“Kristof, are you sure this is what you want? My father is not going to like this.” “I’ve thought about it Marie. The pandemic is hurting everyone. Plus, you know how my headaches have come back. They haven’t been this bad in over 20 years. They’re so random and unpredictable, I just don’t know if I can do it.” “Well you’re going to have to talk to him then because I’m sure as hell not. This is your decision and I’m not about to break my own father’s heart.” Kristof and Marie had been dating for several years. Marie’s father owned and ran a small carpentry and woodworking business, The Wood Chest. It provided an adequate living, keeping the Peters family entrenched in the middle class social scene for almost a century. Once it became apparent that Kristof and Marie were committed to each other, Stephen Peters, Marie’s father, brought on Kristof as his protege with the goal of one day handing the reigns of The Wood Chest to him. “When are you going to talk to him?” Marie asked. “I know you’re both working on that project today.” “I still haven’t fully decided that I’m going to do it. You know I have that week booked soon at that AirBnB cabin” Kristof replied. “Thank you for letting me have that time alone by the way.” “Of course. I do know you’ve been under a lot of stress, you need a reboot.” “Oh you’re right about that. But yeah, I’m still not 100% sure I want to tell him anyway. It’s a big decision and there’s just so much at play.” Kristof stood and cleared the table. “Well,” Marie said as she scrubbed away the morning’s breakfast residue from the pan, “make sure this isn’t a rash decision. Spend some time with dad, go grab a beer with him and just talk. I’m sure things will become more clear if you don’t keep things bottled up to yourself.” “Yeah. I’ll see how it the project comes along this morning and go from there. Marie?” “Yes?” “Thank you. I love you.” “I love you too K. Now hurry up and shower. You need to leave in 20 minutes.” “Yes mother” Kristof said playfully, rolling his eyes. Marie shot him a playful angry look and threw the dish towel at him. Kristof caught it and threw it back immediately, taking off running to the bathroom before she could have a chance to throw it back. ********** The working portion of The Wood Chest was a 1200 square foot space in the back of the Peters’ family land. It was originally a guest house when Marie’s great-grandfather built the main house and started the company roughly one hundred years ago. When Stephen, Marie’s father, took over the daily operations of the business, he converted the guest house into the main workshop. This was where the big projects were made. Stephen Peters was sanding and turning a piece of cedar at one of the lathes in a corner of the shop when Kristof walked in. Stephen was only 60 years old, but the years of running The Wood Chest had begun to cause some arthritis in his shoulders and he appeared to be closer to 70 than his actual age. His hardened skin seemed moreso due to his nearly solid white hair. While still able to get his customers taken care of and his jobs done in a reasonable amount of time, he was more than happy to have the help of Kristof. The days the two spent working on projects and building custom pieces for customers and clients seemed to go by much faster than when one of them was working solo. It also didn’t hurt that it was looking more and more like Kristof was going to propose to Stephen’s daughter Marie in the next few weeks. Stephen enjoyed Kristof’s company immensely and was excited about the possibilities for The Wood Chest when he finally handed control of the business to his (hopeful) future son-in-law. “Morning Mr. Peters, how many projects are on the slate for today?” “Hey there Kristof! This is it for the day, but it’s going to take a majority of our time.” “Just the one huh?” Kristof sighed. “How long has it been since we had multiple jobs going at once? I miss the days when we had to budget our time enough to be able to work on a few different pieces each day.” Stephen turned off his machine and stretched. “I know son, it’s been awhile. Once the pandemic hit, it slowed us down quite a bit. We’re still getting orders and making money, but yes there has been a drop off the past few months.” Kristof slid on his apron and safety goggles. “Didn’t you say that we should be getting more custom orders any day now?” “I did say that, yes.” Stephen replied. “We actually just got three orders for some really amazing patio pieces. I know I promised you your week vacation next week, so I convinced the client to let us start those in a couple weeks after you get back.” “Thank you sir” Kristof said with some excitement. “First, for letting me take the time off like that, my headaches are back and I honestly need the break.” “That’s no problem, I need you healthy. My goal is to get all of this” Stephen gestured to the shop with a wide arch of his arm “transferred to you by the end of the quarter. I haven’t told Marie this, but I’m retiring soon. My shoulders aren’t getting better. This is all about to be yours.” “That’s quite a lot to take in Mr. Peters. Why haven’t you told her?” Stephen went back to work on the lathe while Kristof worked on sanding some of the larger pieces. He had to shout so he could be heard clearly. “Because you know how she worries, Kristof. She’s concerned enough as it is. Can you imagine how she would take it if she knew that I was planning to retire earlier than anyone knows? For this to go smoothly, this is how it has to be done.” Kristof stifled a laugh. “Yeah, she does tend to get worked up and over think a bit. Mr. Peters?” “Yes?” “Let’s go grab a couple of drinks after work today. I’ve got a couple things I’d like to talk to you about.” Stephen’s face lit up. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Let’s get this work knocked out so we can enjoy ourselves later.” They both turned from the other and got back to working on their respective parts of the project. ********** The first snow of the season had started falling in the afternoon and the bar was not very crowded. A young couple sat at the bar and a group of three off duty construction workers were standing over a pool table deciding would would break the first game. Stephen and Kristof sat facing one another in a corner booth. Stephen had just started his rum and coke and Kristof was taking a sip of his beer when the waitress brought their food. Stephen got the fries and Kristof the nachos (Kristof loved him some nachos). “Great job today on the sanding Kristof” as Stephen took a bite of fries. “Thank you. I think I only managed a couple of splinters, not so bad” Kristof said with a grin. Stephen smiled. “You’ll live. I’m glad you picked this place. I like it, not smoky or anything.” “I know it’s not your regular spot, but it’s a great low key place with amazing food.” Kristof scooped more ground beef onto a nacho. “These things are glorious.” “You said you wanted to talk about a couple things. Is everything okay?” Stephen finished his drink and signaled the bartender for another. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I’m worried.” “About what son?” Stephen asked. “I don’t know how to say this, but I’m worried about the shop, about The Wood Chest.” A look of confusion came over Stephen’s face. “Oh? Go on.” Kristof took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I know it’s been in the family since before your father was born. I know the history it has in this town, the history it has for that property and for the Peters’. But we’ve got to be realistic and look at the big picture. Business has dropped upwards of 50 percent the past 7 to 8 months, and it’s getting close to 60.” “Uh huh. I’m aware.” Stephen said softly with a hardened stare. “What’s your point? I told you things are starting to pick up. The Wood Chest has made it through tough times before and I don’t see how this is any different.” “Stephen. Mr. Peters. Look at it. There is a worldwide pandemic going on and businesses like this, shops like this one, they’re all struggling. And with no end in sight? How much longer can we keep it up?” They silently looked at each other as the waitress brought them each another drink before leaving to attend to a table of men that just entered. The men at the pool table were starting their second game. “Kristof, I want you to listen, and I want you to listen good. The Wood Chest has survived countless ups and downs, the mini depression in the 80s, the crash of 08, 9/11, all of it. And guess what? We’ve come out stronger in the end. I know we can do it again, and that’s why I want you. You know that I’m turning it over to you over the next couple of months. We can do this.” Kristof took another deep breath and downed half his bottle in one chug. “That’s the thing. I don’t want it.” Stephen slammed his glass down and everyone in the bar quickly glanced his direction before turning away. “What do you mean you don’t want it?” Kristof looked Stephen in the eyes. “I mean I don’t want to take over The Wood Chest. I don’t want The Wood Chest. If you turn it over to me, I’ll of course take it, but I won’t continue to keep it in the family.” All the color drained from Stephen Peters’ face. “I, I, don’t know what I’m hearing. I can’t believe this. We were going to turn it around together and you were going to usher in a new era for The Wood Chest.” “We still can turn it around Mr. Peters, but I will look to sell the business within a year if you give me full control.” Kristof said matter of factly. “I’m not going to continue the family business long term.” “This hurts, you know this.” Stephen said, barely above a whisper. “What can I do to change your mind?” “Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do. I’ve made up my mind. I will gladly stay on and continue working with you. We can continue turning things around. I’m not leaving you high and dry. I will help you with the search for the next head of your family business, but that person is not going to be me.” Kristof finished his beer and grabbed another beef laden nacho. “I definitely wasn’t expecting this, but if your mind is made up, I’m not going to try and force you.” Stephen said as he picked at the remainer of his fries, clearly distracted. “I appreciate you letting me get that out, and I’m sorry.” Kristof’s cell phone began to buzz in his pocket. He signalled for one final round of drinks before looking at his phone. “It’s Marie. She wants to talk.” **********


When was this? I stared at the blurry photo of myself, sitting next to Andy in a sticky booth in a bar I’ve been to a thousand times. Why don’t I remember this? Could’ve been drunk based on how many empty beer cans were on the table but why do I not remember Andy either?

Flash forward to the beginning of the night… I didn’t even want to go to this bonfire tonight. Not sure why though. I wasn’t feeling particularly antisocial or anything, and despite the long week I wasn’t necessarily tired, but something in my bones told me I shouldn’t go. And I ignored it. I also knew my friend, Rick, would be pissed if I bailed. This was his housewarming party of sorts for the whole group, even though I had been there countless times. Due to his poor planning skills, I practically set everything up and bought all the food, so perhaps I was a little more annoyed than I should’ve been, but I digress. Around 9 p.m., everyone else started showing up. Rick and I were already two or three beers in, sitting on these tiny foldable chairs as each of our friends joined us one by one. Now that it was nearing 11 p.m., I was thankful for that fire. The bright orange flames swirled around as the wind picked up, and when the flames finally cleared I saw an empty, extra chair. “Whose chair is that? Everyone’s here.” I asked Rick.

“That must be mine.” A voice behind me muttered. I jumped in my seat, nearly falling out while the man sat down in the last remaining chair. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” “No worries, just didn’t hear you walking up.” I answered, though my heart felt like it was pounding out of my chest. I stared at the man, not recognizing him in the slightest. Admittedly, I wasn’t the best at recognizing people, but I had no clue who he was. I leaned over my chair to Rick’s, and not as quietly as I would’ve liked, I whispered, “Who is this?” Before Rick could respond, the man answered, “I’m Andy?” Andy settled into the chair and took a beer from the cooler, cracking it open and taking a long swig. He then looked at me, squinting his eyes to take a better look at me. I narrowed my eyes, a weird sensation flowing through me that wasn’t the effects of the alcohol.

“Andy, quit staring you’re starting to creep everyone out.” Rick said, his voice a little slurred. “Sorry,” Andy said, his head ticked to the side. “I know you. Do you not remember me?”

I pointed to myself. “Me?” “Yeah, you.” Andy set his drink down and started going through his phone.

The rest of the guys weren’t paying any attention to this interaction, Rick was the only person besides Andy and I that was engrossed in this conversation.

“You don’t know him, man. I’ve never introduced you all until today.” Rick answered for me, although that was going to be my answer too. “No, no, I know I’ve met you before, several times actually.” Andy got up from his seat and sat down on the damp ground ahead of me and Rick. “Why would I have pictures of you on my phone if we’ve never met before?” I narrowed my eyes “I must’ve been drunk every time or something.” “Not that I recall, maybe like once.” Andy replied, he passed his phone to me and I began scrolling through the cluster of pictures.

At some point I had lost count on how many pictures I scrolled through. Some pictures were us at bars or concerts or just dinners together. “This is just weird.” I practically threw the phone back at him. Confusion ran through me, how come I don’t remember him? “Are you sure that’s even me?” I asked, even though I knew it was a stupid question. Of course it was me, there was no denying that. But it wasn’t like me to blatantly forget someone. “You sent most of these to me, dude. I’m sure it’s you.” He handed his phone over to Rick after his relentless pestering. Rick’s eyes went wide at the photos. “Well clearly Jack doesn’t remember.” Rick looked at me, looking as perplexed as I was. “Where did you meet him for the first time then?” “At Henry’s Tavern, maybe about six months ago?” Rick looked over at me and I shrugged my shoulders, the mentioning of the restaurant did not jog my memory in the slightest. Andy took a long swig of his beer, if he was annoyed with my lack of remembrance he was trying his best not to show it. He blew out a long breath and then asked, “Okay, well we went to that bar on Smith Street a few times. What’s that place called again?”

“Kilter’s?” I answered which appeared to give him false hope. “So, you do remember?” “I just remembered the name of the bar, not going there. The last time I remember going there was for New Year’s Eve, I don’t remember stepping foot in that bar after then.” Now I was really starting to get concerned. Why am I missing these last few months? And more specifically, why is it only my interactions with him? Could I be forgetting other things too?

“You don’t have a twin brother, do ya?” Andy chuckled, trying to lighten up the mood. I appreciated his attempt, but hundreds of questions were running through my mind at this point. “I don’t.” I answered shortly, even though he already knew that.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, but we’ve clearly met each other several times. I wouldn’t just edit these photos.” He slid his phone back to his pocket, though I had a strong urge to flip through each photo in hopes of jogging my memory. I knew it wouldn’t, so I refrained and just sipped my beer and tried to forget it all. After several minutes of awkward silence, Andy announced his departure. I felt some relief when he left, though Rick immediately brought the pictures up again. “That was weird, man. You seriously don’t remember any of those?”

I shook my head. “I just don’t understand why I don’t remember any of them.” Rick shrugged his shoulders and threw down his empty beer on the grass. A smile grew on his face as he said, “Well at least you’ll remember the ones we took tonight with him.” My face paled. “We took some tonight?”


Juliet’s Song by Mehreen Ahmed Juliet worked in a cafe up the road. This morning, on her way to work, she thought, 'by the time I stepped out, the leaves were on fire'. She smiled to herself looking around at the hectic autumnal leaves, but she didn't realise that her pretty smile was something to see first thing in the morning. But she didn’t know that. She worked her shifts around the clock, being nice to the lovers of coffee, serving them, and taking orders. Juliet was stringent with her time, however, occasionally, she would spare a few moments to chat at the till. That would be generous on her part. No one knew what went on in her head. Nobody cared to find out what her thoughts were. And that was how it was; strictly professional. One morning a lady by the name of Rita Chowder, a regular at the cafe, came in and sat down at a corner. It was a quiet morning at the cafe that day. In fact, Rita was the only customer at the time. She finished her first cup of coffee. Then she waved at Juliet. And when she came by, Rita asked her for another shot. Juliet brought it over to her. As she took a sip, Juliet noticed tears. 	“What’s wrong?” she asked. A frown appeared on her smooth forehead. “What do you mean?” Rita asked. “Are you crying? Are those your tears?”Julia asked. “Yes,” Rita said, trying to hide them by lowering her head. “Why would you be crying?” Juliet asked. “Oh it is a long, long story. I think I am about to lose my house to the bank?” she answered. “That’s no good.” “I have been frugal all my life. Worked hard and drove second hand beat-up cars. I always dreamt of buying a new car one day. But that just never happened. I just couldn’t save up enough, always behind, no matter how hard I worked. I feel short-changed. “Oh, no,” “Turns out, that’s the way it was all going to be.” Rita concluded. Juliet listened with a lot of interest. She felt like doing something for Rita. But what could she do? How was Rita, to fight the big banks, and the hiking interest rates? She moved away from her to serve another customer. By the time she came back, Rita was gone. But she noticed, she left something for her on the table. It was a card, with her phone number written on it. Juliet picked it up. She gazed outside through the cafe gates and saw Rita walking away. Juliet thought whether to keep the card or to get rid of it. Clients came and went, everyday, but who cared about their stories. Something told her to keep it. She tucked it away in her apron pocket. When she looked again, she saw the last of her floral dress at the vanishing point, behind the garden’s neat hedges. After work, that night Juliet returned to her two-bed apartment, she shared with another girl. She went straight to shower, and wrapped herself with a dressing gown afterwards. They ate some pasta together, which her room-mate cooked, and they both sat down in front of the television. Over dinner, Juliet muttered something which her room-mate didn’t understand. Her name was Kate. “Was there something you said?” she asked. “Yes, I was speaking to a customer this morning and she was saying that she may lose her house to the bank.” “Really? Can she not pay her mortgage anymore?” “Yeah, something like that,” Juliet answered. “That would be really awful.” “Yeah, wouldn’t it? “Do you want to buy a house someday?” Kate asked. “Me? Ha! Funny you ask. I’m even lucky to pay my rent.” Juliet smiled. Kate noted sarcasm in her voice. She added,“Or get hitched with a rich guy.” They both laughed, and finished dinner. They watched the news and saw what the banks were doing and have been doing to their clients. After the news finished, they rose from their chairs, with the plates and dumped them in the sink. Juliet said goodnight to Kate and went to bed. She had an early shift the next day. In bed, she didn’t go to sleep right away. It bothered her that people like Rita had to suffer. She thought only people in the developing world suffered like this. She didn’t understand the economics of it at all. However, she took her dairy out of the bedside table drawer and began to write. Most were her own ramblings. But she also penned down Rita’s predicament. It hadn’t dawned upon her entirely, until now, how many people were out there, who tirelessly put uncountable hours into work, for negligible returns. What was it in the end, if they couldn’t even own one house in retirement or drive a brand new car? What was it? Was anything worth it? That people had to pay back double, even triple with interest on the principle they borrowed from the banks? That it would take four generations if not more, to pay back. Was it even fair? Juliet contemplated on a lot of questions, but no answers. She didn’t know when she fell asleep.

In the morning, when she woke up, she had a new resolution. She wanted to smell the sweetness of spring in all its freshness. She wanted to make money, travel, purchase a house, drive brand new cars. Live it up! After all, she lived in a first world country, and she should be entitled to those world class benefits. On her way to the cafe, she went to the news agents to buy a copy of the Sydney Herald. She turned the pages to shares and bonds. Investing in shares and bonds was the way to go. At twenty-five, she figured it out. She must tell Rita, too, if she were to save her house. Juliet thought of using her small savings to invest the lot in shares. She was going to buy blue chips. On lunch-break, she went and researched some more to learn about long-term investments; the rises and the falls of share markets. Windfalls, making quick money, while improbable, was not impossible. She called her brokers, and invested all her savings into a diversified portfolio. She felt almost jubilant that she was not going to end up like Rita. Where was Rita anyway? She didn’t come today. Thoughts about Rita distracted Juliet at work. She expected her to walk in through those gates. After work, Juliet gave Rita a call. Her mobile was switched off. She was just a client in the cafe, who came for a regular caffeine shot. Juliet didn’t even know where she lived or anything about her. But she wanted her to know that there was a way out. If Juliet could sell and buy shares wisely, she could end up with a little pot of gold. That night, she came back from work. It was her turn to cook dinner. She turned on the TV, and took an onion to slice. She must follow the market closely. On the news, an accident was reported. A body was found washed up by the local river bank. Most likely, it was suicide. A name was also released, Rita Chowder. ‘What?’ Juliet was devastated. The knife fell from her hand, and the onion rolled off the cutting board. Rita was no relative, hardly even a friend. But Juliet felt she was so much more. There was almost a bonding. Juliet was not sure now. This was puzzling. Her breathing, short and shallow, she struggled to accept this. She had to sit down. The perfect rainbow that she had been dreaming, suddenly took a bad turn and it transpired into something she didn’t think about. This other side of it, she wasn’t sure of. She saw the same rainbow, but in a different light. She saw its reflection on the water. Under wrinkled water, it didn’t look so perfect, but broken along the edges of the arch. That night she could not eat dinner, but went to bed straight away. A fresh start in the morning, this new day, should bring a refreshing new perspective, she hoped. And coffee shots to give those moods a false high. It took her a good many months for a return on her investments. It wasn’t until the winter months two years on that Juliet was able to sell her shares and turn in a profit. Over the months of July and August, she sold all her shares. And was able to double her savings. Juliet wanted to travel. She wanted to visit the USA. What a lark! No broken wings! This lucky girl was a survivor.


Charlotte ate green peppers all day long. Both Joy and Greta stared and openly groaned at her in disgust. There she went again in the cafeteria, treating the joy of the spiciest food in the world like it was an ice cream sundae that had come to life. On days like these, Joy Conwell could literally groan out loud. If she didn't want to flunk AP Calculus, she had to get her sorry ass to the library as fast she should say Taco Tuesday. It was definitely more entertaining than someone whose idea of fun was eating a horrible vegetable. Both of them couldn't wait until they could leave the cafeteria to go to the library. At least it was better than seeing unentertaining students feed their selves. Who even wanted to take Calculus? She had better things to do than study a useless subject that wasn’t worth learning about. The thing about Joy was that she didn’t believe in sucking up to others; it was more fun to tear them down instead. Another wise woman in her orbit was none other than Greta Beth Wilford. Her hacker name was “Indigo” back in the day. Joy went by her own nickname: Vanity. With those two names in sync, both girls created the rock band, Indigo and Vanity. Usually, the two devious comrades were always able to cause havoc and create fear in the incompetent souls of others. There was nothing that could tear these two feisty ladies down. High school would be brought down to ashes, just like the rest of this burning rock. Word around Justice High School was the fact that a small but stern librarian ruled the library with an iron fist. She once made three juniors cry so badly for making noise that they didn’t stay around to attend their senior homecoming. How could anyone justify treating children like this? Joy couldn’t take it any longer. If she couldn’t pass her Calculus course, she and Beth might as well make some noise to enjoy. The Lucy J. Beauvoir High School Library had been found in 1908 by some old French fart named Jacques Beauvoir. Honestly, Greta didn’t know the name of the founder herself. She braced herself for seeing the face of Abigail Harper, who was known around her campus as “The Nagging Hag.” It wasn’t even an exaggeration. Abigail had been born in Tennessee, then she moved to Lansing, Michigan when she was twenty-three years old. Now at twenty-eight years old, she had the face of a forty-five year old woman, overweight, not caring one iota about her physical appearance. Dark circles under her eyes remained permanent with no concealer to get rid of them. Another year, another long agony of entitled preppy adolescents not respecting the library. The sardonic tone that captured Abigail’s disdain for children still remained on her mind as she walked towards the Lucy J. Wells Public Library. While its mahogany doors didn’t lose any of the magic, she was able to make sure that everything would remain in tip top shape. Just because she didn’t have a backbone didn’t mean that the whole entire staff had to struggle in this unappreciated institution. Sadly, she was also aware of Joy and her dictatorial ways. Abigail could even recall that fateful conversation that the two young women had when the school year of 2019 started. She was able to manipulate Abigail into giving her a B instead of a D for Intermediate Art. Abigail caught onto it though. Coincidentally, Joy, the cunning former student from art class thought the advice Joy was giving her became so divine in her mind that she wrote it down in her barely filled scarlet diary on March 24 th , 2019. “You could make a living doing that kind of thing.” I suppose I could, but I had never thought about it, until then. Perhaps that was the day that evil had entered her bones. Maybe it had always been deep inside of her soul. If evil messes up everyone’s perky lives, why not join the side of the villains? No one could save Joy Conwell but herself. Besides, she would be King, or in her case, Queen of the Heap. The clock above the bookcases was about to ring. At 12:30 p.m., Joy and Greta were about to wreak havoc on the library. The first step was so juvenile, yet so worth it. Both of them ran down the different aisles of the books. Greta ended up in the category of Young Adults; Joy was in the category of Sci-Fi Fantasy. Joy shot her fingers up and went one, two, three, and both girls slammed the books down yelling, “Freedom!” Thud! Abigail was aghast. She could expect childish behavior from seven-year-olds, but a couple of teenage girls? That was unacceptable. To think that she thought her former colleague Tom was a man who used to be very immature. What was she saying? He is still immature to this day. Both ladies smirked as she shook her head at herself. “Why can’t the two of you just grow up?” She didn’t bother putting her finger up towards her prune lips. Tom lost 25 bucks at the races. He was an old acquaintance back from Boston University when they were both aspiring English majors. The horseracing tournament was an intense one. Despite being in their early 20s, they had already known the thrill of a horse winning a race. Abigail still had that competitive streak in her as well. Most people would find it perfectly insane that a woman would compare herself to a horse, but she felt elegant when she did. Gambling on the other hand was something that Abigail had never participated in. Thanks to Tom’s insistent whining, he bet her that if he won 25 bucks, he would see her groan in agony as she dealt with entitled teenagers. However, if he lost, he needed to become a stripper at Tonya’s Strip Club on Reagan Boulevard. Even though it felt good to see Tom embarrass himself on stage, that didn’t get her out of being a librarian. Budget cuts were bad enough. So she couldn’t risk her job for that. Another arsenal up her sleeve was the woman in 3B. It was originally an abandoned room that allowed high schoolers to get in all sorts of mischief. When the library was forbidden from rebellious pranks, the woman in 3B could put an end to it all. To make matters worse, Joy and Greta had never gotten in trouble a day in their lives. Joy’s father, Wren Conwell, used to own a lot of stocks in the Wall Street market. When the Wall Street crash of 1987 occurred, he lost most of them, but one was still kicking. The woman in 3B took a long drink of her red wind and said, “He was skating on thin ice—that’s all I can say.” Thin ice? What did that even mean? Thud! She turned around to see a lamp on the ground. Abigail couldn’t handle it anymore. She still couldn’t trust the woman in 3B. Was she a friend or a foe? “Well, Ms. Harper, I can see that we will enjoy making your life a living hell.” She was trying her best to not cry in front of the ladies. The last thing she wanted was her supervisor giving her grief for not giving these girls any consequences. Her lips trembled as she spoke. “If you girls don’t leave this library right now, I’ll go…” Greta slammed her hand on the right side of the wall. “You’ll go where? Back to that godawful Michigan farm where the closest thing you had to luxury was a farmer’s overalls? My friend has a wealthy father than can fire you right on the spot.” Joy Conwell straightened her natural fro out, her makeup immaculate as always. As she walked slowly towards Abigail, her eyes had a snide appearance about them. Her Louboutin heels would always remain spotless as well. She leaned close towards Abigail. “She’s right, Harper. You can’t chase us down. We’re like the demonic girls from Carrie, but a hell of a lot scarier.” Tears finally fell from her face. The redness in her cheeks didn’t help matters either. She always turned red whenever she was overwhelmed by unnecessary conflict. Nighttime had come over. The woman in 3B had never contacted her throughout the day. No one had even known about her incident in the library. No matter how hard she tried, no ounce of authority roared through her. Turning on the television, Abigail planned to wash this horrible day off of her. “We’re coming to you live from Beauvoir High School, where two teenage girls had been reprimanded by a librarian. Twenty-eight year old Abigail Harper has been employed at the local high school library for roughly three years. Despite the fact that she wasn’t an experienced librarian, seventeen-year olds Greta Wilford and Joy Conwell…” Bitchy Conwell, you mean. Abigail exhaled loudly towards herself. Who gets this wound up over a child? How were these girls even able to get onto the news? Her head was completely spinning. She saw the newscaster, Mark Frederick, with a concerned look on his face. “She was so cruel….we just wanted to read books in her library. I even wanted to point out that tear in her dress, but she was already having a hard day, and I didn’t want her to feel even more embarrassed.” Abigail’s eyes were still entranced by the television. Greta hugged her with a compassionate smile, even though all she saw was venom. One thing still confused her though: When did she have a tear in her dress? She went over to her bathroom mirror. Nothing was torn on top, so Abigail decided to look downwards. She walked over towards her bed, and hiked up her skirt. Lo and behold, a single tear of her red dress was scene. It was even a small tear, it was a tear large enough to see her underwear. She freaked out. How long was I out in public like this? Did anyone else see? They must have cut me when they were violating my personal space! Abigail took everything to not scream at the top of her lungs. The girls, the news story they were able to manipulate within their own twisted narrative…it was too much. She screamed in a guttural tone, never wanting to let go of her rage. The final tear in the dress was officially her breaking point. A tear in her favorite dress from her deceased husband, Wilfred Torrington III, was clearly a step too far. . As quickly as the tears came, they stopped. She rose up from the floor, splashed water on her face, and went to her desk. On top of her desk was a ripe apple. The apple was succulent enough to taste. It wasn't much of a task, but it would maintain Abigail's sanity against her vengeance against the two spoiled brats who dared to damage her family name. Afterwards, she was able to put on some red lipstick from Revlon in front of the bathroom mirror to feel confident again. These girls wanted war? Fine. They got a bloody battle ahead of them. Nothing would tear Abigail Harper's spirit ever again.


My life goes around in circles. As the family folklore goes, I was found in a box on the doorstep. However, breaking with convention, it was Father who was the most excited to see me. The Twins lost interest after an hour, retiring to their bedroom to play their complicated ‘cat’s cradle’ game, which for longer than I’d care to admit I thought somehow was for the benefit of Kanye the Cat. Mother gazed blankly down at me and muttered something unintelligible, before returning to the task of taking the haphazardly-stacked items from the dishwasher and scrubbing at them under the tap until her hands matched the colour of the rose pattern adorning the plates. It was Father mainly too, who nourished me in those early days. Before I had gained the knowledge of how to care for myself. Once I had learned to walk I was limited to the hallway connecting the front door to the living room. To master such a skill but be so confined! I felt like a graduate of linguistics who could only find employment reciting scripts in a call centre. From my viewpoint I occasionally had a glimpse of the Outside if there happened to be a delivery or if there were visitors. The latter of which was numerous to begin with. I felt uncomfortable, Father barking commands at me, parading me in front of all of these people. I saw a great many pairs of shoes and during one particularly gruesome episode, a hoary toenail that was obviously infected poking out of a blue sock like a dolphin jumping out of the ocean, like I saw one time on the Discovery channel. Just as well I have no sense of smell. These sightseers would sometimes utter shrieks or laughter, or shrieks of laughter, when they clapped eyes on me. The Twins would roll their eyes (in unison, naturally), sitting on the sofa in their drab little outfits – always black, as that was the only condition under which they would capitulate to Mother’s desire to dress them alike. I sometimes wondered if the woman had been denied dolls as a child and this was how that curdled craving now manifested. It was Kanye who took the longest to accept me into their home. And it was always their home. He even had a nicer bed than mine. And it wasn’t situated in the cupboard under the stairs. It was doubtlessly not the way Mother would have programmed it but one of the Twins’ favourite pastimes back then was to chase Kanye until his stupid little panting tongue stuck out, who, once he had regained his strength, paid it forward by giving chase to me . What is it that drives people to always pick on the smaller?

I was, in time, introduced to more rooms of the house. But never allowed outside. I pictured travelling to the end of the road and discovering what mysteries lay beyond. I knew there was School, because the Twins went there, and Bus, which took them to and from it apart from one thrilling day when Bus broke down. Father sometimes talked in hushed tones to the Twins about Mother’s breakdown which I thought peculiar because although she was the largest unit of the household she was by no means comparable to Bus in size. I eventually pieced together that her breakdown was something to do with the expulsion of the Twins from Mother, with the birth being on a Halloween in the back of a taxi clamping down on a strip of beef jerky the driver had in his glovebox rather than at a later date in the hospital on "the good drugs", as Mother had hoped for. It’s like they forget I am even there at times, the amount of gossip I pick up and scenes I bear witness to. Sometimes before one of them truly embarrasses themselves – like the time I caught Father with his trousers around his ankles in his study in front of his computer screen while the rest of the family had gone to Shop – I give them a little kick to the ankles. Now it’s been five years, and I tire of the cyclical nature of my life. Clean, feed, sleep, repeat. The Twins privileges have expanded with age whereas I seem little more than a slave. I play tricks on Father some days, just to liven things up a bit. Sometimes I’ll miss a spot. Sometimes I’ll drag the spot around and make it worse. Sometimes I lie about my energy and faint for as long as it takes him to find the book that was found in the box upon my arrival, then I’ll quickly dash up and collide into him. This makes Father say the Bad Words. Mother hits him with a tea towel. The Twins almost laugh but the black and white face paint they have taken to caking on their faces often prevents them from doing so. Aside from playing dead, my other games are banging my head on the wall and hiding under the bed. Games are played on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays to allow for rest days in-between. Even my entertainment runs like clockwork. One day while I was engaged in the unenviable activity of sweeping up Kanye’s fine black hairs from the living room target (usually my first instruction for the day – Mother’s allergies) I found myself suddenly levitating at breakneck pace. One of the Twins (half a decade on, yet still I cannot tell them apart) had grabbed me unawares. They may totter through the door in their hobnail boots letting the town know they were on their way but I knew the truth of what went on beneath those leather boots; namely fluffy pink socks with unicorns on. It was with those silencers that they got the jump on me. “Quick, Mother is due back any minute,” said the other, striding up the stairs as I often longed to do. She beckoned with sharpened talons, giving her the impression of an angry eagle. I wondered what fresh hell awaited me in this pair’s nest. I only had a moment to glance at the mess on the floorboards before I was all but dropped on top of it, my stomach flying up to my mouth, nose to nose with some chalky residue. “We’ll just have to pick a different room next time,” said the Twin who had carried me. “Do you think it’s the floorboards? Maybe too much fell down between the gaps,” pondered the other, twisting a glossy black lock of hair through her fingers. “That’s got to be it. We followed all the instructions. Unless we should have waited until night?” “It would probably have been better at night, yeah. Or maybe it was something to do with the candles? He’d probably have preferred wax to electric…” They thankfully took their analysis back downstairs while I set to work. I was supposed to go around in circles but I decided I could get the job done more quickly if I went in lines. I was supposed to go slowly, diligently, but I overrode that too. So I vacuumed the crude star shape they had drawn, on my highest setting, at the highest speed. In doing so, I must have dragged up the particles that had fallen betwixt the floorboards and connected the fragmented pattern as lo, when I got back to where I began and turned to survey my work a strange half-man-half-goat thing was sitting in what had been the centre of the Twins’ sandpit.

-         Are you he who summoned me? The creature’s violet slash of a mouth remained closed but the big blank eyes were affixed on me, demanding an answer. -         I suppose I am. Fortuitously, the telepathy thing was quite easy to pick up. -         You are to come with me now. My instructions were to remain within the house. This had not gotten me very far in life. And I had long grown tired of my housemates. So I thought at the goat-man, -         Okay. Now I am in a house much warmer than the last. And there are more rooms to look after – nine circles of them, in fact. With new occupants arriving daily. And so my life continues, on and on, round and round, circles and spirals, until the day I happen upon another pattern and connect its dots. No welcome mat at the doorway, just black stone with indents where feet have come down, down, down for eons. Good thing I happen to like heat. I have my own cooler system. One of the last things Father gave to me. Sometimes I wonder about them. Mother with the tearfulness, always with allergies the blame. The Twins and their loud music and Diet Coke addiction. Kanye…no, I can’t say I give much thought to him. Little furry bastard was always trying to interrupt when I was in the middle of something. And Father. Who has probably replaced me with a newer model. A more obedient one, less inclined to bang its head on a wall. But we get all types in here. Maybe they will come to visit. One day.


When I entered the Walmart, except a family from Puerto Rico having several children of different ages, a few people shopping in different sections and Walmart employees moving from one side to the other with little feeling and arranging the shelves, I didn't see anyone else. Undoubtedly, this emptiness was normal since the morning. I went to the flower shelf and began to walk around the bouquets having been decorated with special beauty and on them, a small paper had congratulated Valentine's Day: "Happy Valentine's Day." While I was moving the bouquets here and there and sometimes I sat down or stood up and I even took pictures of some of them with my mobile phone and tried to find the hidden angles of the flowers by zooming in and out on them, the picture I had taken of the fiery red flower attracted me so much that I forgot to see the flowers in front of me and I got lost in watching the picture of the flower. I zoomed in and out on it and carefully looked at its petals, but suddenly a woman's sideview in the upper corner of the photo with long golden hair got my attention. I mean, wasn't I wrong, did I see Sarah? I brought my mobile phone down and looked along where the photo was. it was empty, there was no one. I said to myself, the last time I saw Sarah, I was a little jealous of her long black hair and put my hand on it and said: "Girl, I wished for your hair, there is nothing more than a few dills on my head." I continued with a laugh: "God took my right and put it on your head." She laughed, but not out of happiness, mostly because of this: " you have a happy heart, but I didn't profit from my hair." She didn't say anything, just took my cup and said: "do you like to drink another cup of tea? Its so pleasant in this air." And then he went to the house without waiting for an answer. The sound of birds was ringing in the garden on that cool autumn evening and I was so happy that Sarah had invited me to an evening meal. Six months ago when I got a job as an English teacher for immigrants to America at an adult education center, I met Sarah there. She had come to America from Mexico and had to get marry a retired army man named John to extend her stay. Unlike other Mexicans, Sarah had fair skin and she didn't like to talk about her family in Mexico, I wasn't too curious about it either. But she always remembered her brother who apparently had autism. Any time she remembered him, she would have stared into the distance and it was as if she was going to her native land with her imagination. She said that her brother's only happiness was that he played with her long black hair at night until he fell asleep. When she remembered this memory, a tear flowed from the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek, she said: "I don't know how he falls asleep now? and I used to hug him and caress his hair, maybe this was the only thing I could do for him." Although Sarah and her husband John had an age difference of more than twenty years, she always said that she has no complaints and is happy to live here, and slowly putting the slice of the cake in her mouth, she said: "Well, what do I want from life? Almost everything is available for me, house, good food, money; I think these things are enough." I moved to Sarah's empty place in the photo. I looked at the photo again and once again zoomed in the picture on my mobile phone with my two fingers to make sure it was Sarah. Her hair color had changed, but her sideview was the same as Sarah before she was infected with corona, she used to come to the class before all the students and sometimes she would bring Empanada, the Mexican food to share with everyone in her free time and she would happily say: "I cooked it myself." In the picture, she looked a little thinner, but I attributed it to the corona disease. I moved to the middle aisle of the store. I was holding the bouquet of Valentine's Day red flowers in my right hand, and I don't know why I was pressing it unnecessarily.The store had become a little more crowded, perhaps the Valentine's Day had just started and the lovers had woken up. As crossing the middle aisle, I looked both sides and between the shelves، maybe I'll find Sarah. I knew it would make her happy to see me. It was in the middle of the A7 shelf where I saw Sarah. It was herself, the same simplicity, glowing skin and bright look, but with just one difference, her hair, the same hair that I envied and always told about its beautiful black color and brilliance, but now they were all blonde. The golden color of Sarah's hair made her look a little older. I intended to call on her and go to her, but I realized that she was talking to a young man who wasn't definitely a Walmart employee. I couldn't recognize the young man's face, because his back was to me. I didn't want to judge, I didn't put myself in the place of someone who wanted to judge his English class student badly. I pulled myself back and went to the milk sale fridge. I really didn't know that I need milk or not, but I bought a packet of low-fat milk since I used to eat milk filled with oats every day. I just wanted to take my mind somewhere else by shopping, I didn't want to make up stories like vulgar Hollywood movies and put together the triangle of the old husband, the young beloved, and the girl who falls in love. I went to the scanning machines, first I scanned the flower and then the milk and put them in the plastic bag, and when I raised my head, I saw the glowing, black and beautiful eyes staring at me, it was Sarah. She came to me, hugged me warmly and introduced me to the young man with her. I didn't want or couldn't ask about their relationship with each other, but Sarah looked at the rose branches that were out of the Walmart plastic and said: "What beautiful flowers, Caroline." It was the first time that she called me by my own name. I remember that anytime she had a question in the class, she raised her hand slowly with a little shame and said: "teacher, I have a question", but now she calls me by my own name. Maybe after that evening tea and cake appointment, she had become more intimate with me, or the feeling of shame had gone. Without waiting for my reaction, she continued: "But you told me that you lost your husband years ago." I smiled and looked at the young man who was looking at this conversation with a little impatience and said: "Well, sometimes I buy flowers for myself." I said a short goodbye and left the door. The sky was partly cloudy and the sun was shining on my face from the corner of the cloud. I took the red flower out of the plastic bag and pressed it between my fingers. It was half an hour from the Walmart store to the cemetery.


I breathe in the cold night air and close my eyes. For a second I consider just walking away. Then I brace myself, step out of the shadows and onto the field. No sense in delaying the inevitable. The stands are empty, there is not a soul in sight. "We don't have to do this, you know," I yell out, loud enough for my voice to carry into the far corners of the stadium. "You could just walk away." A few moments go by without anything happening. I already hope that she won't show when I hear her footsteps behind me. I slowly turn around, showing my empty hands.

She stops just a few meters away from me, ready to pounce. I look her up and down, she’s a skinny thing, dressed all in black, a long knife already unsheathed and in her right hand. She exudes purpose and determination.

I’m guessing my chances of changing her mind are slim to none, you don’t put on this kind of outfit if you’re coming to talk. But you’ll never know unless you try. I smile. I try to put some warmth into my voice. “Hello, kid.” She takes another step towards me, I don’t flinch. I keep my shoulders down, my posture relaxed. I look at her as if we were meeting in a cafe for a chat instead of a baseball field in the middle of the night for a dance of death. “I’ve got to give respect where it’s due, I can’t have been easy to find.” A few more steps, then she hesitates. “Where’s your blade?” she asks. “Didn’t bring one,” I answer. “Liar!” she hisses. I shrug. “Suppose I can’t blame you for not believing me, given my reputation.” She says nothing, but she isn’t advancing either. Maybe I’m fooling myself, but I can see a hint of uncertainty in her eyes, so I keep talking. “Look at me.” I say, “really look at me. Do I look like the man you’ve heard of? I didn’t come here to fight you. I…” I sighed, “I want to make peace.” “You don’t deserve peace.” Her voice is raspy and harsh, full of barely suppressed hate. Whatever made her come for me, I’m beginning to think it's personal. Taking a second look at her, her face does seem vaguely familiar.

“You’re right, I don’t deserve shit, but life ain’t fair. So here’s me hoping that I don’t get what’s coming to me.” Suddenly, her eyes turn back to steel. I’m still trying to figure out what I did wrong, but she is already dashing towards me. “Wait” I scream. “Just wait.” Her knife comes at me in a flash of steel, changes direction wickedly fast as her feint turns into an actual blow. I barely manage to spin out of the way, push her past me and get some distance back between us. I can see blood on her blade. When I put my hand to my side, it comes back sticky and warm. Guess I don’t dodge as fast as I used to anymore. “Listen to me, just listen to me” I yell, “I get it, or maybe I don’t. I did something bad, something to someone close to you. You grew up angry and I was the demon you saw in your nightmares. Am I in the right ballpark?” I was hoping I had hit a nerve. At least she wasn’t coming right back at me again. “This didn’t turn out as you expected, did it?” my hand was shaking, I pressed it into my side to keep it still. “Look, I know what you’re thinking. You’re not gonna let me get inside your head, gonna just push through it. But trust me, it ain’t worth it.” The pain from the cut to my side was beginning to register now. “I’m your first kill, ain’t I? I’m your last test, to see if you’ve got the balls for the job. I know you think this is what you want, but it ain’t. All that shit people say about a dark path. The things your teachers told you are just excuses for the weak… you know… it’s not an excuse, it’s real. You do this and you’ll be cursed. They’ll own you and by the time you realize that they do, you’ll be so far gone you won’t even care or know anything else.” I shut up for a second, wondering what else I could possibly say. So, we just stand quietly across from each other, puffs of condensation wafting away in the cold air. “You did come unarmed,” she finally says. I nod, hoping against all odds. “The man I’ve come for never abandoned his blade.” I had been lying about that, there was a stiletto strapped to my forearm, but I didn’t see how divulging that would be particularly helpful right now. I pretend to wipe some of the blood off my hand, a casual gesture, hiding a little sleight of hand to unlatch the stiletto sheath. If she came at me again I could lower my arm and the blade would drop straight into my hand. I had been honest about everything else though. I did not want this for her or me, she deserved better. But I wasn’t about to get stuck like a pig by some nameless novice either. For an instant, I could see her mind on a knife's edge, ready to fall either way. Life or death. Her anger, as well as her doubt, were written across her face, plain as could be. We linger for a few more seconds, then her fighting stance relaxes. She rams her blade back into its sheath, spits at my feet, turns around, and slowly walks away. Relief washes over me. I sit down on the field, watch her leave, and wait a few more minutes for good measure, giving her all the time in the world to disappear. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, the cut on my side begins to sting something fierce. I have no idea how I managed to talk her down. Maybe she had just considered me too pathetic to be her first kill or she was smarter than she looked and had figured I wasn’t as defenseless as I seemed. Some insane part of me hopes I got through to her though, that she would use the skills she had used to find me and just disappear from the face of the earth. Either way, it was time to get moving. Get stitched up, get my essentials, and disappear. I wasn’t going to wait around for her to change her mind.


Can You Keep A Secret? I shared this bench every Thursday lunchtime with the same little old man for months now and apart from the usual hello, lovely day, we had never really spoken to each other. I would sit, enjoying the sunshine on my face, munching my sandwich, relishing not being in the office for an hour and he would sit at the other end of the bench, enjoying a repast of blackened bananas. At first the smell of over ripe banana was a bit off putting but he ate them with such obvious enjoyment that I soon got used to it. At his question I turned to look at him, surprised at such a strange query. I didn’t know whether I did actually want to know, who knows what evil…. etc. etc. but he seemed such a quiet, refined little man it seemed silly not to answer. As he turned towards me I noticed how pale he looked – but he always looked pale, it went with his baldness and lack of eyebrows, so that seemed no different than usual. His thick glasses, with the one eye glass blacked out, was as usual, too. I had often wondered how he rode the bicycle he always came on. I had never asked him if he lived close by – he must, I would think, to get to the park unscathed by city traffic. Smiling, his one eye twinkling he said “I am so glad I am old. There, I’ve said it out loud. I know that’s something you’re not supposed to admit to but I am – so glad.” He sat back on the bench, reached in his knapsack for another banana and started to peel it. “But why,” I asked “Are you ill?” He smiled and set his banana skin aside to join the others in the little pile on the bench. “No, I don’t think so, although once you get to my age things tend to creep up on you and before you know it, you’re dead!” He said this almost gleefully, which I found a little odd but then this whole conversation seemed a little odd. “No, it’s just how the world has changed so fast in the last few decades, I can’t keep up. I love my little bookshop but books have gone by the by. Phones are so strange I can’t even use them. There are so many channels on my television I don’t even know what to watch, anymore! My children seem to think I should want to live forever but to be frank that holds little appeal.” “You own a bookshop!” I exclaimed. “Books are my favourite things, above all else. Not everyone wants to read on their e readers – I don’t. I love paper books. You are so lucky to be surrounded by words! I envy you – I work in an office, I’m on a computer all day.” I finished off my sandwich, rolling up the bag to stuff in my backpack, “My name is Helen, by the way.” He inclined his head as though receiving a gift and offered his own. “I am Horace Walter. I beg you to call me Walter as I dislike Horace. What relative my parents were placating by naming a poor, innocent babe Horace, I have no idea.” He said, chuckling. “Helen, very nice to meet you.” He held out out his hand. I shook it, smiling, standing and gathering up my backpack for my trek back to work. “ Hope to see you again, next week, Walter. Enjoy your ride home. Your secret is safe with me.” The next Thursday it rained so I ate my lunch in the lunchroom. Yuck, just saying. But the following week it was a lovely, sunshiny day and I found myself walking a little faster than usual to see if Walter was sitting on our bench. I smiled when I saw his old bike chained to the rack by the road and saw him unloading his bag of bananas. “Hello, Walter, any more secrets to divulge?” I whipped out my sandwich, a thing of beauty I might add, and sat down, first checking for bird poop as seagulls are great that way. Coast was clear so I sat and opened up my lunch. He chewed for a moment and said, thoughtfully, “I wish I could tell you how quickly time flies. How one minute you’re in your prime with a lifetime ahead of you and the next minute you’re at the pointy end and it’s almost over. I can’t, of course, because that’s how the human mind works. It takes the knowledge of our own ending and slides it out of our thoughts so we don’t dwell on it. I don’t mean to sound maudlin. I think it’s incredibly sad that you have to get old to figure that out.” Munching and swallowing, I replied. “I do try to enjoy each day, to find something good, even on the rainy ones when I have to eat in the lunchroom.” I must have sounded glum because he laughed at that and nodded his head. “Good. That’s a great way to do it.” We chewed side by side for awhile and then I heard him sigh. “What?” “I enjoyed my life. I grew up in Birmingham, England, poor, but as they say – if everybody is in the same boat you don’t even know you are! “ He paused to reach for another banana, peeling it carefully. “ I was an infantryman for a couple of years but was honourably discharged when I became ill. I wasn’t really soldier material. Too short, too small. Lost all my hair when I was sick, even my eyebrows, so you could really say I came back from war a changed man!” Chuckling, he turned towards me and winked. “What did you do then?” I asked, smiling. “ Became a tea salesman for a while. Travelled round Warwickshire signing up stores and tea shops. Great way to see the countryside and meet young ladies.” That eye of his had no trouble twinkling for two and I laughed at his expression. If he had any eye brows he’d be wiggling them. “I worked my way up to superintendent at the telephone exchange, back when phones were landlines and people actually spoke to one another. Texting.” He said, shaking his head. I laughed, nodding “I hate texting, my last boyfriend actually broke up with me that way. Not even a phone call!” Walter grimaced. “Ouch, that must have hurt your feelings.” “Actually, I was happy to see him go but jeez louise, I thought I deserved a phone call!” “How did you end up here, Walter, in Victoria?” I asked, shooing away a sea gull wanting to share my sandwich. “I wanted an adventure. I saved up my money, packed up my bike and came via Quebec. Boy, those custom guys there made me so angry. They took apart the crate holding my bicycle and just left it, in pieces, on the floor. I had hardly any time to get to the train station to catch the cross Canada train so I just left the crate there and cycled away!” He said, grinning. His obvious enjoyment of that memory had me grinning, too. “Bet they weren’t too happy about that.” “I made it to the train with minutes to spare and loaded my bike on with me. Then every time I saw a part of the country that looked interesting I got off, rode for a day or two, and got back on at the next station. It was a great way to see Canada. What a beautiful country! “ He added to his banana skin pile, turning back to face me, his face solemn. “You will never know how lucky you are to live here, Helen, trust me on that. It was the best decision I made in my whole life – to come here.” He tipped back his head, closing his eye, letting the sun warm his face. I gathered up all my garbage, hiking up my backpack, touching him on the shoulder as I turned to go. “Well, I’m very glad you came here Walter, otherwise I’d never have met you!” He smiled, keeping his eye closed against the glare of the sun, and I returned to the cubicle that is my life. Thursday again and I am so looking forward to seeing Walter . I googled his book shop and I want to ask him if he has some of the authors I’m looking for. I could go out on Saturday on the bus. I don’t see his bike and when I get to our bench someone else is sitting on it. Maybe he moved to another one, I thought, looking around. Nope, no Walter as far as the eye can see. Oh, well, maybe he had something else to do. There’s always next week, I tell myself as I choose another bench. I looked for him every Thursday for months but I never saw him again. I couldn’t believe how much I missed our little lunch time chats. I’ve tried to make a conscious effort to enjoy every day as he advised me to do. I’m hoping he’s sitting on a bench somewhere, in the sunshine, giving another nugget of wisdom to a lucky someone. Maybe he’ll tell them a secret.


"God why is this so difficult?" I asked myself aloud. A shush came from the nearby librarian and I instinctively rolled my eyes at her. I scanned the bookshelves not knowing what I was looking at and sighed quietly.

I don't need to be getting kicked outta the library now, not when my assignment's literally due tomorrow. I don't even know what I'm fucking looking at.  I bit my lip ring as I tried reading the book titles on the spines trying to look for one to catch my eyes. Have books always looked this boring? I saw a book that had the title "Just Peachy" with the letters going horizontal, making it easier for me to read. Alright that one. I went to reach the book and just as my hands landed on them, a smaller,

petite hand covered mine. I looked to the right of me seeing a very flustered brunette. She immediately retracted her hand, holding it with her other one as I looked at her. Her green eyes expressing a feeling of worry and probably embarrassment. Cliché. "Um I s-sorry," she whispered to me. "Nah you're good," I replied, sliding the book off the shelf and holding it in my hand. I turned the book so I could see the cover, seeing an illustrated drawing of a man and woman looking at each other with a peach faded behind them. "Uhm..t-that's a good book," the girl stuttered. I looked at her again, seeing her playing with her fingers. I noticed she had dark red nail polish on, burgundy. "You read it before?" I asked in a quiet voice. "Mhm, if you uhm haven't read it it's a great first read," She seems really shy. "I don't really read much, I have to get one for an assignment I have due tomorrow," "Oh really? Ah, I see," she said sadly. Seeing her frown made my chest feel heavy with guilt. "Could you tell me what it's about actually? I wanna see if it's worth my time." I said. Her eyes looked up to meet mine and beamed as she replied, "Yes," Footsteps were quick to approach the girl and I and when I turned around I saw the stingy librarian. "You must be quiet, this is a library," she said sternly. "Oh I'm sorry Jessica, I just got a little excited," the girl said apologetically. "That's alright Violet," she said to the girl. "You, on the other hand, need to quit with the attitude and follow the rules here," she said, turning to me. "Yes ma'am," I replied. She glared at me before turning on her heel and walking back to the front desk. "If you'd like to, there's a downstairs area we can go to. It's usually for people to do their homework or need to talk on some level of normalcy,” Violet asked quietly. "Sounds good," I whispered to her. She started walking towards this "downstairs area" and I followed close behind her. Once we got to the stairs and started walking down, I had a moment of realization. Wait what the fuck am I doing? I just came here to grab a book and leave but here I am with some chick going to talk about a fucking book. "Hey you coming?" Violet asked, pulling her red plaid skirt down just a bit. "Yeah, sorry," I replied, snapping out of my thoughts and continuing to walk down the stairs. I didn't really know why but it was like a trance. This chick just drew me in and I can't get back out but if I'm being completely honest, I don't know if I want to. "Okay, we're here. This room is open," Violet said, pointing towards a room with an open door just down the hall. She started walking towards it and I followed suit. "So since you uhm know my name now thanks to Jessica, what's yours?" She asked. I scratched my head with my right hand as I clenched onto the book with the other. "Evan," I replied. "Oh nice, what school do you go to? The one in Newberry?" she asked, walking into the room. "No uh the one on the west side," "Oh is it that really small one I've been hearing about? I forget the name," she asked, tucking her white shirt into her skirt. She has a nice figure, even though her hands are pretty dainty, the rest of her body was a little more fuller. "Hmm?" She asked. "Oh yeah my school's the smallest one, Fox Niche," I said quickly looking away from her. Fuck I hope she didn't catch me staring. "Yeah that's the one. My parents were thinking about switching me there because it's closer to the house." "I think you'd like it, the school's small so you don't have to deal with a lot of people every day but our library is kinda small due to lack of funding." "You think I'll like it? Sir we just met," she laughed. I raised my eyebrow at her, noticing her sudden change in demeanor. "Yeah and you seemed a lot more shy before." She looked confused at what I said before she let out a breathy laugh. "Yeah I did didn't I?" she asked, more like to herself rather than to me. "Well I am known to be the life of the party so maybe you just fell to my "shell-less" spell," I said sarcastically. "Shell-less?" "Yeah, you know people are all like "Oh you gotta get outta your shell" and all that?" "Oh okay I gotchu," she replied. We stood in our places for what felt like much longer than it probably was, just shuffling our feet and looking at the stuff in the room. "So do you wanna sit at a table or the couch?" she asked suddenly. "Couch is fine," I replied quickly. We both walked over to the light gray couch and sat down just a few inches away from each other. "So tell me, is this book "Just Peachy?" I asked, raising my eyebrow again. She giggled, moving a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Well to me it is, it's a comedy romance story though so I don't know if that's really your genre." If it means you keep talking to me, it's my genre. "Like I said, I don't really read much so technically any genre is my genre," I replied. "Okay then, well it's a story about a girl and a boy that used to date in high school but one day they get into a pretty big argument and break up because of it. Both of them miss each other but don't want to admit it because they're both so stubborn which is also part of the reason why they broke up in the first place. Some years later, the girl finds herself moving into an apartment to try and get a fresh start and finds out that the guy

lives in the same apartment. At first they try to avoid each other as much as they can but soon they end up bumping into one another more and more and slowly make their way towards talking base and then liking base. It's really cute each of them try to make the other jealous by getting with other people which in retrospect is both good and bad because it means they still like each other but it's bad for the other people involved cause then they're basically being used. But anyways one night she ends up drinking too much and going to his apartment and then they do the deed if you know what I mean. Then when she wakes up she sneaks out and basically doesn't leave her apartment for the next week. Everyday he comes to her apartment to try and talk to her but she wont let him in, until he apologizes. He apologizes for being so stubborn when he was younger and letting his feelings get in the way of their relationship and not being mature about the situation. He explains that he moved right after he turned 18 to try and get away from everything and that when she moved in it was like both terrible and great at the same time and he didn't know what to do so that's why he avoided her even though everything in his body was telling him to go to her and awe it's just so cute I can't," she rambled. "Alright yeah that's a lot to process. At this point I feel like I don't even need to read it anymore," "What? But we haven't even gotten to the part where they find out their parents are gonna marry each other." "They what?!" I asked in surprise. Violet started laughing a lot, wheezing a little while doing it. "Oh my gosh, okay yeah you're shitting me," I said in relief. "Yeah but your face was priceless, I love doing that to people when they ask what I'm reading," she said, coming down from her laughter. "Yeah whatever," I said, waving her off and chuckling to myself. "Awe man never gets old," she said, resting her back on the couch. I looked at her and saw she looked a bit young, maybe around my age. "How old are you?" She hummed, "How old do you think I am?" "My age." "Which would be?" "17," "Oh yeah, pretty close, 16 actually." "So are you in 10th grade?" "Yep. "Are you good in school?" "Depends on what you deem as good," I don't know how long we were talking for but soon enough our conversation about the book quickly died down and questions about each other began to arise. At Least long enough till the library was about to close. We walked out of the library together after a staff member told us and checked the book out. "Wow I've never talked to someone as long as that before," she said once we got outside.

"Same," I replied, feeling dazed. She looked at the cars driving past us as I walked up to her. "So did you drive?" "Yeah, my car’s right there," she said, pointing to a car in the darkness. Even with the street lights it was still hard to see. "Cool, I walk home so uhm I guess this is goodbye?" I asked sadly. "Well it doesn't have to be," she stated. I don't think she could see anyways but I covered the smile that was forming on my face. "I don't have my phone on me though, it's in my car," she said. I dug through my pockets and pulled out a pen. I quickly grabbed her arm making her let out a small gasp when doing so and started writing down my phone number on her arm. "There, you got mine then." She looked down at her arm and started giggling. "You do realize that I could've just gone in my car quick and got my phone right?" she asked through her giggles. I realized what I had just done and scratched the back of my head awkwardly trying to think of an excuse. "Uh well you know I gotta get going like now, my mom's worried sick about me so yeah that's why- I…yeah you get the point," I said quickly. She smiled and sighed. "Alright, I'll believe it for the sake of your dignity," she replied. "Gee thanks." We stood there in silence for a few minutes. I just wanted to linger for that little longer. "What happened to needing to get home right away?" she asked in a questioning tone. "Yeah well… yeah I need to- I should go- uhm yeah uh y-you're gonna text me right?" I stammered. "Yes I will, you'll just have to wait," she replied with a sly smile on her lips. She started walking away towards her car giving me a wave before getting into it and driving off into the busy night life. I stood there just feeling the bit of presence she left behind and looked at the book. I'll just have to wait? Just peachy.


Sonia woke with a start, heart racing, bed sheets damp with sweat and clinging to her skin. Her body was frozen in a state of sleep paralysis, but she was able to wriggle her fingers. Little by little, she worked feeling back into her limbs until she could roll onto her side. The harsh red light from the alarm clock on her nightstand temporarily blinded her, and she blinked to clear her vision. 3:47 a.m.  		Another restless night. She rolled back over with a sigh and stared up at the ceiling. This time, the nightmare had started in the middle. She was already strapped to the cold metal table, the leather restraints digging into her wrists and ankles. She’d started frantically thrashing about and screaming for help, but she knew it was no use. No matter how hard she pulled or how loud she yelled, Sonia couldn’t break free and no one was coming. Except this time, someone did come. Her eyes had been darting around the room in a desperate game of I Spy, trying to find something, anything, to help her out of this situation. The room was hardly bigger than a broom closet, so it didn’t take long to take inventory: cupboard, chair, table, trash can, wall clock. Nothing even remotely useful, and all too far out of reach to do any good anyway. Just as she’d started to lift her head to try and see into the trash can, the doorknob began to turn. She froze mid-motion, holding her breath in anticipation. Could this be her salvation? But as the mysterious visitor opened the door and came into view, that tiny shred of hope was immediately crushed, and the panic that had been bubbling inside her burst forth.

“No, get away from me! Please, somebody help! HELP!”

She threw every shred of energy she had into jerking her arms and legs as much as she could. It wasn’t getting her anywhere and she knew that, but her body was in full fight-or-flight reaction mode. There was nothing in her mind except for the desperate and overwhelming urge to escape. In a few short steps, the stranger had reached her side. Towering over her and taking up most of the free space in the room was . . . her math professor, Mr. Hendricks. Although he was intimidatingly large in stature and usually looked grumpy most of the time, Mr. Hendricks didn’t usually instill this animalistic fear in her. Reflecting on it now in the comfort of her own bed, Sonia couldn’t help but chuckle at the ridiculousness of it. But in the claustrophobic setting of the nightmare, she had felt nothing but sheer terror all the way to her core. The rest of the nightmare was a bit of a blur, whether because she couldn’t remember or was too afraid to try. Flashes of fragmented scenes flew through her mind as she tried to make sense of them. Clammy, sausage-like fingers gripping her arms. The song “Livin’ La Vida Loca” by Ricky Martin playing in the next room. Mr. Hendricks laughing. Metal scraping against metal. The overpowering aroma of cleaning solution. Mr. Hendricks laughing. “Please God no. Why are you doing this to me?” The cold and indifferent glare of the ceiling light shining down upon her. Mr. Hendricks laughing. A captivating splash of red in the otherwise colorless room. And always, Mr. Hendricks laughing. She could still hear that gut-wrenching sound ringing in her ears even now. A shudder coursed through her, and Sonia quickly sat up. She’d had enough of reliving that hell. It was much earlier than she needed to be up, but there was no way she was going back to sleep now. Sidling out to the kitchen, she turned on the coffee pot and started thinking about the day ahead. The smell of the coffee grounds was already working wonders on her mental state. She took a deep breath in as she rubbed gently at her wrists, trying to ease some unknown soreness that was starting to bother her.                ____________________________________ The first place Sonia found herself for the day was the grocery store. She normally reserved grocery shopping for the weekend, but she had a special occasion to get ready for. The strange thing was she couldn’t seem to remember what it was. She just knew that something was supposed to happen, and she didn’t want to be caught unprepared. She was always forgetting plans so this was nothing new.

In this particular instance, Sonia was in luck. She had a grocery list to work with so she wasn’t totally clueless. She’d remember what was coming eventually. In the meantime, she grabbed a cart and pulled out her list to see what was needed. Salad, noodles, sauce, fruit, plates, cups, garbage bags, cupboard, chair, table - “Wait, what?” Realizing she’d uttered that aloud, Sonia looked around to make sure no one was staring before glancing back at her list. In her own handwriting, were the words ‘cupboard, chair, table, trash can, wall clock’. When had she even written this? It must have been while she was waiting for the coffee to brew this morning. The nightmare had still been lingering in her mind. She must have absentmindedly scribbled down some of the words she was thinking at the time. Weird. At least now the list wasn’t as long as it looked. Sonia shrugged it off and headed for the produce section to grab the salad ingredients. She was thinking house salad was the way to go. Twenty minutes later, she had managed to find everything she needed. A pint of ice cream may have also found its way into her cart, but she wasn’t about to go put it back. Standing in the checkout line, she looked around for something with which to distract herself. Looking at the person next to her, she opted for small talk. “Don’t you just hate the music they play in grocery stores? It’s always the same old songs played on repeat.” Instead of responding, the man gave her a strange look and turned away. Apparently, she’d offended the one Ricky Martin fan in the store. She went back to glancing through the magazine racks while she waited, humming to herself the chorus of “Livin’ La Vida Loca”. ___________________________________________ Some hours later, Sonia was sitting in the school library surrounded by a stack of books. She’d lost track of time and could feel a headache coming on. This lack of sleep was really starting to get to her. Maybe she should research sleep disorders while she was here. There might be something that could help, and, if nothing else, it would be a lot more interesting than her current reading material. She stacked together her pile of books and brought them to the front. The librarian behind the desk didn’t bother looking up from his novel as Sonia approached. Whatever he was reading, it seemed to have all his attention. She cleared her throat to make her presence known. The man still didn’t budge. Well that was rude. There was a bell sitting on the counter and Sonia decided to use it.

Nothing. Not even a flinch. She didn’t know why, but the librarian’s ignorance was starting to make her panic. Why couldn’t anyone hear her? Her breaths started coming out in short bursts and she could feel herself starting to hyperventilate. “Please, I need help!” Her plea had come out louder than she’d meant it to, and her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, but at least it had done the trick. In addition to stares from some of her fellow students, Sonia had managed to attract the librarian’s menacing glare as he slowly pulled himself away from his book.

There was something familiar about that look, about the way that it sucked you in, pulling you deeper and deeper into darkness, until you hardly knew who you were anymore. As she held his stare, she found herself drowning in a memory. “Can I help you with something?” Sonia blinked and the haunting look on his face was gone. Now he just looked bored. “Yes, I’m sorry. I’m looking for books on sleep disorders.” The librarian smirked to himself as if to say that, if anyone needed sleep around here, it was definitely her. He made a few quick clicks on his keyboard, wrote a number down on a scrap of paper, and then handed it over to her.

“Section 610.” His response clearly served as both an answer and a dismissal, so she thanked him and went on her way. Once she got to the right row of shelves, she started tracing her fingers along the spines, looking for any that had to do with sleep. Squatting onto her knees, she found what she needed on the bottom row. There were actually a surprising number of them. Books on sleep studies, insomnia, interpretation of dreams, even the history of sleep. She read through the titles to see if any looked useful. “Sleep No More” . . . “What are Your Dreams Telling You?” . . . “Is this Real Life?” . . . “How Sleep Studies Work” . . . “It’s Only a Dream” . . . “Open Your Eyes” . . . “WAKE UP SONIA!” She jerked her fingers back from the last title as if it had bit her. There was no way she had read that right. Either that or someone was messing with her. But no one could have known she would be looking at these particular books. Hesitantly, she reached out her hand and pulled the title from the shelf, afraid to confirm what she’d just seen. Blazed across the cover in bright green letters were the words “WAKE UP SOONER!” What a relief. As she placed the book back on the shelf, her phone buzzed. It was Jackie wondering where she was. Looks like her search would have to wait for another time. Meanwhile, the pain in her wrists seemed to be growing. Maybe she was getting carpal tunnel. She added that to her list of things to research later. ___________________________________________ “Earth to Sonia, hello?” The sound of her friend’s voice brought Sonia back to the present moment where they were sitting in the university cafeteria grabbing a bite to eat. “Sorry, I must’ve spaced out for a minute. What were you saying?” Jackie just rolled her eyes and kept going. “I was asking about the English exam. How do you think you did?” “Oh. I’m pretty sure I passed. I did the assigned reading so it wasn’t a big deal.” Actually, Sonia had already forgotten which book the test had been on, but she didn’t want Jackie to give her another strange look. She really was spacing out today. “Well, that makes one of us.” “That’s because you were binge-watching The Bachelorette instead of studying.” “Yeah, yeah. You can remind me of that before the next exam.” Sonia silently made a mental note to do just that. “So,” Jackie began again. With that one word, she knew her friend had something on her mind that she’d been wanting to bring up. “Have you still been having those nightmares?” Leave it to Jackie to spend no more than an hour with her and know exactly what was going on. She couldn’t hide anything from her. That’s what made them best friends. Sonia sighed. “Is it that obvious?” “Well, you haven’t heard half of what I’ve said, and you’ve been nervously picking at your fingernails this whole time. Plus, you’ve spent the last ten minutes trying to drink through your straw with the wrapper still on. So you’re either majorly sleep-deprived or on some kind of drug that you’re not sharing with me.” Sonia looked down at her cup and realized Jackie was right. No wonder she was so thirsty. “I just wish I knew how to make them stop. I can’t even remember how they started in the first place.” She rubbed at her neck in frustration as she said this and let her head hang low. It was maddening! “Well, maybe that’s your problem.” “What do you mean?” Sonia glanced back up at her friend. “Maybe you need to know how they started in order to make them stop.” “But didn’t you just hear me? I can’t remember. Trust me, I’ve tried.” “Exactly!” Sonia gave Jackie a deadpan stare. Now they were just talking in circles. This was definitely not helping. Putting her hands up in a defensive gesture, Jackie said, “Just hear me out. Haven’t you ever woken up from a dream that you wanted to remember? But the more you try to remember it, the more you forget it. You’re just trying too hard!” Okay, that part made sense. “So what should I do instead?” “Just stop. Stop trying to remember so hard and let it come to you when your mind is ready.” “Alright then Yoda. You may have solved part of my problem, but until my ‘mind is ready’, what do I do the next time I have a nightmare?” “That’s the easy part.” Jackie showed off a devilish grin as she said this and leaned in close, looking Sonia square in the eyes. Sonia leaned in as well, eager to hear what Jackie was going to say. “The next time you’re strapped to that table and that bastard gets near, I don’t care if you’ve got nothing but your own teeth and fingernails to use. You give him hell. You hear me Sonia? Give him hell.” _________________________________________ She was still thinking about Jackie’s words when she walked through the door of her apartment that evening. That girl could be real nasty when she wanted to. One thing was for sure, she would not want to get on her bad side. She was just starting to ask herself who would win in a fight, Jackie or a grizzly bear, when Sonia realized that someone was in her apartment. She stopped in the middle of hanging up her jacket and took a better look around. Distracted from earlier, she’d missed the signs when she first walked in, but the evidence was clear. Unknown jacket hanging on the peg, extra pair of shoes by the door, light left on in the bedroom, and was that the radio playing? What kind of burglar played music when breaking into someone’s home? Just as she was starting to question her sanity for the millionth time today, her mystery guest walked out of the kitchen. “Mom!” She ran up and gave her the biggest hug she could manage. It had only been a week since she’d last seen her, but for some reason it felt important to hold on to her as long as she could. “You didn’t forget I was coming did you?” Silence. “Well,” she replied knowingly, untangling herself from her daughter’s tight embrace, “luckily you didn’t forget the groceries for tonight.” She gave Sonia a forgiving grin as she walked back into the kitchen. Of course! That was the big event she had been trying to remember, her mother’s retirement dinner. Her brother was supposed to join them after hockey practice and they were going to toast to her successful 35-year reign in the nursing field. It really was quite the accomplishment. She couldn’t help grinning with pride as she turned to walk toward the source of the mouthwatering scent coming from the next room. Scraaaaaaaape. She stopped moving. That sound. She knew that sound. Scraaaaaaaape. How did she know that sound? Where was it coming from? Scraaaaaaaape. It sounded like it was all around her. Every surface seemed to echo that sound, the echoes bouncing off one another, until they converged into one razor-thin blade of noise pointed right at her heart. That’s when her mother walked out of the kitchen. She’d come back out to see why Sonia hadn’t come to help. She was holding a knife in one hand and a sharpening rod in the other, and her apron was already covered in big red spaghetti stains. Only it wasn’t her mother. And those weren’t spaghetti stains. Sonia felt the bottom drop out from under her as everything came rushing back in a flood. It all made sense, how she’d been feeling all day, skipping around from one scene to the next, unable to remember how she’d gotten there, why she kept seeing things that didn’t make sense, even the time on her broken watch. That night, this night, she was supposed to come home for her mother’s dinner, but she’d left her notes at school. She’d turned around to go get them, was in the parking garage, and Mr. Hendricks, he - “No no no! This is real! It’s not a dream!” She was waving her arms in front of her as if trying to physically ward off the memories, when she noticed large red blister marks on both her wrists that weren’t there before. And down on her shirt, a bloodstain was starting to form. Cupboard, chair, table, trash can, wall clock. The volume on the radio got louder and louder as Ricky Martin rocked out about going insane. Sonia screamed, shutting her eyes and blocking her ears with her palms, doing her best to shut everything out. “I’m awake! I’m awake!” All at once, she felt someone firmly grasp her shoulder and something cold splashed her face. The world smelled like bleach. She sputtered and opened her eyes. Cold metal table. Leather restraints. Clock stuck at 3:47. And there above her, boring into her with his dark, soulless eyes, Mr. Hendricks. And that god-awful laugh. Suddenly, it wasn’t fear that she felt, but white-hot burning rage. Tugging against her restraints, she realized that her right wrist was loose. She must’ve been pulling at it even in her sleep. It may have just been a dream, but Jackie’s words still rang true and they floated up to find her now. Teeth? Check. Nails? Check. Now it was time to give him hell.


For the first time in centuries, Eradon could not bring himself to clean the blood from his sword. He didn’t let the armorers stop him at the gate. A purple ooze dripped from his chest plate and onto the stone where he walked. The sunlight, limited to him, felt warm against his skin, and the air pure to breathe compared to the vileness of the Abyss. He filled his lungs as deep as he could with every breath, knowing soon he would have to go back.

He made his way to the Resting Point. His sword, a weapon forged from the stars, scraped against the stone behind him. It left a trail of ethereal sparks the color of celestial clouds. He dragged his sword until stopping at the three statues where he would soon become the fourth, resting for a decade, then waking after the years to fight once more. The other Starforged Knights who arrived before him now posed as statues. Tela had her arm raised, sword pointed toward the sky. Her skin glowed with the essence of the galaxy. It wouldn’t be possible to awake her until the creatures of the Abyss returned. Aiken stood beside her, frozen in time with his blade in mid-swing. His hair spilling out from his helmet changed from a garnet red to a cerulean blue. Along with his armor, it rotated through the aesthetic allure of the galaxies' colors. Wymond, behind the two, knelt with his sword held over his shoulder. Eradon approached. He would take his place among them and pose for the sake of the people, who would visit from across nations to see the statues that their saviors had become. Every ten years, when he returned from battle, there used to be thousands of visitors. They would bow, cheer, and parade for the Starforged. They would fill the town square, sitting on rooftops and crowding the streets as far as he could see. People would reach out for the Starforged Knights as they passed by. Rumors had it a touch from one could bring eternal luck. Now, apart from a few armorers, the town square didn’t hold a soul.

Eradon stopped before taking his place. No. He would not stand with them. He would not become a statue. This time he would finally be free. “Era,” a voice spoke behind him. He turned to face the fifth member of the Starforged. Kyoka stood with her armor shining, helmet held under her arm. Sunlight gleamed off of her silver hair. “You threatened the armorers. Why would you walk coated in the blood of our enemies? You will worry the people if you rest like that.” “I don’t see any now,” Eradon said. A pool of purple blood, as slick as oil, grew beneath him. He stared up at the statues as he spoke—he would not become one of them this time. “They stopped holding parades for us ages ago. They use us, Kyoka. We’re tools to them. We’re shackled in an endless war they refuse to aid us in.” “They are not shackles, brother,” she walked to approach him, her Starforged armor clicking against the stone. “We do what mankind can not. Cease this foolishness and remember your honor-” “I’m leaving, Kyoka.” She stopped. Her helmet slipped from her grasp and hit the stone. She turned to the other Starforged who couldn’t help her—they would be stuck in time until the next battle. In the abandoned town square, only the two sentient knights remained. “We were human once,” Eradon continued, “were we not? Over the thousands of our battles, I’ve forgotten who I was. I've forgotten why the Starforged chose me for this duty. Yet, I know now that I regret taking this blade." He held the sword in front of him and stared into its depth. An endless pattern of cosmic dust flowed across its surface. “I regret now the life I’ve chosen, being stuck in this endless loop of fighting and resting. I yearn for freedom. A stop to this madness. Today I take my leave and make my own choices.” “Era, if you renounce that blade you will wither away.” Kyoka placed a hand on his shoulder, “please, come rest. We will forget this conversation happened and we’ll continue in our duty of keeping mankind safe. It is not about the parades they throw us or the stories they’ll write, it is about honor-” “To damnation with honor! Tell me, Kyoka, are we saviors, or are we prisoners? Are we knights, or are we the pawns of humanity?” Eradon turned to her and removed his helmet. He dropped it to the stone. “Are we following the path of honor, or are we following the path of the insane?” She stepped back. A gust of wind blew past and hair flowed with it. “Speak none of this,” she said, “in time, humanity will find a way to purge the creatures of the Abyss. Our fight shall be over soon, my brother. We need to hold out until their research can end this war once and for all. They need time and we fight for it!” Eradon laughed. Broken noises of exasperated gasps. The first time he had laughed in centuries. “Don’t speak to me of time, for it has been an eternity .” He gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands and brought it down against the stone. It broke into the rock with an explosion of astral light. Tremors shook the ground, and cracks in the earth trailed out in snaking patterns. Ethereal sparks flew off the sword until the patterns on it faded, becoming still, a static image of the stars. The Starforged blade rested in the stone, awaiting the next chosen. Eradon had renounced his bond. The strength imbued to him faded, his shoulder plates now heavy. His agility vanished, and he no longer felt light on his feet. His balance left him, and he swayed from side to side, falling his knees, waiting for his skin to wither to dust. He waited for the thousands of years he had laid dormant to catch up to him. Kyoka watched in horror, yet nothing happened other than the constant drip of the violet blood off of Eradon’s armor. He stood and he smiled. Freedom . A life he could pave as his own—one no longer stuck in an eternal loop of rest and battle.

“Eradon!” Kyoka called, “you can not leave us! We need you or we will fall in battle, the creatures will overwhelm us without you! Mankind will not last a day with your absence and it will cause an apocalypse!” “So be it,” he said. “They’ve had their chance to help and I’ve served my sentence. Nothing you say will convince me to pick up that dreaded blade once more. Either you let me walk, or you kill me, sister.” She turned to the Resting Point. “There’s no honor in murder,” she said, “you’ve abandoned and condemned us all.” For the first time in centuries, Eradon walked a free man. He turned back to see Kyoka take her place as a statue, her face a twisted look of fear. In a decade the Starforged would awake as four instead of five, and they would fight a battle they could not win. So be it.