We sat atop a hill chewing on rations, for that was all we could do with the days so hot and the rations so stale. We were supposed to be relieved three days ago, but the roads have been blocked off by the Opposition, and the land stripped by foraging and bombing. There’s no chance of anyone coming to relieve us for the rest of the week either, it’s a national holiday, and even though the Party abolished such things, they haven’t yet educated the people against it, so now it’s like paid time off but with a much higher chance of getting shot. My friend and I are, officially, patrolling the west side of the mountain to defend against an Opposition invasion, but only shepherds and their herds frequent the area, so we pass the time by counting sheep through our rifle scopes as they scurry across the rocky trails. No shepherds or sheep today though, so we’ve spent the afternoon watching two clouds slowly drift across the horizon. I break the lethargic afternoon silence by biting into my three-day old bread. The crack of its calcified crust deadens the portending cry of the morning dove. “That sounded like it hurt,” my friend quips under his drooping beret. “Definitely wasn’t the sound I was hoping to hear yea,” I laugh in return. I toss the hunk off the mountain, watching it fall until it disappears in the mist below. Propping myself on my elbows I stare at my friend lying peacefully beside me. I chuckle at our fortune, two shepherds who joined the War for adventure and excitement end up back where we started, sleeping on a mountain. War never works out the way you planned. A quiet sigh emerges from my friend’s pursed and I hesitate to ask the question that has weighed on my mind since we joined all those months ago. “Hey Erruki?” “Yea?” I turn back to the clouds, their effortless company mirroring ours, “What’re your plans? You know, after the war.” “Stay with the Party,” he replies simply. “I see…” He lifts his beret, “what about you?” “Oh… I don’t know. Maybe start my own farm somewhere.” I blush at the aloofness of my answer. Exposing myself so openly to my friend has never been easy for me, especially when sharing my most desperate dream. “Oh yea?” he answers casually, “not with the Party?” I ignore the slight edge in his voice, he’s probably annoyed at being woken up. I should apologize. “Sorry for uh, waking you,” I blush again, “we can talk about this later, if you want.” “No, no. I’m awake.” He pushes himself up and sits cross-legged across from me placing his rifle in his lap, his eyes narrowing into mine. “Why don’t you want to stay with the Party?” He asks again. I can’t meet his burrowing gaze, “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just… I wanna do my own thing, you know? I wanna live my life, build my own home… start a family?” Words I had to force through clenched teeth and burning cheeks. A lifetime spent together, and I uttered those hopeful words so unceremoniously atop an empty mountain. I’ll be kicking myself about this for years to come. Unless… ? “Hmm,” he muses, “don’t you think the Party could help you though? We have programs for farming, housing and marriage. Why do you feel the desire to do it on your own?” He, didn’t answer. Maybe, maybe, he didn’t realize the question was directed at him. “No, I wanna do it on my own,” I assert again, “with… with someone special to me. The Party has given us the opportunity to be independent, and we should capitalize on it.” “Capitalize?” He sneers. My guilt ignites what remains of my face. I desperately try to dissipate the growing tension, “That’s not what I mean! This is what I wanted from the beginning, before I even joined the Party!” Despite my earnestness I remain unable to meet his frenzied gaze. The renewed silence between us is bereft of its previous ease. “I joined the Party because I wanted to make a difference, to live a better life.” I admit softly. “I joined the Party to crush the Opposition, as we all did, as we all PLEDGED to do. I joined to win this War for the Party!” “And what will you do when the War ends, Erruki? What will happen to the Party when the War ends? What will, we, do?” “The Party will last forever,” he recites without hesitation, “what to happen to the Opposition, or to you, is not my concern.” His razored words destroy my hopeful dreams and I rise to my feet with tears streaming down my face. “Not your concern? I’m, not your concern?” “I joined the Party, and this insufferable War to make a difference, to give people a chance of a better life, to be happy for Christ’s sake! But I also joined for you. I joined so I wouldn’t have to be apart from you, and for the hope, the stupid, desperate hope that maybe, MAYBE after all this is over, you and I could go back to the way things were, just you and I… together.” “Things will never go back to the way things were. So long as the Opposition exists, the War will continue.” “The Opposition aren’t intangible ideologies Erruki they’re living people, and regardless of how much you or I or the Party disagrees with them, they have just as much of a right to exist as we do, and I will fight for their right to exist just as much as I fight for ours!” His arms clench around his rifle, “If you are not for the Party, you are against it, and to be against it…” “… is death.” I finish solemnly. He grips his rifle. I watch the two clouds vanish into the blue sky. “I know our Party’s policy, and if wanting peace, if wanting happiness, if wanting you makes me an enemy…,” I turn back to my childhood friend, “then you’ll have to kill me.” And so he did.


Whenever he played in the driveway at home, Kieran would use his worn out, backup sneakers. The rough brickwork was harsh on any shoes, and he wasn't about to damage the Adidas pair he uses on game day. Ordinarily, Kieran would take the short walk and use the public court in the park, but apparently it was forecast to rain. He didn't mind all that much though; apart from the uneven surface and the slightly lower hoop, practicing at home wasn't too bad. Most of his best memories with a basketball in hand happened right on that driveway. Kieran went through his usual warm up routine. Bounce the ball thirty times with his left hand, then again with his right. A few stretches in, he felt loose enough to get going. He decided to start with his favourite move to pull off in a game, a step back jump shot. This was one he didn't get to do often, so he practiced it most on days like this when he was shooting alone. His body still felt warm from the dribbling exercises, but in the stiff breeze he found himself tightening the drawstrings on his hoodie. As always, he took broad, aggressive steps charging towards the basket. The trick was to make his defender think he was driving in for a close range layup, then suddenly step backwards to create space for a shot. But as he leapt back, his forefoot caught on a raised brick and rolled his ankle under the weight of his body. Kieran winced audibly, more annoyed with himself than in pain. He'd twisted both ankles multiple times at this point, as a shifty point guard it comes with the territory. The ball fell out of his hand and rolled away as he sat in the driveway taking the opportunity to catch his breath. Once he'd collected himself, he rubbed his ankle and immediately he could tell this was worse than usual. He knew it wasn't serious, but it was sore enough to cut his solo session short. He got up and limped gingerly back to the house, quietly cursing each time he put weight on his right foot. A few steps from the door, he felt the first drops of rain on his nose. 'Just as well', he thought to himself. Walking into the house, he noticed the drawing hung up in the foyer. He'd seen it hundreds of times, but for whatever reason, he found himself staring it today. It was a pencil sketch of the Colosseum, nothing particularly special and obviously meant as preparation for a larger work. In the bottom left corner it was signed 'ES'. Just then, his father Mason walked in holding his reading glasses and a book of sudoku puzzles. Mason was chewing something, he'd obviously just been in the kitchen. "Back so soon huh? Did the rain cut you off?" Kieran paused for a moment and pulled his eyes off the drawing. "Uh no, actually. I twisted my ankle." "Again? Maybe you should get one of those ankle guards Coach Gav was talking about." "Maybe," Kieran responded. "But I don't like how they feel when I've got socks on." "Ah well, your call I guess. It'll save you a little pain though." Mason could tell his son was distracted, usually Kieran would be buzzing after a basketball practice. "What're you looking at there?" Mason asked. Kieran tried to shrug it off, but didn't do a very good job of it. "Oh it's just this drawing of the Colosseum." By that point Mason had finished whatever snack he was chewing on, and a soft smile crept onto his face. "Ah. Did I ever tell you the story about that picture, son?" "That it's one of Mom's sketches?" "Indeed it is. But this one was special to her." Kieran shifted awkwardly on his feet. Mason couldn't tell if it was because of the ankle, or because he'd brought up Esther. Some days Kieran seemed uncomfortable talking about his mother. Mason cleared his throat and decided to change the subject. "Well, I've got a stack of sudokus that won't solve themselves. Rest up and get some ice on that ankle." Mason winked and trapped Kieran on the shoulder with the book as he left the foyer. He stopped in a doorway and turned back at Kieran. "Wait, where'd you leave the ball?" "Shoot, I think it's outside." "In the rain?" Kieran sighed, annoyed with his father's statement of the obvious. "I'll go grab it now," he said. "No no, don't worry about it. You go rest your ankle and I'll get the ball." "Thanks." Kieran trudged up the stairs to the bathroom and started running the water to take a shower. * * As Kieran took a shower, Mason stepped into the living room and saw Tobin at the kitchen table. She had her laptop open and her glasses on, but Mason could tell she wasn't working. He took a seat across from her, excited for a chance to chat. "So?" He said with a calm smile. "How's college going." Tobin looked up at him and returned his smile. "It's been a lot, Dad. Pharmacy's no joke" She waited for Mason to stop chuckling before she continued. "It's been good though. Just a lot work". Mason nodded knowingly, remembering his days as an IT major. "Yeah college'll do that to you, but at least the vac is soon. You got lots of assignments still?" Tobin took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes as she stifled a yawn. "Not assignments, but a couple of tests. I've got one on Tuesday actually." "Tuesday? That's soon. Will you be able to prep before you drive back on Sunday night?" "Yeah I'll be fine. I almost decided not to come for the weekend, but I figured I could study from here." "Smart," Mason responded, but he knew there was no stopping Tobin from coming home. Not on this weekend. "It's probably for the best anyway. It'll be good for Kieran to have you around." "Of course," Tobin said softly, as she leaned back in the chair. "How's he been doing lately?" Mason frowned thoughtfully. "I'm not sure to be honest. You know it's always hard to tell with him. I think he gets a lot of conflicting feelings around his birthday." "Understandably," Tobin replied. "It's a hard time for all of us." "I know. I'm just never sure if I should talk to him about it." "He can be hard to read. I could try talk to him if you'd like." Mason knew Tobin wasn't asking permission. She was going to talk to Kieran regardless. "That's probably a good idea." They sat in silence for a moment, both looking pensive. Then Kieran walked in, drying his hair with a towel. "Squirt!" Tobin exclaimed. She was genuinely happy to see her brother, but also trying to mask the conversation they'd just had. "What were you guys talking about?" Kieran asked on his way to the fridge. Mason hesitated, but with his face in the fridge Kieran didn't notice. "Dad was just asking about college. I've got a couple tests coming up and he was worried I wouldn't have time to prep," Tobin intervened. "Heh, sounds like Dad," Kieran retorted, as he bit into a plum. Even Mason laughed at that one. "Hey, it's only because I care," Mason said in defence. Kieran continued. "Do you still have a lot you need to do, Toby?" "A fair bit, but I'll get through it," Tobin replied. The conversation lulled for a moment, with Kieran leaned against the fridge. Tobin broke the silence. "So Squirt, what's the plan for your birthday tomorrow?" Kieran tossed the plum pit and took a seat at the head of the table. "Not much. Coach Gav wants us to run some plays for the game next week, then I'm gonna head to the library to work on a research project." "Doesn't sound like much of a birthday," Mason observed. "What are you doing in the evening?" "A couple of us are gonna go over to Kevin's and hang out for a bit." "Oh bummer," Tobin wailed. "That means I'll hardly get to see you." "Well, you did say you've got essays to get through," Kieran stated drily. "Tests," Tobin corrected. "But fair enough." Mason looked out the window. It was starting to get dark. "Well, it's getting late. I'm gonna run to the store and grab some stuff for dinner. Anything you guys want?" Both kids shook their heads as he stood up. "Alright, but don't whine at me if I forget anything." Mason stepped out, leaving the siblings at the table together. "So," Tobin crooned playfully. "Any girls coming to Kevin's tomorrow night?" Kieran's a lousy liar on this subject. He struggled to stop a smile and looked away. "Nah, just the guys from ball," he answered, after composing himself. "Really? No girls? That's lame," Tobin teased. Kieran took the bait. "Well, maybe one. She hasn't confirmed yet." Tobin slapped the table triumphantly. "I knew it! Sadie's gonna be there isn't she?" "Uh no actually. Her name's Charis." By this point he couldn't hide his smirk, and almost didn't care that Tobin could see it. She was confused for a moment. "Charis? Who the heck is Charis?" Kieran could hardly contain himself and the smirk grew wider. "She takes pictures for the school paper." "Charis sounds boring. What happened to Sadie?" Kieran thought for a moment. "I dunno. It stopped being fun I guess." Tobin's mouth dropped, and she burst out laughing. "It stopped being fun?" Kieran got on the defensive, and all he could manage was a feeble, "Yeah". "Did you tell her that?" Tobin asked. Now it was Kieran's turn to laugh. "Why would I do that?" "So that she knows it's over." "That sounds like breaking up." "And you're not breaking up?" "Well, we were never really together so we can't break up." Tobin conceded the point and raised her hands. "Fair enough. But you know you're a pig, right?" Kieran misread her tone. "Maybe," he said, grasping at the towel around his neck. "But Charis doesn't know that yet." "Wow," Tobin said as she got up. "Have your fun now, Squirt, but this won't fly in college." On her way out she smacked him gently on the side of his head. "Don't break anyone's heart.


Kaylee opened her eyes. Before her, an infinite blackness stretched out in all directions, interrupted only by pinpricks of light from what she somehow knew were distant stars. She was dimly aware that something about her had changed, but couldn’t quite put a finger on it. It was then that she realized she didn’t have a finger; She had no body at all. She tried to remember where she had come from, but could conjure only hazy memories that flitted away almost as soon as they came. She realized she should panic, she should be afraid, but no such emotions would come to her. “Hello,” someone said in a voice that seemed to come from all around her and from nowhere. The voice was neither male nor female, loud nor soft, here nor there. ”Hello?” she responded. “Sorry about that” the voice said. “Sorry about … what?” “That existence. It wasn’t what I intended.” “Oh.” Kaylee was silent for what seemed like a long time, before venturing to speak again. “So are you… umm…” ”Yes.” She thought again for a long time, and realized she had always known there was something- some*one* out there. It was true. It was real. It was *all* real. Something was real. Kaylee couldn’t be sure how much time had passed before she spoke again. “How did I… uh… get here? What is… here?” The voice didn’t immediately respond, and she worried that it was gone. Long moments passed; or perhaps centuries. It was really impossible to tell. Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, came a response. “Well, there is no ‘here’ anymore. There isn’t much of anything for you anymore, I’m afraid. It’s very hard to explain. As for how you got here… your existence is at an end.” “Oh. So I’m dead?” “If you want to think of it that way.” From the tone of the voice, it sounded as if the being was shrugging. “Regardless, this is the end.” ”End of what?” ”Earth. Life. The Universe.” “Everything?” Kaylee was afraid just for the briefest of instances, before realizing there was nothing to be afraid of; Not anymore; Not ever again. “Everything except me” came the matter-of-fact response. ”Oh.” For a long time after that, Kaylee merely existed. Or perhaps she didn’t. She wasn’t sure about anything anymore. As she stared into the infinity ahead of her, one of the distant points of light blinked out. She stared at the spot where it used to be, then after another long wait, another one disappeared, then another, and another. Something like fear gripped her, though she was sure there was nothing to be afraid of. ”So what happens now?” she asked. Another long silence. “I will start over. Everything begins anew.” ”And… to me?” There was a momentary pause, as though the voice was considering how to respond. “Hmm… Do you remember where you were before you were born?” ”No...I guess not” Kaylee admitted. ”You’re going back.” ”Oh.” She focused on the little distant dying stars. They were going faster now, one or two a year. “When do I go?” she asked after a hundred centuries. “‘When’ is not a concept I deal in. To me, you are already gone and have been gone for longer than your mind can comprehend. ” “So…” Kaylee struggled to comprehend what she was being told. “I’m already gone?” ”Yes” “Then there’s not really anything to worry about” she concluded. “There never was” the voice assured her. After eons upon eons of watching, the last point of light diminished and disappeared. Every photon in the universe had been exhausted, leaving only black. After a millennium of utter darkness, Kaylee tried to remember what her existence was like before she came here, but her memories betrayed her, faded away just like the rest of the universe. Realizing there was nothing to hold on to anymore, that there was nothing to be afraid of, Kaylee let go at long last. As the energy that had once been Kaylee dissipated into nothingness, returning to the void from where it had come, she voiced the final thought of her existence to anyone or anything who was still listening. “Well, that’s the end of all that then, isn’t it?” And it was.


“So...how did you find out?” “Well, I came home yesterday and there was the cat strangling the mailman.” “Strangling the mailman? The cat??” “Yessir, cat strangling the mailman. You wouldn’t believe the noise and the…hey! Watch yourself now!” Ron and Paul were busy heaving the logs from one pile to another, and Ron very nearly had his head crushed by a pair of logs in the pile. They were relatively boring logs though, heavy as they were. The deep red wood stained the pairs satin overalls with each heave and the molten lead secreting from the bark lent itself to the rotten coconut smell in the air. They were ice cold to the touch. “Stupid logs. They really need to give us better tethers for these things. Somebodies gonna lose their grip on one of these and its gonna float off into the sky. Probably knock a plane out of the sky I bet. I’m telling you Paul this is ridiculous and that’s without this god damn smell!” Ron threw down his end of the log; it bounced harmlessly against the pile as it settled under the straps. “Yeah no kidding. But anyway…suffice to say I no longer have a cat and I’m not sure if they’re going to deliver the mail anymore. How the hell I’m supposed to get my checks I don’t know.” “Well did you tell them about the cat?” “Oh yeah, get this: they didn’t believe me! I dragged the man’s corpse into the lobby and you know what they said?” “What they say?” “They said that could be any offices postman! They told me I needed to prove it was theirs! What the hell??” “Fuckin' bureaucrats man.” “Fuckin' bureaucrats. Its fine though I just left the corpse there. Wasn’t about to drag it back all over town. People’d think I'm nuts or something.” “That'd be great though wouldn’t it? Walk into the butcher with your corpse in tow and you can just be like ‘What? It’s my dog!’” This elicited a hearty round of chuckling from some of the nearby workers. Paul just shook his head in exasperation. It was a very trying few days, and having to deal with a lawyer with blood on his hands was embarrassing enough. What was he going to tell his parents? He couldn’t use the cat strangling excuse again. That only works like, twice. The work bell rang just as they heaved the last log into place and strapped it down; though not very well. Paul wasn't paying too much attention as he had to fill out the rest of the dropship form. This load was off to Louisville to make some very fine bum-fodder. As they walked to punch out, Ron slapped Paul in the back reassuringly, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him close. He could see the worry on his face; it was the least he could do. “Listen, it'll work out. Worst thing that could happen is you lose half your stuff, and that ain’t so bad. Just gotta keep keepin' on you know what I mean?” “I s’pose so.” “That’s the spirit. Come on, I’ll buy you a beer and may be we'll beat up some school children, that sound like a plan?” “Yeah…yeah okay.” If there was one thing that could cheer Paul up after yet another cat-on-mailman strangling, it was assaulting children. The sun began to set behind the Lumber Yard as they trotted down the path back into their quaint little valley town; against the blinding orange light one could just make out a black object floating into the sky as a plane crossed the sun. Nobody heard the collision.


***SPIRIT*** The sharp winter air cut through the pervading silence of Hayabusa National Park, silencing Riku’s mind with a sudden jolt of intense chill. The extreme temperatures offered a brief respite from the torturous thoughts that plagued him. His body was now in survival mode, shivering intensely in a feeble attempt to warm itself. His thin skater hoodie and jeans, insufficient to provide the warmth it needed. The events of the day kept replaying in his mind: the shouting, the arguing, the crying and the horrible depression that followed. His only escape was the park. Midday seemed like it had just passed, but the flickering shadows of the beech and fir tree branches, dancing in the dim light of the park lamps announced the arrival of night. Riku sat at the bottom of the giant stone bleachers in the centre of the park, a massive oval shaped fish pond lay across from them, past the well trodden dirt path and across the bank of grass separating them. Surrounding the central pool was a multitude of winding paths, dim street lights and endless trees, a beautiful, calming place, the only place in fact where Riku could compose himself after the usual routine of family dysfunction. It had become a daily occurrence. At 17 years old he cut a gangly figure, just coming out of the awkward teenage growth spurt, the park light not revealing his freckled light brown skin tone, nor the piercing green eyes that no matter how you looked at them, seemed to reveal a wisdom beyond the years of any 17 year old. However, to the well seasoned observer, one could detect a hint of constant anxiety, the dark storm brewing evermore in his soul. ‘’When did this all start?’’ Riku thought to himself. Growing up without a father had left a void in his soul, an open wound that just would not heal. He saw pictures of his Dad, a dusty blond haired, shrewd faced man, pointy nose and deep creases in his forehead, revealing years of apparent stress. But pictures never helped anyone Riku thought, pictures never helped the constant alcohol that his older sister brought home, drowning in perpetual sorrow after another gruelling day at her cubicle job. When Riku’s mom had passed away shortly after he was born, his father left shortly after, leaving his then 15 year old sister in charge. She loved Riku; but over time darkness ensnared her heart in a cruel, inescapable net. Chaos and turmoil was the regular atmosphere at home. Being the younger Riku had to bear the full brunt of this, day in and day out, ever since it started at around 10 years old. Constant arguments and endless hurling insults. But through it all, deep down in what was left of his already shattered heart, Riku was helpless in feeling nothing but love for his sister, and his only wish was to help her, but with his already turbulent life he often felt overwhelmed, overshadowed and inadequate. As he sat on the giant stone steps, oddly comfortable for nothing but worn out concrete, he knew he couldn’t go back to this life one second more. ‘’What do I do? What can I do?’’ he anguished. The winter wind suddenly picked up, a mixture of brown and white as the remnants of Autumn leaves and snow intertwined. The wind got stronger and stronger, Riku was a bit alarmed now. Out of nowhere, a sound resembling the howling cry of lost souls penetrated the night. Riku suddenly fell into a trance, he felt as though the wind was talking to him. He could feel a presence in it, something much bigger than him, much greater than his mind could comprehend. Riku was never a religious or spiritual type of person but he certainly had no idea of what this feeling could possibly be. The wind grew stronger and stronger, hurricane force speeds could have been clocked for all he knew. ‘’This is it, I’m going to die’’ he thought. At first he kept his calm, as part of him wanted dearly to depart this earth, to leave all the turmoil behind. An image of his sister flashed in his mind, the soft brown eyes, delicate eyelashes and pink floral patterned summer dress that she wore during happier times came to the forefront of his mind. Panic ensued, “I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE HER YET’’ was the new, dominant thought, surging through him, but the wind did not stop. Picking up in force by the second, the howling became a deafening roar, a cacophony of confusion, sadness, leaves and snow surrounded him. Then, silence. Sand. Heat. Two things polar opposite to the sensations he experienced a moment before. Riku opened his eyes, and what he saw floored him. A massive flat, sprawling desert lay in front of him, a ray of sunlight shimmering and dancing in the red sand. The sand itself was soft, with a texture reminiscent to silt, not like beach sand. Riku was in the same position as he was on the stone bleachers, only now he knew two things. One: the profuse sweat dripping down his face and the grainy feel of sand under his pants meant he wasn’t dreaming, and two: he wasn’t in Japan anymore. Riku suddenly noticed he wasn’t directly in the sun’s brutal rays, for what seemed miles in front of him lay a massive shadow resembling a tree extending almost ominously, and Riku found himself directly in its shade. He turned around, and what greeted his eyes left him speechless, not that he was saying anything in the first place, but a fitting description nonetheless of the absolute awe-inspiring object in front of him. It was a massive Cryptomeria tree, 100 times bigger than **Jōmon Sugi** (**縄文杉)** the biggest cryptomeria or Yakusugi tree in Japan. It was at least 20000 metres high, with an extremely thick trunk, akin to multiple suits of armour stacked one on the other. It’s jutting branches climbed high into the brilliant blue sky, and from Riku’s position he could barely see the summit, so tall was this otherworldly tree. ‘’Stand!’’ a deep voice barked. Riku jumped up in surprise. He quickly turned around to see an old man, his flowing white hair and silver beard fluttering in the wind. The man’s face had no distinguishable features, except one thing, his eyes were completely white, devoid of any iris or pupils. “Who.. who are you?’’ Riku asked quaveringly. “I am all that has come to pass and will come to pass, I am night and I am day, I am the end and the beginning,’’ answered the old man. Still utterly bewildered by the whole situation, this ambiguous response was of no help to Riku. “Look old man, I’m in a bad mood, I don’t have time for silly riddles.’’ snapped Riku. The old man, wearing nothing but grey robes, produced what looked like a wooden training sword or ‘bokken’ and threw it in front of Riku. “Attack me.’’ he said. Riku stared at him. “This guy is mentally ill or something ‘’ he thought, ‘’what is he going on about, attack him?’’ Riku stood still, not daring to move. Before he could utter another word he found he was gasping for breath, as if an invisible hand was crushing his windpipe, increasing in strength with every passing second. ‘’ATTACK’’ the man thundered. Riku’s body acted instinctively, as if knowing the more he stood still the more he would gasp for breath. He picked up the sword and blindly charged at the man, hoping this terrible nightmare he had found himself in would somehow come to an end with this attack. The whole thought of it seemed ridiculous to him later on, but in the moment he couldn’t process what was happening. The man deftly sidestepped Riku, disarmed him with swift hands and slammed him back on the ground. Hot tears mixed with scorched red sand filled Riku’s eyes. Winded from the blow, desperately dehydrated from the sun and physically and emotionally drained; he felt hopeless once more, just like he felt in his own world, even here in this alien place, his emotions never changed. Suddenly a small puddle of water appeared in front of him. “Drink.’’ ordered the man. Riku didn’t need to think twice. Severely dehydrated, he guzzled the crystal clear water in the blink of an eye. Feeling refreshed and no longer like his windpipe was about to explode, he asked the man, softly this time, “Please sir, would you kindly tell me who you are?’’ Riku swore he saw a brief smile flash across the man’s expressionless face as he replied. ‘’I am the Spirit of the great tree you see over there. There is nothing in this world beside a barren desert, yet in the middle of it The Great Yakusugi tree was able to grow, do you know why?’’ asked the man. Riku shook his head, unable to comprehend fully what he was being told. ‘’I know who you are Riku Hashimoto. I have been with you since the day you were born. I am the one who brought you here, and it is me who will send you back. I watch over your world in spirit form, where no one is able to see, hear or touch me, but I see all, I hear all, and I feel all.’’ ‘’In your world there is constant hatred, anger, jealousy and all manner of sin that blinds humans to their true potential. People chase after uncertain futures, consumed by the fires of greed and lust for power. Superficiality has become the normal routine for many, as the truth of the world has long been lost and skewed over the ages. The teachings of the prophets of old have been forgotten, and every person has their own idea of what the world should be like, mixing it with their personal wants and needs, but lacking the humility to accept a greater understanding of the world around them.’’ ‘’There is however one saving grace, young Riku. It is Love. True love holds a power so great no mortal seeking physical gain and riches can comprehend it. It transcends all knowledge and human understanding, it is the key to the truth of the universe that you exist in.’’ ‘’This realm I have brought you to, is the realization of what is inside your soul.’’ All around you is barren wasteland, scorched by a relentless sun, representing years of pain and inner turmoil, which over time destroyed the once vibrant forests and trees that once grew when you were born. All that is left is this great Yakusugi tree. You thought you were going to die Riku, but just before you perceived your last moments, the love you held for your sister overtook you, despite your harsh upbringing and family life, you still clung to true love with no remorse till the end. This tree represents that love. An immovable force of life even in the most barren of deserts. Such is the power I speak of’’. ‘’Your selflessness even in your last moments moved me, so much so I decided to give you a second chance at life, Riku Hashimoto. It is not often in your world a human can make such a deep connection with the true power of the spirit.’’ ‘’From now on I will guide you in your life, no longer will your heart be troubled, you will see truth in everything you do, and will develop a perception of reality different from anything you’ve experienced before. I will call you here again Riku. There are countless worlds like these, each filled with their own mystery, sometimes joy, sometimes misery. You will be my apprentice in cleansing each world of hatred and despair, developing your spiritual power along the way.’’ Riku stood still, a sense of inexplicable calm enveloped him, as if something in him had changed permanently. He felt like an eternity had passed in that strange reality, and his eyes began to droop, the wind suddenly picked up again. The sand blew in all directions, a whirlwind of red filled the atmosphere, and the shadowy silhouette of the old man faded into the distance. Despite all this, Riku continued to drift off to sleep. When Riku woke up, he noticed he was lying down on the same stone bleacher from the previous night. ‘’What a crazy dream’’ he thought to himself. With a weary sigh, he got up. ‘’Time to go home and do this all again, the lament of poor old Riku Hashimoto continues’’ he thought. As he took his first step, Riku felt something uncomfortable in the neck of his weathered hoodie, something itchy, something grainy. With a tentative shake, Riku watched in awe as something red fell to the ground. It was the same blood red, silt-like sand from his ‘dream’. \ **©Richard Pargass Spirit Story 2020.** Edited by T.


Two weeks in and the best thing about Italy was still the wine. After a day of wandering through cobbled streets Kieran loved nothing more than nabbing a bottle from the Cantu's collection to share with Galilea. At first he was worried about getting caught, but Galilea assured him that her parents would never notice. Her father was a diplomat, and on a night like this he'd be at some important event with his wife; Galilea could never keep track. A part of Kieran felt bad stealing from the family that so generously offered to host his stay in Rome, but knowing their hospitality they'd probably have offered him a few glasses if he wasn't underage. Galilea emerged from the cellar holding a dark red bottle above her head. "Check this one!" She squealed as she handed the bottle over. "Today we only drink good stuff!" Kieran let out a mischievous laugh as he examined the bottle. "Damn, Lea, where'd you find this?" Galilea looked puzzled for a moment. "It was underground in the cellar. Did you not look when I was going there?" Kieran saw her wide eyed expression and realised she didn't get the reference. He found it endearing when she didn't understand him. "It's a joke from back home," he started to explain. "But nevermind that, grab some glasses and I'll put on some music." Galilea nodded and happily skipped off to the kitchen. Kieran watched her and smiled to himself. It was refreshing being surrounded by a different culture and different people. Hanging out with Lea was great, and Kieran didn't mind at all that she struggled a bit with English. in fact, he liked that about her, but he wasn't sure why. He connected his phone to her bluetooth speaker and shouted to the kitchen. "What music are you in the mood for?" "Whatever" she yelled back. "Play what you are thinking." At first Kieran was annoyed by her indecisiveness. Then he realised this was an opportunity. Galilea was the only person he felt comfortable goofing off with. Most girls took themselves too seriously but with her, things were different. Everything felt natural. He wanted to play something mellow, so he found a Drake playlist and put it on shuffle. "Ooh my favourite!" Galilea said as she stepped back into the living room. She was holding two wine glasses and a bag of marshmallows. "Get over here, join the party," Kieran said as he took a seat on the couch. He turned up the volume, secretly glad that she liked his choice of music. "No no, let us dance," Galilea said as she poured the wine. Any other time, Kieran would have laughed at the suggestion; he hated dancing. But on this night, with this wine, he made an exception. Especially for this girl. "Alright," he agreed. "But I'm not nearly drunk enough. Let's make a toast." "Nice idea!" He stood up and took one of the glasses from Galilea. He raised it as he looked into her soft, dark eyes. He thought of making a silly, joke toast, but the moment was too perfect. He wanted to capture this night in words he would remember. "To youth and being young." "Youth and being young." Galilea repeated. Their glasses clinked and she held his stare with the music swirling around them. They both gulped down the Chianti and Galilea opened the dancefloor. She waved her hands wildly and tossed her dark hair about. Kieran chuckled to himself. She was no ballerina but dammit, she was fun. He set his glass down and tried to match her energy. She took his hands and laughed as they tried to move in sync. ~ A few glasses later Kieran returned to his spot on the couch. He felt warm from the wine, and his body felt lightweight but heavy at the same time. Galilea joined him, sitting much closer than she ever would if her parents were around. She buried her head in his chest, and Kieran put his arm around her. "Your body is smelling bad today," she teased. Kieran wasn't fazed. "It's all that jumping around you got me to do. I really worked up a sweat there." Galilea giggled and looked up at Kieran. Her cheeks were red from the wine, and from this close he could see the freckles around her nose. She watched his smile as he spoke, seemingly entranced. "Your mouth is so pretty when you are happy." "What?" Kieran responded. He didn't quite catch what she said and turned down the music. Galilea giggled some more. "Your mouth, when you are happy. How do you say in English-" "You mean my smile?" "That's it, your smile. It is beautiful." Kieran paused briefly, then looked back at her. "Why, thank you, Lea." She looked back at him, and slowly began to draw closer... Then the music stopped. And Kieran's ringtone started playing from the speaker. "Crap," he said, fumbling to find his phone. He declined, and leaned his head back on the couch. "Who was it?" Galilea asked. "I'm not sure, I didn't actually check." The phone rang again. This time he looked, and it was his sister Tobin. She probably wanted to check in and see how the trip was going, but Kieran decided that could wait. He declined again. "I will get my phone and it will be the music," Galilea said as she got up. As she left, Kieran received a text from Tobin: "Hey. Call me when you can. It's urgent." Kieran sat up, slightly concerned. He called Tobin. "Hey Kieran." "Hi Toby, I saw your missed calls. Is everything alright?" Tobin hesitated. "Something's happened. Are you sitting down?" "Yeah why, what is it? Is Dad okay?" Kieran could hear that Tobin was flustered. "Uh yeah, Dad is fine. Dad's okay. It's Gaston." Gaston worked with Kieran at the store back home. They became good friends, and Gaston's family paid for Kieran's trip to Italy. His blood ran cold. "What happened?" Tobin sighed heavily. "They found his body this morning." "What? No." "The police think he shot himself. I'm so sorry Kieran." Galilea re-entered the living room, holding her phone and another bottle of wine. "Are you still there Kieran?" Tobin asked. "Say something." Kieran looked around the living room, searching for something, anything to tell Tobin in response. "I-I have to go. I'll call you back." He hung up abruptly. Galilea had been standing in the doorway, unsure if she should intervene. She broke the silence. "Are you okay?" Kieran got up, and strode towards the door. "I have to go." He brushed past Galilea, but in her drunken state she stumbled back and dropped the wine bottle. "Kieran!" She yelled as the bottle crashed at her feet. Her phone clattered next to it. "I'm sorry, Lea, I have to go." Kieran repeated, fumbling with the lock to get outside. Tears were starting well in his eyes. "Where will you go?" Galilea asked, but she was answered with a slammed door as Kieran disappeared into the night.


Martin Moose was coming of age. A perky young stud. He was a Moose with lustre and potential, the universe was at his hooves. Martin was in fact a Moose who stood upright and dressed head to toe in clothing associated with a person of similar description to him minus the being a moose. He and his posse of other animal friends who's first and last names were alliterated, their first names being common forenames and their surnames being the species of animal they were. He and his posse, wow! What a bunch. Well it would be fitting to call this boisterous bunch a pack of party animals, but make no mistake, they were hard working animals that put some real graft into their studies at Animal University. They found a release from their day to day lives through the animal pool hall. Nobody loved the animal pool hall more than Martin Moose. A place were Martin could meet his peers, rack ehm up, shoot ehm and now and then court the local cows. It was Martin Moose's safe haven, his escape hatch from the harsh reality of animal life. One could say Martin Moose was moulded into the Moose he was through many an evening at the animal pool hall. Nights at the animal pool hall always had the potential to get a little wild, and believe you me they often did. One such night was the birthday party of Megan Mayfly. Megan Mayfly had just turned 14 hours old and the usual suspects were out in force. Never had Martin Moose seen the ol' hall so crowded. Martin couldn't so much as shake off his palmates without injuring one of his animal pals. A flurry of furry fun ensued and the night motored on. What a blast Martin Moose was having, shooting pool and catching up with animals he hadn't seen in an age. Amist the hustle and bustle of the party Martin Moose spotted Warren Wallaby hopping through the front door. Martin barraged his way through a sea of bodies to be the first to greet Warren Wallaby. Martin had always admirred Warren Wallaby. Ever since Martin was a calf he strove to emulate Warren Wallaby. Warren was an enigmatic wallaby who had gained a reputation through his ice cold demeanor. Martin Moose was infatuated with the idea of Warren Wallaby, who represented a jagged edge that Martin never truly had, being a moose that stayed on the straight and narrow. Whispers on the Animal University corridors spoke of lore surrounding the exploits of Warren Wallaby. He was rumoured to be anything from a petty thug to the Al Capone of wallabies. Martin Moose didn't know what it was Warren Wallaby got up to in his spare time, and he didn't really care. The unknown excited Martin Moose and injected inferno into his crystallised world. Alas, Martin greeted Warren Wallaby and they sat together, perched on two high stools overlooking the action on the animal pool table. Warren Wallaby was always open to Martin Moose's company. Truthfully Martin's desperation for his companionship sent Warren Wallaby on an ego trip he never could refuse. He didn't hold Martin Moose in high regard, all the animals could see it, all but Martin Moose. They spoke for almost an hour, never uttering anything meaningful or of substance, flapping heads. That changed when Warren Wallaby's black beady eyes lit up, as though he had awoken from a slumber, he was in the room for the first time in the night. He gestured to Martin Moose with a flick of his ear, pointing to the litterbox room. A curious Martin Moose obliged without hesitation and he followed Warren Wallaby as he hopped towards the litterbox room. Alone they stood, Warren Wallaby sported a dasterdly smirk as he gazed at Martin Moose from under his brow. Warren then slid his claw into his pocket, he didn't have a pouch as he is a male wallaby, he was wearing baggy jeans. From his pocket he flashed a small plastic zip lock bag containing white powder. Martin Moose's heart skipped a beat and a hot flush came over him. Martin was a naive moose but he knew exactly what Warren Wallaby's intentions were. Martin Moose had never taken drugs, granted he enjoyed some ale now and then, but he came from a family of catholic moose with strong moral values. Before Martin Moose could so much as flinch Warren Wallaby opened the bag and drew a small silver spoon from his jeans. He scooped out a generous serving of the powder and snorted it right up his snout. Warren Wallaby took a long deep breath, and then like a house on fire began wailing with furious anger as he frantically bounced around the litterbox room. Hopping from the floor to the wall and anywhere else he could launch himself from, now screaming out incoherently. Warren Wallaby abruptly composed himself. Panting and drueling he stared right through Martin Moose and softly propositioned "Let's let the moose loose". Martin Moose gulped. Warren's rampage had left him shell shocked. Martin wanted out of this situation pronto, but he was stuck, he had to face this situation palmates on. In a split second Martin Moose had an eternal internal battle that he had been having his entire life, would he walk on the wild side and allign himself with the wallaby he had worshipped from calfhood or did he possess the moral fibre to be true to the moose he was and reject Warren Wallaby's sinister offer. He knew what he had to do. A shaken and torn Martin Moose turned down Warren Wallaby. With a shake of his head Warren Wallaby turned his tail and hopped away, murmuring about square moose. Left isolated in the litterbox room Martin Moose pressed his elbows against the sink and looked deep into a dirtied mirror. The moose he locked eyes with in that mirror was not Martin Moose. He didnt recognised this particular moose, but he liked what he saw. He let his reflective moment pass by and marched back out into the ocean of animal pals. He and his oldest friend Gary Gnu shot some pool, Martin Moose considered telling Gary about the experience he went through earlier in the night but thought better of it. It was a monumental moment for Martin Moose and built the foundations of who he is as a moose. Such a moving personal experience is precious and for that precious experience he had Warren Wallaby to thank. He pondered if Warren would one day have a life altering experience like his but he let it go, he let Warren Wallaby go and closed the book, a book he had opened as a calf, gently closed by a man.


(WP) A Bitter Lovers’ Quarrel “I told you it didn’t have to happen this way,” His beloved snarled. She was sitting on the bed with her arms crossed, her full, luscious lips twisted in disgust. “I tried to tell you!” Her voice was soft, but carried an undertone of steel that would have sent him running for cover, had he been anyone else. But he was Paris, Prince of Troy, and he refused to be cowed, even by his own lover. Paris’s arms felt empty without Helen within them. Even though his lover was technically married to King Menelaus, it hadn’t stopped him from falling in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and after all that logic and reason flew straight out the window. “That was one of the members of my family, Paris. And now Hector is gone! I tried to tell you that there was a way out of this that didn’t involve war and bloodshed!” Her back was turned to him, and that alone felt like the worst sort of rebuke. For all her beauty, it was easy for even him to forget that she was a demigod, the King of the Gods her father. He wanted to say that she hadn’t protested when he’d stolen into her room that first night, and they’d kissed, never mind that her own husband was lying next to her. It was the first time that Paris had ever tasted her, and it was that madness that prompted him to steal her away from her husband and people. Both Trojans and Greeks wondered if the prince had been struck by one of Aphrodite’s stray arrows; that had to be the only reason that both armies were now falling to ruin. “I’m not sorry,” Paris replied at last, and once the words left his mouth, he realized that it was the truth. “Of course, you’re not sorry!” Helen snapped through gritted teeth. “Why would you be? He wasn’t part of your family.” She remembered all the time she’d spent with Hector, despite his seniority. He’d been as dear to her as her own father, and despite the fact that she adored Paris, she wasn’t certain if she could forgive this particular trespass. Before Paris could see them, Helen wiped her face of tears. Despite herself, she found herself missing her husband and Sparta. Standing on the other side of what could be her greatest impulse or ruin, Helen found her heart crumbling to pieces inside of her ribcage. How had this even begun? Was it her own way of distracting herself from her yawning, all-consuming boredom, despite being a queen with a loving husband? Had Paris been nothing but a shiny, well-oiled distraction from the gilded cage from which she’d ruled on high? She’d grabbed on to him with both hands, duty, decorum and all the gods be damned, never mind that she’d left her old life in shambles in doing so.


Dellian was not fond of this place. No, she was far from fond of it. The Northern Mistlands were not like her home in the west. The wet ground made a wet sloshing sound as her horse’s hooves embedded itself into it. There were no blue skies in this part of the world, no bright days, for a perpetual early morning seemed to hang over this land, shrouding it in the eternal mist that it was so known for. A mist so thick that she could barely see her fellow refugee that was riding, not but five feet to her side. What she could see was far from comforting. Trees either taller than the towers of the fallen city that she once called home, or short, crooked, and sad things that her father called weeping willows. Occasionally, she noticed bursts of movement in the mist that she preyed were just other refugees, not some malevolent force, plotting her gruesome demise just outside of her vision. In fact, she knew she had seen evil things here. Her only comfort was that she knew that those evil things were not real, just her mind shaping the mist into vague shapes that resembled the twisted things that had laid waste to her home. But it was a shallow comfort, as it meant only she was safe from the things that she could see, and not the overwhelming majority of things she could not. She rubbed one gloved hand across the back of her white mares’ neck, his mane wet with condensation. “Don’t worry, I know you're scared, but I’ll protect you” she whispered to the animal. She knew that he would not say anything back like the wise horses she had met once before, but she hoped that her lie comforted the animal. It served the purpose of raising her confidence a little at least. She knew that she had to be brave, if not for her, for her horse, and her dolly hidden under her oversized baggy cloak. And with her mother, and father obscured by the mist, it made the burden feel like hers, and hers alone. “Hold” a voice shouted from where she assumed was the head of the pack. She started to slow down her mare, happy to hear one of her companion’s voices again. But as her horse slowed to a stop, the mist started to fade a little. Ghostly horseback figures began to appear all around, and she was eventually able to make out the other refugees in their soaked hide cloaks. A small smile crept across her lips as she saw her father’s sturdy chestnut only about ten feet in front of her. But once the fog had lifted enough for her to see into the distance, she threw back her hood and stared forward in awe. They had stopped just at the edge of a bluff, and the rest of the Mistlands slay before them. A huge ocean of bluish-green foliage that seemed to never end. Untouched streams ran through the forest, and she caught a flock of birds taking to the sky from one of the trees. From this height she could even see the pale blue sky and the sun, its light hitting the mist down below, making it glisten. The fear didn’t leave her, after what she had seen she doubted it would ever leave her. But something else joined it in the pit of her stomach. She wouldn’t call it hope, for it was something less naive and self-centered. She felt determination.


Hi there, this is a short story i wrote for a contest in university. Let me know if you like it! Where was I? I felt like I was in some sort of limbo. As I looked around, the clouds whooshed past in the sky but time felt still. I couldn’t feel the wind on my face, I couldn’t hear the birds sing. Everything just felt wrong. I walked along the road that I was on, scraping my feet as I usually did without seeing the dust rise. The fields that surrounded the road were void of any vegetation, they were just grey. Do you remember when you were younger, before colour televisions were a thing and every program was black and white? Well I felt like I was in one of those television programs. I walked along the road farther when I distinguished a human silhouette in the far off distance. Maybe this person could help me, tell me something about where I am. I quickened my pace, walking faster and faster, trying to catch up to this unknown person who was slowly treading off into the distance. As I got closer I managed to make out what he was wearing. From the back it looked like a black suit, and black shoes that had been properly cared for, shined morning and evening with shoe polish. He held a long dark cane in his left hand with his hand firmly clasped around the knob, and as I glanced at his hand I noticed a jeweled ring on his left index finger. I called out to him but to no avail, he wouldn’t turn around or even answer me. I was starting to feel uneasy. As I reached out to grab his shoulder, my hand suddenly froze. The man stopped and turned around slowly. He was wearing a white shirt, recently ironed and a jet black tie. His dark hair was sleeked back, in a sort of 70’s style and he looked to be about in his late 60’s, early seventies as he had quite a few wrinkles in his pale face. I didn’t know this man, but his presence felt strangely familiar. Before I could even open my mouth to talk, he interjected. \- “You must have a lot of questions, come on now, ask away. I don’t have all day you know.” Who was this person? Where was I? I had so many questions to ask, so many that I couldn’t even blurt them out. \- “Come on now, spit it out.” \- “Who-, Where-, What- ? Where am I?” \- “We don’t really have a name for it, it’s gone by so many different names over the years, I guess you could call it purgatory.” \- “Am I dead?” \- “Well yes and no, technically yes, but also technically no. We’re talking now, so how can you be dead?” \- “I guess, I didn’t really think of that…” The man stuck his hand in his hair and sleeked it back. I had so many questions to ask him, how would I ever have the time? \- “Would you like to play a game of scrabble?” asked the man. \- “A game of Scrabble? I guess, it’s been a while since I’ve played though.” \- “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.” \- “Do you mind if I ask you some questions during our game?” \- “Of course not, ask away.” As we sat down at the table and chairs beside us, the thought did pop into my head of asking where they came from, but I guess that wasn’t really one of the more important questions. \- “So, who are you?” I asked. \- “My name? Well, it depends really on who you ask. I’d have to say my favourite has always been Mors.” \- “Mors? I’ve never heard that name before.” \- “Yes, it is quite an old name. The ancient romans used to use it quite frequently. I do admire their culture.” \- “So where are you from?” His eyes squinted at me. \- “I don’t see why you seem so interested in me when we should really be talking about you shouldn’t we? What you should be asking is why am I here, and why are you here? \- “There’s only the two of us here though, if I don’t ask about you then I have to ask about me.” \- “Afraid of what you mind find if you start asking questions about yourself?” \- “”Why would I be afraid of asking questions about myself?” \- “I see your point. Here’s your tiles, let’s play.” I picked seven tiles from the black velvet bag that Mors held out for me, I was pretty lucky and on my first draw I got a blank tile. I really hadn’t played in a while, but the tiles seemed to spell out words right in front of my eyes. I could see the words right in front of me. Mors politely invited me to make the first move, and I obliged. I put down my tiles and spelt out the word SLICED. I tried to hide my smile whilst passing on the double word tile. \- “I guess that gives you 18 points.” \- “Are you still so sure that you’re going to win?” \- “Maybe not, but I’m sure we will see. This will be a fun game.” He shuffled his tiles in front of him, then picked them up one by one slowly in his hands. He places them down one by one and spelt out the word SUNDER. Unlucky, that only gives him 14 points. We both plunged out hands back into the bag to pick our next letters. \- “So why are you here then?” \- “I’m a traveler. I like taking a stroll along the long and windy path and helping lost people like you.” \- “And playing scrabble helps me how?” \- “Do you not find it comforting to play a game with a stranger? I thought you liked playing games with people?” Mors squinted a bit whilst looking at me, as if he was staring into my soul. He seemed to know me better than I even knew myself. I brushed off his last remark and continued with my questions. \- “So if I’m in purgatory, that means I’m dead. Is there any way I can get my life back? Be resuscitated or something?” \- “I’m not really the best person to ask for being brought back to life you know. You’d be better getting on your knees and praying to the big man upstairs.” \- “You mean God?” \- “Yes, but eventually even God will need help to choose the path he needs.” \- “God will die?’ \- “Everything dies one day you know.” \- “How is it that I’m all alone with you? Am I important? Are you here to kill me?” \- “You seem to have an inflated self of importance you know, the world does not revolve around you. I’m only here to help, as I said. Whether you’re important or not really doesn’t matter to me.” \- “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come across as rude.” \- “It’s okay. What do you say we raise the stakes a bit, hmm? What do you say to a little wager?” \- “Sure, it’s not like I have anything to lose anyway.” \- “If you win, I’ll help you go back to your life, back to when you were a child knowing what you know now and let you reflect on your life choices and make better decisions.” \- “Okay, and what about if you win?” Mors leaned in close to my face and I could feel his breath across my cheeks as he spoke. \- “Then you go where I tell you and let me help the next lost soul that wanders these barrens.” \- “Okay, it’s a deal.” And so the game had finally really begun. We played slowly, nearly overthinking each tile put onto the board. I had to win, I had the choice of a lifetime, to go back to when I was young and relive my life differently. My mind went back to when I was younger, back to when I was a child in school. I always used to like school when I was younger, which surprised my parents and a lot of my family. It used to be so much fun, running around in the playground, going to class and learning to read, write, and spell… I remember there was this kid in my class when I was around seven or eight years old, no one really liked him. Most people left him alone, apart from me. I used to torment him. I bullied him relentlessly, sticking his head in the toilet and flushing it, punching him. I don’t know why I did it, I mean, I’m sure there was a reason. No one liked him, it was funny, and everybody laughed. That doesn’t make me a bad person though. My daydreaming was interrupted by the clinking of scrabble pieces in front of me. \- “Daydreaming are we? Remembering the path that brought you here?” \- “Yes, I mean, I was just remembering when I was at school and how much fun I had.” \- “I wouldn’t really call that fun now, would you?” \- “Does that make me a bad person?” \- “That depends what you mean. A bad person could be anyone. If you squish a bug are you a bad person? If you murder someone are you a bad person? It all depends on the context. I can’t really tell you if you’re a bad person, I’m sure you’ll make that decision yourself.” \- “I mean, I had the choice of tormenting that kid. And I took it. Looking back it probably wasn’t the best thing to do.” \- “Well maybe if you win you can go back and live your life differently, hmm?” \- “Yeah, maybe….” \- “Here’s my second word, RAZOR.” That word, it stung. Why would the word razor hit me so hard? How did Mors seem to know so much about my life? Did he know all the bad things I did? Was he here to punish me? Why was my mind wandering so much? Different memories kept coming and fading, different choices I made in my life that changed me for better, or maybe for worse. Were my decisions what lead me to where I was now? Should I regret what I had done? I wasn’t that bad of a person. I didn’t mean to do a lot of things. My hands trembled in front of me and spelt out the word BLOOD. \- “Free will is a tricky thing, isn’t it? But if you believe in God, do you believe you have free will, or is it all part of His plan?” \- “Will me believing have any consequences on what happens after? \- “Well I can’t really spoil it for you now, can I? But if you don’t believe in Him, why would He believe in you?” \- “Are you always going to act so philosophical when answering my questions?” \- “Let’s talk about something else, I’m sure you have a lot of other things to ask” \- “Is this chance a one-time thing? What happens if I die again, do I get to play another game with you and go back again?” \- “You may come back here, you may not. If you’re here it means that they’re not sure of where you go.” \- “So this is my only chance to redeem myself then.” \- “I guess you could say that” My scrabble skills had started to fail me, my words were getting shorter and shorter, WRIST, CAR, BABY, and never double or triple points. Mors was starting to pull ahead. I couldn’t think properly, my mind keeps wandering all the time. I kept remembering things about my life. Why were these words coming out? Every single one of my words hit me like a truck. I felt like I had been run over. Why were these memories coming back to haunt me? Was I a bad person? I never meant to hurt anyone. How did I become this person? Was I born like this? If I actually manage to win this game, what will I change? How will I relive my life differently? \- “Time is ticking you know…” \- “I forfeit.” \- “You forfeit? Are you sure? Then you know what happens next.” \- “I can never go back. Do I get to go to heaven?” \- “Come on now, you know very well it doesn’t work like that for you. This game isn’t the only thing you forfeited is it? Hmm? You know what happens when you forfeit.” I looked down at my wrists and saw the scars. Tears welled in my eyes as I understood what Mors meant. I never had the choice. It was all a sick game. The words, the idle chit chat. It was punishment. My choice had already been made long ago. Whatever I did now would not change what I had done in my life. Everything I did, the people I tormented, the lives I ruined, I made those choices by myself. There was no one else to blame but me. I got up off my chair and started slowly walking. I didn’t deserve to go to the garden, I had already made my choice a long time ago, before I had even gotten here. I was a terrible person, I didn’t deserve to go up to the clouds with the others. I made my choices and even if I could go back, I wouldn’t change them. Deep down, I’m a fucked up person. I have to pay for my sins. “I can’t even count the times I’ve played this game with the newly deceased. I’ve played them from the beginning. Could you imagine? Me, letting them go back to their old life and reliving it? No. It always has and always will end the same way, we’ll play a few rounds and the questions will keep coming. Then the reasons will come apparent. People forget how vile they are. Every single one thought they had a chance to beat me, but their free will was just an illusion. The dice are already set in stone, the game has already finished. I always win.” And with that, Mors got up off his chair, picked up his cane and continued walking down the dusty road, looking for the next lost person, singing to himself.


Logline: A man, feeling guilty about a crime he's just committed, goes to see his therapist to confess, will it help, or will he just make it worse? \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ The receptionist called Stan Foster into his appointment with his therapist; he's more nervous than he usually is. He sits directly across from his therapist, Doctor Ciara Ortega. They're sitting in silence for a minute, "All I say in this session is protected by patient-doctor confidentiality, right?" Stan asks. "Sure, everything you say in these sessions just remains with us," says Dr. Ortega. "Even if it's illegal?" Stan says. "Yes, even if it's illegal. Why don't you start by telling me what happened," Dr. Ortega says. "As you know, I work for Freeman Brothers Movers, so essentially, when we get a new job, I go in, and they give me the new assignment, I have no choice about who I work with, they just place us as we come in," Stan says. "I'm with you," Dr. Ortega says. "So, on a job last week, I'm put with two guys, Adam and Freddy. I've worked with Freddy before but never Adam. We head out to the location, and it's this huge mansion, some old rich lady is moving to a smaller town-house, she's downsizing, I guess, the closet in her bedroom is bigger than my whole apartment. So, we start to move her things; there are antiques, big bureaus, and all sorts of other heavy junk. We get to this back room that has about 80 boxes in it. Now, these boxes are sealed up pretty tight, triple taped with duck tape. They're heavy, each one is a dense package, but we start to load them up and bring them out to the truck. We're about halfway through when Freddy and I accidentally dropped one, and it tears open a bit. We see inside, and the box is jam-packed with stacks of cash, mixed denomination. Adam comes out to join us, and he figures there are about 100 million dollars in all these boxes," Stan says. "Just so I'm following along, you're moving a whole bunch of boxes, like 80 of them, and about halfway through you find out that the boxes are jam-packed with millions of dollars?" Dr. Ortega says. "That's right, well, anyway, as I was saying, Adam has this idea; he doesn't believe anyone knows that the money is here except the three of us and the old lady. There's no manifest for this move; she just put the money in a box and taped it. Adam makes a suggestion, what if we were to steal the money, make the old lady have an accident, and then split the cash," Adam says. "How did that make you feel?" Dr. Ortega asks. "At first, Freddy and I were skeptical of the idea; we're going to kill some old lady and steal her cash? It didn't feel right. However, as we're getting close to the end of the job, the old lady shows up and starts yelling at us for taking too long. She leaned into us; she said if we didn't speed it up, she was going to report us to our boss, gave us a whole bunch of guff. We were angry; it was at that point that Freddy and I got on board with Adam's plan. So we told the old lady that we would be there, with her stuff, later that night once we had packed everything up," Stan says. "How were you going to kill the old lady?" Dr. Ortega asks. "It was Adam's idea; he had an answer for everything. So we do finish packing the truck, but we put the boxes with the money in first so that they're at the back. The three of us drive to the new house, unload the front of the truck, so the old lady isn't suspicious. It was at that point, Adam took over, he was like a crazed maniac. He forced the old lady into her bedroom and smothered her with a pillow. I couldn't even watch; he was deranged," Stan says. "Oh my goodness, and what did you do from there?" Dr. Ortega asks. "We cleaned up, making sure not to leave any fingerprints, DNA where it shouldn't be, finish the job exactly how the old lady wanted. Then we drove the cash out to a storage facility. Adam had the whole thing worked out, his cousin owns the storage facility, he gave us a good deal on a unit and put it in some generic name. We spent the rest of the night loading those heavy boxes into the storage unit, locked it up, and went back," Stan says. "Okay, walk me through the next day," Dr. Ortega requests. "Freddy and I were starting to feel a little guilty on the drive back to the moving company, but we were in it now. It took about two days for someone to discover the body, but when I say this lady was old, it surprised no one that she passed away in her sleep. Adam told us that we had to wait to spend the money, any unusual spending would send up some red flags. We were paying close attention to the coverage of the woman's death, there was nothing suspicious reported, no mention of the money, and her family thought the stress of the move had killed her. We thought we were free and clear until the police called all three of us in for some questioning," Stan says. "The police, so they did suspect foul play?" Dr. Ortega asks. "They made our meetings at the police station, an hour apart from one another, I don't know whether that was to get us to turn on each other, but it kind of worked. Freddy was a wreck; he had the first meeting. We had our story straight, but we were worried Freddy was going to crack. We met for breakfast before the police questioning, Freddy could hardly keep it together, he couldn't remember basic facts from the story, Adam and I were concerned that we had liability on our hands. Adam walked Freddy back to his car, wished him good luck at the police interview, and then stabbed him in the abdomen. Adam killed Freddy, and that made me nervous," Stan says. "So, Freddy didn't show up to his police interview?" Dr. Ortega asks. "No, he didn't, Adam had set his car on fire out in the woods, slamming into a tree first, making it seem like an accident. As I said, Adam is a messed up guy. We still went through with the police interviews; I thought the questions were kind of easy; I didn't think the police suspected foul play. But, something had Adam spooked after the police interview," Stan says. "What do you mean, Adam was spooked?" Dr. Ortega asked. "He was acting weird; in fact, he wants to meet in the middle of an abandoned construction site, tonight. I'm a little nervous; I'm worried that he thinks I'm a liability and that he's going to kill me. I don't know what to do. If I don't show up, he's going to think I turned on him and he's going to come after me. If I show up, maybe he was going to kill me anyway," Stan says. "What's the name of the construction site?" Dr. Ortega asked. "It's the one down by Philomena Boulevard; the one shut down like three months ago," Stan says. "That's very secluded, not a good sign. Do you have some protection for yourself?" Dr. Ortega asks. "A gun? No, I don't have anything like that," Stan says. "Here's what you can do, when you get to the construction site tonight, tell Adam that you've told me about this meeting. That if you were to disappear for whatever reason, you instructed me to go to the police. That way, the two of you can have a conversation about what to do next," Dr. Ortega says. "Okay, I guess that makes sense, thanks, doc," Stan says. "Be careful, Stan, and don't forget to make an appointment with Roberta on your way out," Dr. Ortega says. It's a pitch-black, moonless night, Stan arrives at the construction site a little early, parks in the middle of the lot and waits for Adam. He comes and pulls up beside Stan and gets out of the car. "I think the police are onto us, something about the way they were asking their questions this morning," Adam says. Just as Adam finished the sentence, a gunshot rings out from across the lot, hitting Adam directly in the head. Out of the darkness comes Dr. Ortega. She holds the gun firmly on Stan. "I'm sorry Stan, but Adam was right, the police are totally on to you, you know they can tell when a pillow smothering is used in a murder, right?" Dr. Ortega asks. "How could you, what are you going to shoot me?" Stan asks. "Not quite yet, I need one little bit of information first, where's the storage facility?" Dr. Ortega asks. "I'm not going to tell you, you're going to have to shoot me," Stan says. "Wrong answer, Stan," Dr. Ortega says as she shoots Stan in the leg. "Alright, the money's at the storage facility on Grayson Avenue, the one with the inflatable security guard standing in the window," Stan says. "Unit number?" Dr. Ortega demands. Stan is in pain and holding his leg, Dr. Ortega fires a shot into the ground near his other leg, "unit number, Stan?" "35, the money is in storage container 35," Stan says. Dr. Ortega starts walking away from the construction site, turns around and shoots Stan in the head. Dr. Ortega went down to the storage facility, picked the lock on unit 35, and put the boxes into her truck. Dr. Ortega did not factor in that Adam had decided to work with the police, that he was wearing a wire to incriminate Stan at their meeting, that he captured the whole conversation and the murder at the construction site. A few days later, the police promptly arrested Dr. Ortega, attempting to get to Mexico.


The branches of trees clawed and slapped at Maya as she rushed through the forest, as if a desperate attack of holding her back. These woods were untamed, only the experienced town's hunters ventured as far out as she was currently. Maya didn't have time to worry about any of that, though. She looked around frantically for any sight of her dog, Spot. He had run out the door earlier. Maybe he had spotted a rabbit. "Spot!" Maya called out, her voice strained from all the running. To her delight, however, she heard a bark call out in the distance. She started making her way towards it. "Spot!" The barking grew louder and louder and more frequent. He must be standing still at this point, she thought. Maybe he was looking for as well. She slowed her pace, and he finally came into view. Breathing a sigh of relief, she leaned over and placed her hands on her thighs, panting profusely. "Spot," she said between pants, "you know not to-". As she spoke she rose her head slowly, and only then saw what Spot was barking at. A mountain lion. Her body began to shake. The large cat stared down her hound mix as if deciding where it was going to start eating him first. Maya didn't know what to do. Spot was her only thing close to a friend. He had been with her since she was nine years old. She wasn't ready to see him go yet. Eight years wasn't long enough, Spot had to be there for when she graduated and got a job and enough money to leave this stupid town. His stupid slobbery face was the reason she walked to school every day and the reason she ran back home. No, she wasn't going to sit by and watch him go. Maya picked up a branch on the ground, banging it on the trunk of a tree and yelling. The mountain lion averted its gaze to her. Maya walked closer, making as much noise as she could. Then she heard a snap, and felt a pang of vibration as the branch promptly broke, leaving her holding a sad nub. She quickly turned her back, looking for something to substitute the branch, realizing her mistake almost as soon as she did so. Time seemed to slow as she shot her head over her shoulder only to witness the cat mid leap towards her. She wondered how she could be so stupid. You're practically inviting the beast to kill you by exposing your back. There was nothing she could do, though. She only hoped it went for her neck first and killed her quickly, so she wouldn't have to feel much pain. Maya was kind of happy she had no friends. It would mean less people are hurt by her disappearance. Would they even find the body? Would the cougar eat her whole? It would be impressive if it did. As these strains of thoughts whizzed through her mind, the cats eyes shot up. Its pupils shrunk to almost nothing, as if trying with every might in its body to recoil back. A force struck it, throwing it violently into the side of a tree. Time seemed to resume, but Maya remained frozen. The mountain lion howled, trying its hardest to run away as quickly as it could muster. Spot didn't move. He stood staring over the shoulder of Maya, unwavering. Her heart was pounding. She could hear the blood flowing through her veins. She could hear her lungs filling up with air. As she mustered the strength to slowly look forward, her head pounded more and more. The only thing Maya could hear was the pounding. She was filled with more fear and grief the closed her head got to looking forward. She didn't want to see. She didn't want to be in these woods any longer. She just wanted to go home. As Maya looked up to whatever force had struck the mountain lion away, she woke up. Her eyes shot open, looking up to the familiar ceiling of her bedroom. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was just a dream. A small smile cracked on her face, and she heard her mother call from downstairs. "Maya! Time to get up! You've got school today!" "Yep!" Maya threw her legs over the edge of the bed, throwing on her cleanest pair of jeans and black tee shirt. Spot was waiting for her outside of her room, wagging his tag and whining happily. She knelt down to him, scratching behind his ear, almost forgetting all about her nightmare at the happy sight of her dog. Dirt caked underneath her finger nails. "Man, Spot, you need a bath when I get home. How'd you get so filthy?" She finished her walk to the bathroom, picking up her toothbrush and looking into the mirror. Everything was the same. Her same black hair and her same brown eyes. The few pimples scattered around her face seemed to be clearing up though, so that was something to look up to. She spit into the sink, finishing up her teeth and grabbing her hair brush. Maya had forgotten to brush her hair yesterday, so it was full of knots and tangles. She's sure her bad dreams probably didn't help much. "Hey sweetie," her mom said as she poked her face in, causing Maya to jump. "You didn't open any curtains or windows or anything yesterday, did you?" Maya rolled her eyes. She truly believed the small town of Desmirne was the only town in Manitoba that believed in Morte Day. It was a shitty rip off of the Day of the Dead, where ghosts, spirits, and demons crossed over onto the living plane of the world. Except during this day their power rose, and if anyone was outside for the day then they were at risk for becoming possessed. "Why would I do that?" Maya thought the day was dumb. Most kids did. But all parents enforced it so strictly that they usually listened to their wishes. Besides, it's a day off of school where you're allowed to stay inside all day. "Oh, nothing I guess. It just feels kind of off. You're sure you didn't? Because you know the story of the Bayers-" "Yes, I know mom." The Bayers was a family that was around during the time of her mother's childhood. It's said that they left a window open during Morte Day, and the mother became possessed. She ended up killing her husband and child, and tried killing the neighbours the next day. Maya always believed the poor woman just went insane. "You're sure you didn't? Not even for Spot?" Spot had been left outside yesterday. Big dogs are believed to help ward spirits away. "Spot can handle himself. Right boy?" She looked down to the dog, who could barely contain himself. "Alright. I'm probably just paranoid. I've gotta go now, so see you after school. Dad says he loves you, he had to head back out to work early today and didn't want to wake you up. But he only has to go out for a week this time, so he'll be back before we know it." With that, Maya's mom headed back down the stairs to leave for work. Maya looked forward again into mirror. She liked it when her hair was knotted, and the sound of the brush ripping through it. After she was done, she went to pull the dead strands out of the comb to throw in the trash. But she froze. Because in the brush was a few assorted small leaves. They were pretty fresh, which explained why she didn't hear them being combed out. Her dream from last night flooded back to her. It was impossible. She woke up in her bed, completely fine. There's no way it was real. Maya shook her head. It was just a weird coincidence. That's all. She threw the ball of hair and leaves in the trash and walked downstairs. (End of part one. This is my first time writing in a long time, so sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes. Let me know if you like it enough for a part 2. I tagged it as fantasy because even though it's about ghosts and stuff, its not supposed to be scary. That'll get more fleshed out in the next part, though. I'm writing on mobile so it's taking me a bit.


I hate my life. Everyday I come back to the cabin and I’m reminded of how everything went wrong. I look at all of the framed pictures of a life that I left behind, and I’m tempted to end it all. The face of my beautiful dead wife, Sarah, paints my walls like a fractured memory that still burns every time I see it. She went missing a year ago, and the feds called it off after a month. I was angry, I was hurt, and I was scared to continue on without her. She always loved taking strolls through the forests that surround our cabin, and since she’s been gone, every day I feel the urge to walk into the woods and not return. Every day I tell myself no, but today I felt as if something was pushing me into the forest. I fear for tomorrow. I don’t know what I was thinking, walking through the brush and tall grasses that litter the forest floor. I was still in my formal clothes from work, so my khakis started fraying at the leg and my loafers began to get caked in dirt and soil. My tie now had a large rip in the bottom after getting caught in a rose branch. Sarah would be so angry, seeing me this dirty. I had been walking for at least an hour. I don’t know what was pulling me to continue delving deeper into the wood, but something had a strong grip on my psyche. I felt that I wasn’t in control of my own body as I pushed on through the foliage. I stopped to take a deep breath. The smell of rain filled the air as dark grey storm clouds crept across the sky, tainting the bright magnificent blue with an ugly, depressing silver. I listened as the crack of thunder boomed loudly from a distance, which immediately followed with a sparse pattering of raindrops on my head. I knew the storm would only grow worse as the night grew on, and yet, I continued walking. What am I looking for, Sarah? I thought to myself. Is this you pushing me forward from beyond the grave? Are you my guardian angel, keeping me far away from our house so I don’t end my life? Do you simply wish to show me something? Something that will somehow give my life meaning and make me want to stay alive? You know I don’t believe in symbolism. You know that was always my least favorite part of English class. So why then? I spoke aloud to her. I said, “why am I still here, Sarah?” I knew I wouldn’t get an answer, but I still yet felt disappointed when she didn’t reply. I continued walking. My legs grew tired and lifeless, and I was beginning to itch in the back of my throat. I needed water. The rain was still scarcely dripping down from the sky at that point, so I wouldn’t have been able to find a substantially sized puddle anywhere. I listened for the sound of a rushing river, or perhaps I would see a deer rush toward a pond somewhere. I checked the leaves that dangled from the oak trees surrounding me to see if any of them would offer even a palmful of sustenance. The leaves crinkled to dust as I touched them. I continued walking. I lost track of time, but at this point the rain had completely stopped. The sun was still hidden behind large tufts of cumulonimbus. The wind blew harsh cold that had the strength of a fully grown man. It took my tie and my glasses with it as it passed. My stomach growled fiercely with every other step. My spine tingled and sent waves of goosebumps down my arms and legs. Maybe I could find some berries on a bush? I wouldn’t even know if they were poisonous or not. I wasn’t even sure if it would be dark soon, I left my watch at the cabin, and I’d be damned if I was going to try and find my way back there. I continued walking. The night sky eventually exposed itself, but the black and grey twirls of clouds remained, covering a majority of the stars that dotted the sky. The moon itself was hidden behind a cloud, leaving only a shred of light amongst the darkness. I found a log that I figured would be good enough to use as a pillow as I gathered a plethora of leaves to use as a shoddy makeshift blanket. I knew I wouldn’t be warm through the night, but at least I’d have something resembling a bed. I scraped my head against the log to somewhat make myself comfortable, which decidedly was a fool’s errand. I looked up at the night sky, the stars that were partially visible gave me enough hope to continue walking the next morning. I awoke the next morning with a stiff neck and back. With a few good twists I popped and cracked all the way down my spine and along my neck. Strangely, I awoke with no more itch in my throat and no more growl in my stomach. Unless I walked while I slept and somehow found a four course meal with water and wine, I knew that something strange had to have happened that night. “Sarah?” I said out loud. “Did you take care of me last night?” The limbs and the leaves of the trees rustled in the wind and the cumulonimbus clouds parted to reveal the sun. A single ray of light cast down from the sky and through the many branches onto a single spot on the ground in front of me. I made my way to the spot on the ground and looked up at the sky. “Sarah?” I asked again. “Do you want me over here?” The tree limbs rustled in the wind again. “Is something buried here? Do you want me to start digging?” The branches rustled. I knew it was her. I got on my hands and knees and clawed at the earth. I was usually a bit of a prude when it came to dirt underneath my fingernails, but the determination to dig was overwhelming. I dug and I dug and I dug until the tips of my fingers were numb and bleeding and it seemed like I would never leave fingerprints again. When the hole was seemingly deep enough, I grabbed a branch that I deemed large enough to use as a makeshift shovel and stabbed it into the ground. I worked diligently as I chipped and chiseled away at the soil that Sarah asked me to dig into. I was terrified, yet I was excited to see what I might find buried. My worst nightmares came true as I finally discovered what was underneath my feet. A pink, flowery dress, covered in old dried blood that wafted a pungent rotten smell into my nose. Then, beneath the dress laid a skull. It was only the top half, but there was an unmistakable hole that splintered into cracks throughout the right side. “Sarah...is this you? Are you buried here...?” The breeze rustled the branches. “Sarah...did someone do this to you...?” The branches rustled once more.


The sheer darkness of the early November morning should have been enough to send shivers down my spine, but it did not. Paired with the crisp, cold air and lingering snow I should have been freezing, but I did not feel it. As we lumbered up a ravine left icy from sunny days and cold nights, I should have been nervous, even scared, but I felt nothing except contentment. Though I could not see him, the soft sound of his even breathing and the snow crunching lightly beneath his boots soothed me. We had been climbing upward for more than an hour and he was still not winded. Hiking up mountains is in his blood and it shown outwardly as I huffed and struggled to keep up with his pace. Being born and raised at sea-level, the high altitude and tedious climbing left my lungs and muscles on the brink of surrendering. I relished every second of it. Each time I thought about giving up on the difficult trek I caught a second wind and I had never felt more alive. Even the smallest of steps forward felt as if I had accomplished the biggest mountain in the world. It was empowering. Twilight began to cast shadows around 7 a.m. and physically I felt the two hours we had been at it, though mentally I did not. I had already asked to stop three times for water or to shove more peanut M & Ms into my camo pockets to fulfill my incessant need to snack. If my inability to keep up with him annoyed him, he didn’t show it. Instead he smiled at me and joked every time I slowed to a stop to catch my breath. When I asked how much further he would say “about 15 minutes” with a laugh because the dim light prevented him from knowing where the summit was. As the sun peeked over the mountaintops, I could see we were close to reaching our destination. The sky was clear and the variations of orange and yellow haphazardly strewn across the snow by Mother Nature was breathtaking. Until that moment, I did not know such colors existed and I was certain the reflection of the white powder was the only reason they existed at that point. I tightened my pack and shifted my rifle from one shoulder to the other as I prepared for us to make our ascent. It seemed the closer we were to the top, the longer it took to get there and my body ached. When we finally reached the summit he took the time to point out various mountains from his childhood and tell stories pertinent to each one. Stories such as “and on that mountain over there I shot a six by six bull elk. He rolled down a rocky hillside and it took three of us an entire day to pack him out” or “I lost my favorite hat to some high wind while looking over a cliff when I was in my early twenties”. I stood in amazement and marveled over how grand his childhood must have been. I was envious. We walked to the other side of the mountain to peer over the edge and search for elk. We saw only a small doe. Although it was an upgrade from the birds and squirrels we had seen earlier in our journey, she was not what we were after. She peered at us briefly and seemed to sense our thoughts through whatever natural channels animals use to recognize imminent danger. Satisfied that we were not going to harm her, she bent and nipped the tips off some tall grass that remained above the snow before trudging down the hillside. As we continued to follow the telltale signs of elk, I could not help but periodically stopping to stare at my surroundings. The green trees that lay in swaths on the mountainside created a stark contrast against the snow and kept my attention most of the time. A blizzard hammering a mountain to the Northeast stole my admiration of the landscape before me. Slightly concerned, I turned to ask him if he thought we would be caught in the same storm, but the words were lost when I saw him standing against the majestic backdrop that Montana provided. He looked like he belonged right there in the snow. Everything about him fit perfectly. His stance, his features, the way he tilted his head when a branch creaked or there was a random crunch in the snow. The well-worn hunting attire he donned along with his beard, gun, and pack made him look nothing short of a lumberjack. After a moment of me staring at him and him gazing back at me with an expression that said “what the hell are you looking at” , I finally asked if we should be worried about the storm. He was quick to reply “no”, mostly to quell my fears I imagine, but also made a point to remind me that you really never know where blizzards may hit. A half hour later we were hit by that very storm. The thought of the storm made me a bit anxious. Being from Mississippi I had never really dealt with much snow and had definitely never been in a blizzard. Although I had already lived in Montana for three years at this time, I still had managed to avoid it. Despite my initial fears I changed when we were encapsulated by the sideways snow. It stung any exposed skin like little angry frozen hornets furious that we were in their realm, but I remained calm. Fortunately, my only exposed skin was my face and, as long as I kept my head down, I could keep myself from the worst of it. I could hardly see my hands when I held them out in front of me much less where we were going so I followed his deep bootprints as we made our way to the distant treeline. While this made me feel somewhat childlike, and I’m sure looked childlike, it also left me with a zen sense of security. If I had felt powerful before, I now felt like a superstar. Something as strong as this storm we weather couldn’t stop me, so what could? Reaching the tree line only furthered my confidence. He sighed at what lay before us: a twisted maze of thick, unrelenting deadfall. I smiled at the obstacle course ahead of us. This was my element. I had grown up hunting in a thicket, always having to maneuver my way through vines, trees, and brush. With each fallen log we climbed over and every set of bushes we squeezed through, he apologized for taking me down the mountainside that way. We really didn’t have a choice considering the storm around us and I was enjoying every moment, but I appreciated the thought he put into my wellbeing. I was also reluctant to admit I was much more confident walking through the forest than I would have been shuffling down the icy, treacherous ravine. Being inside the forest was like being in an inverted snow globe, as if we were encased in glass while a mightier power than we shook the world around us. When the globe was tilted one way the snow flew east and when it shifted the other direction it flew west. The rounded bubble we were in shielded us well and the only sign of the storm was actually witnessing the large white flakes flurry outside our haven. Inside the globe the only noise we could hear was our own feet hitting the forest floor littered with branches and packed with evergreen needles. It was surreal. I have never felt more at one with Nature and I now crave that closeness. When we reached the service road, he leaned his pack against a snow bank, sat down, and rested against it. I followed suit and my knees thanked me for the release from the long, arduous trek. He smiled at the relief on my face and twisted around to dig something out of his pack: two Coldsmoke beers, my favorite. While we drank our well-earned beers and waited for his father to pick us up in his side by side, I came to a realization: I did not find an elk, but I did find a home. We can love our hometowns and culture, but that does not mean it is where we are meant to be. Sometimes we wander a seemingly endless journey searching for that place. The place our heart calls home. The place that naturally feels right and warm regardless of the actual temperature. A place where you exist effortlessly. In that moment I realized for me, it is a place with endless wilderness, looming peaks, and adventure. It is Montana.


Around two o’clock, a guy walked in. He might’ve been thirty. He had this huge coat on even though it was early summer. He stared at a few items before shuffling up to the counter. “You guys must be taking a real beating. I hear its hard out there.” “Well,” I said, “we’ve seen downturns like this before, and we’ve made always made it through.” “Yeah, but it’s tough out there. I hope you’ve got some savings built up.” I gave up trying to fold t-shirts. I couldn’t focus. “We’re lucky to have a loyal group of customers who’ve always supported us. We’re grateful for their patronage, especially in hard times.” The guy pulled an apple out of his coat pocket and took a bite. “Yeah, but what if *they* don’t have savings? That pool of money’s got to dry up sometime, right? It’s pretty hard to run a business on luck.” “I’m sorry, but I need to grab a few things from the back.” He nodded as I stepped into the storeroom, punching the first box of packing peanuts within reach. I cursed quietly when I returned to the register and found him lingering nearby. “So, what kind of revenue does a place like this pull in?” he asked. “You got angel investors or something?” “I don’t know off the top of my head.” “Is it seasonal? How many people want this stuff year-round?” He took another bite from his apple. “Sir, please don’t eat in here.” “Oh, oops.” He tossed his snack in the trash. “I didn’t see any—” I pointed out the conspicuous sign he’d missed. “Got it. Well, I really hope you guys make it a long time. In Europe, there are businesses that have been running for hundreds of years. I bet, with the right management, this store could be just like that. You know, I hear they’re shutting down this whole street for a year to do some sewer work.” “Yes, but this strip of stores will still have accessible parking a short walk away.” “Who walks anymore? In five years, everybody’s going to have one of those things. You know….” He tried to pantomime his way through the description. “One of those mall cop things that rolls. The burbs are at least five miles from here. That’s too far for anyone to scoot to this side of town—not in traffic.” I tried to force a smile. “If anyone’s brave enough to try, we’ll be happy to accommodate them.” “But they’d have to duck to get in here. If I were you, I’d knock out more of that wall and make the doorway higher. In the long run, you’d be better off relocating. These old buildings are so restrictive. Open layouts—that’s the future.” “Sir, I have a lot of things to do today. I need to handle those tasks now. You’re welcome to keep looking around.” “Maybe I was about to buy something.” “You weren’t.” “Yeah, all this junk is overpriced anyway.