Every year, in the third Lunar month, Vietnamese flock to cemeteries on the occasion called “Thanh minh” period. Seldom do they leave modern life for traditional values like this occasion or Tet holidays. It is the day for people to remember their relatives who were living in the world of the dead. Everybody of every age visits graves. You can see old men with snow-white hair and bent back. You can also see naive kids who know nothing about the meaning of this day. The only thing they know is that they are visiting a surreal world which seems to be painted by an illusory color. Whatever their age, people all come here in peaceful mood since the pain if exists has been blurred by time. However, on a day like that, there was a young man visiting the city cemetery with a gloomy face. He came alone. In the cemetery that afternoon, among numerous families with four people or more, he was the only one coming alone… He stepped to a grave, then stood still, gazing at the photo on the gravestone. It was the photo of a very young girl. She was nineteen. Her smile in the photo was so happy and lively that he almost believed that she was still alive. Perhaps she was still existing, just living in a far far away world that he did not know. When she took that photo, she did not realize that it would be the photo on her gravestone. Nineteen years old, she was too young to think about death. Her life just started. The most beautiful days of the youth were waiting for her ahead. But she was gone. She was gone forever at the age of nineteen. She would never ever step to the age of twenty… He put some lilies, her favorite flower, into the gravestone vase, thinking how much she resembled the lilies; pure, and inducing a calm happiness in the hearts of the people she touched. But also like the flower only blooming in April, her life was so short. After putting the flowers into the vase, he burnt incense for her with his lighter. The incense smoke was spiraling up. He drew his cellphone from the pants pocket, pushing buttons for a while, then putting it on her grave. From the cellphone rang the melody of her favorite song: And then we promised we would come back Tomorrow like the two friends A day to forget everything and miss each other again… The emotive voice of the singer made him burst into tears. So close was the day she leaned her head on his shoulder and listened to that song with him. He caressed her hair. The smell of her perfume was still vivid in his mind. But now she became the girl from yesterday. It seems to stay the same, you won’t come back I won’t never ever be young again The stream of time flew like a shooting star In the moment it passed across us… He turned his head up to look at her photo. Her smile suddenly became more radiant than ever. It had never fainted in his mind. The smile was like a sunshine erasing dark clouds of his life. “Why did you smile?” asked him. “I recalled the first time we met,” she giggled. “I still remember that day,” he said. “You spilled coffee on my shirt. And it was the brand new one” “Oh, you are so ridiculous. Now you blame me. Meanwhile that day you smiled and said it’s not a big deal” “Because you said sorry a hundred times and offered to wash my shirt. And I don’t want people think I’m not gallant. By the way, your face looked so funny” “Less funny than yours. Every time you arrived at my café, you came alone, sitting at the table next to the window and contemplating clouds in the sky” “Do you know that I don’t like that café at all. Rap and hip-hop music all the time, bad coffee and poor design” “So why did you come there so many times?” she asked. “Because of you,” he shrugged. “How come you’ve never told me that?” “I’ve just told you.” “But now I’m dead,” she said with her eyes turned blue. “No, you’re not. If you were dead, so why could you talk to me?” “But…” she spoke with a halt. “What?” “When you don’t love me anymore, I won’t be able to talk to you…” “Don’t worry. I will love you until my last breath.” he said eloquently. “Or until you love someone else,” she continued. “I won’t love anyone else but you” “You… You should forget me” “Why? …Why?” he said, surprised. “You don’t love me anymore, do you?” She choked with emotion. Teardrops rolled down her cheeks. He hugged her as consolation. But it was strange that he could not touch her. “See! You want to hug me but you can’t hug, you enjoy fondling my hair but you can’t touch. If you love me, the only thing you’ll get is pain. Please forget me. You have such a long road ahead. You will meet a girl who is even better than me. Please live the good life, I’ll always pray for you” He intended to say something but someone suddenly interrupted. “Hey you!” He was startled into opening his eyes. “Are you okay?” asked the strange man. “What do you mean?” said him confusedly. “Oh, thank God!” the cemetery watcher exclaimed. “You’re okay. I passed by and saw you lying on the ground.” Afterwards, the cemetery watcher left. There was only the young man with the song “The girl from yesterday”. He did not know how many times it was repeated. He meditated and found out that he had been in a dream, in which she had come to see him. He regretted that he could not stay with her longer. However, he seemed to be less melancholy. He took bunches of joss paper from his bag and burnt them so that she could spend them in the underworld. The fire blazed up violently. He watched the fire and felt his heart warmer. Joss paper gradually turned into ash and dust. Last pieces of joss paper rolled in the air and floated to the sky until they disappeared. When everything was burnt out, he went away.  A year later, on the same occasion, he visited her again. But this time, he did not come alone but with a young lady. His face was not gloomy like a year before. He had found his happiness. “She is beautiful,” the young lady remarked. “Right, very beautiful,” he said. He burnt the incense and whispered to the girl in the underworld: “I did exactly what you told me. I’ve lived a good life and found a girl who make me happy. Today I took her here to see you. Are you happy now?” A strong wind suddenly came by. And in the sound of leaves rustling, he seemed to hear her giggle…


Tristan Frost blew the dust off of a stack of gold coins. His miniature tower of wealth was more money than anyone else had in Atlantis. He stood behind the counter at the trading post and awaited his next customer.

Atlantis, a forgotten town on the road to nowhere, was nestled deep inside the New Mexico Territory. At its height, Atlantis was a pit stop on the southern route to California. But now, after the gold rush, Atlantis saw more tumbleweeds than passers through. “Mr. Frost?” Jacob Smith said with sunken eyes and a dry mouth. Frost turned his head with the minimum amount needed to acknowledge Smith’s presence. Frost raised a thin eyebrow, as if to say, “Can I help you?” Frost’s eyes continued to ogle his coins.

“Mr. Frost, my family and I . . . we . . . we need food.” “That’ll be five coins for a week of rations, Smith.” Frost rapped the fingertips of his left hand on a nearby stack of canned goods. “But Mr. Frost, we don’t have any gold. We done gave you our last ingot and there ain’t been no shoes to fix cause no one done come through here no more.” “Five coins, Smith.” “But—“

Enos Smith, Jacob’s gaunt seven-year-old son peeked from behind his father and looked at Frost with similar defeat. “Please, sir?” Enos said.

“Five coins . . . or, get out!” Frost tapped his right index finger on the barrel of his Smith & Wesson, which lay on the counter. Jacob and Enos retreated to the dustbowl that was Main Street. A tumbleweed blew by. Jacob and Enos joined Mrs. Smith, who sat in a rocking chair across the street on the porch of McCoy’s Saloon. Anita was trying to breastfeed her infant daughter, but Clarissa wouldn’t latch on. Clarissa howled. The Smiths huddled in the hot desert wind and began to feel a hunger beyond anything they had ever endured. They began to starve. Frost returned his attention to his coins. He polished the stack before him with the cuff of his black shirt. He had so many coins. When the delivery wagon came through in three weeks, and he purchased rations and supplies for the trading post, he’d still have hundreds of coins.

“We’ll take a week of rations,” a doubled female voice said. Frost looked up and saw two rancher women dressed in white. Frost had heard that times were a-changin with the new territory and all, but he had never seen women dressed like gauchos, let alone donning white serapes, white hats, and white leather boots.

“Howdy,” Frost said. Their symmetrical white clothing impressed him, but their identical long blonde flowing hair, slender builds, and identical sharp faces revealed something even more unfamiliar. They were twins.

“A week of rations, please.” “That will be twenty coins.” Olivia, the twin on the right, placed five coins on the counter. Frost sneered and snorted. “You’re fifteen short, honey.” Alice, the twin on the left, said, “You quoted Smith five.” “Smith’s a townie, an Atlanteen. Y’all ain’t from around here. Twenty for you.” Olivia placed another fifteen coins on the counter. “Thank you much,” Frost said. He slapped five tin cans on the counter and stuck a toothpick in his mouth. The twins took the weighty canned goods from the counter and walked out of the trading post. The swirls of brown dirt and gray dust did not tarnish their white clothing. They crossed Main Street and walked over to where the Smiths had gathered. “Here’s a week’s worth of rations for you,” Alice said.

As the Smiths looked up, tears had traced trails in their dirt covered faces. Jacob returned his best smile, but it looked more like a sneer tinged with surprise and disbelief.

“How can we thank you?” The twins said nothing. Olivia handed Jacob a can opener from her white leather utility bag. Alice nodded at the Smiths. The twins walked into McCoy’s Saloon.

The Smiths opened their rations. While they curbed their hunger, Frost cackled alone in the trading post. He stroked his profits with his palms.

Alice and Olivia took up residence in the inn above the saloon. Over the next few days, they passed the hours by visiting with the major families of Atlantis: the Smiths, the Joneses, the Johnsons, and the McCoys. The Joneses were from Kentucky and ran the horse stables. The Johnsons had traveled all the way from Erie and took care of the town buildings and utilities. The McCoys got run out of Chicago but ran the inn and saloon.

Alice and Olivia also befriended Widow Flatley, an old woman from Iowa who spent her days sitting on a rocking chair on the porch of the saloon. They spoke at length with Old Man Kensey, the undertaker from Georgia, about grave stones and pine boxes. The also met Longines, the town pariah who usually stuck to the shadows because no one trusted him. In the evenings, everyone gathered in the saloon. Old Man Kensey played the upright piano and everyone sang along to “Camptown Races” and “Swanee River.” On that first night, Alice and Olivia just sat at the bar and took in the scene. On the second evening, Alice whispered to Old Man Kensey and asked if she and Olivia could do a number. “Sure thing, dahlin,” he said. Alice sat behind the piano and played a raunchy groove. Her left hand rolled out slinky bass notes while her right hand stretched far and high into the upper ivories.

“Here come old flat top. He come, moving up slowly . . .” Olivia sang with a power and might that moved the heavens. As she got well into the first verse, the whole gathering of townspeople clapped and stomped along. When she sang, “Come together, right now, over me,” the town gasped in awe. A few minutes later, as Alice and Olivia finished the song, the congregation roared with happiness. “What song was that?” Enos asked from atop the saloon table.

“Get off the table, Enos!” Anita said. “But, really, what song was that?” As Alice and Olivia explained how “Come Together” was a song from far away, Frost derided the town’s joy from the shadows, outside of the saloon. Through the window, he looked in at the jocund din and wanted to vomit. He held sleeves of gold coins in each hand, stroking them with this thumbs.

On the morning of the third day after the twins arrived, Alice and Olivia were up before dawn. They ventured just out of town and returned with a covered wheelbarrow, just as the sun rose. They wheeled it to the trading post.

Frost was sweeping his shop. Alice rolled the wheelbarrow through the stable gate of the shop and Olivia walked beside her.

“Whatcha got in der, ladies?” “We’ll take the lot,” Olivia said. “All of it. Everything you have.” “You ain’t got enough for that. I won’t let my stock go for less than a thousand coin.”

Olivia pulled the burlap cover from the wheelbarrow and the wheelbarrow was full of gold coins.

“How about two thousand?” Frost peered deep into the pile of gold. Before him was the sum of his ambition, more gold than he had ever seen in his life. He laughed and grabbed his side. He almost fell over he laughed so hard.

“It’s all yours,” he said. “Keep the wheelbarrow,” Alice said.

Alice and Olivia removed the canned goods, rations, and necessaries from the trading post while Frost salivated over his new riches. The twins loaded the inventory onto a flat wagon and rolled it to the other side of town. Frost peeked out of the trading post door and saw a small gathering where the twins had set the wagon. The townspeople stood before of the twins, who passed out the goods, distributing everything from the cart. The Joneses rolled barrels of oats from the wagon toward the stables. The Johnsons took tools from the wagon. The McCoys carried linens and bourbon away from the cart. The Smith children brought the Widow Flatley food and blankets. Mr. Smith gave Old Man Kensey a new sewing kit. Mrs. Smith gave Longines some food.

Frost’s stomach grumbled. He turned to look at his store and realized that it was empty—completely empty. He had sold all his food to the twins and forgot to set some aside for himself.

Frost walked out of the store and into the street. “Hey! Hold on now, I need some food. Let be buy back some rations. I have nothing to eat!” He walked toward the townspeople. As Frost arrived within 10 yards of the gathering, the twins—and everyone else—looked at him with stolid indifference.

“Jones! Jones, give me some of your rations,” Frost said. Mr. Jones shook his head. “McCoy! Tell him! Help me out, McCoy!” McCoy took a swig from his new bourbon bottle and spit it out at Frost’s feet.

“C’mon people! It’s me, Tristan Frost. I am your humble servant. I need some food. Someone give me some food!”

No one said a word. No one moved. “Give me some food God dammit!” “Mr. Frost,” Enos said from below, tugging on Frost’s black shirt. “Doesn’t feel so good does it? To be hungry.” Frost stomped his feet and caterwauled. He took ten paces back to his shop, but then stopped and turned around.

“Sabotage . . .“ Frost said, under his breath. He looked at the ground and then pulled his pistol from his side holster. “You’ll give it here, now. Just a bit of rations. Supply wagon gonna come through in a while and I’ll restock, recon?” Frost walked closer to the towns people. He cocked the hammer on his pistol.

Alice and Olivia walked in front of the crowd, shielding them, their white serapes mirroring each other, their pistol hands over their sides. “Oh, please, I’m already drawn. I’ll mow you two down before—“ The twins shifted their sarapes a touch and Frost fired twice. Bang! Bang! The twins hit the ground. Their white shirts bloomed in red, blood cascading out from their hearts. Alice and Olivia were unarmed.

“No!” Longines said. “Dammit, Frost!” Jones said. “You want some, Jonesy? Well, here you go!”

Frost pointed his Smith & Wesson at Jones and pulled the trigger, but his pistol only clicked. The town stood agape. “Mama!” Enos cried. Everyone paused and looked at the fallen twins, their faces now drained of life, their white serapes tarnished with dirt and dust from the street.

The Widow Flatley stood up from her rocking chair on the porch of the saloon and said, “Why don’t you done get out a here, Frost?!” Old Man Kensey stood up from his rocking chair, cocked his rifle, and pointed it at Frost.

The congregation gathered and marched toward Frost. They furrowed their brows. They did not smile.

Frost ran toward his shop. He grabbed the wheelbarrow of gold by the handles and wheeled it out to the edge of town at top speed. He kept going, out into the tumbleweeds, into the low desert. “Mama!” Enos cried again. “I know, dear,” she said. “No, Mama, look!” Enos pointed to the place in the street where Alice and Olivia had fallen. Their bodies had disappeared.


I hate the way my brain works. It’s a crisp October morning, bright but frigid enough to remind you that winter is just around the corner. Iridescent leaves of brilliant reds and oranges (like fire, she used to say) are dancing around my feet along with the eastern breeze that carries them. Off in the distance, clouds swirl with the promise of coming rain and if you close your eyes long enough and just wait, you can smell it. The lightning in the air, the change of the bright sunshine to something wet, something chilling, something utterly fall like. Try as I might, it’s a feeling I can’t quite put into words. That’s what she was always for – that’s what she was good at. I am standing on the edge of a freshly dug grave, my mind everywhere else except the service currently underway. It’s why I hate my brain. It loves to taunt me, to reach into its innermost parts and pull out half-formed thoughts that have no bearing on what is happening now. On this day a year ago, she was alive, its saying now. Why am I thinking like that? Moreover, why can I remember so clearly exactly where I was and what I was doing on this exact date one year previous? Baking cookies, my mind supplies. In preparation for your friend’s impending visit. A mundane task, I think to myself as the minister begins to say a prayer. For heaven’s sake, it didn’t even have anything to do with her. But that’s the way my brain works: God forbid I recall how to create a spreadsheet at my new job or the varied names of my coworkers, no – I can just remember that on October 10 th of last year, I was baking cookies. Because Annalise was coming on the 11 th and staying for a full two nights and I wanted to have something tasty to greet her with. A week ago you had no idea this is where you’d be standing today. Obviously, yes. One of death’s primary attributes is that it sneaks in, catches you unaware in order to more hideously deliver the damaging blow. A week ago I had no idea I would be envying those who were granted that extra time to mourn; the ones who receive the cancer diagnosis, or the organ failure, or any of the other verdicts that are impossible to conquer but still they have time to say goodbye, make peace. I wasn’t afforded that opportunity, and neither was she and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. You don’t like it because you don’t like being reminded you’re not really in control. I inhale sharply through my nose and close my eyes, trying and failing to stop the well of tears that are threatening to fall. She loved this season. It was always her favorite – the colors, Jules. The inherent paradox of the end of life being so beautiful. It figures she would die just after fall started. I’ve attempted to make sense of why that was, how in the hell the end of her life could ever be considered something beautiful. But that’s not how life (or death) works. We don’t get the dénouement at the end of the story or the meaningful connection found after the fact.

It just…stops. The people around me are shuffling now, dabbing moist cheeks with embroidered handkerchiefs, and a select few are already making their way across the muddied graveyard. I wonder if their thoughts are mirroring my own. I wonder how much they care about the woman whose just been laid to rest, how much this simple service is going to impact the rest of their day and week and year. Its astounding to me that my entire world could be crumbling at my feet, my lungs gasping for air as I drown in the depths of my sorrow, only to be patted on the shoulder and told, “Sorry about your mom.” Me too. Me too. There’s a man doing that now, gripping my shoulder and looking at me with watery eyes. I can’t remember who he is – someone she worked with, maybe. I nod at him, my mouth forming practiced words that will suffice to answer their condolences while also letting them know I’m not up for conversation. He smiles at me and walks away, leaving me alone with my thoughts and this brain, this horrible, nasty brain. Standing on the edge of the grave, I try and fail to focus on the way she looked across the breakfast table, or how she would snort a little bit as she laughed whenever she was telling a dumb joke. But all that comes to mind is the imagery of her now-rotting corpse, hidden away beneath my feet. *** There’s a lump of rolled ham lodged in the back of my throat that doesn’t seem to want to go down. My aunt is talking to me in conspiratorial tones beneath the window my mom had painted autumn leaves all over ten years ago. She didn’t have the auburn paint like she thought she did, so she had used red and I had told her it looked like blood drops all over the windowpanes. She had laughed and said that must mean she wasn’t a very good artist. I had agreed, arrogant ten-year-old that I was. Its stupid but now I wish I hadn’t said that. “Anything you need, anything at all,” Aunt Marcy is saying and I still can’t seem to swallow this piece of ham. “We’re here for you, honey. Please know that.” I set my plate of food down because the sight of it is making me feel like I’m going to vomit. “Thank you,” I choke out, finally grabbing a napkin and spitting out the bite of food I had taken out of nervous habit instead of actual desire. I don’t know what to do with my hands. I don’t know what to say to any of these people who feel the need to approach me when all I really want is to be left alone to think for a minute about what I’m going to do now. I don’t know why its considered traditional to have a little party after a funeral anyway. None of this makes sense. The world doesn’t make sense without her in it. “Julia.” A gentle touch on my elbow and my heart swells with conflicting emotion as I turn to find Eric standing there. “Hey.” “Hey,” I reply to my childhood best friend. I’ve been in love with him since second grade and somehow even that feels stupid now. I shouldn’t be allowed to continue loving when the woman who gave me life is buried six feet under. Eric looks at me for a second, then subtly nods his head towards the door. I nod, understanding his request, and I manage a hasty “excuse me” to my Aunt before following him outside to my backyard. The swingset we had played on as kids is still standing, tucked in amongst the maple trees. We both wordlessly take a seat and he offers me a cigarette. I take it without thinking, and my brain cheerfully reminds me as he lights it that I’d promised her I would quit. That was over a year ago, I think. When I made that promise she was still alive. We sit in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound the altering drags we take on our cigarettes. Its weird to be sitting here with him, facing my old home. I can’t remember the last time we sat here like this on the swings, living our lives that were yet untouched by the unknown. We must have been kids, and I find it funny I can’t withdraw a specific memory to immediate recollection. Instead all that circles through is, the last time you sat here, she was alive – “Your mom would have hated this.” The rusted chain links squeak as I turn to look at him, my legs folded awkwardly beneath me. He exhales the smoke from his lungs and shakes his head, gazing at the house as if he too is looking back in time. “All these people here. She didn’t have most of them over by choice and now they’re getting a glimpse into her private life. She wouldn’t have wanted that.” I snort, flicking the ash off the tip of my cig. “You’re right, of course. And she would have told you that.” He eyes me sideways. “You were always right in her eyes.” “Not that time she caught us painting your room black.” A series of images flash through my mind: a roll brush stained with paint, old newspaper crunching beneath my feet, the tone of her voice when she saw I’d ruined my new pair of overalls. “I couldn’t look her in the eyes for weeks.” “She secretly thought it was cool though.” The breeze rustles the loose strands of hair around my face and I swallow down the rising lump in my throat. “That’s why she let me keep it that way.” Silence falls between us because he knows I’ll cry if we keep talking about it. He’s a dear and he would let me, of course, but he’s well aware of how much I hate to cry. It’s a little mercy I find myself ridiculously grateful for. “Its such a beautiful day.” “It really is.” My gaze is fixed on the house again but I can tell he’s looking at me. Oh boy. Here it comes. “You okay, Jules?” It’s a stupid question and its one we both know the answer to. But all that’s on my mind is the clatter of the pots as she made dinner, the breathy sound of her voice as she sang Make You Feel My Love. “I don’t understand why,” I say. I finally muster the courage to look at him and those familiar brown eyes are brimming with an emotion I can’t quite place. “Why it had to be her?” he asks quietly and I shake my head. “No….no.” The thoughts slowly crystalizing into words feel stupid somehow and I hesitate, wondering if I should just fill in the gap between us with one of my practiced clichés. The leaves are swirling once more against the toes of my boots and they remind me of blood drops, rainy days, and all the things I never got the chance to say to her. “I don’t understand why I can’t feel her anymore.” Eric nods, his brows dipping in contemplation. “She was light and she was my…my muse. I could be walking through a dark parking lot after work and still take a moment to look at the stars and think, huh. I should call mom. Or I’d be on a coffee date with a friend, watching the cherry blossoms drifting off to nowhere and I’d suddenly remember what a kick ass cherry pie she made.” I shrug, swallowing down yet another sob threatening to climb up my throat. “It’s like the day she died the light went out. And I can’t get it back.” “Maybe you won’t,” he says without hesitation. “And that’s okay, Jules. Its okay to carry that with you, cherish it. The memories that you have and the impact your mom had – those are yours. Uniquely, and privately, yours.” The swings creak again as he reaches over to wrap an arm around my shoulder. “And that’s something no one can ever take away from you.” You’ll never hear the actual sound of her voice again. Its something you took for granted and now its lost forever. “You’re right,” is all I say, trying to hide the brittle shatter of my traitorous thoughts. “Thank you.” And he is right, in a way. Maybe not in the way I need, but he is. “Come on,” he says, suddenly standing. He reaches out a hand towards me and I take it, rising with him as we each take one last puff. “We’ll get back and engage in the pleasantries and then we’ll get that old scrapbook off the shelf – see if we can find your muse again.” I smile at him and crush my cigarette into the wet earth. “Okay. Deal.” We move back towards the house, and I marvel at the warm glow that appears in my chest when he slips his fingers between mine. Thank God for him , I think as we walk back inside. I should make him a cherry pie.


There she is. Such a cute face and those freckles are adorable, too. She is always on my mind and I often wonder if she likes the same things as me. I think I will ask her for her phone number today. I will say " Hey, I have seen you working here a few times. Want to hang out sometime ?" No wait, that sound stupid. I can't say that. What a weird thing to say. No, I need to be cooler. Maybe more something along the lines of " Are you doing anything after work ?" I mean her shift probably started. It's only 10a.m. but I guess I could ask her what she is doing later. I have to be cool about it though, not a dorky nerd. I can do this. Only three other people in front of me. Her smile is so nice. I know she smiles for everyone, but she puts a little heart over the "i" in my name instead of the dot. It has to be something, I am sure of it. She always has a bigger smile for me. I see the guy who is at the register right now, he has been there a few mornings as well and she never smiles as much as she does for me as she does for him. That's a good sign, right? " Hey, how you doing ?" I could try that. No, that's silly. This isn't "Friends", this is real life. I bet she hasn't even seen "Friends". Then again she works in a café. It would make sense. Right? Wow that's an even dumber thought. Why would she have had to have seen "Friends" just because she works in a café? It's not like every prison guard saw the "Green Mile". Another customer moves forward and I am only two people away from speaking to the potential future love of my life. Such gorgeous luscious red wavy hair embracing her pale and beautiful skin with freckles, her slightly tipped upward nose and her bright green eyes. She chimed her usual siren's song of "Good afternoon, how can I help you?" It was music to my ears. " You can help me by going out with me ," and just then I cringed. I shrank within myself. Definitely, definitely do not say that. Say she is cute maybe. " You're cute ," Why not just that? Just try that, throw it at her, everyone loves a compliment. I love compliments. I still remember when Franziska said I had good taste in music back in high school. That was 14 years ago now. Time flies. " Your shirt looks nice ," I could say, maybe? Oh but she is wearing the café's shirt. The owner had them designed a few months back and she told me that they were too tight. I laughed and thanked her for the coffee back then, cursing myself for not talking more to her. " Maybe I could loosen it for you ?" That doesn't even make sense. Another customer has paid and there is only one elderly lady in front and she is taking her time. "Good afternoon, how can I help you?" my delightful auburn darling sang her sweet song and the lady in front began to babble on about her cat. I could not focus, I avoided her gaze as I looked for the right words to say. " Look, I've been coming to this place for a few months already, I really only come to see you. I don't even like coffee that much, that's why I always get a latte. Sometimes I don't even finish it, I just come here to talk to you, see you, and I was hoping we could get to know each other better sometime. Do you have some time soon, maybe after work today or another time ?" " Sure! That sounds great. I can't today, but how about tomorrow after work? I always look forward to seeing you. I didn't think you liked me because you never talked more than two words to me. " She said shyly, her pale face becoming slightly red. " Really? That's amazing! I feel the same way! So when do you finish work tomorrow ?" I smiled and leaned slightly on the counter. She giggles and replies with a coy " At 3p.m. I am done ," I give her a wink and say: " Deal. " "Next!" I hear her shout as I am awakened from my daydream, the image so clearly yet so fake, dissipated in thin air before his eyes. He looked to see her looking at him with her smile. Did he see her blush? He must have been mistaken. All the words had planned out disappeared as quickly as his daydream. "Good afternoon regular, how can I help you?" Regular. My heart skipped a beat. I could feel my throat tense up. " Play it cool, " I told myself as I could feel myself work up a sweat. It was as if I was in a Yoga pose and had to hold still, but I didn't want to be. "Uhhhmmm I would like..." I began but she cut me off. "A latte?" She smiled at me and her eyes seemed to give me a small twinkly reply. Was that a hint? Oh gosh. "Yes," I laughed awkwardly "you're good." She smiled and rang it up on the cash register. "Impossible to forget, you always order the same," she smiled and did a small jump as she finished putting it in the register. "Anything else?" Her eyes seemed to be asking for more than an order. I opened my mouth and it stood agape for a moment. I shook my head, instead of saying anything else. She gave a resigned smile and asked if I want to pay with card or cash. I simply raise my hand with the card. The machine beeps as my money dissipates as quickly as my dreams of love as I resignedly turn away to get my coffee from the other barista behind the counter. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! I feel like falling down a cliff, or yeeting myself into traffic. As I get my order, the other barista calls out my name and I look at the cup. The heart over the "i" and a winking smiley. Our eyes meet and she winks at me again before tending to another customer. I stare at the cup and curse at myself. I'll try again tomorrow.


A wizard is never late, so you can see how this is a little embarrassing. I must look ridiculous in long black robes in this steamy weather next to the nonmagical people on the train. A few of them eye me with suspicion. Not only is my attire outlandish to these sorts of people, I’m sure my hastily washed, shaggy hair would have set off some alarm bells with the nonmagical community. I would have changed into more acceptable clothing, but there had been no time. I am extraordinarily late by wizard standards to my meeting with Ole Scar. He closes up his shop in thirty minutes. I keep rolling my eyes as I glare at my watch. Half past five as the crow flies. “Who are you supposed to be?” says a boy across from me. “Is it Halloween yet?” Without a good story as to my appearance, I grumble, “Trust me, kid. You’d know if it was.” The boy ponders if what I said was a threat or a warning. I’m thankful when the subway stops. These trains are extraordinarily slow, but the nonmagical subway is the only way to get to the Hidden Ways.

I walk to a patch of wall crumbled by time. Making sure no one is spying on me I whip out my wand and tap the third brick from the left, muttering, “Like smoke, unseen.” A chalk white outline of a door appears in front of me. I stow my wand away, turn the doorknob, and step through the wall, disappearing as quickly as I appeared. The Hidden Ways are a nightmarish part of the magical world inhabited by warlocks, goblins, hags, and other underground scum. The pathway is narrow brick on all sides, twisting upon itself like a huge labyrinth. Hunched, cloaked figures go into various shops and come out clutching their merchandise close. I catch a hissing sound coming out of a crate a masked wizard held as he brushed past me. I’m one of the only people not wearing a hood or mask. I have nothing to hide. I’m not buying anything. It takes me a while to find Ole Scar’s place as I knew it would. This furthers my frustration of my punctuality. Finally, I tuck into a shop called Smoke and Mirrors at the far end of town. Like the Hidden Ways, this shop is not so easily found. Ole Scar enchanted his shop so it was in a different place every day. Skulls sit in glass cabinets like old jewelry. A black cabinet guards the far corner of the room. It’s dimly lit enough to see spiders weaving webs along the ceiling. Crusted bugs litter the counter next to the register where a gnarled man with a long incision running down his face stares at me bemused. A collection of rune-etched rings clinks on his fingers as he smokes a short, black pipe. “You’re late, Zed.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not buying this time, Scar.” The shop smells like rotten potatoes, pipe tobacco, and dark magic. The aura radiating from the skulls in the glass cabinet make me nauseous. I don’t want to know what kinds of curses are on them. Knowing the clientèle Scar serves, everything in the place is illegal. “Oh?” Ole Scar puffs a long drag of smoke out through his nose. “I need information.” I pull out a newspaper clipping from my robes and give it to Scar. The front shows a picture of a girl with skin so pale she could almost be a ghost. She wears a silk dress, color indistinguishable in the monochrome paper. As all photographs in the magical world, this one is moving. The girl in the newspaper tosses her hair back and smiles crookedly at the reader. Scar doesn’t need to read the headline to tell what I want. “Mathilda. You’re investigating the Wrens,” spits Scar. He grits his blackened teeth together. “A wizard’s got to eat.” “You got a death wish, boy, prying into their affairs. How much gold is the Conclave paying you for this job?” “Not enough,” I say. “Rumor has it, she’s gone to the Dark Side.” “Big of you, to talk about the Dark Side,” Scar chuckles. “You’re basically a warlock yourself even if you don’t admit it.” I flash my wand and hold it against his heart. Ole Scar had touched a nerve. “I will never—be—like—you. Now, you know anything about this girl or not?” He holds up his hands in surrender. One letter to the Conclave sends Scar to the place with no name, a prison where people vanish, erased, as if they never existed. I’d prefer death. Death is at least quiet. “She came in,” says Scar. “Mathilda. A few days ago. Was interested in a few cursed candles. Wouldn’t say what they were for. Bought out my whole stock.” I pull the wand away but keep it trained on Scar. “What were the candles for?” “Ritual magic.” I snap my fingers and disappear from the shop in a cloud of smoke and reappear before a wrought iron gate three times as tall as me. The sign above the gate reads Wren. A dense fog clouds my vision. I light my wand and hold it up like a torch. The light doesn’t help much. “Who disturbs the ancient and noble house of Wren?” boomed a foreboding voice. The voice came from everywhere as if magnified by a heavenly sized speaker system. The Wrens are one of the oldest magical families in the world. They pride themselves in tracing their magical lineage through the Middle Ages. They are highly respected and would likely want this case resolved quickly. I bet all the gold in my vault the Wrens had something to do with her disappearance.

And the candles. Why would the Wrens bother with ritual summoning? Such magic is outdated and outlawed since the Witch Trials of 1693. There are more efficient and less risky options in the realm of dark magic for summoning.

“I’m an investigator,” I shout, careful not to give away too much. “I’m here to ask a favor.” The fog swirls around me as if guided by the wind. The gate creaks open. I walk across the threshold along the gravel walkway up the hill to Castle Wren. Castle Wren is an imposing sight with its many turrets and sleek parapets. The sun did not shine here though it is noon. The clouds above the foreboding fortress loom overhead enchanted to forever darken the timeworn castle. The great iron doors swing open automatically as I reach the top of the hill. They close behind me as I make my way into the polished marble entrance hall. I hold my wand alight still not daring to let my guard down. At first, I think nobody is home. The air is quiet as if I walked into a strict library. The torch brackets are lit. The portraits along the walls, which were snoozing in their frames, jolt awake at the sound of the door crashing into its frame. Upon realizing the source of the disturbance is not an emergency, the figures go back to sleep. A gaunt face enfolded in a sleek velvet cloak and long gray hair meets me in the Great Hall next to the entrance. Long tables line the room as if for large parties the Wrens hold often. They are a well-connected family, full of history, and more gold than anyone could ever spend. Black curtains drape the windows. The tables are already set for dinner with fine china, silver goblets, and silverware that look as if I press too hard it would snap. The man is suspicious of me. I appear like a vagabond compared to the castle’s luxury. I clear my throat. “I am here on behalf of—.” “I know who you are.” The man speaks in high manner driving home the fact that he is better than me in every way. “You must be Master Wren.” “You’re not here to duel, are you?” He smiles the same crooked way Mathilda did in the paper at my still lit wand. Hastily, I extinguish the wand light and walk with Wren to the top most tower past portraits of knights on white horses and fairies bewitching people’s minds. Wren does not so much walk as glide like an apparition. “As I mentioned previously, I am here for a favor.” “Mathilda,” says Wren.

My insides wrench a little. “You’ve been following the paper then.” “No. It is not so hard to pry open a wizard’s mind when he invites me in.” I try not to be disturbed by the prospect of Wren being able to read minds. “Read it,” says Wren, “like a book? More like unhinge it, explore it, control it. You’d know nothing of the kind of magic I speak of.” I act willfully ignorant. “The Conclave believes your daughter is under the influence of a warlock. I have reason to believe she is attempting a ritual.” We arrive at the highest point in the castle. The Wrens own a swathe of forested land, wanting to preserve the natural state as it had been hundreds of years ago. The canopies drape over the plot in rolling hills of leaves. Butterflies flutter in and out of the leaves. “As it so happens,” Wren says after a pause, “I know of your predicament. I will give you Mathilda’s location on one condition. That you bring her straight here.” “But the Conclave—.” “—does not have her best interests at heart. They will send her away. You know the place the Conclave sends those they want to disappear. Bring her here. I will compensate you far beyond anything the Conclave can hope to give.” Wren dismissively tells me a number. My eyes widen. Wren offers more gold than I could hope to make in twenty years. If I refuse, I might as well go home and forget about Mathilda. Plus who knows what kind of curses Wren would cast on me if I did refuse. I’m going to have to do a lot of paperwork with the Conclave after this is over. “Fine,” I say. “Where is she, then?” “Point your wand into the sky and it will guide you.” My hand shaking slightly I draw my wand and point it over my head. Immediately, I sweep into the air, spinning like a tornado for a few seconds. My feet slam into the ground and my knees buckle. My stomach retches and I expect to puke all over the sidewalk, but nothing comes out. Head still spinning, I struggle to my feet and hold my wand out. I’m in a clearing, dusk nearly settling. Lit candles float in midair, the same ones Ole Scar sells in his moving shop. A female figure in the same silk dress levitates in the air over the candles. Mathilda. Her expression is vacant, drool rolling down her chin. Mathilda’s hair drapes over a large cauldron big enough to sit in. A blue fire cackles underneath it. A silver vapor rises over the cauldron. A cloaked figure hunched over the cauldron turns around, the rings clinking on his fingers. “You,” I say. Scar looks at me with the same contempt as Wren. “Me.” My wand arm shakes back and forth from Scar to Mathilda and back again.

“Yes, I have never renounced the old ways,” says Scar. I jab a blaze of bright blue light at Scar. He waves it away with a gnarled hand. “You have to do better than that,” Scar laughs. I glance back astonished. He blocked my stunning spell like an annoying fly on a summer’s day without the use of a wand. Unheard of. “Instruments like wands and staffs only hold the wizard back. He comes to rely on them like a crutch.” Scar is stronger than I thought possible. The Conclave snapped his wand and took away his spell books when they freed him from that prison. He renounced the Dark Arts in front of the Conclave. But he was biding his time and making excuses to save his own skin. When I threatened him in his shop, Scar was holding back. He could have crushed me at any time if he wanted. That realization raises the hair on my arms. “What are you doing to her?” “I’ll give you a clue. As little Mathilda gets weaker. I get stronger.” At one point, Scar was one of the most feared warlocks in the magical community. The Conclave stripped him of much of his power when he was sent to prison the last time. He was released on condition that someone would watch over him, making sure he wouldn’t do exactly this. That someone was me. “You’re taking power from her,” I gasp. “You’re pouring her essence into the cauldron.” Scar dips a goblet into the potion and drinks. He stands to his full height, no longer impeded by his older and weaker form. The wrinkles on his face ebb away and the callouses in his fingers retract. Before me is a younger version of the warlock at the height of his power when everyone feared to speak of him. Yet I sense he is more powerful now than at any time in the old days. The rings on his fingers are more pronounced now, protecting him with an aura where even my mostly wisely chosen spells would fall useless to the wayside. “Oh, how the Wrens would mourn if one of their heirs had no more magic left in her. Very proud of their lineage, they are. If she doesn’t die here she will be exiled by her own blood. Now that she is nearly depleted, I can test my new power on you. I’ve waited a long time for this, Zed.” Then, the strongest surge of pain I ever experienced crawled over me. I scream like I never screamed before. Scar laughs at me overhead. I clear my mind through the pain and focus on a blink spell, simple to do, tough to execute. I concentrate all my energy on being in the air next to Mathilda floating over the cauldron. This is the only choice I have. I have to do anything to save the girl. One moment I writhe on the ground and scream in horrific pain, the next I blink forward and clutch Mathilda’s hand. We plunge straight to the bubbling cauldron. Right before we submerge in whatever contents the potion contained, we burst into smoke and reappear moments later in the summoning circle on the marble floor before the Conclave of Wizards, the girl clutched in my arms. Gentle hands relieve me of my burden, and I pass out. One last thought intrudes upon my mind. The Wrens will have my head for this.


Mack closed her eyes and rubbed her fingertips to her temples. She leaned back in her chair, inhaled deeply and exhaled, just like the yoga teacher had taught her. She was so mad at Ethan and he was furious with her. Even still, she knew he was taking things too far. She heard the front door creak open, flinching as it slammed shut a few seconds later. She knew he was back home, but from the sound of the door, he hadn’t cooled off. And neither had she. He walked past her, hands clenched at his side. She glanced at him as he walked past her into the kitchen, but didn’t dare make eye contact. She didn’t have to look at him closely to know that his jaw was clenched and the tiny veins were popping out of his forehead. She was surprised his veins hadn’t popped completely and stated bleeding by now, if that was even possible. How could he not understand her position? What could she do, what could she say, to make him understand? Nothing, she already knew. She’d spent five years married to the man and she knew that once they disagreed so strongly, there was no seeing eye to eye. She couldn’t understand why he couldn’t compromise like she could. She’d done it plenty of times in the past and he barely seemed to acknowledge her sacrifice. She blew out another heated breath and rose from her chair, grasping the arms for support as she realized her legs felt weak, like jelly. She didn’t know whether it was anger or stress, or possibly both, that made her feel like she couldn’t get a full breath into her lungs. She walked into the kitchen slowly, glancing around her to see what she could grab onto if needed. A wooden chair from the table would do. Her voice shook with fear as she spoke. She didn’t usually fear confronting Ethan, but somehow this time was different. “Ethan, I…can we talk about it?” He didn’t turn around from his place at the sink, but continued to stare out the window as he said, “We’ve already talked about it and we can’t agree. Why do we have to keep hashing it out?” “Because there has to be a solution. Or at least a decision.” “We’ve already made the decision.” She suddenly found her voice and she knew her anger would come through perfectly clear. “No, you’ve made the decision. We haven’t.” At this he turned, his blue eyes morphing into steel grey. “Every time we have this discussion it turns into an argument and we always come to the same conclusion. I can’t believe we’re arguing over this. For the billionth time.” “We’re arguing over it because we can never come to a compromise.” “I don’t want your mother her, Mack.” “Well I do! She’s my mother, Ethan, and we have to treat her with respect.” “No, you do, I don’t.” “You should, she’s your mother-in-law!” Mack screamed at him. His eyes flickered with uncertainty as he said, “I don’t know why you’d want her here, especially after the way she treated me at the wedding.” “Why can’t you just forgive her?” “Why can’t you see my side?” “I do see your side! Why do you think I didn’t talk to her for the first 6 months of our marriage? Do you think I did it for fun? I did it to support you.” “You’re not supporting me now. You’re catering to her every need.” “I am not! I’m trying to make it easier for her to come visit us. You know hotels in the area are expensive, and the ones she can afford are in dangerous parts of town. You can’t expect me to ask her to stay somewhere dangerous, and unless you’re going to pay for her hotel, she can’t stay in any of the ones around here. The only solution is for her to stay with us.” “The other solution is for her to stay home. She doesn’t have to come.” “You’re right, she doesn’t. But she wants to see us.” “No, she wants to see you.” Mack threw her hands up and smacked them down to her sides. “She wants to see both of us. She likes you! You should hear how she talks about you when I have those three way calls with her and Aunt Tracey. She really does like you, Ethan. You’re family, and she wants to come visit both of us. Please, see my side in this, too.” He folded his arms across his chest and sighed. “I’m trying, Mack. I really am. But every time I think of her coming here, I remember what she said to me at the wedding. You didn’t even hear it all, and I’m glad. It would have really hurt you.” Her voice softened. “I was already really hurt, Ethan. Don’t you know that?” She barely saw him nod as he dropped his chin. For the first time, she realized he was hurt too, not just angry. She realized that maybe hurt was the first emotion that he was feeling, and anger was the only one he could express. Just like her. “I want you to be happy, but I don’t want her to walk all over us.” “She’s not, Ethan. And I’m already happy with you. It’s just that I see my mother once a year, and every time she comes it leads to fights, stress and anxiety. It makes the time she’s here less enjoyable. I just want her to stay with us and have a good time. It’s only for a week and then she’ll be gone. Please, Ethan. Please.” He ran a hand through his hair like he did when he was thinking really hard about something. Mack shifted her weight from one foot to the other and gripped the back of the chair closest to her. “Why do you want her around so much, Mack? That’s the question that plagues me every time this issue comes up. What makes you cling to her so much? Why do you let her so close to you, to us, after the way she treated us at our wedding?” Mack took a deep breath and with a voice barely audible to Ethan, she said, “Because she came to the wedding. She showed up and my dad didn’t. Everyone that was invited came except for him. Everyone on your side, your parents, grandparents, cousins you hadn’t seen in 10 years. They all came. And so did my mom. You had everyone that’s important to you there on the best day of our lives. I had everyone except my dad, who could have, if he’d wanted, had one of the most important roles in our wedding.” “I know that hurt you, but what does that have to do with your mom? They barely talk since the divorce.” Tears pooled in her eyes as she continued, “Because my dad wasn’t there to tell me how beautiful I looked. He wasn’t there to walk me down the aisle or place my hand in yours. To give over the protection, the care, the love, to transfer my safety from his arms into yours. He wasn’t there to hear me declare how much I love you and will always be there for you. To hear my vow of obedience, love and support to the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. He missed it all and that was his choice. But my mother, despite her objections to our marriage, despite her dislike of you, she came. She saw it all. And yes, she said some horrible things to us. But she stayed. And she has proven that she can change. One day, I’ll look and she won’t be there, just like my dad. I don’t want her to walk away from me because we don’t treat her well. Because you shun her. I don’t want her to be pushed away. You have your whole family to support you. Most of my family doesn’t even call to check on us, or ask to visit. My dad isn’t in my life and my mom is. Please, let her stay, Ethan. ” He walked over to Mack and wiped her tears away with his thumbs. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and whispered, “Of course she can stay. I’m so sorry, Mack.” “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t realize you felt like I wasn’t supporting you.” “I didn’t think about all that. Of course, I wanted your dad there and I was angry that he didn’t show up. I just wasn’t thinking about that being the reason you cling to your mom so much. I’m sorry, honey. And I know I should have told you how I was feeling.” “So should I. We’ll both do better from now on.” “Yes, we will. I promise, from here on out, your mother can stay with us any time she wants. I promise to be a lot nicer to her. I didn’t even realize I was shunning her, I was just trying to avoid causing a fight.” “I can see that now. But by ignoring her and fighting me tooth and nail on where she stays, you were shunning her.” “I understand that now, and I’m sorry.” “It’s okay. We’ll both be better at talking and listening to each other. And next time we have a disagreement, can we at least agree to talk it out like this first so it won’t become another five year fight?” “Of course, I completely agree.” Mack rested her head against Ethan’s chest and they stood there in silence for a minute. He rested his chin on the top of her head and rubbed her back. She looked up at him and grinned. “So, now that we’ve agreed she can stay, can I go call her and tell her to start packing?” Ethan shook his head. “No.” He said plainly. Brows knit together, Mack opened her mouth to object when Ethan put a finger to her lips and continued, “ We can go call her and tell her to start packing. If I’m on the call with you, she’ll know that I really am okay with her staying this time. You won’t have to try and convince her I’m okay with it, because I actually am now.” Mack smiled and stretched on her tip toes to land a kiss on Ethan’s mouth. “I love you.” “And I love you.” Together, for the first time in five years, they called her mother and invited her to stay with them for the week. They’d turned their argument into a conversation and turned their marriage around in the process.


Once upon a time, there was a woman named Rose. Rose was extremely beautiful and kind. She was known for her sparkly blue eyes and gorgeous smile. Many people called her Persephone, the goddess of spring because of her natural beauty and spring-like features. As beautiful as Rose was, she was never interested in boys, until she met a man named Caspian.

Caspian was a merchant who was betrothed to another woman named Violet. Violet was the opposite of Rose. She was also known for her beauty but she had the heart of the devil. She had been betrothed to many men. However, they always broke their engagement. Violet had known heartbreak more than any other. Caspian also hated Violet and always snuck away to the country, where he drank with men and gambled. There he met Rose. They met in a funny way I might add, Caspian was drunk you see, so when he ran into Rose, his mouth started spilling out weird things, earning him a slap in the face. The minute they met, in Caspian’s eyes, Rose was an angel from the heavens.

Since Caspian was a merchant, he had to sail around the world, trading and selling wine and silk, and could barely see Rose. Every third day of each month, Caspian ran off to the country with the finest gifts to give to Rose. He gave her white pearls, silk gowns, and jewelry of all shapes and sizes. Rose waited patiently all month, just to see Caspian. For her, a month felt like an eternity, but when he came, the wait didn’t matter. All that had mattered to her, was that Caspian was alive and in her arms.

Now we mustn't forget Violet, Caspian’s soon-to-be wife. Violet was growing suspicious of her fiance, who ran off to the country every month on a certain day, with gifts fit for a woman. Violet grew increasingly jealous when Caspian came home after running off to the country, with a dreamy look on his face. He even called Violet, “Rose” accidentally many, many times. Violet wondered who this “Rose” was, but Caspian always said, “You're just as pretty as a Rose, that’s all.” As much as Violet loved flattery, to her, this wasn’t like a compliment, more like a lie. So, the next month, on the third day, Violet snuck after Caspian and followed him to Rose’s house. She was aghast when she saw her beloved Caspian, in the arms of another woman, kissing her as if she was the only person on the earth.

Now, Violet had a secret, an evil secret. One that she had used for terrible reasons. She was a witch who had used her magic to curse maidens and haunt men. Violet had used her magic every time her beloved cheated on her, and Rose wouldn’t be the last. Violet barged into Rose’s house and tore Caspian and Rose apart. “Violet?” Caspian gasped as he looked at Violet with wide eyes, “This isn’t what it looks like!”

Violet cackled, “Isn’t what it looks like Caspian? I’m not dumb. I had husbands who cheated before,” Violet looked at Rose who was clutching to Caspian with her eyes full of fear. The sight made Violet’s face burn, how dare she cling to her lover? Then, an idea sprung from Violet’s head. Violet smiled. She quickly stabbed Caspian in the chest. His eyes, once full of life, became dark in a second. Rose screamed. She looked up at Violet.

“Why?” She choked, eyes full of tears. Violet smiled.

“Look at me” Violet shouted. Rose looked up instantly, shocked by the commands in Violet’s voice.

“ I banish you to the Willow Woods, to live forever in isolation until you cannot live anymore. You will become a figure of sadness, drowned by grief until even the wind can defeat you. You will crumble into nothing! ” Violet chanted the haunting curse, loud and clear. Violet smiled at Rose, her pupils growing bigger every minute.

“ Have fun my darling, ” Violet whispered before Rose disappeared before her eyes to fulfill her fate.

***************** Rose woke up with a start. She quickly got off the grassy ground and dusted the leaves and little grass bits off her dress. She then looked around, amazed at the willow trees drooping around her. Rose wondered what she was doing here, she could see nobody in the distance.

“My dear,” Rose heard a voice call. Rose's eyes lit up, and she knew that voice, the memory was so distant. “My dear, it’s me,” the man walked towards her. Rose was captivated by his gorgeous eyes, his wavy blonde falling over his forehead. As he got closer, the memory of him slowly came back. It was him. “Do you remember me dear?” the man stopped right in front of her and looked at Rose, straight into her eyes. Her knees wobbled.

“Caspian,” her voice gasped, he was perfect and he was her’s. Before she knew it, her mouth was covered by his, his hands tangled in her hair, and her hands in his. The kiss soon turned vicious, his teeth were digging into her lip, his tongue in her mouth, and a sigh escaped Rose’s throat. Rose didn’t know how, but they ended up against the bark of a willow tree. Rose's head spun at the feeling of his muscular body against hers.

“I missed you dear,” Caspian said pulling Rose away from him.

“I missed you too,” Rose gasped, and threw herself at Caspian, only to find him a few feet away from her.

“Caspian?” Rose asked, “Come back,” Caspian smiled.

“Come to me Rose” Caspian said, holding his arms out for Rose to reach. Rose smiled and tried to grab his arm, but he faded away before she could grab his hand.

“I’m here dear, right in front of you,” Rose looked up to see Caspian right in front of her. Rose chuckled at herself, she must have missed his hand.

“You little,” Rose tried grabbing his hand again but he disappeared and then appeared a moment later, this time ten feet away from her.

“Caspian stop running away!” Rose yelled, laughing, though she didn’t feel like laughing. It was getting annoying.

“I’m not running away dear, I’m right here!” Caspian called out. Rose growled in frustration. “Come back here!” Rose yelled as she ran after him. Caspian laughed and held his arms out again. Rose ran after him, but every time she tried to grab his arm, he disappeared and kept getting farther and farther away from her. Rose's heart pounded, her legs tired from running. “Wait…Up!” Rose panted as she stopped to rest.

“Hurry darling! I know you can run faster!” Rose heard a voice in the distance saying.

“I’m coming!” Rose yelled as she started running again. What Rose didn’t know, was that she had been running for twenty years, trying to catch up to Caspian. Every year, her body grew weaker and sore.

100 years later, Rose was still running calling Caspian’s name as if no time had passed. Rose had bones and muscles had turned old, but her outer appearance was still the same.

Rose started crying, “Caspian!” She called.

“Why do you run? Why do you break my heart? Why can’t you come to me?” Rose yelled, sobbing. She sobbed and sobbed until her mind had broken and her heart stopped pumping, and yet, she was still alive. “Come on darling! You're so close!” Rose heard Caspian’s voice, closer than before.

“Caspian?” Rose called, wiping her tears away and running until she was at the edge of a cliff.

“I’m down here Rose!” Caspian called, his voice coming from the bottom of the cliff.

“I’ll catch you! Just jump!” Caspian yelled. Rose closed her eyes and breathed slowly before opening her eyes and jumping off the cliff. She could see Caspian getting closer and closer as she fell.

“Caspian!” Rose called before she crumbled into the wind and disappeared forever. ************* Violet smiled as she saw Rose jump off the cliff and disappear into the wind forever. Rose’s fate was complete and Violet’s plan was almost done. Now all she had to do was- “Rose!” Violet rolled her eyes as she turned to the man who had been watching Rose for the entire 100 years she was alive. “Caspian, she’s dead,” Violet whispered as she sat down next to him on the grassy forest ground. He turned and glared at her, Violet shuddered. His eyes, his gorgeous eyes.

“You killed her!” He growled, “It’s all your fault.”

Violet chuckled, “It’s your fault darling, if you hadn’t cheated on me like many men before, she would still be alive, away from you and your selfish ways.” “What do you mean?” Caspian said. Violet was surprised how his mood had changed from mad to concerned so quickly. “You brought her to her doom. If you hadn’t met her, she would still be alive, happy, and free.” Violet whispered into his ear.

“She wasn’t happy before she met me,” Caspian yelled, his fists balled up.

“How do you know that dear?” Caspian went still. Violet then snuggled on his shoulder and breathed him in.

“You were meant for me, not for her,” Violet whispered as she kissed him tenderly on the lips. Caspian pushed her away.

“If she can’t have me, no one can,” Caspian snarled. Before Violet could stop him, he ran to the cliff Rose had jumped off, and jumped off too.

“No!” Violet screamed as she ran towards the cliff responsible for two people's deaths. She fell to the ground and started slamming the ground, hard.

“That’s what you get Violet,” Violet heard a whispering voice in the wind.

“That’s what you get for cursing me,” Violet felt a prickle around her body as the wind blew.

“Rose?” Violet stammered, “You're dead,” Violet heard a chuckle.

“Oh sweetie, the wind never dies, but the wind does kill,” Violet felt the wind around her tightening her until she couldn’t breathe.

“I am the Rose Wind, Fate of the Heartbroken, and Ruler of the Willow Woods. You will die by the hands of the dead.”

“No!” Violet screamed as she gasped for air.

“Oh sweetie, it would be much faster if you didn’t struggle,” Rose cackled.

“No wonder nobody would marry you,” Violet’s eyes widened. Caspian.

“You were mine,” Violet growled to the open air, still choking painfully. “And now I’m her’s” Caspian whispered. And with that, the Fates of the Willow’s Wind were forever tied together in death.


Fear is all around me. I see it everywhere I go. I can't stop the fear. The fear is consuming me. I know why this is happening to me. I know why I have so much fear. I think someone is listening and watching me. It all began six months ago. I was at the park sitting on my favorite bench reading my book when I felt someone, a stranger watching me. I looked around the park but I saw nobody. I was feeling nervous and scared throughout the rest of the day and into the night. Not long after I swear I heard breathing noises at the end of my phone call with my best friend. Someone was listening to my phone call. I told Joanna about the breathing. She told me it was all in my head. I know I heard breathing. I know someone was listening to my conversation. For six months I've been afraid to go out but I managed. I always look at my surroundings. I look at the people around me to make sure I'm safe. I constantly take pictures of everything and everyone. I have to know if someone is watching me. I never used to be a fearful person. I usually don't scare easily but yet I fear someone wants to hurt me. I have never felt this way before. This fear is making me live in a bubble. I hate living this way. I hate that my friends and family think I'm crazy. Joanna, my parents and sister tell me I'm doing this to get attention, that I'm making this up. They make fun of me all the time. I cry every day because I'm all alone. I cry because the people that matter to me don't believe me. I'm all alone in the world. I thought someone would help me. I was wrong. I can't trust no one. It's just me and my fear. There has to be something I could do to identify the person who is watching me. The big question. Who would want to hurt me? I have no enemies. Unknown My dear Winter. My lovely Winter. My only Winter. I see you every day hiding from me. Why are you hiding from me? I want to see your beautiful face. I want to see your beautiful green eyes and your long dark hair. I miss seeing you, Winter. I miss hearing your voice. Your beautiful sweet voice. I will tell you this my beautiful Winter, I will see you again. Until we meet one day my love. Today another day of staying in my bubble. I tried to go out. I really did but once again my fear has consumed me. This is driving me crazy. I have no one to talk to. I can't go out because I'm afraid of the stranger that is watching me. I can't pick up my phone and call my friends or family because they will make fun of me. I'm afraid the stranger is listening to my phone calls. How can I live like this? I can't live like this. I have to go out. I have to breathe the fresh air. I have to be strong. I'm pacing back and forth thinking about what to do. Should I go out or shouldn't I? Come on Winter you can do this. I look out of my window and see the world passing me by. My world has stopped. After hours of debate. After a sleepless night, I have decided to go out once again. You can do this Winter. I can do this. Breathe in and out. I jump out of bed, take a shower and get dressed. I have decide to go to one of my favorite places, the zoo. Okay, I'm finished getting ready. I place my hand on the door knob. You can do this Winter. Here I go. I turn the knob and open the door. I stick my head out. No one is in the hall. I put my hoodie on, lock my door and begin to walk. I walk to the stairway exit, quickly walk down the stairs and out the door. Wow the air feels so good. It's a cool sunny day. I do the usual look both ways. When I see no one is watching me, I begin to walk to the bus stop. The thing about people is that they are clever and sneaky. Even thought I see no one watching me doesn't mean said person is not out there watching me. I made it to the bus stop. The bus is coming. My stomach is turning. My heart is beating fast. I hop on the bus. The bus takes off. I look at the people on the bus. Nothing suspicious. Nothing out of the ordinary. I find an empty seat in the back of the bus. I try not to think about a stranger watching me let alone listening to my phone calls. I want to today to be a happy day for me. So, today is going to be for me and not my fear. I smile when the bus stops in front of the zoo entrance. Myself and a bunch of people most of them with kids get off. I walk to the ticket booth and buy a ticket. As I'm walking, I feel that all too familiar sense of being watched. I turn around and look behind me. All I see is smiling faces of the kids and their parents. Come on Winter. Remember what you said. This day is all about me. I walk up to the first animal, the lions. These creatures are beautiful. I stay there for five minutes watching them. As I leave the lion's den, I look to the left and right. When I notice no one is watching me, I walk to the next animal, the Giraffes. Another beautiful animal. So graceful in every way. This is why I loving seeing these animals. They are strong, protective creatures. I continue walking throughout the zoo watching the animals all the while feeling someone is watching me. As usual no one is there. I go to the petting zoo. My favorite thing to do at the zoo. I buy the food and go feed the baby goats. They are so cute. I bend down and open my hands. I smile as the baby goats eats. My first smile in a long time. Unknown My beautiful Winter. Your smile is beautiful. I just want to go to you grab you and take you away , far away from here. Don't be afraid my beautiful Winter. I won't hurt you. I only want to love you. Until we meet. After a long day at the zoo, I leave back to the bus stop. All day at the zoo, I sensed someone watching me. There are no feelings anymore. I know for a fact someone is watching me. While I was feeding the baby goat, I slightly turned around and saw a figure in a black hoodie watching me. I did not recognize the person nor did I know if the person was a man or woman. The person didn't know I saw him/her. I left at once. My fears came true. Someone is out to get me. I hop on the bus. I don't see the person anywhere but it doesn't mean that person doesn't know where I live. Oh My God! what if the person has been inside my house and planted cameras and listening bugs. I have to leave my house. I get off at my stop, rush home, pack my belongings. I don't call my friends and family, they won't understand. I have to disappear. I have to leave and go someplace where no one knows me and where the stranger can't find me. My fear is taking me away from everything I know. It's what I must do to survive and keep the stranger from finding me.


Lily sits at her desk, her office is bright with the afternoon sunlight, the south exposure extends Lily a warm embrace.  Lily is distracted by her thoughts, “what made me think this was a good idea?” as she stares at a blank screen in front of her, she suddenly realized that the dream of telling her story just became her nightmare. “No turning back now”, she says, and proceeds to type the words she’s been holding on to for the past 25 years. “To my dearest family, with all my love I write to each of you personally, sharing my most personal and deepest thoughts, with love and forgiveness, always yours, Sister and Daughter” Lily could feel a lump in her throat, “how am I going to do this?” She asks herself, “dig deep girl, you know you can” and begins to type again. “I am strong, I am worthy” she repeats quietly to herself. Soon the words just starting pouring out of her, “Dear Dad”, she takes in a deep breath, and releases it, “I know you fought hard against the demons in your head, you fought against the emotions you couldn’t express.  There were many nights I cried when I found you had left us, again and again, my days were filled with sadness, but I held on knowing you would always come home, and you did.  Dad, that version of you has long since passed, and now here you are with little time left on your clock, I want you to know how proud I am of you for coming out of the darkness and for being part of my life.  I will always love you, now and forever.” Lily stopped typing for a moment, taking in the words she wrote, knowing how many more of these letters she has to write and all the emotions that are surfacing.   Lily wanted this so badly, but had no idea of the cost that would come with it. Lily took a sip of water, and proceeded to type once again. “Dear Mom, So many years have gone by, I miss you with each passing day, your smile and your laugh are always with me.  I want you to know how sorry I am for never really hearing your words, or understanding what you needed from me, I had no idea of the battle you fought each day, alone with your emotions, alone in your fight.  It’s too late now, you have left us, but I promise you this, I will share your story and make sure that those who are lost are heard.  I’m so sorry Mom, you are and always will be part of my soul.”  Lily stops and smiles, she knows her mom is there with her as a light breeze comes through the window, goose-bumps run up her arms. Lily had buried all these feelings, emotions for so long, and as she thinks back, she realizes that everything she accomplished was based on a fabrication of her life, she hasn’t faced these emotions and now here she is taking them on, to what end? “I need to do this, someone out there needs to read this.” She says matter of fact, and proceeds with her next letter. ”Dear Jackson, My dearest brother, although we are of the same blood, we are from different fathers.  What I do remember is how we were as siblings, we fought a lot, but I do remember as we got older we started to develop a bond. Sadly, with the interference of religion, we never really had a chance to get to know each other as grown adults.  To this day, I only know you by name, you care so deeply for your congregation, and I forgive you for not understanding my choice to leave the religion, but my life is sound, my life is mine and I am happy.  I love you and I forgive you.” Lily pauses, “i lost my family because I chose a path to a more fulfilling life.”  She gives her head a good shake, “they lost me.”  She quietly whispers.  Lily looks around her cozy office space, it’s furnished with a rustic white desk, light grey bookshelves, a white lounging chair accessorized with hints of yellow splashed throughout.  Lily came from very humble beginnings, and worked hard to get here.  She was proud of her accomplishments, yes at a cost, but she knows that her emotional luggage is what was packed years ago to get her here. Lily had one more letter to write, and this one was to her sister.  Lily, looks at her computer knowing she has to finish strong. “Dear Sis (Rachel), Growing up we were inseparable, we were practically attached at the hips, right up until I graduated.  We were best of friends, with so pinky swears, secrets to take to our own graves.  When I chose my path, our bond began to fray, slowly, day by day, i knew you weren’t allowed to be in my life any longer.  I cherish each moment, the walks to school, the kick in the shins you give me for walking too fast, sharing lockers, even going to the same classes.  These moments I hold dear to me, as they made me who I am today.  I only wish you happiness in your life, please know that I will always be in yours, always in your heart.” Lily sat back, letting a tear roll down her cheek, “I really needed to do this.”  In saying this, she also felt like a weight had been lifted from her, it was as though the clouds had cleared, and the sun was brighter, her senses were so heightened, she could feel the flow of freedom run through her body. Lily stepped away from her desk, feeling wonderfully satisfied, but a sadness overshadows her moment, she keeps thinking “did I really sacrifice my family, for my happiness?” It was in that moment, Lily looked in the mirror and looked into her own eyes, and exclaimed “this is exactly where you are meant to be right here, right now!”


  Narrator:

The world is a cruel place. Most people do not know how to survive, more people are just winging it, and some people can't handle it. There is not one person on earth, that understands life, as life. The world has a mild taste, bittersweet, is what you could say. Sep.23 (2023) Narrator: The story you are about to read is about just one life. See, most people think life in the future will be filled with daylight, perfection, and fantasy! But if we are talking about reality, I would say the world will be a disgusting place. Filled with blurry faces and closed eyes, and a young woman feels, in my opinion, the same way. The sun hit her cheek, as she stood in the window of her small cottage in midday. The world was peaceful and quiet. Usually, people would enjoy this time. It was one of the only times you had where there was nothing happening at the moment.

But she did not stand there with a smile on her face. She stood there, thinking, ¨Where did it all go wrong?¨

Everything became blurry as a tear ran down Lila’s cheek. As one tear came down, another followed, and another, and sooner than later, Lila stood there crying. She had so many thoughts, but could not speak, as loneliness took her away. Either way, she had no one to speak to. She was alone……. Lila´s mother died in a car crash on her way to work, no one crashed into her though. Her father was a firefighter and died when trying to save a family from a random fire. Lila´s brother, Jenny, was a professional swimmer, he drowned on his 24th birthday. No one knows how he drowned, but there are rumors. Lila´s sister, Rebbeca, was seen before each death of the family members. After they all died, no one ever found her and assumed she had died too. Lila´s cousin, and best friend,

Keisha, ran away, never to be seen.   For some reason, Lila stayed alive through all of the pain. She did not know why she was alive, but she never second guest it because she considered it as a second chance to live. On this particular Monday, there was something different. Lila could not fall asleep, it was as if something was telling her not to.

Every time Lila tried to close her eyes, they opened. She couldn't think, hear, or see. Something told her, get up, and stay up, and it gave her the chills. After a while, she fell asleep. In the early morning, she awoke. When she had finally finished her breakfast, she decided to go for a morning run. She got some clothes on and started towards the door. It was early in the morning, so the sun was not all the way out yet. It was damp and dark outside. Then Lila got that chill, that she got when she was trying to go to sleep, only it was stronger. The feeling was like something was there.

¨Anyone there.¨ Lila looked around curiously. ¨¨¨¨¨¨I know, that you know.¨ A voice said aloud. ¨Who are you?¨

Lila ran towards the voice, but tripped on a rock, and all she could see was a black shadow ran from behind a bush. The shadow gracefully ran next to a train track, near the edge of Lila´s cottage. ¨This is illegal!¨ Lila said, panting with fear of the black shadow.¨ The shadow took one big step and was on the train tracks. To Lila, this shadow was so familiar.

¨I never got to you.¨ Said the shadow. As Lila stood, watching and confused, the train horn roared. She knew that whoever this was, was a female.

¨Move, the train is coming!¨

Lila tried to run and push the girl out of the way, but it was too late. The train lights were pointing at the familiar shadow, and the train passed. Instead of seeing a girl’s body, Lila saw nothing.

It was like the shadow person vanished. Not a trace of her was leftover. Kinda like the shadow did not want anything to do with it? Lila stood there, wondering what just happened. ¨Am I going crazy?¨ She walked up to the train tracks, to see if there were any trace of what happened. Then the train honked again, Lila jumped onto the grass next to her as the train came rushing over. Lila had felt that her life just flashed before her eyes. One of the fastest trains in the world almost killed her. She thought if that was what the shadow wanted to happen. Just then, her thoughts got blocked.

¨ That is not the last time!¨ Lila heard someone’s voice in her head and whispered to herself.

¨That is not the last time for what. Me almost getting killed from a train going one hundred miles per hour?¨ Then, Lila noticed her arm was bleeding. It looked broken, and it hurt really badly. She knew that the arm did not look like that a few seconds ago. She silently screamed, with pain, confusion, and worry.

Lila went to the hospital and got a check up on her right arm.

¨This is like an unfixable fracture. How did this happen?¨ Said the nurse, as Lila sat on the emergency bed. ¨Way to keep the positivity up, and I do not know how this happened.¨ Lila told the nurse the whole story. About the shadow, and the train, and the blood. Even about the small voice in her head.

¨Maybe the side effects of the medicine I gave you are kicking in?¨ The nurse looked at Lila worriedly. ¨I am fine. It is all true! All of it .¨ Lila swore it was true, but the nurse ignored it and thought it was the laughing gas. A day later, Lila woke up, it was midnight. She went to the police station and stated what happened. No one believed her. Then, she came to her cottage and saw something. ¨What's this?¨ Lila asked herself in worry. There was a piece of paper on her cottage door. The words on it were, ¨Evicted¨ in big red letters across the paper. ¨No, no no no no no, not today. Please no!¨ Lila started to cry, as she wondered what she was going to do with her life. ¨Hello again.¨ Said a voice. ¨Hello, shadow girl?¨ Lila got the chills, again. ¨I promised I would finish you. I plan on keeping that promise.¨ There she stood, the shadow girl. This time she came with a clue. She grabbed scissors, and cut her hair. You could not see her do it though, because she had a black hood and a mask. Then, the shadow grabbed a piece of hair from under the hood. It was golden brown.

¨Can I ask a question?¨   Lila said voice cracked. ¨Yes, but I do not know if I will answer!¨ The girl replied. ¨Are you related to me.¨ The shadow nodded, and if the girl was telling the truth, there were only two relatives to Lila that had that colored hair. Keisha, and Rebbecca.

¨How, could you be….¨

Then Lila remembered. Rebbeca was seen before each death of the family members Lila had. The police concluded Rebbeca was dead, but never found the body. Rebbeca was not the best person. She was ruthless and hated everyone and everything. Even still, it hurt Lila so badly when the police gave up while trying to find Rebbeca´s body.

Lila was still trying to take in her idea. If this shadow is Rebbeca, then she could be who killed all of Lila´s family. If this was true, Rebbeca would be the reason for all of Lila´s pain, hurt, and distress over life. And what is worst, is that it would be all because of Lila´s sister. Then, the shadow girl came closer, there was something in her hand. It was sharp and clean. It looked like a knife. The girls was coming closer, knife in hand. Lila was scared, she ran the other way and when she did, the shadow was that way too.

Anywhere she tried to run, the shadow was there. The shadow came closer. ¨Just let me put your misery to an end!¨ Lila took this opportunity to take the hood off the girls head, but instead of seeing a girl, she saw nothing. She couldn't see what was there, because she did not want to believe that the person under that hood, was under that hood. Then before Lila could even think, everything around became hopeless. This might have been the end. Lila did not even care. Loneliness seemed to have taken her away again. Lila could not see, but she could hear.

¨Wanna see who I am.¨ The voice shouted.

Then, when Lila could see, she could not believe it. No, it was not Rebbeca, it was Lila´s very own best friend. Keisha…… ¨What, why, why a……...¨

Lila could not even finish her sentence. She was all of a sudden in a room, it was dark and dingy.

¨But why not, is the real question?¨ Keisha shouted, in Lila´s ear.

¨What do you mean, my family gave you everything? They bathed you, loved you, I loved you.¨ Lila said, tears running down her face.

Keisha had a knife in her hand and was now crying too.

¨My only goal is to kill you and your family.¨ Said Keisha. ¨But you did not reach the goal of killing my family did y….¨ Lila realized, that all of those times the family members had died, it was random and unknown how each death happened.

¨YOU KILLED THEM!¨ Said Lila, angry and confused.

¨And all I want is to finish the family off.¨ Keisha grabbed the knife.

¨I have promised me that I will be the last person you see when you die. And that I would be the reason you die in the first place.¨ Keisha could barely speak, but part of her did not care. ¨And I will not let you keep that promise.¨ Lila grabbed the knife as fast as she could.

¨Noo!¨ Keisha tried to reach for it, but it was to late. Lila had stabbed herself. Not because of her misery, but because God does not like ugly. Narrator: Now you see what I mean. In the end, there was no happy ending. Life is no fairy tale.


Brandon looked out over the floor – with its winding counter and Plexiglas shield segregating hundreds of staff from a legion of customers, with its myriad stanchions webbed together by criss-crossing tape that formed Möbius lines, with its three lazy fans that did little more than shuffle the stale sweat air from armpit to nostril, with its never-ending symphony of phone-rings and baby-shrieks and tired-grumbles accented by improvised solos of the irate, with its Byzantine maze of signs and symbols and arrows hanging from the ceiling, with its vague jaundiced grey hue that covered everything in a sticky film of neglect – and gasped. “Well, hello ,” sang a woman, startling Brandon all over again. She was a head shorter than him, wore a frizzy lilac sweater – hand knit – and held a clipboard. Her pink lipstick smeared a bit at the corners of her mouth, and her nametag said, Pamela Rosen, (Acting) Junior Shift Manager III . “You must be the new hire!” she continued. She glanced down at her clipboard and then up again, her eyes gleeful wide. “Bradley!” Brandon glanced at the writhing mass of human misery, doing its best to stay within the ever-shifting lines, and swallowed hard. “Um, it’s Brandon, Ma'am.” She clicked her tongue and wagged her finger. “No Ma’ams here, Bradley . That’ll be (Acting) Junior Shift Manager Pamela, if you please. Although,” she giggled, “my friends call me Junior Shift Manager Pam. Play your cards right, and you can too.” She unclipped a nametag from her clipboard. “Now, onto business. Your nametag,” she said, affixing it to his shirt, “says Bradley . And gosh golly gee, it would be pretty silly if a nametag was wrong, wouldn’t it?” “Um…” “And we do so love team players here, Bradley . You are a team player, right, Bradley? ” “Um… yes Ma–(Acting) Junior Shift Manager Pamela.” He swallowed again. “I’m a team player. I really need this job.” He could feel his rent run a bony finger down his spine, and the prospect of unexpected medical bills whispered sweet everythings into his ear. Her grin spread as wide as her eyes narrowed. “Good.” She glanced down at her clipboard again. “All right, it says here you completed the classroom training with a grade of ‘Yes’, so why don’t we head over to your station?” It wasn’t really a question. Pam walked down the winding line of stations, each filled with a bloodshot-eyed co-worker, their monotone drone a pleasant backdrop to the lamentations of the customers. After what felt like an hour of walking they finally came to an empty desk. Nothing there but a worn plastic chair, a forty year old computer, a little sign that could be toggled between a green Open , a red Closed , and a yellow Notice , two stamps ( Denied and Approved ) and a three-inch ring binder chained to the desk, labeled Manual of Procedures . “Please sit, Bradley,” Pam said. “And toggle your station to Open . It’s time to serve our customers.” “But,” he felt a lump in his throat as he opened the heavy manual. “In class we only had a three page pamphlet, and we only covered one case, and we didn’t even–” “Shh shh shh,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “There there, it’ll be all right. You’re a trainee . We don’t expect you to be an expert out of the gate. You’ll learn on the job, and that’s what I’m here to help you with.” “You are?” “Oh yes, of course. Stick with me, kid, and you’ll go far. Now, you just smile, open your station, and we’ll go through the manual together. Relax, Bradley. Customers are very understanding of new hires.” Bradley toggled his sign to open, and a gaunt woman with wide-eyes stepped forward. “Hello, Ma’am,” Brandon said. Pam tutted and tapped the manual with her finger. “Please look at your script.” Greet the customer with, “Hello (Sir/Madam).” “Oh, sorry.” He turned to the customer again. “Hello Madam.” The woman didn’t reply. She only placed her forms on the counter with a shaking hand. Pam tapped the manual again, and the next step said to confirm her identification. “Do you have any ID, Ma’am–er–Madam?” The woman dug out a driver’s licence. Next Pam walked him through validating the customer’s forms, which required flipping back and forth through the manual, which frequently told him to reference things on different pages. With each form, the customer’s eyes grew wider. At one point, she stopped blinking. At another, she stopped breathing. But finally, after nearly two hours, Brandon stamped the last of her forms Approved and the woman finally gasped for air. “Congratulations, Madam! It looks like your application is app–” Pam tutted, and tapped the manual again. The final step was validating the customer’s personal details. Brandon went through the steps on page 334, and when he got to the month-of-birth section, he scanned down to March, which told him to go to page 998. The customer is declined. Please inform them to try again at a later date. “Oh,” Brandon said, crestfallen. “I’m so sorry, Madam, it looks like, um, you’re actually declined.” The woman wailed soundlessly and crumpled to the floor, and Pam tapped the desk, beside the second stamp. Brandon picked it up, unsure of what he should stamp, since all her forms were already Approved . Pam tapped the woman’s licence. “But, that’s her driver’s–” “–It doesn’t matter, sweetie,” Pam said. Brandon stamped Declined over her photo and slid all the customer’s materials back to her. “NEXT!” Pam shouted. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Bradley. I should have let you do that, but I just love that part.” The next customer was ultimately declined because he didn’t fill out the optional section of form 114-D-21. The one after that, because she misspelled October on form 56-F as Oct . The one after that, because the approval process took more than thirty minutes – which Brandon apologized for profusely, but it didn’t make a difference. The one after that, because it was 3:12 PM. And so it went, always ending up on page 998. By the time Brandon went home that evening he hadn’t helped a single customer, but Pam didn’t seem worried. Indeed, she had told him he was doing just fine and would be a great addition to the team. He wasn’t so sure, but he hoped so. The money was a welcome thing. The rest of the week went much the same. Pam was more and more hands off, and he got a little faster at flipping through the manual, but every customer still resulted in a Declined for one reason or another. By Friday he had declined fifty-seven customers. Some nodded stoically, expecting no less. Others broke down and wept, or screamed at him, or argued, or threw things. He didn’t even realize when it happened, but he had taken up smoking again, and he knew he had to say something to Pam. She came to him for a Friday-end-of-day check-in. “How did you find your first week, Bradley?” “(Acting) Junior Shift Manager Pamela,” he said. “Honestly, I don’t think it’s going well. I keep declining everyone. And these people, these poor people, I swear some of them have been waiting in line for days! It just breaks my heart. Surely there’s got to be some wiggle room?” “Aw,” she said. “Your concern for the customers’ wellbeing is commendable. We put our customers’ satisfaction above everything, after all. But no, no wiggling. Just follow the manual. Trust the process.” “Yeah, right,” he said, “but here’s the thing. I was reading the manual during my spare time–” “– Ooh! You go-getter you,” she grinned, fanning herself. “Er, right. Well, so I just came up with a bunch of hypothetical situations, and no matter what I do, I end up at page 998.” “If that’s what the manual says.” She shrugged. Brandon leaned in closer and whispered, “(Acting) Junior Shift Manager Pamela, I think there might be a problem. I’ve talked with some of the other staff too. I think maybe all roads lead to page 998. Like, there’s no way for a customer to be approved.” Her smile strained, and her blinks sharpened. “What an… interesting observation, Bradley. Tell you what. How about I bring this to the attention of my manager.” “Thank you,” Brandon said, feeling relief surge through his muscles. “And how about you spend the weekend thinking about what this might mean, with a particular focus on how it might affect your continued employment.” Brandon’s muscles cramped again. He didn’t sleep over the weekend, and Monday rolled up much too quickly for his liking. Had that been a threat? Did he misread how nice Pamela had been? Well, at least how not-overtly-hostile she had been? When he got into the office on Monday morning, he found her already waiting by his desk, standing there with a wide grin and her clipboard. “Good morning ,” she sang. “Good morning, (Acting) Junior Shift Manager Pamela.” She giggled. “Oh, I have some great news for you, Bradley.” He gulped. She unclipped a piece of paper from her board and handed it to him. “Ta-da!” Brandon frowned at the sheet, labeled Front-line Memo #88992-DR-231-09 . It was written in 6 point Comic Sans, even though the bottom third was all whitespace. “What’s this?” “Management was impressed by your finding, and it turns out: you’re right! It’s basically a widespread typo, a terrible mistake. We should never have been sending people to page 998 in all of those circumstances.” “Oh, that’s fantastic!” Brandon said. He felt himself smiling, and actually looking forward to the work day. Maybe he misjudged this job, and Pam, entirely. Maybe he could make a difference. “The memo just goes to say that we basically spent the whole weekend printing off a new manual for everyone, where all the places we redirected people to page 998 should now go to page 753.” Brandon flipped to page 753. The customer is approved. Please congratulate them, and thank them for their business. Ask them if they would like to fill out a satisfaction survey, and either way, pat yourself on the back – you did well today! His grin widened and he actually chuckled. Oh yes, this week was going to be much better. He took his seat and prepared for the morning rush. Pam set down a pen and a jar of correctional fluid on the counter. “What’s this?” Brandon said. “There’s a second memo this morning,” she said, and then unclipped it and passed it to Brandon. Attention: all front line staff. Please remove pages 998 and 753 from your manual. Then apply the correctional fluid to each page number, and once it dries, re-page page 998 as page 753, and re-page page 753 as 998, and replace the pages in your manual. Brandon’s jaw dropped. “This doesn’t change anything!” “What do you mean? Nobody will be sent to page 998 anymore. Isn’t that what you wanted?” “No! Yes! I mean–people will still keep getting rejected! I wanted to start approving people!” Pam’s face softened. “Oh, Bradley. Approving people costs money. If we spend money on approving people, we won’t have it to spend on employee wages. You do like earning money, don’t you?” “I–” Brandon’s words tripped him up. “I do, but not like this.” “What if I told you, you get a bonus for every one thousand declines? Think about it. You already know the secret of the manual. You could fast-track each customer to page 753. Accumulate those bonuses. Afford your own nifty hand knit sweaters. Heck, afford to dream of retirement one day. But, you know, just dream.” “A bonus?” he asked. “What, uh, what kind of bonus are we talking?” Pam leaned in and whispered lustily, “A ten dollar gift card to Starbucks, and access to the leftovers from Management’s Thursday pizza lunch.” Brandon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He grit his teeth. He weighed his needs against his morals, his rent against everything his parents taught him. “No.” He opened his eyes. “Sorry, (Acting) Junior Shift Manager Pamela. I can’t in good conscience do that.” “I see.” She drew away from him, straightened her back. “Then you know what this means?” “Yes, I think I do. I’m resigning.” “That’s a shame, Bradley. I thought you had a lot of promise. I thought you were one of the good ones.” She unclipped a sheet from her board and handed it to him. “Please fill out form 114-D-21, Notice of Two-Weeks’ Notice , and get in line.” Brandon took his form and lined up.