It is good to be back in the old neighbourhood. As much as the suburbs are quieter and safer for raising the kids, I have to admit I sometimes miss the city. Even the incessant sirens, constant sound of traffic and the general hustle and bustle of people I've started collecting porcelain teacups which gives me an excuse to visit more often. The kids are staying with my parents for the weekend, so Jason and I have taken the opportunity to tour the neighbourhood’s antique shops, in search of new additions to my fledgling collection. We walk leisurely hand in hand along the avenues, like not one day of the last 5 years have passed. We make a point to swing by the old apartment. Reminiscing about the crooked landing and even more crooked landlord. We lived here before the children, even before we were married and before Jason was promoted and we could afford this idyllic life of ours. I find a George Jones teacup that I just can’t be without, Jason duly buys it for me. “You’ll need a cabinet soon enough” he jokes as we walk along Rogan Avenue, as much as he’s joking, we both know it will be true one day. I hug his arm and feel a warmth roll of me. “…treat you to lunch and the old deli?” my smile gives him the answer, this was turning out to be a lovely Saturday afternoon. Something starts to rumble; it grows louder and nearer. I eventually look up to see a Texaco gas truck thundering down the street towards us. Suddenly a little girl, out of nowhere runs out into the street. Both Jason and I jerk in reaction to the disaster that we see unfolding in front of us but are frozen where we’re stood. The truck begins swerving from side to side. The driver has obviously spotted the girl, but the trailer is beginning to lose control. We watch as it skids, and crashes unchecked through the front of a store causing an enormous explosion. I lose grip of Jason’s hand as I shield my face from the heat and bright light. I catch a glimpse of Jason being propelled in the air and watch in horror as he plunges through another window behind us Before I can properly react, there’s a gun being pushed into the back of my head. “Don’t move” the male voice says. “Jason!” I scream, trying to get on him,

“Shut up and come with me” the man grabs me by the shoulder, but I instinctively spin away, batting his hands away. We end up facing each other, his face is covered but our eyes are locked. This man has a worried look in his eyes, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I’m determined to check on Jason, so I decide to risk it and turn to run but he grabs me by the wrist. “I don’t want to shoot you, but if you run, I will” “Then do it!” I yanked my arm back. Maybe the adrenaline makes me temporarily deaf, but I don’t hear any shots behind me as I dart towards the store that John was propelled into. When I get to the busted-out window and look in, the store is much smaller than it looks from the outside, in fact it’s more like a window display than an actual store. The store front is a façade. “John?” I call out, he’s not there, instead of broken glass on the floor, there’s tiny pieces of white paper, like confetti, like we had at our wedding. Before I can really process what was going on, a cloth is pressed to my mouth. I struggle but they’re far stronger than me and before long I’m fading into unconsciousness. *** A door slamming jolts me awake, but I find myself in almost darkness. There is light shining from under a door about 10 yards in front of me. I can tell it’s a door as there is a keyhole and a halo of light around three sides. A carpet of light spreads to just in front of me but it’s not enough to illuminate the room. Suddenly I realise I’m bound to the chair I’m sat on. It’s tight as I can’t move a muscle but it’s not sore, in fact I’m not in any pain at all. Which comes as a relief “…Hello?” I say with reservations of a response. The lights abruptly flip on, long fluorescent lights flicker on one at a time above my head. The door swings open and a tall, burly chested man in a grey tailored suit came walks in carrying a file. The walls are made of dark grey cinder blocks with no windows, completely empty, except a table and one other chair. The fluorescent light is harsh to my eyes as it bounces off the polished concrete floor. “Mrs Jennifer Morgan” I’m caught off guard, “How do you know my name?” “You are married to, one, Jason Morgan” he reads from the front of the file he’s carrying. “Is that a question?” I ask. “Not particularly,” he brushes me off rudely, “we already know that for a fact”. “Why am I here? How do you know my name? What’s your business with Jason?” “You ask a lot of question for somebody who until recently was stuck in a dark room” The man says with cockiness in his voice and a smirk. “I just want to know what the hell is going on” I snap at him. “Whatever do you mean?” he feigns ignorance which I don’t fall for, even for a second. “Jason and I were walking down the street, then there’s an explosion. I watched Jason fly through a window and then disappear. Now you have abducted me. I want some answers!” “I don’t think you’re in a position to negotiate” he continues to smirk as he slowly pulls a gun from inside his suit jacket and lays it on table. “But I’ve got some questions for you…” he sits down behind the table, and he opens his folder. Taking a pen from his inside pocket, he gives it a condescending click before putting it to the page, “So, how did you and Jason meet?” “I’m sorry, what?” That wasn’t what expecting his first question to be, it’s clear that he’s wasting my time or trying to goad me. “Where’s Jason? What have you done to him? Is he alive ?” My voice wavers, but I manage to catch my emotions and suppress the tear that threatens to drip down my cheek. “Our personal life is none of your business” Without lifting his pen or his eyes to me, my interviewer nonchalantly says “just…answer…my questions” before casually tapping the gun that’s still sitting on the table next to him. It’s a silent threat, but I hear it loud and clear. I stifle my rebellious side and swallow my pride. “What do you want to know?” I say calmly, through gritted teeth “ How did you meet ?” he reiterated himself I take a deep breath and slowly exhale through my nose, exaggerating the noise to display my displeasure at being forced to divulge such personal details. “College.” I say bluntly “I’m going to need more details than that” he says ignorantly not looking up. That’s what’s going to provoke me before too long, I detest rude people. “Why do you need this information? What’s going on?” I ask, I’m getting frustrated. “Why was I kidnapped and tied to a chair? Where’s Jason? Is he dead after that explosion?” All my questions fall deaf on my captor’s ears. We sit in silence for a moment, it’s clear that I’m not going to get answers before he does. I curse to myself and he is still not looking up. “…Junior year, we were in the same photography elective” “Majors?” “Jason declared Data Science, he likes numbers, and maths, and stuff…” “And you?” he asks “My degree is in Anthropology” he notes my answer without looking up and I wait for his next question with bated breath “What is it you believe your husband did for a living?” “What do I believe he does?” That’s a strange choice of words, I think to myself “That’s what I said” the interviewer says curtly “He’s a business analyst, isn’t he?” I ask, to no response from my interviewer. My thoughts begin to spin, that question has thrown me. What do I believe he does? Has Jason been lying to me? “What else can you tell me about his job?” the questioning continues, my head whirls and darts around searching for answers. Jason never talks about his job, from what I can tell it’s fairly boring and mundane, at least to an outsider. “…nothing really…” “Fine.” he says as if uninterested anyway, “…and what is it you do? “I’m a self-employed realtor, but before we had children, I worked in PR” “Children?” My interviewers head pops up. Shit ! I think to myself. Why did I mention the kids? a sense of dread washes down my body. “What are your children’s names?” I have his full attention now; he is eagerly staring at me awaiting my answer. I think about lying, but I can’t think of convincing names before the timer in my head starts going off that I’m taking too long to answer. “Johnny and Katie” I say solemnly in defeat. “Ages?” “Katie is 2 and Johnny is nearly 6” he scribbles down my answer as my stomach sinks into a dull ache. “Why do you need information about my kids?” However, he’s gone back to ignoring me. I’ve obviously given him what he wanted. He is clearly going to use my children to manipulate me or Jason to help his cause, whatever that maybe be. I try not to think that Johnny and Katie might be in any danger, but it’s hard. My mind starts to play tricks on me. Guilty, Fury, Desperation all come barraging into my head, I just make sure not to show them to my abductor.  My dad is a former cop so I have faith the kids are safe, he’ll protect them at all cost. “Any problem you have with me or Jason, should stay between us,” I try to reason with my captor, tears are starting to form in my eyes and this time there’s no fighting them off, “Please don’t do anything to my children” my voice wobbles as the ache in my stomach intensifies and shoots into my heart. I clench my teeth and let out a cry. The interviewer doesn’t lift his head, the cold-hearted bastard. “I’M TALKING TO YOU!” I scream at him through my pain, I would be flying for his face right now if I wasn’t tied to this chair. I am an angry lioness, and he has threatened my cubs, but as calm as a Hindu cow my interviewer says. “I just have a few more questions…” “Fine.” hatred is pulse through me now and I’m already plotting the guy’s demise when I get my hands free “Why did you move out of the city?” “Why does anyone move out of the city?” I deflect his question, I’m being purposefully obstinate now, I’m done helping this guy anymore. He sighs, “just answer the question” “House prices are too high in the city, it’s quieter in suburbs, it’s safer for the kids, the schools are better, less pollution. Literally a hundred reasons” he gives a slight nod and jots down in his folder. “You’ll be happy to know this is the last question…” he smirks to himself but before I can ask what happens after the questions, he surprises me with his last question. “So, what’s with the teacup?” “I beg your pardon?” “When you were picked up you were carrying a bag containing a teacup, why?” “Are you serious? That’s your final question? The teacup?” I can’t figure out how anything we have discussed would be helpful in any way. “I would just like to know about the teacup…” “Ok…” I say still puzzled “…I recently started collecting antique porcelain teacups. I have three at home and today Jason bought the fourth” I don’t know what else to say, nothing seems unusual about that. “Ok, that’s fine” the interviewer says looking up after finishing his last note with a smile. He stands up from the desk, picks up the gun and starts towards me with determined strides. As he nears me, he raises the gun to point at me. My mind and my body go into full meltdown, I’m about to die and I sang like a fucking canary and now this guy has no use for me anymore. I have sold my family out and it turns out to be for nothing. So, I do thing only thing I can in the situation I start screaming for my life. “HELP ME, SOMEBODY HELP ME” Suddenly there’s a blindingly bright flash of white light. *** “Mom…” My eyes slowly adjust to the light, I’m not in the interview room anymore. Directly in front of me is a window looking out to a garden green grass, blue sky, colorful flowers. Not the harsh concrete room I seemed to have just come from “Mom…” the room I’m in is warm and furnished, a beautifully made bed over by the window. I’m sitting in a comfy armchair and in the corner of the room is a tall, glass fronted display cabinet containing what must be 20, maybe 30 antique porcelain teacups. My grandmother’s dressing table is next to it adorned with photographs, my wedding photo is there and some holiday pictures that Jason took, but there are some of children and old folk I don’t recognise. “Mom?” a voice comes from my left, when I look around the first thing I see in a tall man in a grey tailored suit, I recoil in horror, it’s the interviewer again. “Please don’t kill me!” “Mom, what are you talking about? It’s John” “John, who?” I say trying to swat him away, but I can’t lift my hand, they must still be tied to the chair, but when I look down not only am I not tied to the chair, but my hands are deformed. Gnarled and wrinkly and completely lifeless. The man crouches down next to my chair and puts his hand on mine. I’m desperate to pull away but they won’t budge. “Mom, it’s Johnny” he says softly, I laugh he must be at least 50. “My son Johnny is 5 years old” This adult man has rimless glasses, a grey suit to match his greying stubble and crow’s feet around his eyes. Those eyes, those are Jason’s eyes, the same eyes Johnny has. “Johnny? What’s going on? Where’s your Daddy?” “Mom, Dad died 3 years ago…” Johnny says “In the explosion…” I assume out loud, Johnny gives me a strange look “What? No, it was cancer” “I’m confused” “I know you are Mom, you had a stroke” he rubs my hand but I can’t feel it “I had a stroke? But I’m perfectly healthy woman, I’m not even 40” I insist “You’re 83 years old, Mom. The stroke means you can’t move your arms and legs…”. I suddenly “83? Where did my life go?” I ask through my sobbing realising I can’t account for the last 40 years of my life. “What are you talking about, Mom?” Johnny puts his arm around me and pulls me into him. His stubble scrapes against my face. His father was always immaculately clean shaven, “you were there for it all” “I don’t remember” I continue to sob “I know you don’t, Mom. But believe me, Katherine and I grew up in a fantastic home, full of love, laughter and fun. You were a great mom,” his words make me forget why I was crying and listen as he continues “…your kids grew up happy and healthy, we both graduated college, got good jobs, got married and had kids of our own–“ “I have grandchildren?” I’m suddenly full of joy and pride “You have 4 of them” my tears are back, but now they are tears of happiness “…and in a few short months, you’re going to be a great grandmother for the first time” “Really?” I squeal “that’s fantastic!” Johnny beams and nods “So, I didn’t miss a thing?” “No Mom” “…what about Daddy? Where’s he?” I ask hoping to finally get back to Jason and celebrate the good news. Johnny’s face dropped “…like I said Mom, Dad died 3 years ago” I’m shocked, my whole world comes crumbling down, “Oh My God! What happened?” “Cancer, Prostate Cancer” Johnny says sombrely “He was only 35” I weep “No Mom, he lived a long and happy life. He was 81, when he died, he worked hard all his days and he had a good retirement,” Johnny wiped a tear from his own eye, “when you guys weren’t travelling, he loved nothing more than spending time with his grandchildren. You two, were in love to his last day. His death was hard…particularly on you,” his eyes turn sorrowfully to me, “That’s why you’re here, so you can get some help” I look out the window at the lovely day outside and daydream about my life with Jason. When I turn back Johnny is gone, in his place is a man in a grey suit, with a stubbly beard and glasses that I don’t know. But I’m not worried, my husband Jason will be here in a minute to pick me up.


We laughed as the ice cream dripped from my mom’s waffle cone. She raised her cone above her head, ducking under it in a futile attempt to catch the drips. The green pistachio would wash out of her silver-streaked hair, but I wondered if it’d stain her white cotton blouse. After the Memorial Day weekend after my ninth-grade year, I never again wore white to the beach. Attempting to blot the cherry coconut ice cream hadn’t ended well. I could still hear my crush whistling and laughing at me. My stomach had clenched in dread, remembering how I’d see him with his friends at school on Monday. I had discovered white linen shorts became see-through when wet that day. Resentment bubbled up again that my mom hadn’t warned me. Looking back now, I wondered if she regretted her actions that day. Had she replayed it in her mind, trying to see where she could have supported me better? Even at that age, I’d considered us friends. Mom now asked the cotton candy vendor for napkins. The harried teen motioned at the container absentmindedly before turning back to the young mom with two small children clamoring for their own flavors. I wondered if that mom would share her experiences with her children or if she’d use my mother’s favorite line, “Oh, honey, I thought you knew”? Today I’d grabbed a few extra napkins to catch the drips from my own waffle cone, aware I’d regret it if I didn’t plan ahead. I took another bite of my two-scoop cone, Rocky Road and Chocolate Peanut Butter Swirl, while I waited on the edge of the boardwalk. Mom sauntered back, grinning. Now my heart ached, remembering the afternoons gardening, the piano duets, the long talks when driving into town to help Grandma. When had she changed? With her dripping ice cream temporarily dammed, we resumed walking towards the picnic area just above the beach. I preferred the rough, rocky coastlines of my new home. Mom had always enjoyed the wooden boardwalk. She insisted it was easier to walk on and looked nicer, declining a trip to my beach the few times she’d visited. When Mom asked if I wanted to walk along the boardwalk, I’d jumped at the chance. I needed the energy from the ocean. I considered asking why she wanted to visit, but I didn’t want to be disappointed. “Before we leave the boardwalk, I want to take you to the Briar Boutique. I think you’d like their outfits, and I know the owner. She might even give us a discount.” The name rang a bell. One of her sorority sisters had started an upscale boutique. I suspected this was it. I also suspected my accomplishments would be touted and pressure placed on getting a ‘going away’ outfit from her friend’s shop. The chances she carried my style were slim-to-nil. Now Mom’s insistence to buy the ice cream rushed back. I don’t have much, but I can do this for us! It’s my treat for today! I wondered how many times I’d been encouraged to do or buy something that boosted my mother’s image, my own situation unimportant. “Sure, we can stop in there.” “The wedding is coming up soon. Has Geoffrey finally cut his hair?” I forced myself to breathe slowly. I’d be less ‘reactive’, giving me a chance to be heard before she dismissed me. Geoff and I’d exchanged bets on when she’d start in on him. It was a feeble attempt to lighten what we knew could be a stressful afternoon. He’d tenderly kissed me before he said, “She’ll bring it up in the first hour, maybe half hour.”

I’d looked at him, begging him with my eyes to be wrong.

He’d brushed my cheek and studied my face for what seemed like minutes. “I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You have no idea how amazing you are. My dream is to see you realize that. I hope you’ll still love me when that happens. Either way, I am a lucky man.” He brought my hands up, kissed them. “How about we make the bet a reverse bet for the 30-minute mark? If I win, I’ll make you dinner and draw a hot bath for you.” He wrapped his arms around me and held me while I pretended to not cry. “Geoffrey would look like such a hunk if he cleaned up a bit. Short hair can take some getting used to. Honestly, he should have cut it a couple months ago.” Even though I’d made the bet, I’d hoped to experience an afternoon like the ones she and I had once enjoyed. She gave me a quizzical look when I asked, “You’ve met him half a dozen times, and that’s your first comment today about my future husband? Your future son-in-law?” The edges of her mouth tightened. “I thought I’d bring up the wedding. Should we talk about something different?” At that moment I realized I was no longer friends with my mom but an equal, or near enough. “The wedding plans are going well. Geoff arranged for the catering, which I’d stressed myself out over. Did you like the menu? His best friend is in chef’s school, and he had some great ideas. Turns out he’s able to even do the catering with the date of the wedding.” “A friend of his? Not a real caterer?” She sat down at a picnic table away from the water, selecting the seat shaded by the umbrella. The boutique Mom wanted to visit faced our table. She’d be clearly visible, chatting with her only child. Then she’d claim I suggested we stop in, or something that would be sufficiently close to the truth that it’d be hard to refute. I sat facing Mom, thankful the wind blew my long bangs away from my face, making it easier to finish my ice cream. I wondered if she knew she’d given me my preferences or if it was accidental. “Did you remember to wear sunscreen? We’ll not be out long, but a sunburn would be unfortunate.” “I remembered. Geoff already handled the details. We picked the menu with you and Dad in mind.” I watched the waves reaching for high tide, smelling the decaying seaweed. It had been cleaned from the beach nearer the boardwalk. Further out, away from the beachgoers, the line of kelp waited to be pulled back into the depths, to be drowned by the waves before being rejected once more, left again on a distant beach. Mom shifted in the silence. “Have you decided which florist you’re going with? Last time we talked, you hadn’t settled on one yet.” “Like I said, I decided to arrange my own flowers. It took me a couple weeks, but they’re done. I have pictures—” “Sweetie, you know they aren’t the same as real flowers. People will know.” Mom looked inside her waffle cone. She deepened her voice. “Looks like I ate the whole thing!” I ignored my mom’s attempt to revive an old joke we’d shared. I focused on the almost-crunch of my waffle. It might not be the best waffle cone, but it was my waffle cone, on the beach, dripping with chocolate ice cream. “If people care that much, they don’t need to bother attending. It’s my wedding, and I enjoyed arranging the blooms, enhancing each flower’s beauty by pairing it with another. I realized that’s how a strong marriage works, blending each individual’s strengths, shoring up their weaknesses.” She put her cone on the scarred picnic table. “All that from sticking fake flowers together?” I shrugged, wondering what we’d talk about for the next hour. Wondering if Mom had changed or if I had. Did it matter? Either way, when I got home, I’d have a warm bath and a hot supper waiting for me. I just needed to tell Geoff what order I wanted them in. I would text him from the dressing room, trying on an outfit I would never wear. ~~


“I’ll love you forever.” The heart monitor says otherwise. Her eyes crease at the corners, and tears have traced her face so many times that their pathways leave marks on her cheeks. Each ragged breath seems to take life rather than giving it to her. My mother, once so strong, trembles underneath the weight of air. Perhaps I’m shaking too, for she sees my fear and attempts a smile.

“It will all be ok honey; please, be brave for me.” I can’t fight a sudden spark of anger. She’s wrong. Her lips craft sugar-coated lies, promising love that will not be there for me. With one look at the defeated expressions of the nurses, her words become meaningless. We both realize this is the end, yet neither of us can voice a farewell.

How can I leave her soft laughter, the kisses she would plant on my knees after I scraped them? Where will I find the courage to say goodbye to her unrelenting confidence, to the stunningly bizarre outfits she wore just to make me laugh? I cannot recognize her death, for the acceptance would kill us both.

“Hey, hey…” Her voice trails off, grasping for any words of comfort.

“I’ll always be here for you. Never ever forget that for me, ok? ” I fight every urge to scream, for her reassurance does nothing to quell my pain.

“I know… I know.” I am just as guilty as her. We both realize the tragedy to come, but our farewells have yet to escape us.

She coughs, staining her gown with blood. Her frail figure shakes with the effort. Doctors halfheartedly rush to her side; I can see the hopelessness in their actions. She brushes their gloved fingers away from her mouth.

“Don’t worry about me, it’s nothing but a cough.” I almost smile. In her last moments, my mother is fussing over the very people that are meant to assist her. It seems like an eternity has passed since the days where she could care for me.

She had fought the monsters beneath my bed, telling me to gaze at the stars rather than trembling in the dark. As surgeries drew constellations of scars on her ribs, we sat beneath the quiet sky and held each other.

Years of hope meet their demise tonight. Each beep from the heart monitor is cruel, feeling like the countdown until New Years'. Time is of the essence, and yet, neither of us speaks.

I’ll take care of your aquarium. I’ll even water your plants. Don’t worry about dad; I won’t let him relapse. Everything will be ok. I promise. I’ll miss our witty bantering and the jokes you made to lift a heavy situation. No one will ever make meals or sing me to sleep as well as you. I cherished your love, and could never replace it. I love you. I love you so much.

Everything that she needs to know cannot escape my mind. The words refuse to move, stuck in my throat. I desperately scour her eyes for a final message. Will my mother’s life end in silence?

My daughter stands above my deathbed. She’s soaked in loneliness and exhaustion; I almost feel guilty for not dying sooner. I notice her quietly humming a lullaby, and manage a weak smile.

At another time, I had used the melody to calm her to sleep. She feared night with a passion, as the unknown darkness held unlimited possibilities of evil. Her imagination conjured ghosts and monsters, giving me the task of banishing them. I became her warrior, and we had traversed the unknown with courage and a soothing lullaby. I taught her to read the sky as well; the stars spoke a language long forgotten in the modern world. Constellations became her protectors, and she found comfort in the mystical shapes of the universe.

On a night so long ago, I woke up to her wails and fear-ridden screams. The shadows had painted her walls with claws and blood, and the clouds had stolen her safety. Abandoned by the stars above her, the child had the first of her encounters with loss.

“Mommy,” she paused, her lips trembled slightly.

“Shh… you don’t need to say anything. Watch.” I drew a lopsided star on her arm and showed it to her. Immediately, her eyes brightened as she reunited with a lost friend.

“You see, you’ll never be alone. The stars can leave you, but darkness is nothing to fear if I’m with you. I’ll be with you forever; don’t you forget that.”

Perhaps it was my carelessness with words that destroy me now. I’ve given her forever, and refuse to acknowledge that I must take it back. The farewell that I cannot bear to say eats at my insides, churning my stomach and making my heartache. Have I become so fragile that I crumble underneath the weight of my own words?

“Honey… the sun is rising.” My voice is hoarse and my words are weak, but the fog in her eyes seems to lift a bit. Together, we watch the stars fade into the rosy-hued sky. All is silent save for the beep of the heart monitor.

“I’ll miss…the stars…” Each word is drenched in sorrow; I long for the courage to say what I truly mean, but it is all I can manage. Part of me is foolish enough to believe it is enough.

“I’ll miss looking at them with you,” she whispers faintly. Behind her eyes, I can see the goodbye I will never hear. I find solace in knowing she will care for her father, as she protects her loved ones with the ferocity I once harnessed for her.

I blink slowly, as my vision is blurred and the fluorescent lights begin to burn. With a sinking feeling, I realize my time has arrived. I will never be able to bring closure to my love for her. She couldn’t do the same for me. We believed in forever, but even the stars will die eventually.


Heads I win, tails you lose. I toss the coin over and over, it spins in the air to land in my palm before I slap it over onto the back of my other hand. When I remove my hand, Heads!- ‘May you Rest in Peace Your Majesty’, I think, then flip it again, heads-Her Majesty’s serene profile again. Flip, the silver spins and glints in the artificial light- tails, a little platypus swimming, frozen in time, the monotreme memorialised forever on the tail side of the coin.

Growing up, my dad used the coin toss to solve all his parenting problems. Don’t want to eat your broccoli, you know you should, right? Well let’s flip for it, heads I win, tails you lose. You wanna stay at your friend’s place this weekend? Let’s see, heads I win, tails you lose. I was sure my dad was the fairest parent out there, never a tyrant like the dads of the other boys’ I knew, always offering one of two options and deciding the outcome on the flip of a coin. He was also the luckiest dad ever, he never seemed to lose. It wasn’t until I was older that I understood, and shook my head at my naïveté. “Dad, can you hear me?” The doctors think that he can, and they encourage me to talk to him. They say he responds sometimes. “Dad, I’m here. Not going anywhere so just relax, ok?” He was the biggest man I knew, huge, like larger than life. He’d have a beer or three of an evening, while he told stories, some taller than others, and his palate wasn’t overly discerning. He liked to stick with the tried and true, VB every time. I remember the adds on TV growing up. The voice-over man in that serious tone decrying, “A hard earned thirst needs a big cold beer…and the best cold beer is Vic, Victoria Bitter!” My dad was that man. Not the voice-man, but he may as well have been the blokes that stared in that campaign. So quintessentially Australian, a certain type of man forged by the era he lived in. You don’t see blokes like that anymore. It’s not really PC. I hadn’t seen Dad much these last few months, been busy but that’s no excuse really, and I hadn’t noticed that he’d become small. Kind of shrunken in on himself, as if all the bits that made him ‘dad’ were gone, just leaving ordinary human behind. “Dad, I need a favour,” I whisper into the stillness of the room. “I need you to hang on, you hear me?” He doesn’t respond. My heart hoped he would lift his lids and ask me what I needed this time. When I was a boy, I was forever asking for a favour.

Like the time I needed to impress Mandy on that first date. She was a private school girl, I was a local high school lout. She was seventeen and new, I was not much older but eons wiser, or so I thought. Mario hired her because she was cute, he was a chauvinist like that. Although I knew the meaning of the word, at eighteen I was hard pressed to identify it in practice. So Mandy was our phone girl and chick behind the counter. Me and Mario, well, we put the pizzas together. It was a great job, I got to work with my hands and stare at Mandy’s ass as she leaned against the counter to talk with customers. Win, win. Anyway, it was her birthday, and I was going to ask her out. Eons older than her, and my heart still stammered behind my throat when she walked in for that evening shift, looking like something that would melt in my mouth. I think I remember saying Happy Birthday and I muttered something about how lovely she looked. She smiled, a light of sunshine and I think I asked then with great coolness if she wanted to check out a movie. Said I heard the Drive-In was showing Indiana Jones, she said she loved Harrison Ford. So we were going. I hadn’t factored in the fact that my car was a piece of shit Datsun 120Y and it was nearly as old as I was. It wouldn’t start, and I was supposed to be picking her up.

So I asked, “Dad, I need a favour! Can I take your car tonight?” He just looked at me, right through me and into that part of me that was him, thirty years before. “Heads I win, tails you lose.” Of course, by now, I knew that to mean no. “But Dad!” “You’re not taking some girl to the Drive-In and getting hot and dirty in the back seat of my car!” “We’re not…” “Do I look like an idiot to you, son?” “I swear, no one is getting in the back seat!” Well Dad wasn’t having a bar of it. He pop-started my car the old fashioned way, with me pushing the thing down the hill, him popping the clutch, and we raced down to the auto shop before it closed, where upon he instructed me in the fine art of vehicle repair and battery replacement. There went a good chunk of my week’s pay, but I was still able to pick Mandy up just on time. We didn’t use the backseat, not that time anyway, however we did see many more movies in the Datto, and a few times we actually watched them! But life happens and Mandy grew up and moved on. She went to university to become a nurse, while I stayed on with Mario. I look at dad now and think about that lesson. He didn’t let things come easy for me. I had saved for that Datsun for three years, and yes, the bloody thing was a piece of shit. But I learned to take care of it, had a spanner in the boot that I would use to hit the alternator in just the right spot to get the thing going when it was temperamental. I checked the oil and water each week and learned how to change the oil and spark plugs myself. Dad was old school like that. Why pay someone to do something you could easily do yourself with a bit of time and effort? I thought of my own son. Riley probably wouldn’t know where the battery was on his car, and I wondered if I had even shown him how to pop the bonnet. What kind of Dad had I been for him? I had bought him a membership for the RAC and told him to call them in the event of a breakdown, but I’d never flipped a coin to determine his life, I just didn’t have that kind of input. I was too busy, having three pizza shops that I managed as the kids were growing up, and I worked long hours to get my business degree in on the side. “Dad, I need a favour,” I say again. “I need you to stay here, with me.” Of course Dad says nothing. He never used to say nothing, he was never afraid to tell me if I was being an ass. When my then girlfriend, Trina, got pregnant at twenty-four, he pretty much chewed me a new one, and we were married within months. Trina’s belly was rounded gently under her lacy dress. You can’t tell too much from the photos, we made sure she was standing just so, with the bloody great flowers, that caused my eyes to water and nose to run, clutched before her. So all our wedding photos look like I’m in tears and she is glowing.

“Dad, I still need you. You can’t just leave.”

I hold his hand. It was smaller than mine now, the veins and tendons stand out against the paper thin skin. Once those blunt fingers had held me together, his firm grip on my shoulder when my world had come apart.

The breast cancer diagnosis shattered my family’s foundation, and we floundered for three years. Trina fought it, was determined to conquer it. A hard, long and exhausting battle, but just before our daughter Ella was in her final years of school, Trina’s body said ‘no more’, and she left me alone to navigate those most important moments of our daughter’s life. What did I know of ball dresses and hair and makeup? If not for Dad, who put that huge hand on my shoulder and said, “You’ve got two kids who still need you, it’s time to man up!” I don’t know how I would have survived. “Dad, you’ve still got a son who needs you,” I say as I lace my fingers though his, the delicate bird-bones looking particularly fragile. I’ve always needed him. Growing up it was just him and me. Two bachelors doing what we could to get through each day. I never saw a string of women in his life, not like my early dating career where I enjoyed many girls, some for company some for more, but he was just a rock, an island to himself. After Trina died, I got it, you just don’t get time to put a woman first, as she deserves, when you’re holding together your life and children. In the last few months though, I had met Jo, and Jo had consumed me. I hadn’t taken her to meet dad, or the kids or anything yet, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be that serious.

“Dad, I want you to meet someone, her name’s Jo,” I tell him softly . “I think I’d like her to be someone important. So you can’t leave just yet, I won’t let you.” I hold his hand in both of mine, the silver coin clasped between our palms and I’m not sure if I imagine it, but I feel his hand squeeze back. It’s just a tiny movement, but I latch on to it. “Dad, you can’t go, you hear me? Not yet. Heads I win tails you lose, Ok?” I toss the coin, catch it and flip it onto my wrist. “Tails, you lose,” I whisper as I look into his peaceful, serene but sunken face, and I feel them, the tears down my face. Dad never loses…until today.


Verity turned the key in the driver’s door of her red Taurus. It unlocked with a snick. She opened the door and pressed the unlock button to let her boyfriend Daniel in. The pair settled in on the tan seats. Daniel shivered; the leather was cold through his jeans. The trek across campus to the student parking lot had left them both chilled, and while the car provided protection from the wind, it did nothing to actually warm them. Verity turned the key in the ignition; the car whined a bit before it came to life. Classical music streamed softly out the speakers. “I think I failed the chem exam,” Daniel said as they waited for the engine to warm up. 			Verity rolled her eyes. “You say that every time and come out with an A.” “No, seriously, this time I think I really fail…can you hear that?” Daniel interrupted himself. Verity shook her head. They went back and forth about Daniel’s chemistry insecurity, and his math insecurity, and his geography insecurity.

“Well, Mr. Straight A’s, when you start failing a class like I am in Calculus, then you can talk to me about academic anxiety.” “You’re not failing Calculus. You have a C. Do you hear that?” Daniel looked to his left, to his right, then to his left again trying to find the source of the sound.

“I don’t hear anything,” Verity said, laughing. He looked like he was going to cross a street. “And a C is totally failing.” “It’s not failing. And we’re only, like, barely past midterms. You have time to bring it up. Professor Sparling is big on extra credit. Last term, Fred —you’ve met Fred, right?— skipped half the semester and turned in enough extra credit to scrape a passing grade. And, really, you don’t hear that?” “A C is the same as an F to my parents. And, no, I still don’t hear whatever it is.” Finally the engine was warm enough to go. Verity shifted into reverse and backed out of her parking space. Her tires spun in the gravel and for the brief moment before they gained traction she thought she’d somehow hit a patch of ice. The university’s parking lot was huge. They made several turns before making it to the paved section of the lot. It took two more turns before they finally reached the driveway that lead out onto J Street. Daniel flicked on the heater and held his bare hands up in front of the vents.

“Why is it so cold? It’s only October,” complained Daniel as Verity turned east toward town.

“Because global warming is a hoax. It’s actually global cooling. The whole thing is orchestrated by the Chinese to get the United States to stop working on technological advancements and come up with alternatives to plastic straws and diesel engines instead, and possibly freeze to death in the process.” Daniel chuckled. Verity’s sense of humor was one of his favorite things about her. That, and her smile. He looked at her hands on the steering wheel and envied her thick, blue gloves.

“Did you make a list of everything we need for the project?”

“I thought you did.” “I guess we should make a list then so we don’t forget anything.” Daniel wrestled his phone out of the zippered pocket of his jacket. He pulled up the Notepad app and typed with one hand, leaving the other in front of the vent. “Styrofoam balls, toothpicks, paint,” he listed off. “Notecards, you don’t hear that?” “I hear the engine and Beethoven’s Fifth.” “It’s a ticking.” “It’s a ringing in your ears. Write down ‘paintbrushes’.” Daniel typed that in, then switched which hand was in front of the vent. Verity gently braked and rolled to a stop at a traffic signal.

“We need a thin Sharpie, too,” Daniel added to the list. “Seriously, you don’t hear that?” Verity shook her head, paused, and held up a finger. Possibly she did hear it. The light turned green and the sound of the car accelerating overshadowed anything she may have heard. “Not knowing what that noise is is going to kill me. When you stop at the 9th Avenue stop sign, stay stopped until you hear it.” Three blocks later Verity stopped the car at the intersection of J and 9th. She checked her mirror, and when she saw no one behind her, she kept her foot on the brake and listened. She inclined her head and scrunched up her face in concentration.

“I finally heard it,” she said, easing onto the gas and turning right on the one-way street. “Maybe the CD in the player is vibrating?”

Reluctantly, Daniel moved his hand from in front of the warm air long enough to hit the power button on the stereo. The music cut off; the pair listened.

“I still hear it,” said Daniel. He left the CD player off, however, in order to better hear the noise. He also didn’t want to move his hand again. His fingers were finally starting to feel less like sausages. “Maybe it’s the heater,” Verity suggested. “Turn it off and see if you hear it.” “I will freeze to death if I turn the heater off,” protested Daniel.

“You will not. Just give it a try.” He argued back, “I heard it before the heater was on.” “Well, I didn’t. Give it a try.” “Absolutely not.” Verity sighed and turned the heater knob to off. She didn’t understand why a Louisiana boy would come to rural, upstate New York for college. Especially one that was such a baby about the cold. “I still hear it. Can we turn the heat back on?” “You hardly listened at all.” “It’s incessant and annoying. I can’t believe you can barely hear it. I’m going to get frostbite.” Verity scoffed but turned the heat on anyway. They’d been in the car long enough for it to warm up considerably; Verity knew, though, that Daniel wouldn’t be comfortable until she was absolutely roasting.

“Has Walmart always been this far away?” “No. Last week it was a five minute drive instead of fifteen. Walmart was bored Friday night, didn’t have a date, so it got up and walked a few miles.” “How much longer, Ver? I think pneumonia’s creeping into my lungs.” “We’ve been driving for about seven minutes, and you’re not getting pneumonia. You’ve been blasting the heat for those seven minutes and it’s gotta be at least 60 degrees in here by now and you’re wearing a heavy coat for cryin’ out loud.” Daniel harrumphed. The native New Yorker he was in love with would never understand the plight of his thin Southern blood. The constant tick was grating on his nerves, bothering him almost more than the temperature. “Did it just get louder?” he wondered aloud. “Turn the music back on and drown it out.” “I need to know what it is.” “Why?” Verity did not understand his need to know. Annoyances were meant to be dealt with, circumvented, counteracted. How was prolonging it to satisfy curiosity better than just making it inaudible? She could barely hear it anyway. Daniel’s commentary about it was more annoying than the actual sound. She turned a sharp left onto Hill Road, which, though narrow and twisted, had not the slightest bit of incline.

Daniel left her why unanswered and opened the glovebox looking for loose items that could be rattling. He pulled the car manual out. Under it he found three old insurance cards, a tire-pressure gauge, five nickels, a Dum-Dum lollipop, and a wrapper with chewed up gum. He pulled all of it out and listened for the noise. Still there, tick ticking away. He dumped everything back into the glovebox. He smacked his hand on the dashboard in frustration. “Yeah, that’ll help.” “C’mon. Help me figure it out.” Daniel groped around under the seat and in the pocket of the door. Then he turned his attention to the center console. There was only one thing inside. “Why do you have a Savage Garden cassette? You don’t have a tape deck.” “I took everything out of my old Toyota when I bought the Taurus. That car had a tape deck. I never really thought about it after I dropped it in.” “Do you have a clock in here?” Daniel asked suddenly. Verity pointed at the dash. “Not that one. Like a wind up clock.” “Why would I have a wind up clock in my car?” “You have a cassette tape in your car. I’ll take that as a no on the clock. How about a clock watch?” “A clock watch? As opposed to what, a sundial watch?” “Like a tick tock watch, not a numbers watch.” “Tick tock watch? How old are you? The words you’re looking for are analog and digital.” “Fine, Smarty Pants. At least I’m not failing Calculus.” “Harsh, and no, I don’t have a watch.” “Sorry. Well, not really since you know I’m joking. That noise is going to kill me, if hypothermia doesn’t get me first.” “Stop being so dramatic. We’re almost there. We’ll get out of the car, go shopping, you’ll forget all about the noise, and we probably won’t even hear it on the way home.” They pulled into the parking lot a minute later. Verity put the car in park in one of the closest spaces. Daniel grabbed her hand before she could reach for the key. He shushed her when she tried to protest. She looked at him expectantly. He finally gave up and shrugged. Verity turned the key. Without the sound of the engine in the background, the noise became more pronounced. Verity had expected it to stop. Daniel thought it sounded faster.

There was a blinding flash and terrifying roar as the bomb detonated under the hood. Verity threw her arms out, but they didn’t stop the concussive force or hail of shrapnel. Daniel was stunned still as the world exploded around him and fire rolled through the car’s cabin. His last fleeting thought was, ‘Thank God it’s warm here.’


Breathing in deeply the brisk filtered air filled my lungs. Chin up and arms stretching wide greeting the day. The artificial sun had yet to warm up the new dawn. Morning is my favorite part of my day. I return inside from the balcony, dark metal clanging under my boots. Murmurs of my wife and daughter getting ready down the hall following me to the kitchen.

With a few mental commands to my interface, the kitchen hums to life. The kettle clicks on, the pantry door opens, and Admin Sphere News lazily scrolls across the nearest wall. Distractedly reading the highlights, I grope for a bowl and the jar of pancake mix. On autopilot, I scoop pancake mix before scraping alerted me I had hit the bottom of the jar. A couple of eye clicks later and it was added household requisition list. Tugging, my lips forming a smirk. I worked hard to earn the right to cook at home. No terrible dining hall food for the head of the Detection Department and his family! Contentedly I sigh, flicking back to the news. No pressing issues this morning. I could eat in peace, surrounded by the two greatest loves of my life.

"Pampakes Daddy!" Joy's voice yelled shrilly, dashing into the room with no pants in sight. My wife Prudent close on her heels. Joy's favorite purple leggings wave like a flag of surrender in her hand. "You have to wear pants to eat pancakes, Honey." Prudent says, a bit breathless from her dash to the kitchen after our wild child. Her scrubs matched the purple pants in her hands. Prudent and joy will look like two matching peas in a pod today.

I set the bowl I was wisking on the counter. Swooping Joy up into a hug she wriggles as I gave her morning kisses. "Pampakes aren't even ready yet! Put your pants on silly willy!" With me holding the giggling child captive, Prudent was able to pull her pants on with little struggle. We kiss good morning over our child's head and she begins protesting loudly, "Ew! let me down, daddy! Let Joy down!"

With mirroring smiles I deposit Joy on the tile floor, her dark curls wild and bouncing as ran to her toy chest in the attached living room. Prudent watches her go, so I slip a hand around her waist and pull her in. Kissing her deeply. The sweet scent of her shampoo mingling in my nose with her fresh minty breath. My heart thuds in my chest with her near.

Fingers slipped up my neck pulling at my hair, and I came away from the kiss breathless. "Someone is in a good mood this morning." "How could I not be when you're around my love?" Soft kisses on my jaw and neck causing my head to tilt and my eyes to close. My hands drift lower down her back. We never could keep our hands off each other.

"PAMPAKES!" screeching came from across the room. Interupping what would have been a very fun morning 4 years ago.

The pale blue of the ceiling mocks me as Prudent chuckles and pulls away. "You're the one who applied for the child permit Unity." She murmurs, moving to the now boiling kettle and taking down two cups.

"You asked me to!" indignation coloring my voice, returning to the abandoned bowl of batter.

"Sure, but you agreed to it." Placing a teasing kiss on my cheek and setting a brewing cup of tea next to me. "Looks like it will be a calm day out in the hermitage," distant eyes telling me she was also checking the morning updates.

"I hope it stays that way. Any day I don't have to call in the team is a good one." Prudent nods in agreement still reading.

Soon the smell and sizzle of the batter baited our toddler to the kitchen table. Prudent helps her into her booster seat while I flipped out the first batch. I dusted them with a bit of powdered icing sugar and brought them over. Joy practically crawls onto the table in eagerness and the table wobbles dangerously under her.

"You forgot to pick up the new leveler foot yesterday from the printer didn't you?"

My mouth opened and closed a few times while I sputtered, "Well. I mean. You see! I got home so late. It was a hard day yesterday! There were 3 destabilizations to correct and a new weaver found!" My eyebrows rose to hide in my dark hair neatly brushed across my brow.

Raising an eyebrow, she gave me her look, "Mmhmm, pick it up on the way to work today then?"

"Ah, very Prudent wife of mine!" I hold my hand up and a sticky high-five comes my way.

In mock indignation, she shakes a finger at Joy, "Don't high-five daddy for that! Tickle mommy is coming for you!"

"You're on your own!" Giggling filled the room. I dash away back to the stove to finish cooking breakfast. Prudent tickled the trapped child until she asked her to stop.

Slipping into her own chair they both caught their breath. Carefully balancing both our plates and my tea, I came over joining them at the table. The extruded plastic table had been brand new when I was given this allotment upon my promotion 5 years ago. Turns out toddlers were pretty hard on furniture. Sometimes we'd joke that Joy could climb before she could walk.

We talk and eat over breakfast, toward the end a blinking blue indicator in the corner of my vision informed me my serotonin levels were elevated. Grinning I leaned back, taking it all in. My wife was explaining that stuffed dogs did not in fact eat pancakes. The blue-green table was now sturdily braced with a children's book. Off-white counters and kitchen appliances on my left, and a couch and 2 armchairs sitting in the carpet dents on my right. An entertainment center with both a video screen and a holo-projector waiting for the next family movie night.

Click. Send. My wife slides her eyes to her own notification and opens the picture I sent across our link. She rolls them suppressing a smile. It shows our daughter pouting at the small stuffed dog she had snuck to the table, completely covered in powdered sugar. Prudent struggling to contain a smile at her adorable visage while holding a hand out to take it to wash. It was a perfect snapshot of our life together. The joy and challenge our daughter had brought into our lives.

BEEP. "Incoming system message" BEEP. My head tilts to listen to the notification only I can hear. My food churns sourly in my stomach.

System Notification: E3-RC in Unit 194 has failed to back up data to the pod. This error has been recorded 6 times. System troubleshooting is ineffective. Error recorded in defragmentation for an unknown length of time.

Stability in Unit 194 is 73%. The current main cause is E3-RC. The secondary cause is neural network density is at minimum levels. Warning, if the neural network dips below 70% there is a high risk the whole unit will collapse. Recommendation: Terminate E3-RC. Estimated to bring stability of unit to minimum levels of 85%. It is recommended to dispatch investigators to the pod to discover if there is a Weaver genesis. Caution and a full team are recommended. The secondary recommendation is to add more people to Unit 194's neural network to increase stability further. The minimum recommended is 4 people. Please see the secondary education unit graduate lists for candidate suggestions. Clenching my jaw and furrowing my brows, I type a quick reply on the interface. "Dispatch team one to comply. -Head Engineer Unity." I close my eyes and the interface at the same time. When I open them Prudent watches me with concern. The little blue light was now blinking red. Our link had notified her I was in some mental distress. "I have to go to work," I say simply. The statement was loaded with all the things we agreed not to say in front of Joy. At least not until she was a bit older.

She nods in sympathy, "I'll get Joy to the child center on my way to the hospital. Let me know if you'll be home late." We find each other's hands across the table and she gives mine a squeeze. "Make sure to take your pill if you need to."

"Yes, Doctor Prudent." I forcefully tug the corner of my mouth up attempting a smile, but the alert took all the wind out of my sails.

A tiny sticky hand and a very crusty stuffed dog pile onto our clasping hands. Tilting my head looking at Joy, her deep brown eyes and a ready smile aim at me. "Have a good day at work daddy!"

Replacing the fake smile with a real one I say, "Thank you, Honey!" With one hand holding both of theirs, I wrap my free arm around her and kiss her curls. I didn't want her sticky hands or stuffed animal wiped on my work uniform. I also want to hold both of their hands a minute longer.

Reluctantly I let go of them. Moving around the booster chair to give my wife a quick kiss goodbye. When I pull away she huffs indignantly and grabs my collar, pulling me in for a deeper kiss.

A pat pat pat on my butt later and I was pulling away groaning. I'd be surprised if there weren't a tiny white sticky handprint on my butt.

"Bye, bye daddy!" Arg! If she wasn't just the cutest stickiest kid in the whole Hermitage!

"Bye bye Joy," I say my wife giggling at me while I check my own butt. There was indeed a handprint.

The dark metal floor clanks yet again under my boots as I dash to the bedroom to do a quick change into a clean purple jumpsuit. Then I head out the door. My bag with my datapad and helmet swinging from my shoulder as I hurry along down through the small walkways connecting the living quarters to the rest of the Admin Sphere.

Humming, whirring, and beeping sounds accompanied by blinking, pulsing, and flashing lights make the path feel like it was alive. In a way it was. The whole Hermitage was constantly monitored and controlled by the A.I. system invented hundreds of years ago to save humanity from collapse. Connected by the systems under my feet to the units full that provided its massive living neural network. A massive living network I was in charge of monitoring and stabilizing.

My job was one of the most important jobs in the whole Hermitage. Even above the science team working tirelessly to bring the world back into balance so one day we could live in the world again. My job was second only to the small team that interfaced directly with the A.I. system. It was vital and necessary and I did it with pride. It also fills me with sadness. After all, when you boiled it down. I kill people for a living. The artificial sun didn't burn away the shadow hanging over my head, but it did inform me of another joining me in my hurried walk. Ivy's shadow proceeds her on the walkway. Silent as always, it was my only warning she had arrived.

"Good morning Handler," her voice as clipped as ever. I wouldn't be pleased with a collar around my neck either, but it was necessary to prevent spirit walking.

"Good morning Ivy." we pass through the upper hydroponics section. The white of the 3D-printed beds contrasts with the colorful plants contained within. The algae farms for feeding the pods were lower down. The ones we pass hold the foods that sustained the Admin and the Weavers. We knew the way to this unit. It had been giving us problems for some time.

"Another decommissioning?" she queries. Glancing at her, I take in her unbuttoned jumpsuit and her black gloves sticking out of her back pocket. Bouncing on her pack her helmet and datapad threaten to fall out of her unzipped backpack. "Yes, and when we get there I expect you to be buttoned up." She rolls her eyes in response. "We do our job with dignity for we are the last those we remove see in their lives." I lecture. By the end, she is muttering it under her breath with me and buttoning up the front of her jumpsuit over her white undershirt. Her red hair spills around her face as she looks down at the buttons like they personally affront her.

"Where's Decker?" I ask as we walk and Ivy shrugs at me.

Suddenly clanging of running feet grows louder as Decker skids into view a bagel from dining clutched between his teeth as he frantically does up his own purple jumpsuit. His blonde unruly hair, normally brushed into a semblance of neatness was now windswept and messy from his mad dash.

"I found Decker," Ivy states benignly.

"Indeed," I reply. "Decker, we have a decommissioning, a little decorum please."

"Sorry Handler, the toaster was on the fritz again." He shoves the bagel into his mouth. 3 quick bites later and it was gone and he was carelessly brushing crumbs off his suit. Ivy reached out and ran a hand through his hair with partial success. Good enough. We pass the rest of the journey through the veins of the Hermitage in silence. Soon we arrive at the control sphere for the sector. With a few clicks of my interface, the control sphere wakes up. The door swishes open for us to enter. We will link directly to the Unit from here allowing us to investigate the programming and neural network. I allow my two weavers to proceed me into the pod.

They begin setting up for the dive while I take a moment and rattle out one of the pills my wife prescribes to me to help level my mood while doing this job. I pop it in and swallow it dry. The bitter taste was familiar in my mouth. Life was much simpler when I was just an engineer tasked with pulling weavers from the threads of the neural network when they caused problems. Weavers could subconsciously hack into the A.I. and other systems and change their programing. Bypassing firewalls and safeguards with ease. Using their emotions to fuel their weavings and make it possible to affect very real changes in the artificial reality that sustained most of humanity. Unfortunately, that also meant dealing with their rogue spirits.

Spirits were weavers who caused havoc within the A.I. and even with Admin Interfaces. Threatening the whole balance of the Hermitage. Spirits destroyed delicate systems and fried brains without meaning to. The sooner we found and pulled them out the sooner they could be used as assets. Adding to the stability of the artificial world we kept 80% of the population in. The collars around their necks kept them from doing anything but the most basic tasks while off duty. Unfortunately, we couldn't disconnect them fully. The surgeries my wife did to hook them to the neural network were permanent affairs.

Stooping I walked into the tiny door into the control sphere and sit down on my dive bench. I look at the two I pulled before the detection division was even a possibility. I fought with Ivy and Decker's spirits when they were still just I9-IV and I0-OX. Tracking them down to their units and pulling them from the weave. I put the collars that were blinking at me around their necks on myself. Then the Quilter Jiro came along.

Looking at myself in the reflection of my helmet's glass, my hazel eyes and carefully combed hair stared back at me. Haunting memories of the time before we allowed Quilter Jiro to reprogram huge swaths of the A.I. Changing the fabric of the whole weave. Spirits had been on the rise, and we couldn't keep up with them. People were dying as they messed with the agricultural systems and short-circuited interfaces. Quilter Jiro was pulled by another team. Quilters only happened once in a generation. We thought it was a sign. He petitioned to make the detection division, finding instabilities and weavers before they could break out of their realities. We voted, and he was granted leave. Even the A.I. signed off on it. He burnt himself out saving us from the spirits.

"Helmet's on Handler," Decker says from his seat pulling me from my memories. I was avoiding thinking of what we were about to do. Both Ivy and Decker's helmets were already on. They couldn't dive until I released them. Ivy's eyes burned with her desire to go to the world she loved. Pulling my helmet on I brief them, "We are going to unit 194, we will find and assess E3-RC to see if he is a weaver genesis. If not, we will be decommissioning him and wiping his memories from the unit. Afterward, you two will examine the weave and make sure there are no problems in the programming." I look at them both and they nod. "Maintenance will deal with problems in the hardware. Let's go."

With that, I turn off the inhibitors and we dive into the world most of humanity thought was the only reality. We were the hidden support system behind the scenes. I keep my daughter in mind as we enter their world. It was for her. One day she'd have an interface. I could not let spirits run rapport anymore. Not when we had the means to stop them. I wish I didn't have to kill people for a living, but I will make a better future for Joy. I will enforce stability by any means necessary to protect her life and happiness.


Out of all the planets Aitne had seen, Sol was different...

Aitne had led a tormented life. Two things were her constant companions- an unbearable, lonely ache, and a curious, tickling pull. A pull to somewhere in this universe. Somewhere in this endless mass of bright pricks in the cosmos. Pull and Ache had accompanied her for many, many years... -Three centuries ago- Aitne woke. She was lying on a flat white stone, in a world filled with a cold sort of beauty. Warm gas clouds swirled in delicate patterns around her, in hues of blue and brown she had not seen before.

She looked around. Where was everyone? Then, who am I? Why am I surviving? She felt the tips of her fingers. They were raw and scratched, but very much whole and human. Human… why did she know that word but not her own identity? Languages. She knew them all. She knew all about these humans.

Memories flashed through her mind, but they were not hers. Only fragments of knowledge gifted to her from God knows where. A bustling city, full of creatures who looked just like her. Space probes that did not scratch the surface of the vast expanse of the universe. A flurry of birds screeching into the air, disturbed by a passing car. And these humans food. Hot French onion soups, sugared apple pies, steaming stir-fries, tacos and gyros, sushi, and pasta. So they must exist, right?

Aitne looked around her bleak surroundings. A human could not survive on this planet, she knew. Her eyes softened. It was a very serene planet. Crisp and cold and unforgiving, yes. But the soaring white cliffs were a wonder to behold. And the hurricane-like clouds that sailed high above her were hypnotizing in their never-ending circles. Aitne could sense the moon’s light, dazzling as a thousand diamonds just outside the gas layer. She longed to see it. And just like that, she was there, hovering with her toes just barely skimming the thick clouds of gas. The stars shined bright, billions of them lighting up the sky. But even brighter were the moons. Varying in size, shape, and color, the only thing they had in common was the great white glow that edged its ragged silhouettes, clinging to them like desperate blankets.

Space dust hung limply in the air, in shades of purples, pinks, oranges, even golds. There were colors out here that no human had ever experienced. Human. Aitne frowned. All hopes of being human had been quashed. Yet why did she long for their company so? She reached out her senses. The next planet was not far. She could sense it, revolving around its golden star.

An image appeared in her mind. A child squatted next to a model solar system. “Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars…” Aitne gripped fiercely onto the memory, picturing that solar system in her mind. It was where her kin lived. She would find them.

She willed herself to the next planet over. She hovered over the ball of twisting gases, looking out at her birth planet. It would need a name. She stared at the moons circling it. Tsukichikyu, she decided firmly. Now to find her kin. It took Aitne a full century to find Earth. It was a tiny, blue planet with an equally small moon. She willed herself closer but allowed herself to go slowly. It was an instinct by now. Aitne always took time to appreciate a solar system’s beauty, no matter how hurried she was.

She bit her lip. This was it. Her kin. She had her memories of them, but what if they were different than she imagined? She landed softly on a patch of yellow grass, her toes scrunching up at the touch of the scratchy organism. Smog filled the air, thick and obscuring. The sun glowed red, a perfect orifice patched into the choking sky.

She floated forward, pushing apart the smoke with her pale hands. Where was everyone? Akari and Ren rolled around on the grass, laughing. The smog was oppressing, muffling their shrieks of joy and laughter. “You are such an idiot!” “You’re more of an idiot if you actually believed me!” Akari giggled, wiping a tear from her pale green eyes. “You know we shouldn’t be out here at this time. The smoke’s way too bad.” “No one’s out here. It’s a perfect time.” Akari snickered, shutting him up with a soft kiss. Then her eyes widened as she stared over his shoulder.

“Actually…” Ren paused, looking behind him.

“Oh.” “There is someone out here,” Akari confirmed.  She stood, brushing grass off her dress. A figure floated out of the smoke, coming to rest gently on the ground. Her eyes glowed a gentle white, like a mother’s milk. Her skin was dark and smooth, without blemish. Her hair danced behind her, floating in the air like it was syrup. Her lips curved in a heart shape, a pale, strawberry pink.

She was beautiful in an innocent, sad way.

Akari placed her hand in front of Ren’s eyes.

“Excuse me?” The woman smiled at her. “My kin. Yes?” Akari frowned. This woman was strange. “People around here usually wear clothes, in case you haven’t noticed.”

The woman smiled. “Thank you, my kin.” She closed her eyes for half a second, and a long, flowing dress appeared around her, decked in colors Akari didn’t know how to explain. She had never seen anything like them. Gossamer threads of fabric flowed behind her, all of the colors of the rainbow, and more sparkling like it had seen a million suns. “What...are you?” Akari asked. “I am not sure,” the creature confessed slowly, her hair swimming in circles behind her. “But I think you are my kin. I do not know why.” “You aren’t human?” Akari asked, frustrated and confused. Who was this lady?

“I am from a distant planet called Tsukichikyu,” the woman in the dress said. “My name is Aitne.” Akari burst out laughing. Ren chuckled beside her, deep and soulful sound.

“You expect us to believe you’re an alien?”

Aitne frowned. “You do not understand me.” She murmured. “Are you truly my kin?” Akari ignored her. What a freak, she thought. “Come on, Ren. We’re going. She’s obviously on drugs or something.” Aitne called out from behind them. “Please, answer me this before you leave!” Akari rolled her eyes. “Fine.” “Who has caused this smoke? This parched grass? This noxious air?” Akari turned back to face the woman, marching up to jab her finger into her chest. “Listen, freak, I know humans are miserable little creatures, but just because you’re in a drugged-up haze, don’t go thinking you’re better than us. You’re human too.” She turned and stormed off through the smoke, feeling only slightly guilty. Aitne watched the girl’s back as she faded into the smoke. She had found her kin. So why did the ache not cease? Why did pain not cease to gnaw at her lonely heart?

She was afraid. What if she never knew happiness? What if she was destined to be alone? What if she never found where she belonged?

Was this her existence? Endlessly searching for something that wasn’t there, with no way out? She looked up at the stars and willed herself to the brightest one. She found herself skimming the surface of a cloudy, mud-and-orange-colored planet.

She was tired. So, endlessly tired…

But she knew there was no way out. Not for her. The pull in her heart would not let go. The pull from this universe would not let go. She loved these worlds too much. She loved the beauty of it too much.

She placed her hand over her heart, where the ache was strongest. Then she looked up to the stars. She willed herself to the next star in the sky. And the next. And the next. On that day, after a century of searching already, Aitne made a vow. She might not know what exactly she was looking for. But she would never stop until she found it. Out of all the planets Aitne had seen, Sol was different... The planet was in the farthest reaches of the universe, and after years of searching and memorizing each of the planets and solar systems and stars, Aitne knew something was different. Something was strange.

It was a white and yellow planet, surrounded by rings of meteors. The white was from snow, and the yellow was to be credited to bright flower fields. A vision flickered through her mind.

An endless plain of iridescent, yellow flowers, twisting around each other in a tangle that covered the planet. The sun was warm and yellow- bright, too. Aitne’s heart nearly stopped. This was it. She paused. Ache and Pull hadn’t felt this pronounced since she had visited Earth.

She approached slowly, three hundred years of habit taking over her. She knew what she would call this planet- Sol. It was her radiant sun, come to end her suffering and pull her towards the light. She could hear a voice- just snippets of a song.

She recognized it- it was a human one. Excitement roared through her. She moved forward slower still. Was this creature singing like her? Not human, but with human memories? She had to know. She paused, sitting to listen to a meteor. “What's so amazing that keeps us stargazing And what do we think we might see? Someday I’ll find it, The rainbow connection…” Aitne sighed, resting her head on her hand. The voice was radiant and beautiful, soft, and thoughtful.

“Have you been half asleep, and have you heard voices? I've heard her calling my name…” Aitne smiled for the first time in her long lonely existence. She could wait and listen a while more. After all, she had waited three hundred years.

For down there was her soulmate. Her kin.


(Content Warning: Domestic abuse, grief, and algebra homework.) “Homework,” Aunt Lorraine says, slamming a thick packet of off-white, grainy pages of mathematics onto the kitchen table; the grids and functions burrow into my brain. I feel dizzy just looking at it. “You have to do your homework,” she says, cold and pleading. Her eyes lock onto my hand as I slowly shift a dull number two pencil over the first page. I quickly scribble my name and the date. Suddenly, I feel a muted slap to the back of my skull. “You spelled your name wrong, Jesse,” she says. “Skipped an ‘s.’” I wince and rub the back of my head. Aunt Lorraine sighs and leaves to smoke a cigarette, her third in the last hour. I try to erase my mistake, but the eraser on my pencil is too worn. The metal casing around what remains of it tears through the soft page before me. Frustrated, I take the metal end of the pencil and use it to shred the page apart. My blood boils as I stab and drag it through the pages until the packet is unrecognizable. I stare into the shambles. It makes as much sense to me now as it did before. The screen door slams open and shut, and I choke on the smell of a freshly burned cigarette. “What. The. HELL . Did. You. DO. ” I shut my eyes as tightly as I can. All I want to do is disappear. I messed up. I know. I messed up. Aunt Lorraine lunges at me, but I bolt from my chair before she can grab me. Panicking, I run through the screen door. Whether I broke through the screen or managed to slide it open before falling through, I can’t recall. My skin is burning all the same. I don’t know where I am running, but I don’t stop. My bare feet ache against the rocks and the grass. I run until my chest hurts. I taste the blood pumping through my tongue. Eventually, the chill of the autumn evening cools my breath as it leaves me, and a fog forms in front of my face. As my strength dwindles, I lie on a grassy hill. The pointed edges of the blades tickle my skin. Above me, I watch pale pink clouds drifting across an orange sky. The clouds are bulbous, their broad and rounded edges making intriguing shapes. One cloud looks like a heart; another looks like a dog floating across the sky. My chest flutters as I notice a large cloud hovering just over the setting sun. Vaguely shaped as an angelic figure with auburn hair and a pale, pink face: this cloud glows in front of me. It looks just like you, Mom . Overwhelmed with what I think is grief, I start to cry. I wish she could be here. I wish she could rescue me. The cloud’s arms stretch towards me. She doesn’t understand me like you did. I breathe out heavily, causing the fog of my breath to combine with the clouds above me. Blurred by the tears, I can almost feel your touch. Held by breath and grass, I drift to sleep on the hill as the evening grows darker. I dream of the days before my mom got sick. I dream of the days when she still had color in her face and auburn in her hair, the days when she would laugh at my bad jokes and make me laugh with hers. She was the only person on the planet who understood me. She made learning fun. She made learning comprehensible . (She taught me that word.) When she got sick, things stopped making sense. Other people had to take over my home-schooling. Her death was so slow and so sudden all the same; I hate that you had to watch the world replace you. I hate that you can’t see how miserably that failed. The cold autumn night eases me awake. A full and luminous moon overhead casts light onto the hill. My arms and legs itch and ache with mosquito bites. My back contorts through a spasm. My stomach growls. Perhaps running away was not the brightest idea. I sigh as I start walking in what I hope is the direction home. My memory serves correctly for once, and soon I am stumbling towards the stocky one-floor house. I stop just short of the backyard to assess the battlefield from behind a shrub. All of the lights in the house are on. I can see Aunt Lorraine in the kitchen. Surprisingly, she doesn’t look angry. She seems… worried. She is pacing around the kitchen table, running a nervous hand through her auburn hair. She is frantically speaking into the phone. I see her mouth my name over and over. She slams the phone onto its hook, shaking her head. She walks towards the unbroken screen door, steps outside, and lights a cigarette. Closer now, I can see her shaking. I can’t tell if it is from frustration or the cold night air. About halfway through her cigarette, I step forward. When she sees me, she drops the cigarette into her ashtray and runs towards me. She lunges at me, and I flinch, but this time she wraps her arms around me and pulls me into a tight embrace. She holds me closely and begins to sob over my shoulder. Awkwardly, I rub her on the back. She sobs harder. “I just…” she starts. She pushes me away by the shoulders and looks me in the eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she sobs, whiplashing me back into a hug. “I can’t lose you, too,” she cries. Suddenly, I feel tears streaming down my face as well. I lost a mother, but she lost a sister, too. Am I just the personification of a bad replacement for you? The warmth of her body lulls me into drowsiness, and I start to fall limp into her arms. She helps me to the couch. I drift in and out of consciousness as she roams around the house. She makes calls, calling off the search for me. She starts a pot of water on the stove. She digs through a cabinet to find some calamine lotion. I sleepily raise my arms and legs, and she dabs on the cool pink liquid. She blows on it to speed the drying, and I shiver. When the lotion has dried, she covers me in a soft throw blanket and returns to the stove. I close my eyes as I hear the shifting and shaking of macaroni and cheese being made. In one long blink, a bowl of warm, gooey, golden sustenance is placed on the side table. As I sit up to eat, I see Aunt Lorraine staring at me from across the living room. The rising sun pouring in through the windows illuminates the red in her hair.


The sunset makes the darkening sky blush and adds rose highlights to the emerald water. A young couple, a man and a woman, perhaps in their early twenties, tanned and trim, golden-skinned in their bathing suits, have their beach blankets spread on the white sand. They sit close together, facing the sea and the sunset. In a three-story beachfront house, an elderly couple are on the balcony outside the second floor. They are sharing a bottle of white wine, crisp and cold in the warm air. “Like Adam and Eve,” the husband says. "Don't you think?" The wife smiles. “They look blissful down there. So young.” “Doesn’t it remind you?” “It’s like yesterday,” she says. “And a million years ago.” “That too.”

“So much time has passed, and still …” “I know.” She reaches out to hold his blue-veined, wrinkled hand. She squeezes, then lets go, sighs, contented. “The sunset is beautiful, just like it was the day we met.” “Soak it up. Take the heat from the sun,” he says. “Let it heal you, like in that book we just read, by, oh, what’s his name?” “Ishiguro.” “That’s right. It worked for the little girl. The sun healed her.” “Oh, honey.” “I’m not giving up on a miracle drug.” “You never give up,” she says. “I love you for that.” “We’re gonna break the monster’s back,” he says. “Believe it.” “It’s hard to believe.“ “I know.” "You're the one who prays," she says. "I do too, in my way. But now I’m one step closer to knowing. It’s so beautiful here. It’s perfect. Right now. This moment. This is a good moment.” “Yes, it's perfect,” he says. ”A perfect moment. Let’s stop time. Freeze everything in place with the sun right where it is, barely touching the horizon, the warm breeze, everything just so.”

"I have to tell you." She takes a sip of the cold white wine. “I feel that I’m getting ready to leave the ground.” He is quiet for a long time, then: “I don’t know if I can take it.” She says nothing, sets the wineglass down on the small table between them, reaches out and squeezes his hand again, and this time she holds on.

Until she doesn’t.

He knows it has happened. No more pain. That’s good. That part is good. There has been so much pain. But the other part ... He’s not ready to look over at her, to have it be final and real, so he closes his eyes, feels the warm rays of the setting sun on his face, drifts off while thinking about her, and lines from a song come to him: ' A house doesn't make a home, don't leave me here alone .' Then, she is there, and he feels her familiar lips on his.

He opens his eyes. “You,” he says. “Me.” She smiles. "Hi." She looks just like the day they met, more than seventy years ago, when they were both in their twenties.

He sits up, looks at her, drinks her in. Then he notices his own tanned skin, his trim shape, the energy of youth, the beach blanket, the warm sand.

“Like Adam and Eve,” she says. “It was us, down here, waiting, for when we were ready to let go.” He turns and looks back at their beach house, to the balcony on the second floor, where he can make out their old skin and bones, empty. “I prayed for this,” he says. ”That we would go together. It’s perfect.” “It’s even better than a miracle drug.” She smiles, stands up, holds out her hand. He takes it, gets up, and they both stand together, looking out towards the sunset at the horizon, arms around each other.

"The water looks fine," he says.

"Let's go in." They wade into the shallows, the cool water lapping their ankles, then their shins. "What's this?" She reaches down, bringing up a seashell, water dripping. The shell cracks open in her hand. A soft light illuminates her face. She gasps. "Oh, I didn't remember." "What is it?" "Can't you see?" "No." "It's something from my early childhood," she says. "I'd forgotten all about it. You really can't see? For me, it's like I'm there, living it all again." He finds a seashell of his own.

"You're right," he says. "It's like being there, in the moment." "But you can't see mine," she says, "and I can't see yours." "I can tell you about it," he says. "If you want to." "I think that's the point," he says. "If we want to, we can share. When we're ready." "Leaving a bit of mystery." "Yes, and space. The mysterious distance that makes life together an act of discovery. It reminds me of something from that book your mom gave us at our wedding." "Oh, yes. Gibran: ' But let there be spaces in your togetherness .'"

"I wonder if ... " He looks around, selects a larger seashell, bright white, fishing it out of the seabed. When it cracks open, they both gasp.

Afterwards he says. "What a wonderful memory, our wedding day." "And to think of all that happened after, all the time we had together." "Seventy years, and then some. And now, we get more time together." "Eternity." "Just us." "For now," she says. "I have a feeling, when we're ready, there will be others. Family, friends." "God." "I think He is always here." "I wonder," he says. "If we will see God, face to face." "When we're ready." "I want to try something." He lifts one leg out of the water, plants his foot on the surface, then steps up, standing on the sea. He holds out his hand, and she joins him.

Together, they walk on the sea, hand in hand, towards the horizon, in the direction of the sun. "I'm thinking about what you said." "When?" she says. "Right before." "Oh." "You said: ' I'm getting ready to leave the ground '. I wonder if we can fly." "I'm sure we can," she says. "I think anything is possible for us now. But if you don't mind, I'm having such a lovely walk, let's keep enjoying this for a while." "For as long as you want." "And then, when we're ready — let's fly!"


It’s been a long week, and I may or may not have put off a huge project until the last minute. Again. It’s a problem. Anyway, I rushed to the library to find a book to do my entire research project on. I had to do the research, write the required three page essay, and create a visual example. I told my parents I had finished last week. Needless to say, I lied.

 	I rushed through the library doors, but something caught my eye. There was a sign that said they were going to close at 7:30. That’s in one hour! I should not have put this project off. My grade depends on this! It is the last assignment that will count towards our grade, and I’m not doing too well grade wise. I’m smart, but spend more time with athletics than school.

I went straight to the nonfiction section. Nothing in particular caught my eye except the clock, which was ticking closer and closer to 7:30. I chose the book closest to me. It was about the Civil War. It’ll have to do. I rush to the nearest table and open up the book and pull out my computer. I scan the table of contents. Nothing caught my eye, except for this one chapter towards the middle called the “Anaconda Plan.” You may not know this about me, but I love snakes. So naturally, I flipped to that chapter. It wasn’t about snakes, but it was about a plan that was based upon an anaconda’s habits and movements. It was actually very interesting. I got so sucked in that I didn’t even notice when they said they were closing. I noticed about an hour too late. I was in the back of the second floor, so no one noticed me. I was kind of freaking out. I mean, I was probably locked in a building that wasn’t my house. You may be wondering why my parents haven’t called me or anything. Well, they are out of town tonight, so I’m on my own. It was about 8:30, so I wasn’t tired. I decided to find another book about the Anaconda plan. I would do my research on that. I found out some really interesting stuff. I managed to write a four page essay and decide what I wanted to do for the visual presentation. I decided that I would do the presentation of the plan. I just needed the materials. I was also going to make a map of the plan to show. It would be awesome and I would totally get an A on the project, which is what I needed to pass the class.

After I finished writing the essay and planning my presentation, I realized how tired I was. I looked at the clock and it read 11:43. It was really late. I should be in bed getting ready to fall asleep. I mean, I had school in the morning, and the project is due during the first class, so I had to find a way out. I tried to walk around the library to find the door, but I was really dark, and I could barely see anything. I walked into a bookshelf and several books fell off the shelf.

I tried to put them back, but I still couldn’t really see, so I just did my best. Apparently, I didn’t do a very good job. I tripped over two books that fell on top of each other and knocked some other books over. I just gave up and went to find a door. I somehow managed to find the door, but it wouldn’t open. I turned around after what felt like an eternity of trying to open the door, and decided to find another exit. After stumbling around in the darkness, I began to grow tired, which caused me to trip onto another bookshelf and sent books flying. I was too tired to try and find them to put them back. I just wanted to be in my bed.

I found my way to the back of the building and found another door labeled with one of those light-up exit signs. I tried to push it open, but it wouldn’t budge. I pulled out my phone to use the flashlight, I don’t know why I didn't try that before, but it was dead. The little light that the exit sign gave off was just enough for me to notice a little lock on the handle. I pulled out my house key and tried to use it. I hope that it would, but it didn’t. I was ready to just give up. I sat down on the floor next to the door and just started thinking of ways to escape. I had seen shows on TV that have people escaping using the vents, but those were too high up for me to reach. They sometimes use bobby pins to pick a lock, but I didn’t have any. Then I remembered seeing a sewing section in the library when I rushed in a few hours ago. By some miracle I found the section and searched for a stray pin. There was a table by the shelf that had a few pins in a bowl.

I grabbed the pins and raced to the door, knocking who knows what to the floor. I don’t know how you are supposed to pick a lock, but I tried my best. I got pricked a few times by the pins, but getting out was more important than caring about something so trivial. I heard a click and tried the handle again and it worked.

But nothing so great can last forever. When I opened the door, an alarm went off. I snuck away knowing it would only be so long before the authorities showed up, and I didn’t plan on being there when they did. Once I felt as if I could not be easily seen, I bolted towards my house.

I got there in a matter of minutes, I'm a good runner. I fumbled with the keys a little and ran straight to my room after locking the door behind me. I was so tired, I just laid in my bed and went straight to sleep.

I woke up the next morning to light pouring into my room. I looked over at my clock and saw that it read 9:00. Of course, I slept through my alarm going off and missed the bus to school. And the project submission. I walked over to my backpack to pull out my computer to turn in the project online after I sent an email using my mom’s email to the school calling in sick. I learned a very valuable lesson that night. Never save your work until the last minute, and if you do, charge your phone and watch the clock.

This was the story I would tell my children and grandchildren when they started middle school and high school. I hope they listen to my story and learn from my mistakes.