It’s happened before. At least I think it has happened before. I have a memory. I am a memory. There is no confusion. There isn’t enough of anything for there to be confusion. I am small. I am inconsequential. A mote of dust propelled hither and thither by forces beyond my understanding. The winds of change swept into my life. I was not ready. I am never ready. I will never be ready. The whirlwind of my emotions calms for a moment, allowing me a rare moment of clarity. This is necessary. I am free. Free from my ego. Free from the arrogance of my self-pitying introspection. There is more to this life than my worried thoughts. There is more to this world. To this universe. I am nothing, and yet I am everything. The wind came and it transformed me. As it took from me I panicked and I clung on to what it was so intent on removing. Locked in a struggle that would only ever end one way.

Pain. I wept as I lost what I thought had value. I watched as it was stolen from me and faded into the insignificance from whence it came. I mistakenly thought that that was also my fate. I wailed and screamed in my nakedness. Afraid to be so exposed. I thought myself vulnerable. I was wrong. We are vulnerable in our desperation. A desperation evidenced by how we cling onto the material. We are possessed by our possessions. They poison us with a drug that gives us the illusion of happiness, but is anything but happiness.

In the falsehood of realities, that are all about taking and never about giving, we seek to possess others. And in that ownership we hurt and twist those around us so that they better fit the distorted expectations we have of how everyone should be.

Again and again, in our bold ignorance we attempt to emulate gods. Moulding people into our muddle-headed perception of perfection. The gods do not deign to do this. The gods are not so presumptuous and craven. They gave us free will so that they could delight in our unfurling into the beautiful forms that we were always meant to be. Instead they witness our depravity and corruption and they lament our foolhardy ignorance, fighting to stay hands that would readily end so much sacrilege and heresy. The wind came for me and I fought it. I thought it had come to take everything that I was, but it was only here to free me from the prison that I had built around myself in my state of fearful denial. A state I thought was living, but was only ever existing in exile. The winds came, and they came only for me. Alone and in misery, I felt them embrace me and I despaired. If the winds had been me, they would have given up there and then. They would have reacted mindlessly and withdrawn. Thankfully, the winds were not me. Not as I was.

Now they are. Swept adrift in the endless oceans of the universe, I closed my eyes and waited for the storm to pass. In stubborn return, the storm waited for my ignorance to pass. The storm is ageless. Waiting is what it does. Patience is what it is about.

In the end, I opened my eyes. I had to open my eyes. Cautiously, I brought my surroundings into view. Flinching reactively at the prospect of the suffering of my imagination being made real. The least that I deserved in my self-tortured state. I scanned the world through a jaundiced filter and yet I did not find what I was looking for. The source of my pain and anguish was not out there. It took me an age to accept that I was the source of my own pain. Even then I tarried. Even then I delayed the inevitable with an unsubstantiated reluctance. Fear born of ignorance and growing all the time. For all the things I held dear, it was my fear that I held most dearly. The realisation of this, my folly, shamed me. But then I understood that it always had. Shame was the lock on my chains. Yet what did I have to be ashamed of and what did I have to lose? This was not the question. Always I asked the wrong questions so that I never had to look at myself face to face. It was what I had to gain that mattered. Me, that was what I had to gain. Me and a life well lived.

I thought that required courage, but that was another glib, self-generated lie. I was born to be me and I was made to live. Somehow, I had allowed my ego to blunder around corrupting my true nature, and now the winds had come to blow the veil of my deceit and denial to one side and expose the lie that I had become. As the last vestiges of the lies I had shrouded myself in during my living death fell away in the slipstream of my wind-born flight. I felt the dread weight of false sorrow lifting away from me and it was then that I soared. I soared upwards into the light, and for the first time since my childhood, I truly revelled in the joy of my life. I found happiness in my being. I re-joined the path and began the journey I was always meant to embark upon. I remembered my destiny as I looked upon my fate. The loss that had wrapped itself around me, squeezing the very life out of me was the loss of me. I had lost my way. The winds came and they freed me. They took everything from me, but that everything was nothing. After all, it meant nothing. I had been smothered under a blanket of darkness that held no meaning and no value for me. Now? Now I was lighter than a feather and cast adrift in the universe. The prospect of this was once terrifying to me, but now I knew. Now I had the necessary perspective and I could see at last. I am the universe, and the universe is me. My fear was illusory and it blinded me to myself and my true nature. Now I relaxed into the wind’s embrace and went where I was always meant to go and lived how I was always supposed to live. Somewhere, in a faraway place that I still owned, but that might not be me, I hoped that this time I would make it stick. That this time I would stay on the path and would not succumb to the seduction of the bright lights of a place that smells so badly wrong, but that whispers sweet falsehoods about it being so right.

I hope I don’t give up. Not again. Not this time. A cycle of loss and redemption beckons once again, but I do not see it for what it is. I never see it for what it is. The wind sighs as my head is turned yet again.


‘Yes ma’am, this is a courtesy call from ABC self-storage. We will be auctioning off your storage unit on March 8th, so you have till the end of the week to remove whatever belongings you would like to keep.’ The woman professionally informs Emeri. ‘The end of the week? Auction off my belongings? On my birthday? Seriously? What are you talking about? My ex-husband, Johnathan Archer, pays for that unit. It’s in our divorce decree for him to pay!’ Emeri rambles as confusion distorts her face. ‘Yes maam he was but he removed his credit card six months ago.’ She politely explains. ‘Six months! But.. why… when…. Ughhh!’ Emeri exclaims in shock as the hate for her ex pools in her stomach; Tears sting her eyes as the memories of her marriage sear her brain. All of the control and physical abuse; the gaslighting and manipulation. All the memories that lead up to that awful night and now this.

‘How much?’ Emeri grits out through clenched teeth. ‘Excuse me ma’am?’ The lady asks incredulously. ‘How much to get my unit back? How much money to get you off my phone,

ma’am?’  Emeri asks sharply -allowing the venomous disdain to ooze from her voice. ‘The unit was $548 behind but that is a moot point because it’s already been acquired by the storage facility. Your only two option is to collect your belongings or not. Period.’ The lady curtly states. ‘And I don’t appreciate you implying that I can be bought.’ ‘And I don’t appreciate you …’ Emeri starts, ‘Never mind. Just never-mind. Thank you for letting me know about the storage unit.’ She angrily finishes as she ends the call and closes her eyes tightly.

Keep it together.. don’t lose your composure over a storage unit

she tells herself as she grinds her nails into her palm to keep the tears from escaping her eyes. But it’s not about the storage unit -and Emeri knows that - it’s about the memories in that storage unit. All her belongings that she was

allowed

to take when her horrendous marriage of fifteen years ended. Photos, appliances, clothes, decor, etc; all the things she had collected while trying to pretend she had the perfect family. All the things that Emeri shoved into the unit a year ago because hiding them was easier than shattering all the false memories. And that’s what would happen because each item had a memory that was covered in sugar and pink glitter but shit is still shit, even if it’s covered in sugar and pink glitter. Over the next two days, Emeri’s anxiety over her looming deadline only grew. At first, she tried to tell herself to just let it go. Leave it and let them auction it. Why did she even care? She hasn’t seen, touched, or thought about anything in that unit for a year and she was fine. But she knew there was one thing in that storage unit that she didn’t dare lose; the only thing with enough pull to force her to confront her past- A past that was the reason for Emeri’s functioning anxiety and PTSD; The baby book that contained the ultrasound of her son. The only picture she has of the only pregnancy she was able to momentarily enjoy. Conceiving hadn’t been the problem; the six miscarriages had proven that. No, her problem had been her left fallopian tube which was badly scarred and blocked. It had been a miracle when her doctor told her she was pregnant. ‘Looks like this one knew the right path!’ Dr. Allen announced happily as she proceeded to print out the small ultrasound picture that had

hi mommy  typed in the bottom left corner.

Emeri clenches her eyes tightly and allows her fingernails to cut into her palm to try and control the emotions surging through her body. The tears that want to release so badly; the tremors that quickly take over her body; the ball of anxiety that fills her stomach.

Breathe. Breathe. It’s the past. You are not a victim, you are a survivor

Emery slowly chanted to herself, remembering what her yoga instructor taught her and allowing her body to release the crippling memories of the control that Jonathan had once wielded over her. The memories of the miscarriage she had at twenty-four weeks pregnant. The memories of Jonathan leaving her two weeks later for his girlfriend who was twenty weeks pregnant.

‘ It’s a Boy, Emeri. And we are naming him Jonathan Archer III.’

Jonathan coldly stated. ‘ No! No! You can’t do that! That’s our

son's  name. You CAN NOT take that from me. Please. Please don’t do this.’

Emeri sobbed hysterically as she begged him to be reasonable.

‘ We don’t have a son. Remember? You aren’t woman enough to have a baby.’

He heartlessly spat as he turned and left her in a crumpled heap in the middle of their living room. That had been the last time she saw her monstrous ex-husband. He filed for divorce by the end of the week, was remarried to his new wife sixty days later, and welcomed a healthy baby boy on June 19th. The same day Emeri tried to end her life. It had just been too much and the temptation of peace that the handful of sleeping pills had quietly seduced her with had won. She only survived because her nosey neighbor, Mrs. Anders, had stopped by to check on her after hearing from another gossipy neighbor that Jonathan’s baby had been born. Mrs. Anders had found her collapsed on the living room floor, the empty pill bottle close by, and called 911.

But she survived and voluntarily committed herself to a psychiatric facility for a thirty-day evaluation. In those thirty days, she had learned to control her anxiety through yoga while allowing her wounds to heal; emotional and physical. And if you survived that, you can survive this  Emeri seethes as she squares her shoulder and straightens her back.

Tomorrow

You will go to that storage unit, get baby Jonathan’s ultrasound -fuck everything else- and cut this final tie to your past. You are stronger than this and deserve a happy life. Tomorrow this ends.

The next morning Emeri quickly finishes her morning coffee and shower in record time due to not wanting to lose her nerve but it only momentarily works. As she pulls up to the dingy blue metal building and keys in her code, all the anxiety came slamming into her body and she could feel her airway getting tighter. Her heart begins racing, nausea fills her stomach and the horribly familiar weight on her chest begins getting heavier.

Breathe. Breathe. It’s the past. You are not a victim, you are a survivor

Emeri recites quietly, allowing her breathing to lessen the excruciating weight on her chest that was stealing her air. As the seconds tick by, Emeri’s anxiety loosened its grip on her and she was able to open her eyes.

With a deep inhale, she shoves her key into the padlock and opens the loud rickety metal door that she hadn’t laid eyes on for a year. The stale scent

of mothballs and mildew slam her in the face causing her nausea to surge into her throat. Emeri swallows down the nausea and surveys the dust-ridden items in front of her. ‘What is that?’ She murmurs to herself as she walks toward a glint of metal reflecting under a heavy blue tarp in the very back of the unit. She carefully pulls the tarp causing a cloud of dust to go flying in the air and her to erupt into a sneezing fit. As the dust clears and Emeri’s sneezing finally stops, she beheld the last thing she was expecting to see- her bike. Her mouth fell open and a shock froze her face as the memories surge through her mind. Memories of being fed up with Jonathan’s control after five years so for the first -and last time -she did something for herself; she bought a bike for herself. And not just a normal bike, no this bike was beautiful. The most beautiful thing she had seen in years with its bright pink frame, shiny silver accents, and a perfect white wicker basket hanging on the front. It had taken her three months of siphoning off her grocery allowance to save the three hundred and forty-five dollars that it cost. But the day she reached her goal, her eyes danced with excitement as she gifted it to herself behind Jonathan’s back. This bike was going to give her brief moments of freedom; she could finally go places on her own. Before this she was dependent on Jonathan because he didn’t think she needed a car- it was an added useless expense. She was so excited that Jonathan’s hateful rant hadn’t even discouraged her. ‘ What the fuck do you need a bike for? Your lazy ass isn’t going to ever ride it. And you better not slack on keeping my house clean for some wasteful joy ride around the block. You know how you are when your mind gets in the clouds. Lazy. You get real lazy.’

He sneered as watched the excitement leak from Emeri’s face. ‘ I have to go to work. One of us has to make some money instead of blowing it on dumb shit. That laundry better be done and my dinner ready when I get home.’

Jonathan belittled as he walked out the front door.

But she hadn’t let him steal her joy. This bike was HERS and even he couldn’t take that from her. Or she thought.

She had only been able to enjoy it for two days before it disappeared. The first day was a ride to the grocery store two blocks away and had been as exhilarating as a rollercoaster. The wind blew through her hair and the fresh clean air was lightly seasoned with scents from the little cafe attached to the grocery store. The sweet scent of streusel, cinnamon rolls, and fresh donuts caused Emeri to inhale deeply and smile.

We are definitely getting one of those!  She had thought happily. And she did. And it was delicious. But she knew better than to keep that smile on her face when Jonathan got home. If he had seen how happy her excursion had made her, he would have begun the accusations. He would have berated her about wasting time and how lazy she was to enjoy such a frivolous thing. So she wiped the smile off her face and replaced it with her normal sullen look, playing the role Jonathan wanted till the next day when she went back to the cafe to enjoy an iced coffee and a blueberry streusel while reading her favorite book. She got so distracted she was late fixing dinner and Jonathan was so furious he wouldn’t even speak to her for the remainder of the night. The next morning it was gone; stolen in the night according to Jonathan. Some thugs must have snatched it, he had told her as a tear slipped down her cheek. But she knew better; she knew Jonathan had gotten rid of it to punish her and the rancid taste of captivity had settled in her mouth and stomach once again- replacing the sugary sweetness of the delicious blueberries streusel.

But there it was- the personification of hope and dreams - staring at her. She could hear the whisper as it asks

are you ready to live Emeri? Are you ready to live a life where you get to indulge in a bike ride and blueberry streusel as often as you want? A life that you and only you controls?

‘ Yes, yes I am.’ Emeri smiles as she wheels the dingy bike out of the storage unit and loads it into the back of her beat-up ford ranger. As she returns to the storage to retrieve her ultrasound of baby Jonathan, there wasn’t any more anxiety or sadness. No, there were only hopes and dreams clouding her mind as she clutches her precious ultrasound and left that dingy storage unit, and all the abhorrent memories, in her rearview mirror. Tomorrow is a new day and it will begin with a bike ride, iced coffee, and a blueberry streusel.


September spring, a happy evening it was. My parents, siblings and everybody at that party were dancing in ecstasy. The mood was jubilant. The effect of two rounds of vodka made me speak to the prettiest girls at the party. At twelfth I had already secretly made up with four girls in the bathroom. It was the greatest Sunday of my life. The joy and excitement went on until two in the morning. That was the morning I remembered I had a DAT test to write four hours later. DAT was a test written to determine the probability of students likely to be granted scholarship to study abroad. All the fun had been reciprocated into a ball of stress and anxiety. I dodged my cousins and stumbled to my room. The door was locked from the inside. I was drunk and struggled more than a minute before I got the key out of my pocket. I directed the golden key into the lock and moved back and forth at the effect of the vodka. The lock unlocked and the door shot open. The glass of water that was positioned next to my bed fell and broke when my girlfriend Jenny jumped naked out of bed. My best friend Dave sat in dismay astonished of my presence in that room. "This is just a misunderstanding." Dave tried to explain. Jenny was wrapped in a soft see-through blanket and her left breast stood stiff. Her womanly figure could be seen from the see-through blanket and her hair was messy. Dave was sweaty, and bravely got out of bed and walked towards me. "Look man. I know this is alot to take in, but please believe me man it's not what it looks like."Dave startled as he drew closer to me. He was naked. I was still standing at the door. I shed tears and loathed the fruits my jubilant night had beared. Jenny cried of shame. Without muttering a word, I grabbed the bat that I hung on my door for emergency purposes. I didn't hesitate and gave Dave a big blow to the head with my bat. He fell head-first on the tiled floor and never woke up. Jenny shook her head eyes-wide with her hand covering her shaking lips. "No! No! No! Not Dave!" Jenny said while rushing towards Dave who was lying on the floor. "Oh no! The pulse? No!this can't be. You killed him" Jenny kept crying. I only hit him once and my intentions were not to kill my best friend. I was still drunk, but fear engeneered it's way through me. I sat leaning against the door in view of Jenny crying at the loss of Dave. Young Thug's lifestyle was loudly being played at the party. The music and the screaming screened Jenny's mourning. I, for fright sake shed tears too while we waited for early darkness.

The shouts and screams at the party were becoming less. Breaking bottles were now heard from the road opposite the room Jenny and I miserably fell asleep. The party was approaching its terminus. The sun had only shown its upper-self to the world. Birds sang and whistled in all trees of the town. "Skunk! Wake up!" Jenny shouted. "How on earth does a killer fall asleep knowing there's alot out there?" she continued. I was awake before she asked the question. She was wearing red tight Jeans, a grey jersey and her favourite yellow cap. Her look did not satisfy my expectations. She looked calm and less troubled in my tired but awake eyes. "My uncle Tolido understood the dilemma and assured us help in hiding the body." she spoke again, right after she opened the window. "Wait what? You told someone? Why? I thought, I thought we were together in this. Did you really tell? You want me to go down for good?" I spoke with verbosity. "He is my uncle. I'm the fault behind all this mess. If I didn't sleep with Dave, you wouldn't have held that bat, I wouldn't have called my long lost uncle and Dave would still have had breath rushing through his smoked lungs. Can you honestly not see that?" Jenny imagined and a tear dropped down her left chick. The whole room was now painted with light. The sun had risen so that half of it could be seen, above the mountains, in the east. I obesserved steadily as Jenny pulled out a huge sack,it was black with a grey zip. She demanded we put the deceased body in the bag and wait for her uncle's arrival. I held Dave's body with my right and left arms positioned under the body's armpits,and struggled to lift the body into the black sack. Flies flew from the surroundings to fist on the rotting body. I placed the body inside the sack, and Jenny pulled the zip from the feet of the sack to the head and it closed. The vast variety of flies irritated my presence, I moved from the body and leaned against the door. Jenny sat on the bed, as we prayed and waited for her uncle's arrival. Time never stood, the arms on the clock I hung next to my bed danced, like the monkeys we watched near the eastern mountains, when my best friend still had breath. My thoughts drove me to a world of discomfort, a place where my heart bled on sight of the memories that lied before it. The moment came, when a car hooted at the back of my room. A yellow Jeep, with rims the size of our food drums, it reflected light into our eyes, and the blackness of the tyres was spoiled with the long-drive dust. It's mirrors made it look like a winter cat, those only found in our wild, a place of solitude, I shared with my best friend. Tolido, a middle aged man, with a beard the size of my eye lashes sat in the front sit of the Jeep. Jenny and I dragged the body sack towards the car, and laid it in the big comfortable hoot. I held Jenny's hand in my own as we watched the car drive away. A crowd of dust built every time the Jeep made turns, on the corners of the dusty roads. Sighs of relief filled both of us, as we walked into the house, and passed the day on the corner café.


This has been going on for years. The first time I saw him, I stood in one of those pharmacy cum general stores which every town had. When he first saw me, I don’t know. I became aware of him just as I planned to slip a magazine into my inner pocket and duck out. They never expected magazines to get shoplifted so I felt pretty safe. No one bought anything there. The whole store was crammed with stuff no one wanted. But then there’s this guy watching me, but not looking at me. He didn’t look like plain clothes, or what they call a ‘secret shopper’. I mean, were they going to make a federal crime out of a magazine? Our eyes didn’t make contact. I’d catch a furtive glance. I don’t know, I had this feeling. So I flipped through the mag and put it back on the shelf with a dismissive murmur. It’s not like I’m a thief. They wouldn’t miss it. I thought of it as more of a momentary lapse. Not a habit. And anyway, I didn’t take it. Big deal. I didn’t think much of it and had no reason to remember him after that. Until sometime later I sat in a diner with my date. She excused herself and I noticed the waitress eyeing me. So I made a face and made her laugh. It wasn’t anything anyone would take to heart, except maybe my date. But then I see this guy again. What’s he watching me for? I didn’t do anything anyone should care about, stealing sugar packets or anything. But there he sat in a booth across the room and I know he’s got his eye on me. So I cut the crap and drank my iced tea. Let him look at the chalkboard specials. Then another time I’m in the park playing dominoes with some friends. Chaz claimed I cheated. I told him I prefer to call my play ‘strategic’. I mean, can you really cheat at dominoes? What would that look like? So I like dominating a suit. Is that a crime? But who do I see reading the paper on a bench? You guessed it. Same guy. He can’t see my bones. What’s his problem? But it’s driving me crazy so I play to Chaz’s draw. Happy?  You won’t guess where I see him next. Right. While passing the plate in church. My fiancé brings me to this peaceful place and I’m feeling stalked. He’s the usher, in a church, no less. I’m trying to be good. I put money in the tray when it floats by.  So this usher stands there holding the plate and kind of hefting it like he’s judging its weight. As if he thinks I should sweeten the pot a little more. I looked up at him and he gave me a wink. The nerve. Like he’s my old buddy. So I dropped another sawbuck into the plate to get him out of my face. He finally got the message and moved on. Who is this guy? A few days later I see this homeless guy. He’s in his twenties and looks like he works out at a gym. He could get a job if he cleaned up and got a haircut. I walk by him and look down the street. Of course, my shadow is looking down his nose at me. He’s so superior, why doesn’t he help the guy with the bulging muscles and the sign? So I judged a homeless man with a cup. Okay, I shouldn’t judge. But who’s this mug, judging me? Am I his personal morality project? Every time I turned around I’d feel his eyes on me. I have nothing to feel guilty for. Why doesn’t he lighten up?

It all came to a head one night. I took my wife to a favorite eatery of ours. Not too fancy, kind of crowded and bright but the food is fantastic. Waiters glided around effortlessly, while holding giant platters over their heads. I’m trying to eat. I’m minding my business. No way, anyone could think I’m anything but an appreciative customer trying to have a night out with my beautiful wife. But I felt eyes upon me again. I scanned the room. It took a minute but through the crowd I saw his beady eyes staring at me. Fed up and tired of getting stalked, I threw my napkin onto the table and stood up. Startled, my wife reaches for my hand with wonder in her eyes. I nodded to her not to worry. “I’ll be right back.” I navigated toward him through the tables jammed together.  There’s barely room to walk. Then I realized he was approaching me. I wondered, would this lead to a physical confrontation? What did he want from me? A little over weight, he had as much trouble as me snaking through the narrow spaces between tables and chairs. But our distance had halved. How do the waiters do it? Every time I looked, he had his eyes on me. We got closer. I saw a gap. I strode toward him. I wanted to know his game. We rushed at each other. I wanted to take him out. Bam! I stopped. I could go no further. As if an invisible barrier had descended between us, I walked directly into it. Like a bird flying into a window. My nemesis made the same mistake. I would have laughed at his pain. He put his hand up to his nose. But we both held our noses. We were eye to eye and smacked into this – mirror. We exchanged hard looks and then it became obvious. The stranger, my nemesis was me. You should have seen the look he gave me. I heard laughter behind me. I turned to see diners and waiters failing to stifle their mirth at my clumsiness. I could only laugh too. I turned and pointed at the mirror. Trying to salvage the situation a little, I gave my reflection a high five. The whole restaurant exploded into hysterical guffaws. A waiter handed me a towel and clapped his hand on my shoulder. He took my elbow and gestured toward the back, to the restroom, where I could compose myself. I stood in the loo looking into the mirror. I looked a mess but you should’ve seen the other guy. Only I was the other guy. I wanted to punch him out but no future in that. Right? I rinsed my face and straightened my tie. Not too much damage except for my slightly dented self-esteem. I had to admit, my nemesis had decent taste in clothes. By the time I got back to the table, everyone had forgotten the scene I’d made and had returned to their dinners. My wife asked if I were okay and I assured her I’d never been better. As I sat down, I noticed the stranger across the room taking his seat too. We nodded and gave each other a respectful salute. No hard feelings.


The dust had not even completely settled when the junior intermediates dragged the chief midwife from the dance arena. Her blood-curdling scream pierced the African night – the drummers halted their rhythmic poundings, the elderly women poring over calabashes of fermented maize drink, hwahwa , ignored the gourds that impatient young men of drinking age waved irritably in their ancient brown faces. Dancers, swishing and gyrating in decorated hides, mhapa neshashiko ,–for it was a special occasion- had paused. The festivities had only just begun…..

Colored beads and necklaces adorned the young women who had attended the celebration, mhandara , they are called in the language of Shona . Ribbons of green, red, yellow and blue tied to their ankles appeared in a kaleidoscope through the dust as the girls danced, their hides flying up as they leapt into the air. The young men, majaya , donned majestic headpieces decorated with striking feathers from the rarest of birds. Around some of the young men’s necks were lion or hyena teeth held firmly with treated bark, a testament to past deadly encounters with the beasts. The necklaces impressed ladies to no end, and some small groups of young women huddled around alpha males to hear fables of peril and victory. The people of Dzimbabwe feasted on game meat and sadza , a hardened maize porridge, and drank to good life and good harvest. Pairs had formed on the circular dance arena, in whose centre was a blazing inferno tended to by small herd boys who added bits of wood to it in faithful fashion. A cloud of dust had erupted from the frantic dancing which was characterised by gigantic leaps into the air and continuous swivelling. Sweat glazed the dancers’ skin where dust particles glued to and accumulated. At this point, the dancers’ thick bushy black hair had become grey with dust - they resembled zvigure , a social group of outcasts who had been banished from Dzimbabwe , the great city of stone. The city was a thing of wonder, not one blob of plaster or cement kept the city in place – everyone knew the great ancestors, madzitateguru , kept the stones intact, one on top of each other, until the walls of the city threatened to reach up to them in the hallowed skies. The walls had never once toppled. Zvigure were a group of murderers, thieves and social pariahs whom, the whole city presumed, had abandoned personal hygiene once outside the city walls and had morphed into cannibals. The dancers looked quite like how the savages were thought to look like. Chayarutsa , the chief midwife, had stumbled into the dance arena from the surrounding darkness and thrown herself onto the hard dust in languish, wallowing in her grief and making a scene. The theatrics drew everyone’s attention, including the king, Ishe , and his table of advisors and tribal chiefs. They sat on an elevated platform of stone to the north of the bonfire, the Ishe at the head of the table in a stone throne, while his immediate subordinates were seated in significantly lower carved wooden stools, flanking the king. On the platform was the only sign of foreign possession – the throne was padded with fleece blankets and the king’s assortment of meats, as well as drink, was served in china. Each chief owned something of foreign make, some socks or a cotton shirt brought in by traders from the East in exchange for minerals, or hunting rights. Presently, some servants had been ushered onto the Ishe’s platform to serve some more goats’ meat, but they too had stopped dead in their tracks.

Murmers rose from those gathered at the Festival of the First Harvest, Zhizha . The Queen’s first child had surely died, they chattered amongst themselves. Or she herself had succumbed to child birth - the gods took whom they pleased; as long as it was time to reunite with the ancestors, even the Queen could go. It was the norm of the land that when royalty died the whole city wept and rolled in the dust in agony and pain. Chayarutsa was that exact picture of misery. She lay still on the grass, small twigs protruding from her knotted hair which was grey with dirt. One could easily mistake her for the outcasts. The junior midwives consoled her so she could speak, as she was the only midwife who could address a crowd in the presence of the Ishe . Those gathered looked on in bewilderment as the king arose and uttered in a commanding voice:

“ Taura Chayarutsa ! Speak Chayarutsa!” Chayarutsa composed herself and bowed to the king. She quaked, and so did everyone at the festival; the king rarely stood and he almost never addressed common folk by name. There still he stood, a menacing hulk of a man, clothed in leopard skin from head to toe. Leopard skin, mbada , was a symbol of kingship, the king himself had to hunt and catch the elusive creature;

that alone was a mountain of a task. Chayarutsa spoke, her head bowed and her voice trembling. It was hardly audible when she said:

“The Queen, she has given birth to two sons.” But they heard her. A quiet enveloped the place. So much so, that the birds of night could be heard clearly as if the city grounds were deserted. Owls, the infamous companions of evil witches that made children sick and charmed away their neighbours’ harvests, hooted in the still night. The gibber of monkeys high up on the stone castle’s summit, the resting place of the king, could be heard quite loudly by those on the ground. Some screeched and the groan of nearby trees as they swung from one branch to another was resounding.

“Two sons, you say?” the king repeated, more loudly. Chayarutsa nodded then bowed. The common folk whispered amongst themselves. Some pieces of conversation resounded from all corners of the crowd: “It’s the first moon, blood cannot be spilled….”, “But the gods instructed explicitly……”, “Surely they must die……” Hushed conversation befell the king and his subordinates also. They deliberated for a short period amongst themselves until the chief justice stood to address the crowd. He silenced them then spoke: “This news, of the two sons, has vexed us. How this evil could have befallen our beloved queen, our king is at a loss. But no one is above the truth of the gods. If we keep this abomination amongst us, a bad omen will wash over the land, queen or not. Surely, the sons must both die, for between them is a demon and we cannot tell which is which. But we do not forget. This is the first moon, the Festival of the First Harvest. No blood can be spilled on such a day, the ancestors forbid it. Even the gods will not allow it, and our harvest will be cursed for ten seasons. We cannot risk it. The sons will die tomorrow.” The Ishe’s expression was stone, quite like the throne on which he sat. There was no pain in his eyes and no underlying emotions he seemed to be harbouring. He concluded the festival and dispersed the gatherers. The Ishe’s courtyard was soon empty, the red hot ambers of the fire the only reminder of the dead celebration. The Ishe hurried to Imba Huru , the Queen’s abode. He refused escort and wielded his gilded assegai, a short spear, just in case. He exited the Great Enclosure; a stone walled monument apt to its name for it held the spirits of past kings and ancestors that dwelled in the inner caverns below the Ishe’s own royal abode. He made the uphill trek to Imba Huru which was also a stone-walled construction with big mauyu trees looming above the walls. A conical tower grew high and mighty from the centre of Imba Huru , a symbol of power and economic wellbeing that drew in traders from far and wide. Ishe entered the queen’s abode and handmaiden fell to the ground at the sight of him.

Even in night his royal regalia was imposing. He was let in to see his wife, whom he found lying meekly on a bundle of blankets on top of a reed mat, rupasa . A junior midwife attended to the perspiring Queen in candlelight. She dabbed the Queen’s forehead with a damp and soft cotton towel and adjusted her bedding. “Go get my sons” the king ordered her. The junior midwife hesitated for a moment, and then withdrew from the Ishe’s presence to do what she had been commanded. They were left alone in the eerie light of the candle, husband and wife, Ishe and the queen, their shadows dancing on the walls with each movement.The Queen turned to look into her husband’s eyes. Her pain seeped through from her being, and her eyes were red from crying. “Ishe, before you see them…” she said weakly “No, rest.” The king paused. He looked outside the entrance of the room then returned to his wife’s side and spoke in a hushed tone:

“The gods be damned. You must run away from this place, before sunrise. There’s not long. I will tell Taurai to escort you and the babies outside the city. To a safe place, you can……” “Please, I must….” The Queen fell silent. The junior midwife had returned, clasping a small bundle of blankets in her arms. Another midwife followed closely behind, holding the other identical baby. They both eyed the king in reserved fashion as he took one baby in his arms. He gazed down at the wriggly child in the blanket.

“What is this?” he demanded.

The queen broke into hysterical and convulsive sobs. The midwives rushed to her side to calm her -wiping away the mucus that ran freely from her nostrils- but they failed to subdue her. The baby – both of them – were white little children with pink lips. The Ishe shook with rage.

“It is Gonzalo, the missionary eh? You betray me so?” The Queen sobbed more loudly. She shook as she cried and in between gasps of air she tried to talk. “I didn’t mean for it……my Ishe, please I….. pardon me I beg of you….” “It is the white Gonzalo, a man with no knees, that you go to and bring this atrocity among my people” The king was black with fury. He took a deep breath, so deep he felt rivulets of tension escape his body and leave a numb serenity in their place. Ishe finally spoke, in his stately voice:

“I do not hear your pleas. The gods decided your fate before your inception. You turned away from them, and committed an abomination with the Portuguese who openly condemns the gods. This is the price, you see for yourself. And you will justly pay it.” ~.~ On the other side of the city, a harrowing scream was heard in every mud hut. Men clenched their spears, and some women gave out shrieks of fear. Dogs barked in the silence of night as if in response. The scream shook even the heaviest sleepers from their dreams and many woke up with a jolt. Parents who were still up, bolstered by the scream, recited ancient stories of zvigure to their petrified children. Some said that maybe a witch had been caught mid-act in someone’s house. Others joked that it was Chayarutsa practising for tomorrow.


Edmund was not his real name. The young man was a librarian by trade, although one wouldn’t know it by looking at him. He wore a double-breasted gray suit, his neck swathed in a long black scarf. In his hand he held an elaborate pocket watch, which he was studying closely. He was standing outside a wrought-iron gate in a slum of Paris in the middle of the night. He watched as two drunkards across the street stumbled out of what was casually known as a “night cafe.” He eyed them nervously, gripping his walking stick tightly as they walked away. ‘Edmund’ gulped and wiped his brow with a clean handkerchief before checking his pocketwatch again. ...11:58. The young man was tantalized by the night cafe: the fact that on one side of the street was a deep soul-slavery, while on his side - under a flickering yellow lamp - was freedom... at least for those who could find it. 12 o’clock midnight. Edmund heard the click from the wrought iron gate, and then began to fiddle with a difficult-to-see combination lock. He quickly scrambled with the lock, his fingers sweating, and inputted 6, 15, 24, and pushed. As expediently as he had entered, Edmund closed the gate fast behind him, giving it a few tugs to make sure the lock was engaged. Under the night sky, the garden had both a threatening and romantic feel to it. Several large trees lent their hanging leaves and fruits to the few who could find them as little lightning bugs darted between the tall grasses that lined the slowly churning stream that ran through the secret garden. Edmund bent down to examine the cobblestones in front of him and put on his specially-made spectacles. “Good,” he murmured to himself after an examination. “No sign of them.” He found himself wishing that the gate would allow itself to be opened at twelve-noon instead of midnight as he walked among the lush greenery. How beautiful it would be, Edmund thought before reminding himself why he was there. He stepped over a bridge spanning the little stream and was presented with the shop he had been searching for for years. Amidst the verdant foliage, a quaint and charming shop emerged like a hidden gem. Its façade was adorned with creeping vines and ivy, a sign that it was much, much older than he had been led to believe. A sign above the entrance read, "Exquisitely Rare Books," inviting the curious and the curiouser to step inside and explore the wonders within. Edmund carefully opened the front door of the strange little shop, stopping the bell above from announcing his arrival. In spite of that, he heard an old-sounding voice from deeper within. “Hello! I am so glad someone had found my clues. It has been such a long... long time since I have had any customers.” The interior of the shop was warm, but the little electrical lights were just a little too faint. Edmund looked around for the source of the voice, but could not discover its origin. “Yes, delighted,” Edmund said, glad to hear that no one else had been in the store for ‘a long time.’

“Help yourself, lad,” the voice responded. Edmund looked over the bookshelves to see if he could see where the shopkeep was, but could not. “If you need any assistance, please don’t hesitate to ask.” Edmund put on his spectacles again and lit a match. The voice again pervaded the store. “No flames, please!” The clerk’s voice said calmly yet commandingly. Edmund blew out his match and put it in a convenient ash tray. The book Edmund was looking for was definitely worth all the fuss. He passed by several first editions and original manuscripts of books that lesser librarians could only have dreamed of seeing as he walked further and further into the shelves. There was an original Leonardo diagram of some device that the young man couldn’t reckon, followed by a translation of a chapter of the Codex Seraphim and the Chronicles of the Starless Abyss .

Books that lesser book collectors would have leapt at without searching deeper.

Farther back, farther back, into the recesses of the place. He found a spiral iron staircase and began to ascend. The Atlas Obscura was there at the landing, along with The Lost Apocrypha and the only known copy of the Crystal Codex , made completely out of diamond.

The lights were dimmer back here than on the first floor, and even Edmund’s special glasses were not helping him. “Excuse me?” He called out to the ever-darkening gloom. “Is there any chance of making this place brighter?” The clerk responded with Edmund’s true name and a little speech about the ‘romantic promise of darkness.’ That phrase stuck in Edmund’s mind - part of a poem from the book he was in search of. The young librarian sighed. “Nevermind,” Edmund called out to the gloom. I’ve gotten this far , he thought. Even if I have to camp out here until daybreak to see what I’m doing, it’ll be worth it. He clutched his walking stick. Perhaps I could even stave off the clerk until morning as well. “I think you’ll find that daylight won’t help you here,” the clerk suddenly said, somewhere in the dark. Edmund didn’t respond, but instead intensified his focus in order to read the names on the spines of the ever-twisting rows of books. That’s what struck Edmund the most about the place: it was becoming less and less organized as he went forward with priceless books and tomes spilling onto the floor. Picking one up, he saw that it had a title that shocked him so much that it caused him - a man of many meticulous and despicable crimes - to throw it to the ground in disgust. Another book sent a river of tremulous thoughts through his brain. Yet another title seemed to throw the entire worldview of a major religion into question. Focus, focus , he said to himself as he walked deeper and deeper into the bookstore... or whatever it was. The darkness was now intense, but somehow Edmund could read the titles on the various slumping bookshelves. What Edmund was looking for was far more disturbing than these, however.

He stepped over a pile of parchment and squeezed between two bookshelves at the very back of the second floor when he saw it: A knee-high gap in the wall with red light pouring out of it. Getting on his knees and pushing the piles of papers away, he peered into the gap. A few more books fell in his way as he crawled forward - scrolls and even a few pages of forgotten minuets by Mozart began to fall in front of him, but he was not deterred. At the end of the crawlspace, he could see a lone book in the distance. Continually pushing the books and pages that were falling in front of his path away, he crawled forward. The space itself narrowed and narrowed, the source of the red light not able to be determined, the book seemingly retreating. He pulled himself by the carpet of the infernal space along with the forward motion of his knees to finally claw his way to the large, eight-hundred-or-so leatherbound tome and brought it close. Edmund’s black hair was now in complete disarray as he stood, kicking the other things away from his feet. A few were scrolls of ancient papyrus, their pages singed by a great fire from long ago.

“Did you find what you were searching for?” The voice of the clerk behind him asked. Edmund continued forward. “Yes I did,” Edmund said carefully. “Thank you v-very much.” Clomp, clomp, shuffle, shuffle. Edmund was still struggling to hold onto the tome as more and more books and parchments fell at his feet from unseen shelves. “Very interesting work,” the voice behind him said, growing fainter. “Yes, yes it is,” Edmund said. “I notice that you were not enticed by the other works you passed by on your way to that one.” Edmund gulped, being careful to be polite and yet not looking behind him. “They are wonderful books as-as well,” he said. Up ahead was the faint orange glow coming from the candles on the first floor. He reached the guard rail of the spiral staircase and gripped it tightly. “You are a special customer, that is for sure,” the voice said again. Edmund made his way to the first floor, still clutching his find in his arms. “You a-are too kind,” he said, calling up the stairs, still not looking behind him. “H-how much?” He asked as he trundled across the much brighter, much more comforting first floor. There was no answer at first. “You know the price,” the voice called down in a sly tone. Edmund pushed the door open, not caring this time if the bell made a noise. After a moment, the forgotten and concealed bookstore returned to its state of hush and silence. Every once in a while there was a shuffling noise upstairs, but otherwise there was no movement. When the sun came up, the trees outside blocked the light from entering fully. The shadows from the branches of the willows outside danced strange dances on the floor within.


“It had been twenty-four years since she’d last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same but she didn’t.” He chuckled as he stared out at the crowd. They were taking a bit longer than usual to settle but they would get there. He repeated the sentence and waited for the surprised looks he expected but they never came. The group of teenagers usually turned everything into something dirty and Mr Turnbull played on that idea, hoping to spark their interest but they were off that day. It wasn’t like any other, he would soon find out and thought someone should have warned him. “She had a hard time getting up, I had to give her a hand.” Mr Turnbull rolled his eyes, now regretting his choice of phrases and innuendos. He shouldn’t have stooped to their level and now he was talking about his mother in a sexual way. He felt maybe he could save it, to turn things around but he’d have to improvise and not even look at what he wrote over several agonizing hours. He was a planner and this wasn’t going as planned. At this point, it wasn’t even really going. There was a murmur throughout the audience and teachers, his peers, trying to hush their students but they struggled, too. For the first time in the 23 years of being a high school principal at Stewart High Mr Turnbull felt sweat take over his forehead. This was not good. “STUDENTS! Pay attention.” He literally and figuratively lost his cool and had no idea why. This was just a regular monthly assembly with nothing more to share than his mother visiting. It was the first time she ever came to visit, the first time she returned to the school. Martha Turnbull left town when her only son, and only child, took a teaching position at the school she was once in charge of. Nothing happened between mother and son, they talked daily and she sent post cards from every airport she landed in. Mr Turnbull, Richard, was proud of his mother for all the work she did for the world once she retired and hoped to do the same. He just wanted to be able to bring a family along but it didn’t look promising. It wasn’t that he didn’t meet “Mr Right” yet, it’s that he met too many of them. He couldn’t seem to commit to anything but teaching. The students finally settled but they were no longer looking at him, their heads were turned to someone who stood up and was walking, or rather strutting, down the center of the room. It was hard for Richard to see but then he did and gasped. His mother was witnessing this entire auditorium of chaos and his meltdown. He tightened his grip on the sides of the podium to steady himself and keep him from fainting as she got on the stage. She didn’t need a microphone when she exclaimed – “Listen up! This man deserves your respect and I expect you to give it to him.” While the student body, teachers included, only recognized Mrs Turnbull from the photo that adorned the main hallway by the office, they all straightened and gave her their full attention. Even after all these years she still had it. And then Mr Turnbull did faint as his mother took the speech off the podium and started reading it. She wasn’t supposed to ever read or hear what he wrote. He collapsed to the floor and hoped it would make her stop. When he came to she was still reading, out loud, to a very focused audience. A man, Mr Stark, was helping him up into a chair as his mother continued: “If you knew my mother you would know just how odd the relationships between students and teachers have become. Never would she ever befriend a teenager or chaperone, give advice on clothing or crushes. You guys have something special in this school and I want every one of you to realize that.” Was she crying? Richard struggled to get to his feet and stand beside his mother. He never saw the women shed a tear but she was doing so then. It pained him more than he ever imagined as he took the speech from her hands and hugged her. The audience applauded much to his embarrassment but he took solace in that moment, knowing it was rare. “Mom, I…” he couldn’t get the words out, she wouldn’t let him. “Stop. You’re right. I made a lousy principal and mother. I should have visited, should have been here on your first day instead of in Africa. You needed me just as much as those starving kids did. You changed this whole school around and while it looks the same, it feels a lot different. You feel different.” “Mom, I am happy. It seems weird and you caught me on an awful day but I like the changes we have been making to the education system. I know you may not understand them all as you were never one to “feel” but this is the new way of doing things.” “Richard, I may not have done many things right but I want to think I did what I could in my day. You have taken over the reins of this school and I am confused by it all.” Her tears kept falling, Richard started to cry, too. There was not a sound in the whole room as if everyone was frozen in place despite the rising temperatures. “This is embarrassing, we really should talk about this later,” Richard pleaded but still no one, not even his mother, moved. “I think it’s time for you to retire.” “Mother, don’t tell me what I should do. At this point you have no right to think about my next step.” Richard was disgusted, dismayed and disapproved of his mother’s words. “Come with me, to Africa. I have adopted a child and he wants to meet you. He has a brother who I want to adopt too but I just can’t handle both. I thought…” And then Richard realized what she was suggesting and he paused, took her hand and faced the student body. “I’m announcing my retirement, effective immediately.” The crowd exploded in applause and he wasn’t sure how to take that. It didn’t really matter though, he was going to meet his family and that was all that mattered.


"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to.." The Chairman paused. "Nah, fuck all that. Who's ready to get hunted?!" He growled with a smirk. The room was quiet in judgment, wondering what he was talking about. He stood up straight and adjusted his tie. "Let me rephrase that." He held out for another long pause. "As you know humanity has developed drastically in the world of medicine. You, a group in your thirties have basically only lived a fifth of your life span . Before such advancements, a fifth of your life would basically make you young adults, practically teens and babies. Fresh meat one might say!" The intensity and bass of his voice echoed through the room like thunder right in the ear drum as he paced back and forth. "Anyways, you're far too young to become another casualty in the impending doom the sun wishes to grant us in the next decade or so. So I have proposition for you. A new planet has been discovered, almost parallel to ours but thriving much more fruitfully. Just outside of this galaxy, its being called The Haven and with such a fitting name only the best, brightest, strongest and most fitting candidates shall inhabit it. Will that be you or will you become a pillar to hold up the new world for a much more fitting species? Humanity, but better." "What type of utopia bullshit is this?" "Is he drunk?" "He's got to be psychotic." The tones and whispers of denial rushed the room like a broken aquarium spilling over. "Listen!" The lights turned off in an instant. The room was illuminated by a single source, coming from a giant screen behind him. He stepped to the side revealing a video of a planet. Bright blue and green images flashed across the faces of the clueless audience. Their eyes reflecting the images of clear oceans, grass fields for hundreds of miles and waves of forest and desert lands. It looked exactly like their planet but, untouched. Untainted. Pure. A vast world of opportunity and prosperity. "Now in order for you to be able to come here, you must acquire a ticket aboard The Sanctum, the space craft built for the journey. As well as taking an exam in order to understand the mind and body to determine if you are eligible for The Haven." The room was as such of a dark forest, silent, calm, waiting for the next hint of movement. All eyes were locked onto The Chairman like a deer in headlights. "Do you think it's real?" "I want to go swimming there!" "That land looks so ripe for farming my tomatoes." Whispers of curiosity began to fill the air like smoke. "How much is a ticket?" "I'm so going to get an amazing tan out there." "Tomatoes!" People began to think of the possibilities that a new planet and a new life could bring them. "Wait, did he say an exam?" "I was never good with problem solving!" "I dropped out to be a farmer, this isn't fair!" "Do not fret. It is not a written exam but one I have cultivated and designed specifically for this purpose." A few sighs of relief were heard through the room. "Here we go." The screen changed once more with a page of writing. "Candidates will be split into two teams." The Chairman read out. "The Hunters and The Hunted. As the teams suggest one team will be hunting while the other team must survive. Every member of The Hunted team will be given a specific amount of money for their head. If they are captured or killed only The Hunter responsible will gain that bounty only towards their admission aboard the Sanctum. The bounties of The Hunted will remain unknown until the conclusion of the exam. The Hunted, however, are guaranteed admission to The Sanctum as well as a job befitting their skills and abilities once they arrive to their home on The Haven. Each side will also have a king that holds a certain power over the game. All candidates will be released in a random part of the playing field with a map of the area that may also show possible spawn locations housing utilities, gear, weapons and or supplies. Furthermore, there will be tokens to find throughout the island that may also acquire you some aid and or monetary value during or at the end of the competition. Food will be available at said locations but you may also acquire some yourself from the jungle. If you have not decided in the voting booth by 7pm tonight you will be appointed a side. Also, if one side is full before you decide you will automatically put on the other team. I call it Kynigi! Let's all have a great life at The Haven!" "What is this?" A voice said shakily. "Who would join such a savage event?" She questioned out loud. As she looked around she could see the faces of everyone in the room change. Most were scared, worried that they may not be able to survive such a challenge. Some were joyful, excited for life on a new planet with endless possibilities. A few of them were ecstatic, their eyes glowed with bloodlust excited to have some fun and freedom before starting a new life. Her knees began to buckle with fear and she collapsed to the ground. "Are you alright?" A gentle tone asked. She lifted her head slightly to see an arm extended out in front of her, she was helped back to her feet and met eyes with a man not much older than herself. "Thank you" she said embarrassed. She looked forward at his tie to avoid the awkward eye contact. "I know, it's a lot to take in, isn't it?" He asked, stopping her from turning to walk away. He looked back up at the screen and smiled. "It's a Greek word. Intimidating I'm sure. I think it's an easy decision though if you ask me. But as you look around everyone else can't seem to decide. " she looks at him puzzled and still scared. "Well what would you choose?" He turned to her. "Well, hunter seems like the safest option. Especially for a a chubbier person like me." she stuttered. He looked at her confused for a second but moved on. "You would think, right? But look at the screen. 'Only the hunter responsible. Each side has a king. We will be released at random parts of the playing field. Tokens. Monetary Value. Aid.' None of that sounds like a team game. Hunters have to earn their money to get on the ship while Hunted are guaranteed a spot? Without knowing the bounties on our heads, that's just asking for the hunters to turn on each other first to lessen the competition." He gave her a gentle smile and made his way to the voting booth. The screen flashed red with the number one indicating the first player on a team. "Our?" She whispered to herself. Seven o'clock rolled around and the screen had finally flashed green indicating everyone present at the event has made their decision. The screen read 12-3-9. "Well, that's not pleasant. I hate odd numbers." The Chairman whined. "Jada!" He yelled prompting one of the servants to his table. He grabbed her by the back of her neck and stood up aggressively. "She will be joining The Hunted! That will make it twelve Hunters, ten Hunted and three dropout bitches." He whispered in her ear, "don't disappoint me now, Jada," then threw her into the crowd of players. Quickly the man from before leaped forward and caught her before she could smash her forehead on one of the tables. He glared up at The Chairman as he peered at the player and servant down the thick bridge of his nose. "Oh? What is your name and age?" He asked in a condescending tone. "Anax, 24." He replied just as cocky still holding the servant. The Chairman laughed hysterically. "Greek?" He asked. Anax did not reply or react to the question. He helped the servant to her feet with a smile, wiped off some dirt and grime from her skirt and made his way out of the main room. "It is now 7 o'clock in the evening and we shall commence the competition in roughly 19 hours. Tonight and tomorrow morning enjoy yourselves to your hearts content. We will also be treating you to meals tomorrow before the start. The facilities in the building are at your disposal. The pool along with the spa, steam room and sauna will on the bottom floor with the full weight room gym." His rings glistened as he pointed at the floor. "This floor has all of the food and entertainment you can think of. Restaurants, movie theaters, bowling alley, karaoke, arcades, roller skating. You name it, we have it." His robe flew open as he spread his arms to the side, flashing some awards and medals on his chest. "The top two floors will have more tactical facilities." His hands slammed the sides of his thighs making the sound of a drum. The rooms volume burst with excitement as people made their way to different stairwells and locations of the property. "Anax!" He paused at the end of the hall. "Where are you headed?" "I want to check out the 'tactical facilities' he was talking about." He said in a mocking deep tone. She giggled. "You don't seem as restless and scared anymore, that's a good sign." He said as he placed a foot on the first step trying to escape the conversation. She quickly grabbed his arm and stopped him. "Well thanks to our talk I have a good idea of how to survive. Also, I didn't think anyone here would be close to my age. Everyone else is in their thirties or older!" She made a jokingly disgusting look at the thought of all of the older men that were hitting on her earlier in the main room. "That's good then, are you going to check out any of the rooms on the property? I hear the sauna is great for the skin and relieves stress." He looked down at her hand still holding his. She quickly removed it and blushed. "I'm going to find my little brother first, I bet the little shit is floating in the pool with an entire pizza on his lap." She laughed and made her way down the stairs. He watched her disappear under the flight of stairs before moving his way up. I hope she's one of The Hunted so I don't have to kill her myself. He thought.


   There is a story in the first book of the King James Bible. A book called Genesis. The part of the story that I am referring to is found in the 19 th chapter.” The sun was risen upon the earth when Lot entered into Zoar. Then the LORD rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the LORD out of heaven; And he overthrew those cities, and all the plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and that which grew upon the ground.

But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt. I often think upon that whole story when I remember my friend that left me and can never return.   The way this story really starts is on the month of November in the year of our Lord 1965.You see there was a country known as Vietnam that for many years had been known as a colony of France. In 1941 a leader arose there by the name of Ho Chi Minh. He raised up an organization known as the Viet Minh. During WWII they were friends to the Allied Forces. Once WWII ended the Viet Minh felt that Vietnam had the right to independence. This led to a conflict first known as Indochina War. But back to the US. You see the congress of the United States enacted a daft on December 1 st 1969 to send American citizens to fight in a war the was never declared a war. Outrageous, vile and contemptibly illegal. Yet it happened.  My friends and I suddenly became aware of all the senior male student in our high school. We began to hear things like draft dodgers, moratorium, and peace rallies. Our young people were in defiance of this draft. Suddenly a young man turning 18 in the US was a challenging thing. Even frightening. Throughout the country are citizens of the age of 18, who at that time did not have the legal right to vote, were being told you are going to a country that is fighting off colonial rule and you are going to kill those people weather you want to or not.   Now while all of this was going on I attended, with my family a Presbyterian church in a sweet little city called Rye NY. The minister at the time was married and he and his wife were both very active in the community. They also had two sons that would be affected by the draft. The church had a choir, youth fellowship and it opened its doors to visiting ministries from other churches. So needless to say, I had a rather large number of friends. Not only did I attend this church but I was a part of something that “Life” magazine called. “The groove Christians of Rye NY.” And of course, being a young female, I had a lot of crushes on a lot of older guys that were going to have to deal with the draft.   I began hearing things like. ‘Did you get your draft letter yet/’ Hey are you going to go sign up before they draft you?’ Mother, fathers, aunts, uncles, cousins, godparents, and siblings were all becoming very concerned about what was going to happen to the male youths that would be 18 in 1969 through 1975. The total military causalities of the war that was never declared a war by our congress, about 58,220 souls. I, who had two brothers, was very much opposed to the draft. So, I became what was referred to as a dove. Those who approved of the war were called hawks. We doves were known to hippies and love children as well as Jesus freaks and all of us began to demonstrate and protest the governments actions. We were seeing footage of the war on the news. Napalm or liquid fire was being dropped on the Vietnam people. Families we knew were getting telegrams about the young men dying. Yellow ribbons were sprouting up everywhere to represent those missing in action.   All of these activities and people I meet kept me very much informed and before you knew it, I was going on 16 and it was1972. My very close friend was going to be 18 in a few days and a group of us were discussing what to do if he got his draft letter. If he dodged the draft, he’s probably never see his kin again and could even get shot and killed just for doing it. If he got called up and went to NAM, he might not make it home. If he obeyed, he would be able look back if he, didn’t he would not ever be able to look back. It’s just how his people are.    It was late one night, a few days after this debate my friends had about it all. I was walking down Stuyvesant Ave and turning down Halls Lane when I felt A wall of silence. I couldn’t hear a cricket, dog, car or anything else. I stopped walking and tried to figure out what was happening. A bat fly past chasing some bugs and in the far distance I started hearing cars. It was the weirdest experience. The next day I went to school as usual. My friend wasn’t there. After a week of him not showing up I went by the house and asked if he was okay. The younger sister had answered the door when I rang the bell. She looked both angry and sad at the dame time. “He came home from school last week and his draft letter had arrived. Mom and dad figured he must have left that night. We haven’t seen him and don’t want to see him.” I nodded my head and quickly turned and walked away. I didn’t want her to see me cry.   All they way I kept thinking about the 4-student killed at Kent State University over protesting the war. I though about things that had happened to anti-war activists and I tried to image my friend safely across the border and free from all of the BS. I made it home, went up to my room and cried. He was gone and would never be able to come back


It’s the guardian’s job to protect. Each person lives and dies by the dates of the Creator. Those times are hard on us, but it’s a necessary part of the job. My girl’s time is coming. I can only watch, invisible at her window, as she sits in bed with an IV in her arm, and some friends surrounding her. Claire’s become so frail that she’s trapped here in the hospital. She’s wearing a hospital gown and a pink bandana to cover the hair loss. “They still don’t have a diagnosis?” One friend asks. “No,” she responds. “They think it’ll kill me if I’m not careful. I can’t walk too much, or keep food down.” “That’s awful. Does Adam know? Has he visited you yet?” Claire’s gaze drops to her hands as they fiddle a loose thread on the blanket. “He knows I’m sick, and he knows I like him. I told him on Friday before I blacked out. He looked… upset. I don’t expect him to visit if he doesn’t like me back.” My heart aches, tearing in my chest as her confession floods into my memory. Yes, I’m Adam. I materialized and became her friend when she was five years old. Being an angel, I could appear the same age and “grow up” with her. My love for her in the beginning felt like genuine friendship. I enjoyed her company, and her heart always held the purest intentions. When she entered college, I imagined even more. I could never bring myself to tell her, though. She’s going to die young. An angel shouldn’t bed a human, anyway. Humans are tainted. I can’t stand to see her so upset because of me, but I can’t show myself now. The door closes as her friends leave. Now, all alone, Claire hangs her head and rivers of tears spill down her face. I remember the first time she came to me, crying. She was eight years old, her parents had a tough divorce, and her mom couldn’t leave her chair, eat, or even smile for days. Claire was so worried that she didn’t love her anymore. “That’s not true,” I told her “she just feels guilty.” “What?” she sniffed “Why?” “Well, your parents were arguing a lot, and now they’re not together anymore. She thinks she let you down and that you don’t love her anymore.” “But I do love her! I mean, I love Daddy too, but how could I not love my mom?” “A flower goes its entire life without ever being told how pretty it is. Without eyes, they can’t see the beautiful shapes and patterns they have. It’s pretty sad, but they do okay. Humans can’t live without knowing how important they are. They shouldn’t have to live like flowers. Remind her you love her, and everything she does for you. If you don’t, she won’t get better.” Claire’s face lit up in a beautiful smile. She agreed to do so, and I helped her make a card and a crown of clovers from her backyard. Her mom cried tears of joy. She got better, and Claire vowed to tell everyone how important they were to her. I, of course, got that every day, and hearing it only made my love for her grow stronger. But I won’t hear that today. She’ll be dead tomorrow morning and cry herself to sleep thinking that I don’t like her at all. Something twinges in my thoughts and pulls my attention back to present day Claire. Wait, she isn’t crying anymore, now she’s-she’s pulling the IV out of her arm! Claire! What are you doing? A yelp escapes her lips as she holds the wound shut, blood pouring over her fingers. Regardless of the obvious pain painted on her face, she turns and settles her feet on the floor. Is she standing up? Don’t! You’re shaking and bleeding! Claire!

She takes a second to steady herself and wobbles to the door. Her hand falls from her arm, and blood trickles along her path. Is she looking for me? No, she can’t! I fly past her, materialize in the hall, and lean my shoulder on the wall, hating myself for doing this to her. I should’ve never showed myself. The door opens, and she freezes up when she sees me. Her eyes are wide, dark circles underneath, and her pale lips part to catch her breath. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.” I tell her. “You’re bleeding, and it looks like whatever you have is making it hard to walk.” “How long have you been standing there?” She asks. “Why are you up?” “I just wanted to see you. I wanted... If I die tomorrow, I want to know that you don’t hate me.” “I could never hate you, Claire.” “Then why didn’t you visit before? Why are you hiding out here? Were you ever going to come in?” Tears pour down her cheeks again. “Cause I would’ve just tried to apologize.” “So?” “I learned a long time ago that a knife hurts more when it’s pulled than when it’s stabbed. When your life is on the line and someone makes you happy, the idea of death seems much worse. It hurts more to see what you’d be leaving behind.” “How could you know that?” “Trust me, it wouldn’t have been worth it.” We’re quiet for what seems like an eternity, then her cold, bloody hand grabs mine. “Adam, I don’t want to die, but I’ll be okay if you just tell me the truth. Do you feel the same? Or was I stupid for bringing it up?” I reach out with my other hand to dry the tears on her face. “Claire, I’ve always loved you, and I always will. I’m so sorry I made you doubt that.” Claire smiles up at me, closes her eyes and leans a little closer. Her lips are parted, begging me to taste them. I lean in too, but I’ve already done too much, and without thinking, I realize I’ve dematerialized. She’s staring into my eyes, but she can’t can’t see me. The shock on her face makes that clear. She gasps and steps back, tears racing down her face as her eyes search around for me. Her breathing gets heavier. “Breathe,” she whimpers, clutching her throat “I can’t... breathe... help.” Her voice isn’t loud enough. We’re in the back hall, in the middle of the night. Minutes pass like hours until she collapses. I kneel by her side. She’s not gone, not yet. She still has until morning. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I materialize and carry her back into her room. I lay her back on the bed, push the emergency button on the bedrail, and dematerialize again. Help arrives in a flash. A doctor and two nurses rush to her side and scramble around with a ton of equipment, trying to keep her alive. When they finish, the IV is on her other arm; they’ve cleaned up the blood, an oxygen mask covers her mouth and nose, she has defibrillators on her chest, and a heart monitor on one of her fingers, all for nothing. Her condition is stable, but the oxygen hangs loose in the outlet, and will fall out, letting Claire pass before sunrise. Three hours left. Meanwhile, I can’t stop staring at her. I’ve protected her from so much crap in her life for this? No. I won’t let her die. She thinks I abandoned her; that our last conversation never happened. I’ll most likely lose my wings for changing fate, but I’d be able to live a happy, mortal life with her. When death comes, I’ll fight him off. I’m her guardian angel and I will protect her. That’s my job. It’s strange. If she hadn’t gotten out of bed, I’d still be standing at her window, waiting for her to die. I would have let her pass believing that I don’t care about her. A smirk finds its way onto my lips. This is why I love her. Because her ambition drove me .


She was hungover again that Wednesday, so I’d had to go in to work for her. She hadn’t been to the office for almost a month now, telling me she still needed some “well-deserved” time off. She’d only had the job for six months. So far on her time off all she’d done was stare at her phone, watch the tele and get drunk. She’d used her trust fund from her parents to pay for me; a Doppel. A clone that could perform tasks for her and also take her place in public without anyone noticing; identical in every way apart from a small metal device in the wrist, called the Experience Tracker. Originally created as a way to double productivity, or to allow someone to work 80-hour weeks, Rhian thought it best to let her Doppel (Me) be the productive one so she didn’t have to. Though she didn’t treat me like a slave, she did use me to make her life far more comfortable that she deserved. When I got home, she was dozing on the sofa, a flannel on her head and a bowl on the floor. She heard the door and registered me with a look before closing her eyes again. I hung up our coat and put our shoes away before going through to the kitchen to get my preprepared Nutri-shake. “Doppel,” She asked me in a stickily, pleading voice. “Original.” I responded freezing in my tracks, with a feeling of dread in my chest. “I need you to do something for me tonight.” I sighed. Originals seemed to forget that whilst, yes we were clones of them and we were created for their service, we too got tired and needed rest like they did. I longed for my cryo-pod. “I’m still feeling so rough and I totally forgot I was supposed to go on a date with Brad.” I looked down on her puzzled and she blinked black lashes at me. Rhian had short blonde hair and bright brown eyes, though today they were dull from too much sleep and drink. She was also a few sizes larger than me, partially because she had been living on nothing but junk food and barely moved from the sofa for a month, whereas I was forced to drink a tasteless “Nutri-shake” that sustained my exact nutritional needs and no more. It was too expensive to feed a Doppel proper food. “Why not cancel?” I asked her and she pulled a face like she’d bitten down on a sour sweet, “Because CBA? I’d feel bad too. He’s a nice enough guy. I mean I don’t “Like” him, but I said I’d go for dinner. You go, humour him. If you go you can even eat the food. How long has it been since you’ve tried real food?” She tempted me with that one and I decided that I could forgo a bit of rest for a chance at real food. “A long time original.” “So you’ll go then?” “Yes.” “You’re a life saver!” She looked relieved. I was excited. “What do you want me to wear?” She smiled in a sweet way that didn’t spread to her dark-rimmed eyes. “Take your pick.” “Do you want me to sleep with him?” She thought about it, then pulled a face and shook her head. “Nah, I can’t deal with the drama. Maybe kiss him if he leans in.” I nodded. “Cool. Thanks Dop.” She took out her phone and pinged the address of the restaurant and a picture of Brad to my Experience Tracker. It functioned much like a smart phone, only with far less features and fitted with to both a movement tracker and a recorder to record all a Doppel went through in an original’s absence.

“What time should I be back?” I asked as I dismissed the picture from where it showed on my palm. She groaned and waved her hand dismissively. “I dunno. Be back in your Cryo by 11.” Another nod and I left the dirty living room to choose an outfit from the closet. I had been feeling apprehensive when she’d asked me to go out, but to taste real food… That was something I dreamed of. At least I would if the Cryo-pods allowed us to dream. After I’d chosen an outfit, a sleek white blouse with black trousers and high heels accompanied by a small jacket, I caught a cab to the restaurant where I was meeting… Brad. That was it. I called up the picture from my tracker and made sure I’d be able to recognise his face. I saw that Rhian was watching me, by the little red marker projected on my finger. She was probably just making sure that I’d made it safely, but it made me shudder. The Restaurant was called “Campino’s”, a narrow three-story Italian eatery with a brightly lit sign and dazzling yellow lights in vintage bulbs shining through the tall glass windows. I stepped out the cab and, after paying the fare, quickly tottered into the porch. A girl in uniform, her hair in a tight chestnut bun, smiled at me as I approached and asked if I had a reservation. “I’m here with Brad?” I said hopefully, putting on Rhian’s sweetest smile. The Waitress nodded in recognition. “He arrived just a minute ago, I’ll show you the way.” I followed the waitress between round clothed tables like river rapids till I came to a table with a man sitting at it. He had ash blonde hair with too much gel in and wore a navy-blue shirt. His face was kind with green-brown eyes and slightly wonky teeth, that added a boyish element to his smile. I liked it, but Original didn’t so… “Hey, glad you could make it.” He said, his voice was high timbered and warm though there was something about it that I couldn’t quite work out. An artificial or false quality. Although in all honesty I wasn’t paying that much attention, I was more excited about the menu and what I saw on the table. Breadsticks. Beautifully browned, olive-oil made, golden crunchy breadsticks. I snatched one up and bit into it with a dry snap before I’d even sat down. Then I composed myself, “Sorry,” I laughed through my mouthful, “I’m starving.” My mouth watered even as I chewed, and I pulled out the chair and sat down. Brad laughed with me. “Well, if you’re making a start I might as well.” He took a breadstick too and we both shared a smile as we enjoyed them. The waitress brought us a bottle of red wine over and Brad poured a glass for each of us. “Sorry, I didn’t even ask do you like wine?” He asked bashfully. I’d never tried it, so I shrugged. “Time to find out.” The first drop was like strawberry fire and I almost choked on the shear cavalcade of flavour that pervaded my tongue and mouth. I could understand now my Original got through so much of it. “That’s amazing,” I whispered, a burn in my throat snatching my voice from me. “I have to agree,” he nodded savouring the taste. “A connoisseur, are you?” I giggled girlishly. “Actually,” He spun the stem of the glass between his fingers, “I was a member of a wine club.” He said sheepishly as if he didn’t want me to know. Original had taught me how to feign interest when talking to men, but there was no need. I was fascinated. “You were?” “I were.” He nodded with a cheeky smile. “Well, why’d you stop?” He took another sip and closed his eyes. “Because I… I….” He froze for a moment as if in deep thought. The silence hung awkwardly, and my eyes wandered the room to try and avoid his struggling face. Suddenly he gave a deep groan and shook his head. “Urrgh I’m sorry. Look I really shouldn’t tell you this but.” He held out his wrist to reveal an Experience Tracker just like mine. “I’m a Doppel. Yes, I know it’s a dick move I totally agree. Worse than standing someone up I reckon. Just don’t tell my original I told you, you can go home and…” “No way!” I exclaimed holding my own wrist out. His eyes widened as he saw my tracker. “Wait you too!?” I nodded exuberantly. “That’s right!” He spread his arms out wide then grabbed his hair. “What the Ffff….!?” We both stared at each other for a long moment and then laughed so loud that other people turned to look at us with disapproving expressions. “So, you… you’re Original, Rhian. Stood up my Original, Brad but he was standing up you which was actually…!” “If it wasn’t for us this table would be empty.” I said picking up my glass and taking a big swig of wine, choking on the flavour. “As you’ve been so honest, I’ll come clean with you. I’m, literally, just here for the food. I’ve not tasted anything in months apart from Nutri-shake.” Doppel-Brad gesticulated in wide eyed agreement. “I am so sick of that stuff. If it wasn’t for the canteen allowance Original gave me, I’d have eaten my own tongue.” I slammed my hands on the table. “You get canteen money!?” We talked about our originals for hours, ordering plates and plates of food till our stomachs hurt and out mouths ached. We were having too much fun to care about anything else, it was just a pleasure to talk with our own kind. It turned out that Brad hadn’t been into work for ages either and lived as my Rhian did, just staring at a phone while Doppel-Brad went out and earned the wage packet. Doppel-Brad also told me he thought his Original had sent him on several dates, asking for a record of each one so he could pick the one he wanted. “So this probably wouldn’t have led anywhere after this?” Doppel-Brad shrugged. “Probably not.” I giggled.  “Well Rhian was only going out to save face, so I guess it would have been a wasted exercise anyway.” A smile touched the corner of his lips. “Well, it wasn’t from my angle.” Something warm moved inside me and I felt a genuine smile on my face. “No, it certainly wasn’t.” “We are going to be in so much trouble for talking about them like this.” “Not until we plug in.” He grinned cheekily. We clinked glasses and ordered another bottle, quite forgetting the time. The Restaurant emptied, the lights dimmed and soon a waiter came to say that they were closing in 15 minutes. I looked down at my tracker and balked. “Shit! It’s quarter to 12!” “Is it?” Doppel-Brad said calmly. “I hadn’t noticed.” “I said I’d be back an hour ago!” I hissed, standing and going through Rhian’s purse to find money to pay the bill. “So what?” He whispered under his breath, reaching out and taking my hand. “What do you mean?” I asked, frozen as my heart began to pound in my chest. “I don’t know about you.” He began in a low voice. “But I don’t really want to go back to my Original.” My breath came in controlled gasps. “Are you talking about… Running?” He stood up and murmured. “Look, I know a guy. He knows how to shut down the trackers, temporarily at least. We can go somewhere, get away for a bit.” “Get away? Go where?” “I don’t know anywhere. Just as long as we’re together.” My heart wrenched. I wanted what he wanted, but it was impossible. “You hardly know me. Why run away with me?” “Because all my life, if you could call it that, someone else has told me how to live it for their own sake. I want to do something for my own.” He looked me dead in the eye. “And I think you want the same.” “But I’m a… I’m just a…” “A what? A Doppel?” He waved his wrist at me. “Same here.” He squeezed my hand. “Look, you don’t have to. I’m just asking because the thought of never seeing you again hurts.” I regarded him for a long moment, his round boyish face, his hair with way too much gel, his smell of wine and rich food. “It hurts me too…” I whispered leaning toward him. We kissed. We kissed gently, letting the restaurant staff shuffle around us awkwardly, then pulled away. “Alright,” I threw far more money than necessary down on the table for the bill and, hand in hand, we left the waiters gaping at the cash on the table, walked out onto the street and ran.


In the tiny pixie village of Honey Lake, lived one pixie who loved nothing more than to prank others. Her name was Kat, and some might say her prank were her way of getting attention. And when your big sister is Rebel, a very powerful and beloved pixie, one would try to stand out as much as possible. But on the other some pixies say that the reason Kat is mischievous is because she was born one April first. Kat, had been playing so many pranks on the pixies that they have actually gotten used to it, they would make jokes and laugh at every prank. But today was a day that the pixies were afraid of April first, not only was it April fools day but is was also Kat’s birthday. On this day Kat would always get into more mischief, compared to any other day of the year. But what really frightened the pixies was the fact that is was Kat’s eighth birthday, and as pixie law goes once a pixie is eighteen they can venture out into the world of humans and explore for twenty-four hours. It was very clear to everyone that Kat would use that time to prank the humans, and that is exactly what they were afraid of. “Sweetie, are you sure don’t want to just stay home?” asked Lila, Kat’s mother. She to was worried about what her daughter would in the human world. “Yes, it would be safer if you didn’t leave Honey Lake,” said Tony, Kat’s father. He blindly followed his wife on this topic.

“Mom, Dad, don’t you trust me?” Kat asked, her blue eyes sparkling. “They trust you they just don’t want you prank anyone and risk exposing us,” Rebel said flying in from above. “Rebel,” Kat exclaimed hugging her sister. “So you’re on my side?” “Yes,” Rebel sighed. “But you can’t prank anyone,”. After breakfast Kat quickly headed to the town gate with a few other people that were turning eighteen. The group were told the rules about going outside the gate: Don’t out yourself as a Pixie Don’t use your magic in the human realm

There weren’t that many, but the those they were there got to the point. As she was leaving the gate Kat went over the rules again ad again. They were going to make pranking a bit more complicated, but Kat liked a challenge. And a challenge she would get, for Kat was about to pull of the best prank ever. Kat had been in the human world for little over an hour when she found the perfect place for her prank. She sat everything up so meticulously that even the dumbest of humans couldn’t mess it up. Now the prank she was setting up wasn’t her best prank ever, in fact she had pulled this same prank on any of the pixies back home. But the this prank is leading up her best one. Kat just wanted to have some opening acts. The frist one went off with out a snag. The human was so confused and mad, it was perfect. “Hey, kid,” said a voice from the shadows. “You need some help with those pranks, I have a good idea for your next one,”.

Kat looked around to find the source of the sound but didn’t anyone. So kept on moving to do her pranks. If she had looked in the ally way behind her, she would have seen Wyatt. He is a pixie who also loves to prank. He lives on the other side of Honey Lake so they neve did meet. But Kat, didn’t let the weird voice stop her from pranking more humans. Her next few pranks went off effortlessly. Now it is time for the finally, Kat thought. She darted around looking for a spot to set up the prank.

When Kat found the spot she flew behind a dumpster and put herself into human form. She didn’t really like to be in this form but if she was going to pull of this prank she needed to look like one. “Hey you, asked if I could help,” said the voice from before. But this time when Kat looked around she found the person who was talking to her. “Sure, I guess you could help,” Kat said consuedly.

The two introduced themselves and begin to get to work. By the time they had finished setting up, it was almost time to head back to Honey Lake. Kat set off the prank, which went smoothly until a kid was running up the ice cream truck unknowing they were going to get blasted with a chalk powder. In an attempt to stop the child Kat used her magic to pull the little one away. Then Wyatt made the ice cream truck drive and disappear around the corner. The reason the two stopped the prank was because it would bring more attention to them if the victim were a child rather than an adult. Kat and Wyatt quick went behind a dumpster and changed back to pixies. They flew to Honey Lake and got there just as they were calling everyone back. The two quickly separated and went home they didn’t draw suspicion to themselves. “Oh, sweetie, how was it?” asked Lila, as soon as Kat walked inside the house. “It was awesome their are so many cool things in the human world,” Kat exclaimed sitting down to tell her family about her day.

“What types of pranks did play on the people,” Tony asked. “We know you pulled some, would be you if you didn’t,” “Well…,” Kat start to say but was interrupted by a banging on the door. Lila when to open, it was the Queen’s armys.

“Kat Downing, you’re coming with us,” said the General as she stepped in front of the crowd. “Buy why?” Kat asked the General. “Because you used magic in the human world, and that is against the rules,” said the General, she turned to leave. “Take her away,”. Suddenly, the Queen’s Army grabbed Kat and Threw her into the back of a police car. When she sat up right she noticed Wyatt was in the car.

“Did you rat me out?” Kat growled. “No, if I ratted you out then I would also be ratting myself out,” Wyatt whisper-shouted. “And I don’t do that,” “Well then who sold us out?” Kat asked ranking her brain of the other people who went to the human world with you. “It was me,” said a voice from the front seat of the car. “Who is me?” Kat asked. The figure turned around and reveal themself as Rebel. “Rebel,” “Yes, my job today was to watch people going into the human world,” said Rebel. “You broke a rule now you have to pay the price,” “What price?” Wyatt asked sacred. “Death,” Rebel said sorrowly. Unfortunately, the one thing Kat loved to do most was the one thing that caused her down fall. If only she could resit pulling that prank.


The lights flickered overhead. I was getting dizzy, but I had no choice other than to continue on. Our family needed supplies, and we didn't have much time left. I looked at my husband, hoping to communicate all my love for him in with eye contact. I nodded to him silently, and we separated, hoping to cover more ground between the two of us. My beloved, may your journey be successful. I will see you again, I swear it. Oh, gosh, here they come again. The employees at Savings Mart were quite familiar with them by now. They must have moved here a few years ago, because one week they showed up and started making their weird habits everyone else’s problem. Once a week, this family came in and did the strangest things while shopping for their groceries. The cashiers looked at each other and whispered about how maybe this week they would just shop like normal people. They all knew deep down that this would not be the case. I peered my head around the corner, searching for signs of life. Seeing none, I crept cautiously onward. Ah, yes, the bread. A life-sustaining substance, useful in so many situations. But I must pick the right one. If I pick the wrong one, I may poison my children or prevent them from getting the nutrition they need. Man cannot live on bread alone. I needed something from nature to encourage the fighting strength of my loved ones. Tree nuts were usually a safe choice, but again, I cannot be too hasty in selecting one. The wrong nuts can be fatal, especially to my poor Timothy. Aha, almond butter, at last. I only hoped my husband was having luck, wherever he ended up. Come on, they don’t even use shopping carts. If you are shopping for a week, you probably need a good amount of stuff. Instead of using the carts, these weirdos brought their own bags from home. Ok, so bringing the bags from home is not so bad in itself, but they brought the strangest ones. Sometimes they’d bring in these shiny boxes and load their groceries in slowly and carefully, speaking in some weird language to each other. Other times they brought worn leather bags and stuffed groceries in like they were packing for a long trip. Occasionally they would just use cardboard boxes, and the cashiers would be relieved, thinking maybe they were going to be normal for once, but they were wrong. Those days usually involved throwing items into the box quickly and haphazardly, as if the couple was just grabbing necessities before running from their lives, like preparing for a zombie apocalypse, as one of the nerdier stockers pointed out. I pulled my cloak closer around my shoulders and hurried through the frozen passes. This dangerous path is the only way to get the freshest of the finest foods. Milk from the right cows combined with a secret blend of fruits can be the best motivator. We worked hard this week, my family has earned something special. As I rub my freezing hands together, I spot it at last, the perfect one. I carefully place it with my other findings, and hurry on. How long have I been here? Will I make it home in time? I pray that I do. The stockers never knew what to make of that couple. You’d just be rearranging the products and see something out of the corner of your eye, but by the time you turned your head, it would be gone. It only took a few weeks for the breakroom chatter to come to the consensus that it must be them . It’s not really so hard to put together with all the other weird stuff they do. And if they did come up to you while you were working the shelves, be prepared for an odd conversation. The nerdy stocker said it was like being the side character in a video game. The customer would go on and on about their quest, asking seemingly random questions and then just wander off. My weariness was beginning to take over me, but I must push on farther. An orb of light can conquer my children’s deepest fears of the caves of our home. My memory is getting fuzzy, and I struggle to recall the right sequence. The code makes all the difference. I should have sent my husband on this quest, but I recognized the needs for his skills elsewhere. No, this one I must take on alone. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. I must center myself and reach out to the knowledge and strength buried in me. My eyes shot open as I knew the code, of course I did. It had been inside me all along. Hold on, dearest, I am coming. The weirdest part is when they checked out. They would meet up at the register and act like they had not seen each other in years, barely paying attention to the poor cashier. Today it was Linda who got to deal with them. Linda was only three weeks into this job and trying so very had to do it right. It is hard to ask if a couple if they want to sign up for the in-store credit card when they were staring deeply into each other’s eyes. I gazed at him tenderly. My own darling, returned to me at last. I cupped his cheek in my hand, admiring again the deep green of his eyes and the beautiful texture of his dark hair. I smiled, for I felt again that surge of love and surety that this is the man I was to spend the rest of my life with. I found my prince, and together we had built a wonderful home and a loving family. This man is the greatest partner, the best father, and the most loving adventure companion a woman could hope for. And he was mine . He gave me that little smile and my heart melted. “Dearest, every moment away from you is pained, but the joy of seeing you again makes all of our journeys worthwhile.” The lovely shopkeeper said something, but I didn’t listen, too focused on the sweet words spoken by my husband. Hand in hand, we returned to our family, successful in our quest once again.