She needed money and she needed it very badly. She lived alone, with no parents to tell her what to do. She was free. But nothing in life is free. All things come at a cost, even freedom itself. ~~~~~~~~~~ In a world like this, it was normal to see a fourteen-year-old kid like her living by themselves. The leaders of her city tried to make fair laws, but they couldn’t. This city had way too much crime. They couldn’t even get parents to take care of their children anymore. So here she was, struggling for money so she could pay for her house. She fished for a living. There was a marketplace right beside her house that she sold the fish at. But it wasn’t enough. She only sold my fish for four dollars apiece. If she charged too much, people wouldn’t buy them. But if she didn’t charge enough, she wouldn’t be able to pay for her house. She had just come back from fishing by the docks that she lived near. Living by the docks gave her a good place to fish, and it was interesting enough to see what kind of people came in and out of this city. When she was done fishing, she put all the fish in a bag and went to the marketplace to sell them. Nobody was coming to her booth. She wondered why. She usually had plenty of customers because she sold her fish for the lowest price in town. Instead, everyone was crowded around someone else’s booth. She went over there to see what was going on. That's when she saw the sign. The sign was flashy and electric. She looked at it and realized that they were selling their fish for three dollars apiece. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t keep her price the same, or she wouldn’t get any customers. But if she lowered the price, she wouldn’t have enough money to live off of. She pushed her way through the crowd and walked up to the man selling the fish. “Um, hello, excuse me,” she said. “I make a living at this market. I use the money to afford my house. Would you mind me asking you to put your price back to the way it was?”

The man glared at her.  “Look, I don’t care if you’re poor. I won’t change my price. It’s not like I need the money anyway, but it’s always nice to have extra,” he said.

She was offended by those words. She wasn’t poor, she was just struggling, that’s all. She took a step closer.

“What did you say?” she asked, enraged.

“You heard me. Now get away from my shop you penniless beggar.”  She couldn’t take it anymore. She lunged at him with all her might. The man moved out of the way in time, but unfortunately, his booth couldn’t. She tackled the booth, knocking it over and destroying the sign. The man was practically growling at her. She could almost see steam coming out of his ears. The crowd backed away and went to the other side of the marketplace. The man looked at her.  “You will pay for that,” he said, looking at her like she was an annoying bug.

She did not want to pay for it, but her conscience got the better of her. She knew that it was mostly her fault that the booth was destroyed, so she was the one responsible for paying for it.

“How much does all the stuff I broke cost?”  “Seven hundred dollars in total,” the man said, with an evil smirk on his face. “You better pay for it, unless you want me to call that cop over there,” he said, pointing to a black-haired cop across the street.  She couldn’t believe that she broke seven hundred dollars worth of stuff. That was almost all the money she had, if she paid him, she would only have a few dollars left! “I’ll be right back,” she said to the man.

She was going to her house to grab the money. She walked down the streets to her house. When she got there, she took out the key and unlocked the door. Then she went underneath her kitchen sink and took out a clear plastic jar with all of her savings in it. She poured all of the money on the floor and counted it up. She only had a total of seven hundred dollars and eighty-nine cents. She took the seven hundred dollars and stuffed it in her pocket. She walked out of the door and locked it. As she walked towards the marketplace, she thought to herself about what she was going to do. She had no idea. There was no way she could outsell that guy and she couldn’t think of anything else she could do for a living. When she made it to the marketplace, she looked around for the man. When she found him, she approached him. She took the crumpled bills out of her pocket and handed them to him. He snatched them out of her hand and started to count them. She saw the look in his eyes. This man appeared to be searching for a missing dollar so he could get her arrested. After counting the bills, and double-checking, he realized that she had given him every single dollar of the money she owed. He scowled at her, mad that she hadn’t given him a reason to be mad. She walked away, going back to her house. Her monthly payment for the house was due in four days and she had no idea how she was going to get the money. She didn’t eat dinner that night because she had nothing left to eat except for fish. Ironically enough, she fished for a living, but she was actually allergic to eating them. As night fell, she watched TV on her small sofa. She laid down on the sofa and drifted off to sleep. When she woke up, it was early morning. She got off of the sofa and walked into the kitchen, looking for breakfast. That’s when she remembered that she didn’t have any more food. Not feeling like changing her clothes, she put a jacket on and walked outside, wearing the same clothes she wore the day before. She didn’t know what to do and did not feel like fishing, so she decided to go to town. The town wasn’t too far away from the docks where she lived. As she walked towards the city, she turned around and saw a boat coming. She walked to the docks, curious about who was in it. When the boat stopped at the shore, a man with spiky brown hair came out. He was wearing a black suit and tie with dress pants. He had golden-yellow eyes that glimmered brightly. This man had a mixed skin color and he looked like a businessman. He got off the boat, holding a suitcase in his left hand. The man noticed her looking at him. He looked at her and she turned around, pretending that she wasn’t watching him. The man got off the boat and went in the direction of the town. She continued going to the town too. When she arrived, she saw many people and buildings. The city was filled with houses and shops. It also had two libraries and a bank. She walked around the city, saying hi to people and exploring. She went inside stores and window-shopped, wishing that she could actually afford something in there. Eventually, she stumbled upon the bank. The man with spiky hair was in there, talking to the accountant. She couldn’t make out what they were talking about, but then the accountant opened a trapdoor underneath him. He went down a ladder and underneath the bank. When he came back up, he was holding a large wad of cash.

She wished she had that much money. He handed the cash to the spiky-haired man. The man walked out of the bank with the cash. That’s when she knew what she was going to do. She was going to try to rob the bank. Whenever she had crazy ideas like that, her conscience usually stopped her, but this time she did not feel bad. What was the point of feeling bad for taking someone’s money when they didn’t need it anyway? The money in that bank belonged to people who already had enough money. They probably didn’t even need it anyway. People like her, people who were struggling would make better use of all that money. She would’ve worn a mask, but she did not have one and could not afford one. She didn’t have a weapon either. She had a plan though. She would rob them during shift change. When the bank switched workers, she would attack. In her town, crime was everywhere. This bank had hardly any security at all because they couldn’t find trustworthy people. They were afraid that if they hired any other people, the workers themselves would rob the bank. They were probably right too. She stood at the side of the bank, waiting for the guards to walk out. When they did, she put her right hand in her pocket and walked in. The only one in there was the accountant.

“Put your hands up or I’ll shoot,” she said, pretending to have a gun in her pocket.

The accountant immediately put his hands in the air.

“Now go through the trapdoor and grab as much money as possible.”  “What trapdoor?” he asked nervously.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Now hurry up and get the money.” The man went through the trapdoor and came back up with his arms full of cash. She collected it all and tried to walk out of the bank. She was stopped by a security guard. She walked right into him. When she looked up and saw him staring at her, she knew that she had messed up.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” he asked her. She knew that there was no good excuse and wondered what she should say. She shrugged her shoulders. She knew that she couldn’t make a run for it. The security guard was blocking the only exit. The security guard blocked the way, while the accountant called the police. “Who are you?” the security guard asked her. She knew there was no use lying so she told him the truth. “I’m Valeera Monnete,” she said. She seemed to have been standing there forever before the cops arrived. Valeera didn’t know what to do, she was going to be arrested. There was nothing she could do. Eventually, the cops arrived. The one who arrested her was the black-haired cop from earlier. He went behind Valeera and put her in handcuffs. He told her that she was going to be in prison for seven years. Valeera wished she could stand trial, but in that city, there were no trustworthy judges. He took her to the police car and drove to the jail. When they made it there, he took Valeera to her cell. It was very small, dirty, and hot. There were also bugs and rats scurrying around. The people in the other cells looked at her as if they were going to eat her alive.

There was only one cell left, and it was right beside her’s. All the other ninety-nine cells were taken. There were two other jails in town, but they were filled with prisoners. Valeera was trapped in a cell with no way out, or at least she thought she was. She sat in her jail cell. The other prisoners were all looking at her, probably wondering what a kid like her was doing in jail. Valeera sat in there for a while, bored out of her mind. Eventually, she saw something odd. It looked like a boy about her age, and he appeared to be almost transparent! Valeera thought her mind was just playing tricks on her, so she ignored him. That is, until he started to talk to her. “What are you doing here?” he asked. At this point, Valeera was getting pretty freaked out. She had many questions. Who was this boy? Why was he transparent? What did he want with her? “Who are you? And why are you transparent?” she asked him. Valeera didn’t ask the last question because she wanted to figure out that answer herself. “I’m Baxter and I dunno why I’m transparent. I just woke up like that one day.” “Why are you here?” she asked Baxter. The other prisoners were looking at her. They probably thought she was crazy, but she didn’t care about their opinions.

“I used to be a prisoner here, at least until I woke up like this. I was in jail for stealing. I was hungry and didn’t have anything to eat, so I tried to steal food from a store.” Valeera immediately felt bad for him after hearing his story. After all, it was something she could relate to.

“Sorry to hear that. If you’re free now, why don’t you just leave?” “I stay in this place to help people like you. I also wanna find a body because I wanna live like a normal person again. I can go through walls and float. Not everyone can even see me.” When he said this, she figured out what happened to him. He must’ve somehow died in this jail, probably just passed away in his sleep. Baxter was a ghost. “I”m trying to help people, and maybe someday I’ll find a person nice enough to give me their body,” he said. Valeera was a little creeped out by this, but she needed his help to get out. “Hey Baxter, can you still pick up stuff?” “Yeah.” “So, I guess you can just help me by getting the key and letting me out,” she said. Baxter nodded. Valeera saw him float away. Five minutes later, he was back with the key. He unlocked the door with a click. Valeera looked around, trying to see if any other prisoners noticed her cell door open. They were all looking the other way. Except for one.

“She’s escaping!” he shouted. She took off running. Valeera bolted away and she heard the alarm sound. They were after her. The prison guards had almost caught up with her. She turned a corner and hid there with Baxter beside her. “Now that I helped you get out, will you give me your body?” “I can’t give you my body, I need it.” “Pleeease,” Baxter begged. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” “Pleeease,” he said again. Baxter’s voice got deeper when he said please the second time. Really deeper. It almost sounded…. demonic. Baxter lunged at her and her mind went blank. Baxter was inside of her now.


The Magnificent. Rolling into Pondaroak. Benzie’s Discovery. Taika Maru, a strikingly beautiful Bengal tiger, lolled in her cage, lazily watching rhododendron trees go by as the rickety wagon exited the forest. “Pondaroak,” she heard the guide say. Seated in the wagon’s pilot chair, Maron Maloney, a lanky Gaelwyn man with an impressive handlebar mustache with waxed, curled ends, said, “Ha! And as you promised, long before dusk, ranger . You’ve earned your commission and then some. I’ll see to it you’re rightly compensated once we reach the Swindle & Swine.” In a cage above Taika, a yellow cockatoo named Pip flapped her wings, whistled, and repeated, “Rightly compensated.” Taika smiled listlessly at Pip as she squawked. “Nah, that’d be unnecessary,” the guide assured Maron, speaking alongside the wagon. Taika saw he was a dingy halfling with greasy long hair parted down the middle. He was armed with a shortbow. “I did what I said I’d do. That’s all.” Maron hitched the reins to instruct Ammon, a strong Clydesdale horse, to pick up the pace. The wagon lurched forward. “Well then, that’ll conclude our business, Master Muckwalker. Pleasures’ been all mine.” “Same,” Kindle Muckwalker said. “‘Round these parts, find a guide named Ginny Greenhill. Folks know her. She’ll help you back to Mosshollow.” “Obliged,” waved Maron, and his wagon rolled on while the ranger slowed his pace. Taika passed him a sorrowful, lingering glance before the halfling turned and made for the forest. The wagon was painted bright red and was emblazoned with yellow lettering that read The Magnificent Maron Maloney . It was ladened with cages containing a variety of animals. Taika was naturally the largest and heaviest, and her cage was positioned to the rear. Aside from her and Pip, there were two ferrets, a puppy with two heads, a snarling quick-to-anger honey badger, a smattering of songbirds, an owlbear cub, a duck, a flumph , and a domesticated orange cat named Kimchi; Kimchi was the only animal not in a cage, accompanying Maron in the pilot’s chair. Taika sprawled under the hot sun. She yawned and stretched, pushing against the cage with her paws. In the cage beside her, the honey badger hissed and snarled. “Quiet, Barty,” Maron admonished, scratching Kimchi behind her ears. Kimchi purred and smugly enjoyed the attention. “This isn’t anything special. Pondaroak’s a backwater smallfoot town full of naive suckers . We’ll make a night out of it, then swoop down to Ehrendvale. That’s where the big money’ll be.” Taika Maru stared at the duck, Mrs. Featherby, who was sad, still, and motionless in her cage. Nobody dared speak about what happened to Mr. Featherby , not since the incident . Barty twisted, squirmed, and turned himself upside down. He growled and flailed his legs in the air as if he were playing with something invisible. Taika wasn’t sure if Barty was insane by now or just bored.

Taika wasn’t the first acquisition in Maron Maloney’s troop, but she was the veteran of the bunch, whereas Pica and Pika, the dual-headed death dog, was Maron’s latest addition; they were cute, but neither of them shared a brain between them. And none of the animals knew exactly how long Kimchi had been there. Kimchi had been Maron’s favorite since Taika arrived. The curious eye stalks of the flumph studied Pondaroak as they approached, and its tentacles wrapped eagerly around the bars of its cage. Its body glowed green. By far the weirdest attraction in Maron’s menagerie and the biggest revenue generator, a flumph was a floating, two-foot diameter pancake with a dozen dangling blue tendrils for appendages. As far as Taika was concerned, Malony had yet to name the flumph . He called it flumph . Week-long journeys across untamed wilderness were part of life with Maron Maloney. Over time, Taika had learned to relax on the road and make the best of it. She’d lost track of exactly how long it’d been. Four, maybe five years? She wasn’t sure; time spent in captivity wasn’t relevant. The only other animal in the wagon that seemingly enjoyed the long rides was Hornsby the owlbear cub. His preference was to nap, and presently, the owlbear was curled up in his cage, emitting snoring-like whistles from its beak. Sid and Pan, the ferrets, on the other hand, hated to travel. They were restless, and everything captured their attention. Often stir-crazy, they’d run loops in their cage before sitting at prairie-dog-like attention to watch passers go by. At the head of the wagon, Taika saw Maron Maloney remove his black showman’s hat to wipe his brow with a handkerchief. The hot sun relentlessly fell on their company, depressing all save Taika, who thoroughly appreciated the direct heat. She’d always loved the sun and couldn’t understand why none of the other animals enjoyed it as much as she did. It wasn’t always this way for Taika. There was a time when she railed against her cage and made Maron’s audience frightened and uncomfortable. It wasn’t until six months after her capture that Taika gave in and accepted her situation. Thereafter, she came to appreciate the little things - the frequent meals, the beautiful landscapes, the exciting new locations, the gawking attention from the spectating crowd - and stopped worrying about what was, and what had been. “Okay, everyone,” Maron cried out from the front, tapping the top of his hat. “ It’s showtime! ” Ammon shifted to a steady Clydesdale judge , cleanly lifting his feet from the ground with heavy clips and clops. Kimchi, the fat orange cat upfront, marched right out on Ammon’s back and pranced in time with the horse. Knowing her part, Taika rose to her hind legs and let out a deep, ferocious roar to announce their arrival. Above her, Pip flapped and squawked, continuously repeating “Maron Maloney! Maron Maloney!” while the songbirds launched into a jaunty marching tune perfectly timed to Ammon’s high-stepping. Magnificent Maron Maloney’s big red wagon entered Pondaroak with spectacle and panache. Halfling children took to the streets to chase Maloney’s cart down the road, and friendly halfling parents parted neighborly waves and whistled as the wagon rolled by. Some clapped along with the music, whereas a clutch of halfling teenagers guffawed, assuring each other they were too old for Maron’s childish amusements.

Maron Maloney reached under his seat into a bag and tossed tiny sacks of sugar candy and confetti into the air, and he outstretched his arms as if to embrace everyone he saw. Unconsciously twirling the end of his mustache, Maron would boisterously laugh and point to halflings as if he knew them, and, of course, those halflings would wave back as if they knew him, too, yet, all the while, neither of them had ever met the other in all their lives. Ever the showman, occasionally, Maron would lean out of the wagon and shake waving hands, or turn to face his animals and pretend to conduct them.

Still, regardless of all of their practice and training, Taika knew some would flub their parts. Unable to deal with the stress, Barty anxiously chewed on the metal bars of his cage. Sid and Pan had stopped their routine, sat upright, and madly darted their heads around to see each and every child running up to the cart. Pica and Pika barked, growled, whined, and wagged its tail as puppies might, except they shared one freakish puppy body, and unable to get their timing right, they’d trip over their own paws and fall faces-first into the cage. Mrs. Featherby conscientiously objected as she always had since the incident , and remained quiet and disdainful, keeping her eyes closed and her beautiful voice silent. Hornsby, meanwhile, slept through it all, and the flumph simply flumphed . Its hovering body assumed a soft magenta color and its eye stalks glanced excitedly back and forth. “Hello, hello! Greetings, one and all!” boomed Maron Maloney’s voice. He threw out his hands and shouted, “Good folk of Pondaroak! Join me, will you, to wine and dine at your Swindle & Swine?! Curated Curiosities! Exemplary Exotics! Pettings, performances, and peculiarities! Our show begins before dusk!” Bounding after Maloney’s cart, halfling children celebrated, clapped, whistled, and danced. A few had stopped to pick up Maron’s candy strewn behind the wagon. Some ran up to their mothers and pleaded to see the show, while parents gasped and fearfully pointed to Taika. Taika loved that feeling, and she roused herself to fiercely growl at the sky. Her roar tore through town and shook windows, rattled fences, and even got old man Hicklefoot’s attention; his hearing was so bad, Taika’s was the first sound he’d heard in over twenty years. Holding two fingers to his mustached lips, the Magnificent Maron Maloney blew everyone a kiss, and whispered, “ Ignitus fulmine,” sending a bolt of fire roiling into the sky. Shouts, screams, and gasps of awe graced the proceeding as the wagon wheeled through Pondaroak. Maron waved farewell to his admiring fans with his hat before replacing it atop his head. Returning to sit in the pilot’s chair, he brought Ammon’s reigns back into his hands. Talking over his shoulder, he said, “Ammon, Taika: you stole the show. Double your rations tonight!” Taika proudly plopped down in her cage, and Ammon briefly high-stepped to acknowledge his reward. “Barty, Barty, Barty,” Maron tsked, glancing over his shoulder. “What’s so hard about waving your tail in time to the music?” Barty the honey badger spun around, hunched forward, and snarled at Maron Maloney. “That’s right, so, again, nothing for you tonight, you hellion ,” Maron breathed. Righting his mood, Maron gave a nod to the others. “Songbirds, Pip: you were top-shelf entertainment! Flumph?” The flumph’s eye stalks swung toward Maron. “ Upside down ? Can we hover upside down next time, please?” Flumph’s stalks returned to watching the scenery. “Maybe roll around in the air a bit?” Maron added, stroking his mustache. “Oh, and you guys, Pika and Pica. Keep doing what you’re doing. You’ll catch on. I know you will!” Indifferent, the two-headed puppy dog licked its paws and groin at the same time. “Pan?” The ferret eagerly sat up. Shaking his head, Maron called back over his shoulder. “Disappointed.” Pan slumped and frowned at his feet. “Listen, keep Sid in line. He’s distracting you. Maybe he needs more practice?” Turning, Pan angrily gave Sid a shove, and Sid rolled on his back and jumped on Pan, resulting in a frantic squealing tussle. “And you!” Maron exclaimed, scooping up Kimchi and cuddling her close. Speaking in babytalk , Maron nuzzled the purring orange monstrosity and said, “You were spectacular, daddy is so very proud of you, yes he is.” Kimchi glared self-righteously over Maron’s shoulder at Taika, but Taika let Kimchi’s attitude roll right off. It was always that way between them, and Taika honestly wasn’t sure why. Taika certainly didn’t want her job. Eventually, Maron Maloney’s big red wagon wobbled by the Swindle & Swine, Pondaroak’s sole inn and tavern. The Swindle was a proud, three-hundred-year-old two-story structure with a big, round door painted burgundy and topped with a green-gabled roof. A chimney of limestone and gray mortar shot up the street-facing wall, and a second chimney for the kitchen poked over the roof in the back to exhale smoke from its cooking fire. A massive oak tree with rambling roots flourished in its front yard, and a copse of tall, reaching pine trees swayed gently in the back. Taika could hear the sound of the wind rushing through the very tiptops of the pines. The property was surrounded by a carpet of lush green grass that’d feel good on the soles of anybody’s naked feet, halfling or otherwise. On its second floor, a round stained-glass window depicted a Tree of Life , and a wrap-around porch offered ample, comfortable, breezy outdoor seating for discerning guests. Abundant emerald-colored ivy crawled up its side, and cheery tulips, petunias, and daffodils were lovingly planted along the foundation. And nearby, a row of six homey single-room, halfling-sized cottages were open to the road; accommodations for the likes of Man were found upstairs on the second floor. Colorful banners strewn over the porch railings celebrated the Magnificent Maron Maloney’s traveling show. The Swindle & Swine almost vibrated with life. Swarms of minute gnats buzzed over Taika’s cage, attracting a train of sparrows that went dashing by overhead. And as Taika smelled wafts of succulent pork, her mouth watered. A middle-aged, brown-haired halfling woman broke away from conversations with tavern patrons to wave at the wagon from the porch. “Mister Maloney!” Rounding the old oak and squinting from the sunlight, Maron raised his arm. “Miss Hogsbreath? Elina?” “One and the same, sir!” she pleasantly confirmed. Descending the front steps to approach the wagon, Taika could see that she wore a white sunflower in her hair and offered a kind and welcoming smile. She wore a shoulderless white blouse, a brown skirt, and a loosely-fitted corset over her apron - attire common to tavern maids. Taika heard Maron Maloney snap the hitch to slow the wagon’s roll. Locking the parking brake, Maron jumped down from the pilot’s chair. Taika watched Maron approach Elina, and he gave her a deep, theatric bow. Elina smiled in such a way that her eyes pinched together. She placed her hands behind her back and curtsied. “You’re right on time, Mister Maloney,” Elina beamed. “Your room’s been prepared with clean linens on the bed and fresh water in the basin-” “My dear Miss Hogsbreath,” Maron interrupted. Rising from his swooping bow and rushing to her like a caped, black-hatted phantom, he said, “Your humble establishment is everything it’s rumored to be!” “Why thank you!” Elina smiled, masking her irritation at being interrupted. Taika knew Maron was always like that, speaking over others he felt were inferior . Elina continued, “You can park your wagon ‘round back.” “Absolutely,” Maron agreed, his voice trailing and twisting the ends of his mustache. Taika could tell that Maron was already sizing Elina up and wondering how much he could take her for. “Have you any help to assist with offloading my animals?” Elina nodded and grinned. “We sure do! I’ll summon him, right’n’quick. Benzie !” A crashing sound came from somewhere inside the inn before Taika saw a young halfling carrying a mop rush outside from the front door. “Here! I-I, um, here, um, I’m Benzie! Hullo !” Benzie waved the head of the mop at Elina and Maron, and a stream of dirty mop water ran over his forearm and shoulder. Realizing he was wet, Benzie lowered the handle and shook out his arm, sending a spray of mop water over a nearby table occupied by tavern guests. They flinched in disgust. “Benzie,” Elina pointed to the wagon. “You’ll aid Mister Maron. Whatever he needs, y’ bring ‘em. Whatever he needs done, y’ do it. Got it?” “I got it!” Benzie cried, throwing his mop to the porch and racing down the stairs to the wagon. Turning to Maron Maloney, Elina smiled and added, “We’ve all been anxiously waitin’ for the show. Can’t wait to see what you’ve got in store for us tonight!” Taika saw Maron smile the most disingenuous smile he’d ever made, and he said, “I assure you, Miss Hogsbreath, it’ll be the best. How do you say, all crickets , no cobblers ?” “Mister Maloney!” Elina Hogsbreath laughed, slapping her knee joyously. “I see you’ve familiarized yourself with our country talk!” He snickered and raised his eyebrows at the rather unsuspecting halfling, twirled his mustache, and said, “Oh … quite . For now, start by untying the ropes, lad.” “Yes sir, right away,” Benzie replied. Approaching the wagon, Benzie grabbed a handle and hoisted himself up to its side. When he appeared over the edge, Barty tucked, hissed, and growled at him. “Woh,” Benize exclaimed, having never seen a honey badger up close before. Realizing he was closer to Taika’s cage, Benzie unthinkingly said, “Oh, hey, you Tiger, um, you’re very big.” As Benzie climbed in to untie the securing ropes for the cages, Taika issued a low grumble and nodded at Benize. Benzie paused, for he felt something unusual about the tiger. Taika was patient and steadfast, calm in the face of strangers, and Benize sensed she acknowledged him. Taika rolled her tail, her ears twitched, and Benzie, now thoroughly sure that the great cat was smiling at him, was taken aback. Their eyes locked, and, stunned, Benzie uncomprehendingly believed they just communicated . Maron Maloney unlatched his cape and threw it into the pilot’s chair. He smiled a snake-oil smile and said, “I promise an unusual evening of spectacle and surprise, Miss Hogsbreath!” Taika rolled her head towards Benzie and glowered. Benzie narrowed his eyes and whispered, “Um, hi ?” Taika nodded. Stunned, Benzie froze, glanced back to Elina and Maron, then whispered slowly out of the side of his mouth, “Do … you … understand … me?” And Taika nodded. Benzie was stunned, utterly confused. He, himself, had never heard tigers were so smart, but he was definitely going to ask around. Taika, on the other hand, was familiar with halflings and their propensity to be more curious than afraid. Taika rolled her head to glare at Maron and to draw Benzie’s attention to him. “Maron?” Benzie whispered, and Taika nodded before glowering deeply at Benize. She exposed her teeth.

“Danger?” Benzie gasped, leaning in towards Taika’s cage. “Wait, he … Maron’s dangerous ?” Satisfied the halfling was puzzling it out, Taika raised her brows knowingly at Benzie, stared him directly in the eyes, and nodded.


John Song, I thought about you today. I suppose that it was hard not to, especially with our encounter still so vividly seared into my mind. The circumstances of our meeting were not chance, nor was it dealt by the hand of fate, but I find that it makes the experience so much more better. It was a choice, mine and yours, a temporary contract entered by mutual agreement, and I do not find myself regretting it at all. I enjoyed it; both the food and your company. You are a quirky person, John Song. But then again, so am I. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons that the two of us had gotten along so well, especially in such a short span of time. Deciding to go out with you was a calculated response on my part. Admittedly, at first, I harboured no expectations while browsing through the Norang Narang app, merely a mild curiosity at heart. Many of the profiles were too similar; either too exaggerated or a cliched brand of uninteresting. The part about your habit of tossing stones into the Han River threw me off at first. It was so… open and sincere, and human in a way that I find most of the world lacking.

I lingered upon your profile the longest, feasting my eyes upon every word. There was a quiet rhythm to yours. Memories of my own childhood began to trickle through, and I knew that if I closed my eyes at that moment, I could almost imagine myself decades back. The distinct taste of the crisp kampung air blended with the quiet lapping of the river nearby. Small figures rushing to the edge of a soft blue precipice, hand in hand, joy spread across the faces of the young and old, as the pitter-patter of pebbles tapping against the pristine surface of the water filtered through. When I opened my eyes again, it was to find the beginning of gentle tears in them. Involuntarily and because of this, I had begun to build up an image of you in my head, and I quickly found myself intrigued. The fact that you enjoyed good food appealed to me as well, and for that, my decision was an easy one. I am not easily accustomed to feeling nervous, but as we exchanged our contact information, there was a tense, fluttery knot in my gut. If it helps, the thought of cancellation never crossed my mind. If anything, that only served to increase my fascination. It was a curious emotion, one that I seldom explore, and it was a welcome change. Unfortunately, I was not prepared to amalgamate the profile constructed in my mind with the blustering, arrogant man that greeted me at the agreed-upon location. In this way, my first impression of you was less than flattering. Truthfully, I would have made my leave right there and then; rudeness be damned, no matter how much I detest it. But then, by some miracle or granted foresight, I saw through you, John Song. I saw the man hiding behind the perceived stature of wealth and recognition, one that tried so desperately to serve a perpetually dissatisfied audience and the one that had gradually cracked and yielded towards the social standards of the acceptable norm. You had admitted defeat to that shared delusion, but you had not bent to it. And for that, you were worth my time. After all, pressure creates the most splendid of gems, does it not? Convincing you to drop your mask was a much harder task. I indulged your ideals of the ‘perfect date’, showing only the barest hints of discomfort as you insisted on increasingly extravagant displays. We shared small talk to pass the time, meaningless idle chatter, but pleasing nonetheless and it was just right to straddle the thin line between awkwardness and a content silence.

I suppose that it all led up to that moment, at the dinner. The food was fancy, and overly so for my tastes, but I allowed it for a moment. My displeasure was much more evident at this point, and you were quick enough to finally catch on. The vacuum that soon followed drained the lightheartedness from the table of two gave us both the much needed time to slow down and think.

By the end of a minute, you were squirming in your seat. My discomfort became yours, and it was plain to see on your face. Like dominoes, our moods reflect those around us, I couldn’t help but grimace internally as the waiter twitched past the table, a frozen smile stretched on his face. People are often so eager to please, that they subconsciously transform themselves into mirrors. You broke the silence first, desperate, and I won the unspoken silent game. I remember that the first real words out of your mouth was about the local arts, a common ground of sorts from what little you knew about me from the description blurb in my Norang Narang account. I grasped onto the olive branch that you were tentatively offering, and smiled, sincere. Back and forth, we talked about the cultural richness of the place. What you lacked in knowledge, you more than made up for in raw enthusiasm. You were not at all subtle, and it was clear that your real fascination primarily lay with my profile picture. As with everything I do, the picture itself was meticulously chosen after much consideration. A Korean traditional mask called a tal; used for war and for protection, for death and design. The conversation that followed soon after is undoubtedly fresh on both our minds. “Everyone wears masks.” I had said, amused. “A thousand shards of a construct that they wish to be, but cannot. It is to hide and to conceal. It is nearly always an improper fit, but wilful blindness on everyone’s part allows the pretence to continue longer.” You then asked me whether I wore a mask; not just on stage like you so admired but at the current moment. “Oh, yes.” I had replied without hesitation.

To say this out loud was to drop the burning match into the oil-slick of your mind. I watched the surprise spread across your face, and the way that you tried to shut yourself against the crux of the truth. Your eyelids flickered; irises pulling from side to side as pale blue fireflies in the mid-morning sun. You swallowed once, twice.

Teasingly, I dropped my mask a fraction, lips twitching upwards in a gentle smile. And you did the same, except that yours yielded more resignation, but there was also relief peering out from the crinkles at the corner of your eyes. Then, like a desert bloom unfurling after a sudden rain, your wariness gave way to genuine fascination that was likewise reflected in mine. The tension slid away, and from there on, it was a high-stakes quid pro quo, of sorts. We were both quirky people, me with my local arts and taste in indie music, and you with your fervour in cinematography. The two areas intersected, and the rest of the experience at the diner from there was smooth sailing. Boldness spurred on spontaneity, and you suggested a short outing to the Han riverbank. I liked that, because I have often found that impulse is more sincere than concise calculation. In the cool setting of a late evening, the river was especially gorgeous, glittering blue and white in the setting sun. The surface was a smooth field of turquoise cyan and the gentle motions of water lapped against the banks and the wooden structure of the walkways raised beside it. It was quiet, and peacefully so. Likewise, our walk passed by in relative silence, although it was now a more content one.

The fact that you were practically baring your heart at that moment, was not lost on me, and I hope that you know that. This was your quiet place, wasn’t in? The design that you had so painstakingly recreated in your mind, each fine detail from the individual brush strokes of the sun peering from above, down to the pale canvas of the purple sky reflected in the dark blue… I knew that this place was especially dear to you, and I am honoured that you would deem it good enough to share this with me. I guess that the tipping point was when I bought that cup of coffee for you. A moment of spontaneity on my part as well, I must admit. The shock on your face was not well-concealed, and my own lips twitched upwards in humour. Believing that it would be the last surprise for that day was a mistake on my part, because in the next heartbeat, you pressed something against the cold of my palm. Perception is often stated to be a pointed weapon, and I suppose that the saying is correct, because I was stunned into a rare silence. Another moment of impulse, and sincerity in its purest form. That made the river stone that you gifted me all too precious, because it was not only freely-given but also out of the depths of your own heart. It was another fragment of yourself that you have given me.

Yet, my work still persists in calling me away from you. The spontaneity that I had so admired in my job is now a burden that I am forced to bear for what feels like the first time in my life. What had promised to be a quick evening of fun and nothing more, turned out to be more than I could ever hope for. I want you to know that I truly enjoyed our exchange, and should the opportunity present itself, I would love to have a repeat performance.

Now, as I stand in the crowded maze of the Incheon Airport, I cannot help but hesitate. Sentiment and fondness still linger, and more often than not, I find myself gripping the riverstone. The colours of it have imprinted in my mind by now, and although I am unsure as to why I am so mesmerised by it, the stone is something that I will treasure until the end of my days. I would like to see more of you, John Song. Sincerely,

               Janine Chung


CW: Brief descriptions of violence, death This seat is too rough. You think if they have a nice assembly room, the best thing they can do is give us chairs that don’t feel like splinters. I guess when you’re in this place, you can’t ask for anything. My eyes immediately drift to the lights. They seem to be fading, almost, a little too broken. They’ll probably make a new labor station for lightbulb repairs. Maybe I’ll get put in it. The walls look shiny as can be, though. I’m not surprised by that. Painting is one of the easiest “jobs” they can force you to do, so it makes sense that the people doing it would be relatively enthusiastic. “Why do you think we’re here today?” I whisper to Imogen. Morning meetings only happen on Mondays. Being here every single week is exhausting as hell. “No idea,” she said. “I heard Erik was captured. Maybe they want to show us the consequences of getting out and being caught again.” That’s a punch in the gut. I never knew Erik personally, but after they captured all of us, he was one of the first to get out of this awful place. I heard his plan. He’d pretend to be a guardian, and hopefully cross the border. He’s pretty tall. I guess he can pass as an adult. A ringing fills the auditorium. All hundreds of people sit down and turn towards the front. The signal sound, telling us all to sit down, is truly one of the worst things about here. The door in the back opens, and everyone seems to freeze a little bit more. Genevieve enters, with a bunch of guardians around her. Maybe Erik is in one of those suits. As she walks to the front, the guardians start to spread around the auditorium. I guess something important is happening today, and they don’t want anyone escaping. Maybe I should have used my bathroom pass before this. “It’ll be okay, Kris.” Just because they don’t want anyone escaping doesn’t mean anything bad is going to happen. Maybe it’s just a mandatory presentation. But despite the words of reassurance, I can’t shake the pit laying in my stomach. She finally steps to the podium, a tight smile on her face. “Good morning, citizens,” she announces, and a spike of feedback bounces around the room. I cringe. “Hopefully our IT guys can get that fixed. We’re glad you’re all here for our morning meeting!” “We’re glad to be here too,” everyone around me mutters. All five hundred of them, all in unison. Imogen gives me a punch in the side. “You have to say it, too.” “I’m not going to,” I mutter. She rolls her eyes. “We have a very special video to show you today,” Genevieve says, her face as flat as the air in the room. “Hit the lights, please.” I hear a click in the back, and the lights shut off. It’s practically pitch black where I am. I want a hand to grab for support. Usually I’d grab my mom’s. But she’s not here. It still hurts to even think about. A projector screen rolls down at the front, almost hitting Genevieve. I bite back a laugh. With humor, that’s practically the best you can get here. The video projects, leaving an overexcited man at the front. “Hello, Citizens of Walmour! Congrats on reaching your first year here! We’ve been overjoyed to have a conservative society.” “It’s been a year already?” I say to Imogen. She shushes me almost immediately. Every day here seems to blend into each other, feeling super long and short at the same time. I guess after we reached a month, I just lost count.

The screen flashes different shots of people around the island, doing their jobs. “We’ve had amazing work from multiple people around the island, exceeding their standard.” A clip flashes from the Outerlands, which causes me to cringe. All you do there is shovel coal and dirt. You’re sent there if you aren’t performing well, acting badly, or all of the above. Death or illness is the most common route. My friend Mikah was sent there after he smuggled food to someone there. I remember the threat of the guardian. “If you care about the Outerlands so much, we can send you there.” Something tells me that him not being in the video is a bad sign. “However, not all has been perfect here,” the man says. “We’ve had many people who think they can get away with breaking the rules.” A clip flashes, making my heart stop. It’s Erik, getting thrown to the ground. There’s no way that isn’t him. He looks exhausted. Desperate. Murmurs begin to erupt around the auditorium, probably due to the same reason I’m shocked. “Is that him?” Imogen whispers. “It has to be,” I say. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. They’re probably torturing him right now.” “Silence!” Genevieve screams, and the majority of people freeze again. The clip finally disappears. “Many people think that they’re able to just get away with their theatrics. We’re not tolerating it, though. So, we have implemented a new system to hopefully improve this! Your president will explain it in detail.” The video stops, and only about half of the people clap. Usually it’s everyone, but there’s no way anyone’s in line after seeing that clip. What was even the point of that 30 second video? It had to be to fuck our minds up after showing us Erik, proving that no one can get out. She could have said everything herself, but she needed to do that. The lights finally come back on, revealing everyone’s terrified faces. The kids at the front, like usual, look mortified. How could they do this to children? Genevieve steps back to the podium. “Guardians, please bring them to the stage.” Three guardians run backstage, like the little puppets they are. Sometimes I wonder how they got their jobs. Did they simply do their work and get promoted? Were they supporters of the regime? I’ll never know. There’s a lot of things I will never know about Walmour. They bring out three colorful wheels. Tiny black text remains on each slice, with a large white label on the stand. Adult. Teenager. Child. There has to be at least 300 slices on the adult wheel. As an estimate, the

other ones have closer to 150 or 90. Genevieve reveals her daunting smile. “As you can see, we have three spinning wheels right here, each one labeled by age group respectively.” She walks up to the wheel and does a casual spin on it. The ticking as it rotates is haunting enough to keep me up for nights. “Each of the slices on this wheel has a name on it. A name on the wheel represents how many times you’ve rebelled or stepped out of line. You may not have thought we were watching. But we were.” Imogen grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly, causing it to flinch. She isn’t a very touchy person, but I don’t blame her right now. She takes out an olive green triangle from the wheel, and adjusts her glasses to read the tiny text. “For example, this reads Penelope Wellings.” I flick my head to this poor girl, as does the rest of the audience. I’m pretty sure she works as a surrogate. It’s an understatement to say she looks mortified. Of course, Genevieve uses this to her advantage. “Don’t worry, darling. That was just a practice round. You haven’t been selected. Yet.” Imogen squeezes my hand a little tighter. “Whoever the wheel lands on will be immediately brought to execution, no questions asked.” The tone in the room immediately shifts. I thought maybe they would send them to the Outerlands, or even make them a guardian to send a message. But execution? There’s no way. This has to be some kind of joke. But when I see the batons of the guardians extend, I know this isn’t just a joke anymore. It’s happening. It could be me. “It’ll be okay, Kris.” You’ve always stood in line. There’s absolutely no way it could land on you. Sure, you don’t really say the required mantra, and you’ve sometimes snuck out of your pod at night. Maybe one time I only pretended to finish in the agriculture fields. But they couldn’t be keeping track of all of that. It’s not possible. “I suppose we should start with the adults!” Genevieve exclaims, pushing said wheel to the front. She seems excited about this. Like our existence is just some kind of game to her. My head flicks to the back section, where the adults remain. Some of them are crying. Some are shaking. Some are even praying. But the majority of them remain completely still, watching the wheel get slower and slower. I don’t want to watch. I want to look away. But as the ticks get less frequent, I can’t bear it anymore. I have to look. The wheel finally stands still, as the arrow points to a blood red slice. Genevieve takes it out, a flat look on her face. “Dotty Lewis, you’ve been selected.” Dotty Lewis. That name sounds so familiar. I’m pretty sure she ran the flower shop at the island before the takeover. She was such a kind lady. I have no idea where to look, so I follow the heads of the audience. Dotty looks destroyed. She doesn’t even try to fight it as the guardians approach her, grabbing her by hand. I’m pretty sure she got sent to the outerlands. Probably for being a lesbian. At least she’s old. She had a relatively good life on the old island. And it’s just a tad better than losing an 18 year old. She doesn’t say anything as she’s dragged out, but she clearly makes eye contact with one woman. Mouthing anything is clearly unsuccessful.

I think that’s the last time I’ll ever see Dotty. Genevieve smiles, and clears her throat. “Well! There goes our first member. I suppose we shall go to the children now.” She puts her hand to the wheel, when a man stands up from his seat. “Genevieve, you can’t do this!” I gasp, as do the majority of the audience. What was he thinking standing up like that? That’s one of the biggest laws. No speaking whilell Genevieve is talking. “You’re sending a poor child to their death! They don’t know any better about staying in order or not!” “Back to your seat, Daniel!” Genevieve barks. Two guardians shift their body his way. “This is ridiculous! You can’t kill a child!” Tommy says. Genevieve grabs a whistle from her neck, and two guardians run to him, grabbing him by his arms. “Don’t touch me!” he shouts, but they’re already dragging him out of the room. “No! Don’t do this! You can silence them, but you can’t silence me! Get out of here, guys! It’s all slave labor!” But he’s already gone. “Enough!” Genevieve shouts. “I will not have anyone tell me what to do! I suppose we shall go to the teenagers now, since we have so many protests against this one.” She walks to the spinner, her heels as loud as ever. This is it. Where she decides who it’s gonna be. I look to my left, where a tear is falling out of Imogen’s eye. “It’s not gonna be you,” I whisper. “You always follow the rules.” “You don’t know everything,” she says. I want to question that, but the spinner is finally slowing down. It lands on a midnight blue slice. The silence in the room is thicker than Genevieve’s eyebrows. She clears her throat as she moves the slice to her eyes. “Imogen Greenlight.” It’s as if time stops. Her grip loosens. No. It can’t be. There’s no way. I must have heard wrong. They can’t be taking Imogen. I whip my head to the right, where her eyes remain wide. She’s probably in shock. The guardians walk our way, and I grab her hands. “Get out!” I yell. “Quiet, sir,” a guardian says, hooking her with his arm. “Run away! Don’t let them get you!” I say. “Kris! No!” she shouts, as the guardians drag her down the aisle. When I thought about Imogen going down an aisle, I thought about it in a different way. Not this mess. I can’t let them take her. She has three siblings, and they can’t lose her. I push my way out of my seat, running down the aisle. “Don’t do this to her!” “Christian, back to your seat,” a guardian says, pointing his long gun at me. I initially stop at the gun, but I don’t care anymore. They can’t take Imogen away. I’d rather die than let her get executed. “Take me instead! I’ll take her place!” “Christian, this is not the hunger games,” Genevieve says. “You may not volunteer for someone. But if you’re so enthusiastic to go, I suppose we can take you with her.” She blows a whistle, and two guards start running towards me. “No!” I yell. “That’s not what I wanted!” I look for an escape route, but guardians surround everywhere, batons in hand. I can’t even think of a backup plan by the time the guardians reach me. They grab me with a firm grip, and bring me up to the stage. The audience all watches me with terrified eyes. However, I don’t see them long, as the guards whisk Imogen and I offstage. The guards walk us for a minute or two, before they throw us into a room. “Get in there and stay in there!” My face hits the ground, causing a pounding pain in my head. The door slams, and I hear the click of the lock. I open my eyes, and I’m immediately greeted with a slap from Imogen. That doesn’t help considering it feels like hammers are smashing my head. “Ow!” “Why would you volunteer for me?” she yells, throwing her hands into her face. “That’s just got us both killed!” “I obviously didn’t know that!” I say, finally sitting up. At first, I think my vision is blurred, but it’s clearly a product of the poor aqua lighting in this room. It looks like a prison cell, and I’m pretty sure there’s a bug on the wall. I also notice Dotty Lewis sitting in the corner, crying. I want to comfort her, but I can’t right now. “It’ll be okay, Kris.” I always repeat that phrase to myself to calm me down. I repeated it when I was hiding in the secret room on the old island, before they captured us. I repeated it as I got my assignment as an agricultural laborer. I repeated it as my mom got sent to the outerlands. However, at this moment, I don’t think it applies anymore. I hear a huge smash, which makes me jump. I expect it to be a guardian coming in to give us a lethal injection. However, when I look where the sound came from, one of the awful lights comes smashing towards the ground.	Luckily, none of us are sitting in the area where it smashes. However, a person comes into view from the ceiling, where the light originally smashed. It’s Erik. There’s no way. He was captured. How did he escape? I thought he’d be dead already. He reaches a hand out. “C’mon, take my hand!” “Erik?” Imogen exclaims, her look of terror turning into confusion. “Yeah, I know, you thought I was dead,” he says. “We can talk about that later. Just c’mon! We gotta get you out!” “We can’t escape!” Dotty says, speaking for the first time. “They’ll kill us if they catch us!” “They’re gonna kill you anyway if you’re in this room!” he says. “Quickly, now! We don’t have much time!” Obediently, I stand up and grab his hand. Somehow, he pulls me up to the ceiling, which reveals a dark area. He does the same to Imogen and Dotty, who are more skeptical than I am. He turns on a flashlight, which reveals a much bigger space than I thought. There’s pipes and trapdoors. “Follow me! We gotta get you to a safe area!” He starts creeping in one direction, and Imogen is the first to address all of our concerns. “I thought they caught you!” “They did at first,” he says, pushing a pipe to the side. “I made it to the border, but I lost my ID. I got sent back to prison. They were about to send me to the outerlands, but I knocked out a guard and escaped. I’ve been hiding around the island helping people escape.” “That’s pretty badass of you,” I say, chuckling. No one else laughs. After a few minutes of walking, he leads us to a tiny room, covered by a black shade. Inside lies a bunch of refugees. Some are shivering, some are holding each other. I think I recognize one of them. “Stay in here for now. We’ll pick you and the other ones up in our next wave. Don’t make a sound. No talking unless it’s absolutely necessary.” We make our way inside, and he throws a dark blanket at us. Before we can ask anything else, he’s gone. I lie down with Imogen, getting close with her to maintain our warmth. I can tell it’ll soon be freezing up here. Is this really it? Are we finally gonna escape from Walmour? I have no way of knowing. This could be a scheme that the government planned, just to see who actually tries to escape. Then they’ll know who to keep an eye on. But for now, all we can do is wait. I stare at the lonely clock in the corner of the room. Tick, tock, tick, tock…


“I am a murderer.”

His eyebrows rose, but he stayed planted in the snow, making no move to run.

“Didn’t you hear me?” I asked. The truth was out now. He should be backing away, calling the police, running for his life. Why did he just stand there, so aggravatingly calm? “I heard you.”

“Then go!” I motioned wildly, towards his home, towards the trees, the sky, anywhere. “Leave!” “Why? So you can hide somewhere else?” Instead of leaving, he dragged a nearby fallen log to my fire, took a seat, and rubbed his hands together over the blaze. The light reflecting off the snow, even at night, was enough to see his face by: concerned, but not for his life.

I slumped into my spot, ruffled and unsure what to do next. The guilt and self hatred that had sustained me for so long now abandoned me to fend for myself. I tucked my feet in their thin boots beneath myself, sitting crosslegged, and pulled my toque farther over my ears.

“My name’s John, in case you were wondering.” “Maybe I wasn’t.” “If you weren’t, wouldn’t you would have killed me already?” “I’m not that kind of a person!” “So how did you gain your title then?” I hunched over, balling my fists into my worn pockets, feeling the flesh through where the holes in the fabric were, refusing to heat my hands with the same fire he heated his. “It was just an accident.” “Okay.” His voice was still calm, still gentle, still persistent. “Then why are you hiding?” I wished that I could scrub his tone out of where it had wormed its way beneath my skin, but again, my voice played Judas. “No one would believe me.” He shrugged. “Well, you are making it kind of hard, especially when you’re not giving anyone a chance.” “And what if they did? They’d all swarm over me at the viewing, the singing, the funeral. I wouldn’t get a moment’s peace afterwards either. I know they’d mean well but they don’t get it. I can’t handle them. Everyone would be giving me hugs and wanting to cry with me and inviting me to stay at their place and telling me it’s okay when it's not and bringing me casseroles and soup and suffocating me.” He waited a bit. The fire crackled. An owl hooted. “And that’s why you’re hiding out here?” “Is it too much that I just want to be by myself?” He cocked his head. “But you don’t.” I shot him a glare. What did he know? “You want someone to dump on. Just one person who will listen for a bit, and then you’ll gain your strength again to take on the world.” The owl hooted again, waiting for me to respond, but I didn’t. “Finnia, she used to get like that sometimes.” I pulled myself out of my self-pity enough to distract him from it. “Who’s Finnia?” “Well, she was my girlfriend.” “Was?” “Car crash.” “Oh.” “I was the one driving.” I looked up then. So we shared titles. His jaw was flexed as he frowned at the fire. Then he stood up and collected three or four fallen branches, brushed the snow off, and stacked them carefully over the flames. The steam rose from them, the tendrils becoming clouds and seemingly wrapping him into another realm.

Then the words came again, just like my first confession. No warning, no grace, no apology. Just betrayal.

“Food poisoning.” The mist and all it contained were silent.

“I cooked dinner. I loved—“ my voice caught. “I loved to cook, but I was feeling sick, so I didn’t eat. I woke up and watered my flowers, took care of the dog, like I always did. Dad’s truck was still home. I sat in my room, I wrote, I read, took my vitamins. Then I went to check on my sister. She used to always be up early too.” Sobs took over and I tried to shove them back down. “What was her name?” I hated that was . “Her name was Savana.” I took a breath. “She was cold and stiff. I screamed, but no one came. Mom, Dad, my brothers, they were all—“ I couldn’t finish. The lump in my throat choked me. The tears that had stayed deep and dry were now rushing out, and I felt like they would drown me. An arm draped gently over my shoulders. I shrank away, my gut churning. “Stop it!” I tried to shout, but it came out only as a hoarse whisper. “Go away.” I curled into my protective ball, tightening my hands around my knees, wishing that I had eaten too and that this pain, this agony would only have lasted one night. My insides writhed. “Just go away.” His arm lifted.

I stayed that way for a long time. The sky was getting lighter before my lungs finally expanded freely, my muscles released their cramped positions. My fire was still going. I was exhausted.

My body was unwilling, but I forced it to a sitting position. My head felt like it was made of lead, my limbs of waterlogged wood. My neck was stiff. I tried to roll it, but something caught my eye. I turned toward it carefully. There he was. He hadn’t left.

I was too tired to hate him for it. Instead I stared at him, sitting against a tree trunk a little ways off. His elbows were propped on his knees, feet apart, hands clasped together. His eyes were closed, his lips moving. He was praying.

That was something I hadn’t done in a long time. I had been too holed up in myself. Why would I want light if I could hide in the darkness? The light hurt. “Yes, it does.” I jumped. I hadn’t thought that I had spoken out loud, but John had heard me and responded.

He stood up and took my hands, chafing them with his own to get the blood flowing again. It stung, it burned, but they softened. They recovered enough feeling to sense when a drop hit the skin. I looked up. A liquid streak ran from his eye to his jaw, glistening with the light of the rising sun sparkling over the snow. “I know it hurts,” he repeated. “But it’s the only way you can heal.”


“Hey honey,” Chris said through the phone. “I was just calling to let you know I’m gonna be home late tonight, I’m really sorry. We are just absolutely slammed here, but I should be home by 6:30 at the latest. Do you mind making dinner tonight?” I opened the fridge, holding the phone between my shoulder and my ear.

“Of course, baby,” I said, forcing sweetness into my voice. I opened the freezer and noticed a couple unopened packages of ground meat. “How does beef stew sound?”

“Sounds great,” Chris said. “I love you.” I bit back a laugh. “Love you too,” I said. I took the phone in my hand and hung up. The great thing about beef stew was that you could just throw a bunch of ingredients in a pot and it would taste amazing. Sometimes, if you threw enough food in, you wouldn’t be able to taste some of the less flavourful ingredients. I began by turning on the oven and setting up a cookie sheet. I took my anger out on the potatoes, slicing them furiously and nearly cutting myself in the process. I placed them on the cookie sheet on top of some tin foil, then into the oven.

Next, I took my favourite meat out of the freezer. I smiled as I unwrapped it. Chris was going to love this. I turned the stove on and started cooking the meat in the pan. I seasoned it heavily, with all of Chris’s favourite spices. Garlic, paprika, onion powder… On a separate pan, I started cooking all of Chris’s favourite vegetables. I threw in carrots, peppers and peas and cooked them so that they were warm and soft. The crock-pot was already on, I’d turned it on minutes before Chris had called me. I’d been expecting this. I threw the vegetables and meat into the crock-pot, then took the potatoes in the oven and tossed them in as well. I knew I would be making dinner tonight. I always made dinner on Thursdays.

Not because Chris was always held up at work, but because he was always with his mistress. Claire was her name. Even thinking about that blond bimbo made my blood boil. I found out about a month ago, when I’d started getting suspicious about why Chris always seemed to be home late on Thursdays. One night, I drove to his work and waited for him to leave. I watched him get into his car and followed him to a rundown apartment a few blocks away from his work.

A woman, Claire, had met him outside. She was young, younger than me at least. I’d later learned that she was 19, eight years younger than I was and ten years younger than Chris. She was perfect in every way. Short and slim, with perfect tanned skin, long luscious blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. With my curvier form, pale skin and dark hair, there was no contest. She was ten times more attractive than I would ever be.

She’d stood on her tiptoes to kiss Chris, then led him inside. I was filled with rage. That was my boyfriend. And she thought that she could just snatch him away from me? Absolutely not. Chris and I had been together for five years, we were planning on getting married! I’d been dropping hints to him about it constantly for the past year, and I knew that it would happen.

I sped home and waited for Chris patiently. But I hadn’t said anything. Not yet. The timing wasn’t right and I didn’t have enough information. So, I acted completely normal. I smiled and kissed him and made him a hot meal. And afterward, when he went to bed, I looked at his phone.

It was the most logical next step. I scrolled through dirty texts between him and Claire, that’s where I learned her name and her age. It turned out that this relationship had been going on for about a month and a half, and from what I gathered, it was pretty much just sex. I couldn’t decide if that made me feel better, since they clearly didn’t have an emotional connection, or worse, because he obviously found her more physically attractive than me.

Over the course of the next month, I drove to Claire’s apartment a couple times to learn more about her. I waited for her to leave and come back, then I followed her inside and learned which apartment she lived in. I then found out her daily routine, watching to learn what she did every day. She normally left first around eight o’clock and drove to a nearby gym. She’d workout there for about an hour then head back home, probably for some healthy protein shake. No wonder she was so skinny.

Then, when she didn’t have class at the local University, she’d head off to her job at Starbucks, where she made coffee and laughed with coworkers her whole shift. Most nights she stayed in, probably doing homework. The only times she left at night were to greet Chris and occasionally go out and party with her friends. She seemed like a pretty normal college student. If I’d seen her walking down the street, I wouldn’t have thought much. Unfortunately though, she was sleeping with my future husband. That caused a lot of problems.

Last night I’d taken a little field trip to Claire’s apartment, the last one I would ever take. I smiled now as I watched the stew boil in the crock-pot. I couldn’t wait for Chris to eat it. After he did, all of this would be over. Both Chris and Claire would no longer be in my life. I would never have to worry about either of them ever again.

I sat peacefully on the couch, watching mindless sitcoms on TV while I waited for Chris to get home. I stayed planted on the couch when I heard the door open. I kept my eyes on the TV.

“Hey Rach,” Chris said. “I’m so sorry, things got so crazy at work.” I smiled. “Things always seem to get crazy on Thursdays.” I lifted my eyes to meet Chris’s. He laughed nervously.

“Yeah,” he said. “Busy day for the office I guess.” He turned his attention to the crock-pot. “This looks delicious, babe.” I turned the TV off and got up, getting bowls and spoons out of the cabinets. I scooped a couple spoonfuls of stew into a bowl and handed it to Chris, grinning ear to ear. I couldn’t help but feel joyful right now.

“Thanks,” he said, sitting down at the table. I scooped some stew into a bowl for myself and sat across from him. He dug in immediately, barely even slowing down for air.

“This is incredible,” he said with a mouthful of stew.

“Well, there’s a secret ingredient,” I said mysteriously.

“Whatever it is, it’s amazing,” Chris said, continuing to devour his stew.

“Don’t you want to know what it is?” I asked. I hadn’t touched my stew yet. I wanted to see the look on Chris’s face when I told him what the secret ingredient was.

“Sure,” he said. “Wait, is it red wine?” I shook my head and laughed.

“No silly,” I said. “It’s this weird type of meat I found. It’s called Claire.” Chris suddenly stopped eating his stew. He stared at me, his cheeks full with the remains of his mistress.

“What?” he asked.

“Claire,” I repeated, as if it should be obvious. “It’s her. In the stew.” I took a small spoonful of the stew and slurped it down. “Doesn’t she give it an extra kick?” Chris spit out his stew into the bowl and ran over to the sink to rinse his mouth out. I smiled. As if rinsing his mouth out would change the fact that he’d ingested his mistress.

“Are you crazy?” he asked. “What- how?” I got up and walked over to the drawers with the cutlery, just like I’d rehearsed. I opened the top drawer and calmly pulled out the biggest knife we owned.

“Rachel,” Chris said, eyeing the knife. “Please put down the knife. It didn’t mean anything, it was just sex! I swear to god she means nothing to me, you mean everything to me. I love you, Rachel.” I rested the tip of the knife against my chin and pondered Chris’s words.

“You see, I want to believe you,” I said, stepping closer toward him. “But you’ve already lied so much. I just don’t think you should get any more chances.” I took the knife away from my chin and pressed the point into Chris’s neck. He swallowed.

“Rachel, please,” he said. “Don’t do this. I’ll leave, and I’ll never talk to you again and I won’t tell anyone about what you did to Claire. Please, just let me go.” I pressed the knife deeper into Chris’s neck so that it drew blood. He gasped.

“I don’t think that’s gonna work,” I said. “I mean, how am I supposed to trust you after everything you’ve lied about? No, I think I’m going to have to kill you.”

“Rachel, ple-” I cut him off, literally. I took the knife and I sliced violently into Chris’s neck. His head toppled to the floor with a loud thud . I smirked down at it. Finally, the world was free of the biggest liar and the biggest whore it had ever produced. Order had been restored.

*** “Hi Daniel,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’m Rachel.” He was much better looking than Chris. He was taller, with a more chiseled jawline and silkier hair. And, if what the pictures on his dating profile showed were true, he had some serious abs. “I hope you don’t think it’s a little weird that I asked you to come over on the first date.”

“It’s nice to meet you Rachel,” Daniel said, shaking my hand. “And it’s not weird at all. I’m honoured to have been invited to your apartment so soon.” I smiled. “Of course,” I said. “Would you like to have a seat? I’ve made a very special recipe of mine just for you.”

“I can’t wait,” he said, seating himself at the kitchen table. I made my way over to the counter, grabbed a bowl from the cabinet, and scooped a couple spoonfuls of stew into it. I handed the bowl to Daniel, then proceeded to get a bowl for myself. Once I was seated across from him, we dug in.

“Mm,” Daniel said. “This is delicious. What’s in it?”

“Oh, you know,” I said. “Peppers, peas, carrots, potatoes, all the normal stew things.”

“This meat is amazing,” Daniel said, shoveling spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. “It’s so juicy. Is it just regular beef?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Something like that.”


‘Ah, silence! Finally!’ she thought as she flipped through the pages of a Charles Dickens’ novel she had randomly picked up from the fiction section. It was late! Probably around two in the morning, and yet she wasn’t sleepy at all. She read for a while, disinterestedly, before going back to pick up another book. Then another! And then another again! Putting her nose to the book, she sniffed the first page. ‘Fresh as an oak!’ she thought; the strong scent momentarily transporting her to a different world altogether. A déjà vu perhaps! A few tables down the row a florescent tube light flickered; the buzzing sound prompting her back to the present. ‘Why was she even in the library at this odd hour?!’ she wondered. Ah, the silence! She explored some more sections – finding nothing even remotely interesting – before returning to the fiction section. She randomly picked up two more books, and attempted to read them side-by-side. After a while she got bored again! ‘No wonder she had been such a poor student’ she contemplated. She was born as the third child in a middleclass family of eleven, and lived in a two room house with them. Since the time immemorial, all she had heard was ‘noise’! Utterly disgusting constant noise! Parents arguing, doors banging, music blasting from the house next door, an old TV spewing news nonstop, her siblings laughing, strangers talking... to her and about her! There had been no respite! She had fared poorly in the school. So after turning 16, she had found a low-paying job in the ticketing department at the Railway Station; the wage barely enough to cover her daily lunches. Household ‘noises’ had been replaced by the whistling engines, clickety-clacky carriages and crowded platforms. Indeed, there had been no respite! It wasn’t long before she had forgotten all about quietness. Even when she tried to sleep at night, there was always a constant humming sound... that is, on nights when the strangers didn’t show up! And those nights were the most peaceful ones! Leaning forward onto the table, she rested her head on top of the open book. The utter quietness made her fall asleep instantly! “Wake up! Wake up!” someone whispered in her ear. She felt disoriented at first, not knowing where she was. Only after looking at the open book, all drenched in her drool, did she realize that she was at the library. Feeling groggy she looked up to find an old man, probably in his eighties, with a pointed nose and strangely rounded, gold-rimmed glasses looking at her. She was terrified! “Who... who are you?” she inquired. “I am the librarian!” he grinned. “You are in the library and you wish to spend your time sleeping instead of benefiting from all the knowledge around you?!” he continued disappointedly. She was speechless, and didn’t know how to respond. “What time is it?” she ventured, trying to fill the awkward silence. “Does it really matter what time is it?” the old man responded with a solemn face. Once again, she was left speechless. “What do you want from me?” she asked directly. “Oh! I don’t want anything from you!” he replied. “But look at all these books... they seem offended that you are sleeping your ass off in a library instead of taking this opportunity to learn about new things!” he continued. For a moment, she felt all books staring at her with angry little faces. She shivered! “But there are so many of them! I don’t know which one to read!” she responded, trying to justify her behavior. “Ah, the paradox of choice!” the old man smiled. “Err, the what... of what?!” she was totally lost. “The paradox of choice means that when you have a lot of options to choose from, you end up overcomplicating the process and unnecessarily delaying it” he explained excitedly. “Instead of encouraging you to take action, these many choices push you towards complete inaction” he continued. His eyes sparkling behind the gold rimmed glasses. She was baffled, but at the same time curious to know more! “So, you are saying having so many books around can make someone read fewer books?” she asked while scratching her head. “Indeed, it can!” he responded. “Then, what is the purpose of building a library?” she inquired innocently. “Ah, that is a smart question!” the old man sighed. Although he kept a straight face, she could tell he was quite happy inwardly with her question! “Perhaps the purpose of building a library is to allow curious souls to satisfy their lust for knowledge about specific topics” he attempted, trying to provide a convincing answer. “Anyone could walk in through that door knowing they could read all about... let’s say... ‘Trains’ in here!” he continued. “But what if someone wants to know about everything?” she asked curiously. “Then, they can spend their whole life visiting libraries around the world and getting their hands on as many books as possible” the old man responded with a smile. She was satisfied with the answer! ‘I want to learn about everything in the world’ she affirmed to herself. As if magically reading her thoughts, the old man said, “You can start from here, and read about as many things as you want”. *** It was around midday when a stern looking woman with grey hair woke her up from a deep slumber. She had pale cheeks and her hair was tied into a high bun “Get up, young lady!” the old woman barked loudly. “This isn’t a place for you to sleep at” she continued. “But who... who are you?” she asked reluctantly. “I am Ms. Shakila, the librarian here, and responsible for keeping the books safe” the old lady responded with a sneer while pointing to the messy pile of open books around them. ‘If she is the librarian, who was that old man last night’ she thought as she slowly rose up and walked towards the door. She had no recollection of what had happened after the old man had asked her to start from here. ‘Maybe he was one of the strangers!’ a chill went down her spine at the thought. She found her mother waiting at the library door, pacing worriedly. She was relieved upon seeing her daughter fine and safe. Turning around, she asked the librarian “How can I read books at the library, Ms Shakila?” “For that, you must purchase a subscription” the librarian replied nonchalantly. “Mom, I want a subscription for the library” she said turning back to her mother. “Sweetheart, let’s get back home and discuss it with your father” her mother replied while smiling sadly. Seeing a confused look on her daughter’s face, she explained “library subscription requires money you see!” “Surely, we can’t be that poor to not be able to afford a library subscription fee” she responded curtly. Her mother smiled as her face turned red in front of the librarian. “Not at all, sweetheart! Just that one cannot fund everything. You eldest sister wants to go to college, your brother wants to join the football academy, you want a library subscription, not to mention all the medical bills, and what the younger ones want!” the mother responded sadly, hoping that her daughter would understand and stop pestering her in front of the librarian. “So, which one is it going to be?” the girl asked plainly. “The sister going to college, the brother joining the academy, my medical bills or the library subscription, or what the younger ones want?” she continued. “Of course one cannot decide just like that with so many options!” her mother snapped, irritated at her daughter’s questions. “Ah, the paradox of choice” she smiled as her eyes sparkled. “The ‘what’...?” the librarian who had been standing quietly till now asked curiously.

“Please forgive her, Ms Shakila” the mother responded feeling embarrassed. “My daughter has recently been diagnosed with Schizophrenia, and has little control over forming coherent thoughts and sentences” she whispered. The mother daughter duo walked out of the library, one feeling sad and defeated, meanwhile the other one feeling happy and triumphant. Of the two, who felt how, no one could tell!


Another body washed ashore today, hand-delivered by the sea, just like me. There was no wreckage nearby, but it is normal for broken vessels to get buried in the depths. Survivors are few out here near the Island of Abyss. When their initial lifelines sink, there is no driftwood nor buoys to cling to; not even the birds flew out this far. Most often, they sank into the deep darkness exhausted from trying to keep their head above water. Sometimes a fortunate beast happened upon them and swallowed them whole. Some would say the latter is a greater mercy since they did not have to struggle much and it was soon over. This morning’s offering came in low tide as the waves receded. I spotted him through the morning fog as I made my rounds of menial chores. They were all necessary tasks, but their main purpose was to keep me sane. People needed a purpose to survive. My first duty to the new visitor was to check for a pulse. Even the faintest of quivers set resuscitation in motion. To find a body still breathing is the rarest of gifts for us Keepers. We try our best to save everyone, but most often they are too far gone, either bloated or half-eaten. Our gracious task then is tying a windswept stone to them with dried kelp and returning them to the ocean for good. Since land is scarce here on this island a sailor’s grave is the best we can do for proper burial. Today, I could see his stomach rise and fall as I approached. He was unconscious, so I carried him to higher ground and propped him up against a large boulder. His head flopped back and forth as I gently slapped his face, trying to help him wake. It did no good, so I sat with him awhile before returning to my duties. I chose the work nearby to keep an eye on him as best I could. As I was harvesting seaweed offshore not far from where I found him, I heard the loud gasp of the man coming to. There was some retching of saltwater as I rushed to his aid with some freshwater gathered from the rain. His eyes were wide, searching for answers, but they settled a bit as the water brought him back to life. “Who are you? Where am I?” he asked between pulls from the bladder. “You have washed ashore the Island of Abyss and I am its Lighthouse Keeper.” I smiled with pride as my eyes shined with joy. “How’d I get here? I don’t remember much of anything right now.” he coughed through a raw throat as he began to get frantic again. “You came here much the same way they all do I reckon. Lost at sea with no wind for your sails nor fuel in your tank. There is no evidence of a boat here, so I imagine the waves ravaged it in the storm not long before you arrived.” I explained. “Yes, I remember being out on a boat, but not much else. I’m not sure why I was there nor if I was with anyone,” he admitted with dismay. “Do you remember your name?” I asked. “William Stig,” he answered with certainty. “Do not worry Mister Stig. The details should return to you in time. For now, let us get you inside to warm up and have a bite to eat.” William followed the Keeper to an old arched door set in the stones of the towering lighthouse. It took some effort to move the heavy oaken door turned gray after years of exposure to salty air. To William's surprise, the door opened without a sound. After taking a closer look, he noticed the hinges showed no rust and had a velvet sheen to their blackened iron. The Keeper caught him looking. “Part of my duties is to keep those lubricated with whale oil. I use this door often throughout each day and learned long ago the pain of sticking hinges.” “I am impressed at your attention to even the finest details. Had I been more in tune with my boat as you are with the things of this island, I may have never wrecked in the first place.” “Learning to appreciate the small things often requires hard lessons. It also helped to have a good teacher. Come, the table is up the first flight of stairs.” The only light on the bottom floor came from the open door. William made out some shelving tucked under the stairs and around the perimeter of the walls. This floor must be for storage he thought to himself. The Keeper led him up several stone steps set into the walls which led to the floor of the second level. The ceiling was much higher in this room. William noticed a wooden ladder descending from a hatch above them on their right as they walked in. He imagined it led to the lamp. A small bed with a nightstand was on the opposite side of the room. There was an iron stove nearby with its chimney fed out a small window behind it. A rectangular table sat next to the wooden ladder with two chairs underneath. Humble accommodations for such an important job. William sat at one of the chairs as they passed by the table. The Keeper started the wood stove and shucked oysters he had pulled from a bucket. At the table sat a leather-bound book. William glanced at the Keeper and saw his back was towards him, so he ventured a look. The only inscription on the cover was a lighthouse insignia in the top right corner. He opened to the first page and read what it said. The Lighthouse Keepers serve a vital mission. Cast light into the darkness to save those with hindered vision. William raised an eyebrow and leafed through several more pages. None of it made much sense to him, but it appeared to be a part manual & part logbook of sorts. The Keeper had returned to the table without William noticing. He set a plate of oysters and dried seaweed chips in front of them. “I see you could not resist The Companion’s call.” the Keeper said. William started and almost knocked the plate from the table. “I’m sorry. It’s rude to go through a stranger’s belongings. I hardly gave it much thought, to be honest.” “Do not fret my friend. I had planned to show it to you anyway." “What do you mean?” asked William. “First, let us eat together. You should have a clear head.” said the Keeper as he set an oyster on a seaweed chip before tossing it in his mouth and then smiled. William followed suit, though seafood was not his favorite. He did not want to be an ungrateful guest. It did not take long for William to finish then ask for seconds and thirds. Being famished, he hardly tasted the food as he shoveled it in his mouth. The salty meal had him drink through another flagon of water before he was content. William expressed profuse gratitude and offered to clean up for them. The Keeper welcomed the help he had not had in a while. “We will have our discussion upstairs,” said the Keeper when they finished. “The ocean air brings clarity.” He put The Companion in his belt and led William up the ladder. The hatch could be tricky to open depending on the draft up there, but the winds had favor on them today. For the lamp to not blind, there was put a shielding wall in the entrance. The Keeper still kept his back turned as he entered out of old habit and William did the same. They met out on the gallery and William would have slipped had the Keeper not reached out his hand. “Thank you for catching me,” he said as he tried to catch his breath. "I didn’t realize how slippery it would be.” “It has been a while since another has walked here with me, but the instincts remain.” replied the Keeper. “Are you steady now on your own?” “Yes, I have a firm grip on this railing with no intentions of letting go.” “Good. Let us begin—” “Hold on, I realized I never got your name. If we are about to have some serious conversation, then I should at least know your name.” “I already told you my name. I am the Lighthouse Keeper on the Island of Abyss.” “That’s not a real name, but your occupation. What is your real name?” “I understand what you mean, but I gave up my old name long ago. When one becomes a Keeper, they surrender their old name. The occupation and the new name are the same.” “Very strange. Is there a shorter version I can call you?” “You may refer to me as Keeper if you like and you will not think it so strange if you choose to understand.” “Understand what, Keeper?” “Allow me to show you.” Keeper pulled The Companion from his belt and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and recited the creed under his breath. William recognized it from the first page of the book. “Before I begin, you must know you have a choice. There is a supply plane that arrives every other month and the next one is due to arrive next week. You can return to the mainland on said plane and go back to your old life. I would then hope you had learned your lesson when you cheated death. You could also choose to stay and become my apprentice to learn the ways of the Keepers. I only ask you not to choose in haste. Give me your ear right now and shadow me for this next week before deciding,” said Keeper. “You saved my life, the least I could do is hear you out,” replied William. “Good. I will start by explaining the purpose of this island and its lighthouse. I am sure you know why lighthouses exist, so I will spare you those details. This one is particularly special though. Many ships became lost to the Abyss long ago with nothing guiding their way. When airplanes started flying the skies, they often would get lost out here too. They would run out of fuel and crash into the Abyss. There are a lot of different vessels that make up the bottom of this part of the ocean. There was an Order of Keepers established at the building of the first lighthouse. They sought to solve this problem by putting a lighthouse out here. With no land for many leagues, they could not think of a way to build it. A very brave group of those Keepers came by ship to this area and sounded the depths. When they started to run out of fuel, they made the hard choice of turning back home empty-handed. One of them suggested they continue to sound as they returned home. That is how they discovered a mountain buried in the sea. It was on this mountain they built up the island and set up the beacon of hope this lighthouse has become. Now, planes can find help navigating the skies. They look for the light to determine their trajectory. Ships gave up these waters long ago due to the difficulty traversing this area. Those who make it here by accident though find this a haven as they get pointed in the right direction. Then, there are those like you and me; our ships did not make it, and our fates seemed sealed. If it was not for this island and those who keep it, certain death would have been how our stories ended.” William nodded his head as he listened with intention. It was easy for him to see what this island meant to many, but was it the place for him? He decided to see how the week went, but he was already torn on the choice set before him. Keeper was a capable man, he could see that much. As William watched him talk and gesture though, he could also tell Keeper’s time here was short. “It’s a great story you tell Keeper and I look forward to learning more. I admit the choice is a more difficult one now, but I will still need the time to think. What do you have for me in the meantime?” “We can start with this,” Keeper said opening The Companion for William to see. Page after page was explained in great detail. Keeper gestured to different parts of the island and the lighthouse below their feet. He spoke more of the Order of Keepers who had established themselves centuries ago. They had a vast network of lighthouses spanning the globe. It often took a survivor to become a Keeper having been lost before someone came and guided their way. The shot at redemption is what drove them to service. Keeper closed The Companion having explained enough for now. He decided to show William an average day of life on the island. At the end of the day, they retired to sleep. Keeper took the floor with a blanket and pillow he pulled out of storage. William was grateful for the bed and spent the night dreaming of a shipwreck with dread. The rest of the week went by in a flash. William lost track of the days and was surprised to hear a plane one morning. He was out collecting seaweed and whatever shellfish he could find. The shore had a higher tide than before, but William did not mind. Keeper walked down the beach from the lighthouse to join his Brother from the plane. “Well William, the day has come for you to make your choice. The plane must take off as soon as we offload its cargo. Will you give us a hand?” "Sure!" said William with enthusiasm. He grabbed a wooden crate the pilot had thrown on the beach and followed Keeper to the lighthouse. "Okay, I have made up my mind." "Have you now?" asked Keeper. "Yes, I have decided to stay and follow in your stead. Fate brought us together and let me survive, so it wouldn't be right to turn my back on this now." "Alright then," Keeper said with a knowing smile. He retrieved The Companion from the second floor and handed it to William. "A Keeper you will be."


I had recently been on a vacation to Jamaica. It was the summer, and I decided to make the most of it before I went back to college. Jamaica’s beaches were beautiful. They had the feeling that you get when you can't possibly believe that it’s real. It’s sensational. But there was something else. There was a guy. Not just any guy. I feel like he was the one. I felt the happiest I had ever been when I met him.

Why don’t I just go up to him? I asked myself. I remember what he looked like, though. He was tall, but slim with golden hair. I would say a dirty blonde. He had emerald green eyes. He had pale skin. How? We’re in Jamaica. But hey, most people are here for vacation for the summer. Unfortunately, the trip only lasted 5 days, but I somehow managed to see him almost every day. We did have one interaction, though. When I was walking by, I bumped into him.

I’m assuming he was drunk, because he was stumbling. He was also slurring his words.

“Ohhh- I’m so-... hic- sorry, what's your name again?” “Hi, my name’s liv-” and before I could finish anything, he got distracted and walked off. I noticed he was wearing a plaid shirt and baggy black pants. I’ve been thinking about him so much lately. I tried getting his attention when I was there, but it didn’t work. I need to find him. I have pictures of him, but they aren't very clear.

I went back to the airport with my sister. She was younger than me, so I hoped this would work. I knew I wouldn’t find him, though. I had to lie and ask one of the employees if they had seen him. I told the employee that it was my cousin’s boyfriend that I didn’t know the name of. I was ‘lost’ with my little sister and my cousin sent us to pick up her boyfriend. We didn’t know the name of him, and he might have left. “Well, if you don’t know the name, I can’t help you. Shouldn’t your cousin have told you?” the lady at the front asked me. Just then I remembered something. We had talked more than one time. The day after I saw him at the bar, he walked up to me.

“Hey, I’m real sorry for bumpin’ into ya yesterday.” He had walked up to me. He had the most beautiful eyes.

“It’s okay, I don't mind.” I told him with a warm smile. “I believe I tried to ask for your name. You probably tried to tell me, didn’t you?” He said with a chuckle. I had. I figured he didn’t even remember talking to me, but here we are.

“My name’s Liv. Yours?”

“Nice to meet you, Liv. My name’s Trent.” He smiled at me. Thank god I remembered that. Where would I be if I didn't? “Trent!” I yell, snapping out of my daze. “Was that his name, miss?” The lady at the front asked me. “Yes! Yes- yes. His name was Trent. He got back from Jamaica with us.” I hope he did, at least. I showed the lady a picture of him. I had to explain that they were going to be blurry because we weren’t really with him like we should have been. “Can I please have Trent come to the front on aisle 4B please? Trent with dirty blonde hair, green eyes…well you get it. Come to aisle 4B, please,” The lady cocked her head toward me. “Your boyfriend should arrive… hopefully.” “Thanks, but he isn’t my boyfriend.” I said. We waited. And waited. And then waited a little more.

“Honey, I don’t think he’ll be here.” The lady from the front spoke. Just then, I saw someone running toward us. Then, a familiar voice spoke.

“Hi! I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I-” he stopped when he saw me. “Liv?! I’ve been looking for you- I thought I needed to find you. I kne-” I stopped him before he could say anything else.

“Yeah! Cousin I love so much! Shall we go home?” I say, my eyes widening to hint to him that he was my ‘cousin’.

He got the hint.

“Yeah-let’s go.” We got just far enough away so that no one could hear. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Maybe I took it too far. “What the hell is this about?” He instantly questioned me. Maybe I did take this too far.

“I just- I can't really, I got this-” I was interrupted mid sentence.

“This feeling that you couldn’t just let the encounter go? You had to find me? You were changed by me. You were happier when you met me. That’s how I felt.” “Yeah. That was the feeling.” “Well then, let’s go home. Get to know each other.” he suggested.

“You’re seriously gonna let a stranger into our house?!” my little sister questioned. I completely forgot she was even here.

“For the record, I have many weapons.” I told my sister. “Wow, you think I’m gonna pull somethin?” he put his hand to his heart, acting offended. I just noticed the heavy Texan accent he had. I also just realized that this is Nevada. It’s a twenty-three hour drive to get there.

“Are you from Texas?” I ask. “Yes, I am. It’s that noticeable?” he replied. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” “Yes, technically. But why go home when I can just stay here a few days? I’m 23; a big boy. I can make my own decisions.” he said. He’s 23?! That works out just perfectly. I’m 21. “Well, I can drive, so that means you’re sitting in the back, Lily. Sorry, dude.” I know she won’t like that.

“What?! I’m in the back of my sister's own car, while a stranger gets to sit in the front? That’s bull!” told you. But she does have a point.

“Language! And you have a point. Trent, You’re in the back.” Trent didn’t complain and got in the back of the car.

The ride wasn’t bad. I did put on the radio for some white noise. Fun fact about me: I always like to have music playing. No matter what I’m doing. Trent, Lily and I talked the whole way home. Trent was a nice person. He grew up in Texas, and had gotten a scholarship to a nice college. He majored in history. He loves history, which was nice, because so did I. I didn’t major in it, though. It was nice to know him. Of course I didn’t know him, though. This ride was the perfect time to get to know each other a little bit, because it was a three hour drive to the airport. I like long

drives with friends. My sister is also extremely patient. When we got home, I gave him a little mini tour and showed him where he could sleep. I told him he could sleep. “Thanks for letting me stay. I appreciate it.” he said. “Of course!” I replied. “I’m really excited that I found you. I knew it was a good decision.” “So do I… I’m delighted!” “Would you like to go on a proper date this Saturday? With me?” “Yeah! I’ve been waiting.” “Ew! Gross!” My sister scoffs.