me goosebumps. That's a feeling that I don't like. He takes his hand and slits his wrist with a sharp fingernail. I feel him dab some of his blood on the bite wound, and I immediately begin to feel better. I start to sit up, but he pushed me back by my shoulders. “rest for a couple minutes. it's not best to move right now.” I nod, and close my eyes again. i can feel my strength returning to me. I feel my mind clearing, as I take a deep breath. I look around myself. “You know, anytime you need to...feed, just ask, although, the answers always gonna be yes.” He looks surprised. “what time is it?” I worry. I gotta be home before four, my parents wake up at five. I look up at him. He looks at the moon, and around at the stars. “about three fifteen.” I see his eyes are very vivid now. The red is almost the color of blood, dark and deep. crimson. He he even looks more alive. “That's good. I'm about five minutes away from home..” I look down at the road below me. that's awful high, I realise. suddenly gravity seems drunk, and my world tips. I feel myself slipping. I look at him, everything happening in slow motion. He reaches his arm out to me, a little too late. I just miss the tip of his finger. I feel my feet slip off the branch. I'm falling...upside down, and I feel...weightless. The tree branch quickly gets farther away. I try to look behind me and do a flip in air. I see the ground, quickly approaching. I see my bike, still where I left it in the ditch. The ground is suddenly right there, and I hit it face first. but It didn't feel like I fell out of the top of a tree. It felt as if I fell out of bed. I sit up and look up at the branch I was sitting on. He’s not there.. “did that hurt?” I heard him ask from behind me. i turn around. “..no actually. How is that?” He sits down in front of me, in the grass. “well now you're going to be a transitioning vampire. The transition lasts a year. you'll have mild versions of vampire powers, and a mild aversion to the sun.” He sighs, “But if you want to stay human, any time in the following year just drink my blood, and you are cured.” The ground is uncomfortable. I can feel each blade of grass under me. I get up and look at the stars. some of them aren't stars, they're planets. I can see now distinctly which are planets. I can see mars easily. and Saturn. it's rings are positioned today just so, that they're almost invisible. I looked at his eyes again, so deep and beautiful. I could see the strands of his iris. I could see the stars reflection in them. The eyelashes that haven't fully grown yet. “I think I'll test this out for a while. Will you still be able to feed on me?” He walked to my bike and picked it up with ease. “yes, actually while you are transitioning, the blood is even better. but you're not just food to me, so do what you like. but once you're a vampire, I'll have to find other blood.” I nodded. “what if...i stay a transitioning vampire, and on the last day, you make me human. then we can start the transition over again.” I began to adjust my shirt and dust off my pants. he set my bike in front of a tree, so it was standing instead of laying in the ditch. I grab my purse. “that's clever..” He said, as he looked at me. I pulled a comb out of my purse. I leaned on a dead tree and brushed some dirt and knots out. The fall had made a mess of it. He was watching me as I did so. I pretended not to notice. but i ended up blushing. He was really cute. and this experience was quite intimate. at least I thought so. I honestly can't wait till next time. I blush harder at the thought. embarrassed, I brush my hair to cover my face. but I think he's already noticed. He chuckles, and looks away. “you should get home right?” i look at the moon. it's risin a little more since i looked last. maybe ten minutes ago. “no, I have a half hour to kill, and i don't like being home.” “what's wrong with home? I miss having a home to go to, but my family died off and my brother inherited the house. of course he died a couple decades ago. The house is his daughters now.” He seems to be lonely. maybe...no. I can't be thinking like that. I just met him. “dang,” i said. “it's gotta be hard with no place. I don't like home, but if I had my own id probably never leave.” I giggled.


Hey Guys, Here's a short story, (Hopefully the first in a series) based on games workshop’s brilliant role playing game, Dark Heresy. A gritty, violent and brutal look at humanities future, with agents of the Holy Inquisition being the few who work in the darkness to serve the light. They are tasked with the preservation of humanity by rooting out and exterminating it’s enemies. I hope you like it, although I understand the setting and style isn't everyone's cup of tea! As always, I appreciate any feedback or thoughts on the piece. Cheers, Lordchimp  Quiet. Almost serene. That was the sound of a starport hurtling out of orbit, careening towards a planet. The monolith structure was tearing itself apart under the immense pressure of it’s graceless fall. Small explosions rippled across the star station, pieces of the metal giant twisting and breaking away with alarming regularity. But, sat comfortably on his ship a few hundred thousand kilometers away, surrounded by the vast vacuum of space, Roth couldn’t hear the screams of the dying. The titanic groans of the tearing metal were rendered silent by the emptiness between them. All the pain, all the suffering, muted entirely. Much like every other experience he’d had of death and agony, it had either been viewed from afar or safely behind a monitor. Many times had the consequences of his actions resulted in destruction and other horrors affecting innocent lives, but such was the price of his duty. *Innocence means nothing.* Roth’s wrinkled eyes drank in the sight of six million lives ending. The blasts of the distant explosions reflecting in his greying pupils. He sat there for what seemed like an eternity, watching every tiny detail. Trying to make himself feel every death of the citizens, but even with horrific scene before him, only one word blossomed in his mind. *Necessary.* *Their lives are the sacrifice to preserve countless more. After all, what is a few million lives weighed against untold billions?* “The starport is dead, plummeting into the very planet it was supposed to orbit. The Aquilla, our ship, has basically no fuel. The mysterious ship belonging to Vance, the man who we were told to kill, who is also the only man trying to destroy the xenos artifact, is heading straight to the surface of the planet about to be hit by a few million tonnes of space station. Did I miss anything?” Volkrad asked from the centre of the room, one arm resting on the mapping desk, the other resting on the pommel of his sword. A weary smile was stretched upon his face, the kind of smile that attempts to soothe, to calm. Although the duelist wore a blade at his hip, Roth very much doubted the loud, cocksure man had ever used it. Sure, he could talk a good game, his boasts frequent and his stories vast, but as for actually doing anything…another matter entirely. *The man wears a feather in his hat for Emperor’s sake.* “We’ve gotta call tha boss.” Fink said slowly from the corner, his brutish speech a polar opposite of the resonant, confident tones Volkrad projected. The large mutant was unmissable, a hulking, misshapen shadow of a man, with biceps as large as Roth’s head. He would stand out in any crowd, no matter how thick or dense. The ogryn was a killing machine, no doubt or question about it. His muscular form genetically bred for grueling, fierce combat, the kind that held no promises for his future other than a painful, violent end. No Ogryns ever died of old age. Yet, as fearsome as the giant soldier was, he was perhaps one of the gentlest souls Roth had ever encountered. He had the temperament of a child, mostly quiet and only speaking in simple sentences, but when his anger was roused…it was a horrific sight indeed. “That is a given. The question is, do we follow Vance’s ship down to the planet before we attempt contact?” Severen spoke from the shadows. The last pieces of his greying hair fluttered and billowed in the gentle breeze of the ship’s circulation system. Severen, was different. He was at least a man, unlike the brute Fink, but he too bore the scars of abnormality. He was relatively thin and wiry, built with little muscle or fat on his bones. Long, white, imperial robes covered his gangly limbs well enough, but as well as his shaved head full of cybernetic implants, he had a very distinguishing feature indeed. He had no eyes. Roth couldn’t work out if they had been taken from him, or perhaps an accident at birth. *A child without eyes. Now there’s a thought.* Roth pondered to himself.*They say that a man’s eyes are windows to his soul…What does that mean for him?* He knew most astropaths forfeited their eyes in acceptance of the power that coursed through their souls, but he had never seen one this close, this real before. Severen had spoken with a quiet confidence, the kind that made sensible men stop and listen. How exactly it commanded respect, Roth wasn’t sure. Maybe it was a trick of the warp or some other fragment of mysterious power. “Nonsense!” Volkrad’s brash voice sounded again, interrupting Roth’s thoughts rudely. “We must first contact the inquisitor and make our report, everything else can wait.” “Even a planet about to be stricken with xenos heresy? That foul artefact is heading straight for it, Emperor knows what will happen when it hits the surface.” Severen said, a snarl just hovering on the fringes of his voice, so slight it was barely noticeable, even in the confines of the small starship. It had been clear to Roth that there were too many big personalities in the small warband for everyone to get along in perfect harmony. At the moment, they were not too dissimilar from a pack of wild dogs, each one snapping and barking his thoughts and opinions. Making their decisions often difficult to make, as someone always had something to say. Whilst Severen made a good point, Roth was going to have to agree with Volkrad and Fink. The inquisitor needed to know just what exactly was going on in this tiny system. “Volkrad’s right Severen. The Inquisitor needs to know.” Roth said. The psyker’s frown deepened in response. “As you wish, but know that it is not just precious time we are wasting. Innocent souls on that planet may be dwindling down as we speak.” He turned to face out the window behind him, although he had no eyes for which to see the carnage that lay only a few hundred kilometers away. Volkrad looked startled at the fact the group majority had sided with him, but to his credit, it was concealed instantly with a soft shake of his head. “How long will it take you to establish a link with him?” He asked, still polite, still amicable. Severen remained silent, his empty sockets still gazing out of the viewing glass, watching the space station’s violent death throes. Volkrad scoffed and looked to the other members of the group, catching both Fink’s and Roth’s eyes. “It’s a miracle nobody has taken insult at your rudeness witch.” He paused letting one hand caress the pommel of his blade pointedly. “If another noble had spoken to me like that on my home planet, he would find himself with my blade at his throat.” Volkrad’s voice had dropped into a threatening quiet, his teeth grinding on the occasional syllable. The blind Astropath still gave no indication he had heard the duelist, still watching quietly from the window. A few tense moments passed. Only the quiet creak and whir of the air circulation could be heard amongst the silent men. “Did. You. Hear. Me?” Fire was in Volkrad’s eyes now, the controlled flickering of anger unmissable. “Quiet! I’m searching for him.” Severn hissed, his face a mask of concentration. Silence remained between them all for another hour until Severen eventually contacted the Inquisitor’s Astropath. It was not the comfortable kind of silence that is shared amongst content friends, but rather the lingering kind of silence, sat in the room like an unwelcome guest. \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* Thank you for reading! If anybody want's to read any of the other stories I've written, let me know and I'll send a link to my Blog.


Today, finally I get to go visit my Aunt Mary and spend the day with her at work. For Sophomore year Social Studies, we’re required to do a team report on a relative (or family friend) with an interesting or unusual job. Melissa (my best friend) and I have convinced our teachers to let us do our joint report on my Aunt Mary. She’s the Command Logistics Coordinator for an Imperial Tactical Assault/Rescue team. She makes sure all the right people are in the right places, and have the right equipment when and where they need it. Mostly for assaults against hardened criminal or military elements, but also for the occasional hostage/rescue mission, and the very rare extraction of a defector or agent (spy) that has been inserted somewhere dangerous. It’s unusual to be allowed to shadow anyone working at the TOC (Tactical Operations Command) as Mary calls it, but they occasionally make exceptions, primarily to instill goodwill with the general public, and also to remind the younger generation that these service positions exist. Hoping that future generations with the right aptitude, and attitude, will choose a career in this area to replace older members as the retire. And we can write the report, only with the strictest understanding that Command have first option to read-approve-edit-and potentially destroy the report. While anything else we see/hear/read/think about what we experienced is to be kept strictly secret.  Our cab makes the last turn to the base, “Oh, I’m so excited I can’t stand it.” “I know April, me too. But at least you’ve been there once before.”, Melissa replies. “Only for ten minutes to pickup Aunt Mary once for a family funeral. And then she met us at Reception for pickup and we returned her to the gate after the funeral without even going into Reception.”  “Is it just us?”, Melissa asks. “No. There is a group of ten or so visiting dignitaries from a neighboring galaxy. We’re to be observers on the tail end of their group. So, aside from just visiting the TOC, we have to be on our best behavior to help leave them with a good impression.” “No pressure. As if I wasn’t freaked enough already.”, Melissa adds.  Aunt Mary asked us to arrive “on time” and not be over eager and arrive too early. We’ve timed it pretty well. Stepping out of the cab three minutes before entry time at the walkway up to the guard gate.  A young man, with short hair, and immaculately crisp pressed khaki shirt and pants uniform, around 25 years, with a pistol sidearm on his belt, addresses us as we approach, “Names and ID’s.”  The young guard may only have a pistol, but he’s flanked a few meters back by two more Marines with environment sealed body armor and rifles. Off in the distance, with overlapping fields of fire, I can see turrets with heavy weapons pointing in the general direction of the gate. Checking our ID’s visually, then scanning them into his clipboard, the guard looks back at the guard station, to see another similar dressed Imperial Marine look up from a terminal and nod back clearance. The guard hands us our ID’s, “You’re right on time. Thanks. The Utt delegation is in transit and will be clearing the gate in about two minutes. Corporal May will take you to the reception area.”, the guard waves us over to a transportation cart already waiting a few steps away.  Corporal May talks as he drives, “You’ve probably heard it all before in school, but you’ll be watching the “Intro to the Empire” vid shown to all visiting delegations. Then follow them in for the tour and actual TOC visit. It will be a busy day. There is a Rescue Op in progress. If you’re lucky, you might get to see some of the actual extraction.” Corporal May parks, escorts us into Reception for a second ID verification. The receptionist offered us water or soft drinks, but we are too nervous to touch anything and respectfully decline. We’re asked to wait in the anteroom chairs while the delegation cars are clearing Security scans at the gate.  We are off to ourselves and mostly out of earshot of the others waiting nearby, and Melissa speaks for the first time, other than saying her name earlier. “Have you ever seen one? Did you see one here last year when you picked up your Aunt Mary?”, she asks. She doesn’t explicitly name them, but I know exactly what she means. One of the Sezrakeen, the Emperor’s Daughters. “Last time, when mother was talking to the Receptionist, telling him we were here to pick up Mary, I felt an unusual new sensation off to my right and slightly behind. I looked down one of the hallways leading away from the front desk, and saw the trailing edge of what was a gown or cape on the floor. Just the briefest glimpse of black fabric trailing behind someone passing through the hallway intersection. I can’t describe the sensation well enough. Have you ever walked through the kitchen when your parents were cooking something that required a high temperature, just as they opened the oven door?”, I look at Melissa, “It was like that, but there was no heat. It was just the sensation of standing next to something of immense power. It must be what it’s like to stand next to a nuclear warhead. Nothings really happening, but you have the awareness of being in the presence of great power, ... and doom. I looked back straight ahead and caught the eyes of one of the guards, and blurted out softly ‘Was that . . .?’ The guard still looking forward, with the barest of perceptible head movements, gave one head nod down and up to indicate ‘Yes.’ ”  The Utt delegation arrives. Only six of them, with four escorts/guards surrounding.  The receptionist waves us up and we fall in behind the delegation, with two of the guards trailing our group. As a young Corporal joins addressing the group. “With all respect, please forgive me for dispensing with the normal formalities. My name is Corporal Novis. If we can take you straight in and get you through the introduction vid, we’ll head directly to the Ops. We should just make it in time to see an Extraction Op.”  We’re lead into a theater/auditorium, as I see/hear the receptionist calling my Aunt Mary to announce that we’re here. I can hear my Aunt Mary’s voice faintly from the phone, “Oh God, is that today? OK, thank you Lieutenant.”, She says to the receptionist. “It’ll either be the best possible day to be here, or the worst.” Sounds like Aunt Mary is having a “Manic Monday”, even if it is actually Tuesday.  We enter the auditorium and take a seat. The video begins and gives a quick recap of The Empire formation. The Emperor’s early (normal-human) life. His gathering/training over time of the women that would come to be the Sezrakeen. As their lifespans began to extend, so did their power. ”Absolute power corrupts absolutely” as the saying goes, and they were ‘oh so very’ powerful, which lead them to corrupt and crave even more power. It showed the stages we’ve all learned in school. The gathering years, when the young man who would be Emperor gathers the women. The first separation years, where they all pulled away from him, and grew in wisdom and power, . . . and fear of each other. Fear that lead to the great war with each other. After millions of years, traveling through time, back-stopping whole Galaxies to acquire resources and form armies, and waging war to a standstill. Tens of Billions dying as human cannon fodder, but the several hundred Sezrakeen themselves always fighting to a draw. Then the “bitter” years, when they returned to the young man that started them on their path. The 20,000 years of torturing the man, relishing their revenge on him, for the actions they couldn’t take responsibility for themselves. The 40,000 years of the second separation when they abandoned him, alone, on the planet where he had been tortured. Then, finally realizing the faults they were projecting on him, were within themselves. The penitent years, where they sought him out again and set him in place as the Emperor. The Sezrakeen finally becoming the stewards of the Universe, the Multiverse. Committing themselves to serving the people in redemption for billions of deaths, and millions of years of sins. A redemption they don’t ever expect to find. Then finally, the Empire as it exists now. Peaceful. Well, as peaceful as humans can ever be. Spreading across to fill the known Galaxies and exploring the Universe. The vid switched from “The Empire” to the more recent history of the TOC itself, with scenes from assaults on entrenched criminal and military compounds, and a few scenes from some hostage extractions.  The auditorium doors open, and Corporal Novis escorts the group out, through a series of three doors, each leading deeper into the TOC. Deeper both meaning, further away from reception, and deeper underground. At one point, we all fit one one large elevator, that … plummeted is the only appropriate word, down at least 1000 feet underground. The elevator opens. As the delegation in front of us moves to clear our line of sight, Melissa lets slip out, “Is it costume party day?”, I’d thought only I could hear her, but Corporal Novis seems to answer the question. “Today is an Extraction Op, but its one of an unusual type, and requires some of the agents on-site go ‘in costume’ to blend in with the locals. A few have just returned, the remainder are reporting back events/movements, to keep our extraction in sync with events on the other end.”  We enter a large set of blast doors, currently open. Mary said they weighed several tons, but was balanced such that a typical six year old could push it open/closed if necessary.  “Respected delegates from the Utt homeworld, and other guests, welcome to the ‘TOC’, my name is Lieutenant Mary Corbin.”  I see that Melissa is getting her wish, if it was indeed a wish and not a fear. Two of the Sezrakeen are here. Both are in full Spectral form. Imagine ‘Death’ you’ve seen in the movies. Black holocaust cloak. No visible skeleton or body. Just a black void where someone should be inside the vaporous garment. They aren’t walking, so much as gliding when they move. Melissa and I look at each other, but say nothing.  Aunt Mary continues, “Today … is unusual, even for us. For the first hundred years of his life, The Emperor loved stories. Books, Video, Movies, spoken remembrances. You’ve all heard of the Multiverse. The theory that there are an infinite number of Alternate Universes out there. Where if you searched far, and long enough, you could find anything.  When the great war was young, and Sezrekeen were looking for a universes with raw materials, and people, to fight their war with each other, they began cataloging the millions, then later billions of “slices” they surveyed.  But, like all humans, the Emperor yearned for “Happy Endings” for some of his favorite characters. So many tragic characters, that suffered greatly. It would be cruel to “make” a Universe, where they were enslaved to the stories we’d created here for them.  But what . . . What it if was the other way around? What if they were real-true-complete individuals with Free Will in their own Universes. And that the great stories we love, aren’t creations of our Authors, what if instead, the authors of our world were “seeing into” these Alternate Universes, and transcribing what they witnessed?  Authors here (sometimes) not being creators of fiction, but instead unintentional witnesses of remote fact.  It solved several problems for him. It meant the characters he’d grown to love were real, and had Free Will, and good or bad, happy or sad, at least they were in charge of their own destiny, and it was OUR world, that was different.  In the great surveys the Sezrakeen performed, and continue with today, once in a while, they stumble upon a universe from one of the stories in the Emperor’s childhood.  A few months ago, one such slice was found. We’ve homed into the particular time and location of interest within that Alternate Universe, and have inserted “agents”, dressed as ordinary citizens, to infiltrate the population, and keep track of the people of interest.  The Emperor admits it’s a character flaw, but he can’t help but want to ‘fix’ some of the ends of these stories. And today is one of those Ops . . .  But remember . . . Many of these stories were/are classics. Millions, sometimes Hundreds of Billions have read the story over millennia, and even though we can go there, we can’t “really” tamper with the outcome. Or at least, not in such a way that tarnishes the author’s vision into that world. Whatever change we attempt to make, it must be undetectable to the people of that Universe.  Two of the Sezrakeen have been overwatch for the the extraction. When our in-place agents indicate the correct time is upon us, they will open a Portal to the Alternate Universe, and Extract the two targets.  Timing is hyper-critical, since in the original story, both the main characters everyone has followed, die in the end.  But, if we can extract them fast enough, and replace them with clones . . . Then for all intents and purposes, they will “appear” to die in their world to all observers there, and the story will complete as it always had, when in fact it will be the clones left behind that die, and the real characters will be pulled back to our universe/slice and safety.  Phase 1 was to find the Alternate Universe slice. Part by arduous an unrelenting searching/cataloging, predominately by dumb luck of just exploring billions of alternate universes until we stumbled upon the right one. Phase 2 was to find the right time within the alternate universe that lines up with “the story” as we all know it. Phase 3 was to get blood samples from both the extraction targets a few weeks before the critical extraction moment. Phase 4 was to grow the clones, and station monitoring equipment (and sometimes human “agents”) near the characters being extracted, to both keep track of timing, and to report interruptions. Agents will report back on the exact clothing the targets are wearing, so we can match it on the clones.  This is the point we’re at currently.  Phase 5 is the actual extraction/replacement/cleanup. Phase 6 is to “calm” the extracted, perform the necessary medical operations, and explain what’s happening to the two targets. Phase 7 we extract all the inserted agents and clean up/remove any cameras/monitoring equipment. Aunt May bows gently to the group, concluding her presentation.  The Sezrakeen, look back at the group, each other, then one of them moves towards our visiting group. The group parts down the middle, until Melissa and I are alone with our backs to the doors. The Sezrekeen holds a black-smoke hand up to my, then Melissa’s foreheads. She was “reading” us. But, she wasn’t just reading us, she changed something. I can feel it. Something is different in me, but, I don’t understand what.  Aunt Mary steps forward, speaks, addressing the Sezrakeen nearest me, “Ma'am, the one on the right is my Niece, they are here . . .”, but she stops mid-sentence as the Sezrakeen holds up a hand in the Stop gesture, without looking back.  The Spectral form speaks, “It’s fortunate timing. We can use them. They can help.”  The black Spectral Form dissipates and leaves behind a woman. Early thirties, about 55 kilos. Long blond hair, green eyes. A slim build. A models build. Likely she was based on a model. The Sezrakeen are so old, even they have forgotten what their original human-born bodies looked like a few million years before. So now, each assumes the form of an Actress or Model when taking physical form. Someone the Emperor remembers from his childhood. It’s both a blessing and a curse. It’s nice to see the beautiful faces he remembers, but they are also the faces of the ones that tortured him for 20,000 years.  “Come with me.”, the Sezrakeen / now-woman says to Melissa and I. Walking briskly away out a side door. We hurry to follow.  “You can help calm them down. The two we’re extracting. A few minutes ago when I ‘Read’ you, I also inserted the targets birth language. So you’ll be able to understand and talk to them. I could do it, but you’re near their age, and will have more believable responses.”, the woman leads us down a side hall, into a room labeled “Costuming”.  Leaving us standing at the entrance, and moving with a blur of speed, she transits up and down the aisles choosing in seconds, two gowns for us to wear.  She hands Melissa and I each one of the gowns. Simple designs, muted colors, with long sleeves, and tight upper arms, fluting out into conical larger openings where the hands exit. It’s like wearing skinny jeans on the top, that expand out to bell bottoms on the ends, but, for sleeves. The body of the dress is the same. Ankle length, perfectly sized for each of us, and also conical in shape. There are two black lace veils with some kind of a white under-cap. The Sezrakeen in human form, gives a flourish of one hand in our direction, and I look down to realize now I’ve swapped, and am wearing the outfit, and holding my original clothes. She gestures to the clothes and to a rack of shelves on the side. We set them down.  As she leads us back to the Op Center, she tells us the role we will play in the Extraction.  “The Alternate Universe we’ve located … In the original story, two young people we’re extracting, fell in love, but their families were avowed enemies. With the help of her Nurse, and a Friar friend of her lover’s, She had a plan to escape her parents rule by faking her death, then run off to be with the man she loved. She was to take a sleeping potion, mimicking death, then when all had left, to wake and go be with her lover. But, couriers were delayed, messages failed to be delivered, and in a tragic twist of fate, the man only heard news that the love of his life was dead. He goes to visit the crypt. Seeing her lifeless body, is also fooled, and drinks poison he has brought with him to join her. Going unconscious, just in time to see his love wake. Understanding what has happened, she draws her lovers dagger and kills herself, rather than living a life without the man she loves.”, she opens the door for us to reenter the Op Center.  She continues, “For the ‘Author’ to see and transcribe the story as it originally played out, the boy must drink the poison, and she must begin to plunge the dagger. It’s at that exact moment, I’ll open the portal to the crypt, the other (pointing to the other Sezrakeen still in Spectral form) will halt the dagger, yank the boy/girl, and replace them with the clones we’ve prepared. The clones were never alive. They have no brain, no nervous system. They never “lived” nor thought any though, but to observers from that place and time, will pass completely for the original targets they are replacing. The entire Extraction/Replacement/Continuing the dagger Plunge, will be over in less than a millisecond. The two Targets will both be ported direct to Med-Bay along with you two. Then comes your part . . . The girl will be conscious and terrified. She’ll have just been stopped a millisecond before committing suicide. The horror of that alone will be traumatic. But she comes from a world, similar to the 1300’s on Mother Earth. Everything she sees, hears, experiences, will all be alien and terrifying to her. She’ll never have had any experience with, or even imagining of . . . Bright interior room lights. Sterile operating rooms and clothing. Intubation tubes and IV’s. Life sign monitors with all their graphic displays and beeping sounds. The foreign (to her) language everyone will be speaking. Your goal is to attract her attention and try and keep her calm. Talk to her in her own language. You need do nothing more than be a friend to her. Let her know we’re trying to help the man she loves, and that she’ll have to be strong for him. Because he’ll be going through the same thing when, if, we can counteract the poison.”  A man across the room at suite of consoles announces, “Agent Delta reports the male is entering the crypt now. All units on Stand-By for extraction.”  “You couldn’t replace the poison he’s to take with a sleeping potion as well?”, I ask. “Agents on-site couldn’t get to him to swap it unnoticed. We know what it is, so we’re prepared to counteract it, we even managed to lace some of his food over the past weeks, to help build up an immunity and counteract it. But remember, to all observers in that Universe, events must appear to play out as they did originally, in order for the author in our Universe to ‘see’ the vision in his minds eye, of the story he thinks he’s creating, and record the story, the tragedy, just as billions have already come to read it and know it. ”  “Video feed on main monitors.”, as we see the view inside the crypt, from three different angles appear on the large end-room monitor. This must be what some of the agents have been doing on-site. Planting hidden monitoring cameras when no one was in the crypt and surrounding passages to see them.  “How are we seeing the live feed?”, one of the Utt delegation asks.  Aunt Mary responds, “One of the Sezrakeen (now both back in Spectral Form) has opened a mini-portal into that Alternate Universe, and we’re live-streaming radio transmissions of the video feed. We’ve also got comm’s up for the agents in place, and location tracking on the Friar as he approaches the crypt to witness the aftermath.”  We wait and watch the monitors, listening to Agents report progress.  “Approaching thirty minutes since Target 1 took the poison.”, one of the Tech’s in the Op Center announces to the room. “The Friar is leaving his quarters.”, Agent Bravo announces over the Comm speakers. The room full of people watch as the Friar passes various surveillance cameras, and finally enters the crypt. The Friar and Target 2, the girl, exchange the words most of us have heard.  The Friar hears a noise, and startled, begs the girl to leave with him, but, in the seconds after he leaves, she draws the dagger from her lover’s belt and begins to stab herself. In that moment, Sezrakeen one moves, a brief flash occurs on the crypt video as a portal opens, and the two clones, previously waiting on tables to the side of the Op Center are gone.  Instantly, now Melissa and I are in another room. A hospital operating theater. Nearly a dozen nurses and doctors move towards and around a young man, unconscious on the hospital bed. Standing between myself and Melissa, is the young girl from the crypt. And she’s screaming. Thumping the empty hand, that only a second ago held a dagger, to her chest.  Melissa and I each take an arm in one hand, the other on her shoulder. “Shhh. It’s OK. You are alright. You are safe. He is safe.” Though it sounds strange, because I realize I am speaking Italian. Something I couldn’t do this morning. The Sezrakeen’s change in me . . .  “Look. Look!”, I say, moving in front of the young girl, taking her face in my hands. Placing one hand on each side of her face, just in front of the eyes, like forming blinders on a horse, to get her to look only forward, only into my eyes. “You Are Safe.”, I say. “I know it all looks strange. I’ll explain later. All you need to know for now, is that these people are doctors and nurses, and are doing everything they can to save him. Trust them. Trust me. Let them work and help him.”  I drop my hands and put one arm around the girls waist, the other on her shoulder, pulling her close to me to have someone to lean on.  While Melissa and I have been working with the girl, nurses have been opening the Tunic, and cutting through the white undershirt on the boy. Inserting IV’s, and placing EKG/blood pressure/OxygenFlow monitors on him.  The girl looks around at all the displays lighting up with heart rates, respiration, graphs of EKG output. “Just look at him. Only him for now. They will take care of everything else. You’re scared I know. But imagine how it’s going to be for him when he wakes up. All these strange people around him, in a different place. You’ll need to be strong for him. To keep him calm and not fight the doctors and nurses while they get the poison out of his system. Be strong. Strong for the man you love.”  The girl lets out a sigh, and leans against me. Then after a moment, stands straight and firm, her eyes, her full attention, now only on the man she loves.  I notice the Sezrakeen, previously in the Op Center, are here with us, both in now-human female form. That’s fortunate, the girl would really flip to see them in their normal appearance.  One set of doctors/nurses has been inserting/running IV’s. Bags of fluid to counteract any poison already into the young man’s system. Another set working near the head, have inserted some sort of tube, down the nose and into the stomach. We watch for a few minutes and see a black chalky liquid being pumped into, then later drained through the tube. What did my mother call it last year, when our neighbor kid Thomas swallowed the poison? “Activated Charcoal”, mom said it neutralized the undigested poison still in the stomach/intestines, and even helped to leach it out of the lining walls, to keep some of it from continuing on into the blood stream.  He’s got a pulse. Had one since the monitors were first hooked up, though at that time, it was erratic, and the blood pressure was falling dangerously. Now, the readings begin to stabilize. Minutes pass like hours. “Blood Chemistry?”, one masked doctor asks. “Coming back. White cell counts went up, trying to fight it as an infection, but everything is stabilizing. And the PPM (parts per million?) on the poison. It’s almost gone.”  I ask toward the doctors, “Will there be any long term damage?”, then realize I said it in Italian, and repeat the question for them in English. “No. If he wakes at all, we caught it in time. This particular poison works by suppressing the heart and breathing, if we can make it past that, there should be no long-term organ damage.”, the doctor near the head replies. I translate his response for the girl.  “It could still take a few minutes, or he could snap out of it at any second.”, one nurse says in my direction.  I move my hand from the girls waist up to her shoulder and guide her forward to the side of the bed. Nurses move to clear a path for us. She’s terrified. She already thought he was dead, and never having seen intubation tubes and all these fluid lines and sensor leads in her world, isn’t helping.  “Take his hand.”, I tell her. The girl takes his left hand in hers, putting her right hand on his forehead.  “Romeo. I’m here. Everything is fine. You’re safe. I’m safe. Wake up. Wake up my love.”  Beeps from monitors, and the whirring cyclical rush of air down and back the intubation tube are the only sounds in the room. Everyone is either holding their breath, or trying to move as little as possible.  Juliet looks down at her left hand. He’s squeezing his hand closed around hers. She looks back up to his face.  His eyes open, and he begins to reach for the intubation tube, as one of the nurses restrains him.  She lets go of his left hand and places her hands on each side of his head as I had done to her. Tilting his head over to her side to look directly into her eyes and leans close, “Look at me. Look only at me. You are safe my love. I am safe. We are both safe, and both together. When they’re sure the poison is out of your system, they’ll remove the tube that is helping you breath. Don’t look at them, don’t worry about them, or the tube, nothing else matters. You are with me, and we are safe, and can live out our lives . . . together.”  Melissa and I spend the next few days with the young couple in a nearby resort village for friends/family visiting the medical complex. Explaining how they were found, where they are now. That the Emperor will take care of all their needs. The Sezrakeen we met earlier had already found a planet-system with descendants from Mother Earth, many of whom still speak Italian. Though, even I have been having trouble with dialect. The “old world” dialect of Verona has changed over the millennia and a few of the words just don’t translate. Witnessing the two young lovers experience the modern world, is amazing. Sometimes it’s a bit like watching skittish horses around cars. They’re taken aback by the strangeness of this new world they have entered. But whenever they are afraid, they cling to each other.  At night, while the young couple is together, Melissa and I are writing our school report of the events. It’ll be so long, I can’t imagine Ms. Watson will accept it for our school report, “if”, the TOC will clear it when we’re done. We may have to switch over to Melissa’s Uncle, the Llama breeder as our backup plan and use none of this.  But even if no one ever is ever allowed to read this story, I wouldn’t trade being part of this, for all the Llamas in the world.


The Portendorfers packed the car with their clothes, a dog bed, a giant bag of dog food, a baby stroller, grandma’s wheelchair, beach toys for the other two children, a big beach umbrella, and matching beach chairs. As expected, the whole paraphernalia didn’t fit in the trunk, so Mr. Portendorfer tied some of it to the roof of the car. The family, including the dog, squeezed into the vehicle and left their suburban home for the beach. Well into the trip, one of the chairs became loose and fell off the car. That was when the Portendorfers were all singing together, so they didn’t hear a thing. Lucky for the chair, the impact made it roll all the way to the side of the road before getting hit by any car. It stayed there for a while, folded as it had been packed. Its aluminum frame had suffered a few dents and the nylon seat was torn. But it was all in one piece. When the dust settled, the chair stretched its four legs and started walking in the direction the car had gone. Its frame was so badly bent, the only way it could move forward was by limping sideways like a crab. While passing by a small village at the foot of a mountain, the walking beach chair was mostly ignored, except for an old man who started shooting at it with a rifle. The chair continued its journey; the bullet holes actually made it easier to move against the wind. Night fell, but it was still bright with the moon, and the headlights. Later, black clouds covered the moon, and the rain fell hard on the forest, drowning the sounds of crickets and cicadas. Sometimes the chair stumbled on a rock or a ditch, but it was important to keep its balance: flipping on its back meant never being able to stand up again. The Portendorfers arrived at the beach house. While unloading the car, Mrs. Portendorfer noticed that one of the beach chairs was missing, and asked her husband to drive back and try to find it. But Mr. Portendorfer didn’t think that a cheap old beach chair was worth his trouble, especially at this time of night, and with all the rain. As the Portendorfers slept, the chair dragged itself through the storm. A river that ran parallel to the road began to overflow, so the chair let itself be pushed by the waters for the last stretch of the trip. When it arrived at the beach house, the sun was shining and the Portendorfers were eating breakfast. When the family came out, they found the missing chair on the grass, all twisted and crooked, covered with mud and weeds. The other chairs had gathered around it, to hear its story. Grandma's wheelchair moved on its own to join the group. I wish I could say that the family was ecstatic to see their loyal beach chair back, that the children jumped with happiness, that their parents had tears in their eyes, that they all got together and washed it, fixed it, and took it to the beach with them. Yes, I wish I could say that.


The water drops from the balcony above were tapping on the hand rails of his patio. They were consistent. Three quickly and then another two, then every three or four cycles they would all hit at once in some sort of perfect storm. He focused on the drippings through the rain and they didn’t allow him to fall back asleep. He stood and stepped out to the balcony to watch and listen to rain drop from the purple tinted sky, trying to watch drops from the clouds and follow them all the way to the ground. The plastic chairs on the balcony were wet and soaked his shorts when he sat down. Sitting he tried to think about the rain. He wanted something, anything to grab onto. There was nothing anywhere he went that held him, that made him want to stay. Some sort of motivation, or reason but it was empty. Maybe if he could capture the aesthetic he was looking at and transfer it onto a page. He thought for about a minute and realized he couldn't. Then spent the next 10 minutes criticizing himself as to why he would even think about trying to capture the beauty of the world for himself. Knowing for sure that he only wanted to do this because he wanted the rewards that would come from producing a piece of art. He thought forward to the talk show he would be on, where they would ask in amazement, when exactly did you come up with this Nobel Prize winning idea. Left leg over right, no, right over left he thought, and wearing something nice but humble. Immediately he felt shame, like he just orgasmed and wished he hadn’t. He thought about the past great writers and artists and how his motives were impure and that it meant he would never reach their level. The thought turned into a fact in the back of his head, I will never find it. He got back in bed with his wet shorts, threw the covers over his head and squirmed for two hours until the sun came up. The sun rose but the rain didn’t stop. The rain hadn’t stopped since he arrived in this town at dusk the night before. The city Shin. This city was unique, everything is based off one main street that runs through the heart of the city. Shin resembled a tree branch. The main street starts at the trunk and ended at the tip of the branch, and each leaf or twig was a side street, alley or road. Shin was a city famous for its rain and buildings. All along the main street building grew tall. And as you moved further away from the main street buildings usually didn’t grew so tall. The bottom three floors of these main street buildings were filled with all different kinds of liquor and grocery stores, one-stop gambling spots, clothing stores, tattoo shops, and lots of places to eat. Storefronts were two or three stories high and the sidewalks in front of them were wide, it gave the effect that you were walking down a huge alley. Above them were mainly lodging and some low-rent apartments. Above those floors are corporate offices or lounges. And the top floors were home to penthouses and very rich clubs. Some buildings didn’t get higher than the third floor, others didn’t get higher than the seventh or eighth and but most reached the sky. Neon signs reflecting blue, pink, green, purple and yellow colors off the rain hung from the first or second story levels advertising their respective trades. Into the leaves and twigs were houses, apartments, tea and coffee shops, more places to eat, bath houses, gambling houses, schools, parks and more hotels or motels, depending if you were on a twig or a leaf. The area outside Shin, and the main street were on very flat land, but the twigs and leaves were sporadically placed on bumps or hills, some tall some short. He was on a hill called Bunker. One side of Bunker rose slowly, and the other side fell off rather sharply. Bunker was a cheap area for lodging, it was on a twig. The lodging he was staying at was built on the steep side of Bunker, and his patio looked out over the neighborhood below. The sun rose at 6:23 AM. He rose as well with a sense of pride, feeling as he was one of the ones who had his life together because he was up and out before seven, forgetting about his fit when he saw the outline of the sun through the clouds. To himself, he thought, “I’m going to walk around my new city.” He began walking down the slow side of Bunker and walked into a 24 hour coffee and tea shop that used a curtain as a door. The shop was nearly filled to capacity with men who were dressed for a blue-collar job, each reading their paper, focusing on either sports, news or classifieds. The tea and toast he ordered were as expected. The tea was piping hot but lacked flavor, and the bread was almost burnt. With his food he began to eat and sip slowly, reading the paper of the man sitting at the table in front of him. The man was reading the classifieds, he was reading the story of a baseball player who died in an bus crash in the offseason taking relief supplies to a country ravaged by an earthquake. What shitty luck he thought. You spend your money and time the right way and you rewarded with death. What a waste of supplies. The bus had driven off a bridge after swerving due to rain, into 30 feet of water. As far as a baseball player he had little success, he was a catcher, with a career .218 batting average and only nine career home runs in four years. But he was noted to have been very active in his and other communities. He was reading about his childhood before the man stood up, folded his paper into his back pocket and walked out. All he caught was that he was from a small island he never heard of that started with a C. He thought to himself that he could have been a decent ball player, he had decent height a good build for baseball. He was right-handed so maybe he could have been a good second baseman. Being a sports writer didn’t seem so hard to him either, it seemed simple, maybe even sports photography could be possible. Then he thought maybe that could be a good story, about an athlete who is a better person than a player. Or the classic fantastic player but horrible person, but throw in some character growth and he’s the good guy. All of these thoughts flooded his mind in a matter or seconds. He found himself almost smirking but caught himself quickly and stopped. Feeling ashamed he shoved down the rest of the toast down his throat and walked out, looking around to see if anyone was looking. The morning clouds were very dark. He threw his hood on and headed to the main street. He reached the main street and had his hands in his pockets. He looked both ways and decided to head for the tip of the branch. Walking he kept his head on a swivel looking at every face and storefront that he passed by. Inside the first liquor store on his route he bought a pack of unfiltered cigarettes and lit one before walking out. The streets were packed at this time. He was pretty sure it was Tuesday, so that would explain the people out and about early in the morning. The sky had lightened but the rain hadn’t. The neon signs were never turned off so the lights were constantly reflecting off the sunlight and the rain making for a very aesthetic view. He wished he had a camera and photography skills. But he had given up on photography a few cities ago. The main street had no street parking. Most of the main street had only two lanes going each way, only in some very cases was there a turn lane. As the stores past by he looked in as many stores did not close and had no doors. The storefront would be open 24 hours a day. Peering in the stores were busy around the clock, and it never seemed as though the faces changed. The same woman at the restaurant, the same man gambling, the same kid holding and passing ads. The last city he was in was far less superior to this one. It was a small town with no more than 600 people. There was no decent lodging that didn't make him feel like he was intruding on someone's home. And very religious, nothing was opened on Sunday, that’s when he took off. A quick bus ride only nine hours landed him here. Now this he thought as he looked around, is a hub, a mecca, a place someone can fit in. here you could just be another piece of the machine. No one to bother you, no one to know your name, no family to guilt you. N. 99th Street is what he looked up to see on the street sign. He had walked 22 streets, with about a half mile in between each one. He decided we would eat, sat at a bench and counted his remaining cash. He had already paid for his room for two weeks, so that was safe, but only had enough money for four days of meals. Paying for two weeks in advance was never his style but the aesthetic of the lights and the rain and the hills made him sure this is where he wanted to be. Maybe he was right but looking at his cash his stomach began to twist. The rain still hadn’t let up. He made his way back to his room through the twigs and leafs, not down main street. The coat was hung neatly in the closet, the bed was made and he was laying face down wondering what he should do. “A job is my only option,” he said aloud, “i’m gonna give this city a fair shake.” He spent the rest of the night going back and forth between reading, trying to draw, contemplating calling home for money, maybe enlisting in the military, back to trying to write about his day, thinking about maybe going to look for a job. Before he knew it, the clock said it was 9:09 PM and he had wasted another day. Brushing, showering, changing and laying down. He slept until around three when the rain woke him up again. “Not again.” He pressed his head between his pillows and forced himself to sleep. The next morning was spent at the same tea shop but without food, or stories of sports, this time it was the classifieds. After two hours searching every ad, paranoid to miss the perfect opportunity the store owners told him to buy something or get out. He left, headed to the main office of Central Allied Security Services. He joined a waiting room full of other potential candidates, he was the fourth tallest by what he could tell, and looked stronger or younger than the rest. The receptionist hadn’t said how many jobs they were planning to fill but he was sure he would land one. He was originally scared he would be late, the ad said the company would be conducting interviews from 9:30 AM- 2:30 PM or when all positions were filled. He arrived seven minutes early and was disappointed to find 11 people already in the waiting room, but was almost immediately relieved to see more than 30 people arrive between 9:40 and 10 AM. A round short women with glasses walked out and announced, “Francisco Miguel Cantor Marinero Jr. ,” in a horrible accent effectively butchering the name. He rubbed his sweaty palms against the arms of the chair, he hated when people said his full name, it brought too much attention to himself. “Here,” he said as he stood up, also halfway raising his arm like he was in school again. “Come on in.” He followed into a room with two men sitting at a table and the round lady joining them “Mister… Cantor? Where are you from?” “Out west but I just got here from a little town called Prosper two days ago.” “And how long were you in Prosper?” “Three days.” “Are you planning on leaving again soon.” “No sir, i’ve paid three months in advance at my current lodging, Shin is where I plan to be.” “Have you done security work before?” “Not officially but I worked in a nursing facility at one point where I was essentially called for any security type issues, escorting things like that.” “What would be your first reaction to a man getting loud or irritated and possibly violent in an area you are assigned to patrol?” “Truthfully sir, I am not familiar with the procedures of this company, so I would rely on my training and make sure I understand all procedures before going on the job to handle the situation correctly.” There was a moment of silence. “When would you be able to start?” “As soon as possible.” “Is 12.00 an hour ok?” “Yes” “How many days can you work.” “As many as i'm needed.” “Fill this out and we’ll get back to you.” After leaving he felt good, he was always good at interviews, he just always knew what they wanted to hear. During the interview each interviewer only took one look at him and only stared down at a sheet of paper making marks. Only the man in the middle asked questions. The round women always brought in the candidates, and the other man didn't do anything but write stuff down and adjust his glasses. He went back to his room and smoked the rest of the cigarettes he had bought the day before and was listening to the rain. He spent the afternoon thinking and wondering about what his first day would be like. Then his second and third. What his first paycheck would read. Thinking of perfect scenarios and situations. At midnight he was still awake and he realized he hadn’t eaten anything but cigarette smoke and two cups of water from the waiting room. Starting down the hall in a pair of medium white socks, his converse, some basketball shorts and a black hoodie sweatshirt, he headed for the small diner up the hill. When he walked out he heard a loud voice saying, “get out,” and saw a large duffle bag fly out of room a 30 feet in front of him. He paused for a second and kept on but slower. A second after a girl came bouncing out, catching herself on the wall opposite of the door. Now he was walking really slow. The door shut and the deadbolt turned. She immediately turned around and pounded on the door once. “Give me my backpack,” she said in a confident voice. While he was 10 feet away the deadbolt turned and she caught the black backpack that was tossed out the door. The deadbolt turned again. “You need some help?” he said it out loud but as soon as it left his lips he felt as though he hadn’t said it. She was checking her backpack and turned sharply towards him and in a soft firm voice she answered, “I think i’ll be good.” He couldn’t figure out why but the way she looked at him had made his head feel light. Like he was inside his own head looking through his eyes. He was suddenly aware of all his movements. He could feel six different parts of his body itch all at once. She had dark skin, but not Yucatan dark. Her hair was naturally black and a little wavy but mostly straight. Her eyes matched. She had a mole under the left corner of her mouth on her chin and another right over the inside of her left eyebrow on her forehead. She was wearing tight spandex shorts, but they were covered by a large long sleeve jersey. He didn’t recognize the team so it must be some generic brand. She had on brown open toed shoes. He couldn't decide if they were sandals or huaraches, he figured they were somewhere in between. Is there even a difference he briefly thought. He was pretty speechless. But the first thing that came to his mind. “Have you eaten?” “What?” she didn’t mean to sound aggressive she was just flustered. “I'm a big girl I can figure out how to eat,” she added. She wasn’t really a big girl. No taller than 5’5 and pretty thin. But the nice type of thin. Skinny but with still something left to feel. She had big feet though. Her toes were painted black but the polish had worn off on some of them. “I didn't mean it like that, i was just headed to the diner on the corner, y-you want to come.” She was digging through her backpack and looked up. “You don't have to get anything if you don't want, I mean if you're not hungry, but it would give you some time to get yourself together, you look a little flustered truthfully,” he added. “Yea, maybe, okay, thanks,” she took only a second or two between words but it felt like an hour for him. They began walking down the hall, he was walking two steps ahead, it just felt too soon to walk next to her in his head. “He turned and said, “Im junior by the way.” “Junior? Thats your real name?” “No, but i am a junior, and I go by junior.” “What’s your full name,” she had caught up to him. “Umm,” he paused, “Francisco Miguel Cantor Marinero Jr.” “Very cool, i’m gonna call you Pancho.” He let out a laugh as they turned to corner to the elevator, “Whatever you feel.” “Im Lizzie.” He gave her a look and she immediately knew. “Ugh fine, Maria Elizabeth Dominguez Perez.” “That's a pretty name, i’ve always liked that name, Perez.” She didn't answer. “I’m gonna call you Liz,” he said. “Eww no i'm gonna sound like a lesbian,” they both chuckled. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “Likewise.” In Pancho’s head he was very relieved to know that she was indeed not a lesbian but he couldn’t let her know. They made it outside and walked quickly 50 yards up to the diner. The diner was small, only a bar that held five patrons and 10 booths that could hold a maximum of four maybe five customers. The diner was called Anna’s and the neon sign was in bright pink and aqua blue. The inside played slow trumpet, piano and drum jazz at a low volume. Despite being only a short distance the different in view this diner had couldn’t be any different. The diner windows seemed to show the city like a panoramic photo. All the colors were distinguished and reflected perfectly against the rain. You could see the hills and neighborhoods of Shin and all the lights twinkling. They sat at the corner booth so she could fit her duffle bag. He ordered a cup of coffee and two packs on unfiltered cigarettes. Lizzie was still digging in her bag and passed on anything to order. “You think I can have one of those cigarettes?” she asked. “Sure.” They sat. He drank. They smoked. She dug around her bag for a while and finally sat back. “I’m gonna go change in the bathroom, i’ll be right back.” She came out wearing black leggings, a pair of black running shoes, and a heather grey hoodies sweatshirt that fit her better than the jersey. She put her old clothes in her duffle bag, put her hand in her pocket hoodie pocket and leaned back. He passed her another cigarette and she lit it with the pack of matches. They sat in silence and smoked. They both subconsciously were peering out the window onto the city. He was looking at the hills and the way the city seemed to move like a branch in the wind. She was looking at the windows of all the houses in the neighborhood and wondering what each person or family was doing if anything. “You from here?” he finally broke the silence. “No, i’m from back west.” “Same,” he responded. “Oh yea? Where at?” “The deserts by the beach.” “Im from the ghettos by the beach” “Very cool,” without knowing he had already, within an hour copied her slang. “Why are you all the way here?” She let out a light sigh, “Long story.” “Same.” There conversations was steady but spaced out. Words didn’t come out fast and questions weren’t answered immediately. The pauses were just long enough for the other to know that the conversations was still going on. He was terrified, he was trying so hard to match her. To be on the same level of cool and aloofness as she was. She didn’t seem to overthink anything. She was acting effortless, asking questions and answering them with absolute certainty and no change in her voice or tone. All the while on the fly he was trying to make it seem like they are the same person. He was kidding himself as he knew from the first moment he looked in her black eyes they were not the same. “But maybe that was a good thing,” he thought to himself, “people don’t have to be the same to be able to be in the same space.” “So why come from the desert to this place?” she asked. “I’ve been to a lot of places in between,” he took a small pause, ashed his cigarette, peered out the window and added, “but I have a feeling i’ll stick here.” For the first time she had a moment of vulnerability and her face made an uncontrolled movement. She enjoyed his answer. She loved the mindset, and it was the first time one of them had responded so soon after a question so she knew he meant it. She also knew this wasn’t the first time he said this about a city, but that’s another reason she liked it so much. “I can respect it,” she smirked at put her cigarette out on the ashtray. “I’m gonna order some food, you want something?” “Can we share?” “Pick something.” They spent the next two hours eating eight chicken tenders and fries slowly, going thru almost a pack of cigarettes combined, and drinking four cups of coffee each. The pace of their conversations had sped up quite a bit, but they had shared stories from various cities about different people, jobs and situations they had been in. And when she concluded with, “I’ve just been looking for something to hold on to truthfully.” He knew then and there he would never want to be in any place that she wasn’t in. He had asked the sky and the rain for that very thing two nights before and he couldn’t believe him hearing another human saying the same thing. It made his head feel light again, he couldn’t help but smile. She was what he wanted to hold on to. This feeling he had was unmatched before. He had only read about things like this happening but never believed it would happen to him or that it happened at all. All the years of hidden sadness, stress, anxiety and feelings of unwantedness that manifested into aimless traveling. Once her lips closed after saying that sentence he couldn't remember any of it. All he felt was an undying need be in the same space as her and that she was the one he wanted to hold onto. Junior is not an irrational person, almost immediately he understood very well that this immediate and deep feeling of need and loyalty was probably not healthy and very well may fade, but to him it didn’t matter, it never did. “Who cares about that stuff anyway,” he thought to himself. He paid and they walked out together. He was carrying her duffle bag. They walked thru the rain, too full and tired to run and took the elevator back to his floor. She began to tell him about her friends back by the beach in the ghettos, and all the young hoodlum stuff they used to get into. The openness surprised Junior but by no stretch of the imagination did he want it to stop. He listened and asked questions and related to her stories the best he could until he had set her duffle bag down on the floor and she had locked the door. At the same moment they both realized where they were and who they were with. Neither had even thought about any other outcome than ending here with each other, but they couldn’t remember how it happened, it just did. Junior showered and changed in the bathroom. She did the same after him. He took the fastest shower he had taken in a while, he was paranoid she would leave while he was away. When she came out he was sitting on the edge of the bed starting at the purple sky through the sliding door that led to the patio. She stood outside the door to the bathroom looking at him. She liked the shape of his silhouette. It was defined and lean. He had broad shoulder and his head wasn’t shaped weird. He didn’t have much hair on his face and he kept his hair cut really short on his head. His face was symmetrical and no one part of it stood out over the other. But in a very classic way he was handsome, despite the fact that they had spent the previous three hours in each others company she had just realized it at that exact moment. Sitting on her left leg the the opposite side of the bed, he turned, looked at her and asked, “feel better?” “I do,” she answered. He put his slippers on and wandered to the patio and opened the door, the cool air and smell of rain on concrete hit the room. She wrapped her damp hair in a towel and walked out with him in her bare feet. “Your gonna catch a cold,” looking at her toes curled up on the cold patio concrete. “Ok mom, I think i’ll be fine.” He gave her a sideways look, she looked and laughed out loud. That's the exact reaction she was hoping for. Rummaging through the drawers until she found a pair of his long white socks that went to her knees, she came back out quickly. “You look like such a dork,” he started laughing before he finished the sentence. “Well,” she said as she started walking back inside and sitting on the corner of the bed, “they’re your socks panchito.” Immediately after she exhaled a big yawn that caused a chain reaction that made him yawn, the her again. He walked in and shut the door, stretched his arms over his head revealing his happy trail under his white shirt. She giggled without him noticing. “I think it may be time for me to get some sleep, how you feeling?” “About the same, can I put the TV on though, I kind of have to sleep with it on?” “Yea do what you feel.” She got up, he got under the covers in his shirt and socks, which he never does. She turned on the TV and had to slap the side a couple times to get the static to go away. After she turned all the lights off she got under the covers in a long sleeve shirt and dark grey shorts. He was still awake watching what she had put on. “You always sleep with a socks on?” she asked. “Naw, not usually. Not ever really with a shirt either,” this made him extremely nervous, he didn’t want to push to hard so soon and have her think he’s weird, he wanted it to be natural. Before he could finish thinking through the situation he heard her say, “just take them off, its your room.” Then she looked at him. It wasn’t sly, it wasn’t suggestive, it looked as though she was desperately not trying to be nuisance. He leaned forward and threw the socks out from under the covers, raised up and took off the shirt, tossed it on the chair across the room. She watched the whole thing. She stood up went to the bathroom and came back in a tank top. They both got under the same set of covers. The top of her foot touched his hairy calf and immediately retracted. His heel slid across the side of her ankle before retreating back to his side. She pulled the covers to her side, then he returned the favor. After 15 minutes of periodical “accidents” he turned on his side to face her with his eyes closed. She couldn’t help but stare at his face. It was even, and peaceful, and when he breathed in his nostrils got really big. She started thinking about their time in the diner. And how she liked when he said that this might be the city he sticks to. She had originally thought he had said this in every town he arrived in to every person he met. But the more she looked at his face, and the more she thought about the night, and his words, she started to think he hadn’t said this before, and that this town and this moment and situation was special. “Is he asleep, is he awake, what is he thinking about, has he thought about tonight?” All these questions were flowing through her mind but she had no answers. Before she knew it she was thinking of the room three doors down, and the guy in there. Nothing but a lazy bum. “That guys from this city and lives in a hotel, pitiful,” she thought. He only wanted what she thought all guys wanted, especially from a young borderline vagabond female like herself. She realized that if she didn’t stop thinking about all of this she would never fall asleep, moving slightly towards the middle she put her back towards his face. Slowly but surely they both fell asleep. In that position. She woke up first. Facing towards him with her arms close to her chest, still towards the center of the bed not far from him. She realized after a couple seconds that her leg was trapped in between his two legs. He was sleeping on his stomach and had somehow put her in some sort of leg lock. She tried to twist it out slowly to not wake him, and maybe she would get some coffee or something for them to eat to repay him for the food last night. She looked at the clock and it was only 7:46 AM. She decided to move closer to get more comfortable for her leg and go back to sleep. She inched towards him and closed her eyes in the same position she awoke in, just four or five inches away from him. After tossing the blankets over her shoulders she fell back asleep quickly. He woke up 47 minutes after that. He perched up on one elbow and looked around. 8:33 AM the clock said. He looked over. She was still sleeping and he couldn’t look away. It was the same look she gave him last night when he turned towards her. After two seconds he remembered he had dreamed of her last night. They were on their way to a baseball game and kept picking up hitchhikers, some he knew, some he didn’t until they popped a tire. He never remembered his dreams. He adjusted himself and closed his eyes again and drifted away.


# The Killer in the Cupboard by Lester Patterson (Google Lester Patterson Flash Fiction)  “Netflix and Chill” is a euphemism for a booty call. It implies an invitation to some type of romantic partnership culminating in an intimate sexual encounter. Thus it was not a surprise when Barry received a call from Ava at 10 o’clock at night on a Wednesday to come over to watch “Lala Land.” Barry, a 32-year-old bank manager, had been exclusively dating Ava, a 27-year-old third-grade public school teacher, for two years already. They met through an online dating app. The couple had done the “Netflix and Chill” thing so often now that they had begun to lose count. It was convenient since Barry lived only a five-minute taxi ride down Columbus Avenue to Ava. Barry freshened up and headed to the street to hail a cab. Along the way, he was enjoying the relative calm of Manhattan’s Westside on this fall evening. The traffic was light, and he arrived at Ava’s address quicker than the sesame chicken she had ordered for her dinner earlier in the evening from the Chinese restaurant over on Broadway. Ava’s one-bedroom apartment on West 79th street and Amsterdam was always tidy and clean. Unlike Barry’s apartment which was basically a messy bachelor pad in desperate need of a woman’s touch. None the less Ava liked it when Barry would invite her to his home to “Netflix and Chill.” She never complained about the mess. When Ava answered the door in a bathrobe, the two embraced and kissed on the lips. It had been two days since they had last seen one another. Barry followed Ava into the living room and took a seat on the burgundy colored cloth covered sofa. He could smell the scent of her favorite fragrance. Closing his eyes and inhaling he indulged in the aroma of this familiar place. Barry anxiously anticipated the sensual moments soon to unfold. “Barry honey, I’m going to make us some popcorn,” Ava said in her usual sweet soft tone. Barry nodded to her and smiled as she walked into the narrow “kitchen” and reached into the cupboard for a packet of microwavable popcorn. The box held three packets, and this was the last of the three. Ava made a mental note to herself to replenish her supply as soon as possible. The final pack of popcorn had sat on the shelf for more than a week. In the flat rectangular pouch, there were precisely 462 kernels of corn. Ava placed the popcorn kernels into the microwave according to the instructions written in blue ink which read “THIS SIDE UP.” What Ava did not know was that one of the 462 kernels of corn was a killer. It had been waiting to snuff the life out of some poor soul from the moment it was packaged. In three minutes the popping was virtually complete. Ava removed the bag from the microwave and transferred the contents into a large plastic bowl before delivering it to Barrys’ lap, and cuddling up beside him. “Are we ready sweety?” Barry asked before pressing the button on the remote control to begin the movie. Ava simply said “Play!” And so Barry pressed the play button. However, there would be no play tonight. Something unthinkable was about to happen. The calamitous kernel of corn had blossomed into an injurious piece of popcorn, which Barry placed onto his tongue just before Ava turned to kiss him sliding her tongue into his mouth at precisely the moment when he began to swallow. The wrathful piece of popcorn then seized the moment to “go down the wrong way.” The popcorn became lodged in Barry’s throat, and he was unable to speak or to inhale. Realizing that he was in big trouble. Barry stood up immediately tossing the bowl of popcorn aside. He reached up to his throat with both hands. At first, Ava was surprised by Barry springing to his feet so suddenly. But she recognized in less than a couple of seconds that he was choking. “Barry? Oh my God!” She screamed and began striking the middle of his back between his shoulder blades. It was not working. So, she grabbed her phone and called 9-1-1. By now Barry was turning blue, and Ava began crying. The Academy Award-winning movie ”Lala Land” was playing on Ava’s huge flat screen television. Barry’s last thoughts were “Death by popcorn?” as he lost consciousness, and collapsed face first to the plush cream colored carpet, bam. It was the force of the fall that dislodged the popcorn from Barry’s throat and saved his life.


**There was once a man who wanted to build a castle with no machinery, only his hands.** **People laughed at his dream because of the absurdity and his physicality.** **He was short and scrawny, and he could easily hire a construction crew with bulldozers, cranes and cement mixers to build it for him.** **The world didn’t understand why he wanted to build the castle with his bare hands.** **He knew not the entire reason why, but he knew it would be fully known once he embraced the task.**  **The stones from the quarry came to the plot of land where the scrawny man eagerly waited.** **A crowd gathered on the hill to watch, the delivery men from the quarry stayed to watch the joke of a man.** **The scrawny man with great enthusiasm went to lift the first heavy stone, the cornerstone.** **He heaved with all his might but only lifted it two feet before the dropped it.** **The crowd laughed and mocked at his first stumble.** **They called him silly and foolish and laughed harder as they watched him pick up the stone again and drop it a few feet later.** **This went on until the crowd became hungry for supper and decided to continue the mockery at their dining tables.** **He set the cornerstone at dusk; nearly a full days work for one stone.** **One stone down.**  **The next day some of the neighbors stop by before work and saw the scrawny man on his land again, this time working on the second stone.** **They stopped and watched for a few minutes, mocked him and then went to their lonely cubicles.** **They drove by after work to see the infeasible progress.** **This time they saw a second stone set with the cornerstone with the third being carried slowly by the scrawny man.** **They mocked him for his slow progress and then went home to watch reality tv idly.** **The neighbors quickly lost interest and went along their dull lives.** **Work, T.V., Eat, Drink and Sleep.** **A safe life.** **Except for the scrawny man.** **He was on a mission.**  **Each passing day he became stronger from every stone he set.** **His sinewy arms became muscular, and his chicken-like legs became massive.** **Every day he was able to move one more stone then the previous.** **Within a few weeks, he had the foundation set, and he began work on the walls.** **A few months went by, and he had the first story completed.** **Some of his neighbors looked at him now with amazement as he was actually doing it.** **Some felt ashamed of the mockery.** **But a few felt anger and jealousy.** **Their small minds saw the man’s daring task as an insult to them.** **Who was this man to define his fate? The scrawny man needs to be normal like them.** **Like cancer with a ledger, the company they proudly worked for was slowly killing them by removing their humanity; but the few masked it with denial by calling it hard work, job security, and loyalty.** **The few plotted and decided this man shouldn’t be able to build his castle.**  **One night, the now short but muscular man went home and went into a deep slumber.** **The few, drunk off of beer and jealousy, went to his impressively partially constructed castle and began tearing it down with sledgehammers, crowbars, and hate.** **The walls fell, and the foundation was broken beyond repair.** **The few watched from the hill that following morning as the man ran to his fallen castle, cursed and cried in defeat.** **The few laughed and felt like they taught him a lesson on being an individual.** **They laughed as they went to their cubicles and were reminded of their misery.** **They gleefully went to get another hit from the man’s misery after work but were surprised at what they saw.** **The man had begun rebuilding his castle.**  **Word spread across the country of the cruel act and the man’s defiant response.** **The word fell on the right ears, and it was interpreted as a call to action.** **The first that came to the short-muscular-defiant man was a mason.** **The mason understood what the man was doing and why even though they could not articulate the reason.** **The mason had extensive knowledge and experience of stonework and knew how to make the castle stronger.** **The short-muscular-defiant-man accepted the mason’s help on the condition that the castle will only be built by hand.** **The mason smiled and began his craft.**  **A glass blower from California came to the partially built castle and offered his help.** **Towed by his truck were a portable kiln and his equipment.** **The glass blower, a talented and renowned artist, said that the man’s castle would need exquisite stain glass windows.** **He will make glass so remarkable that people will come all over the world to admire the windows.** **The short-muscular-defiant-man gladly accepted, and the glass blower began making the windows in his makeshift workshop.** **A lovely, complementary couple followed the glass blower.** **The husband a blacksmith and the wife a carpenter.** **They heard his story and understood why he was building the castle, and they offered their services to his dream.** **Both together would create doors, furniture, cabinetry, even the smallest detail of the nails will be envied by royalty.** **The short-muscular-defiant-grateful-man gladly accepted.**  **Steadily people from around the world heard the call, even though they could not explain it, and came to offer their services to the monumental task.** **Plumbers came and teamed up with the blacksmith to make the pipes for one of a kind plumbing system.** **Electricians, roofers, and engineers offered their services and began using their hands and expertise to construct the castle in a way that will demand the best of their respective arts.** **Artists, spinsters and world-renowned gardeners offered their crafts to bring beauty to the castle.** **The honest rich who earned their keep understood what the man was doing, and they donated money and resources; for they too have built castles.** **The neighbors who once mocked him left work to help the short-muscular-defiant-grateful-man in any way they can.** **Some moved stones, some cooked and did laundry for the crew, but most assisted and became apprentices to the masters of the world.**  **The company lost employees, and the jealous few who attempted to defeat the man found themselves bitter and lonely in their office.** **The few were given promotions but only because there was less competition.** **But, with the promotions and raise came the extra work and longer hours in the office.** **Too afraid to quit and seduced by their new cash, they accepted their prison.** **Denial was the castle they built for themselves.**  **Ten years later the castle was built, and the world had a new wonder.** **Gothic in essence.** **Modern in look.** **Built not for a King, nor a God, but for an idea which cannot be spoken but only understood.** **An idea which lives in all of us.** **The short-muscular-defiant-grateful-accomplished man was no longer the same man from the beginning.** **He went on the hill and watched the sunset behind his castle and began to cry in ecstasy.** **He finally fully understood why the castle was built.** **Everyone had a place, a room and their crafts had found a home.** **They felt a deep sadness though.** **What’s next?** **The man felt the same.** **What was next after this great feat?** **Nobody was the same, and they wished to keep going.**  **The man smiled and said, “Go into the world and practice your love. Share your talent, your art, yourself. My castle, your home, will always be here for you.”** **Some stayed, lived in and maintained the castle.** **Most left to share their gifts with the world.** **To inspire others with their craft.** **The short-muscular-defiant-grateful-accomplished-wise-man finally rested and admired the castle.** **For it was not only a symbol of not one man’s daring feat but a culmination of the best of humanity.** **A paradise on Earth.