It had been this way for as long as Azuse could remember. Fuel the fire, collect resources, survive. This was all that he knew how to do. The flame was held within a great stone basin, in the middle of what Azuse called, ‘The Known’. The basin was around one and half feet high, one foot wide, and made of a dark grey granite. It was extraordinarily heavy, more so than it should have been given its dimensions - only once had Azuse tried to lift it in a moment of frustration, to no avail. ‘Flame is life, darkness is death’, read the inscription around the rim of the stone basin in a bright white font. Azuse has lost count of how many times he must have read the instruction. The flickering of the flame that was contained within the basin seemed to sometimes warp the words, or perhaps that was his mind playing tricks on him. Besides the stone basin, The Known contained little else. A few blankets, a stockpile of logs and kindling, a few scraps of food and a cup. The floor was cold and hard, although Azuse always managed a good night's sleep under the heat of the flame. Around the fire stretched endless darkness, or what Azuse referred to as ‘The Beyond’. Due to the warning on the inscription, Azuse had never been brave enough to wander too far from the light of the flame, but he would often picture what might be lurking in the darkness.

Azuse did not know a life outside of The Known. He could not remember when he first came to be in this place, nor could he quantify the amount of time he was here. Nothing ever changed or shifted. Measuring the passing of time was impossible when there wasn’t anything tangible he could use to track the moments. He slept, but he could not track for how long, or if each sleep was the same.

He wondered what he missed when he was asleep. Perhaps The Known transformed into something else entirely when his eyes were closed. He had decided long ago (or perhaps not so long ago), that trying to understand any of these questions was a fruitless task. — Azuse woke, more groggy than usual, wrapped up in his usual long grey robe and blankets. He lay on the hard ground, staring up into darkness. His eyes saw swirls and shapes, nonsensical objects, floating around in a sea of black. He would stare at them for as long as he could keep his eyes open, as the moment he blinked they would disappear. Each time he would try and keep his eyes open longer than the time before, hoping that if he kept them open long enough they would reveal something to him. The swirls took on vibrant colours, and swam across the sky with greater speed the longer he stared.

Something glimmered in the corner of his eye from somewhere in his peripheral vision that made his head turn - when he looked back the shapes were gone. He rose quickly, glancing around into the darkness trying to pinpoint where the glimmering had come from. Never had this happened before, nothing ever changed in The Known, but he was sure that he had seen something. A light, from something other than the flame. After a few moments of straining his eyes, Azuse gave up. If he knew anything for certain it was that the flickering of the fire could so easily play tricks on his mind. — The food is running low, Azuse thought mindlessly, as he chewed wearily on a stale chunk of bread, staring into nothingness. Not that it mattered, as food seemed to appear the moment it was all eaten, without him ever noticing. There was a time that Azuse had once thought this strange, but now it didn’t phase him - it was as ordinary as the heat produced by the flame or the breath he produced himself. It did mean that he would have to eat every morsel of food if he wanted more, which could cause problems if mould had started to grow on the stock he currently had. Azuse had learnt to eat food quickly after a period of painful stomach cramps, when he was forced to eat some questionable smelling meat. He downed the rest of the water in his cup (which also refilled itself once empty) and stood up, ready to go and pick up some firewood. Every now and then new logs would appear as far out as the flames light would reach. Azuse started walking towards the first log he saw, about 20 feet from the stone basin. As he approached and the light from the flame grew dimmer, he suddenly heard whispers coming from The Beyond. The volume of these whispers grew louder the further away he got from the safety of the light. “Just ignore them”, he said to himself. This was another thing he had learnt by now, the whispers never hurt him as long as he kept his head down and retrieved the log quickly. He was 2 feet away from the log, but as he reached out his hand to grab the log, he noticed a glimmer of light in the distance, the same glimmer of light he thought he had imagined the last time. Before he had a chance to get a good look, a sudden, immense blast of bitterly cold wind came directly at him, knocking him off his feet. The wind seemed to carry the voices of a thousand, because what was once whispering was suddenly a collection of unintelligible screams, so loud Azuse thought his eardrums would burst. He cowered on the floor covering his ears, the noises and sound of the wind seemingly growing louder and louder.

After what felt like an eternity, Azuse slowly peeled the hands from his face to look for the log. It was miraculously within arms reach, so as fast as his body allowed he grabbed the log and leapt up in one fell swoop, sprinting back towards the safety of the basin. The wind roared against his back and the screams seemed to swirl around him as he ran, faster and faster towards the flame. Finally he reached the fire and fell to the floor, crashing into the base of the granite. The moment he touched the cold stone the wind and screams stopped dead. The silence was deafening.

He glanced up at the flame, and swore the inscription, ‘Flame is life, darkness is death’ burned red, but the moment he blinked it returned to its original shining white, contrasting the sea of blackness beyond. — Azuse carefully stacked the remaining logs inside the stone basin, being careful not to burn himself. The logs had stopped appearing after the incident with the wind, and now the stockpile was empty. He hadn’t heard the whispers or screams since, but sensed they were just out of hearing, in The Beyond. The panic rose slowly in him as the moments dragged on, the flame noticeably getting dimmer. The radius of safety around him shrunk smaller and smaller, making Azuse feel more claustrophobic than ever before. Accepting the fact that he would have to face whatever the diminishing of the flame brought, he lay on the floor, wrapping himself in his blankets for comfort, waiting for the inevitable.

— Azuse lay, eyes closed, as the flame went out. Slowly he opened his eyes. He had never known darkness like it. He could see nothing, not even his hands in front of his face. It was as if everything he had ever known had gone. He looked to where the basin should have been, but could see nothing. Was it still there? Or had it disappeared the moment the flame had extinguished? To his horror, he could suddenly make out the sound of whispering coming from The Beyond. It was faint, but with each passing moment it grew louder. Azuse rose quickly and scanned around him, hoping to see something, anything, but to no avail. There was only suffocating darkness. Azuse felt as if he was going mad, as the whispering grew more and more in volume. “What do you want from me?!” he screamed into The Beyond, “I’ve done as you asked, and now you torment me!” The Beyond responded by growing ever louder, until the voices turned from whispering to screams. Azuse let out a guttural howl until he had no breath left, and fell to the floor. Only after a few moments of trying to get his breath back, he noticed it. A glimmering light in the distance. It was tiny, and seemingly far away, but it was all Azuse had. As the screams continued to swirl around him, and the air grew colder and colder, he picked himself up and started sprinting towards the glimmer. As he ran a wind picked up, so cold it hurt his face. His fingers started to pain him as they grew colder, but still he continued towards the light. The unintelligible screams continued to abuse his eardrums, not letting up. Azuse felt as though he couldn’t take anymore, his senses were overwhelmed beyond anything he had experienced before. He noticed he could see his feet now as he ran, the light was getting closer. The voices turned more sinister the more progress Azuse made, as if they didn’t want him to reach his goal. The wind was bitterly cold making his teeth chatter. He must have only been forty feet away, thirty-five, thirty… It was then that Azuse stopped in his tracks, just outside the boundary of the light. There was someone there, wearing a long grey robe, reaching down to pick a log off the floor. Behind him a stone basin was ablaze with fire. The stranger hadn’t noticed Azuse, despite being only a few feet away. Azuse had frozen, unsure what to do, as the voices in his ears continued to abuse his senses. “Hello?” he said tentatively, not being able to hear his own voice over the roar of The Beyond. His teeth continued to chatter as the bitterly cold wind picked up speed around him. The stranger carried on with his task, paying no attention to Azuse. “Hello!” he screamed, much louder this time. The stranger turned his head towards the direction of Azuse. “Just ignore them”, the stranger muttered to himself. In desperation he screamed once more, “Help! Please!” As Azuse screamed, the wind picked up tremendous speed and blasted towards the stranger, knocking him off his feet. He scrambled to stand and started sprinting back towards the flame, log in hand, looking panicked. Azuse reached out his hand, “Wait, I’m sorry! Please don’t go!” The stranger continued to run, covering his ears as he did so. Azuse went to take a step forward, but something was stopping him, his feet wouldn’t move. He looked down, horrified, as he saw that swirling around his feet were shapes and swirls, wrapping themselves around his ankles like tendrils.

The stranger made it to the stone basin, crashing to the floor. Azuse could just make out the words on the basin, ‘Flame is life, darkness is death’. The words burned a deep crimson red. In one swift movement, Azuse was yanked off his feet and dragged into The Beyond.


If Mom fully understood my fixation with Googly Goose and Friends, I doubt she would have left me alone in the house so much. Mom was a visiting home health nurse, and a single parent, which means I spent a lot of time alone in front of the television. I must have watched every episode of that puppet show. Googly is Canadian. He lives in a town with twenty five other alliteratively named puppets, one for each letter of the alphabet. It has nothing to do with the Google website, except for a few in-jokes. Mom overcompensated for my alone time with gifts, feeding my addiction to the program. For my tenth birthday, I got the complete storybook collection, which came in a green plastic bus, and a bunch of Viewmaster slides. Every time we went to McDonald's, she'd buy me one of the action figures. On Christmas I even got the video game for the Nintendo Switch.

She would later regret getting me the `I-Googly-26.' They modeled the toy after a real cel phone, but it lacked functionality. Basically just an app, hence the ultra low price tag. You couldn't call humans with it, it required the use of wifi, no flashlight, and the camera resolution sucked. Still, I loved it. It activated secrets on the Switch, it had its own games, and it talked to you at random times of the day and night, even taking note of holidays and birthdays. Other kids were learning new things about their own bodies, acting tougher around their classmates. You weren't supposed to watch Googly Goose anymore. I was the only one with the IG26. It started small, with a Googlyphone-Call. I lived in a red house along a steep hill near a park. The building was tall, but narrow, the interior beige with lime green carpeting. Kind of a seventies motif. I suppose it had a mold problem, because it always had a musty smell in parts. I couldn't tell around the back door because of Miss Kitty's litterbox, but it could have been there too. The living room tended to be drafty, requiring me to bundle up and use a space heater when I watched TV during colder months. We had a fireplace, but the flue didn't open. We never used it. I always watched Googly before I caught the bus in the morning. Mom would already be off in her white pickup, seeing patients, so I'd sit in the stiff gold velour armchair, eating my cereal in front of the tube, periodically checking the IG26 for messages. Miss Kitty would doze on the green couch nearby, or scratch up the armrests. The phone was...interesting. Sometimes I'd get texts or `Googly-Voice' recordings from the characters, giving me an update on life in Featherton, their world, or Googly would tell me he loved me. Naturally they would let me know about any and all new Googly tie-in products I could get mom to buy. They generally came during the window of 8 AM to 8 PM, and only once a day unless you got parental consent - restrictive version of telemarketer guidelines. It also had some kind of advanced AI that asked you questions, remembered what you said, and came back with a clever response. Sometimes it really blew me away, like how Googly could understand my parents' divorce, and how I was a latchkey kid. Maybe someone got in there and manually typed in messages, I don't know. The IG26 also knew when you were watching the show. A button would light up whenever a character picked up a telephone, or got near one. If you pushed it at just the right time, you got a surprise message from one of the characters. Some people even won prizes, but the only thing I got was an autographed copy of Willie Walrus Celebrates Kwanzaa, honestly not a great book. Still, I enjoyed the calls and texts, which generally took place right before the commercials and PSA announcements...Well, until that one day, when the phone got a little extra. "Michael," Googly asked me in a text. "Are you going to school when my show's over?" Googly always had such a high regard for education that I only imagined one possible response. "Of course! School is where you grow!" I got no response for a full minute.

Sometimes the phone did that to make you sweat after saying something naughty. Sometimes it just paused because your router was down, or, as it said in some texts, they wanted to "Teach me a lesson about patience." At last, though, I got a response. "There are other ways to grow, Michael. Stay home today." I couldn't believe my toy would actually be saying this to me, but it also seemed kind of exciting. Did mom accidentally buy some rare defective product worth a million dollars? Still, I texted, " I can't.  Mom will get mad." The talk button started flashing. When I pushed it and held the earpiece to my head, I heard the bird's demented elf voice speaking. "Do you really think your mom will send you to a foster home if you don't do what she says?" Mom had used that threat frequently when I misbehaved. "I...dunno. If she catches me, I'll still get in trouble. I got grounded for missing the bus and staying home last year." The show came back on. I could see Googly at his black rotary phone in his nest, mouth moving to match the words I heard. Not too difficult a feat, the lips of puppets are stationary. "Just tell her you were off school because of a holiday." "There isn't a holiday today." "Then tell her they closed the school for teacher planning." "You want me to lie to mom?" Googly shrugged.

"I'll make it worth your while.  We'll have so much fun, you and I.

Way much more than you'd have with your friends at school!" I swallowed. "I don't have any friends at school." The puppet on TV seemed to be looking right at me, its head tilted, as if nonverbally asking, `You see my point?' "So I just tell her they let me out early?" I stammered. Googly stepped behind his nest as Anthony Aardvark popped out and started talking about words and the use of contractions. I could still hear the bird through the phone, despite him being in the background. "If it makes you feel any better, you can hide under the porch for awhile, and we can talk. You did tell me you always wanted a clubhouse, didn't you?" I gave him a nod. More than anything, I wanted that, and Googly Goose as my real friend. I packed up my things, books, papers and lunch, like I intended to go to school, but when departure time came, I slipped under the front porch to hide from the bus. There was a hole in the latticework on the side of the porch where I sometimes dumped Miss Kitty's litterbox. This is where I got in. I still had the phone, and wifi connectivity, maybe GPS, too because Googly texted me about it, suggesting we might hang up some curtains or blankets as a wind break against the cold. The bus rolled to a stop in front of my house, flashing its lights. "All my friends have names that start with a letter in the alphabet, which means there can only be twenty six of us in town.

But back in the old days, the alphabet used to have a lot more letters!" "You're making that up, Googly," I muttered.

"Am I?" To be honest, I had no way of checking his statement for validity. The phone didn't go to regular websites. " I...don't know.  That doesn't sound right to me. I thought I heard something about people in the bible not even having vowels." The bus honked, the driver impatient for me to get out of the house and rush to the folding door. "Okay, okay. Maybe you're right about that, but there's other letters , like the shwa e. The point I'm trying to make, Michael, is we can find a place for you in Featherton . You'd like that, wouldn't you, Michael?" The driver shut the bus doors, rolling on up the hill. "Y-yeah. I'd love that. What do I have to do?" "Just keep listening." I must have spent an hour sitting in cold dirt under that porch. I watched videos, played games, drew pictures of what my house in Featherton would be like. I flinched when a rusty pickup pulled up in front of the house. I saw a short figure emerge, curly hair, hornrims, nursing scrubs. I held my breath as she tromped up the white wooden steps. She didn't notice me. I waited. Mom came out with some paperwork, got in her truck and drove away. "Now let's have some real fun," the goose said. With his help, and an instructional video on sewing machines, I transformed one of mom's fuzzy throw pillows and a hair beret into a fluffy pair of cat's ears, then used supplies from her crafts projects to make a blanket into a feathery mantle. Googly's show came on twice a day, but I always missed the second one because of school. Some teachers would put the program on during class, but not mine, certainly not in middle school, so I just had to watch it. During the commercial break, I got a text saying I'd won a prize. I crafted a raccoon tail to hang off my belt, then played the Switch for awhile. Googly Goose World is a complicated game. An internal clock makes the sky grow dark when it's dark in the real world, they have special events corresponding to real holidays - such as eight days of prizes for Hannukah and Cherry Blossom Day. You can design clothing for characters, do interior design, go bowling and play darts, plant trees, fish, and go searching for treasure in a cave. You can also unlock special rooms and mini-games with the IG26. The most unique feature, though, was the use of children's books to access hidden storylines.

Larry Lion Lounges About, for example, features several important clues that help you get into Riotous Raccoon's underground lair. Page four of the book shows a paw grabbing one of the lion's green socks, another page shows the raccoon behind Larry's house, and a phone number on the side of the garbage truck you can type into the IG26 for downloadable content. It therefore didn't surprise me to hear Yosef Yak referencing Cathy Cow's Calamity. What did surprise me was how the illustrations had changed. In a printed book.

Although the first page still depicted the inside of Cathy's Coffee and Custard, her patrons had changed . Instead of Andy Anteater and Bobby Bear in the corner table, I saw Morty Moose by himself, eating enough ice cream for two. Sammy Stork had replaced Helga Hamster at the window booth, and Davy Donkey stood at the counter with a steaming cup in his hoof ( It's a drawing, okay? I don't know how a hooved animal could pick up anything). If that wasn't weird enough, the glass front door swung open , and in stepped my friend the Canada goose. He waddled past all the statue-like character illustrations, giving me a friendly wave with one wing. "Googly!" I gasped. "How...?" The bird just gave me a mischievous wink and slurped a cup of coffee. The real front door on my house clanked noisily open, and in stepped Mom, catching me in the act. " What are you doing home!" "We had a half day," I lied. "They sent me home early." She scowled like she didn't believe me, then sighed, turning her attention to my craft project.

"What did you do to my throw pillow?" My mom, being big on self help books, restrained her temper, writing it off as an expression of my inner child. When the school called and asked her where I was, however, she took away my video games. Well, except for the Atari we got from a garage sale - I rarely touched the thing anymore. I don't think she understood how everything worked, because I got to keep the IG26. Guess she thought I'd learn something from it. She didn't beat me or anything. I kinda wished she would, because I felt bad about it. I'd violated her trust, put an extra burden of responsibility on a woman who already had her hands full with her job. The next day, she made sure I got on the bus. As I stepped out on the porch, she stared at my homemade costume and asked, "Are you seriously going to wear that to school?" I shrugged. Googly said I had to do it, to prove how much I wanted to live in Featherton. Mom patted me on the back, saw me to the bus steps. As my sneakers clomped down the hollow rubber and metal aisle, I tried to ignore classmates laughing and making fun of me, plopping down on a wrinkly vinyl seat near the back end. "It's a little late for Halloween," someone mocked. I took out my IG26, pretending not to hear. The phone shouldn't have worked out of range, but somehow I still got a text. "Don't let them upset you. None of these children are worthy of Featherton. Only you are." Someone grabbed my feathered cape, twirling it around, slapping me with it. I tried to get it back, but it ended up ripping, feathers everywhere. "They're not worthy," Googly texted. The bus arrived at the grassy lawn in front of my school. Everyone else got out, climbing the concrete steps to the red brick building. "Quick," said my IG26. "Hurry out and run across the street to the graffiti tunnel."

A little clip about looking both ways before crossing the street appeared on the screen. I did what it asked, sneaking down the stairs and around the yellow bus.

Nobody noticed what I was doing. In fact, the bus driver drove away. Directly opposite the school lay a little yard strewn with beer bottles and cigarette butts, and beyond that a staircase leading to an underground tunnel, all spraypainted with gang signs and obscene writing. It smelled like piss, but I thought I heard someone calling for me, so I hurried in. "Keep going. I'll tell you when to stop." I frowned at the screen, but did what it asked, following the dimly lit, trash strewn tunnel for what felt like miles. At the far end, I encountered a piece of chain link fencing, its other side covered in trash bags. When I got close to it, someone opened it up, revealing a damp and smelly underpass populated by camper shells, dome tents, and cardboard castles. All around me stood dirty people in shabby clothes, young and old, black and white. The trash and chain link barrier rattled shut again, and the strangers drew closer. Upon closer examination, I saw that everyone had their own homemade goose costumes, just like mine. A bony, skeleton eyed hobo with a shaved head and a tank top approached me, bearing a tinfoil crown and a Clorox Toilet Wand, minus scrubber.

He dropped to one knee, placed the crown on my head, handed me the plastic scepter.

"Your majesty." The others likewise knelt before me. "Long may he rule Featherton."


DESIRES BEYOND REASON             Elinor Stevencox was average. Average height, average hair, average age. In a crowd of average people, she would pass unnoticed for Elinor Stevencox was as average as can be. Although, Elinor Stevencox wanted to be someone else. She wanted to be something else. Someone worthy of a book!             Working at a dead-end job, in a dead-end office, squeezed in a cubicle of average size did not fit her standards anymore.             “I want my life to be in a book one day! She would tell her best friend.             -Most people in books are dead or fictional, unless you are a president or something. Then you cannot escape the book industry! Replied her friend.             - I know. Isn’t that great? To live a life that others would think worthy to be remembered. To transmit a legacy to humanity! To have my name on a biography…             - I am sorry my friend. Your standards are too elevated for me. I feel more concerned by earthly or local matters!             - You just don’t understand! Replied Elinor Stevencox. But I can tell you this: as of now, I am going to devote my time, my money, my person into becoming somebody!”             And there she went… To achieve her dream, to nourish her obsession, Elinor Stevencox began by quitting her day job and became very engaged in multiple causes: humanitarian, educational, health and nutrition issues… Within a few weeks, Elinor Stevencox was everywhere, and everybody was talking about her.             At the homeless shelter, she helped with the distribution of the food. At the public library, she gave talks on health and gardening. At the mayor’s garden party, she entertained the children with fantastic stories.             One day, she was helping at the food bank when a tall man with a long black coat and a large hood came to her:             “Looks like you are on the path of becoming someone important, he said.             -Well, I wouldn’t say that, at least not in those terms. I do my best to serve the community, you see…             - You will go far if you stay on this path!” Replied the man.             Elinor began to feel strange in the presence of the man with the black coat.             -If you will excuse me, sir, I need to go to the pantry. We need… well, we need more cans of carrots. Yes, that’s it, carrots. Good day!”             This funny encounter left a strange impression deep in Elinor’s heart. An uneasy feeling, like a threat.

            Although, memory was not Elinor Stevencox’ strength. The encounter was soon to be forgotten.             On the following Saturday morning, Elinor Stevencox was helping students with their homework at the Educational Center. Her best friend came along:             - “Hi Elinor, how are you doing? I haven’t seen you that much ever since you began your little quest for fame.             - Don’t joke about it. I am very engaged at the moment, and I love it! I feel useful. People know me, they call me by my name! and… Oh my head!             - Elinor, what’s happening? Are you all right?             -I think, … I think I need to eat something. I haven’t eaten this morning yet. I have been helping here since I woke up!             - Wait a minute. What about yesterday? Did you eat last night?             - Not really, no… she replied. I was too tired when I arrived home to cook anything.             - Yesterday, at all?             - No… yes, few crackers around 3pm.             -Elinor, since when haven’t you eaten a real meal?             - I don’t have time to eat. I must help people!             - Okay, I understand you want to be famous. But you cannot do that and kill yourself at the same time!             - You sound exactly like my mother! Leave me alone. Go away!”             The friend left.             At 9 pm, Elinor left the Educational Center. She had volunteered there all day, helped thirty-four students with their homework, given three reading classes, and two talks on Good Nutrition and the Brain. She walked to the closest bus stop. Exhausted, she waited over an hour for a bus that would never come.

            After a while, a tall man with a long black coat and a large hood came to her:             “Looks like you are on the path of becoming someone important, he said.             - Who are you? What do you want with me? Why are you following me?             - You will go far if you stay on this path! Replied the man.             - My bus is coming, said Elinor standing abruptly. Good night!”             She climbed hastily on the bus. As it departed, Elinor looked back through the window: the tall man with a black coat and a large hood was looking in her direction.

            That night, Elinor went straight to bed. Still, she could not sleep.             On the Sunday morning, Elinor woke up at 5 am, dressed, and caught the bus. Today, she was schedule to volunteer at the hospital all day.             As she was sitting quietly in the bus, looking through the tainted glass the city still asleep, the bus stopped. One passenger hopped on the bus. A tall man with a long black coat and a large hood who sat next to Elinor:

            “Looks like you are on the path of becoming someone important, he said.             - You! You again! What do you want?             - You will go far if you stay on this path! Replied the man.             - What do you want with me? Why are you following me? Let me pass. Driver?             The driver remained deaf to her calls. Elinor looked around: the bus was empty.             - Leave me alone! Do you hear me? Leave me alone! She yelled almost hysteric.             - I know what you aim to! Whispered the man. I can help you!             - I don’t know what you are talking about, Elinor replied, worried.             - You want fame! You want recognition, he continued with his soft voice. You want people to know you, call you by your name. Write about you!

You want your name

on a book …             Stupefied, Elinor sat back on her seat, looking at the tall man.             - Who are you, she barely asked. Fame? Recognition? Yes, yes, a book, a biography about me. How do you know…?             - I know everything! Said the man raising a bony finger in her direction. Everything. And I can help you achieve your deepest desires.             - How? What should I do? How much would it cost me? Please, tell me!             - Oh, you may have to pay me something. Something small, barely significant. Very small, compared to the value of fame and success I can give you!             - I will pay you anything!             - Alright then. I just need your signature at the bottom of this document after you read it, and your initials right by mine. Here.             - D. A. Is that you?             The man did not reply. Elinor signed the document right away.             - Now, listen to me carefully. Go to the hospital, do whatever you need to do. Tonight, go to the library. Make sure to be locked in after closing hours and read.             - Read? Read what?             - Biographies of famous peoples. Read all the biographies you can find. Every night, come back and read until you have read them all. Don’t miss a night! Your lapse would cancel my engagement.             - I see… I think I can do that. I love to read. Yes! I can do it! But, … I see, this is my bus stop coming next, said Elinor looking outside the window. If you’ll excuse me, I need to…”             But no excuses were needed. The tall man with a black coat and a large hood was gone. Elinor was alone on the bus…             She went to the hospital, worked all day. The thought of the man and his promises didn’t leave her mind one instant. At the end of the day, Elinor went to her usual bus stop. She was alone. She remained alone untill the bus reached the library.             Elinor Stevencox began to search for all the biographies in the catalog of the library. She looked for the most remote table located in the darkest corner of the library. At the end of the day, when the librarian announced on the speaker that the library was closing its doors, Elinor went and hide in the bathroom.             And she spent the night reading biographies, one after another. From Roosevelt to Reagan, from Rosa Parks to Abraham Lincoln. She read, and read, and read all night.             When the morning came, it found her reading a biography of J. F. Kennedy. Elinor gathered all her belongings, went home, and changed. Then she walked to the Children’s Museum for it was Monday, and she would volunteer at the Children’s Museum every Monday.

            This lasted for weeks. Her friend did not hear from her. Her family either. Time passed. The tall man never came. One night, exhausted, hungry, Elinor contemplated for the first time the possibility of going home, eat, and sleep. She was sitting on the bus at the exact same place, when it stopped. Through the window, the Moon was reflecting its dull light. Elinor turned, the tall man was sitting next to her:

            “Looks like you are in pass of becoming someone important, he said. I see you have been faithful to your engagements. This is your time, my dear.             - So, what do I have to do now to be famous and successful?             - Tonight, go to the library as usual. Go straight to the biography section. Do not talk to anyone, do not look at anyone. There, you will find a book waiting for you.             - A book? What book? How will I know which one to pick?             - You will know when you see it!             - And, what about your payment? When do I pay you? When will I be famous?             - Tonight, once you find your book… Ah! This is your stop. See you soon!             At the sight of the ugly dentures, and the bony fingers, Elinor felt a chill down her spine. She stepped out of the bus and walked straight towards the library. Once again, she hid to be locked in.             Once alone, she looked for the biography section she knew so well and began to browse the shelves. All these biographies, she knew them. She had spent countless hours, sleepless nights reading, and studying. She looked at all the shelves. How could she know what book was supposed to be for her? “You will know when you see it”. She kept looking for hours. It was a dark and rainy night. Tired from searching, Elinor sat on the floor. Was she going to fail this close to fame and success? Her eyes semi-closed, in a state of partial sleep she was falling asleep when a ray from the Moon enlightened a book on the shelf ahead of her. At that moment, Elinor knew it was THE book. A book with no name, no title, no author. Elinor knew this was going to be her book.

            She stood on her feet, and slowly grab the book by its tranche.             At that very moment, a shelf on the right opened like a door. The bright green glow that was coming out of it fascinated Elinor. Silently, she stepped in the secret room. As she was entering the room, she dropped her book on the floor. The shelf silently closed behind her. *********************             As the sun was rising on a bright and shiny morning, the employees entered the library to start a new day of work. One of them was walking down the biography section aisle when he noticed a book on the floor.             - Oh, I know that book, this is one of our newest acquisitions. What is it doing in here? This is not at all its place. Let’s see: “The Strange Case of Elinor Stevencox: A Study on Schizophrenia” by Doctor Death Angel. This book shouldn’t be in here at all. Its place should be in the psychiatric section…”


“Bloody hell, Mum, are we actually about to live in this palace?!” “Dylan, how many times do I have to tell you it is a mansion, not a palace ? And for God’s Sake, Dylan, will you stop cursing so much?! ” “Gosh, Mum, ‘bloody hell’ is not too harsh. I’m 14, Mum! This isn’t the 20 th century! Oh, and sure, Mum, but when a matchbox works for a home for a bunch of teenage twins and a tween, and they’re exiled to a glorious 10-bedroom , yard, swimming pool, private forest, meadow AND creek-inclusive mansion , it sure seems like that Buckingham palace we’ve trudged by our entire lives.” “Dear me! Why, son, doesn’t your tongue get the better of you! Rake it in like you rake the leaves in autumn! But, pray, this modest outhouse will make Queen Elizabeth go green with jealousy!” “Edward, do quit your sarcasm. First this munchkin goes about saying this is a luxurious palace, then you come along and call this a modest outhouse! You’re making your dear, recently-passed and much-beloved and missed mother go green with rage!” “Edith, sweetheart, it may interest you to know that once upon a time, my mother lived in a slightly-larger-than-the-Roseley-mansion house, and when I was a young lad, she would come along, bounce me on her knee, and tell me “Why, my dearest Eddie, did you know your old Mummy here once lived inside a cigar pipe?” In case I confound you, the cigar pipe she refers to is actually the Esforth Estate. So, it must be genetics.” “Well, do me pleasure enough not to say so in front of your offspring.” “Jeez, Mum! What’s with the sudden offspring fancy vocabulary?” Dylan wrinkled his nose in disgust. Mr.Roseley merely looked at Mrs.Roseley , slightly flushed, and said “Well, Edith, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I told you the munchkins would grow up someday and chastise you for being a show-off with your Oxford Dictionary.” Mrs.Roseley haughtily continued to hold her head high, and replied back “If the future generation of Roseleys dislike my extensive knowledge of the English Language, they are very well equipped to suit themselves.” With this, she turned on her heel and entered the house to start ‘moving in’, whilst Rebecca was barely able to stifle a laugh. Dylan merely shrugged, and Sadie remained standing next to the car door. Even though the rest of the family had taken leave from the stage, the littlest member of the family, who remained in the spotlight, who we focus on, did not move an inch and could not shake the feeling of an impending danger of some sort. Remind yourselves that though she stands only 4’4, her wit is larger and faster than even Mr. or Mrs.Roseley’s… Sadie’s little eyes quickly scanned the ‘large pile of sand and bricks’ which was to be her new home. Antique, old, crumbly, dirty, neglected, what was the word… ah, yes, from the Victorian Era, rather posh, at 3 stories, and was that a terrace she could see up there? The ivy creeping over the walls gave a hearthrobbingly countryside-outskirts-rich person look to it; Andrea would be sure to love it… Sadie quickly dismissed the thought before she threw a fit demanding to be returned to London. Nobody, not even Dylan or her mother, who knew her so well, would guess she was actually quite excited about the house. After the last person had entered the close-to-300 year-old building, Sadie ran her hands along the outer wall of the house, just under the reach of the ivy. She felt like there could be something… something, alive? Inside those walls…? Sadie shook the thought from her mind, though she felt it in her bones.  This was definitely Rebecca or Dylan’s fault for playing too many pranks on her and making her such a suspicious little kid. She smiled and simply shook her head when she heard an agitated “ Edward! ” from inside, followed by the unmistakable smell of something burning and a splash of water. Quick bickering completed the sequence, and Sadie giggled, amused at what mischief her dad had already got himself into. “ What now? Surely he hasn’t tried to cook already? God, I can’t wait for the burgers! McDonald’s binge, you won’t know what hit you! Or maybe we should go with Papa John’s? The pizzas are to DIE for… especially those veggie ones… good god, where are we going to eat, sleep, shower, play games? Is this going to be like a HOLIDAY? Ooooh, I can’t wait ! Maybe I do miss London, but one can’t be thankless for all the adventures we might have here!  Argh, dammit! If only Andi could be here as well ! Maybe Mum and Dad will let her come over for a week or two? What a big family it could be! But then Dylan and Rebecca will get all jealous, like spineless cows and demand for their friends to be able to come over, too. What fun might that be? Wait, how cool would it be if the three of us could have our friends come over at the same time?! That would be, gosh, heavenly, I fell like I’m already drowning in a heated pool of heavy caramel… Grow up, Sade! What immature thoughts you have! Such a baby , you are.”

The large train of thought she’d boarded was quickly brought to a halt by her Mum’s shrill voice, calling out crossly “Sadie! If you want to be kidnapped, burgled, and have your dead body thrown into a well, I would suggest you stay put right where you are!” Goodness gracious, if she was so worked up already, someone must have done something terribly exasperating in the few minutes they’d been here. Her mother never used such harsh words with her, and the curse jar was one less source of money for the Roseley children, because of their mother’s strict tolerance against profanity. Sadie couldn’t help but wonder, as she walked through the large, majestic, wooden door, if the things her mother had so quickly put out were actually possible scenarios for a lone girl of almost-10 standing alone, outside, in the night, in the town they’d moved to.

“Sade, Ribs, are we ever going to get over the fact that we’re living in a palace?” Dylan softly called. Bundled near him, Rebecca answered his call. “Mansion, not palace, Dy.” She softly whispered. Dylan chuckled and swatted her arm playfully. “Do you think we could invite our friends from London over?” Sadie piped. “Unfit for the situation, Sadie-bean. But, if it suits Mum and Dad’s fancy, I don’t see why they wouldn’t!” he said, slightly enthusiastic. “Dear sweet Sadie. Always thinking ahead, aren’t you, my own little spaceshuttle?” “Totally am, Caveman.” Rebecca giggled girlishly and turned onto her side, away from Dylan and Sadie on her left with a soft sigh and an almost-clamorous russle of the sheets. “Alright, weirdos, g’night, see y’all tomorrow…” she mumbled. Dylan sat up straight and said rather loudly “Hey, you stole the kid’s dialogue!” “I am NOT a kid…” Sadie mumbled in protest, but it went unnoticed. “Not stolen. Borrowed.” Rebecca grunted. “-without Sadie’s permission, which is stealing!” Sadie said, in a sing-song voice. The three of them laughed. “Har-har!” Dylan continued, in a pitch and loudness equivalent to Sadie. it had definitely been many years since Dylan had sang, or even said anything in that tone. “I’m never going to be able to suck up this glory. Even when I’m 80, I’ll boast to my great-grandchildren about how I was once a rich kid and lived in a house bigger than the Buckingham.” Dylan cooed, lying back down. “Good lord, Dylan, get yourself together in one piece.” Becca groaned, clearly disgusted to hear her brother’s future life plans. “What is that supposed to mean?” Sadie said, nodding off to sleep. Dy and Bex both said “Nothing!” in a cheery voice, synchronized, before pulling the covers over their little sister and kissing her good night.


Hi my name is Imani and this is the story about how my life changed forever. To set the scene I am a 12 year old African American female who lives with both her mom and dad in Los Angeles California.

It was a day like any other day where my dad would pick me up from school, and ask me, “how was your day, anything interesting happened”? I responded as I normally do “nope nothing happened just boring school.” But something was different about this day we were driving home as usual when a cop started driving behind us. It was scary because dad and I have had conversations about the police and what to do when you're pulled over and how to speak. I had my seat belt on and so did dad. Nothing seemed wrong until he was pulled over.

There were 2 cops, one came to dad's side and one came to mine. They asked dad for his license and registration. He spoke calm and told the cop everything that he was doing as he did it. He gave them the stuff and they told him to get out of the car. He asked “if everything was okay.” They did

not answer him but instead said get out the car. I was getting more and more scared so I took out my phone and started recording. The cop yelled at me to put my phone away and stop recording and when I looked over he had a gun out. I screamed and threw my phone on the floor. He yelled at me to get out and I did. I was shaking I was so scared and my dad was trying to calm me down with his words he said “it's going to be okay baby girl you will be fine just listen to the cops.” But as he was trying to walk towards me the cop was yelling “DON’T MOVE, DON’T MOVE, and my dad said “ I just want” BOOM.

The next thing I know my dad is lying on the ground in a pool of blood and he's not talking anymore. I scream out in pain and start yelling “DAD, DAD, SAY SOMETHING.” He doesn't say anything and doesn't move. The cops both look scared at this point and one calls the ambulance. I want to kick and scream and call my mom but I can't move. I don't know what is wrong with me but my body freezes in place. I feel stiff as a board and stuck in place.

What seemed like 5 hours later the ambulance showed up and they take my dad with them. I go with them because I don't want to leave him. They call my mom at the hospital and take my dad away. When my mom shows up I just cry in her arms, she asks me so many questions but I cant get one word out. I feel helpless and so sad. When the doctor comes out to deliver what feels like the worst news ever his words catch me by surprise he says “Your husband is alive but in pretty bad condition. He is in a coma but has made it through surgery.” I look at my mom and the tears fade. I am so happy to hear dad is alive that I want to run in and give him the biggest hug ever. But when I go through that door what I see makes the sadness come right back. I see him in there with all these tubes inside his nose and mouth and the loud noises from the machines are something out of a space movie. I look at mom who is crying but only a little.

After some time sitting with dad and talking to him just laying there a cop shows up. I get so mad my head feels like there is smoke coming out of it. He says that he has a few questions and asks mom if it would be okay to ask them. She looks at me and says you don't have to answer them if you don't feel comfortable. I say “NO I want them to know what happened to my dad.” I talk to the cop and he seems mad at me for some reason. I go over the story with him and he says “Did you dad have a gun, was he part of a gang?” I look at him and say “No my dad is a good dad and he would never.” After a few days dad still doesn’t wake up, the doctors have been talking to mom non stop and now grandma and grandpa are here. Mom walks over to us in the waiting room chairs and comes to me. She says “Your dad loved you very much, and you were so brave to tell the police everything, but he's not getting any better and we have to let him go.” “NO”, I scream, “we can't give up on him mom he's going to get better I just know it.” Sadly, even after all of my pleas, and cries mom decided she had to let him go and just like that he was gone.” Months went by and I just felt sad. I went through all the motions to keep mom happy but I hated life, and most of all I hated the cops. We had to go to court a few times because of what happened but after everything they did to my dad and me, nothing happened. They said that they knew my dad had a gun and that he was going to shoot the cop. I was so mad I could have killed everyone in court. I was so angry I wanted to scream from the top of the mountain. Mom tried to keep a happy face for me but I knew she was so hurt. I felt helpless once again because what could I, a 12 year old girl do? What can any of us do?


Trigger warnings: guns, poor mental health, mentions of past bullying, swearing. * People wouldn't underestimate me any more unless I wore a sign with a list of suggestions as to how they might manage the task. Part of it was how I looked, most of which I honestly couldn't help. If you googled the term " femboy " someone has probably posted my picture with it. People liked to use words like " slender " and " willowy ", but my penchant for fishnets and heels quickly got me dubbed a " trap " and a " disappointment to my parents". I was considered tall for my lineage at 5'6" but was always much shorter than my peers in school. That tends to happen when you're a freaky Japanese genius kid who skips grades. People also tend to bully you or shun you. I prefer shunning, honestly. Oh well, I thought to myself. You're 19. If you survive this you still might shoot up a few inches. And then I laughed to myself about using the word ' shoot' in this situation. * If I'm honest, as a child prodigy in a public school, I had to make the best of my situation. And that meant tutoring other students –preferably the ones who looked like future Yakuza, but I tutored a lot of gay kids and half the jocks as well. It was the junior Yakuza that were most important though. People stop fucking with the weird kid after the scrappy rough kid shoves them into a locker. So when my boss pointed a semiautomatic handgun in my face, it never even occurred to me that I should be intimidated. Daiki, my ex, had always told me that running my mouth would get me in trouble. Usually, he was rolling his eyes at something I said. But this was fucking ridiculous. Jerome Stone had decided he did not like me the moment they hired me. It didn't help that I was half his age and fresh out of college. Or Harlan Leeland, the CEO and primary owner of the company, thought I was the best thing since sliced bread. Mostly because I caught a teeny, tiny error that saved him thousands of dollars. It was sort of a shame. He was a blonde with pale blue eyes that could freeze you out like a glacier or melt you into his tight family unit. The rest of the department adored him and chattered about him constantly. I stuck out like a sore thumb in Accounting because he didn't talk to me unless absolutely necessary and he treated me as coldly as he could. Still. Where in the nine hells had this absolute nerd gotten his hands on a gun –let alone bullets? "Maybe you will think twice about putting your hands on another man's husband." His icy tone trembled. Oh, Vishnu . This was all about that slimy piece of shit? That man wasn't worth Jerome's time. Or mine. I had dated more than my fair share of unsavory trash, so I was an expert, and boy did he set off alarm bells. At some point, I should be too afraid to argue with this man, my boss, who was holding a gun on me –right? Wrong. Mostly because I was more enraged than anything by the situation. This . This shit right here was what happened when you became a doormat and put everyone else's wishes first. I hadn't even wanted to go into accounting. I had wanted to reach further, try harder, make something of myself. But my parents had insisted My parents hadn't approved of my friends, so I lost my ragtag family that had been my shelter and protection. My parents wouldn't understand what I am so I stayed their cute little smart gay son. Because what I really was, well that was scarier still and at least they could work gay to their advantage. I gave up so much to please people who couldn't be pleased, who should have been able to love me without conditions. Maybe in another life, I could have all the things I had wanted. I just had to survive this first. I remembered what my friend Kenji used to say with a grin after he helped bail me out of some stupid situation in high school. " Haru, your mouth is dangerous. Have you ever considered not antagonizing people?" So I opened my mouth and let myself make the situation a bit more dangerous. "There's so much wrong with that I am not sure where to even start. Your husband came on to me and if Sherri Linn from Marketing hadn't been there, he probably thought he wouldn't have to take 'no' as an answer." Which actually wouldn't have phased me much.  My looks made me seem like easy prey but the knife I carried because it was habit, like my true self, was easily concealed. The trembling became more pronounced as he spat out words. "You're lying, Haruhiko." It saddened me how desperately he wanted to believe it. It saddened me more that I had to be the one to correct him. "Elias is very much not my type." He was a dominant, overbearing asshole, if I wanted to be honest. What in the hell Jerome thought was so great about him I would never know. He surely wasn't the sort of man Dolly begged Jolene not to take! I had to be aware of how people looked at me all the time, the assumptions they would make based on the way my body was built. It was more amusing because they were wrong . Jerome, with his soft giving personality and submissive side, was much more my type despite being twice my age. Then again, being twice my age made him 38. I could work with that. Tears began to well up in his eyes. I felt responsible for those tears, even though the real culprit was none other than his own husband. I gestured to the gun being pointed at my face. Well, now it sort of lagged towards my shoulder. "Do you even know how to use that? Your favorite pastime is Pokemon Go." As his brain sort of froze, trying to process my question, I wrapped my hand around the gun and pulled it from his grasp. It was less than two minute process to pull the clip and strip the gun. Fuck, I needed to go back to hanging out with a better class of criminal. "You didn't even turn off the safety. What did you think you were going to do, dumbass?" He blinked at me mutely, as though he had lost his voice when all the fight had leached out of him. "Right then. I'm going to offer you a little free advice: divorce that sack of shit and find someone who will give a damn about you. And, since you're not going to fire me, I quit. Effective immediately," I informed him serenely. And then I walked out of his office, out of the department and back into the lobby. It was just my shitty luck that Elias happened to be coming in. It was his shitty luck that I packed a mean punch and had nothing left to lose. It appeared he had somewhere between two and five teeth to lose, which should not have been nearly as satisfying as it was. "I'll press charges, Haruhiko Yamada!" He bellowed as I sauntered away. "You do that and I will fuck your husband," I return, before disappearing into the crowd of people and off onto the street. * A week later, I received a letter from Leeland Advertising –my now former employer. Here we go. Probably some sort of lawsuit or something I needed to pay back because of some contract I signed as a naive child. I opened it slowly. In it, there was a document detailing a generous severance package as well as a check cut for all of my accumulated vacation time. as I slid them back into the envelope, a pale blue sticky note fluttered to the floor. "Thank you." It read, in a neat efficient penmanship I knew very well. He had signed it with a "J" but I would have known his handwriting anyway I couldn't help but smile. Now both of us had a chance at new lives.


TRIGGER WARNING: Explicit language and mention of substance abuse It had been five years since I'd been home for the holidays. The last time I was home for Thanksgiving dinner, I uncovered a massive secret my mother was keeping. She swore me to secrecy. What kind of mother would force her child to keep such a secret from her father? I resented her for that. I also blamed her for my little sister Joy's drug addiction and for my older brother Jonathan's gambling problem. She had single handily destroyed our whole family. This year, she had begged for us all to come together for dinner; she said she had something to tell us. I was grateful that my boyfriend Greg was attending dinner with me because I could really use his support. We'd been dating for eight months and I'd been avoiding introducing my family to him. I didn't come from a family filled with love, hugs and kisses. My family was filled with hatred, lies, deception and secrets. I wanted no parts of that so I decided to learn how to love them from a distance. "When the dysfunction begins, don't say I didn't warn you," I said to Greg as we walked hand-in-hand to the front door of my childhood home. "C'mon, Babe," he chuckled, "They can't be THAT bad." "Just you wait and see," I replied as I knocked on the door. My beautiful grandmother opened the door. I got my good looks from her, through my father. "Granny!" I exclaimed, genuinely happy to see her. She tended to be one of the least dramatic members of the family. We hugged and I introduced her to Greg. When I turned to look at him, he was standing with a blank look on his face. "Y'all c'mon in. Everybody's already here and waiting on ya!" she said as she walked towards the dining room. I turned back around quickly and shot Greg a confused look. "What's the matter?,"I asked him. "Oh...oh...n-nothing," he stuttered, "It's just-she looks way too young to be your grandmother. I giggled. "Good genes." We followed my grandmother into the dining room. She took a seat next to my grandfather at the far end of the table. I sat next to her, directly across from Joy and Jonathan. Greg sat in the seat between me and my cousin CJ. CJ was sitting next to his mom, Sandy, who is my mother's sister. Across from her was Uncle Ted, my dad's brother. In between him and Jonathan sat his daughter, my cousin Deena. My parents were seated at the other end of the table; both of them next to their own sibling. After introducing everyone to Greg, my grandfather blessed the food and we proceeded to break bread with one another. It wasn't long before Joy and Jonathan started their usual sibling banter, shortly being joined by CJ and Deena. Like clockwork, my parents began jesting with their respective siblings. Greg and I sat quietly enjoying the meal. I sipped on a chilled glass of wine, impatiently anticipating my mother's big reveal. Time was ticking and I was getting antsy. I was on my third glass of wine and it was starting to go to my head. Finally, my mother cleared her throat. "Well family," she said with a deep sigh, "I asked you all to come here today because I have something important to tell you. I'm just gonna get straight to it. I have cancer. It's stage four. They tell me I don't have much time left." I cocked my head to the side looking confused as my mother sat teary-eyed and a silence fell over the room. "Is that all, Mother?" I inquired aggressively. Greg squeezed my hand under the table to comfort me. I shook my head then continued. "No. You need to tell them the rest of the secrets you've been hiding." "Jenna, please," my mother begged. "Tell them, Mom. Tell them how you cheated on Dad and he's not Joy's real father." Every mouth sitting around the table fell open. "What!" Joy exclaimed, turning to our mother, "She's lying, right, Mom?" Silence. Finally, my father spoke. "Is it true, Sheila?" "Yes." She said, dropping her head. My father proceeded. "So, who is her father?" I looked at my mother, then we both looked at my grandfather. The guilty look on his face said it all. When it clicked in my father's head, heartbreak was written on his face. "Dad!," he yelled. My grandfather hung his head down. "I'm sorry, Son." Gasps and wishpers roamed all over the dinner table. "I'm sorry, Joe," my mother chimed in. "Back then, you were always traveling for work. I was just so lonely." "Lonely my ass, you tramp!," he growed at her. My mother began sobbing uncontrollably. I rolled my eyes noticing the death stare my grandmother was giving my grandfather. "I don't know why I thought you'd ever change," she said to him. "You've been a dog the whole fifty years we've been together! Dammit, James! Our son's wife! You're a pastor for God's sake!" " Edna, I...I...," he stuttered. "Save your excuses, you ol' fool! And you too, jezebel!," she exclaimed as she stood up, looking at my mother. She then scanned the rest of the faces at the table. "What's wrong with this family?," she asked. "Does anyone else have any secrets they want to share? I guarantee that each one of you at this table has a secret their hiding? How about who stole my bracelets?" Jonathan clear his throat as my grandmother sat back down. "Well since we're telling secrets...," he began, as he turned to look at our sister. "It was Joy, she's smoking crack again. She stole Granny's bracelets, pawned them, and smoked all that money." He put his fingers to his mouth as if he was smoking, to tease her. She smack his hand down. "Go to hell, Jonathan!," she screamed at him, "You're just mad I didn't give you any of the money to cover your gambling debts." She looked at our father. "Hey, Dad. Did Johnathan tell you that he's been sleeping with Deena." "She is your cousin, Johnathan!," my father hollered at him. "She's not my cousin," he replied. "Her momma told her that Uncle Ted is not her real father." "What the hell!," Uncle Ted yelled, wearing the same expression of despair his brother wore just a couple of minutes ago. "I'm sorry, Dad," Deena explained, "Mom's been paying me for years so I wouldn't tell you." She darted her eyes at my brother. "And how dare you," she grunted at him. I thought we were confiding in each other. I never told anyone that you told me your dad has been sleeping with your Aunt Sandy." "Yeah, I did it," my father said quickly, without hesitation. "I been sleeping with her. By the way, CJ.....we gonna have to talk about getting your name changed. I don't like the idea of MY son being named after another man." He raised both hands, balled up like fist. Then he opened them up like exploding bombs. "Boom!," he said to my mother as he stood up. "How ya like them apples?" Then he walked out of the dining room. Dinner with my family was the exact disaster that I was expecting it to be. "You see," I said to Greg as we walked back to the car after dinner, "My family is dysfunction at its finest. That's why I keep my distance." I opened the passenger side door, slide into the seat, and buckled my seat belt. I noticed an expression on Greg's face that I just couldn't read. "Baby, what's wrong," I asked concerned. "You've been acting strange all night. "J, I don't think we're gonna be able to continue seeing each other," he said somberly. I panicked. "Is it because of my family? Greg, they don't have to be part of our lives. Baby, I love you. Please, don't this" "Your family is wild, and no secrets are gonna be safe or stay buried." "Are you trying to say that you have a secret to tell me?" "Well....do you remember the conversation we had earlier in our relationship? The one about some of the wild sexcapades we've had before we met?" "Yes, but what are you trying to say, Greg? I don't understand." "Just listen. I know you remember me telling you about that older, cougar lady that I had a fling with." "Yes." "I don't know how to tell you this, Jenna. But, that lady is your grandmother...."


22/03/1535 08:47 - The roses I planted last month are growing quite well, they should begin to bloom within the week. The magic array in the sunroom had to be tidied up, but that's usual. Not much has happened in the library quite yet, though that's bound to change as the day continues on.

10:32 - A mother just entered with her child, she’s obviously a pureblooded angel, yet her son looks more like a vampire… maybe he's a hybrid like me? I could be mistaken. He’s adorable, though. He seems to enjoy the picture books about dragon history. I wonder what it would like to have kids of my own some day. 14:26 - A pureblooded vampire just entered, he appears to be a nobleman. His hair is quite pretty. The dark silver color shines brilliantly when the light hits it just right. He’s sitting in just the right spot for me to sneak glimpses of his profile without it being blatantly obvious that I’m staring at him. I wonder what it would be like to talk to him, just once. 17:18 - The vampire nobleman left. It's a pity, I wish I could've talked to him or at least gotten his name. Maybe next time? I'm unsure if he would return another day, but I’m willing to wait until his next visit. 25/03/1535 09:56 - The silver haired nobleman returned. I so desperately wish he sits in the same area once more. How I long to stare at that noble profile for hours on end. My heart yearns to run my fingers through those long silver locks… The library is fairly empty in the mornings, so I have more time to look at him over the top of my own book. I should finish reading it within the hour… however my desire to admire this man triumphs over my desire to finish this novel. 10:35 - I have not managed to finish my novel… However I have managed to examine every inch of the silver haired man’s profile and could probably sketch it entirely by memory at this point. I have absolutely no clue what has caused me to admire this man, but it matters not, for I have no connection to this man outside of his infrequent visits to my beloved library. If one asked me before this day who I would consider marrying, I would've answered with “my library”... however now I would most likely reply with “If I were a woman, I’d probably marry this silver haired man.” If only I were a woman. 17:59 - The silver haired nobleman approached me mere moments ago… I’ve learned his name is Histriol. I shall refer to him as such in my writings from hereon. His voice is deeper than I imagined… though I’m often incorrect in such assumptions. It was a pleasant surprise. He only approached to ask me where the earlier historical records were located, however I could listen to that voice for days on end… I’ve realized this has become more of a record of how much I admire this man than an hourly recollection of thoughts and events about my daily life… apologies. 30/03/1535 03:54 - I cannot sleep. I do not need sleep, however it's a much adored part of my daily schedule. Every time I close my eyes I see Histriol’s visage. Usually I would adore such a thing but my dreams after such a sight have become strange. I’ll consult my friends about it later.

09:36 - My friends believe I may be… attracted… to this man? Histriol is a very obviously attractive man, even I could acknowledge such a thing. Anyone would feel captivated by such magnificent red eyes, or want to run their hands through such soft looking silver hair. I’m not strange for this. Anyone who thinks otherwise is strange.

03/04/1535 05:32 - Apologies for not writing for 4 days straight. I’ve been hiding in my room for around 98 hours experiencing what humans may call a “mid-life crisis”... I have realized by reading my past entries that I am, in fact, immensely attracted to Histriol. It has made me unable to face him. I am afraid to leave my room on the highest level of my library in fear that I may run into him and make my feelings blatantly obvious. My employees and the regulars are worried for me, however I’m doing quite alright. I have not attempted or even considered ascending to Avohana before my time has come. I’m merely trying to wrap my head around the fact that I am attracted to men. It's not frowned upon here as it is in Omira, however I’ve grown up my entire life believing myself to be attracted to women. Now that I think of it, I don't believe I’ve ever thought of women this way. Even in my vision of the future I have never once had a woman by my side. Perhaps this was something I was always subconsciously aware of, yet never faced properly until I had someone blatantly say, in their exact words “Oh yeah. You're totally into him. No doubt about it, man.” It appears I’m fairly out of touch with my own feelings. I’ll be sure to get back to my usual updates soon. 27/01/1738 07:45 - The day has started fairly normally. Just as slow as usual. Histriol should be in soon. He requested I hold a book for him since it's fairly important to his current project. Being a general must be tough. Perhaps if I had been healthier as a child, I may have dreamed of becoming an esteemed general as he is, but alas, I was born a sickly child and could not have the same dreams as my peers. Being a librarian is a lot better than having to train daily for hours on end, however. I find reading a good book much more satisfying than physical exertion. Though I’m absolutely certain Histriol must look absolutely dashing while he trains. I can just imagine him shirtless, sweat dripping down his biceps as he swings that beautiful sword he always keeps on him. The image is so vivid in my mind I feel as if I could just touch it. It's a pity it's only my imagination. Oh what I would do to see that for real. 10:32 - Histriol has entered the library with a woman alongside him. He introduced her to me as his… fiancé… oh how I knew this day would come. After making his acquaintance oh so many years ago I knew he would never return my feelings, however I never prepared my heart for when he brought along a fiancé for me to meet. I hope my heart shattering to a million pieces didn't show on my face. I will still support him, however. I will not let my personal feelings interfere with his happiness. He asked me to attend the wedding as his best man. I said yes… oh how I torture my poor broken heart. I couldn't bear to reject my beloved, no matter how much he shreds my heart to pieces. I’ll attend the wedding then inform him I plan to travel. I’ve built a giant library on one of the most prominent floating islands in Acralas, I’ll live there from that day on. I must allow my heart to heal. 08/13/1744 06:12 - I have received a letter from Histriol. He and his wife have had a son. He requested I return to attend his first birthday party this evening. I didn't even know his wife was pregnant. I’m glad for him. I’ll be sure to bring a copy of one of my old favorite childhood stories for him. My heart still aches for Histriol, however he's happy and has a family of his own. No matter how much I yearn to feel his embrace, it will never be my place to request such a thing from him.

13:45 - Seeing Histriol once more has shaken me. Oh how I long to caress those lovely silver locks. I so desire to press my lips against his… to feel his skin against my own… However I must push these feelings down. I must not express anything as to not give away my heart’s true desire.

15:46 - He has asked me multiple times if I’m okay. I feel immense regret for having to show such a distant expression. However when he saw me slip up and smile as I handed over my gift, he seemed relieved and stopped asking. I know he’s not the overly caring sort, so my expression must've been so closed off he was concerned enough to ask about my well-being… Oh how I love this man. I would give him the world if he so desired it. Histriol, my beloved, for you, I would even bring down Avohana just to see even a glimpse of your smile. You bring me such joy, yet such sorrow. Even if I cannot have your heart in reality, I can still dream of a day where you return these immense feelings of mine, even just slightly. 13/09/1952 07:28 - This morning has become increasingly strange. I woke up and began my usual routine of caring for my garden and organizing my newest shipment of books when a strange woman claiming to be Masuyo, the goddess of life and death, appeared in my library. I'm quite suspicious but we’ll see how this goes. 18:34 - I’ve… become a god? Not what I had in mind when collecting all the books in the world but I'm not quite against it either. I’m currently in Avohana, setting up my “domain”. Of course it has to be a massive library. It’ll even include ancient texts lost to time. I’m quite exhilarated at the prospect of reading texts in languages lost to time. Oh how I wish Histriol were here. 31/13/3045 07:43 - Histriol sent me an urgent message to return to Acralas. I’ll update when I get there and figure out the situation. 15:58 - His wife has passed away. Oh how my heart hurts to see him suffering so. He’s not usually such an expressive man, but I can clearly see his despair. Oh how I long to comfort him as a lover, but that is not my place. It disgusts me how little regard my traitorous heart holds for his deceased beloved. For now I’ll comfort him properly as a friend. I’ll allow my distant facade to fall for one evening to properly care for my grieving friend.

19:23 - He has fallen asleep leaning against me. I’m unsure of what I should do. Isaki…? Mizuki…? Soriel, maybe…? Could one of you let me know how to proceed in such a situation…?

14/02/4072 13:57 - Histriol has… admitted to returning my feelings…? Is this real…? This has to be a dream. The Histriol I know could never truly love me in such a way. My heart must yearn for him so much I’m having auditory hallucinations. Perhaps this is another one of Fri’s cruel pranks.

18:34 - It is not, in fact, a dream. I have… thoroughly confirmed such a thing. Oh how my heart soars. If I were not a god, I would've gladly allowed my soul to ascend to Avohana as I feel fulfilled. I hope to one day bring Histriol with me to visit my library in Avohana, though I would despair if he died, even if his soul returned to Avohana afterwards. Perhaps, one day, I may ask him if he’d like to become a minor god so we could spend eternity together. For if he rises to Avohana as a dead soul, he would one day have to reincarnate. If he becomes a minor god, he could remain himself for eternity alongside me. If he doesn't wish to become a minor god, then I’m prepared to let him go when the time comes. For now, I shall revel in this happiness he has given to me. I shall cherish his heart as he will my own. To an eternity together, my beloved Histriol. My heart is yours until you no longer wish to keep it.


“Move along, buddy.” “Hey, man, I’m not doing anything wrong.” “Yeah, I’ve heard it all before. Come on, give someone else the spot.” The cop stood there unmoving while the younger man gathered his belongings into a backpack scowling.

Ushering him out the door into the masses the officer nodded his head to the empty seat, looking at me. “Ma’am?” As relieved as I was to get off my feet, I hardly wanted the attention, nor the title of “Ma’am”. I smiled as I took a seat on the newly empty stool, opting to hold my purchase rather than place it on the messy counter. The aroma of pumpkin spice replacing the smell of weed was refreshing.

Looking out the window I searched for Alexa. The crowd seemed to move as one, faces flushed and tense, pushing along luggage enroute to their destinations. What is he going to be like, I wondered for the millionth time. The mysterious text to meet in Miami was on my mind since receiving it last weekend. I checked my phone for any updates, pleased to see a new notification. “Just landed,” my daughter’s text from five minutes ago. Glancing at the array of clocks from each time zone, I quickly calculated that I still had some time before going to her gate. Unlike Reefer Boy, the previous occupier of the seat, my overpriced purchase was a ticket to sit rather than to loiter and I took my first sip.

Bits and pieces of surrounding conversations floated around me. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but honestly had no choice. The customer at the register was making a to do about her order, repeating the complicated specials as if a lifesaving concoction in a lab or hospital. Come on, lady, mellow out. Maybe I should set her up with Reefer Boy, I thought, fighting the urge to laugh at the image. There’s one in every crowd who has to make a scene. I couldn’t resist and turned away from the view of the waiting area and craned my neck. Yup, there she was with her husband, boyfriend or whoever the unfortunate man was next to her looking like he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. There was a line forming behind them and I heard the exaggerated sighs and witnessed the eyerolls. Another text vibrated my phone. “Getting off the plane. See you at Gate 11.” A glance at the sign through the window showed I had a bit of a walk. Using the napkins with the famous logo I cleaned the counter of muffin crumbs, leaving it nicer for the next customer than it was left for me. Joining the sea of luggage toting travelers, I started my walk to Gate 11 when I sniffed like a bloodhound and caught a scent. No way, not again. Mixed into the stagnant air was the undisputable scent of what we called back in the day MaryJane. Increasing my pace to a walk-run, I continued my journey to Gate 11 eager to see my daughter after an entire semester without any visits. Becoming trapped in a parade of businessmen in their suits and ties despite the stifling humidity I pushed through with an aggressive stream of excuse me, pardon me like a little fish swimming against the current, fearful of getting swept out to sea.

Gate 12 appeared with passengers lining up ready to board, paperwork in hand, parents grasping the arms of squirming little ones. One more gate until I see my daughter to find out her big news. My cell chimed simultaneously with another phone close by and when I stopped to respond someone in my peripheral vision did the same. There she was! Unaffected by the lack of adequate air conditioning Alexa appeared cool, calm, and collected, and quite beautiful. Her eyes darted about, then settled just to the right of me as she took off into a sprint. Waving my arms frantically I tried to get her attention. As if moving in slow motion with the old fashioned whoomp, whoomp, whoomp noise whirring in my head she reached a young man, and they shared quite the passionate greeting. Pulling apart, she wrinkled her nose, an expression leftover from childhood when something struck her as distasteful, upsetting. What was happening? I took the final steps to approach my daughter with a smile to light up the entire area, readying myself for whatever was about to unfold.

“Ma!” She screamed delightedly. “Finally. Meet my boyfriend, Kurt.” I turned to find myself face to face with none other than Reefer Boy. My heart sunk like a stone. My beautiful daughter. My princess. Didn’t we teach her better than this? I scrambled to find my manners. I didn’t want to be that woman making a scene, the one in every crowd that everyone either pretends isn’t there or watches with amusement like I had just witnessed a few minutes earlier. “Hello Kurt! Nice to meet you,” I forced a quivering lip smile in his direction. “Great to meet you too! I’ve been looking forward to this.” He smiled a broad smile, his eyes a pretty shade of blue similar to my daughters’. They made a striking couple. I was surprised, would have been happy. “Ma, wait until Kurt tells you what happened today. It’s the funniest thing.” “Yeah, funny to you, maybe. Not so funny to me.”

“Tell me!” I became curious as to what Alexa considered to be the funniest thing. “Everything was great until I got into the Uber. It stunk. Like positively reeked of weed. The last riders must have been partying like there’s no tomorrow.” He paused.

“Oh wow,” I commented for lack of anything better to say. “Ever since I got out of that cloud I feel like it’s been following me around. Amazing how people have been treating me since I walked into the airport.”

My daughter started laughing. “It’s so funny, he’s completely anti-drug, like never even tried pot. I bet he got a buzz in the Uber.” She was outright laughing at him. “Tell my mom what happened when you got here.” “Yeah, I was minding my own business and got thrown out of Starbucks. Police officer and all. I was mortified.” Alexa covered her mouth with her hands, hiding her laughter, her new diamond ring flashing, giving away the news before she was ready. I felt the flutter of excitement but kept it in allowing her to tell me at her own pace. I looked at her fiancé, my future son-in-law, seeing how he was laughing good naturedly.

I felt my face flush thinking of how many times I thought of him as Reefer Boy. I think I’ll keep that to myself for now.


A year from now, she’d be married. She’d be curled up in bed with a stranger and a glass of champagne and the title of the next year as a crown atop her head. A year from now she’d be smiling and happy and loved. She’d have a stable job, a house with two stories, a stranger and a glass of champagne. She told herself this, with a hand wrapped around a cold glass. Whiskey, not champagne, but at least she had the crowd of strangers around her, like curtains on a stage, and her at the bar in her costume of a woman alone on New Years Eve. He was a villain, a victor, a side character. He was the man on the subway calling his wife, the boy on the playground laughing with his friends, the skater in a New York ice rink. He was the voice on the other side of the call, the mysterious love interest in the bookstore. He was the angry man at the corner of the street, the bully in high school. He was all these things and more, because to him life was but a story with countless empty roles to be filled. Today he was playing a man at the end of the bar, and nothing more. A drink, a laugh, a kiss, and this play would be over and on to the next one tomorrow. A drink, a laugh, a kiss and the year would end. Her hand, dripping in her lap. Condensation in a warm, bubbling room, like the froth on a wave lapping at the cliffside, rocks and pebbles crashing through the water - water eroding the beach, water eroding the rocks, water eroding the woman’s life. Water in the form of glass and whiskey and hate and lips. Water in the form of friends and family and loss. She was a pebble in a river, a bump in the rapids, and the water simply poured over her, indifferent to her cries and calls for help. And a hand, like a warm ray of sunshine, dripping with the harsh waters of life, lifted out from those fiery rapids, reached up to the sky, and held the stars at the tip of her fingertips. A drink, a laugh, a kiss. The play was winding down, ten seconds to the curtain call, ten seconds til his role was done, a line or two, a step or three, a drink, a laugh, a kiss. A drink. A laugh. He slammed the glass down on the wood, slick with years of shots and spills and tears and characters whose job it was to rub down the bar for the play this year. A drink, a laugh, a kiss. A woman sat next to him. She had hair like wild grass in the always empty patch of land just off the freeway, a nose like a crooked mountain, cheeks red and patchy. She had a mole on the side of her neck and eyebrows as thin as twigs. Her eyelashes were long and curved, like antennae on butterflies and he remembered, when he was little, in a role long before his own, his mom would brush her eyelashes up against his, and call it a butterfly kiss.

Does the laugh come before or after the kiss?

He liked the way her fingers slid over the glass in front of her, drew words in the dark of the bar, poetry that disappeared in the heat of the night. When she left that night, she just wanted to escape the loneliness of her apartment, the droning of the television, the cheers from the streets down below. She wanted to drown in the happiness around her, so she went to the bar. She went to the place thick with the choking smell of laughter, the stench of happiness and love and excitement. She could go anywhere in the city and smell it like death, like the plague, only she seemed to be immune. So she went to the bar to drown in the happiness wafting off of everyone around her - the bartender, the couple in the middle of the room, the friends making jokes in the corner, the man at the end of the bar. She turned to look at him, eyes of hazel poppies in a field of raked dirt. An oasis of palm fronds and bright blues of resort pools. Hands in his lap like the branches of a tree, so long she almost expected the fingers to grow out and up and wrap around her like ropes. A face like gravel, with dips where feet had shaken the pebbles loose. A broken nose, like hers. Five seconds in the rest of her life. “Hi.” His last bit of dialogue in the play. “Hey.” She slouched over her empty glass, looked side-long at him, lifted, tilted her face. Years went by in the minutes they existed, and the whole time she was wondering what made strangers so different, blank slates, gaps in the progression of time, canvases to paint a lifetime on. A car passing by carries a family of love, hope, hate, and tragedy. A light in each window of a skyscraper is a poem, a song, a story. We exist in our separateness all the same, all knitted together. And the room around them bubbled like water to a peak, a heat so vividly bright, it threatened to explode before its cue. He was wondering when his role would expire, when his life would reveal its permanence. Because he was tired of always constantly being something. He was tired of having cues, lines, roles, costumes. A laugh, a kiss, a drink. He would study butterflies in Brazil, soil in Argentina, literature in Britain, food in Paris. He would carry people through burning buildings, coax a baby out of it’s cage, raise a wolf from a dog, and yet he would always remain the same stagnant character. And a drink, a laugh, a kiss would change nothing, but he could hope that he might find a final role next year. The room chanting, characters with a goal, separateness finally pulled together, strands of yarn pulled tight if only for a few more seconds, pulled tight for a kiss and then let go. And the synchronization of the night, she thought, is what makes a stranger so alluring.

Her hands drifted up and along the man’s jaw, traveled to the back of his head. She smiled, he laughed. Breath smelling like alcohol and sadness and loss and loneliness. A laugh, a smile, a kiss. They pulled like magnets together, and connected at the last second of the year in a kiss like two currents twisting together for a moment before passing each other by. And piano riffs sounded from the orchestra bowl at the edge of the stage, and the audience erupted in applause. For a moment, they seemed to be synched. Eyes closed, breathing slow, together in the same story for a moment, just before finding their own peace.


“Please go down to the end of the hall. The door will open automatically. Go to your left. Enter the second door on your right. It will be open. Please be seated and await instructions.” The voice ominous, cold, coming from a speaker that was not visible. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t the monotone voice of an undertaker. I dutifully followed the instructions. The door as promised slid open as I approached, its green eye blinking unceremoniously as if I had disturbed it. I followed the corridor to the second door on my right and as promised, it stood open. The interior however was dark. I put my arm through the opening and felt for a light switch. Just as I had decided to chance entering this black hole, a series of fluorescent lights began to spit light into the room. A maniacal humming sound emanated from their metal caskets that hung like cocoons from the ceiling. Then as suddenly as the rave began, it stopped. The lights hummed as if placed on lullaby mode by some unseen force, the pulsating light found stability and remained in a constant state of boredom. The chair as promised, sat alone in the middle of the room. I sat as I had been instructed and waited. Something resembling music emanated from two large irregular shaped speakers that hung on the wall. The room was completely naked but for the chair and a desk which sat at the front of the room. It supported what appeared to be a monitor of sorts, one I did not recognize as an element of any home computer ensemble. I sat, attempting to pose as self-assured, in case anyone may be observing my attempt to follow precisely the protocol prescribed. The monitor suddenly began to erupt with other worldly sounds and then a green series of dots appeared on the black screen. At that moment the music died. It was replaced by a voice resembling my greeter, but with a slightly more aggressive and less fictional tone.

“You will be given a short aptitude test that will determine your ability to differentiate between some of the more commonly used emotions available to our citizenry, and a few that are not. Do not attempt to answer a question if it makes you uncomfortable, or you do not have a definitive answer. To guess will alter the outcome of the evaluation, and in our experience, will lead to an unsatisfactory appraisal. If you have any questions, please write them down on the pad in the desk drawer just beneath me.” As the words were relayed to me, a face appeared on the screen. It consisted of green dots, and it appeared to be smiling. Not a happy  smile, more of a smirk, as if it knew the outcome of the test before it had begun. Had it not been for lack of funds, and the difficulty in finding employment, I would have most likely never answered the add. I find want adds suspicious when they are vague about what is expected and yet adamant about punctuality and deviation from all rules given. “Please, proceed to the screen, bring your chair if you wish. A series of true and false questions will appear. Along side each will be a box. Check the box by touching the screen. Give only one answer. The correct one. Should you not know the answer, as I stated earlier, leave the question blank.” I pulled the chair to the front and seated myself before the screen. The face composed of dots melted into a river of rainbow colors and then turned completely black. I could hear the numbing whisper coming from the apparatus and waited for something to appear. Shortly a series of dots began to appear on the black background, this time purple, yellow, orange, and blue. The swirled in vortex fashion forming a cone of nearly imperceptible Mariachi dancers wildly clicking castanets made of clam shells. Out of the cone came a series of letters, also of varying colors and sizes. Some large, some barely visible, some pulsating in time to the music that now began to throb like a telltale heart.

The white walls, ceiling and floor began to dance with the colored projection of the letters emanating from the machine. Words began to appear and disappear randomly. I attempted to read the words, but either the letters were not aligned, or they were simply gibberish put on the walls to confuse me. I realized after a few minutes that the randomness was an illusion that emerged as the letters grew, and then shrunk back into themselves, eventually disappearing, but leaving the assurance they had existed.

I wondered if this was the test. Perhaps it was a psychological experiment to see if I was mentally capable of handling chaotic melody and the expanding and contracting letters that appeared to not belong in any sequence, that would give then meaning. As abruptly and methodically as the music and letters appeared, they stopped. The walls became white once again and the monitor beamed, as a series of numbers appeared on the screen. They were all the number, 1. And then as if by magic, letters jumped from the walls and appeared on the screen. They formed one word over and over, filling the entire screen. Then, other numbers began to fall from the ceiling onto the screen. All the same number, 1.

I waited as patiently as I could for more direction, but none came. I remained staring at the screen as the numbers and letters began to pulsate, dance, growing and shrinking in time to the music. Then, as if someone threw a switch, everything stopped. The green number 1, stood obediently next to the letters that combined in stoic fashion to become the word, one. A box appeared next to the number 1. I still had no idea what was required of me, so I just sat and attempted to remain as calm and attentive as I could manage.  My foot has a tendency to tap to the rhythm of my heart.  It usually stops of its own accord if I ignore it.

The music began once again, this time barely a whisper at first, but growing louder as the minutes passed. A voice, not the voice from before, but a different voice, one with more of a Hollywoodized quality. It repeated the same sentence, more of a statement really, repetitive, growing louder and then fading one again to a whisper. “One is the loneliest number,” it repeated over and over, as if it was speaking in a manner I could only understand, if it continued to bombard me with the declaration. It was as if it was attempting to force my understanding, if not by repetition, then by molecular assimilation. Then, everything went black. The entire room was consumed by darkness. The screen ceased to glow. I had no idea what was expected of me. I was afraid to leave, more afraid to stay, but I needed a job.  My foot began to move again as if it were empathizing with the darkness. After what seemed an hour, the lights jumped back on with a sputtering strobe quality, and on the screen was a question. Just a single question, “What is the significance of the number 1?” No box! The first thing that came to mind, was me. My second thought was about the inference of loneliness. And the third notion, that I was being subjected to a psychological test of some kind, to determine if I was suitable for a specific type of employment. I found the latter to be the most troubling. Were they looking for conspiracy advocates to propel a new line of alternative truth through our presently unstable country? Or were they looking for someone that no longer responded to anything outside the realm, of self?

And then I heard it, this ringing sound.  I remembered it from somewhere. It reminded me, of me. I opened my eyes and Alexis was on the bedside table blinking, awaiting my commands. I’ve never liked the name Alexis, too detached, too inclusive, too… So I call her Molly.  "Molly, please! I am awake." She does not respond. The ringing continues, and then like in the room, it abruptly stops.  I had the feeling she was watching me more intently than at any time previously, and then she spoke.

“How was your dream?” The question startled me. I couldn’t believe she could possibly know my dreams, but then she started to hum, “One is the Number.”  As I untangled myself from the blankets, she asked, “What does Mr. Lonely have planned for the day?” I began to answer, “I…” but stopped myself. I prefer to keep my thoughts to myself. No one any longer knows, if what one knows, is any longer, the only one who knows.