Warning beforehand. The story contains swearing words and mature scenes. THE REASON WE GOT MARRIED The room was lit with scented candles having tint of lavender aroma all around the house. The door opens and a woman enters with an elite aura around her. “Happy wedding anniversary!!” A man wearing a tuxedo suit wishes and few more people comes with cake and celebrations. Everyone were wishing the main girl of the day. Wishing the main couple of the day. Link and Iris… The 26 years old couple also business partners…. Match made in heaven…

according to others. The party ended, the guest left. It was Link and Iris… Only two of them… Even though they live together, been married for 4 years they never felt this tense atmosphere before... The silence was killing them… It wasn’t awkwardness or lust. It felt like a time bomb which could blast any minute.

“I’ll clean up the-” Before Link could complete his sentence Iris spoke “Who the fuck told you to plan this? I hate social gathering and parties. Are you unaware of it?” Iris was annoyed yet spoked in pretty calm voice. “It was for our reputation and I thought if we could do something different this time” Link replies and Iris scoffs. “I hate anniversaries. You better don’t plan anything, it’s just like any other normal day. Anyways, it’s so annoying to act good.” Iris said and was about to walk away but… "Why did we even got married when you want to act like this?? After all the years together… Even when my family went to bankruptcy you stuck to me like a glue. I really thought… I really thought that you finally love me!!" Link yells letting out his frustration. Iris walks towards him with the same unreadable expression on her face... "You really don't know why we got married? Want me to remind you?" Iris scoffs and holds his collar pulling him closer. She leans towards his ear whispering "8 years ago... You… RAPED ME " 8 years ago. Getting off from part time job Iris was heading towards her house. It was almost past midnight and the streets were empty. Iris was walking off by her normal route which is from the alley. "BYEE GUYS I SHOULD GO HOMMEE!!" Iris heard a loud voice and couple of people muttering. She could feel the trouble knocking at her door and her instincts was telling her to leave the alley as soon as possible. She increased her pace but could hear the sound of footsteps following her all way. “Excuse me??” The voice made her stop and it sounded pretty genuine. “You dropped this” The boy seemed to be same age as her said returning the handkerchief. “It’s not mine. Sorry” Tris replies and was about to walk away but…. “I just want to return this. Why won’t you accept??” The boy said slamming her against wall. Iris could feel the hotness coming from him as if someone gave him flibanserin (drug which increases lust drive) She struggles to get away from his grip but he was a way too strong. "Please... let me go" Iris whimpers in pain as the boy pushes her down on the ground. "Shut up!! I just wanted to return this fucking handkerchief!!" The boy replies harshly pinning her.

The boy started striping her pants. Iris knew there is no way to escape. He was drunk and stronger than her. "Shouldn't you ask permission for it?" Iris asked with a blank expression on her face and the boy looks at her confusingly still he was botherless. "This is wrong... I don't want this..." Tear drops could be seen falling from her eyes. "That's how the world is... you better live in it." The boy said and started thrusting in. Iris didn't had strength to speak... She was lost in her thoughts... She was feeling numb and disguise by his every touch. "There is no used even if I want to stop you... then… If you are doing it… You better do it properly " Iris said but the boy was drunken and alcohol took over him… making him botherless by any of the things happening around. "Oh gosh... I freaking love you!!" The boy said kissing her all over the body.

Next Morning. Link wakes up with massive headache. Without thinking twice, he head towards the bathroom to fresh up. As each waterdrop drips from his skin made him remember each and everything happened yesterday. Regression, guilt and fear took over his every cell of body. "Its fine... No one knows about it... Nothing happened..." That's what he kept repeating. He head towards the hall room only to see his family having breakfast with an unexpected guest sitting on the dinning chair. "Link? Honey? You didn't tell us you have such a pretty girlfriend? Mom is upset that you are starting to hide from her." Link's mother said with a mother’s love in her eyes while serving the breakfast. "What are you doing here? Why are you wearing my school uniform??" Link was shook by her sudden appearance. “Link is this way to talk??” Link’s father scold him as they come from an elite family. "It’s okay father-in-law. (Smiles and looks at Link) I transferred to your school today. Do you like my surprise? Link?" Iris replies having a soft yet creepy smile on her face. "How did you two met if you aren’t in same school?" Link's older brother asks feeling suspicious. "Oh! yesterday we had-" Before Iris could speak further Link drags her out of the house. ... "I know you are pissed I am extremely sorry for yesterday. I got drunk for the first time and it was a mistake. I'll give you all the money you want. Please just-" Iris cuts off his sentence by saying "Money? I don’t want money. I'm just doing what you told me to do. Living in this world with someone who love me. Yesterday you told me that you freaking love me . We should be with someone who freaking love us. I’ll be with you forever . I obeyed you… I am a good girl, aren’t I?” Iris questioned with a smile plastered on her face. TODAY. "You could have sued me!! I.... I did wrong to you... I admit it... You could have report me to police. You had every right to do!" Link said with tears dripping on his cheek uncontrollably. "How am I suppose to do? You were rich... Your dad worked in lawsuit... You mom was businesswoman... What do you expect? Walk into lion’s den? Do you see me as a fool?" Tris replies with pretty calm voice. Link knew what he did was unforgivable and for that her has to pay... He accepted it... “It’s been 8 years since then… I didn’t like you at first but eventually I fell for you. That’s why I never oppose you… I know I did wrong… I won’t ask for forgiveness because I don’t regret any of it.” Link said holding her hands while tears just kept on falling. “All I wanted was to study... get into university... Marry someone who freaking loves me ... When I told my parents about what happened that day. They kicked me out of the house because it brought shame to my parents. You aren’t aware of that right? After all this years have you ever asked about my parents or where I lived? How I survived? The thing which every woman cherish is her virginity.... You took it from me... But you said you freaking love me.... So, I am yours.... Forever. "  Iris said with tears in her eyes for the first time in those 8 years. It felt like she poured out her heart.

“I am sorry for everything… I know what I did was wrong but it’s all past… Please just stop treating me like a crap all the time. Can’t we just move on? Start a new life..?” Link said with apologetic eyes. Iris scoffs saying “Move on? I’ll be with you just like this…  Forever. Even after I die” With that Iris leaves the room. It’s been 8 years… they never had any kind of conversation on this topic. It left them buried alive. Past Midnight. They both freshen up and were laying on the bed. They both were awake yet pretending to sleep. Having two different yet similar things in their mind. Iris If he wanted he could have killed me or when we were living together he could have kill me. Even now he can kill me. Destroy me any second he want. Did he really fell for me…? He raped you Iris… At the point when your life was getting better he ruined you. Your dreams… were crushed but… I can see sincerity in his eyes… Iris… You shouldn’t trust anyone. At least not the man who- Link. She always insults me in the business meetings. That sharp tongue of hers never leave me...  I know I don’t have potential like her yet I am her husband. Still… She have every right to treat me like a crap. To be honest I regret everything I did… but at some point I don’t regret because if I haven’t met her in that alley. We never got married. Fuck it!! I gotta work tomorrow I should just sleep!! Link moves sideways at the corner of bed. Suddenly he felt someone pulling him into a back hug. Tris clears her throat wanting to speak “The reason we got married may full of vengeance but I can’t let you go… You know that…” Tris seemed to be lost in words. A never seen side of hers could be seen. Link didn’t had words to describe how he was feeling for the moment, the misunderstanding was cleared... Link turns around engulfing Iris’s cologne, hugging her with every energy he have. Sometimes action speaks more than words and sometimes we gotta speak honestly so that we could understand each other. A proper conversation… A proper understanding could be a source of telepathy. It took 8 years for us to know the reason we are together… and 4 years to know The Reason We Got Married.

-1692 words


Keith Mitchell awakes to the sound of a ringing bell. As it has been since the accident, there is a second of confusion at waking up somewhere that is not his mother’s house. It doesn’t take long for him to remember where he is - the Haxton Regional Rehabilitation Centre. He repeats the words to himself and that helps to clear the fog of sleep. Then, he turns to sit at the side of the bed, winces at the pain in his head and lifts the leg that is still in a cast to join his other uninjured leg. He’s become used to the dull, itchy feeling below his knee and is certainly grateful they didn’t need to amputate it. He reaches out to grab his crutches and starts to limp out of his room and down the long hallway that leads to the dining room. It took a little time, but eventually he started to get used to communal living. It wasn’t much of a choice - his mother was in her 70s and couldn’t provide the support he needed. He limps to the serving area and sees the broad back of Belinda, the cook. Keith is fairly intimidated by Belinda, not because she is mean, but because she is very particular about how food is served. Keith can hear the TV now from down the hall - some sitcom is on and he can hear the laugh track.

Belinda turns and he smiles, says: ‘Good morning.’ Belinda’s features, as usual, seem to be carved from stone and she gives a grunt of recognition as she piles his plate with rubbery eggs and hashbrowns. He limps over to the table and digs in. The food isn’t great, but he can’t really complain. He and his mother don’t have much money, and his father didn’t leave them much after he died, so the idea of a private facility was out of the question.  Keith hears approaching footsteps and turns to see Marcus, a friend he had made since arriving. Down the hall, the audience cheers, probably for the entrance of a character that was a fan favourite. Keith smiles at the coincidence and he and Marcus exchange pleasantries. Soon, they are sitting beside each other eating.

‘I mean, could they at least get some seasoning on these hashbrowns? They taste like the bottom of the skillet.’ Keith shakes his head: ‘You gotta stay positive, Marcus. Just try to look on the bright side.’

Marcus chuckles: ‘I admire that about you, man. You always stayin’ positive in this place. ‘Specially after what you went through.’ From the TV audience, a chorus of awwws.

‘Well, I’m just happy to be here. It could have been worse, you know. Like my mother always says, gratitude is always the answer. ’

Marcus looks at him for a second and then continues to shovel the breakfast into his mouth. They eat in comfortable silence until they are finished and have returned their plates, appeasing Belinda’s iron stare.

Marcus stretches and winces - Keith wasn’t sure what injury he was dealing with, but figured it was something with his back that he didn’t want to talk about.

‘So, what you wanna do today? You know you gotta get out and get some sunlight. Come to the gym with me. You can spot me, right?’ He asks the question with a polite look to Keith’s cast.

‘Of course I can. There’s nothing wrong with these babies,’ he says with a flex of his arms. The audience from the TV down the hall laughs and they set out towards the gym.

* After the gym, they head for the TV room. Marcus grabs the remote as Keith limps into a seat. He clicks around a bit until he lands on the opening credits of a show. Keith recognises the song immediately: ‘That’s Daydream! By The Loving Spoonful. I used to listen to it all the time. It’s a good trivia question, too. Most people know the song but not the band.’

Marcus smiles and nods his head in apparent amazement.

‘Damn, that’s good trivia. It’s a nice song, too.’

They listen as the opening credits roll. In big letters the words Blink and You’ll Miss It fill the screen. In typical 90s fashion, there are a series of montage-like shots that introduce the characters. The first is a young man, probably in his 30s - he is shown with his head in the hood of a car until he looks at the camera and smiles. Next is an older woman sitting at a kitchen table cutting out coupons - she cuts one too narrow and crumples it up, then looks at the camera with feigned outrage. Next is a father and daughter - they walk through a field and he holds her hand. The snippet of the song ends with the famous whistling before it fades to black.

The opening scene is a typical suburban living room. The older woman sits at a table cutting coupons - this must be a recurring thing for her character , Keith thinks. The door opens and the young man walks in. The crowd cheers. The man is blonde and slightly pudgy and wears a ridiculous uniform, all bright red and white checkers from some kind of fast-food chain.

‘How was your day at work, dear?’ the mother says.

‘Same as always. Why do people like chicken so much anyways?’ The audience laughs at this and so do Keith and Marcus. The man sits on the couch and looks at his mother. ‘What’s with the coupons all the time?’

‘What, you think we are the Rockerfellers?’ Audience laughter. ‘Besides, it wouldn’t hurt you to be more cautious with your spending. You never know, you might meet a girl someday and you’ll want to be able to take her on a nice date.’ The mother smiles now, imagining a future where her son would not be single and living in her basement. The audience laughs but the son looks angry.

‘Mom, I told you, I just need some time. After Alice and I…’ The audience lets out a chorus of awwwws, indicating that a previous episode would have dealt with the break-up. ‘I need to get changed. I’ll be back up for dinner later.’

The man goes downstairs - he clearly lives there. There are clothes and empty bottles of beer strewn everywhere. On the wall, there are photos of a woman, presumably Alice, that have been ripped and scribbled on with permanent marker. The man opens an ancient fridge, grabs a beer, sits at a desk and opens up a photo album. There are more photos of Alice and him and he stares at them longingly. The audience awwwws and so do Marcus and Keith. Then, the man lowers his uniform trousers and reaches his hands into his underwear. The audience lets out a series of gasps and there is a crescendo of excitement.

Keith looks at Marcus: ‘Wait, what? Is this from the 90s? This is… pretty messed up.’

Marcus shrugs: ‘I guess they were trying to push the envelope. Seinfled did the episode on masturbation, right? So this guy is a little sick. But he clearly just misses his girl, right?’

Keith turns back to the TV - the man is now vigorously masterbating and the camera stays close to his face. Sweat drips and lands on the photo album - Keith can hear the droplet land and the grunting but can’t look away from the man’s eyes that now seem hopelessly angry. He moans repeatedly until he climaxes and the audience cheers. He wipes his hands on the photo album and, alerted by a bumping sound, turns towards the stairs.

‘What’re you doing down there?’ the shrill voice of the mother asks.

‘Nothing! Just doing some work - working on my drawings.’

‘I just hate that I can’t get down these stairs anymore. You know, if you just saved a bit more money, we could get one of those stair-lift things.’ The shrill voice fills the basement and the man puts his hands over his ears. ‘Fine, fine!’ he shouts back.

A minute passes with the man sipping his beer and looking at the photo album. Eventually, the shrill voice: ‘Dinner!’

The man downs the beer and trudges up the stairs and the screen fades to black before going to a commercial.

* The commercial is for a tow truck company. A man in overalls stands in front of images of destroyed cars being lugged around but Keith isn’t listening. He turns to Marcus: ‘You wanna watch something else? This show is pretty… weird.’

Marcus shrugs: ‘Ah, just give it a chance. It’s trying to be - ah, shit, what’s the word? Subversive or something.’

The tow truck commercial is over and the next one starts: a man in a suit stands in front of a white background.

‘Have you sinned?’ he says in a deep voice. The man keeps talking but Keith isn’t listening - a loud bang has distracted him. He looks behind him, towards the kitchen, expecting to see the cause of the sound, but sees nothing.

He turns to Marcus: ‘Did you hear that banging sound? Sounded like it was from the kitchen.’

Marcus shrugs: ‘Nope. You a bit jumpy today though, man. You gotta take it easy!’ He claps a hand on his shoulder, smiles and holds his hand there for a few seconds. The commercial with the man speaking about sinning is over and the show has resumed. The set is darker now and the camera starts at the top of the stairs. Slowly, it descends into the basement but keeps the focus held in front of it. There is no more laugh track and Keith feels his chest tighten.

‘I thought this was a sitcom? I’m not a fan of scary stuff.’ Marcus’ eyes are wide with excitement: ‘It’s experimental, bro. Subversive. C’mon, keep watching.’

 The camera gets to the bottom of the stairs and pans slowly towards a chair in front of a television. The blonde, pudgy man - the protagonist - sits and stares ahead vacantly. The TV screen is blurred but he is not and his bloodshot eyes gleam in the darkness. In his hands he holds a bottle of whiskey, drunk nearly to completion. The camera zooms slowly towards him and for a second, it seems like he is going to break the fourth wall and look back into the camera, but he doesn’t. He stares at the blurry TV until he stands up. He moves to the photo on the wall, gently caresses and kisses it. He grabs a set of keys on the table and goes upstairs.

There is a jump cut to the man driving. The perspective is his, and the white line in the middle of the road disappears and reappears as he swerves. The man is crying and when he goes to dry his tears, he nearly misses an oncoming car. The car honks and Keith feels his heart pumping.

‘I don’t like this, Marcus. Please, can we watch something else?’ He hears the banging from the kitchen and could swear that someone is watching him. He turns but sees nothing.

Marcus doesn’t take his eyes from the TV: ‘Just stick with it, bro. This is some grade-A filmmaking here. See how he puts the camera where the guy would be looking? Amazing use of perspective.’

The driver, keeping the car straight for the time being, seems to remember something. He reaches down and starts to dig around through a pile of trash and when his hand closes on a half-full bottle of vodka, he looks up to blinding headlights. The screen goes white and there is a dissonant sound of screeching violins and thumping timpanis. Fade back in and the camera lingers on the wreckage, the metallic carnage; the moon above shines indifferently. The scene jumps to a courtroom outlined in wood-panelling. As much as he wants to, Keith can’t look away. The camera cuts to a shot of the defendant - he now wears a rumpled suit instead of a fast-food uniform. His head is bandaged and he has been crying. Another cut to a wide shot as the judge enters the courtroom. The bailiff speaks but it sounds muffled - like Charlie Brown’s teacher, thinks Keith as he tries to ignore the banging sound from somewhere behind him.

The camera cuts again to the little girl from the credits. She sits in the audience section and wears a sling around her left arm. There is a space beside her that is empty. Her eyes do not leave the back of the main character’s head.

The rest of the scene plays out with a surreal sense of action - the dialogue is too muffled to hear, but it is clear that the protagonist is on trial for something. Eventually, the jury members stand and leave the courtroom.  Then, the theme song from Jeopardy plays. Keith and Marcus laugh, enjoying the incongruity of the moment and the music, a temporary release from the tension. It plays for five minutes and the camera holds the wide shot of people fidgeting in their seats and nervous looks being exchanged and the protagonist is shown from the chest up and the girl still stares at him until the jury comes back in.

Marcus reaches to Keith with his eyes wide: ‘Oh shit! Shit’s about to get real!’  There is a sparkle in his eyes that Keith doesn’t recognise - a glimmering of some kind. When the foreperson of the jury stands, her dialogue is still unintelligible, but based on the reaction of people cheering in the audience and the protagonist hanging his head in shame, it is clear that he has lost. The little girl stands up and walks towards him. Her dialogue is intelligible and stands out above the din of reaction: ‘You should have died. Not him. You deserve to die. Not him. You should have died. Not him. You should have DIED!’ And she turns to the camera before it fades.

Keith looks at Marcus but Marcus doesn’t look back at him. The banging from behind him is louder now and he turns to see two dark eyes looking at him, piercing him, but they disappear quickly.

He looks back at the TV and the setting has returned to the suburban home. The mother is cutting coupons - she has been crying. The phone rings. She picks it up. She nods. Nods again. She cries. She howls in anguish and pain, like a dying animal, like a dying god weeping for a world of death and sin and knowing that there is nothing she can do to help, that her world will be nothing but pain now and the only thing she can still do is cry.

 Then, she stops. Grabs her chest. Falls out of her chair. There is no music, only a faint static sound. The camera zooms in on her face as she takes her last breath. One of the coupons falls from the table, swirling in the air until it lands on her face. The screen goes black and the whistling from that Daydream song starts again.

Marcus stands up and exhales: ‘Shit! That was a good one. I mean, really, really well done. Don’t you think?’

Keith looks at him and then looks at the TV which is now showing a rerun of some other sitcom. Something doesn’t feel right. Marcus doesn’t… seem right.

‘Look, I should call my mother. I usually call her around this time of day anyway. She’ll be worried about me.’

‘Sure, bro. Be my guest. The world is your oyster!’ he shouts and laughs and his laugh is deeper now, echoing, almost guttural.

Keith turns and walks quickly back along the hallway and slows down, expecting to see Belinda. Instead, a smaller figure is standing where she normally would. Turning to him is the girl from the television. Her eyes are flaming and she screams: ‘It should have been you! It should have been you!’

Keith runs away from her and sprints towards the lounge, where the phones are. The door - which is usually open - is locked. He hears the banging sound again, and it is louder now. He looks behind him and the girl is staring at him.

Keith, now firmly convinced that this whole thing has been a bad dream, stops. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Waits for sleep to take him somewhere else. For him to wake up in bed, quietly, so that he doesn’t disturb his mother sleeping two floors above him.

But when he opens his eyes, he blinks. The room around him changes first: what was once cosy and relaxing is now metallic. Sparse. Menacing. The tables and chairs in the dining hall are now long benches. He looks at himself and sees an orange jumpsuit with letters and numbers across it. He looks to his leg - the one with the cast. He falls over once the reality of his amputation is absorbed into this new reality.

The door in front of him opens and two men in lab coats step in and help him up.

‘Ah, Mr. Mitchell! Got started a bit early today, did we? Well, you know this would go a lot better if you just stopped watching that TV. It’s an instant reaction as soon as you click that thing on.’

The other man is reaching in his pocket and bringing out something sharp. Keith looks at them and says: ‘I’d like to call my mother. There has been a misunderstanding. Where’s Marcus?’

The man with the needle smiles a smile of sadness at him but it is really just pathos, emotion brought on at the sight of the most truly pathetic and worthless of God’s creatures.

He holds Keith’s arm gently and inserts the needle, pushes the plunger and Keith’s world goes dark once again.

* The next morning, Keith Mitchell awakes to the sound of a ringing bell.


Write about a character who feels like they're cut off from something. Well, another usual day. Just had my PCR-test done in the morning because of someone else in the office but nothing to worry though because I was not the close contact. Anyway it was good, because PCR screening day, meant it was another day off for everyone. Hurray! Finger crossed. Nothing to fret. Nothing to bother.  Just headed home, did chores, chit-chatted with kids and parents. Confidence level was 100%. *** Since it was a rest day, I thought I would just make full use of it. The extraordinary thing I did was rearranging the rooms, trying to set aside a room for self-quarantine, just in case for future circumstance. Carrying those furniture, here and there all by myself. No one seemed to care.  Mum who stayed with me just had a new modern psychological condition, nomophobia. Well, let me admit that on behalf of her. And my preschooler kids were in their own world. So imagine the hassle of shifting on my own? I thought so, but just felt I needed to. I was careful, deliberate in a way. Well no scratches on my stuffs, but I got them on my arm. My bad. As if I was moving out and moving in a new home. Not at once I glanced at the clock, but my tummy did grumbled. Well, a packet of soya drink to shut the mouth. After all this 10-hours of shifting, my body finally agreed to give it a break because my bones and muscles were not cooperating any longer. Soon, my elderly mum voiced out, “Eliz, why do you isolate there first while waiting for your result. Don’t worry, I’ll settle the kids on bed”. Well, I had no objection, because I needed much tranquility at that late evening. Too exhausted to even greet or hug my hubby who reached home two hours ago. Even a good night kiss was rather expensive that night. So, I hit the sack early, 9 p.m. in that spare room for quarantine. Earliest ever in my life. Still, before my eyelids shut, I self-assured, “Everything is going to be okay.” ***** “Ding!” My phone cracked the silence a little. I was blur, not to mention the darkness and the pain my body was handling. Getting up this way with muscles aching like millions of ants marching on my arms and legs was the best description. And my back surely I could feel tonnes of sacks on it, I hardly got up what more to grope my spec in the dark. It was a long, long process for me to sit up. All in all, 15 minutes. Finally I made it, as if I was wading in the mud trying to get myself on the shore. *** Alright, spectacles on, but loosely hung. Blamed it on my weak hand. Alright, vision cleared by now. Time came first. It was 1 a.m. Not skeptical at all. No vexation at all. Peace in heart. Soon my finger did the necessary; pressing the unread message one by one. Right, that was the one. “Open Sesame!” “SARS-CoV 2 Viral RNA (by RT-PCR). Detected.”  “ORF1ab gene CT value : 36.29 ; “N gene CT value : 33.48.” “Health Ministry will contact you soon” I thought my eyes got cheated, so I zoomed to the maximum. Unbelievable! My head spun and spun. There was no way the result came out that way. All the 5W1H; What! Why? Who? Where? When? How? Bombarded this barren mind of mine. My facial muscle spasmed right away. Lips twitching, like first timer on stage. Fingers weren’t crossed, stiff like a fork. Aching legs stood rooted to the ground. Butt buried in my pillow. Back hunching like my grandmother. Busted out of sudden. No escape plan. Believe it or not, yes, I was Covid positive.It was like a bull eye shot. Still arguing with my conscience. I was told “I were to I think positively, everything will be alright. If I think negatively, everything will end up the negative way.” But what was that? I thought positively, and I got this positive Covid result? Puzzled. This empty room with just a bed and a diffuser as a companion did nothing to calm this stormy heart of mine. The diffuser did it best to moisturize the room of course but it ended up slowly swelling up my eyes. I sniffled quietly as tears threatening to spill from my eyes any sooner. I couldn’t spill any word either because fear overcame me, choking my throat for the very first time. I felt the instance of being walled up and sealed in an envelope, ready to be deported and interrogated like an alien. “Instinct, you are useless!” My heart screamed. *** Fact is fact. Fate is fate. No turning back. No amendment on the document. I had to face this soberness. I had to face defeat. I had to tell my family whom I had raffishly rest-assured earlier. With much gut, I searched “Contact – husband”. Dialled but no-answer because he was always a sleepy head. Next “Contact – Mum”. After three rings, finally she picked up. “Mum, I am sorry to wake you at this hour but to tell you this, I am positive, but asymptomatic.” “Huuuuhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!” That long response of hers did deafened my ear quite a bit.

As expected, another round of questioning of 5W1H. Last but not least, “Eliz, you did the right thing today, your self-isolating room is just perfect for you. Stay there and don’t you ever step out!” A moment of chaos began in the house. Beyond my room walls, I could hear the sound of clanging pot, clicking of glass bottles, crinkling of biscuits packets, slamming of doors and rummaging of clothes. I knew they were meant for me.  An hour passed, but no sign of anyone approaching me. *** Twice soft knocks on the door. There, stood my poor husband. No protective gear suit like the front liner, but he was holding his fogging machine like a combat man carrying his machine gun, ready to shoot the disinfectant fog at me, the room and the whole house. He wanted to save me and our family. He knew exactly he should perish the bug with crowns forever and stop them from invading further into the clean air at home. The fog did not suffocate me, but his calmness did spurred me. There the thick fog finally engulfed the entire room. Before I could say “I love you, honey!” trying to figure out where he was, I just heard the door bang. **** The next thing I knew, the world completely shut its door. I thought everyone was going to turn their back against me. I thought my colleagues would back stab and call me the ‘Spreader’. I thought I lost all human connection. But I was wrong. The health department had been calling me not to interrogate but asking if I was doing fine and to rest well every day. Colleagues had been sending their wishes for me to get sufficient rest too. Church members had been praying and sending beautiful encouraging stickers. My kids and family had been video-calling me every now and then. Now that I know, I had not been cut off completely, but come to realize that, it is love, patience and kindness that bring this world together. *** Guess, I just had enough rest because every cloud has a silver lining.


The dark and stormy nature of the night was accentuated, by the Witch Tower’s great height. It was so tall that at night, in the rain, you could not see the rest of the school, or it’s grounds. One had the sense of being trapped in a bottle of lightning. As such, Kiwi kept her blinds shut, better to not see the effect at all than to get drawn into the enchanting illusion, especially when there was homework to be done. Alchemy was a demanding mistress and wouldn’t be put on hold even for a storm like this. “Kiwi!” Into the cluttered room came Dante, familiar par excellence. The white and brown collie jumped into Kiwi’s bed, and burrowed his way under the covers. “Thunder! Take shelter!” He poked his head out of the sheets, and beckoned Kiwi with no greater gesturing than the shimmering of his eyes. As tempting as warm blankets, and puppy dog eyes were, passing Alchemy was more tempting still. “It’ll be alright, boy.” She went back to filling in the equations on her sheet. “You’re not scared?” The shaking dog, inched closer, emerging from the sheets like a hermit crab. “Consider me dubious.” Kiwi nervously looked at her blinds, which were lighting up like there was an alien abduction on the other side. “I wouldn’t go that far.” Even as the nearby thunder rattled the foundation of the tower, she kept a brave face, or at least a bored one. She didn’t want to freak her dog out any more than he already was. “But it’s just thunder, we’ll be alright.” She chose to ignore the nervous sweat, her childhood phobia generated. The collie jumped from the bed to her feet. “You’re so cool, Kiwi!” He praised, and licked her boots with all the love in the world. Then another roll of thunder, sent him into hiding beneath her desk. “Geez, it’s right on top of us, huh?” Kiwi giggled to try to hide her own low-grade terror. Of all the nights she decided to be brave, it had to be this one? “It’s okay, Dante.” She searched out his head with her hand and pet him gently. “I’ll keep you safe.” She could feel his scalp relax and droop at her touch. “Good boy, good boy.” --- Kiwi could actually feel her eyeballs drying up as she maintained eye contact with Dante. He was a tough opponent. Unblinking, unflinching, with eyes as wet as a salamander’s back. Only a fool would challenge him to a staring contest but loves makes us all do crazy things. “If this is how you’re spending your time, I’m definitely not giving you enough homework.” Madam Crabapple, the Herbology teacher appeared at Kiwi’s side. The young witch, jumped, and broke contact with Dante, netting him yet another victory. “Madam!” She chirped with a short bow. “You may be the first person to accuse your class of not having enough homework.” The teacher chuckled out an agreement. “Oh, very well. What sort of experiment are you running on this handsome young man then?” She reached out and scratched Dante behind the ears, which meant she’d earned a friend for life. Kiwi slouched at her stone table. The bright blue sky above, made her stormy mood feel ridiculous. “He hasn’t spoken since the storm. I think something’s wrong with him… or me.” Crabapple nodded grimly. “May I have a seat?” When Kiwi nodded that she could, the older woman bunched up her skirt and sat beside Dante on his stone seat. She continued to pet him fondly. “Is he still holding your magic for you?” “Yes ma’am. I’ve had no problem using him as a familiar, he just won’t talk.” “I see.” Crabapple adjusted her large feathered hat, and smiled sadly at her student. “You know, when I was a child, I could hear every animal speak, whether they said something or not.” “What do you mean? Can you hear him?” “No.” She took a look at the collie again. “No. It’s just that Familiars are complicated things. In a way, they are us. They share our dreams, our desires, our magic, but they’re also still the animals we made them out of.” “I don’t understand.” Crabapple straightened herself up a bit. “Dante has given you advice before, yes?” “All the time.” “And when did your dog become so wise? Where did he go to school? Who did he study under?” “When we did the familiar ritual. It gave him powers.” “And wisdom?” “I guess.” “When we make our familiars, we give a piece of ourselves over to them. They become what we need them to be. For many young witches, this is a mentor, or a voice of reason.” Kiwi couldn’t ignore the sad tint to Madam Crabapple’s explanation any longer. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing’s wrong.” Crabapple laughed, still sadly. “You just happen to have a very good familiar. He’s served you so well that… you just don’t need him anymore.” “What?” Kiwi had to stop herself from exploding on her elder. “That’s ridiculous, he’s my best friend.” “Well of course he is, but you simply don’t need his advice anymore. You’ve grown. You’re not losing him, he’ll still be with you. It’s just that the mentoring part of your relationship is over.” Kiwi got up, she was shaking. “With all due respect, this is stupid. I know witches, who can still talk to their familiars.” “It’s different for everyone. Maybe they still need advice, or maybe what they needed most from their familiar was a friend.” “I need a friend!” Kiwi sobbed, and dropped to her knees. She buried her fingers into her dog’s fur. “Please Dante, I still need you, don’t do this to me.” “Don’t blame Dante.” Crabapple said softly. “It’s not his fault.” “Then it’s mine?” Kiwi’s eyes were full of pain. “It’s no one’s fault, my dear. Sometimes things like this, fade away.” This was wholly unacceptable to the witch. She’d learned so much, and gained so much power and she didn’t get to keep the small pleasure of talking to her dog? In what world could that be true? “I want to go back then. I want to restore the bond, unlearn whatever he taught me. Whatever it takes.” Crabapple sighed, she knew that there would be no clean away to exit this conversation. “My dear, there are no refunds in the exchange of knowledge.” --- There is nothing lost, that magic cannot find anew. Whatever that whimsical spark was that ignited Dante with wit and wisdom Kiwi would find it again. There were too many games, too much fun lost in the newfound silence of her bedroom. Dante was still clearly very smart, and fully magical, but his unspoken words haunted her. How he must be suffering, unable to critique her homework or compliment her outfits. She tried not to take it all too personally. She knew witches walked down the dark paths, nurturing the kind of petty emotions she felt now. When she saw the younger students frolicking with their animals out into the fields, she wanted to run out and tell them all the truth. She wanted to warn them of the great betrayal of their relationship. But what good would that have done? If she’d known then what she knew now, every moment she spent with Dante would have been plagued with worry for the day it would all end. So, she kept silent. Confident that there was something sacred happening in those fields. Something that should only be spoiled by time, and not the ill temperament of an older witch. Instead, she turned to her studies, and found her solution there. It was such an easy fix; it was honestly embarrassing to have felt any loss at all. A Potion of Animal Speaking, easy to whip up, and cheap as chips. She was able to cook one of those up in the school lab in about fifteen minutes. She washed the beat, and beef-flavored potion down with a burp, and by the time it hit her stomach she was fluent in Animalia. Kiwi bent down beneath her lab counter and started to harass her dog with a barrage of pets. “Hey boy, hey! Speak!” “Kiwi!” The dog sang, and rolled onto his back. “Love, love, love Kiwi! Belly rubs, belly rubs, belly rubs!” A sick feeling washed over the witch, like her stomach and heart ached all at once. Though the dog spoke, it was not Dante. Not the Dante she wanted, at least. Her wise playful friend, was a bit more articulate than the playful pup at her fingertips. Madam Crabapple was right, something had been lost between them. Whatever magic animated their conversations previously, was gone. “Kiwi sad?” The dog looked up at her, tongue hanging out of his mouth like a goof. “Yeah.” She nodded, and let the tears come. At that the dog jumped into action, rolling onto his feet, he stuck his nose into her face, and started to lick. “Don’t be sad. There there.” How could such a simple, heartfelt request not drive her into further tears? --- If there were small miracles to be thankful for, it’s that the potion eventually wore off. Not before Kiwi got into a very heated discussion with the birds about global warming. It’s not that they didn’t believe in it, it’s that they supported it that really threw Kiwi for a loop. Whatever the opinions of bird brains might be, school stopped for no witch. She was forced to make the unenviable decision to lay in her bed depressed or drown herself in work. She figured that at least drowning would raise her GPA, so went with that option. Yet not long after she entered her tower, a flash of light illuminated her blinds. Then that low, slow, tumble rolled across the land. Like breaking tree trunks the sound of thunder reached the foundation, and made Kiwi’s window shake terribly. “Mmm.” She groaned miserably and pressed her hand against the window to keep it from vibrating. There was something awful about knowing, that she’d have to endure this storm alone this time. Why did she have to act so brave in front of Dante? Hadn’t he known that she was lying? Only pretending to be brave. If it weren’t for her homework, she would have been whimpering under the covers with him. Now she had more work to do. Maybe that was the secret of being an adult. You just keep yourself so busy, there’s not time to be afraid. Maybe, but at the moment Kiwi was feeling busy and afraid. Overwhelmingly both, actually. At her bed, there was a whimpering. Kiwi paused long enough to spot Dante buried in blankets, snout poking out. “What are you doing under there?” She said in a sweet voice, out of habit she waited for a response. None came, just a feeling of foolishness and despair. Kiwi huffed. “Still scared? You weren’t just doing that all for me?” She paused, and turned to face Dante. “That whole time, you were really scared?” She turned back to her work, considering the dog for another moment. When we give these things personality, meaning… how much of that is us, and how much of it belongs to the subject? “I’m scared too.” With a flash of her hand, the blinds flew to the ceiling, and Kiwi found herself stranded in that bottle of lightning. All across the landscape, the light danced, and arched. Illuminating nothing but silhouettes, signaling only thunder. She stood up, pushing her chair away. With another wave of her hand, the massive window yawned open, and let in the maelstrom. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” She screamed at the storm, from the top of her lungs, until her throat hurt, and the clouds warbled. The storm roared back, shaking the shutters. As it traveled about the mountains, it echoed and sounded like laughter. The quilt of grey was amused by her tiny protest. The forces of nature at times can be a disheartening foe, and for a moment Kiwi felt ridiculous and wet. Then at her side, a great barking erupted. Dante, familiar par excellence was at her side, as always. She smiled at the pup, she hadn’t heard him bark since her first year at the school. It was a good solid ‘woof!’ Strong enough that every sheep in the state snapped to attention and awaited orders. “You found your voice!” Kiwi cheered, over the thunder and the barking. The raindrops splashed against her face, and she realized she was letting Dante fight on his own. So she did the only thing she could do. Kiwi grabbed two metal pots and started banging them together. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” She screamed again, and again. With her squire by her side, she ran circles around the room, banging pots, and shouting whenever there was breath in her lungs. Dante panted just beside her, barking away lightning before it even had a chance to strike. Or so it felt, in their hearts. In truth, the storm was an apathetic thing, and wasn’t concerned, interested, or bothered by the faint screaming and barking of a single room. It had a whole countryside to soak and terrify. A heavy gust of wind erupted from this formless giant and rushed into Kiwi’s room. It scattered her papers across the room and sent rain in horizontally. Kiwi laughed, and jumped to her bed, Dante joined her. With a feat of mundane magic, she pulled the covers off her bed and threw them over herself and Dante. “We’ll be safe under here.” She panted and laughed, and under the dark of the covers could feel his hot breath smacking her face in exhausted huffs. The rain wailed against their fortress, assaulting it with rain, and bluster. Kiwi snuggled close to Dante, basking in his usual warmth. She supposed that things like love, or even just caring could be expressed in ways beyond words. She also figured if Dante did what he came to do, she should not begrudge him a job well done. Though at the moment she didn’t feel very mature, she was sure Dante knew what he was doing. It would be a strange world, without his voice to guide her. Eventually, the pounding rain would soak their blankets through, and make a very cold, very wet mess out of the unusual pair. Until then she was determined to enjoy this moment with something familiar.


(Write about someone or something that has a superpower.) The boy sat on the flat rock by the stream,

the words on the page fading as the light faded.

It was the very best part of the day,

the back breaking work of the day done, a meager but tasty meal over and then his personal few hours with the books. ~~~~~ Passing by that day,

on his way to nowhere or who knows where,

he stopped at the smith at the edge of this town, seeking water and information that would give him some idea the best way to go on.

The smith was covered in sweat, his heavy hammer pounding again and again on the red glowing bar of steel,

the boy watched silently for sometime trying to understand the process,

moving the metal from one shape to another.

When fatigue finally stopped the hammer,

sweat dropped on to the anvil and sizzled as it danced and disappeared.

Looking up from the forge at last,

the smith noticed the boy,

nodded and wiped a dirty rag across his brow and then dipped it into a tub and draped it around his neck.

“And who might you be?”

Was all he said before dipping a ladle of water from a barrel,

time and time again,

drinking deeply to replenish the sweat cooked from his body.

That was how it began, a ladle of water and information was all the boy wanted,

but now going on three years later,

he was still here.

The smith was Rusty, called so for the red mop of hair he kept tied in a bandana as he worked.

It was sometime before he had explained his name, adding that day with a growling chuckle,

that his sister with like hair was called Ginger and he was sure he got the better of the two names.

Rusty had freely shared his water as was the way he had with travelers,

gleaning information about the roads, goings on in nearby towns, and often shoeing their horses or fixing their wagons but this boy had nothing but patched pants,

faded shirt and worn out shoes.

He had asked again. “And who might you be?

I didn’t catch a name.” “I’m just Billy”, the boy had replied.

“They used to call me Little Billy but then I grew up and that just seemed foolish,

so I’m just Billy.”

The conversation continued about family,

or lack of family and where he was headed.

The forge was cleared of the days work and made ready for tomorrow while they talked and finally Rusty said,

“well you might as well come along to supper,

something hot should be waiting on the stove,

some straw in the stable can make a decent bed and tomorrow is soon enough to be going to no where or who knows where!” A ramshackle building behind the forge was the smith’s home,

shabby and in need of care on the outside but surprisingly tidy inside.

The aroma of a brown stew bubbling on the stove made them both breathe in the warmth with anticipation.

Rusty went about lighting lamps and Billy looked on in awe.

The single large room was pleasant.

The far wall had the stove and table,

an open cabinet with pots and dry goods and a doorway to another room beyond.

Around him on every side in the rest of the room was books.

Shelves as tall as the room filled with all sizes of books.

Billy could read some,

having been taught by various people along the way,

places he had lived,

payment sometimes for shoveling or carrying or stacking and splitting wood but mostly the book had been the Bible or the Farmer’s Almanac.

Here were more books than Billy had ever seen in one place and how surprising in the home of a smith. “Have you read them all?”

Billy blurted out.

In rapid succession his questions flowed,

not waiting for answers.

“How did you get so many?”

“Do you have a favorite?”

Billy drew his fingertips along the spines of the books nearest him and thought to himself, what a treasure!

What a real treasure!

Billy already knew how learning was a powerful thing and books were the powerful tool that gave you that

learning. Rusty had been busy setting the table for their supper.

He turned slowly and said “I’ve read quite a few, but many go unread as there is just so much time and the forge comes first.” By the time they had eaten,

Billy knew that most of the books had come as part payment for work done at the forge.

He looked again at the books, floor to ceiling,

and thought about the hammer strikes and sweat represented there.

Thinking to himself,

he had never thought before that a man can be rich in many ways. Thanking Rusty for the meal,

Billy accepted

the offer to sleep in the stable and adds,

“Think of some work I can do as payment in the morning,

I have sure needed some time off the road,

tonight has been a pleasant change.” In the stable, Billy found an out of the way corner and dropped some clean straw down for a bed.

Taking his single blanket,

he wrapped himself ,

then settled into a comfortable stupor.

The food,

the books,

the sound of the animals snuffing and moving,

he is happy with this day,

but he is happy with most days. It is not dawn yet when Billy brings food to the animals and buckets of water from the stream and then mucks out the stalls in the stable.

It is a good exchange to be doing some common thing for a dry safe bed and a plate or two of food.

He hears Rusty at the forge and gathers his blanket and heads that way still not sure which direction he is going or where he will end up.

He has been searching for some time but is never sure what he is searching for exactly. Rusty tells him a plate of food is in the warming oven if he cares for some breakfast.

Just go on in Rusty says, I’m too busy to join you.

And so Billy finds his breakfast but also pulls a book from a shelf and carefully thumbs through it while he eats.

It is not like any book he has ever seen before as it is a classical text on how to build or repair things.

Common useful things.

Information worth gold to the right person and here it is on this shelf waiting to be discovered.

Thinking now of the missing shingles on the roof and the way the gate is hanging on one hinge he keeps looking until he finds the pages that show him the way to make these repairs.

Finishing his coffee,

he looks one last time,

returns the book to its place and goes in search of tools. And so begins the time,

without discussion or real thought by either of them,

the time that has become three years and many books,

odd jobs and long talks into the evening about things they have heard this day or something read.

Local folks have visited the forge and noted the small improvements and have asked after Billy to do a job or two for them.

And so the time has gone,

Billy adding to Rusty’s comfort and earning a bit for himself,

maybe his searching has found an answer.

He often thinks of a place of his own,

his own workshop, but the books are here and he has so many left to read.

That first book on that first morning has been with him the whole way.

Within the pages he found how to enclose his corner of the stable for warmth and hooks for his extra shirt and hat,

rest and comfort is all he needs,

nothing fancy.

Billy can see how books instill knowledge and confidence and satisfaction!

Some other person, the author,

becomes a hero by writing down things he has learned for others to read.

Books are really marvelous and strong tools! Each evening he goes off to read by the river and when the book is finished,

he places it in a special place on Rusty’s shelf where the “read” books live.

He loves to glance to that corner and see,

really see, how many he has finished.

It would be hard to say or name a favorite as he is a boy of the moment.

What he is reading at the moment becomes his favorite.

Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the tree he tries to really think about which might be his very favorite.

Some are useful,

some are funny or romantic,

a few delve into deep thoughts about life,

of course the teaching books.......deep in thought, he suddenly opened his eyes and smiled..... Yes,

the ones he likes best are always the most well read. Handled by many before him,

notes in the margins,

underlined words.

Other readers leaving a touch of themselves behind,

their thoughts awakened or questions presented by the writer, yes, he likes thinking about the other readers.

He himself would never mark a book as they were not his,

maybe one day he will be rich enough to own a few.

He cannot imagine being a person from whom letters flow into words and words become books.

What special people they must be!

True heroes, the authors, to share so freely and enrich so well. Well, it is time to head home....home?

No not really home but a comfortable place that gives

him more than he ever thought possible.

Tomorrow is another day to think and work,

read and try to understand.

Many books on the unread shelves,

who knew what could be ahead for him to enjoy or discover.

He can only imagine an author writing by candlelight, imparting knowledge,

yes, true heroes!


“Sorry I’ve been blowing you off for so long, this place is great.” Megan said. “No worries,” replied Steph, “we’re finally here.” “I love antiques, but I have no room left at home.” They both chuckled in agreement. “Oh wow,” said Megan, “check this out.” Steph’s eyes followed Megan’s pointed finger. “What, another painting of that blue boy?” Steph asked.

“No. But why is that everywhere? No, below it, look.”

“Oh, a pretty lamp,” said Steph. “Do you think there’s a genie in there?” “Of course.” Megan said sarcastically. “Oh wow. I just got a funny feeling. Look at my arm, I’ve got goosebumps.” “Me too.” Megan gave the lamp a small rub, and a purple, shimmery dust started coming out of the spout. She quickly stopped and set it down on an antiques desk.

“Did you see that?” Megan whispered. Steph stared into Megan’s eyes and nodded in agreement.

After a moments silence, “you have to buy it.” Said Steph. Megan agreed, and she looked around until she spotted a basket.

“Here, use your sleeves and put it in this basket. Don’t touch the lamp.” Steph did. “Got it.” Their hearts nearly jumped out of their chests when the cashier handled the lamp, making comments that neither girl heard. When it was finally in the bag, they were both able to breathe again.

On the drive to Megan’s apartment, they shared their ideas for wishes. Inside the apartment they carefully set the bag down. “I know,” said Megan, “use the oven mitts.” With the lamp on the dining room table, they walked around, taking in every detail. “So, who goes first?” Steph asked, full of excitement and fear.

“I mean, I found it. But I’m also fricking terrified.” Megan gave out an awkward, nervous laugh.

“Well, if there’s really a genie in there,” said Steph, “I bet we’d both get our own turn, so you go first.”

Megan stood frozen. Then she took a step back, “no. I can’t. I feel weird. You go first.” “Are you su –”

“Very sure.” Megan interrupted.

Steph approached the lamp and carefully picked it up. “Here we go.” She rubbed the lamp. Nothing. She rubbed it harder, still nothing. She started to rub every inch then returned it to the table in frustration.

Clearly upset Megan picked it up, “this is stupid. You saw what I saw. I can’t belie—” Then it happened, after Megan gave the lamp an angry rub. Purple smoke filled the room, sparkles floating all around. And from the smoke emerged a little, purple-skinned man, no more than a foot tall, with comically large ears and vivid yellow eyes.

With a surprisingly deep, baritone voice, “you summoned me, Master?” The genie said.

“Oh my god.” Was all Megan could muster.

“Not quite ‘god’,” said the genie, “but close.” It gave a grin that took up half its face.

“You’re real.” Said Megan. “But why didn’t you work for her?” And she gestured towards Steph.

The genie looked at Steph, then back to Megan. “My only Master’s are of the ‘Original Five’, and their descendants.

Seeing confusion in their faces, “The Original Five are my creators from long ago. They, and those in their bloodline, are the only ones able to summon me. And since you are obviously a descendant of one of them, I now grant you three wishes.” Megan couldn’t collect her thoughts and was in disbelief. Without thinking beyond wanting proof, she said, “I wish for a million dollars.” “As you wish.” Out of the same purple smoke came a mess of cash, crashing onto the table and cascading all over the floor. Megan and Steph were forced to take several steps back to avoid it. “What is this?” Megan asked. The genie replied, “you didn’t allow me to go over the rules. I shall start with this; be mindful of how you word your wish. What you see before you is a million dollars in ones.” “Two wishes remain.” The genie said. “A pity you didn’t ask for more money, and perhaps in larger denomination. I could have even put it into your bank account.” The genie gave a menacing little giggle.

“Great,” said Steph, “this genie is a wiseass.” The genie looked up at Steph and grinned.

Steph and Megan discussed their next wish. “Genie?” Megan asked. “Yes?” “Can Steph be involved in my wishes as well?” “If you word it correctly.” “Okay, here’s my wish, and I want to know if it will work for the both of us.” The genie nodded and waited. “I want us both to be able to travel together into any book story that we want. Does that make sense?” “It does. Now turn it into your wish, and I shall grant it.” “I wish for me and Steph to be able to enter into any book story that we want to.” “As you wish.”

It was quiet. “Nothing happened.” Said Megan. “You will have to choose your story.” “Oh right.” Megan picked up the lamp, and the genie went back in. As she was doing that, Steph was at the bookshelf, scanning for their first adventure. “How about Harry Potter?” She asked. “I like that idea, but maybe later. I already have one in mind. But grab it just in case. The first book.” “Okay. I’m going to grab a couple others too.” They had ten books in a tote and Megan grabbed one more off the bookshelf.

“Are you ready to have tea with the Mad Hatter?” Megan said with a smile.

“Yes. How does it work?” Steph asked.

“I don’t know.” “Maybe just start reading.”

Megan flipped through the book, “here’s the tea party scene,” and she started to read out loud. More purple smoke filled around them, then they both started to spin faster and faster, until… They both looked at each other, then looked over at the table with the Hatter, Alice and the others.

“It worked.” They both said in unison. They approached the tea party and were welcomed as if they were original characters from the book. After a wonderful time, Alice left so Megan and Steph grabbed another book from their tote.

“I’ve never read this one.” Steph said as she held up The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Megan looked up from The Great Gatsby. “Oh that’s a great one. That could be interesting.” Steph opened the book and started reading out loud. Then came the purple smoke and off they went.

“What did you do?” Megan said. “I’m sorry, I thought that only you had the power.” “Apparently not.” Megan said. “I did make the wish for both of us.” In the distance Megan saw two men leave a house, one of them noticeably stressed. “Steph? Where’s the lamp?” With terror in her eyes, “I thought you had it.” “No. It was right beside me. I didn’t expect you to read the book!” “Read Alice. Let’s go back and get it.” Suggested Steph “I don’t think we have the book either. I’ll look at our other books, maybe something can lead us back to Wonderland. While I’m looking, can you talk to those two guys over there? We may need a ride, very soon.” Megan said. Steph ran to the two men as Megan looked at the books. Steph returned before Megan finished looking at the books. “That was fast.” She said.  “They were very distracted, but said everything is fine, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Of course they said that. Well it’s not fine.” Megan said. “I don’t see the problem. Besides, that goofy looking fellow said there’s no way he’ll let us go with without towels.” Despite her panicked state, Megan still chuckled. “It’s fine. We’ll read one of the other books and maybe we can find another copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland in their story.” Megan looked over and noticed that the two men were gone, and knew she had no time, so she grabbed a book at random, opened it and read.

As the purple smoke dissipated, they took in their surroundings. Megan closed the book and read the title. She looked at Steph, “this book, really?” “I wasn’t thinking it though.” Stammered Steph. “But hey, we escaped those aliens or whatever.” “We escaped the destruction of the entire Earth, and barely. Let’s read and get out of here.” As Megan reached back into her tote, she heard yelling. “Right there. There they are!”

“Run!” Yelled Megan.

But it was too late. They were surrounded by a group of angry men, most of which were armed with farm tools and hatred. Behind the men were women, with fear and hatred on their faces. A man grabbed Megan’s tote, and the force knocked her to the ground. More men came and the girls were powerless against the mob. Once they were subdued, the onlookers finally had the courage to rant, ‘witch, witch, witch.’

“They came from nowhere.” A woman said. “Then suddenly they were there.” And she pointed to the road. “They came straight from the Devil!” Another yelled.

Megan and Steph were brought to jail. They were in a cell with several other women. “Why can’t we just leave the story and go home?” Steph asked.

“I don’t know.” Megan said, holding back tears. “But I have a theory.”

“I think we’re both thinking the same thing.”

“The wording of the wish.” Megan said.

Steph nodded in agreement. “We only wished to enter books. We need to find a way back to Wonderland.” “I was thinking,” Megan said, “without our books, every time we read a story within a story we’ll only end up going further back in time. How will we ever get back to Wonderland?”

“It’s been three days of trials and barely eating in this cell.” Said Steph. “We need to do something. What if we wrote our own story?” Steph asked.

“Write on what? I bet women who write are witches too. Then we really have no chance.” Steph looked down in defeat. “Have you ever read The Crucible?”

“Back in high school, but I don’t remember it.” “Same.” Replied Steph. “One thing I remember though, if we don’t get out, we won’t be burned alive. We’ll be hanged.” A couple other women in the cell cried out. Steph blushed, forgetting that as far as these book characters knew, they were just as alive as Megan and herself.

“The only book I think we can get our hands on is the Bible.” Megan said. “But that’s not the greatest place to go either.” “At the very least, it could buy us more time.” “You’re right. We need a Bible.” Their trial wasn’t going well, and they knew they had little time before their execution.

“I got it.” She said, as she pulled a Bible out and handed it to Megan “I was able to snatch it while everyone was yelling at the trial.” “Oh great.” Megan said. “Let’s do the New Testament.” “But will they speak English?” Steph asked. “I hope so. Since it’s a story I’m thinking everyone will speak the language it’s written in.” As Megan sifted through the pages, the women in the cell were only get louder and more frightened, knowing their time is up. They were screaming and crying, running around like rats on a sinking ship.

“Hurry up!” Steph yelled from across the cell. The women had caused so much commotion that Steph had to barricade herself in the far corner.

“Here it is.” Megan yelled over the women. “Loaves and fishes. Are you ready?”

“What? Yeah, but read it loud!” Steph screamed over the women.

Megan started to read, trying her best to yell over the women. She smiled as she felt that spinning and saw the purple smoke. She heard the women scream at the smoke, and then a loud ‘no’ from across the cell. Megan looked around. She was on a beach surrounded by a bunch of people. “Let’s find Jesus.”

She looked through the crowd for Steph but couldn’t find her. “Steph!” Megan, Bible in hand, ran up a nearby dune and looked back in the crowd. “Steph!” She screamed with all her might.

Megan could assume at this point that Steph was unable to hear Megan’s words over the women in the cell and was now destined to be hanged. Despite the logic of the situation, her heart refused to believe, so she continued to search.

Megan sat away from the crowd with her head down, tears dripping into the sand. “Here, my child.” Said a strong voice from behind her. “Eat.” Megan looked up, and approaching from her right she saw a smiling man offering some food.

“Jesus Christ.” She said.

While still smiling and offering the food, “No. I am Jesus son of Joseph.” Despite everything, Megan was thankful to eat real food. She wasn’t fed well in The Crucible. As Jesus walked away, she called for him. He stopped and turned.

“Jesus, I need your help.” He started to respond, but she interrupted. “I need a miracle.” Megan didn’t know where to start so she took out the Bible. “Here, look at this. It’s your story. That’s how I got here. My friend. And my lamp in the story.” Megan was babbling now. Jesus looked at her with compassionate eyes. “Come, help me deliver food to these men, women and children.” Megan was overflowing with intense negative emotion, but how can you say ‘no’ to that.

Over time, perhaps several months, Megan read her way around the Bible. No one could help her. She was all out of ideas. All but one. She would go to God himself. The idea of reading Genesis terrified her, but she was desperate now. Megan never really put much thought into whether or not she believed in God, but she figured that the God in the book was as real as they come. She started to read about Adam and Eve. Megan entered the story and saw a naked woman approaching a tree.

“Wow, this place is beautiful.” She said to herself. “Hey, you get out of here. I need to talk to that snake.” Eve looked at Megan and ran away in terror.

“Hey, snake thing. I need your help.” The serpent approached Megan, a stoic expression on its face. “How can I assist?”

Megan explained her entire story, and the serpent listened with great patience.

“You forgot one important detail.” Said the serpent after Megan finished.

“What detail?” “In the cell. Something your friend had said.” Megan thought. She struggled to focus. How could this snake know anything that I didn’t mention, was all she could think.

“Read this passage, and you’ll know what to do.” Was all it said, then Megan was alone. A verse from the Bible came to mind, as if the thought was put there. As she looked for the passage, from behind her came a naked man, trying to look tough, but failing miserably.

“Don’t worry dude, I’m leaving.” Megan then read the passage aloud and reappeared in a room with a man at a table full of scrolls and old writing utensils. “Of course.” She said. Write our own story. As odd as it was, Megan was allowed to write. She guessed that the man thought she was an angel. It took Megan weeks to write her story. She had to create a believable tale and come up with a way to bring her back to the lamp. She would undo all this chaos. She would even get her friend back. She wrote ‘the end’, then went back to the scroll with the tea party on it. She read aloud, hoping more than anything that somehow the lamp and genie would be there.

Out of the purple smoke, she ran towards the tea party table. The whole gang was there.

“Come and sit.” Said the Hatter. “We have more than enough room.” And he got up and took the chair from right under the white rabbit. The rabbit walked around the table to use one of the other, already empty chairs. Megan sat next to the Mad Hatter and looked around for the lamp but she couldn’t find it.

“Have a cup of tea?” Asked the Hatter. “Yeah, whatever.” Megan said.

Out from under the table, the Hatter took the lamp, and poured Megan’s tea from it. “That’s it!” She yelled. Her heart skipped a beat and she jumped from her chair in glee. She reached for it, but the Hatter was too fast and pulled the lamp away, spilling tea everywhere. “What’s the magic word?” He asked. “Please…?” She asked. The Mad Hatter looked at the dormouse, “How did she guess so fast?” Megan took the lamp and rubbed it right away, and thankfully the genie appeared.

“You made it back.” The genie said. “I’m so glad you figured out my clue.” Megan thought for a moment. “You were the snake?” The genie grinned his grin.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you help me?” “I like my fun.” The genie replied. “Besides, The Original Five had yet to imprison me in my lamp, so I could not help.” “That’s stupid. Whatever. I need to get out of here. I have one wish left, and I need to word it right.” Behind her she heard men marching. She looked and saw the Queen of Hearts’ card soldiers coming her way, and she was in no mood to be captured and beheaded. Not today.

She quickly made her last wish, “I wish that we never found you that day.” “As you wish.” And as the purple smoke filled around her, the genie said, “It amuses me. Your last wish is the same, every time.” “Wait, wha—” “Sorry I’ve been blowing you off for so long, this place is great.”

“Oh, a pretty lamp…” “…I just got a funny feeling. Look at my arm, I’ve got goosebumps.”


TRIGGER WARNING: This story contains mentions of the following: Physical violence, gore, and abuse Suicide or self-harm Mental health “Well, this is clearly haunted.” “Mikail!” Katlynn reached around her husband’s back to lightly whack her son on the back of his head. “Knock that off.” “Momma,” Kalli called from where she stood next to the van, her tiny arms wrapped tightly around Lucky’s neck. The poor golden retriever was dying to run around and explore, yet stood dutifully still to allow the six-year-old to cling to her for support. “Is it really haunted?” “No, Kalli,” Robert said, walking over to open the trunk of the van. “Your brother was just making a joke. Isn’t that right, Mikail?” “Sure, not like this whole move hasn’t been one big joke,” Mikail responded. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his oversized jeans and hunched his back, looking for all the world like a prisoner accepting his fate on death row. “How long are you going to continue to mope, Mikey? We’ve gone over this. Moving to the country is a fresh start. Think of it as a chance to make new friends!” Mikail grumbled as he kicked at a stray dandelion growing in the middle of the dirt path. “What was that?” Katlynn asked. “I said to stop calling me Mikey. I’m sixteen now. You don’t have to call me baby names.” She smiled and ruffled his messy brown hair, which was in dire need of a haircut. Pretty soon, she would have to stand on the tips of her toes to reach the top of his head. “Sixteen or sixty, you’ll always be my Mikey.” “Mikey!” Kalli shouted as she finally released Lucky. Free at last, the dog bounded off to explore her new surroundings. “Let’s explore!” She pulled her brother’s hand from his pocket and dragged him forward. For all his grumbling, Katlynn saw him smile as he followed his little sister. “Well, what do you think?” Robert asked as he came up beside her. He had two duffel bags draped over his shoulders and an over-packed cardboard box in his arms. “Doesn’t look quite like the pictures, but it’s too late now.” Katlynn hummed in agreement, taking one of the duffels from him. He kissed her forehead in thanks before trudging up the path toward their new home. The mansion stood proudly against the backdrop of the surrounding forest, its imposing Victorian architecture looming over the landscape like a silent sentinel of a bygone era. Built in the late 1800s, its weathered facade bore the marks of time, with ivy crawling up its walls and intricate wrought-iron gates guarding the entrance. Tall, arched windows peered out from beneath gabled roofs, hinting at the grandeur that once filled its halls. Goosebumps inched across Katlynn’s arms as she took in the sight. Mikail may have been on to something earlier. Just as she could easily see this ancient mansion being restored to its former beauty and repurposed into the bed and breakfast of her dreams, she could imagine the building being the focal point of some horror story. Giddy excitement nearly overwhelmed her as she grabbed the keys from the van. It was time to unpack! ~*~ “Well, this sucks.” “Mikail!" Katlynn scolded. "If I have to tell you one more time to knock it off with the melodrama…” He sighed and shuffled back out the double doors to grab another box. She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then released it, trying not to cough as the dusty air filled her lungs. Feeling marginally better, she resumed organizing the tower of boxes into piles, indicating which room they belonged in. The sound of glass shattering echoed from an open doorway to her left, which led to the kitchens. A second later, she heard a quiet “Oops.” She shared a glance with Robert, who stood on a ladder, replacing the entryway lightbulbs. “Kalli,” she called. “What are you doing in there?” “Lucky dropped a box.” Katlynn rubbed her temples and took another deep breath. Mikail shuffled through the front doors carrying a small shoebox. He unceremoniously dropped it at the exact moment that a lightbulb fell and shattered. “Oops.” “Okay!” Katlynn shouted, clapping her hands together. “Kalli, come in here please.” A moment later, she skipped through the kitchen doors, Lucky not a step behind. “How about we take a break and play a game?” “Yay, a game!” Kalli cheered as Mikail groaned. “What about hide-and-seek?” Robert suggested as he swept up the broken bulb. “This way, we can have fun exploring our new home.” “Kalli will just get lost,” Mikail deadpanned. “No, I won’t!” “Good point, Mikey,” Katlynn said. “In that case, why don’t you two stay together for this first game? And since the game was Dad’s idea, he can be the first seeker.” After laying down a few rules, Robert covered his eyes and began counting while the rest went to hide. Though Katlynn went in the opposite direction from Mikail and Kalli, he could hear her daughter’s excited chatter echoing through the halls. Inside, the mansion was a maze of forgotten grandeur and faded elegance. The entrance hall boasted a sweeping staircase, its once grand banister now worn smooth and chipped from use. Tattered tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes from a forgotten era, while dust-covered chandeliers hung overhead, casting eerie shadows across the marble floors. As Katlynn explored, she felt that each room held its own story. From the opulent ballroom, which she would repurpose into an event hall, to the dusty library lined with shelves of forgotten tomes. The mansion’s history seemed to whisper to her from every corner, a haunting reminder of the secrets it must hold within its walls. A distant bark reminded her that she was supposed to be finding a good hiding spot. She slipped into a large linen closet that was thankfully free of cobwebs or rodents. Settling into the corner, she allowed her body to relax and her thoughts to roam. Katlynn sighed heavily and allowed her shoulders to sag, her head resting against the wall. She was so tired. She wished she could take a nap, just for a few minutes, and then get back to unpacking, figuring out utilities, getting the kids enrolled in school, and all the other joys that come with being an adult. But for now, she would close her eyes for a few minutes… ~*~ Faint scratching jolted Katlynn awake. She hadn’t meant to doze off. She felt like she had slept for hours, though judging by the light leaking through the crack under the door, it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. The sound of scratching came again, accompanied by the tell-tale squeak of a mouse. Biting back a squeak of her own, Katlynn jumped up and out of the closet. After ensuring she hadn’t been nibbled on, she took a deep breath and leaned against the wall, the last of her panic-induced adrenaline fading. She first noticed that the light she had seen through the door was not from the nearby window, as she had initially thought, but from the lit sconces lining the hallway. That was odd. She hadn’t remembered turning them on. Perhaps Robert had made his way past here while looking for her and turned on the lights as he went. Thankfully, besides a few broken and burnt-out bulbs, most of the lights in the mansion were in working order. She approached the large four-paneled window at the end of the hall and tried to peer through. The darkness of night on the other side was so oppressive that all she could see was her reflection. Figuring she had waited long enough to be found, she turned and headed back toward the entry hall. The entry hall was just as she had left it, a tower of boxes in the center with smaller organized piles spread throughout the space. There was no sign of Robert, Mikail, Kalli, or Lucky. Maybe they were still looking for her. Just as Katlynn began to call for them, she heard Lucky barking. It echoed faintly from the second floor, but she would recognize that sound anywhere. Anxiety raced through her as she registered the tone of Lucky’s bark, which she used when protecting Kalli from other dogs who approached too quickly, and she felt threatened. Katlynn raced through the labyrinthine halls, following the barks and snarls. Unlike before, the lights on this side of the mansion were not turned on, and every door was shut. Just as she thought she was close, she heard a high-pitched yelp, followed by silence. Racing around a bend in the hallway, she paused, panting. A single door stood open a few rooms down, cold white light spilling through the doorway and into the hallway. “Lucky?” She called, her voice trembling from uncertainty and exertion. As her panting subsided, she heard the sound of running water. Gathering her courage, she peered around the doorframe. Inside was an opulent bathroom. Every surface was made of marble, including the sink and massive tub overflowing with water. Cursing, Katlynn rushed in to turn off the faucets, ignoring the water soaking through her flats. Once the sink and tub faucets were off, she noticed the water wasn’t draining even though the tub drain was popped open. Steeling herself, she reached into the cold water, unscrewed the drain cap, and felt inside for whatever was clogging the pipe. She shivered and gagged as her fingers brushed something soft. She pinched as much as she could and pulled free a large tuft of golden brown hair. The water began to drain slowly, so she reached back in, pulled a few more clumps from the drain, and then repeated the process on the sink. She paused as she approached the toilet to flush the hairy clumps, noticing her reflection in the massive gold-rimmed mirror. Her arms, from elbow to fingertip, were drenched in a startling red. Smears of crimson covered her shirt and jeans as if she had been splashed with paint. She blinked rapidly, but her reflection didn’t change. Perplexed, she looked down at herself. Katlynn screamed. Red covered the floor, puddled in the corners, and stained the marble tub and sink. She backpedaled, dropping the wet pile of hair, which landed with a sickening splat on the tile. A clinking sound caught her attention, and she glanced back at the pile. Partially buried within the hair was a small silver pendant shaped like a bone with a single word engraved across the surface. Lucky. “Momma?” Katlynn yelped and spun to face the door leading to the hallway. Kalli stood just past the threshold, her face stark with horror as she took in the blood-stained bathroom. Her knees wobbled with relief. She reached toward her, ready to lift and take her away from the gruesome scene. “Momma, what did you do to Lucky?” The shaking in her voice nearly broke Katlynn’s heart, and she stopped just inches from touching the girl, as her hands were still stained red. Kalli’s feet were already stained from the puddle she stood in, and the sight made her nauseous. “Kalli, honey, where is your daddy? Have you seen Mikail?” “What did you do to Lucky!?” Kalli screamed, her little hands balling into fists. Tears streamed down her eyes, but she wasn’t looking at Katlynn. She turned, intending to grab a towel or shower curtain not stained in blood to wrap around Kalli. Instead, she stared at a mangled lump of golden brown hair stained with red. “No…” She breathed out. Kalli broke out into sobbing hysterics before darting back into the hallway. Katlynn shouted for her to come back as she raced after her. Having lost sight of her, she followed the path of little red footprints until they eventually faded at the top of the entry hall grand staircase. “Kalli!” “Mom?” She whirled at the sound of Mikail’s shaky voice. He stood at the bottom of the stairs. Even from where she stood, she could see that he was trembling. “Mikey! Where is your sister? Why weren’t you with her?” “What have you done…” His whispered words carried in the open space. Katlynn realized then that he wasn’t looking at her but at the ground; at the small body lying in a heap. Mikail crouched beside the body of his little sister, hesitantly resting a hand on her shoulder and trying to roll her over. Her legs and one arm rested at odd angles, clearly broken. As he shifted her, her head turned at an awkward angle. “You pushed her,” Milkail said, his voice rising to a shout. He finally looked up at her, tears streaming down his face, pure rage painted across his features. “No,” Katlynn whispered. “No, I didn’t.” “How could you!?” His accusations echoed behind her as she turned and sprinted back down the hallway. Why was this happening? What was happening? She stumbled through the halls in a daze, desperately trying to understand how her life had turned so quickly. Somehow, she ended up in the massive kitchen. She didn’t know how she ended up here, as she could have sworn she was just on the second floor. The sound of crackling made her glance down at her foot. Shattered glass and the upper half of a wine bottle littered the floor. She bent and picked it up by the neck. Was this what Kalli had dropped earlier? Something dark caught her attention, which was in stark contrast to the white marble and stainless steel kitchen. A shoe lay on the ground, half exposed from around the kitchen island’s corner. Numb, Katlynn slowly approached the island. Time stood still as she stared at Mikail’s body lying face down. Red liquid puddled beneath his head, crawling across the floor to settle in the cracks between marble tiles. It was impossible to tell if the liquid matted in his hair and leaking from the garish gash across the back of her son’s head was blood or from the broken bottle of wine. “Honey?” Katlynn didn’t react, not even bothering to acknowledge Robert’s presence. “Sweetheart,” His voice shook, and what part of her heart remained intact shattered. “Please, drop the bottle.” Ah, the broken bottle. And her son lay at her feet, the back of his head cracked and bleeding onto the kitchen floor. This all had to be some sick joke, and she was struck with the desire to laugh and scream. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t her fault, that she didn’t understand what was happening. But when she finally lifted her gaze from Mikail’s body to settle on her husband, the horror she found directed at her kept her mouth shut. What did it matter? There was nothing she could say that would convince him she was innocent. Not that she could blame him, as she’d react in the same way were their roles reversed. Something in the way she looked at him must have broken the last of Robert’s resolve. Hands up in surrender, he slowly backed out of the kitchen as though he feared a quick retreat would trigger her to attack. Just before he disappeared from her line of sight, she saw him pull his cell phone from his pocket, no doubt to call the police. Katlynn couldn’t bring herself to care. Whatever was happening here, she had to be the cause somehow. Maybe it was for the best that she was locked away. It wasn’t as if she could return to living a normal life after this, anyway. Not that she’d want to if given the chance. A wet sound, like raw chicken impacting a cutting board, came from the entryway, quickly followed by a loud thump. Katlynn watched the doorway, torn between her desire to make sure Robert was alright and remaining where she was, numb. “Robert?” She called, weak at first, before clearing her voice and calling again. Step by shaky step, she left the kitchen and emerged into the entrance hall. She had felt her heart break before, but now her very soul crumbled to nothing as she took in Robert’s prone form on the ground, a large axe embedded in his back. They didn’t even own an axe. Her hand relaxed, the broken bottle slipping from her grip and shattering against the tile. The sound bounced off the walls and marble floor, like an echo of madness doomed to repeat for eternity. ~*~ “Another one? You’ve gotta be kidding me. They need to just tear this damn thing down.” Officer Johnson hummed nonchalantly, watching Abney, his younger partner, wrap a thick chain through the gate’s iron bars and secure it with a thick padlock. The mansion sat just on the other side, standing sentinel over its forested domain. “What happened here, by the way? It’s always a family of four with a dog who buys this freaky place only to abandon it without notice.” “There was a murder a few hundred years ago or so. Apparently, the wife went nuts and killed the entire family before offed herself.” “Damn…” Abney shivered, backing away from the ancient structure as though it would strike the moment he turned his back. “How did she do it?” “She drowned the dog, pushed her youngest kid down the stairs, bashed in the oldest kid’s head with a bottle, and stuck an axe in the husband’s back. Then she hung herself.” Abney’s eyes went wide with fear. “Ah, don’t worry about it. It’s just an old story someone probably made up to keep kids from trying to sneak in. Let’s get back to the station. Kick-off is at six, and I want to make sure I get a good spot at the bar.” As Abney nodded and headed for the patrol car, Johnson stuck a large “For Sale” sign in the ground.


The library was always my favorite escape. Having spent the 3 hours of the day intermittently staring at my ceiling or scrolling through TikTok, it was clear a change of surroundings couldn’t make the morning any worse. Once I was done with bathroom hygiene and got casually (re: lazily) dressed, I headed out of the house and got on my bike. I considered leaving a note for my parents, but I figured a text would suffice. I made a mental note to send one when I got to the library. If it wasn’t too much trouble. By bike, the Valen Crawford Public Library was a twenty-minute ride. My dad always tells me he could get me there in five minutes, but my constant sense of environmental dread is just too annoying. Besides, I don’t want to be any more indebted to him than the bare minimum that comes with the father-son relationship.

When I saw the building twenty meters ahead, a smile almost snuck onto my face before I instinctively suffocated it. Luckily, a few months ago, the township finally constructed a bike rack after an uncannily organized X campaign. As I braked at the rack, I noticed a little clique of prep-school kids, probably between 15 and 18, walk in. Anyone who didn’t know better would assume they were a bunch of diligent little scholars cramming for an exam. Not a motley crew of spoiled douchebags with more money than morality. My therapist would call these “automatic negative thoughts” but I fortunately learned to tune her out months ago.

Once my lock was fastened, I took a deep breath and headed in. I was not surprised when I saw the preps sitting at my preferred table—over a dozen other places they could have sat and they chose to screw me over. I glanced at them for a second before I looked away, knowing that eye contact would have catalyzed something I was not sure I could have finished. Tactically, or cowardly, I head to the far right end of the building, five tables away from the preps. But, there are still too many people for my liking, so I take a left to the southwest corner. Thankfully, no one else was there, so I sat in one of the La-Z boys and unzipped my backpack. I retrieved my laptop, plugged it into the wall socket, and it was time to work. My latest scheme in the ten-year campaign to convince my parents I’m a writer is a horror anthology book. Well, “collection” might be a more appropriate term, since there’s no way I’m getting any collaborators to contribute. Not that I need or even want any of them. That was my mom’s idea since the stories were supposed to be written in various styles from the 70s to the New 10s. “You should reach out to some other writers. You could make some friends,” she said. For all my social deficiencies, I still had a better sense of how to hide my ulterior motives in a seemingly polite conversation. Twenty minutes later, I was still stuck on the first story: a tale about a platoon of Vietnam-era Green Berets haunted by a ghost or something. Many nights and strained eyes had brought me no closer to figuring out what I was trying to say with this story. Every idea was more cliche than the last, and the few “original” things I came up with were so ridiculous as to be summarily dismissed from consideration. The preps weren’t straining their eyes. They weren’t on the verge of a panic attack. They weren’t worrying about how they had already hit their physical/mental prime, forever pushing their dreams out of reach. They weren’t in the year thirteen of an inexplicable existential nightmare that hack therapists can write off as “clinical depression.” No, they were still in high school, partying through each day knowing their perfect lives were ahead of them. Their oligarch parents could buy or bribe their way out of any problem whenever push comes to shove.

I stared at the laptop screen. My open right palm became a clenched fist. The heat around my temples flared. Suddenly, I slammed the computer shut. Nobody seemed to notice. From where I was, I couldn’t see the rest of the patrons, but I did faintly hear them—or, more precisely, the giggling of the preps. Shoving my laptop back into the bag, I got up and ambled along the library’s southern wall. I took a left down a row of books and pretended to look for a book on a shelf near the center tables. A few feet away, I could hear what the preps were talking about. One of them bragged about having the whole house to himself that weekend and how easy it would be to commandeer his father’s liquor cellar. My grip tightened on the book, my nails digging into the spine. That would definitely be a hefty fine if I got caught. My parents would notice if I were a hundred dollars poorer. I doubt their parents even notice them at all. But here I was, standing at this bookcase, impotently scratching my nails on public property. These preps would keep failing up while I sank into oblivion. They would rule the world while I would be crushed under it. The corrupt prosper from the innocents who suffer. Then and there, I decided: ENOUGH . I was no longer going to be powerless. My lot in life was not to simply suffer and die at the whims of the privileged. The power has always been mine. Their lies and sneers tricked me into thinking I was their lesser. Yet, standing so close to them, I could no longer ignore the obvious. What did money matter in an exchange of fists? When you stood before someone who felt the most unhinged contempt for your existence, what value was a new Rolls Royce or a stack of hundred-dolllar bills? Why doesn’t someone stand up to them? I stomp away from the bookcase. With my fist clenched, I move towards their table. The eldest prep looks up to me. “What the hell do you want?” “An escape.”