What can I say- I attract chaos. Do not seek my attention! Do not strive for fame! Do not try to flatter me with acts of vanity and glory! I know myself quite well. I am very brilliant- genius level actually- scored and approved. I see Sunny enter the nightclub, looking around, a smirk on her face. She lowered her new granny-like glasses. From the moment she entered, all eyes were on her. It was another party in New York City. But to her- it was just ANOTHER party in another city. Rome, Paris, L.A.- dah-ling, how boring. She coughed deeply and out spurted a little blood. “Oh- how dare I,” she apologized in that infamous, clipped, British accent.

She hadn't even realized her guards were rushing to her.

“Ma toux,” she coughed again. "Ma petite toux.” She laughed. “Never mind, guards.” She slowly withdrew her white handkerchief from beneath her short, zebra-print skirt. My God- her skirts were, in fact, getting shorter. The black leather ones had revealed the famous red panties. What color is she wearing tonight, I wondered. I slap myself in anger. I knew she could read minds.

“Oh Meaghan," she called, “darling. You over there. Hiyeee. That's my Yankee accent.” She smiled, and the whole crowd laughed.

“Yuck. Is everyone laugh-ing at me? Oh- how unfair. I've attracted attention again. How unfair for you, buddy. Oh- God, it was your turn to speak. Oh, wait, it was always your turn. Every time of every day. Oh- my Goddamn, darling, how annoying were you in college?” she winked and smiled.

“Because you were- like- really, really annoying. Did you have fun doing that? Did you have fun ruining that person or that experience for me? Well, apparently, it's still happening. You're angry because I am stealing attention from you again.”

“DANCERS!” she continued, with disdain. She bit her cheek! She looked exactly how I imagined her to be. Beautiful, thin, and glamorous.

“F- you, Sunny,” Meaghan shouted in anger. She was sick of being embarrassed, and upstaged, by her. A far-away look came into Sunny’s eyes, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She was stunned by this young lady's boldness. After all the times she had defended this little girl. How dare she!

And then somehow I finally understood. It was all a charade. A big lie. Deception. I, too, had been tricked. Drawn in by the spell. Sunny was full of darkness. “How dare you not tell me you were here, young lady?” she yelled. I tried not to scream with delight. She had noticed me. It was really unfair how much I craved her eyes on me. She seemed so happy to see me too. Must be all that coke she allegedly took. And, somehow, having raised her voice and shouted, she seemed shorter to me.

I took a chance. Here was my opportunity to seem bold and reckless, also favored by the gods.

“Hey, Sunny,” I yelled. “I'll tell you what, young lady,” she sniffed. She took out some snow from the ring on her index finger and sniffed again. It was all true. “Oh- would you like some? How terribly rude and selfish of me not to ask,” she said to me. I had tried to avoid this. But here I come, Sunny. As I approached, she stepped back. “Don’t you dare, young lady, or else I’ll give you the spanking you deserve. You're better than this.” She paused for a moment, angling her neck. “Alright, kid,” she said, “everyone deserves to have a little fun. Here is some powder for the rest of the night. Just don’t become addicted like Freud. Later, kid, the DJ is playing my song.” She took off in the other direction towards the middle of the club and got up on a table. The DJ was playing a slow and sexy song- one of those Lauryn Hill 90's ballads. It reminded her of her teenage years- years full of angst, depression, and, of course, more parties.

Something was wrong with the lights above the table- the bulbs kept flickering. Made it look like she was dancing with special effects. Suddenly, she reached up to adjust the bulb. And the table wobbled.

“Careful, sweetheart,” I said, using her favorite term of endearment. I had followed after her and held the table steady. Probably saving her life. “ Oh, thank you, sweetheart, I almost fell,” she said, still looking up. Goddamn it, Sunny thought to herself. Even the table had not been bolted down. She could have toppled and broken her lovely head. This party was in serious danger. But the fact that they were using her security team meant that she had to make sure the job was done perfectly. So she quickly leapt up and saw the loose screws in the lamp. It hadn’t been the bulb at all.

“Damn it!” She hated to curse like that. But, this was a safety hazard. She finally stopped moving and stood still. From the bar area, there came a flash. “Did someone just take my picture?” she shouted angrily, “we said NO press.”

She waved one of the members of her team over. “Tommy, can you please get me a screwdriver? I have to fix this myself. Someone might get hurt. Unless that is the plan.” Oh shit. Her nose started to bleed. And she took out her handkerchief again and held it to her face, trying to stop the bleeding. After her nose had stopped bleeding, Sunny looked down and asked, “what are you doing here, kid? Wanna’ drink? I’m buying.” Am I awake, I thought. Am I dead yet? She was even more gorgeous up close and smelled like heaven. I wanted to scar her. Maybe a cut just below her right eye. She was too beautiful. “Of course, Sunny,” I replied, “I would love a drink.” As we headed to the bar, she suddenly muttered, “my nose, ouch.” Damn. It was the itch. Again? She started to scratch her pum pum. “Well, I'll be right back, kid. I'll meet you at the bar. Let me just quickly run to the restroom.” And she was gone, disappearing within the crowd into the back of the club. A few moments later, at the bar, she looked deep into my eyes and asked, “do you know who this party is for? It's my ex's engagement party.

How cruel of his girl to book my company. They're over there in the VIP section. And I plan to ignore them all night.” “Well, he can't seem to take his eyes off of you,” I yelled above the music. She chuckled. “I know, right? Sucks for her.” She paused, lowered her glasses again, and looking towards the entrance, drawled, “here come the boys.”

I followed her gaze and saw a group of Navy men. They looked so handsome and were headed right in our direction. “Hey, Sunny,” said their leader. “We just wanted to ask our favorite girl for a quick dance.”

“It’s New York City, darling,” Sunny replied. “Here’s your opportunity. Step up boys- just ask her for a dance. She’s not very intimidating. Here’s your chance. I know you’re excited. Ask her.” “Lady,” a young one said, getting very close to Sunny. “Give you a quarter for a dance.”

“Put all your quarters into stock investments.” She gave it back. She actually flipped it. “Here you go, young man. Invest in Spotify today. You’ll thank me tomorrow. Anyway, please, a quarter? How dare you offend me?” She laughed. “Awww- come on. Alright. What’s it really worth to you, boys? I'm not some cheap trick or slut.” “How dare you draw attention away from the bride, young lady?” I said, sarcastically, copying her word choice, adopting her cause, even affecting her accent. I thought that wicked bride. Sunny was right. That's a deadly attack. Quite unfair actually- a sin of commission.

Sunny tilted her head back, and that pondering look came over her face again. A reggae song by Shaggy started blasting. She thought for a moment and then said, “Why not boys. Let's upstage the bride. DJ- come down- selector. It's time to dance. Let's go boys!” She let out a quick breath. Flipped up the collar of her jacket and was off. Didn't even say goodbye to me. And here I thought that we had become friends. How dare she then? I looked towards the exit. Time to go. No time to watch Sunny dance. Another job to do. Tonight was going to be a great night, I thought. It was probably all the coke. But I felt good! Here I am, Sunny- I almost yelled after her. I am the youngest assassin ever sent here to kill you.

I stepped out of the nightclub. New York City was cold. And with Sunny back it suddenly felt colder. I zipped up my jacket. Sam Cooke's “A Change Is Gonna Come” followed me out into the night. Should I warn her, I thought. I cocked my head to one side and pondered my options. Nah- it seemed like Sunny was prepared for all eventuality. I thought about going back inside the club for one more drink with her. Or maybe a dance with a Navy man. But, instead, I kept walking. True, I had been tempted to complete the mission. To kill, Sunny- the “It-girl” of the NYC. But not many knew that she was the Queen of England's illegitimate, half-Black, granddaughter. And that's the reason I had been commissioned. It was about inheritance. It was always about money. But, then, I thought- even though I would be in trouble- I had to let her live. She was just too beautiful to send to heaven. And, after all, like everybody else, I also had fallen in love with Sunny. I couldn't wait to see her again.


The compact SUV is loaded down full of their bags with more than they need. Sawyer puts the car in reverse, looking at Vita. "You ready?" he asks. Vita takes a deep breath, assessing the situation. "Do we have everything?" Her eyes are full of panic as she fumbles through her purse. "You're always too worried about everything. Just enjoy the journey," Sawyer exclaims. They back out of the driveway, headed off to the west coast to escape a non-eventful summer in the Midwest. As they pull out of the neighborhood, a little voice erupts from the back seat. "Are we there yet?" Junior's four-year-old mouth yells out as he kicks the back of the passenger seat. Vita quickly turns around, pointing her finger while scorning him. "You are not going to do this the whole trip! Play with your tablet and be quiet!" The highway out of town sets a beautiful scenery as the blue skies are painted with puffy, white clouds. The bright, yellow sun blazes through the windshield of the car, warming up their skin. Sawyer turns the air conditioning to full blast as the cool air raises goosebumps across Vita's forearm, causing her to get upset. "Are you trying to make it an icebox in here? Turn it down," she yells. Sawyer shakes his head, letting out a sigh of frustration. "Dang, will you just take it easy!" Up the highway, he notices a restaurant that was featured on a television show. Excited, he blurts out, "Hey, look, it's..." As he tries to finish speaking, Junior flails his arms in the backseat, yelling over and over, "Are we there yet?" Vita's face turns beet red as she spins around in the front seat. "Shut your mouth now, or we will turn this car around and there will be no vacation!" Sawyer surrenders and gives up trying to grab lunch from their favorite television destination. Vita is far too focused on being upset with unruly Junior that she doesn't bother to take notice of anything outside the vehicle. The frustration of everyone in the car causes a quiet drive. Hours pass, and he gets tired of driving, so they pull over to let her drive. At the edge of eye's view, huge mountains emerge on the horizon as the sun slowly starts to tuck down and nestle behind the Rocky Mountain range. As Vita takes off driving, Sawyer buries his face deep in his phone, researching things to add to the itinerary of the trip. "Hey babe! I was just looking at maps and we can take this detour route to get a scenic view of the Grand Canyon in the morning! We have enough time to do it and reach our destination with time to spare." Vita shakes her head in anger. "We are not diverting from the primary plan. I'm not taking any chances, and I'm driving. Also, Junior is being a handful, and I'm starting to get really frustrated with you and him." Sawyer's emotions hit a boiling point. "Are you serious?! You didn't want to stop at the restaurant, you don't want to explore the mountains, and you probably aren't going to want to stop and enjoy the cosmos tonight either." Vita loudly agrees, "You're right! I'm not stopping for anything! We have to get there as quick as we can! Go to sleep, so I can wake you up when it's your turn to drive. We are on the clock, driving straight through!" She mashes the gas pedal, accelerating the car to get to the finish line quicker. Through the mountains, the car races down the two-lane highway. The moonlight peeks out, giving a soft white glow against the tall mountains cascading around them. The night sky looks like a Van Gogh painting as there is no light pollution from the city to drown it out. Sawyer and Junior are fast asleep to notice the natural beauty around them, and Vita is too focused on driving to soak it all in. The high beams of the car shine in the oncoming darkness. Suddenly, a deer jumps out onto the road, causing Vita to slam on the brakes and swerve! The brakes lock up, veering onto the shoulder as rocks and dust spray everywhere. Sawyer's eyes pop wide open as he grips his seat, while Junior wakes up screaming and crying! "This is why we should have stopped. You could have killed us! Get out of the driver's seat. I'm driving the rest of the way," he screams! Vita gets out of the driver's seat, slamming the car door. She walks around and slouches into the passenger seat, crossing her arms while Sawyer climbs over the center console into the driver's seat. The rest of the trip is eerily quiet as everyone is consumed by their own emotions. Arriving at the destination, everything changes as their faces light up like fireworks. "Swiishhh!" Waves of aqua-blue water leave a frothy appeal as it comes crashing onto the white sandy beaches! The beach is bustling with life as they park the car in excitement. Junior runs straight for the ocean, with Vita trailing behind, yelling, "Slow down!" Sawyer unpacks the towels and refreshments to enjoy the remaining day. The sun is already starting to drop down beyond the vast blue ocean as time passes by rather quickly. "Can we do something else now? I'm bored!" Junior blurts out as he runs up to Sawyer and Vita, laying on the beach towels trying to soak up that last bit of sunshine. Sawyer puts his hand up to block the sun out of his eyes. "Sure! I'm tired already and just want to go lay down." Vita seconds that motion, "Me too. I'm exhausted. Let's go get a hotel room and figure out something new to do tomorrow!" Often, our attention is so focused on the stress of small things that don't even matter, it takes us away from being in the moment with our loved ones. We miss out on truly spending time with those who matter the most. Often, we are blind to seeing the natural beauty life has to offer, rushing ourselves to some destination and forgetting to make memories along the way. Even as children, we rush things and are raised to always have to be here or there. So much time is spent worrying too much about the future or dwelling on the past that we never get to live in the present. It's a gift – seize every moment. Most of the time, our rushed determination to reach our destination leaves us unprepared when we get there, only to find out it's not even what it is cracked up to be. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the trip so we don't miss out on the little things in life that matter the most.


The stars up above are unchanging. Reliable. Beautiful. Unsympathetic.

Cassia watches them, not daring to move. Hardly daring to breathe. Wishing she could force her heart to stop pumping. Anything is too loud.

She closes her eyes. The starlight will glint off them and make her more visible. Life is more valuable than sight. Hearing is still accessible. Grasses rustle somewhere to her left. Where her mother is. There is a gasp. A scuffle. A man’s voice. A man who is not her father. Her father is dead already, by the hands of his comrades. The same ones who hunt them now. A tear escapes her eyelid.

The noises slowly die away. Her mother will soon be dead as well. Awful images fill her mind. Being burned alive. Being nailed to a cross and left to suffocate or bleed out. Whichever comes first. Being torn apart by wild animals in the middle of an arena with thousands of spectators. The list of possibilities is quite long. No option is pleasant for those like them. The tear trickles down her cheek, but she can not afford to wipe it away. The soldiers are still nearby. The tear inches down the side of her face, working its way into her hairline. Cassia can feel her body tensing at this annoyance. She hates that such a small thing is taking such precedence. He mother is going to die. Another tear follows the first.

The stars slowly rotate. They make way for their superior. By the time the sun is up, Cassia has crawled on her knees and elbows for hours. There is a stream ahead. She can hear it. Smell it. The soldiers are far behind. She reaches the grassy bank and slips into the water. It is cool and soothing. Her muscles are sore but she forces them to move. Stroke. Kick. Stroke. Kick. Stroke. Her muscles can go no further. Cassia manages to pull herself out on the bank. There is a house nearby. The white building stands out against the green. It looks beautiful, but it is not a refuge. She drags herself to a nearby bush. Here the sun can not burn her. Here she should be safe. For now.

She knows that safety is an illusion. Her soul is safe, but that is it. They will catch her body any day now. If she doesn’t starve first. But what could be the purpose in that? Cassia stands up. She knows that trying to survive on her own is a ridiculous notion. Her tunic is dry now, but dirty from lying on the ground. Cleaner than it was yesterday because of the swim. She tries to dust herself off and heads to the house. She reaches a field. There are already slaves in the field. Perhaps she can go unnoticed.

She joins them. It is easy to mimic their movements. Soon the sweat that begins to run down her body in the hot sun. Noontime comes, and food is laid out. They pass the bowl to her. She takes a piece of fruit and bites into it. The most delicious thing she has ever had. The sweet juices flood her mouth. There is bread too. But no time to eat it. They return to the field and continue to work. The overseer stops near Cassia twice, but she does not dare to look up. He passes on. A whip does not touch her back. She is one of the few fortunate. Her body is still strong from the food she used to have. The sun sets. The stars return. The overseer leaves. More food is offered, and still no one questions her. She does not say a word. They will know she is not a slave. “With us, child.” Cassia glances up for the first time. A woman makes a tiny motion with her wrist. She follows her to the barracks. The woman points out an empty space. On the floor. Cassia lies down and curls into a ball. She is exhausted. The floor is hard. Her body is tight. An overseer is back before the morning begins.

The day is hard again. Cassia is getting better at it, but she begins to wonder. This work will not let her survive for long. She will die soon. What is her purpose anyhow?

She begins to speak to the others when the overseer is not nearby. She tells them about the man her father met while he was in the army. The man who her father claimed rose from the dead. He did not make up stories. That tale cost him his life.

She tells them about the One who created the stars, and the sun, and the moon, and the earth. The One who created them. The perfect One, who required justice. The One who sent his own Son, who paid the price for mortals, and then rose from the dead. The man her father met.

Some scoff. They do not care. All they want is to survive the day. Perhaps tomorrow too. Some weep. They want this hope. But they are scared. They only work faster. Some believe. They know their fates are sealed now. Death will come, but now they have hope. Some are too frightened to listen. Anyone could tell the overseer.

The day ends. The overseer comes for her. She knew he would. She knows that one can not go around telling stories like that without expecting repercussion. The others go back into the barracks. No one looks back. Not even the woman. The overseer has her alone. “You have been spreading nonsense.” Cassia stays quiet. Her name means hollow . She feels hollow.

“Would you worship Jupiter?” She shakes her head.

“What about Diana?” She shakes her head again. “Mars? Artemis?” “No.” “Pity. You were a good worker. Lie down.” She does, flat on her back. He unsheathes the curved scimitar at his side. She does not flinch. There are the stars.

The whole sky is full of them, bright and glittering and far away. Somewhere beyond them is the One who created them. The One that fills her hollowness and makes her full, running over. Cassia takes a breath. One more. One more. Some stars seem to move, but it is just a reflection on the blade as it comes down.

Cassia is going to meet the One who created the stars.


Jade stood gazing at her reflection. Beautiful bride, white satin, a veil of lace, stylish shoes, her face aglow. Then she paused, it as still her fantasy. Jade had bought her wedding gown years ago, as a teenager. She had chosen her veil and shoes, designed and stocked all the wedding invitations, imagined her bouquet, her hair style. It was her quite reasonable expectation that she would have been married in that frock, as soon as the handsome suitor proposed. She could visualize him on bended knee, offering his mother's pearl and diamond engagement ring. Oh, so romantic.... But no. Despite being raised in a church choir of likely young prospects, no one had ever chosen Jade to be his bride. Every now and then, she would spend yet another solo evening, trying on her wedding regalia. She had turned 33 years old. Time had passed, she had spotted her first grey hair. Jade smiled wryly. She looked like Miss Havisham in her classic text book, Dud Expectations, written by that fun guy, Chazza Dickens. Wow, that was another riveting thought. Jade's stern father was a widower. He was even now a minor lay preacher, laying on hands, and ministering in the flock of devout Christians. Jade's father had warned her about being immoral, and wanted her to save herself for wedlock in the church. God would send her a husband and lots of children. He could be their Grandpa Grumpy. Jade pondered on all the reasons why she was cross with God. She had dutifully trained to teach English and Religion to some very sulky teens in her church's system. One day, she realized that the teens hated English essays more than they ever had. So, Jade promoted them all onto higher things, and resigned. She kept her teaching registration up to date, and chose to tutor reading online, which she really loved. Jade left sharing her father's home, and rented her own simple pad. It was a bit run down, but it would do until the groom came along to rescue her. One slight hiccup, working online at home was very isolating. How could she ever meet this invisible husband? She decided to consult a local astrologer, who had quite an interesting profile. The lady, known as Madame, the Mystic, agreed to make an appointment for Jade. Madame, the Mystic, expected up-front fees. So Jade sorted that, and consulted her future prospects with the astrologer. The two chicks shared a coffee, then Madame read Jade's coffee grounds in her cup. She then read the tarot cards, and cast an individual horoscope for her new client. "You must lighten up, and be open to love. You have a powerful guardian angel. You must take your online career to the best coffee shop in town. Make sure it has a powder room. You must smile at likely men. You must never give up the ghost. You must follow my sheet of instructions for pleasing your angel, first thing in the morning, and before you go to bed...... Love will find its own path, right to your heart, just when you least expect it. I predict the letter B will appear. " Just then, Madame, the Mystic's dog wandered across this site of prophecies. His name was Golden. He was also known as having psychic energy. Why, he had even told Madame what his name was, by communing with his owners' third eye. He wagged his tail, as he sat down, and offered his paw. Madame, the Mystic, spoke again. "Look ,Golden gives you his paw of emotional support. I have a sale on Tarot cards, consult my daily horoscope for your true love, to guide you for all your happy days ahead. Plus here is my sister  Charlene's phone number. You also need her to direct you in fashion and colorful zen. She will provide a color palette, personally tailored. It is not any woman's job to fix men. Be aware of any sign and symbol of friendship, Maybe you need a pet to share your future, always there to welcome your nurturing heart. Got to love a puppy!" Jade did a quick think. "I don't need a puppy. I want to meet a man to love." The mystic astrologer spoke again..... "Peace will flow, consult your guardian angel, always there in each awakening dawn. You must position yourself  seamlessly for love, and be grateful for the graces that appear. I advise a weekly consultation. Here is your next appointment. I shall be your guide on the side!" Jade left the astrologer, slightly bemused. Within no time, astrology was her world. She met Charlene, spent some funds on new threads, dressing each day according to her horoscope and personal palette. No more grey and brown sensible clothing, all was aqua, yellow and bright. Her hair was tinted, with blonde tips, her make-up was featuring her eyes, sparkling with hope. Jade now awoke half an hour earlier, just to greet dawn with her guardian angel. She rehydrated with coffee, interpreting her coffee cup, making her bed, tidying her clutter, practicing her new skills in tarot cards. Once per weekend, she rose and changed her sheets, polished and mopped, flung open the windows, and lit her sage smudging. She wafted the aroma through her flat, opened doors. She still did not need a puppy, this guardian angel was demanding enough. Jade had not, of course, told her father, who was called Bernard. The astrologer had got that bit right. She was getting crosser with God on a daily basis, smiling at strangers was not very effective. She was getting some very funny looks at the coffee shop, as she taught her students. Still she could not fix men, as astrology states. Life took a turn for the worse. Bernard phoned, asking Jade to take him to his appointment at an oncologist. The news was dreadful, he had stage four tumors, riddled with cancer. His prognosis was very grim. Bernard was not as upset as Jade. He told her was grateful for all the blessings his Lord had granted him during his days. Treatment was planned, so he rapidly became an in-patient at an oncology unit. Jade and the church people visited him regularly. In between tutoring online, she made a daily pilgrimage to her father's bedside. He went downhill very quickly, the chemo was futile. Jade had been brought up with filial piety, but inside, she was now furious with her father's divine Lord. How could this happen to such a faithful believer? One grey morning, while channeling her guardian angel, her tarot cards finally showed a pair of lovers. "Yeah, right." Jade wondered, but she was now a keen follower of astrology. At her father's bedside, she held his hand .She felt that she was never quite good enough, never met a husband, never had his grandchildren to love and cherish. Bernard suddenly opened his eyes, he was lucid for a while. "I am so proud of you, the apple of my eyes,. You are so bright and loving. I want you to got to the chapel and pray, like you used to. God has a plan for every one of us. I shall always be loving you. This journey goes on, true love." With that, he breathed his last, and smiled his way to eternity. Jade was devastated. The nurses were summoned, she walked to the chapel, frozen. She sat, silently yelling at God, Jesus, the holy church, her guardian angel. More than cross, angry. She nearly kicked a hole in the church walls. But she was well-behaved,. Not praying, just recalling some happier times with her father. As she sat in the back pew, not doing any knee mails, she felt a hand touch her shoulder. She glanced up, meeting the eyes of her father's junior oncologist. "These things happen, " he told her, "Look, I have seen some mysterious things here, stranger than anyone can perceive. I took a photo of your father's monitor, as you were holding his hand." Jade looked at his phone, there was an image of an angel, with wings. "Is this possible?" she asked. "Can I send it your phone?"asked Dr. Ben, that was on his name tag. "it is a comfort for you. You have your own guardian angel." He laid his hand on hers. They swapped phone numbers, and Jade soon had a miraculous image of her own guardian angel. Nearly eighteen months later, Jade sat in the chapel. Dr. Ben had given her his paw of emotional support, and that was not all. She did have a white wedding, but not in that fancy dress, simple, fitting, respectful. His name did start with a B, after all. She cuddled their brand new baby son, healthy with a good set of lungs already. Maybe she wasn't so cross with the greater powers after all. Madame, the Mystic, was spot on. Jade had been open to a nuanced understanding of her guardian angel, and the theory that love will find a way. Dr. Ben sat beside her. Their baby boy looked like Jade's father, and himself. "Welcome to the world, little Bernard Benjamin......" A journey that continues for everyone. ......


THE AGE OF INNOCENCE They sat on the grass outside the village library awaiting Toby’s return; he having been sent to scope out the building. They watched as he walked back towards them, a mournful look on his face. “It’s the old battle-axe on duty. She absolutely loathes me so I daren’t ask her. What do we do now?’ Miss Aznavour, the librarian, at the age of 36, hardly qualified for Toby’s description of being old. Nor was she a battle-axe. Rather, in her usual twin set and pearls, she was the epitome of a woman who had long given up hope of finding love and lived with her French mother in a cottage just a stone’s throw from her place of employment, resigned to her spinsterhood. To Miss Aznavour, the children of the village were

her

children and, little did they know, that she spent hours devouring book reviews and selecting suitable books for the children of Pinewater Village so that they, too, could discover the wonderful worlds that existed in literature, much as she, herself, had done as a child. When they did well in their exams or were accepted by a university, as Sebastian had been, she glowed with pride. She watched as Sebastian approached her. Intelligent, handsome Sebastian, though fast departing adolescence, still retained a touch of innocence that melted Marie Aznavour’s heart. “Hello, Sebastian. You’ve been delegated, have you?” Sebastian looked up shyly at the librarian, a puzzled look on his face, but followed her stare towards the library doors and the four faces peeping in. Swallowing, he got straight to the point. “I say, Miss Aznavour, yesterday, Toby returned a book and...” “Swallows and Amazons. I seem to recall it was one of

your

favourites, Sebastian. At least, I presumed so as you checked it out so many times”. Sebastian blushed red. He was of an age, with college fast approaching, when he did not care to be reminded too often of his youthful pastimes. “The thing is, Miss, we

think

he may have misplaced a five pound note

inside

the book, possibly uh, probably, that is. I wondered...” “Well, why don’t we have a look, Sebastian?” With a quick glance back at his friends, Sebastian followed the woman to the children’s section of the library where she scoured the book shelves, alphabetically labelled. Under

R

there was no sign of the book. Sebastian’s face expressed his glumness. “Well, it’s not here, is it? I’m quite sure that it hasn’t been checked out again -which means that Vera, my assistant, can’t have processed it yet. Let’s try the returned book trolley”. Sebastian’s face brightened, once more, as he followed her dutifully. “All ready for university, Sebastian?” “Uh, yes, Miss. Yes I am. Though it will be a wrench to leave, you know, the village”. “And your friends, too, I expect”. “Yes, of course”. “Here we are and, look, here it is. Vera can be a bit slow to process returned books. You’re lucky. If

I

had been on duty yesterday evening, this book may already have been checked out by another fortunate child. Now, let’s see”. With Sebastian looking on expectantly, the librarian took the book by its front cover and shook it. Out fluttered the five pound note. Sebastian grabbed at it delightedly. “What’s it for, this money, if you don’t mind me asking?” “Oh no, Miss. Not at all. You see, we all pooled our piggy bank savings and took all the coins to the bank and exchanged it for this note. We plan to go to Holtoms and order up as much food and pop as we can afford and have a farewell party”. Miss Aznavour smiled at this but was puzzled by one thing. “But why the note? Mr Holtom would have accepted money in any form, surely?” Blushing, Sebastian answered. “We just want to see the look on his face. You see, every time one of us enters his shop, he follows us around suspiciously as if we’re thieves. It’s rather annoying. We just want to see the look on his greedy face. It’s silly, I suppose...” “No. I understand perfectly, Sebastian”. And, looking at the librarian anew, Sebastian, somehow, knew that she

did

understand. Just an hour earlier, the five friends had been crowded into Toby’s bedroom, rummaging through his drawers, rifling through books, emptying out his wardrobe; clothes and artefacts scattered everywhere. Sebastian, the eldest, suddenly called for quiet. “Wait! This is crazy. Let’s all calm down for just a mo and

think”. “Gosh, I hope you’ll all help me tidy this mess up before my mother gets home”, Toby whined, looking around at the bomb site that his bedroom had become. “You can just blooming well clean it up yourself, Tobes. You’re the cause of all this, after all”, Toby’s sister, Pete, short for Petunia, responded. Sebastian, the undoubted leader of this motley gang, called for silence. Outside, birds could be heard singing away happily as they revelled in the sunshine; all talk of possible war with Germany forgotten on this perfect English summer day. “Now listen, chaps”, he began, Pete glowing with pride at being considered one of the chaps but Alice, her cousin, who spent an inordinate amount of time preening herself in front of a mirror, not so enamoured of this collective noun, crinkled her nose in protest. Sebastian, oblivious to the fact that he was the reason for her titivating, continued. “Let’s all have a jolly good think about this. Toby, what were your

exact

movements yesterday after Jasper gave you the envelope?” Toby, a shy bookish boy, much given to distraction and absent-mindedness, took off his glasses and polished them on his Ladybird tee shirt, a sign that he was giving serious consideration to this question. “Well, I remember coming home...” “You s.s.said that you were going to return your library b.b.books b.b.because one of them w.w.was overdue”, blurted Jasper, his stutter evident as usual whenever he was excited. “Yes, that’s

right . One of them

was

overdue and I didn’t want to cop another fine. Rather a good yarn, too, Have any of you read Swall...” “Never mind about the

book , Toby. Did you go to the library? Yes or no?” “Well, as a matter of fact, I did. I’d forgotten all about that. Thanks, Jasp”. The others let out a unified sigh of exasperation. “You nitwit, Tobes. How could you forget that you went to the library?” Pete exclaimed; always ready to find fault with her brother. “Toby, we have spent hours searching everywhere in this house for the envelope, including the destruction of your bedroom, and you failed to tell us that you had actually visited the library

after

you had returned home. Can you not see how frustrating you are? You were specifically entrusted with the care of the money and...” Sebastian was halted in mid-stream as Jasper, despite his speech ailment, the most gung-ho of the five friends, clambered over Toby’s bed and darted for the door. “Jasp, where are you off to?” his sister, Alice, called after him. “T.t.to the l.l.library!”. Of course, she had understood. Marie Aznavour, though English, had arrived in Pinewater with her

French

mother which was reason enough to have been cast as an outsider; a label that had taken several years for her to throw off. Oh yes, Miss Aznavour knew only too well what it was like to be viewed suspiciously in Holtoms. This same Marie Aznavour who, upon the death of her mother in three years time, would volunteer her services, as a French speaking person, to SOE, be parachuted into occupied France to work with the resistance, would discover love, finally and briefly, in the arms of a resistance leader, be betrayed by his jealous wife, captured and tortured by the Gestapo and, finally, executed at Dachau concentration camp just two days before it was liberated by the Americans, smiled as she watched Sebastian rejoin his friends gleefully. She felt deep joy as the five children whooped and hugged over the recovery of the five pound note;

her

children. The village shop, owned by Mr and Mrs Holtom and known to one and all as Holtoms, stood adjoining the cobbler’s opposite the village green. It was the only food shop in the vicinity and Mr. Holtom was well aware of that, charging far too much for food items that, otherwise, would have entailed a ten mile journey to the nearest town; an undertaking most villagers could not easily make as they did not own a motor car. In one corner of this store, which, somehow, seemed to stock everything, stood a glass cabinet in which every conceivable sweet that a child could possibly want was displayed. Though the glass prevented a shopper from touching, nevertheless, whenever a child entered the store and, as if drawn by magnetic force, made a beeline for this treasure trove, Mr Holtom would drop whatever he was doing, no matter how important, and scrutinise the child until, finally, he, or she, would move away. He may as well have put up a sign: No window shopping allowed. To Mr Holtom only good, hard cash was important. What a shock this man received when the five burst into his emporium and, instead of clamouring around his glass display of untouchables, they, led by that Sebastian whose father owned the only motor car in Pinewater, gathered around the main counter with a grocery list of

adult

items. Mrs. Holtom, her eyes transfixed by the sight of that large, blue, Bank of England five pound note that Sebastian held in his hand, rushed to fill his order while her avaricious partner looked on, mouth agape. Poor timid, put upon Mrs. Holtom, dominated by her husband, would suffer a severe mental breakdown from which she would never recover when, in exactly twelve months time, she would be the recipient of a telegram informing her of the death of her only child, Flying Officer Nigel Holtom, RAF, whose single seater Supermarine Spitfire aircraft would be shot down in an aerial encounter with German aircraft that would become known as The Battle of Britain. While we are in this part of the village, let us spare a thought for the cobbler whose shop adjoined Holtoms. This man had arrived in Pinewater, from Warsaw, Poland, almost twenty five years previously and had set up shop before the Holtoms, themselves, had arrived. Yet he was

still

considered an outsider despite the demand for his undoubted skill at repairing shoes. Not even addressed by the moniker of “cobbler,” he was known to all and sundry as “the shoe mender”. Real name: Karel Koslowski, he worked diligently every day, smiled politely to all his customers, returned to his lonely cottage each night and pined for his Polish family. Four years from now, he would open his shop, as usual, one morning, then lock the door. Quietly, he would extract the laces from the many, many pairs of shoes that sat on shelves, their leather giving this shop its pungent, familiar odour. Then he would weave, knot and fashion a noose and hang himself from the oaken rafter; as he swung, the letter he had received that morning, informing him of the death of his mother and father in the gas chambers of Auschwitz, would flutter to the ground. The five needed two trips in the rowing boat across to One Tree Island, in order to transport themselves and their goods. The boat belonged to Sebastian’s father and was moored on the private jetty that loomed over the Thames at the bottom of the family garden. As they hauled the wooden crate of pop and the picnic basket up onto the grass, unknown to them, they were being observed through binoculars by Professor Quintin Channon, Sebastian’s father, from his study at the rear of the house. Once he saw that all five were safely ashore, he relaxed and left them to enjoy their feast. How he longed to tell his only child how much he loved him but the “stiff upper lip” instilled in him as a child simply forbade it. This highly intelligent man would go on to win honours for his work at Bletchley Park, breaking down the German’s Enigma Code that would help win the war for England, but would never recover from the loss of his beloved son who, only a few months into university life, would suddenly, in a fit of patriotic duty, enlist, only to lose his life in the Dunkirk evacuation. Their food laid out on the picnic blanket, their mouths watering, the five friends stared with pride at the feast they had gathered: pork pies, sausage rolls, scotch eggs, great slabs of Cadbury’s chocolate. In the crate sat bottles of their favourite pop: Cream Soda, Tizer and Lucozade; all warm and fizzy. Little did they know that this would be their last supper together; the age of innocence passing. They reminisced, laughed and gorged until, fully sated, they made their way back across to the jetty in the twilight. Petunia and Toby, would never hear of Sebastian’s death for they would be sent by their parents to the “safety” of relatives in the United States upon the outbreak of war but would both be among the 117 passengers of the S.S. Athenia that perished when struck by a German torpedo off the coast of Scotland. My sister, Alice, and I would mourn our two cousins and friends together, inconsolable. A year later, when the news of Sebastian’s death was revealed, the shock proved too much for poor Alice who walked into the Thames at high tide and was no more. I, of course, survived everything. I still stutter occasionally but, usually, only when I think back on those days. It was a time of joy, friendship, innocence and, dare I say it,

love.

For us, it was idyllic for we were blind to everything outside of our band of five. To us,

we

were the Swallows and Amazons, inseparable until, one fateful day, the promise made by Neville Chamberlain of peace in our time was shattered forever.


There is a moment in every college party where the designated driver deeply regrets her decision. That moment, for me, had been precisely the moment we’d arrived, and every moment following. I understood the lure of house parties. Being social is a known human need, so that part wasn’t my issue. Neither was the alcohol, a staple of a traditional college diet. For me, that night, it was the location. Why would anybody want to have a “house” party in a garage, twenty miles south of the actual college, where the only heat sources were a giant electric heater mounted to the ceiling, and a bonfire twenty yards from the building?

            The decorations were a bonus, I supposed. Halloween always delivered on the decorations. The twenty foot tall skeleton, posed to appear as if it were propping open the garage door, and the glowing googly eyes taped to the tractors—now that was fun. The mountain of horse shit (excuse me, fertilizer) behind the garage? Not so much. And the fact that my ride, my older sister Rachelle, was not at all interested in leaving for at least another couple hours? Also not ideal.

             The most

not ideal , though, was the fact that Elias from Accounting (his name in my phone) was here, in costume, with a date named Maribel. Maribel was not only dressed as the sexiest Albert Einstein I’d ever seen, but she was also

nice to me. She’d offered us a drink when we’d arrived, having recognized Rachelle from work (or yoga, or class). Maybe

that was the precise moment I had regretted my designated driver status—not because I desperately wanted a drink to deal with her (she, like her date, was frustratingly pleasant), but because Elias had the audacity to high five me for it after giving us an enthusiastic introduction.             “Maya, this is Maribel! Maribel, this is Maya, from my Accounting class.”             “Of course,” she said, ever-so-relaxed, before asking Rachelle something I didn’t bother to listen to. I would have to deal with the burning hypersensitivity of my hand for the rest of the night, because it had been so graced with the touch of his own. Pathetic, is what this house party felt like. By house party, I meant me. I felt pathetic—pathetically, unrequitedly infatuated.             It was a familiar feeling, as I’d been feeling it increasingly often since having met him at the beginning of the semester. We shared a class, and I’d made the simultaneously excellent and miserable decision of befriending him on the second day. My intentions had been purely academic, and they had quickly transformed to impurely unacademic once we’d spent more than five minutes in a room together.             There was a commotion out in the field, and I took the opportunity to escape under the guise of investigation. Rachelle’s and Maribel’s voices faded at my retreat, and I was just breathing in a sigh of relief when I felt a hand press against my lower back.             “Watch out, there’s cow patties everywhere.”             “What?”             “Cow poop. It’s everywhere beyond the gate, apparently.”             My eyes drifted past the dim, fluorescent glow of garage lights to the green gate before us. It was chained to one side, open, this part of the field cleared of cattle. There was a small group of shadows farther out, all hovering around a ring of firecrackers.             “They’re flammable, you know.”             “The cow patties, or the firecrackers?”             “The, uh, cow patties.” My

face felt flammable, my cheeks ablaze with a blush. Finally, Elias and I were talking about something other than the difference between variable and operational expenses and how our weekends had been, and I was literally talking shit. “My sister and I used to roast marshmallows over the dried ones at our Grandma’s farm when we were little.”             He smiled, striking a contrast with his furrowed, concerned brow. “Wouldn’t that affect the taste?”             “You know, I never noticed a difference. But I don’t think I’ll do it again, now that you mention it.”             His laughter came out in a surprised burst, egging me on. “No? That’s too bad, I think there’s some marshmallows back there by the pretzels.”

            “By all means, go ahead. I’ll support you from afar. I can practically smell the poop smoke now.”             “Nah, it’s just the firecrackers.”             Slyly, I added, “I don’t think Maribel would appreciate burning-shit-s’mores-breath.”             “I don’t think she would appreciate my breath anywhere near her face, regardless of the smell.”             “I thought she was your date?”             “In words, is all. We work together, and when she found out I had the official social media event invite, she asked if I wanted to carpool after work. I doubt I’ll even see her much for the rest of the night.”             “So… not a date-date?”             “Not a—”             There was a flurry of firecrackers, followed by a loud pop from the field.

Fireworks.             Smoke began to pump steadily into the air, spreading across the fields in a heavy haze. At first, I thought it was beautiful—flashes of green and white and orange reflecting off the windshields of the tractors.

BOOM. The flash was blinding this time, the ground shook, and a wave of heat blew my hair back. It sounded like things were falling to the ground. Then came the screaming. “Something’s wrong,” I said, turning to Elias—only, he was no longer standing beside me. Instead, he laid crumpled on the ground further back, curled on his side with his legs tucked awkwardly to his stomach. I heard a pained groan that broke through in the gaps of screaming.

“ FIRE!” It seemed to be spreading exponentially fast, the dry fields kindling to the blaze. As it grew brighter, the smoke billowed out in big, thick whorls. Still, Elias hadn’t moved. “Come on!” I shrieked, and dropped to his side. Roughly, I rolled him over, needing to look at his face. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face drawn tight with pain. “Elias, the fire—we need to go!” He nodded almost imperceptibly and unfurled, groaning with every movement. A dry, wracking cough tried to erupt from my chest. It was almost as bright as it had been at sunset, the firelight refracting in the smoke. It made it easier to see his grimace as he said, “I can’t.” “You have to!” I yanked up on his arms, and though he stood, he seemed incredibly off balance. I ran, trying to drag him after me, but he quickly stumbled and fell again to the ground. One of his legs was jutting out slightly, at an unnatural angle.

“Something hit me—a barrel, something—I can’t run on it. My leg—I think it’s broken. It’s broken.” His voice cracked, a hammer to my heart.

With a surge of adrenaline, I pulled him up again and threw his arm around my shoulders, taking as much of his weight as I could. We trudged towards where I imagined the cars were parked, away from the blaze.

One of the screams sounded familiar now, more like a word than an expression of pure terror. I heard it again, and took a shaky breath. Rachelle was looking for me. She would wait, I knew she would—but how long did we have?

The wind was kicking up, flinging embers into my hair. My eyes burned. My lungs ached. My legs began to shudder with each step as Elias grimaced and gasped. “You could’ve just left me,” he hissed as we stepped down into a ditch, another burst of heat rushing over our heads. “And feed your—” I took a shallow breath, followed by a cough. “Toxic masculinity by allowing you to fulfill a dream of—" Another cough, and a grimacing jostle as I readjusted his weight on my shoulder. “—Needless self-sacrifice camouflaged as heroics? I could never.” There, just on the other side of the road, headlights pointed straight at us, was my car. As we approached, I saw the pinched face of Rachelle materialize through the haze. Her head was frantically turning side to side, sweeping the faces of stragglers that had emerged from the smoke. There were no footsteps behind us, no more screams. Only the silence of terror. I cried out, and at last, we met eyes, and she rushed forward to help Elias in the car.

My knuckles were white on the wheel from squeezing so hard to stop their shaking, and there was a stubborn scratchiness in my throat and itchiness in my eyes, but we were safe. Mostly. Other party goers had stopped a distance down the road, watching through their windows with phones to their ears and sobered, shocked faces. I thought I even saw Maribel in one, her white wig tinted gray.

The rest of the ride to the hospital passed in a blur, except for one bit in the middle, when Elias asked in a dazed voice, “Why could you never?” “Of course I saved you. I like you,” I blurted, no emotional energy left to bother with being self-conscious. “Well, I liked you, too." Was that a grimace, or a grin? Glancing in the rearview mirror, I couldn't tell. "And, now? I definitely more than like you, Maya from Accounting.”


It began long ago. Too long to express in your language, unsurprisingly - but think back to the beginning of the universe. What, Big Bang? Ha! I had forgotten about that, but no, I mean the beginning. While the fluffy stuff you call space was still in a jar and the thing which you call light was still enveloped in the dreams of my father. You’re right, I’m not making much sense am I? Forgive me, for it has been a while since I have spoken. In any case! Sat around the table, so to speak, was myself, still young then, gleaming with curiosity and mischief, and my brothers, Faa II, and Öm. It was the Ceremony of Ju, which, for the sake of communication, happened between us every millennium or so. And this particular time, the three of us waited for Sol, who was a leader of sorts. He was actually the father of us three, except more in a sense of consciousness rather than one of… biology. Yes. It was unusual for Sol to be late. He was usually the first one to arrive as he had the fastest means of transportation, not to mention that he was unaffected by the ease of distraction which so often redirected us - the more youthful. But it was not a bother, to wait. We amused ourselves by sharing memories, which we did in a way akin to telepathy, except we were not bound to language. We could also create and manipulate matter and light at our will, so we could show with extreme precision, or perhaps slight exaggeration, the most interesting moments of the past millennium. The three of us were laughing as Faa II shared with us his journey from Bak Bellu to the Dpla Contour, chased by a mass of dreaming dogs from the Fog Bog Planet who, to our amazement, all shared the same dream space. It was because of this, we decided, that the dogs of Fog Bog Planet did never fight or bicker over territory or other such matters of non-import. Sol arrived through the mist of Faa II’s memory and, in simple terms, sat down in his place. So, the ceremony could commence, and we became at once to an air of seriousness, which was held, of course, in slight humour. “Let The Ju begin!” boomed Sol who became surrounded in bright light of purple and white which shone throughout our realm, landing on every surface as a fine dust of sorts which glinted and sparkled as it disappeared. Everybody’s attention had come to me, as it was my turn to take part in what was perhaps the most important ritual of the whole cosmos. I had come of age, you see, and my days of mindless play were over. The responsibility which I was about to be given was beyond imagination. I hid my nervousness under confidence, which may come as a comfort to you; to know that you are not the only species to act with such foolish distance from your true selves. There is a reason for this, which I shall come to soon. I had observed my older siblings, as well as my father, perform this sacred rite with slight ignorance. It was impressive, without doubt, but when watching another perform a skilled task it is often easy to see only the task, for true skill does not show itself. I had thought, upon every millennium, thoughts such as: I could do that, or even, I could do better , and now that I had been given what I for so long had asked for, I squirmed uncomfortably as I struggled to remember the precise order of things. It began with a dance, of this I was fairly sure, and so I rose from my place and my limitless body grew into the surrounding space and I moved, lights shining and shapes spinning and merging into one and other. It was of utmost importance, I knew, that my thoughts were kept true to my intention, as the manifestation powers during The Ju were infinite - and room for error was nil. As I allowed myself to become to the universal rhythm of things, the others began to chant. Sol had the deepest voice and the whole cosmos shook slightly from its bass. Faa II had the most beautiful voice, and the stars could be observed to turn towards him to witness in awe the song that they had been missing for a thousand years. Brother Öm was shy, and his participation in the chant was empathetically intended to soothe me. I could sense him, and I knew that he was going through great effort to communicate to me a message without interfering with the flow of Ju that was growing at a tremendous rate. Do not fear, brother, he spoke. Do not think, brother . I began to concentrate on the far away place that I had chosen for my first and most important Ju. I began then to envision, like I had practised, the oceans, as I had called them, and the lands, and the creatures. As I allowed myself into my manifestation, which was already taking place, the Sun already having grown from its original form as a tiny speck into a great, flailing body of warmth, I felt my body disperse much like powder in water, and the chants became one, continuous vibration. The lands grew from the centre of the planet and took forms as I felt them. I had no longer a conscious will, or rather, there was no longer a space between intention and creation for thoughts to appear and manipulate the matter. The experience was pure beyond my ever having known possible, and in a way, I felt completely detached from it, as if I were simply an observer, and yet, I also felt like I were everything else but an observer. It was beautiful. It was even more than I had ever imagined or dreamt before. The Ju was almost complete, and I experienced with delight the harmony that my new planet sang with. The plants, the animals, and the elements, all complimenting one and other. Where one fell, another grew, and the balance was so true that I could feel its strength and integrity that would not give for millions of years to come. But it was at that moment that I felt a tickle in my mind. It was a memory, I knew at once, and a ghastly one at that. I had not mentioned this fact until now for I am still embarrassed - but it is true: I had met someone the day before the ceremony. The meeting was quite unusual, for it was while I slept. It was in a place that I had never before seen; awake, dreaming, or otherwise - but, I knew intuitively, it was far from my realm. I had fallen in love with them right then in our meeting; they were the most beautiful being I had ever seen. Not to mention the fourth being I had ever seen, and the first to not have been a relative. We spoke for what seemed to be years, neither one of us wanting to wake up. We spoke of all matters: family, solitude, loneliness, love! Oh, my heart! But then I made my life’s most grave mistake. “I am actually the king of my universe,” I blurted after a short pause in conversation. Why? I do not know. Silence makes me nervous. They may have been losing interest in me, who am I to say? I was just a child after all, I had never done anything of note. My father, Sol, was known throughout the cosmos and further, and for this I did not mention my father’s name. I wanted… to be somebody. All this flooded into my being and my intention and creation became at once separated by the meddler of all things! I felt at once insecure, jealous, envious, ashamed, embarrassed, angry, and so, so, sad. It was like this, in the final moment of my Ju, that your ancestors came to be. From a fleeting thought and rush of emotion. You see, how sensitive is Ju? It was a shock to me, because - since I’m being honest - you were a complete accident. I had never even imagined anything bearing any resemblance to you, and so when I first laid eyes upon you, I was disgusted. My beautiful world, I thought. What have I done? When the chanting faded and I returned to the company of my father and brothers, they all were looking away. They could not even face me! After some time of silence, my father spoke. “What happened, God?” he asked me. “I’m sorry father. It was an accident.”


“Beep, Beep, Beep” the sound went on in succession “Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep” so ingrained was the tone she hadn’t noticed it had stopped. So occupied was her mind, abuzz with varied thoughts of the tasks she wanted to complete, and the tasks she must complete. “Miss, are you alright?” The clerk asked as she fell back into the present. “Madam, did you hear me? That will be 1200.79 Francs.” Waiting patiently the clerk eagerly watched her reach into her pocketbook, and slid out the correct amount of currency with expediency, rushing her out of his line, all but shoving her bags into her arms. Once in the car, she reached for the visor, grabbing her notebook. Hastily she jotted down what she’d gotten from Carrefour, now she needed to go to Regabon, then after that Supergros.

The street changed to the highway as she headed home with her haul. Placing the items she needed to the side, she emptied the bags putting them where they belonged in her home. Showering she quickly washed, and brushed her teeth. Then in a mad dash, she threw her clothes on. In the mirror she admired herself “Bernadette”, she said, “Don’t you look lovely today?” She’d learned that in therapy, a self-proclamation in the mirror. When she felt down about herself, or when she felt “the incident” start to pull her elsewhere she was to look in the mirror and give herself confirmation. As if her house weren’t confirmation enough, more rooms than she could ever sleep in, and more jewelry than she could ever truly wear. Feigning a smile she looked back at herself meekly, “No that’s not it,” she turned her head from the mirror she couldn’t look at herself. “You’ve got to give me a true smile. Come on I know it’s in you. Back in the mirror, she gave a more elated version of herself. Finding this suitable, she went downstairs heading to her car.

The road to work wasn’t far it took about thirty minutes to get there, she’d made sure to equip her car for what she needed when she was finished. Adjusting her mirror she ensured the bags were safely tucked under meaningless items. Work was a madhouse. Surgeries back to back, but she made it through. Her hands were tired but not enough for them to rest yet, more work was to be done. Mid-way through her shift she found time to take a nap, resting in a cot in the staffers' lounge. The lights thrummed in time with the music that flooded the air. The drink in her hand was bitter, but she forced it down trying not to focus on the taste. Like the phasing lights, nerves bounced around her stomach. She’d worn her best jewelry, her best makeup, her latest dress, and all for what? For her to stand at the back corner of the bar? Too afraid to speak to someone? To frightened of intimacy to even get her toes wet. The liquor was supposed to remedy that, it was supposed to make her feel at ease, and help her deal with the anxiety that bubbled up the moment she opened her mouth. Leaving her empty glass at the table, she clacked her heels across the floor, then she tapped at the bar grabbing the keeps attention “Another one. Make it a double.”

Glasses were stacked neatly at her table, a woman walked by with a tray collecting them. Bernadette reached into her clutch, gripping a few Francs for a tip. The woman’s face was almond-shaped, she had wide brown eyes, with a long neck. She was tall, just about as tall as Bernadette, something rare since she was about 6’2”. A smile appeared in the corner of the woman’s mouth. In the bathroom, they exchanged making out in the third stall. Bernadette learned the name of the girl she had her tongue down the throat of when she had finished their second passionate kiss. “Druja. Or Dru for short.” She said then she slid her hand around Bernadette’s thigh, then further up still, further up until she was beneath the lining of her silk panties. The alarm on her phone sounded, which meant it was time for the next surgery. Groggily she tossed off sleep, grabbing herself a cup of coffee on her way out into the hall.

At the desk she looked over the symbols she’d been scribbling, each one was made precisely so. The entirety of the page was filled with them, over and over she’d made pages of them, placing the completed copies in a shredder only after she found them satisfactory. A hand was on her shoulder, and she jumped. “I’m sorry, you know I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me knock.” Charlot came in, though she wore scrubs parts of her still managed to fill every bit of them. Bernadette did her best not to take notice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.” Surreptitiously she slid her drawing down into her shredder. Gratification came when she heard the gears begin to grind.

“I’d been knocking for quite a while, then I asked if you were busy. I swore you answered me.” Charlot had a curious look, then she laughed a bit, which in turn made Bernadette laugh. “Long day Bernie?” Charlot asked. “Longer than I’d like it to be,” Bernie admitted. “Don’t worry the night’s almost through. We can grab a drink or two after, I think I feel the same…or worse.” Charlot let her hearty laughter fill the small office, so infectious was it that Bernie had no option but to join in. “Ok, we will see. I’m not promising anything yet.” Bernie said, scrawling across one of the many documents that needed her signature. “Of course, of course,” Charlot said catching the hint it was time to go back to work. “I’ll leave you to it.” With the eyes of a wolf longing for a prime cut of meat, she watched Charlot waltz back to the door, abruptly she had turned, and at the moment Bernie had her head towards Charlot’s shape, no she was focused on the door. “Bye.” Charlot waved. The steam of the shower always cleared her mind. With a grin she welcomed the hot flow, allowing it to take her trouble with it. Watching it swirl down the drain, she imagined all the bullshit of the day spiraling out. Under the shower, she rinsed her head. There were advantages to short hair, one of many being she wouldn’t drown in a sea of wet hair, while her mind wandered. Throwing her scrubs in her bag, she got dressed in her streetwear. “Bernadette, what do you have planned for tonight?” Charlot said to her, as she was slipping into her dress. Bernadette watched the dress slide down her form, she saw it caress her shape, going down until it covered the silk panties she wore. Charlot had turned around swiftly, causing Bernadette to turn her head a bit, giving her some privacy. “You think you’re down for a drink tonight?” Charlot asked. “Maybe we can get you a man. Verrill has a friend he thinks would be good for you. Someone tall, handsome too. I think Verrill said he is in the tea industry.”

The prospect of a night out between her and Charlot had been alluring, but the mix of Verrill and his ‘acquaintance’ took all the blood from her cheeks. Thinking of the alternative, she could say no, she could very well make up an excuse for Charlot, one of the many she had for such an occasion. This was something she contemplated, alongside the gossip that came with it. Despite it being without punishment, Homosexuality was not encouraged. Not like it had been in America. Here they would talk about her, and the rumors would spread, though Charlot always put them to rest for her. On the other hand, if the rumors caught steam, they could lose to her no longer being able to practice, which meant no house, no car, and that also meant… “So what do you think?” Charlot said. She was already dressed, just finishing putting her earrings on. “You’re not even dressed yet? Oh, Bernie.. you sure you want to go out tonight?” For dinner, they’d chosen somewhere new. Bernie had driven herself, choosing to meet the others at the restaurant. The less she had to pretend the better. She also managed to squeeze in a small trip to a shop, grabbing a small dress to show extra effort and give Charlot more to barricade against the gossip mill. Walking in she went to the hostess stand, but Charlot and Verrill already spotted her. “Over here” Charlot stood up to say, a smile from ear to ear was across her face, her white teeth complimented by her red lipstick. The bracelets she wore jingled as she signaled. “Look at you”, Charlot said holding her tight. In Bernie’s ear, she whispered “Nothing too bad yet. This one seems like a catch.” She’d said it fast so as not to catch anyone’s attention, then Bernie said “Good cause I’ve brought my net.” At that the two of them chuckled, sitting at their prospective spots. If she’d been into men, he would have been a candidate. The man was handsome, with strong cheekbones, and a prominent jawline. When he stood up to reach for a hug, he smelled rich like frangipani blossoms and oud. Bright white teeth, perfectly aligned gave the most elated of expressions as he took her in. The flattery was nice, and remembering she was on cue she smiled the way she’d seen other girls do, as they were looked over by their prospective suitors. A blush even managed to brighten her cheeks, this was something Charlot must have noticed, for she whispered to Verrill. The man’s name was Razo. Razo Otumbe. Bernie made a rhyme at dinner “Razo Otumbe, Born on a Monday. Razo Otumbe, Born on a Monday” It helped her keep his name fresh in her mind, with it being preoccupied she found it hard to focus.

The wine was poured glass after glass, it was true as Charlot had shared Razo was very endowed. There was not a course he didn’t know on the menu, nor did he find any of the food distasteful, he savored every bite. The conversation he provided was extraordinary, having traveled the world Razo had much to share about his experiences, he was very much into himself, Bernie came to find out after listening to fifteen minutes of his recent excursion to Thailand. When he had finished she promptly excused herself to the bathroom. Extravagant smoke doors lead to the restroom. Bernie took a moment at the sink, relieved to not have to pretend, if only for a few moments. Looking at herself she stared in the mirror, connecting with the Woman beyond the reflection. “Just a bit longer.” She steeled herself, “You’ve got this.” Having nothing to do in the bathroom, she washed her hands out of habit, allowing the water to flow over them, giving her thoughts room to untangle.

The lights of the night were dimming, through the flurry of the disco, she’d been entranced. Convinced by Dru to accompany her for a rendezvous, with an anxious heart she’d said yes. They didn’t hold hands walking down the street, though Bernie wanted to. Behind closed doors in the intimacy of Dru’s apartment, they’d begun to kiss and run along the form of each other’s bodies. Bernie could trace the small of her back from memory if she’d wanted, that was how long they’d been in the embrace of one another. Throwing her back on the bed Dru ravaged her. In ecstasy, Bernie threw her head back and thrust her hips up. Feeling the sensation coursing through her, she convulsed as the pleasure continued. A hand was now on her breast, she felt it nuzzling her plump bosom. A slight prick she felt, nothing major just the end of a nail, then the star pain shot across to her arm. The hands had changed somehow, no longer dainty and nimble, the hands themselves felt like they had grown when she gazed at her chest, she saw a leathery ruby-skinned hand grasping her tit. In fear she’d jumped, unable to escape as the claw gripped her firmer applying pressure to hold her in place. “No…get off of me.” Bernie kicked with her legs, then the beast unveiled a pair of wings, which it used to grab her legs. Half nude she tried to free herself, but the monstrous grip only furthered her into the mattress. With her fists, she beat on its back, as it had its way with her… “BERNIE, are you alright?”Charlot said pulling Bernie out of her trance. The water at the sink was running, and spots of blood were in the basin. Looking at herself, Bernie saw her nose had been bleeding. “Oh, my god. Let me grab you some paper.” Charlot moved swiftly, rushing back to her side. Bernie held the paper to her nose, moving herself to a stall for more privacy. “Are you ok?” Charlot asked while Bernie ensured the blood wouldn’t stain her dress. “I’m fine, I just had a nosebleed.” Charlot said, “You should have a doctor look at that.”

At the table, she was welcomed like a traveler returning from abroad. “I was worried about you,” Razo said, then he ginned with the corner of his mouth, biting his lip. “I was worried about myself,” Bernie said, then she took her seat. Looking at her watch she saw the time for her prior engagement was drawing nigh. With grace she excused herself, thanking Charlot, and Verrill for their time, and she made a point to act as if her parting was displeasing, due in fact to Razo being there for her. That water cooler would be smoking on Monday morning, full of the ins and outs of the dinner.

Getting in the car, she went three blocks and then turned down an alley. Being at the dinner, in that damn bathroom almost made her miss it. The dress she began to tear off her, reaching over the seat and grabbing a bag she began to sort through what she needed. Then she tossed it on the seat beside her and opened the sunroof. Bright and bold the moon shone, so close she thought she could reach up and grab it. The sky behind it was clear, stars twinkled slightly, poking through the light pollution. With a quick swig, she downed the bottle of rosemary and blue vervain, then she munched on ginger root. Dousing the amulet in a jar, she pulled it up took the string, and hung it over the mirror. Steadily she drove until a slight glow emanated, when she made a slight turn and the glow dimmed, she eased herself around till it started up once more. The evening rolled on, the gem had a steady glow so she knew she was closer than she’d been. Bold circles of ruby shimmered in the cabin, looking up overhead she saw only the moon, onward she went driving in the direction of the brightest glint until she came up to a sign reading “LOANGO NATIONAL PARK”. Turning her lights down she drove in darkness, parking along the side entrance. Snagging her keys, the gem, and her bag she trekked through the trees. Monkeys called, and birds sang their nightly hymns as she felt her way in the dark. From her bag now and then she pulled a machete, hacking only when she found it necessary. The smell of a skunk filtered the air, so strong was the stench that she felt her nostrils begin to burn. Reaching into the bag she found a small bottle, placing it at her fingertips she rubbed it on her nose, stopping the burn, but keeping the scent.

“CRACRACRA” At the sound Bernie stopped, she held her breath waiting to hear. “CRAAACRAAA” The sound was a high pitch, warble which was piercing to the ear. Stealthily she crept, the smell was now of burnt matches, so she was getting further away, locating where it was the strongest she continued. The stench of rotting eggs now, she knew it couldn’t be far. Sounds of the jungle had halted, and silence fell heavily on her ears, doing nothing to drown the drum beneath her throat. Ahead of her scattered in spots were bones, the moon caught the top of them, showing the bare alabaster back of a skull. Up the trail fresher prey lined the path a severed arm, deep onyx in color was on a makeshift post. On either side lay something, upon inspection Bernie could make out it was a set of lungs. “RRRAAAOORR”, “RRRAAAOORR”, the sound was distorted as it echoed from the cave. Erupting from it the beast expelled itself rabidly. Without thought Bernie grabbed her rope, throwing it in the direction of a red flash. Feet lifted off the ground, she attempted her best to reel in her catch. “Av Kin Noct” Bernie said digging her heels into the ground. “Nhg Vitw” the amulet “KEEEE KEEE” Flapping its wings the entity tried to escape her. Turning itself to face her, Bernie saw its wide singular eye. A yellow iris, with a pupil like a goat. The red wings it writhed with, looked like skin stretched beyond its limit, so thin it almost was translucent. “Av Kin Noct, Nhg Vitw”

A siren rang from the mouth of the bat-like entity, deafening in pitch Bernie had no choice but to cover her ears, relinquishing her grip on the rope. Upward the imp rose, until it was a shadow against the backdrop of clouds, then up further still where she could no longer sense it. Bernie trotted back to her car reminding herself “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”


"Are you coming tonight?" Sarah asks. The voice message plays in my mind. Should I go tonight? Probably not. I really don't want to go to Sarah's Christmas party. Everyone will be there. Family, friends, neighbours, random people she met on the street- they'll all be there tonight. "Which is why you should go!" Sadie groans, cutting my rant off. "No, it's why I shouldn't go." I'm right, of course. "Wrong, it's why you should. It's a great way for you to come out." "Come out??" I say incredulous, "Sadie, are you out of your mind?" "You've been avoiding Sarah for years! Don't you think it's time to tell her?" Right. Tell her that I'm a girl. Telling my sister that her brother is dead. "And what on earth am I going to say to her? 'Hey Sarah! I know you don't think you know me, but I'm your sister! Brandon no longer exists!' It sounds stupid just saying it out loud to you!" "That's because I'm not Sarah," Sadie says, rolling her eyes. "And it's not only her, you and your parents haven't spoken in three years!" My heart sinks. They kicked me out at seventeen when they caught me in bed with a boy. I told them we weren't even doing anything wrong, we were just chilling. Sarah was there for the occurrence too. She was home for summer break, and after that, she gave me a room in her apartment. She believed me. "For a reason , Sadie." Sadie sighs. "What else can I say to make you go?" "Nothing," I mutter, "my mind's made up." I feel horrible for skipping the Christmas party again. For the fourth time this year. "Not even when I say that they've got three years worth of presents for you?" Sadie says desperately. I scoff. My parents wouldn't get a present for their daughter they kicked out three years ago. "Why can't I just meet Sarah some other time?" "Because that's what you always say." That's true. I always make plans and cancel them last minute. "But it's different this time, I'm trans!" Sadie looks ready to slap me. "For the love of God!" "God didn't help me when I was on the streets!" "I'll go with you then," Sadie says, putting on a fake smile. It looks painful. "If it doesn't work out, we'll come home." "Fine," I say, only because Sadie is terrifying when she's mad and I can't have her ripping up my closet. "Great!" Sadie says, hopping out of the covers. "Get ready, we leave in five." --- "This is the worst idea you've ever had." I glare at the house I used to call home. The fairy lights hang around the porch and I can see the silhouettes of the people inside. They clump together like weeds, drinking and laughing. "C'mon, it's not the worst idea I've ever had. Remember when I put three thousand wasps in that bastard's locker?" "It wasn't her locker," I remind Sadie. " It was mine. " "Yes, yes. See, my point is, everything will be fine compared to when three thousand bees chased you down the hallway." "Where'd you even manage to get so many?" "I found a beehive growing in the walls of my room. Thought it'd be a good idea to get back at that bastard." "Lucky it went according to plan." "Sarcasm isn't your tone- look out, Sarah's coming." "Okay, great!" I hiss. "I'm leaving." "Not so fa- hey! Sarah! How are you?" Sadie beams and hugs my sister. "Shall I take the present up?" "No, I will," Sarah says, smiling. "Oh! You brought a guest!" I smile weakly. She doesn't even recognize me. "Hi," I say awkwardly. "I should go. Have fun Sadie!" Behind Sarah, Sadie points the middle finger at me. "No, stay, please. You can't be alone at Christmas!" Deaf to my protests, Sarah drags me inside. Sadie follows suit, and gives me a little smirk. "Look!" I exclaim, pointing both my middle fingers up. "I have two!" "You're such an asshole," Sadie says, before marching off towards the kitchen. "So," Sarah says, turning to me. "What's your name?" She really doesn't recognize me then. It stings a little, but maybe it's for the better. "Grace," I say, returning Sarah's smile. The doorbell rings, and I see my mother heading towards the door. "No, I'll get it," Sarah says, rushing to the entrance. "Sarah, honey, you've been getting all the guests. Maybe you should rest a little bit." "I insist," she says, hand on the doorknob. I see my childhood friends standing in the doorway, all smiling and wishing Sarah a happy Christmas. Maybe it's my imagination, but for a second I saw Sarah's smile falter and fade. As the guests settle in, Sarah turns back to me. "So, where are you from?" "Here, actually," I say. "Born and raised." Sarah raises her eyebrows. "You look a little familiar." My heart races. I don't know what to say to her, so I just shake my head. "Maybe you've seen me here and there, it's a pretty small town." "True, I must've seen you at the coffeehouse at times," she says, and I sigh in relief. "You know, I expected my brother to turn up," Sarah says, her eyes watering up. "I'm really sorry," I say, not knowing how to tell her that her brother is here, but isn't really a boy anymore. "It's alright. I mean, I do get it. My parents judged him way to quickly. They don't want Brandon here, but I still do." "They don't want him here?" I say, a little too quickly. "No, I don't think they do. Three years doesn't really change much about how they think. Although I wish it did." "Brandon will never be welcome here," my father says, appearing out of nowhere. "Sarah, I thought we talked about this," my mother says, frowning. "He's filth, he'll always be filth." "How could you?" Sarah cries, tears spilling down her face. "To your own child? At Christmas no less?" "He's no a child of mine," my mother says, my father nodding. Sarah bursts into tears and runs out. My mother makes an action to follow her, but my father puts a hand on her shoulder and says, "she'll have to learn that fags will not be allowed in this household." I turn myself away from the conversation, sickened. I rush out to the back to find Sarah. "Sarah!" I call out. I look around for another five minutes before I realize where she is. We had a treehouse. We used to play in it all the time. It was concealed with leaves, and we used it as our hideout. Not even our parents knew it was there, let alone guests and strangers. "Sarah?" "Who's there?" The lightbulb flickers on and Sarah looks at me in shock. "How did you find me?" I feel my eyes start to sting and wetness on my cheeks. I watch as she comes to the realization that I've been dreading. "Brandon?"


The opening lyrics from If I Could Turn Back Time, start to echo in my head the moment I’m told to make my wish. My inner musician cringes for a moment when I realize I’m quoting a Cher song. Sure, Sonny and Cher were cute back in the day, I loved that variety show they had. I just can’t help but think how their lives verged madly away from each other after they got divorced. If I could turn back time with a single wish, maybe I would reset them to their earlier days. That isn’t what I’d wish for though. Given a single wish, what would anyone hope for? Money? Power? Health? All of the above, in some well worded phrase? Not me. Every year, on a person’s birthday, each of us gets that chance to make a wish and blow out the candles. I’m fairly confident I wasted mine all these years. As a kid you usually hope for stuff… things that are the latest gizmo. I remember when I was a kid, I wished for a BB gun once. My parents never would have bought me one. They had parallel beliefs to that famous Christmas movie… what was the name of that movie? Anyway, “You’ll shoot your eye out kid”, was a popular phrase echoed whenever I brought it up. I eventually bought my own BB gun, I never did shoot out my eye, or anyone else’s, I still have it sitting in storage somewhere. In my teenager years wishes started to delve a different direction. As a teenage boy, I remember the idea that magically, through a wish, I might suddenly gain the powers to talk to Deedra; the most popular girl in school. Though I doubt she had those same hopes of me. However, all that didn’t matter. She wasn’t the girl for me. Entering adulthood was an interesting time, wishes held promise, hope, and were directed now toward drive and fame. Hoping to score perfectly on the SAT’s, studying for them may have helped. Hoping to get into the best colleges, and again studying may have helped there too. Finally, the wishes were geared toward life, a career, a great job that held promise and, if you’re lucky, paid really well too. In a blink, your life takes another turn, you have a good job, money in the bank, and a good sense of self. For me, my next wishes went back to my teenage years. Simply asking, hoping, for the ability to talk to someone that interested me. To have the perfect pick-up line. Not a sleezy one-liner for an equally sleezy one night stand. An actual line, one that opens up a conversation with someone that interests me. I was lucky, I found that line once, and it worked, better than I thought. It was like magic. Life has a way of continually changing, continually finding ways to make you desire something new. Not that the old wishes necessarily came true, though I’d like to think some did. It more happens out of a need for new things, and I don’t mean a BB gun, or a sports car. The things I mean are less tangible; a good marriage, a healthy child, a happy life, or maybe just a good dinner with an old friend. There’s something to be said about good food. Throughout my life there were times my wishes were wasted for sure. There were also times I made the perfect wish. We all have only so many wishes in life, so many tries to make amends, to fix things, to change our surroundings. Sometimes those wishes are made while blowing out those candles. Sometimes they are just a plea to God. And sometimes… If I was younger, I might travel to the Arabian desert, dig in the sand, and search for a hidden cave. If I looked hard enough, dug deep enough, I might just find Aladdin’s cave. I might just find the Djinni’s lamp. Then I would have the ultimate power to make my wishes come true, a djinni doing my bidding. However, If I was younger, I would have likely wasted them on the wrong things. Through most of my life I would have made all the wrong wishes. I’m not younger, and there’s not a magical lamp. Where I am now, my place in life, I could still wish for money, power, or good health. Many people would if given the chance. There are three wishes right there. For me, I’m at a good place, I’ve seen all that I want to see, though there are places I would have liked to visit. I’ve done most of what I wanted to do, although skydiving always seemed interesting, I never tried it, and I’m too old now. As far as money goes, I’m comfortable, not rich, but who needs that much money later on in life. Health is an interesting choice, I’ve always been fairly healthy, a broken bone here or there, but I don’t want to live forever, life can get lonely in the later years. Too much free time on one’s hands, and too much busyness in the people’s lives you’d care to see. They have no time for visits, they’re making their own wishes come true. Which leads me back to here and now. A small cupcake pushed in front of me, a lone candle flickering away, shining its magical power, begging for me to make up my mind and blow it out. And those lyrics from that old pop song running through my head. At one time I would wish to turn back time, and maybe I have a time or two. The idea of this wish was posed to me by the people surrounding me. The people that brought me the cupcake. They aren’t my loved ones, though some of them are dear to me for sure. I’ve seen most of them for the last few years. New people come and sadly people go, but some of the faces stay the same. Taking in a deep breath, and choosing my words carefully, secretly, I give an energetic blow for an old man. I know my wish is wasted, I know my wish is lost, but I couldn’t help it. I did what I’ve always done, wished for the one thing I want right now. Each year that seems to change. Lifting the tiny cake from the small plate I remember all the treats from years past. Peeling back the oily paper from the treat, I take a bite. It’s not one of the cupcakes my wife might have made, she was a great baker. It’s not one from that little place on the corner my dear wife and I used to walk to when she was still alive; what was the name of that place? It doesn’t matter. It’s none of those. It’s just a cupcake. Gazing up from my partially eaten treat, I see those that gathered around me have gone back to their puzzles, their old TV shows, and their own meals. The sweet nurses who brought the treat have all returned to their daily duties. What could I wish for? There was only one thing. The thing I wish for every day in here. “Mr. Robertson, you have visitors,” a voice says behind me, “It’s your son and grandchildren.” I guess, some wishes can come true.