Swirling motes of dim light circled me on an otherwise dark night. In front of me, I could see a pale door that wasn’t attached to anything. The doorknob had a thick substance dripping off of it. Is this oil? Thinking I should leave, I looked around hoping to spy a safe exit towards familiarity. To my left, I noticed a car was hovering above a clearing and slowly rotating. When the headlights turned my direction, they looked like large, glowing eyes. To my right, I saw a triangular window with shadows moving behind it. I didn’t want to know what it’d look like when illuminated. The hair on the back of my neck stood in response to the warped setting. I resolved to run as fast as my middle-aged body could carry me in desperate search of safety. Certain I was lost in a world of madness, I abandoned hope of finding familiarity. When I tried to turn my body, I couldn’t move. Panicked, I looked at my legs. They were being wrapped, and pulled on by the light motes. I couldn’t escape. My only remaining option was to open the pale door I was frightfully avoiding. I reached apprehensively towards the still-dripping doorknob, hoping that whichever entity lie beyond would either show me mercy, or end me quickly. The light motes softly illuminated the knob as I drew closer, revealing the identity of the mystery liquid. Blood. While my best effort to forget it failed, I closed the gap. The blood began to flow faster, dripping down my arm, and seeping into my skin — a horrifying transfusion. Resisting the urge to black out, I opened the door with as much force as I could muster. The dim lights, still wrapped around my legs, threw me through the threshold. Stabilizing myself, I noticed separate streams of blood unnaturally slithering towards me on a white tile floor, still searching for my skin. Every time a stream of blood entered my body, a new memory pulsed through my vision — memories of different people being thrown in this room. They were always gagged and blindfolded. Sometimes they squirmed futilely in body bags. In every memory, the person would be bound to a metal chair before they were horrifically tortured, and then my vision would go black. In between memories, the white tile floor would reappear as if to show it wasn’t over. There were still streams of blood to be absorbed. When I thought the barrage of horrors was finally over, my vision went dark, and all I could see was a morbid, uneven, grid of everyone’s faces. Bloated. Decayed. Their faces were locked into permanent silent screams. My body began to quake, and all I could do was scream for us all. “Marty! Honey, wake up!” My wife, Eve, was shaking me awake, and my screams began to quiet. While I attempted to catch my breath, my eyes darted around still looking for dead bodies and blood. After regaining my composure, I pulled her soft frame into my arms. I just knew she saved me from dying in my sleep. “Are you okay?” Eve gently pushed herself out of my arms and began fumbling for the lamp switch. “You feel really— Oh! What happened to you? We need to call an ambulance!” “Hold on. Don’t call an ambulance. We don’t have the money, and I feel fine, just sweaty.” I stood up and found my way to the bathroom while my wife followed me. When I turned on the light switch, I heard Eve gasp as she looked at me in better lighting. Growing concerned, I turned towards the mirror and started screaming all over again. Much to my horror, my wife rushed out of the room. I was frozen in fear. Alone. Everything went dark. *** I heard my wife’s voice. I slowly opened my eyes and caught a glimpse of her backside as she darted out of the room — not a bad image to wake up to. My light musing was quickly interrupted by something squeezing the life out of my arm. I turned to see a blood pressure cuff and other machines attached to me. The fog of sleep now effectively chased from my head, I began to analyze the situation. I looked down towards my hands and noticed they were lightly bandaged. So was most of my body. I struggled to recall what could’ve caused this. Was I still having the nightmare? Knock-Knock. “Hello, Mr. Walker. I’m Dr. Avery.” The doctor walked in, shortly followed by Eve. “Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” He asked, while he sat on a stool next to my hospital bed. “Three.” I replied, as my wife sat in a chair opposite Dr. Avery. “Good.” He pulled something out of his coat pocket. “I’m going to ask you to follow the tip of this stick with your eyes. Do you think you can do that for me?” “Sure…” I followed along, wondering if this was a sobriety test. “Good. No problems there, just one more thing.” Dr. Avery clicked a button on the side of the stick and moved the resulting bright light across my vision. “Okay, pupils are functioning properly. Do you know why you are here today?” “Not really, but I’d sure appreciate being filled in before anything further.” I was becoming irritated. “Is it okay if I tell him this part instead, with you just jumping in for the medical bits?” Eve asked. Dr. Avery sighed, and looked at his watch. “I suppose. Just try to keep it timely, since there are other patients waiting.” Eve nodded and gently clasped one of my bandaged hands into hers. “You were having a nightmare, so I woke you up. When you hugged me, I knew something was really wrong. You felt . . . sticky. I know you said not to call the ambulance, but when you saw yourself in the mirror, you screamed. I didn’t know if you were in pain or in shock, so I ran to find my phone and call anyway. By the time I got back to you, you’d passed out and hit your head on the way down.” My brows furrowed. “Ah.” In the bathroom, the blood on my skin reminded me of the streams of blood, infused with everyone’s memories. I thought I was still trapped in the nightmare. Was it possible the blood I absorbed in the dream was trying to leave my body in real life? No. This is insanity. Before I could continue to entertain such delusions, I quickly turned to the doctor for answers. “I think you’re up for the medical part.” “While extremely rare, my professional opinion is that you have a severe case of Hematidrosis. Basically, it means that the capillaries that supply oxygen to your sweat glands ruptured, and you began to sweat blood. This only happens during extreme stress.” Dr. Avery made a show of looking at his watch again, and his speech became more rapid. “Long story short, the amount of blood you were sweating was highly unusual for it to be from Hematidrosis. So, before I call it an official diagnosis, I still have some tests to run. You are currently stable, but your skin will still feel tender. I’ll send a nurse to fill you in on the details of your treatment since you arrived, and you can head home after.” He quickly shot up from the stool and left before I could process everything and thank him. I sighed pure relief, realizing I was holding my breath. It wasn’t an official diagnosis, but there was at least, a rational explanation. Taking a deep breath, I turned to face my wife. “Thank you for calling the ambulance. I know I said not to, but I’m happy you didn’t listen.” I gave her a pensive smile. “The day I listen to everything you say is the day I give up my porcelain doll collection.” Eve smirked, knowing how I felt about those creepy things. “I swear their eyes follow me everywhere. If I didn’t love you, those things would’ve found the heavy end of a mallet by now.” I laughed a little, finding comfort in a fleeting feeling of normalcy with my wife. *** “They let me ride in the ambulance because I was in no condition to drive. We’ll need to call a taxi.” Eve started digging in her purse. The night air was refreshing. “It’s two in the morning. There are no taxi companies open right now, and our friends are sleeping. Let’s just walk home. It’s only five blocks. We should be fine . . . Don’t look at me like that; you’re wearing sensible shoes, the neighborhood is low crime, and if something else happens just call the ambulance again.” I rolled my eyes and threw my hands up not knowing what else to say. “Okay, fine. I guess I can look at it as a mini date with my husband.” Eve took my arm and snuggled close. I felt like we were young again as we walked down the road towards our home, playfully teasing each other and reflecting on the hopes and dreams we used to talk about as teenagers. I was still experiencing a bit of pain. I wasn’t going to ruin the mood though because Dr. Avery said my skin would still be tender for a while. We turned down Wharf Road and noticed a car show set up behind the fence of a shut-down dealership. “Must be an event for later today.” I watched my wife nod as she walked over to the gate to peer closer. The pain all over my body became a bit worse, and I squeezed my eyes tight, mentally bracing myself while Eve was distracted. When I opened my eyes, the resulting spots in my vision didn’t disappear like they should’ve. The wave of pain dissipated, but to my extreme unease, I recognized the swirling motes of dim light from my nightmare lingering in my vision. I willed myself to remain calm, and act as if nothing were amiss. “Ready to go?” Eve asked. “Yes.” I was eager to continue home. However, when I began to walk closer to Eve I noticed all of the light motes drifting to the left of my vision. Against my better judgment, I allowed my eyes to follow them. My chest tightened. I must be losing what’s left of my mind. Through the gate, in the center of every attraction stood a car on a pedestal, slowly rotating. The specks of dim light began drifting to the sign above the car. It said, “Maintained by Motorized Maniacs on the corner of Cardinal and Flannery” “Helloooo?” My wife started gently shaking my arm. “Do you remember what ‘Yes.’ means?” She began to look impatient. The moment my attention was shifted to her, the dim lights vanished. “Sorry about that, the car in the center caught my eye.” On the way home, I proceeded to finally tell her the details of my dream, leaving out the recent hallucination, of course. *** The coast was clear. It was 3:30 a.m. and Eve was now sound asleep. I was afraid to fall asleep again, not that I’d admit it out loud. I knew my next course of action should be to put myself at ease. I’d prove to myself that everything was normal, so I could sleep in peace. I slowly inched out of bed and crept to the bathroom to finally look at myself in the mirror. Brown eyes? Check. Grey hair? Check. That one weird nose hair I’ve been meaning to cut for three weeks? Check. The absence of blood covering my body and the presence of two stitches I’ll have to lie about later to not feel like a pansy? Check and check. I was ready to go after leaving a quick note for Eve to call me in case she woke up — better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. I threw on my black sweats and drove to the corner of Cardinal and Flannery. When I arrived, I tried to look natural. Even though I wasn’t planning on stealing or breaking and entering, it’d still look like I was up to no good this late at night. As I walked closer to the building, it looked like a harmless old mechanic shop. I knew this was a family business, only changing names when the next of kin inherited it. I decided to look in a window, just to put myself completely at ease. I walked towards the light post in the back and noticed it was in the middle of a small parking lot. Movement caught my eye. My stomach dropped. It was the large, triangular window straight out of my nightmare. Moving shadows included. Why did I think coming here would calm me down again? I steeled myself, and looked through the window. The motes of light were back. They were swarming violently in the old-fashioned maintenance pit, casting shadows on the window. I wasn’t sure if I was more terrified of the hallucination, or the possibility that it wasn’t one. It felt like I couldn’t catch my breath, and my chest started hurting. The more I thought about my expectations not matching my warped reality, the worse I felt. “Your light, persistent and warm, chases my darkness away!” Eve’s ringtone scared the living hell out of me, and I tripped, falling against the glass. Before I could steady myself, the decades old window frame snapped; the glass shattered, and gravity had no trouble pulling my beer belly down with it. The impact of the ground seemed to help snap me out of my cyclic thoughts. So much for not breaking and entering. The lights vanished. I slowly stood up, and shook off the bulk of the broken glass. My phone was completely broken. I decided I was already inside, so I may as well check out the maintenance pit. At least I’ll get decent sleep in prison after this if Eve doesn’t kill me first. I descended into the pit and wasn’t sure what I was looking for. Looking up at the ceiling, I questioned my life choices. My eyes were well adjusted now, and everything looked perfectly normal. What was I doing here? Things looked normal, aside from my light hallucinations. I came here to prove everything was fine. I should leave. I turned around to find the stairs again, and the lights returned; they rapidly circled my legs. I could not leave. I started hoping the hallucination was sentient. “I’ll keep looking if this craziness stops!” I screamed to the dark, and the lights stopped as quickly as they started. Okay. It isn’t just hallucinations. My chest tightened. With labored breathing, I began knocking on the sides as I walked toward the other end, listening for differences in sound. There was a large, towel hanging at the end. I took it down, and saw the pale door from my nightmare. This can’t be reality. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. I knew I had to open the door. I started praying to God, that a silent alarm was tripped and that the police would show up before I was murdered. I grabbed the slick doorknob, trying to ignore my hammering heart. I crept inside and began feeling around for a light switch. Nothing. I left the door open, so that I could at least see the exit. As I felt my way forward, I lightly kicked some heavy paper bags; it was probably just cat litter. Smack! “Don’t hurt me!” I fell backward after someone or something hit my stitches. I froze in terror and braced for another hit. Nothing happened. I listened for footsteps or breathing. Nothing was there. I carefully stood and reached up, into the darkness. I’m such a moron. I was feeling in front of me, and forgot to feel above me. The ceiling became low here. I slid my foot to feel for the next step, and found a hole in the floor. I crouched low to examine it with my hands and felt a wooden ladder leading further down. I took a deep breath and followed the path. Reaching the bottom, I realized there was no guarantee I could find the ladder again if something went horribly wrong. My shoes squeaked when I turned around. I touched the floor and it felt like smooth tile. My heart started hammering, remembering my nightmare. I took a few steps forward, and noticed a slight depression. Upon examination, it felt like a drain grate. When I stood up, something lightweight tapped me on the side of the head. I felt for it, pulled, and squinted from the sudden bright light. I was standing on the same white tile. It looked like there was dried blood all over the place. In one direction was the same metal chair I saw people tied to before they were tortured and possibly murdered. Further back, I saw bags full of eyeless, decayed heads. The same ones from the end of my bloody dream. All locked in silent screams. *** “Hey, Marty, I heard those Murder Maniacs got what was coming to them,” my new neighbor said, “multiple life sentences is too good for them.” “I’m just happy they were caught, and the families of the victims received closure. Even if it means I’m stuck here for a few months for breaking and entering.” “Ain’t that the truth.” I sat up, and looked through the bars just in time to see the floating light motes again. They took the forms of the victims, only they were healthy looking. Some waved, some bowed, some blew me kisses. They couldn’t speak, but I understood. They floated into the ceiling, and I never had a nightmare or complained about Eve’s dolls ever again.


MY stomach drops, I’m falling. I can see myself through my body! I’m a ghost witnessing my own death. My eyes are glued open and I see my cream white skin getting pale. I can feel my stomach and my lungs bursting, but I can’t grab the pain. I’m dying. My eyes open wide again, and I feel the air as it trickles into my lungs feeling like a feather.

“Dan, you really have us worrying.” A miniature-sized lady says. Her voice sounds like honey. She looks at me up and down. I look down to find myself drenched in my own sweat. Eww.

It slaps me in the face, I had been dying!

I feel it again, the surge of my twisted stomach, and diving for air desperately but, can’t find a single breath. I see my dying body crashing down hard, but never hitting the ground. I look up and see the sun explode and then the earth explodes with a firing heap. My body still falls over the exploding earth and no matter how much I want to move my body and try to run or float, I’m stuck. I can’t move and I can’t breathe.

My dying body, stomach, and the exploding earth drift away as if I’m trying to find that dream with the miniature-sized woman. She called me… what was it again? Dan? This time I see a dude, he has black hair and freckles. He’s tall and buff, “Daniel, you have us worrying. Are you feeling alright?”

I look at my hands, they look hard and stiff. I look at the man’s facial features and find some sort of calmness.

Again, the sweat all over gives me a shiver. No, never shall I think about my reality while I’m at ease in my dreams.

Back to the twistedness of my life. I’m in a different scene. I’m watching myself in a bathroom with people who look like teenagers, we’re singing in the bathtub. I can’t breathe and my guts tighten. The tub is filled with drugs and alcohol. What are we singing? Well, you would’ve never known, it’s the wheels on the bus. I find the music that we’re singing cringe and giving me a worse sensation of unease just to add with the air that never seems to come. The wheels on the bus song fizzle into nothing so does the view of the drugs and alcohol killing my body, and mind. What did that freckled guy call me? Daniel? I feel the air in my lungs and the sweat trickling down my spine again. I’m in a new room, with a new set of people hovering over me. 3 boys and 2 girls.

“He’s here, quick! Before he’s out again!” a muscled man orders.

“Dan, do you know where you are? Who you are?” The blonde-haired dude says. This is a strange dream. Of course, I know where I am, I’m in my dream, dude. “No! He’s losing us!” The ordering guy yelps. “Sorry Gracey, we don’t know if your brother is going to make it. This medical condition is serious. He might never wake up.”

I wake from that weird dream and I find it mixing with my thoughts. Gracey? Who’s that? I didn’t even notice the girl he was talking to. As always my pipe hole closes and I no longer have the ability to breathe. I’m falling again, not just falling this time. I hit the ground with a thud. Pain aches throughout my body and I’m drenched with sweat here too! It’s burning where I landed and there’s no moving away to feel the coolness of the air that I can’t breathe. Medical condition? Never wake up? Huh, wouldn’t that be amazing? Be able to breathe forever. Amazing! “Dan? Buddy? I know you’re awake. And I know you can hear us. You were mumbling stuff I said a few years ago, now. I’m here to explain,” The same ordering dude says. We’re in a different room and there’s no one else hovering over. “There’s no easy way to say this but, you have Psychosis... It’s described as a loss of reality or a break from reality because it makes you experience things or believe things that aren't real. It can change the way you think, act, feel or sense things.” “Thus...is..a….dream.” I say, but my words break up, the words are cracking and hard to spit out. “No Daniel, this isn’t a dream, this is help to pull you back into reality.” Back in the desert laying there, helpless. I watch my body lay and start to blister. POP! OUCH!!! It stings my skin and as much as I want to scream. I have no life. I am dying, and soon I’ll be dead. I get dizzy and my body spins on the ground. My head surges with pain. Everything that my life contains, is pain. There is no freedom. Except for the weird dreams that keep happening. Psychosis? Loss of reality? Controls the way I think, act, feel, and sense? What if this is true. The weird dreams are pulling me away from my unpleasant reality? That makes lots of sense. “Dan? It’s me… again,” The guy who told me about Psychosis was saying. “We have made these pills, but you need to be here for longer than usual and swallow it.”

I understand. But Psychosis is pulling me away from my pain. Hmm? Should I listen to this man? I’ll try if I can. The man leaves the room in a rush and grabs pills. He gets back and basically shoved the pill down my throat with water. Ahh water, I’ve never seemed to feel the sensation of the cool water washing away the bitter feelings of my life. Back in the desert. I’m guessing I didn’t have water? My throat is dry and bitter. I can’t swallow and my lungs just can’t reach the air. My stomach rumbles and twists.

“We are evil! You fell for it and you’ll never dream again! Haha!” The Psychosis man sneers as he’s towering over my rigid body.

No that’s just wrong! How? Why would he do such a thing? I…trusted him.

I sit upright and breathe heavily. I’m fine. Uh oh! The Psychosis man is standing right there. Somehow my body manages to fly backward away from the man.

“Hold up Daniel. Why so jumpy? We cured you for the most part. All you have to do is take these pills a few times a day and do some self-care exercises. We’ll get back to you on which exercises are most necessary to do.” I don’t trust him, but I do. I always thought my reality was in that awful (still very real) place. People don’t know what I saw. It’s not proved what I saw was true. My leap of faith was believing everything that I saw in my “dream” and I still can’t prove if it was real or not, but whether I have to deal with either place. I can handle it.


GAME OF STRATEGY It’s a lot like playing Mafia. You know, that game that utilises a deck of cards to assign roles to people? Aces count as the Mafia, Queens are doctors, Kings are sheriffs, and the rest are the plebeian majority that hang around and don’t really have a whole lot of value. Except for a headcount. When I first stepped into parliament as a doe-eyed new member, I had the greatest hopes to achieve amazing things. I finally felt like I had a voice! All my big ideas now had a platform to be spoken into existence. Unfortunately, I quickly realised it was an exaggerated version of high school. Survival of the fittest, most popular, and with the deepest pockets. I won’t bore you with the details of all the work it took to get to parliament. It was hard. But, we made it. I want to take you back to my first Bill. ***** “I know, Jules. Yes. Thank you.” Alice puts down her phone and looks over to me. Today will be the first time I sit in on a reading of a new Bill, and she promised she would hold my hand through the whole process. Figuratively, of course. “So, Simon. It’s been a decade since we’ve allowed a male candidate in our party. You really need to be on your best behaviour.” I feel my cheeks grow warm. It was very controversial when I began campaigning to serve in our local government. But, something must have connected with the public, because here I am today. “We’re going to have all of Parliament’s eyes on us. They’re like bloodhounds. Don’t leak a drop.” Alice is quite fearsome. She has such strength and drive, it’s vastly intimidating. The room goes quiet as I step across the threshold and follow Alice to our seat. They’re looking at us, whispering. I keep my eyes down and settle next to Alice. Not a drop. Slowly, the roar of conversation builds up again and I look up to examine the surroundings. I am struck with awe. I suddenly realise where I am. I wonder for a moment how many people have sat in this seat before me. The history in the walls, the conversations in the cracks. The thick carpet, recently replaced, warms where feet have walked for centuries. This is the epicentre of peace, war, protest, and reconciliation. Words sharp as swords, poker-faced shields, angry tears, quiet shame. It has all happened here. The formalities begin, and I listen carefully to the Bill title. Dame Selena King’s booming voice fills the room, “I present a legislative statement on the Recycling Reform Bill.” The Deputy Speaker nods her head. “That legislative statement is published under the authority of the House and can be found on the Parliament website. Can I just ask members leaving the Chamber that you do so quickly and quietly, please?” Dame Selena continues her speech. “It's with great responsibility that I read this Bill a first time. The years have proven that current recycling programs drain necessary funds that could be better used in other areas of service, such as in the continued development of our tourist economy. The introduction of the Recycling Reform Bill today is a significant milestone, as the absorption of recycling into waste removal will release funds that will be reassigned to more important issues faced by our current economic climate. When passed, the Bill will create a single removal service and mass deposit site away from our country, maintaining the overall welfare of our citizens, and providing employment for underprivileged workers at said site...” I cannot believe what I am hearing. I flick through the pages of my planner. We’re not in April already, are we? Nope. Definitely still March. April Fool’s Day is still a couple weeks away. “…the Government ran a three-month consultation period with local councils to ensure that everyone had the chance to be heard…” I glance incredulously around at all the eyes glued on Dame Selena. Some are nodding their heads in approval. Others are furiously taking notes. I see a few women lean over to their neighbour and whisper in her ear. More nods. I have fallen into an alternate timeline, or some odd time warp. Surely this can’t be real. The Assistant Speaker stands up, announcing that, “the question is that the motion be agreed to.” Alice votes aye. She glares at me. I vote aye too. Not a drop. I wait to hear the noes. None. All ayes. Not a single opposition. Speechless, I follow Alice back to our office. She’s on the phone again, making some big, important calls. I can’t focus. Everyone is so busy. Nobody to talk to. I decide it is time to go home. Slow motion, I wander towards the nearest tram stop. I become increasingly aware of the overflowing garbage bins as I pass them on my way. A young girl drops a plastic bottle into a recycling bin. My internal dialogue cringes to realise that if this Bill goes through, there will be no recycling option anymore. I take a seat and wait for the rumble of the tram. “Sad, isn’t it?” I startle as a person sits down next to me. She has a hat on, low, casting a shadow over her eyes. Her coat’s collar is turned up, covering her chin. Hands in pocket, she stretches out her legs in front of her. “What?” “The Bill.” I try to grasp a better visual of the woman’s face, but all I see is a glimpse of red lipstick. She’s careful. “Who are you?” “A friend. “Who won’t tell me her name?” She shrugs. “What do you want with me?” I ask. “A favour. I know you don’t want this Bill to go through any more than I do. You’re not alone. I’ll be in contact.” She firmly shakes my hand, and then walks off. I glance down at my palm. A bank account name and password, with a small note attached. There’s a lot more where this comes from . Curious, I type the login details into an app on my phone. I try very hard to hold back the cuss word, but it slips out. $10,000. I think back to my first impression of parliament. Looks like I just drew the Ace card. ***** I notice yet another reporter on my tail, hoping to catch me in the act. It’s only been a couple months since the second reading of the Bill, and the public is ready to pounce. Alice still doesn’t know for sure that I was one of the noes, but she suspects it. I sense her disdain every morning. I try to remain chipper, but it’s not going to last very long. I look up at the cloudy sky and groan at the symbolism of a storm warning. The bloodhounds have turned their noses to me. She calls herself, “River,” the woman who met me on the bench at the tram. She did get in touch. Her instructions were clear. Use the $10,000 to kindly suggest to a member of parliament that they consider a very gentle, “no,” in their next vote. It didn’t take long for me to find one. Reece was my first. I overheard her complaining to her partner about the pressure she felt to vote, “aye,” at the first reading. When that first $10,000 was discreetly transferred, River was pinged, and she transferred $20,000 next, insisting that I keep half of it for myself, and use the other half for our next target. Lynne was a bit more difficult, but I heard that her house was in foreclosure, so I may have suggested that a financial gift would help. It felt strange, making these suggestions. I felt powerful, fighting for a cause, rallying for what I believed to be right. Ariana was my first taste of blood. In a fortuitous moment, I observed her in the arms of a young man just outside of a shady motel; a man who was not her husband. One photograph did the trick. Callie enjoyed one drink too many on a night out with my sister, so I recorded all the sordid details of that event. Freya was superstitious. A well-timed black cat and a strategically-placed cracked mirror convinced her to side with the noes. My kitty got extra treats that night. Those were just my firsts. Once I had a taste of the blood I couldn’t stop. I would do anything to kill this Bill. I see the reporter trying to hide behind a bush, and a cool feeling of dread settles in the pit of my stomach. They were getting too close. I message River to cancel our meeting. Then I delete the message. The quiet whiz of a drone somewhere above me draws my attention. I pretend not to see it, but the sound is all-too-familiar for me now. There is no proof that I’m the mole. No paper trail, no record. Just speculation. But of course their noses are pointing at me, the only male in parliament. I curse my sex. This is getting out of hand. River replies. “Fix it.” ***** She’s been kind to me, despite her harsh exterior. Alice has taken the time to mentor me, to see value in me despite what others think. She found me through my essays on law that I kept hidden on a blog that nobody knew the address to. She found me, somehow. Sweaty palms, dry mouth. I can’t believe I’m doing this. The cameras flash as I step up to the podium, determined to defend myself, my country. To make a stand. I clutch the blackmail notes and photographs in my hand. The mics screech. Live television. Who would have thought I would be here today? She doesn’t see this coming. She doesn’t deserve it. She’s done so much for me. I can’t let all her hard work on me go to waste. “People of this city,” I announce. I am surprised at how calm and even my voice sounds. “People of this city, today I bring tragic news. It is with a heavy heart that I must expose this horrendous truth.” You could hear a pin drop. A drop of blood drop. I pause. Do I really want to do this? All cameras on me. Hide all weakness, Simon. Hide it. “Alice Rogers is not who you think she is.” I hold up two of the blackmail packages. “In these envelopes are photographs and letters that Alice wrote to members of parliament, threatening to cause them great pain if they voted in opposition to this heinous Bill. For this reason, the Bill has made it to the Second Reading.” Even I am impressed by my silver tongue. “This Bill cannot go through, not when a knife is being held to the neck of innocent politicians seeking to preserve the beauty of our country by maintaining a comprehensive recycling program.” Alice looks up at me in disbelief. I see the police move towards her. Blackmail is a big no-no. “People of this country, you have a voice. Use it, for good.” Cheers. Screams. Reckless merriment and joy. Adulation. Appreciation. My heart swells with pride. I watch Alice being led away, tears streaming down her face. If someone had just turned over her card, they would have seen. Just another headcount. Mafia wins.


Sweet as Gingersnaps By: Sean Green            Since 1955 in a little town in Pennsylvania, two cookie companies named Cappington’s Bakery and Montages Cookie House had been competing to be number one. The town always hosted a bake off between the two companies. The contest always had ten rounds and it was to see who could make the best flavored cookies. Each year for decades members from each family would compete in the competition and it this rivalry has been going on for generations.  This generation sees Cappington’s daughter Julia and the Montage’s Cookies son Raymond being the competitors.            At Montage’s, Raymond told his parents that he has always wanted to chosen to compete in the contest since he was a kid. Raymond’s mother told him,            “You can’t fail! We need to win every competition and at least try to put Cappington’s out of business.” Raymond replied, “I know that this a competition and we are trying to beat a rival business but why put them out of business?” Raymond’s father explained, “My grandpa wanted to make a cookie business and that dream came true. Our business was the only bakery in town until three months later Cappington’s Cookies opened up. We lost customers and ever since we have been competing to get those customers back and ever since they just keep coming and going.” Raymond’s mother bellowed in an angry protest “Every time we make new recipes we get old customers coming back and new customers coming in. However, Cappington’s finds out everytime to have something new and then they will make new recipes the same month!  Customers can’t just keep going back and forth between the two bakeries! In1959, the mayor created this competition and ever since we have won some and lost some and it is the same for them. So this time we just need to put them out of business!  We were here first and this town belongs to the Montage’s.” Raymond sort of understood his parents dilemma and told his parents that he would win for them. Robert however felt like the two companies could still somehow exist together. Julia Cappington was competing for the Cappington’s Cookies business. Julia felt like there should not be any competition. She believed her family and the Montages should get along and help each other with their business’s. Julia asked her dad about this and he said, “Julia, since 1955 Cappington’s Cookies has been stealing customers from Montage’s but they keep getting their customers back!  They have been bouncing back and forth. This time we have to win and get everyone to love our cookies more than theirs.” Julia still did not agree and thought the rivalry was just childish. But Julia did agree to compete in the competition because she felt like something special would happen to her. Julia had always loved making cookies since she was a girl and does it in honor of her mother’s memory. Julia wanted to win for her mother but felt like it would be cruel to the Montages. Tomorrow was the contest, Raymond and Julia had trained to win but somehow felt like it would be cruel to the other family. Raymond knew he could not let his family down. Julia knew this would be important to her family. But each one knew what all this competing was really doing to them and the relationships with their family and the citizens of the town.  It was the next day and it was the day of the contest. The competitors had to get there a little early to set up and bake. Raymond and Julia parked their cars next to each other. They got out of their cars and headed to the door. Julia was looking over some family recipes cards and not paying attention to Raymond walking up beside her carrying an armful of cookie sheets All the inattentiveness caused them to bumped into each other and cookie sheets to fly into the air. “I am sorry about that.” Said Raymond “Oh no I’m sorry!” Said Julia Julia helped Raymond pick up the cookie sheets. He held the door for Julia and then he went after her. He started to talk to her and said, “Are you who I am competing against?” Julia replied, “Yes I am and before you say anything I do feel bad that you are going to lose. I don’t want your family to lose their business.” Raymond said, “Really? I don’t think I’ll lose but you are very nice for a Cappington.” Julia said, “Well, thank you and you are nice for a Montage. My dad always told me that your whole family was very rude but after meeting you I find that hard to believe that.” Raymond said, “I appreciate that and glad to hear that we both kind of see how silly this contest is.” They both smiled at each other and got to their tables and started to bake. Raymond asked Julia, “What are you making over there?” Julia replied, “My family’s oatmeal and raisin cookies, chocolate chocolate chip cookies, cream filled sugar cookies, peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies, and our special orange cookies” Raymond said, “Sounds delicious” Julia said, “They sure are.” Raymond, “Funny thing is I am making chocolate chocolate chip cookies too.” Julia said, “Nice what else?” Raymond said, “I have strawberry and white chocolate cookies, plain sugar cookies with icing, apple cinnamon cookies, and my favorite …the macaroons.” Julia and Raymond talked while making the cookies. Julia was having problems with her mixer. Raymond walked up to help her and fixed the problem. Julia thanked him and they went back to making cookies. Soon they started to make small talk, Raymond asked Julia what she likes about baking cookies. Julia told Raymond that she loved baking with her mom Sandra, especially loved baking cookies. And it keeps her memory alive. Julia told Raymond that her mother died from cancer two years ago and she bakes cookies to honor her. Raymond told Julia that he was sad to hear about Julia’s mother and happy to hear that she does it in honor of her. They both finished baking and they started talking about how it is just silly that their families do to each other over the competition of their businesses. Julia told Raymond, “I understand the importance of the competition to our business but not the whole hating each other part.” Raymond told Julia that he really did not like it either and believed that it was just childish. Julia said she could see that too, Julia said that she just felt like there could be a way to stop it. Raymond said, “Do your husband or children like baking with you?” Julia said, “I am single, I was engaged for a little while, his name was Perry. Unfortunately, I found out he was cheating on me.” Raymond responded, “Oh I am sorry to hear that it seems that you have had a lot happen to you. I am sorry for all that.” Julia replied, “You know you can stop being mister nice guy and trying to get me to like you because I actually liked you when we first talked.” Raymond said, “Wow you actually do huh. That is a first for me.” Julia said, “You mean you never had a date.” Raymond said, “Well I liked this one girl named Rose but she got a boyfriend and I just stopped asking girls out.” Julia replied, “That sad, I mean you are very likeable and you are very kind even though we are suppose to be rivals.” Raymond responded, “I can’t believe a man would cheat on you. You are very nice and well you are as sweet as gingersnaps.” Julia chuckled and said, “Well I like that you said that but sorry to disappoint I actually don’t really like gingersnaps.” Raymond replied, “Oh I’m sorry but would you at least like to go Raymond thought maybe there could be, and Julia asked how. Raymond looked at the cookies and asked, “Maybe we could combine one of our creations.” Julia thought that was a great idea and decided to do it. Julia told Raymond that they could combine her family’s orange cookies with one of Raymond’s family’s cookies. Raymond picked the macaroons, they combined their recipes and tasted them. Julia and Raymond both thought it was delicious. They both agreed to replace one of their selections with their new collaborative creation. It was time for the competition and Raymond and Julia got ready. The first round was up, and the judges tried both Raymond’s and Julia’s chocolate chip cookies. Julia won the competition. Which made the Cappingtons laugh at the Montages. However, the judge’s loved Raymond’s apple cinnamon cookies in the second round and the Montages laugh at the Cappingtons. Both Raymond and Julia watched as their family’s laughed at each other and knew that they would teach them that they were being childish. Raymond won the third round and Julia would win the fourth but in the fifth round Raymond and Julia got their combined cookies and gave them to the judges. They first tried Raymond’s and then they tried Julia’s, the judges were confused and tried the cookies again but they both thought they tasted the same. One of the judges said, “Ladies and gentleman both of the competitors have such delicious cookies but this round has been tied because both of the cookies taste the same and we cannot pick one.” Someone in the audience said, “Just pick one already.” Another judge said, “We can’t because for some reason they taste the same.” Then Julia said, “that is because they are the same.” Everyone gasped and Julia’s dad said, “Julia how could you, why.” Julia responded, “Because Raymond and I wanted to show our families how childish this is and that both of our families need to get along and not hate each other over a childish reason. We worked together and came up with this delicious cookie, can you imagine what recipes we could come up with by combining our talents?” The Cappingtons and Montages looked at each other with surprised looks. Raymond then said, “That is true Julia and I do not like the fact that this rivalry has taken away the true purpose of our businesses. Why, couldn’t you all have just collaborated with each other and made new flavors just like Julia and I did. I have told my family I don’t understand the rivalry and neither does Julia! Let me tell you both - we have made a new cookie and the judges seem to love it!” The judges nodded their heads and agreed that it was a delicious cookie. Julia said, “And you know what else I like Raymond and maybe someday like can turn to love.” Everyone gasped and could not believe what they just heard. Julia said, “Does that sound so horrible? We don’t want to go on being the examples of our family’s childish behavior.” Both of the families thought for a moment and Raymond said, “Let’s all just get along and maybe help each other” The families thought about it for a second and then Julia’s dad said, “I guess I suppose you are right Montage.” Julia said, “not suppose ….it is just right” Raymond’s parents said, “We can just give it a try.” Raymond replied, “We don’t need to try, we do need to be friendly too another and not just because we are business competitors.” Raymond and Julia asked the judges who the winner was. The judges unanimously decided that both of them won. Both families shook each other’s hands and Julia and Raymond got together and winning. At night they all partied together even though it took a while before all the families’ members were friendly to each other. Raymond and Julia were very happy to have met each other and were glad that the feud was over. Julia told Raymond that she knew that there was a reason for her to be at the competition and was glad that she now knows why. Two years later Raymond and Julia were engaged and set to be married Raymond and Julia also opened their own bakery and called it Sandra’s . Their business was very successful and both of them were very happy and both families were happy for them. Sandra’s bakery would go on as one of the most successful business’s and soon a franchise. Raymond and Julia knew that with their love everything was possible. The End


The four legs of the aged, wooden chair screeched across the tiled floor as I pushed back from the kitchen table. I lazily lifted myself from my seat using the palms of my hands on the worn-down arm rests. "Tea?" I asked, offering a shallow yet reassuring smile to the stranger sitting on the opposite end of the table. He was decades younger than me, possibly late twenties, yet the look of fear on his cleanly shaven face exuded the naivety of a child in trouble. The poor lad was shivering, just recently enduring the brunt of the thunderstorm that continued to rage outside. Clearly, he wasn't prepared for any such rain, his gray pullover sweatshirt drenched all the way through to his skin, black hair painted to his forehead and sides of his face. His pale hands were as pruney as mine, yet mine were from age and not water. He was soaked to the bone. Didn’t take much to soak him though, his slender frame and lanky extremities were comical compared to my rather rotund build. I needn’t impress anyone and decades worth of heavy stouts decorated me heavy. "Umm, no...no," he responded, rubbing his hands feverishly together before cupping them in front of his mouth. After a pause, he spoke again. "Thank you, though." "A warm mug and even warmer liquid serve a better purpose than your breath," I insisted. "Are you sure?" The boy trembled and although his body language insisted being persistent in his initial answer, he wound up nodding. "Good choice. I'll grab you a cup." I walked toward the stove where my tea kettle sat, hearing the agitated water boiling from within. I knew it was just the right temperature for tea, but I still waited for the hiss before pulling it from the fluorescent orange coils. The kettle shrieked, my ears unprepared for the piercing screech despite the anticipation. I pulled it from the stove, the whistle settling down enough for me to hear the water bubbling inside. I placed it down gently on the blue-clothed placeholder my wife had knitted, then opened the cupboard above the sink. I paused for a moment, staring at the floral-patterned mugs. A fleeting thought of my wife passed. It was odd for her not to be home yet. I begged my mind not to run rampant, refocusing it on hosting. I looked over my shoulder toward the stranger, his eyes pinballing between myself and the front door in the room adjacent to us. I quickly looked back toward the cupboard as his eyes met mine. I hoped he didn't perceive my gaze as judging, but his demeanor began to worry me. I grabbed the box of tea and three cups, and brought them toward the table. "Are...are you expecting someone else?" The boy asked timidly, shifting uncomfortably toward the edge of his seat. “I expect my wife home at any moment,” I answered unconvincingly. I sat back down across from him and pulled my chair in. “I hope you like chamomile, we seem to be running low on our tea supplies.” I chuckled but he remained disinterested, staying on high alert. “Chamomile sounds fine,” he responded. His gaze was glued to the third mug, one in which I set at the third empty seat with a tea bag hanging over the side. “You said she’s coming home soon?” “In due time, I’d like to believe.” I started pouring the hot liquid into his cup, the smoky sweet aroma filling the air. It beckoned sleep, but I wasn’t ready. “I’d imagine you’d like to steep yourself, yes?” I asked, handing him the cup. He seemed hesitant to grab it at first, for some odd reason, but the second his damp hands gripped themselves around the heated ceramic, he showed the first signs of comfort since arriving at my doorstep. His forehead relaxed, the wrinkles dissipating like smoothing the comforter of a freshly made bed. His shoulders rolled back, and he melted in his chair as he let the steam engulf his nose. The rain continued pelting the asphalt roof of my one-floor house; a clash of thunder mixed in to add to the dreariness of the often occurring New England Winter storms. We sat in silence as we continued drinking our tea. Every so often, I’d run my hand over the spout of the kettle to sense the temperature from within. I needed it to be ready for her once she got home. “I’m John, by the way,” I announced. “And you? I think it’s a better time than ever to introduce ourselves, don’t you think?” “I suppose,” the stranger answered timidly, then took the last sip of his tea. “I…I’m Harry.” There was still a bit of a shutter to his voice, an uneasiness about him that I was still trying to make sense of. I had my suspicions, but I wasn’t one to pry much. I figured the less I talked, the more he’d be willing; I was the gracious host. As anticipated, he broke the silence after allowing me to finish my tea. “May I use your phone?” He pointed toward the beige, corded antique that was mounted on the wall behind me. “It’s of no use,” I laughed. “That thing hasn’t worked in years. Never had personal calls, I’ll tell you that, only pesky telemarketers. I much enjoy the silence from it.” Harry’s eyes narrowed and brows furrowed in displeasure. “Then a cellphone?” “Those are about as useless as my landline in these parts.” “But do you have one? Can I at least try?” I shrugged my shoulders. “Even if one worked, I don’t have one.” “Well, is there something you could do to help me? A car, something?” He began to rise in his chair, seemingly infuriated, but quickly sat back and settled himself. It was as almost if he had realized he lost his manners – I was certainly glad he found them. “No,” I urged, gripping the arm rest of my chair until my knuckles turned white. “I’ve already offered you all that I have. The wife has the car, we can discuss once she’s back. You can wait out the storm and be on your way.” “Sor…sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” He was cautious with his tone. “I just, well…” “I’m concerned that you’re even here, boy.” At that point, I grabbed the kettle and poured the hot water into the mug I left out for my wife. I began steeping the bag, my eyes locked onto Harry’s stare. “These woods are deep. I’m rightfully concerned for those who find themselves here. You ain’t fleeing from the Canadian border are you? You a criminal?” “No, no, no, no,” he answered anxiously. “Do I look like one?” He held his arms out to his side and gazed at his body. It appeared he wanted to play into his rather unthreatening build to make his case. “I’m part of a hiking group. We set a check point a few miles back, I assume a few miles. I ventured off before the storm hit and, well, lost my way.” My eyes narrowed as I focused on his rapidly blinking ones. I was tempted to continue toying with the boy but my better half prevailed. He seemed to be telling the truth. “Oh relax, I didn’t peg you f…” The phone rang, the sudden surprise swallowing my words. “I…I thought that didn’t work?!” He yelped. He was panicking, shifting left to right in his seat, slightly flinching with every ring. The phone finally settled. The two of us remained silent in our seat, anticipating our next move. The tension grew strong to the point where I felt the weight settle deep in my chest. Harry sprung up from his seat and without hesitation, I reached across and forced him back down by the shoulders. “Sit!” I screamed, reaching into the depths of my belly to incite a commanding tone. I went to yell again but decided against it. I began rubbing the tips of my index finger and thumb together to calm myself. I felt as though I needed to start explaining myself. I wasn’t the one to be afraid of but sometimes my anger bested me. Harry was as still as a statue, the color drained from his face. “Cou…could I… I mean… I,” he began saying, most likely attempting to bargain for his departure. It didn’t surprise me that the words could not escape his mouth. The muscles of his neck were tense, almost strangling him. He was skinny enough for me to notice the rapid pulsation of his carotid just under his chin. “Could you leave?” I suggested soothingly. He attempted to speak again but words failed him. He frantically nodded instead, a sliver of hope gracing his face. “In this storm? In this cold? Doubt you make it a mile.” I took in a deep breath, my belly expanding into the rounded edge of the table, and then released a dragged out sigh. “She’s too persistent.” I pushed my glasses up over my scraggy, grey hair atop my head and began rubbing my face. Harry’s chair crashed to the tiled floor and his clunky footsteps receded toward the living room door. He yelped as he must’ve realized the bolted lock at the top of the door. I reset my glasses and stood slowly from the table. Harry had picked up one of my wife’s plug-in candlesticks from the windowsill and waved it in front of him like a sword. “Stay back!” He yelled. “Let me go!” His back was pressed against the door, feverishly jiggling the handle to try and loosen it. I knew it wasn’t budging. “The other hikers, they’ll come looking for me!” “Please, Harry, just relax,” I said reassuringly. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Why don’t you just sit back down and we can talk.” “She? You said She!” He began to whimper, tears welling up in his eyes. “A woman… she’s trying to kill me!” He let out a deep sob, knees crashing to the hardwood floor. “She’s hunting me like…like a boar!” I stood over Harry, offering my hand to lift him off the ground. My shadow consumed him and he appeared no more than a helpless child just beaten in the school yard. He didn’t reach to take my hand, he had no intention. “I’m sorry she’s doing this. I thought those days were behind her.” I put my hands on my hips and shook my head. I stared at the pictures she hung on our soft green, living room walls. They were her most recent paintings: one’s of seashore landscapes, shells, and crashing waves. They were direct representations of how peaceful she could be, a side that no one saw but myself. I tried hanging onto those feelings but my slivering moment of peace turned to anger. We distanced ourselves from society for this purpose – she couldn’t control herself. “You should have never ventured up to these parts!” I hollered, ripping Harry up from the shoulder of his sweatshirt. I tossed him on our linen sofa with ease. He weighed as much as he looked. If he minded his own and stayed wherever he came from, she wouldn’t have had to do it. This was his fault. I moved angrily toward him. He pursed his lips and grunted as he lunged from the sofa, fist flying at my face. He missed. I barely needed to step aside as he stumbled to the floor, yelping as his knees and elbows took the brunt of the fall. He was a blubbering idiot, face buried in his arms as he curled up at my feet. Harry craned his neck to look up. “Please, I’m begging. I…I…,” he began to plead, his words still hard to come by. Such a gangly runt, lying there with snot running down his face and eyes swollen like a puffer fish. It was almost if my wife didn’t want much of a challenge. I felt for Harry, I really did. In that moment, I contemplated letting him face the storm, but I had no doubt he’d fail. It came time for me to realize whether I should help this sad sack or give into her like I had all these years. “Did you get a good look at her?” I asked. “Did you?” “No, not really," He answered, then repeated to sob. Once he could catch his breath, he spoke again. “It was too dark to tell. When the lightning flashed, all I could see was long hair, not sure of the color. Her clothes were drenched under her raincoat. I think it was yellow. She was a bit, well, bigger. Sorry. She kept calling me…” He paused and let out a whimper. “She kept calling me Dearie.” “Get up,” I urged impatiently. I noted the frustration in my tone, quickly trying to undermine it with an apology. No doubt it was my wife, Dearie was a term of endearment for her. “I’m sorry, boy. I let my frustration out on you. It ain’t about you. Will you take my hand now?” Harry wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “You can go to hell,” he muttered, rising to his feet under his own strength. “Is it your wife? You’re expecting her, no?” He struggled to keep eye contact with me, his neck lazily supporting the head. “I’ll take my chances with the storm. You’re gonna end me right here, I know it.” I huffed and walked toward the front door. From the pocket of my jean overalls, I pulled out a key, unlocking the bolt at the top. The wind forced the door open quicker than I anticipated, freeing my grip and slamming against the stopper. The storm howled outside, freezing rain spraying in onto my bare forearms, sending chills down my spine. Lightning lit up the sky, the silhouettes of the surrounding oaks hauntingly creeping over the house. Thunder crashed only moments after the strike; the storm was just above us. “Here’s your chance, boy,” I said, gesturing toward the woods. “You got a good fifteen or so miles to, well, anywhere that can help you. Maybe get back to your hiking checkpoint? Follow the dirt road, it’ll get you somewhere.” Harry was confused, or so it seemed. I could almost feel his eagerness to sprint out the door but he didn’t move. “Please tell me, is it your wife?” He gulped. “Yes,” I answered reluctantly. “Now, go on.” I expected some sort of retort but he chose silence instead. Cautiously, he walked toward me and the door. He began to say something but car lights appeared through the dense forest and flooded the house. I slammed the door shut. “There, right there, get in!” I pointed toward the closet on the other side of the living room. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get in. Now!” Harry rushed toward the door and opened it. As he looked in, his body stiffened, hand beginning to tremble on the knob. I leaned a bit to get a better look. On the floor sat a drenched blonde wig, crumpled clothes piled above the puddle they formed. Hanging on the back of the door was a yellow raincoat, water dripping steadily from the tail of it to the ground. It fit Harry’s description from earlier but the wig, the placement of the soaked clothes and how they got there didn’t add up. My mind became foggy, my memory from earlier that day beginning to escape me. “Wha…What is this?” He faced me, fists clenched and ready to charge. “Where is she?!” He backed up without taking his eyes off me, then peered down the hallway that separated the kitchen and the living room. It felt as though the wind from the storm pushed me back toward the wall, but no wind was present. I was suddenly confused. I forgot why I was standing at the door. Flashes of running through the woods flooded my mind. The smell of wet leaves, the crunching of twigs beneath my boots felt present. My prey sat in front of me, how unexpected. The white light that luminated the living room became a flashing blue and red. A smile overtook his face, a frown overtaking mine. I looked out the window at the cop cars filling up the front yard, then turned back toward the one I hunted. There was time before they entered. “Why are you leaving so soon, Dearie?” I asked, heightening the pitch of my voice. I faintly smiled as I stared upon the kitchen table, a cup laid out by my husband. “Was it the tea?”


Author's note:  I am utilizing the word "vacation" as more of a metaphor in this story, albeit one that involves bonds. "An automaton, Tholan!  Imagine, an actual walking artifact of the last war of the world!" "Yes, Merchen, it's all amazing, but automatons are walking weapons!  We need to assess this anomaly, and we either subdue or destroy it." "Destroy-ah!" Merchen caught himself before he heavily joined the dirt with a root that nearly tripped him. "Destroy an artifact?  One that had soldiers quake with fear?  We should report this to Garrold!" Merchen had not realized that Tholan stopped earlier, but he slowed his pace when the sentinel was not at his side.  Turning, he noticed that Tholan was not even looking ahead, but at the ground.  Merchen ran to him.  "Tholan?" Tholan looked back at Merchen.  "If this is an automaton, we must not lead it back to our community.  The constructs were obstructs to soldiers, what chance will we have?" "But Tholan, we're Moon-Keepers!  Our strength-" "-would not be enough against such weapons!"  Tholan finally looked upon Merchen, whom was taken aback by the interruption.  "What if it was carrying more than mere weaponry?  You saw the tank; it could be harboring a bomb!" This sudden possibility left both quiet.  Even the forest seemed to try and grasp the vague concept of silence so as to listen to any further insight of the intruder currently ahead of the two Patrollers.  Merchen sighed and carefully placed a hand on Tholan's right shoulder.  "You're right, I'm sorry.  I don't want to endanger anyone." "It's fine", Tholan acknowledged.  "But we still need to find a way to destroy it.  While our strength alone won't stop its weaponry, we could still try to get close enough and see if we can rip it to shreds.  But that will be a last resort; we'll have to see if we can keep it contained.  We could use the spears, find rocks and pummel it, exhaust it, but we must check to see if we can contain it first!" Tholan looked at Merchen, a harsh determination plastering as a mask to hide a new fear that he never knew until recently.  Merchen had long lost his mask of satire, and his face of confusion broadcasted itself loud and clear.  Tholan turned from him, stating, "Lindia is pregnant.  I...I just..." "You want to do what any father would do", Merchen finished.  He looked in the direction from where the armored "child" had ran off unto, and then smiled.  "So, 'Dad', let's go find where this thing went, and we'll see if we can keep it still at least."  Hefting his spear, Merchen picked up the pace as he picked up the scent of the iron contraption moving in its current trajectory.  Tholan also smiled, and followed suit.  As the trees gathered behind his body, the thought came forward before his eyes; he will be a father soon.  His child will be raised in this dangerous world, and he would need to be there for his son or daughter...or maybe twins? The imagination of what could be was suddenly swept away by the image of what was, and Tholan slowed down behind Merchen as the forest gave way to a caldera.  Where more trees should have stood, the edge dropped fifteen cubits into a barren dirt bowl meeting the pair.  The abrupt canvas was completed with what could only be described as a compact city of giant cylinders and great patterns of beams woven amongst the median.  Dotting around the construct, great mechanical wonders upon wheels and tracts rested on the dirt like giant sleeping cattle, awaiting the day that someone would come and stir them into action. But where was the child? Tholan sniffed the air, catching the aroma of iron and those strange chemicals.  The scent was right in front of them, going down until... There he was! Tholan squinted.  The child was in front of one of those giant tanks, having set the green crystal down about nine cubits to its left; for some reason, he was sitting down and motionless.  He looked around; was this being waiting for something?  The only other creatures here, aside from him and Merchen, were a flock of birds that made a home atop the roof of this strange building. Clack-Clack-Clack-Clack. A chorus of metal tapping metal echoed from the caldera, as if a great metal insect was crawling up the giant tank.  A few seconds later, the analogy just about came true, as a giant mechanical centipede circled the middle circumference of the construct, its long appendages ending in claws that gripped like human hands.  It stopped, turning a triangular head in the direction of the child, whipping its thin antenna forward and circling like a rapier practitioner.  Without warning, it lunged! Before anyone else could react, it landed a body's length from the child, the wires still circling, and Tholan could see its eyes; bright-red and glass-like, just as granted upon the child plus two more.  It crawled to the small automaton, halting as it shifted its head left to right.  The green crystal seemed to finally draw its attention, as it moved towards it instead, only pausing as a flock of birds flew overhead; it regarded such, reacting initially as if it were being attacked, but then observed in cautious discernment before returning to the green crystal. Tholan backed up, reaching out only to grab Merchen and pull him away.  Merchen, not knowing Tholan's intentions, yelped and kicked some of the earth down into the pit where the Iron Demon resided.  A great hiss erupted from the demon, resounding within its vicinity, and Tholan practically yanked Merchen out of sight and onto the ground. Thud-thud-thud-thud! That same pattern of legs once scaling the metal wall was now digging hurriedly into the ground and heading their way, closing in as it scaled the dirt wall of the caldera, less than a minute from overcoming them.  "Change!" Tholan managed to whisper to Merchen.  Before being inquired, Tholan practically screamed, "CHANGE!" Several seconds later, the Iron Demon appeared at the rim, and it hoisted its full frame over and crawled forward.  As big as it appeared from down below, it now stood with the length of a tree and a head higher than a house, a hundred legs moving underneath its gargantuan segregated-shell form.  It paused, examining the surroundings from the foliage to the two wolf-like creatures staring at it, one of them baring its fangs. Another hiss erupted from the monstrosity's mechanical mandibles, curt and quieter than before.  It turned and then headed back down the dirt wall.  When a minute had passed, both Tholan and Merchen turned back to their original forms.  "Tholan!" murmured Merchen.  "That thing could have killed us!  Why did you have us change and remain still?" Tholan muttered back, "It didn't attack anything that wasn't threatening it, nor did it attack the birds.  I took a gamble that it doesn't go after animals, or what it perceives as an animal."  He noted Merchen's frown but continued looking back at the caldera.  "Regardless, this just went from bad to worse.  You should go and report back to Garrold." "The hell I will!" Merchen growled.  "We're in too deep, and I can't leave you alone with the automaton and that...thing." Tholan was about to argue, but then realized that their chances would be better if one watched the other's back.  It was now two and two. But what was so significant about that dark-green crystal? Picking up their spears, both Tholan and Merchen walked back to the rim.  All clear; even the little automaton had vanished.  Tholan signalled to crawl forward quickly and quietly as real wolves would, and the two of them set for the ominous structure in the center of what could be designated "Hell on Earth".


Just as I was about to exit the garage to wash all blood off of my hands, I heard: "Dont leave... please" Michael panted, already out of breath. There was blood crusted beneath his nose, and he was tied to the chair that once belonged to my desk. I could see tears form in his eyes, and after everything I've done, I know that he still loves me. "You're not like this Oliv-" "Its Miranda. And you don't know me. Dont think that you do, because you're very, very wrong." "Please. I do know you. I know that you are amazing, I know deep down you love me, I know your favorite color Is red, I know-" "Just stop. Don't make this harder than it already is..." Now I could tell that I was starting to cry, so I turned around as fast as I could, hoping that he didn't notice. I tripped over my own heels, and fell flat on the floor. I heard footsteps coming towards us, and I knew what was about to happen. I gulped down the puke that I could feel coming out of my system. "Good evening Michael," She side-eyed me "Olivia you don't look too good". There was an annoyance in her voice, as always. "Its Mir-" "I don't care. Anyways why are you on the floor? Get up. We've got to get to Oregon in 3 hours to steal that painting! Dont cost me 1 million dollars you little girl. Remember whos in charge here." "Always nice to see you too boss" I gave her a little wink. She looked at me very angrily, and then she heard heavy breathing. Uh-oh. "He's still alive. Why? You have one job. ONE!" "I- I can't bring myself to do it." "Fine then I'll do it myself." She grabbed a Glock pistol out of the strap attached to her long, red dress, and held it to his head. "Boss don't do this. Please. He doesn't even have anything we want!" I was panting at this point, and I knew that the mascara was smeared all over my face, and I bet it wasn't pretty. "Yes, but he knows everything! What do you think he's going to tell the cops?!" She practically yelled. "I promise I won't tell the cops anything just let me go-" BANG* Just like that...he was gone. I felt like my heart just shattered, and I ran over to where he was laying, and rested my head on his chest. He began to whisper- "You are my sunshine," and then it faded away... That was our song, and he always sung it to me to fall asleep, since I had trouble sleeping, and his voice always soothed me. "NO! NO!" I cried even harder. "It's going to be okay, you're going to make it." "It's no use Miranda," She blew on the tip of her pistol, as she called it "He's gone for good." "What is wrong with you?!" I got up and headed her way. "Just doing my job," She puffed out her chest, to make herself look bolder "as you should too." "No." "What did you just say to me?" "I said no." She then pointed the gun to my chest, and I heard the sound that the gun usually makes before she pulls the trigger. "Take it back before you end up like Michael." She blurted out. "You wouldn't dare-" BANG* My chest hurt, and I gripped my shirt as I fell to the floor once again. It hurt so bad, but all I could think about was losing the love of my life. I saw her lean over me for the last time, and then I felt my eyes shut. I had thought I died, but I kept on thinking. I felt dizzy, and cold, and I was on a very hard surface. I slowly opened my eyes, and realized how much pain I was in. I noticed that I was in the back of a van, and instead of being the one kidnapping someone, I was the one being captured. "Why good morning sleepy-head" "What do you want?" "Be nice to me I could have let you die then and there." my boss smirked "Ugh I wish I had died, I want nothing to do with you. I hate you more than I've ever hated anyone in my entire life." The smirk then left her face, and she removed the vibrant red hair from her face. She was so beautiful, and as much as I hated my boss, I loved her blue eyes. I have never been able to stay mad at her for long... "Where are we?" "Well we're not in Oregon I'll tell you. I had to drag your body into the van." She sighed "It was a lot of work." "Wow Im so grateful" I said sarcastically, then rolled my eyes. "Listen, Miranda" She actually sounded kind of... sorry? regretful? "I know you are upset with me now, but I'll make it up to you I promise." I heard a loud yell from a foreign language, coming from the driver's seat. "Well would you look at that" my boss said smiling "We're in LA". "WHAT?!" "You heard me this time." She opened the back of the van, and I climbed out, drawing attention from everyone at the gas station. I looked down at my chest, and realized they were staring at my white button down shirt, that had a giant blood stain. I grabbed the leather jacket that was tied around my waist, and zipped it up over my chest. I had a red mini-skirt on, and black heels, and my legs were freezing off of my body. "Oh sweetheart we need to get you some clothes!" my boss hugged me like she was my mom. I pulled away. "Don't call me that" "I was just trying to act normal." A police car pulled up, and asked us if everything was okay. "Officer I need he-" I tried to say "Everything is okay officer. Thank you for stopping by." My boss said, looking at me disappointingly. "Well Im getting disturbing reports coming in, so if you guys could tell me what the hell is going on here." "Officer I've been kidnapped help me!" I got the chance to yell. He grabbed out his cuffs, and as I thought he was about to cuff my boss, instead he told me to turn around. "Wait what are you doing?! She's the bad guy!" "Ma'am something seems a little off about you, we're going to get you drug tested okay?" My boss came over and whispered in my ear: "This is why you don't mess with me. I know everyone in this city- Sweetheart." I could feel her dirty smile on my ear "Have fun spending the night in jail."


Once again, I was up before my alarm. My ceiling was flaking, that cheap coat of paint didn’t last long. Sitting up I hugged my face with my palms, my tongue running over chapped lips. I sat there for a while, hugging myself as the heat turned on, a soft buzz filling the house. My feet found their way into my house shoes and my body managed to shuffle itself into the bathroom.

I winced at my reflection, quickly splashing handfuls of water onto my skin. I redid my ponytail and brushed my teeth, making myself look at least a little bit more alive. There was a chill in the air as I walked to the living room to start the coffee pot. It was still dark outside but it was almost sunrise, and I wanted to see it. The forecast said it was supposed to rain for the first time in a long time, a sign of the end of winter and the start of fresh spring. I will always prefer rain over snow. It seemed to bring the land to life while snow seemed to want to muffle it in a disguise of white beauty.

Burned coffee beans, overtook the scent of stale air. Filling my mug I took a careful sip, the strong taste of straight black making me grimace. They say it’s an acquired taste, they never say how long it takes to acquire it though and it has been a couple of months. The only reason I drank it was because it was the only thing that made me feel alive for the few hours I needed to leave my domain.

Grabbing a towel I wrapped it around the mug and carried it outside. It was still cold, but not freezing, and seeing as I never come out of a hoodie, it was manageable. I sat down on creaky wood, taking a couple more sips as I watched the sky slowly change colors.

The trees whistled as the wind blew the last remnants of winter off the ground. Taking a deep breath, the soft scent of fresh water enveloped my senses, matching the graying clouds above. A part of me knew I was going to hate the feeling of my soaked clothes if I stayed, but another part of me couldn’t bring myself to get off the front steps. It had been so long since I’d felt the feeling of water droplets against my skin. This winter has been nothing but harsh air that seemed to coat your lungs and leave an ice overlay on every surface. Thunder resonated from afar. I raised my head, ready to feel a cold splatter when instead something soft kissed my cheek. My eyes fluttered open as I looked around, trying to see if a leaf was swept my way when they increased by two sizes at what I saw.

The clouds were still gray, but floating down were multicolored petals, lotus petals. They had the shine as if they were covered in a light glaze of water. Reaching out I let the tip of my finger touch one, an aura of light seeming to encompass it the closer it came.

As soon as it touched my skin, it turned into a swirl of warm flames, dancing onto my hand until it shaped itself into a little girl. She danced along my arm, her movements filled with nothing but joy, until the wind whisked her away. Instantly I was taken back to when I was that young and the only thing that worried me was the sun going down, making me have to go to bed.

Shaking, I reached out to touch a beautiful royal blue petal. At my touch it swirled around my arm, making its way around my neck and to my cheeks, kissing at the tear-marked paths. The sticky feeling was replaced with a light feeling of water.

I immediately choked up, every touch of the petals causing darkness to rise. I spent the entire winter burying my feelings, the memories, the harsh reminders.

Flames of color danced around me and warmth spread through me at the sight. The sight enveloped me, the blustering wind becoming nonexistent. The purples and the red mixed to bring my darkest memories to life. They dissipated into gray shatters, while the other colors came together to bring me hope, kissing my etched wrists, brushing my tears away, weaving themselves through my locks.

I was very aware that this couldn’t be real, that I must still be asleep. Even so, I didn’t care. With each petal, I felt more alive than I have in a long time. Tears fell freely but I didn’t feel sad, I felt relief.

Sobs escaped my lips as I went under a wave of remembrance. It swept through me, the pain, the anger, the sadness. Everything that caused me to use the cold as an excuse to not leave my room. But a flurry of red petals, but not red like the eyes of anger but, red like sunkissed roses, surrounded me. They dissipated in a shower of what I can only say was shimmer.

I closed my eyes, allowing the feeling that they left to comfort me. It made the cold wave evaporate, the memories burning away like aflame photos one after another. A breath I didn’t know I was holding escaped and with that, I felt whole again.

The cracks that decorated my inner being started to bind. My heart, which sent shockwaves of pain through my chest with every pump, became unnoticeable.

Opening my eyes I looked up at the petals turning their natural color. They were still aglow and when I touched them they became wisps of pale pink.

For a few minutes, I remained still as stone, watching each petal fall until the sky turned a soft blue and the rain seized. I stood with fresh energy, feeling new in familiar skin. The wind had stopped, and the sun peaked out, rays of sunlight touching the longing grass. I snapped my head as my alarm rang from inside and took one last moment to take a deep breath before walking inside, not realizing I had completely forgotten about my coffee.


The power went out. Again.   Sally fumbled around for the matchbox on the counter and clumsily struck a match on the rough side of it. The little flickering light swallowed up most of her tiny dark apartment in a faint orange glow.

Stupid power grid. What am I even paying taxes for?   They said they shut the power off because of the snowstorms. Personally, Sally thought that the power company was just incompetent and couldn’t fix the lines fast enough, but saying that wasn’t going to help anything.

They could’ve at least waited until I finished making my coffee. Gosh.

  She stood in front of the mirror above the couch, the match in her right hand, while she fixed her frizzy ginger hair with her left.

  The bags under my eyes are so big they could carry groceries. Gosh. I look like a walking corpse.   Well, as long as it’s snowing, I’m not going anywhere.   She was startled by the loud buzzing of her ringtone. She reached down and felt around for the top of her flip-phone sticking out of her back pocket. She flipped it open and answered it.   “Hey, Sally Watterson here.” Sally sandwiched the phone in between her head and her shoulder and walked over to the kitchen counter, emptying the half-made coffee in the pot with one hand and carrying the match in the other.   “Weather’s pretty bad out there.” The voice on the other end said, distorted by the buzzy sound quality.   “Huh, no kidding.” As she reached over to turn off the faucet, the match fell into the sink and fizzled out. “Dang it.”   “Sally, light another match. I can’t see you.”

The voice was strangely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Who is this?” She walked over to the counter and set the empty coffee pot down.   The person on the other end laughed sweetly. “Sally, it’s Kevin, remember?”   Kevin? Kevin. Oh my gosh.   Sally dropped the phone and the matches, frozen in panic.

  “Sally? Sally, are you there?”   She blinked twice, her breathing sporadic, and knelt to the ground fumbling around for the matchbox. It was much harder now to actually find it because of the pitch blackness in the room and the furious shaking of her hands.

  Her hand seized the small rectangular box and one of the matches scattered across the floor, and in one swift motion she struck it and illuminated the room again. She could now see the phone on the floor, and reluctantly she reached down and picked it up.   She swallowed a large breath, thinking maybe that might steady her voice. “This isn’t funny! Look, I don’t know who—”   “Hey, I can see you now!”   She spun around again, holding the match a full arms length away from her as if it would ward off whatever devil was on the other end of the phone. Shaking, she rose to her feet.

  In the mirror above the couch, she could see a shadow on the wall behind her. It wasn’t hers. It was shorter and thinner, and etched out of the wall in a deep black that defied the light of the match.

Holy crap.   Sally hung up the phone and flipped it closed. It didn’t do a thing.   The shadow stepped out from behind her. “Hey, Sally… it’s been a while.”   Sally turned. The shadow seemed normal in all other respects, it was connected at her feet and stretched all the way up the wall. But when it came to the shadow itself, it seemed to elude the matches’ glow and move as it pleased.   None of its features were detailed. It didn’t have an expression. But the way that it moved, the tone of its voice was radiantly alive in just the way Sally remembered.   It was unmistakably Kevin.   “What on earth are you doing here?”   “I’ve been here. I’m just never able to talk to you.” Kevin kicked sheepishly at the floor, but there was no sound.   “What– why?”   “Well, you never use candles or matches. That’s the only way you can see me,” Kevin said, picking a discarded match up off of the floor and setting it gingerly on the counter. The match seemed to be levitating. “And I never called because I didn’t think you’d answer the phone for your dead childhood friend.”

Dead childhood friend. -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-   Sally and Kevin had been neighbors since Kevin’s family, the Colbys, had moved in when they were both three years old. Their houses faced each other, and between them was a wide, stone-gray street. Their kingdom.   Sally’s mom had always said to be careful when they played in the street. But they’d done it for years, and nothing bad had ever happened. Mom was crazy. She didn’t know that Sally and Kevin were invincible.   Sally soon found out this wasn’t the case.   It was a warm evening in early July. Sally wanted to run one last race before they had to say goodbye for the night, so they hauled their bikes a few houses down and lined up in between the two mailboxes, the designated starting line.   “Ready? Three… two… one!” -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-   “You died, Kevin. You died. I was there.” Sally’s voice was cut out by a sob. She wiped her face on her sleeve unceremoniously and cleared her throat.   “Gosh. How are you here?”   Kevin danced back across the wall and stopped right in front of Sally. “I told you, I’ve been here. This whole time.”   Sally stared at Kevin, or rather, this construction-paper cutout of him on the wall. She could see it. His messy blonde hair and brown eyes. His freckled face and innocent smile, complete with braces and teeth that dipped just below his lip.   She had ignored and avoided any memory of that face for eleven years.

  Distressed, Sally blew out the match and threw it on the carpet. She only had a few seconds of silence before her phone vibrated in her back pocket.

  Reluctantly, she answered.   “What was that for?” He chirped on the other end, childish offense in his voice.   “You don’t understand,” Sally’s eyes flickered around the walls. Without the match, she was surrounded by black on all sides. “I already got over it. I already did all the stuff they tell you to do when a person dies.”   “Like what?”   “Like, accept the fact that they’re gone and you’re never gonna see them again. Like that.”   “Well, I’m here right now,” Kevin said. “So whoever told you that stuff is wrong. You should be happy.”   “I’m not happy! You know why?”   “No. Really, I don’t.”   -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-   Kevin bolted ahead of her, but Sally wasn’t far behind. She had lost quite a few of the races that day, something Kevin loved to tease her about, and she was determined not to lose this one.   They had just passed the Fitzgeralds’ house, Kevin’s neighbors. Kevin’s house was the one right before the turn. The finish line.   Headlights.

  A bright red car flew around the turn, heading straight for Kevin and Sally. Startled, Sally swerved, hit the curb and fell off of her bike, landing on the Colby’s front lawn.

  -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-   “I— I don’t know either, Kevin.”   “Well, there’s your problem.” Kevin teased. “Now can you light that match, please?”    Sally flipped the phone closed and scraped the match on the rough side of the box, igniting it. There he was, plastered on the wall.   “What do you want from me, anyhow?” Sally flopped down on the couch across the room from the shadow, raising the match up to illuminate the room.   “I just want to talk to you,” Though Kevin’s smile couldn’t be seen, it could be heard in the upward movement of the tone of his voice. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

He says that as if he hasn’t been dead for eleven years.   “Anything in particular?”   “I do have a few burning questions.” Kevin sat down on the floor.   “Lay ‘em on me.”   “Well, back home you always said you’d love to move to a small town. Like the one you’d go to over spring break to visit your Grandpa.” Sally stared at Kevin. She knew where this was going.   “So, why’d you move to Chicago, of all places?”

I had to get out of Pennsylvania.

“Oh, you know how it is…”   That neighborhood. That street.

“You graduate, you’re in your twenties…”   I couldn’t stand the emptiness.

“Some things just change.”   -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-    “Sally. Sally, honey, wake up.”   Mom.

  Sally was lying on the couch in Kevin’s living room, the lights off. The only light was the glow of the dying sun, bleeding over the horizon.   Mrs. Colby was standing in the doorway, her hazel eyes glittering with sudden misery as she stared out the window at something in the street. The telephone cord was wrapped around her arm, the phone pressed against her face as black mascara tears ran down her cheeks.   “Please, come as quickly as you can—”   Sally sat up and stared out the window, realization slowly dawning on her. A glimpse of a twisted red bicycle and Mr. Colby kneeling on the pavement was all she caught before her mother sat in front of her and blocked her view of the tragedy unfolding in the street.   “Sally, it’s going to be fine.”   It was obvious it wasn’t. Mom had that same look of regret on her face as Mrs. Colby. Her eyes shining with diamond tears, her pupils dilated in terror.   In her heart she knew, but by four o’clock the next morning it was confirmed.   Kevin Colby was dead.   And to Sally Watterson, now 23, it was still an open wound.  “Things like what? You haven’t changed all that much.” Kevin said, his head cocked slightly. “You’re just… older.”   “And you’re not.” Sally paused. “You should be. You should be here. You should be alive, Kevin.”   “Look, Sally, it doesn’t really matter—”   “I feel like I stole this from you.” Sally rose to her feet, gesturing around at the walls of the apartment. Kevin mirrored her on the wall. “High school graduation. My first job, my first kiss. This life in this city. Everything I’ve done and everything I’ve had feels like I stole it from you.”   “Sally, thinking about it over and over again is gonna get you nowhere. Believe me.”   “You don’t understand, Kevin! I can’t! I can’t live like this!”   The smell of smoke. Sally looked to realize the match wasn’t in her hand anymore.

I dropped the match.   The russet-red carpet caught the embers, its burnt-out color suddenly turning a dangerous orange.   Sally ran for the sink, snatching the coffee pot off of the counter and stuffing under the running faucet until the water rose to the top.

This isn’t going to work, is it?   Sally stood there in the living room, the coffee pot filled with water.

Gosh.

Shattered glass on the floor. The coffee pot in pieces.

Oh my gosh.

The temperature and flames rose. Sally’s back against the wall, the tremendous light casting a dim shadow behind her.   “Sally, I’m here.”   The air became hazy with smoke and the brilliant orange fire engulfed and illuminated her powerless apartment. The flames clawed at the carpet, growing ever closer to Sally, enlightening her mind with one last thought.

Kevin was there. He had been all along.   Then, as if on a cue, Sally’s vision went black. -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-   “Excuse me, ma’am?”   Sally’s eyes flew open and in one sudden instant, she tried to recount everything that had happened. She looked around, bewildered.   “Ma’am! Ma’am, calm down, it’s okay.” Her eyes caught on a man in a blue uniform right in front of her. She was surrounded by people.

My neighbors.

The smell of smoke lingered in the air.

My apartment.

“Ma’am, you’re okay,” the officer continued, as Sally slowly came to the realization that she was sitting on the sidewalk.   “No. No I’m not.” She felt the matchbox in her back pocket. “Not yet.”   Sally flew to her feet and dashed into the alley, snatching the matchbox out of her pocket. She struck the match on the side of the box a few times before it finally lit.

  And there he was.   In the darkness of the powerless city, the match seemed to illuminate the universe. Both stared at each other in sublime silence for a few moments before Sally finally dared to speak.   “Thank you, Kevin.”


Saturn was getting bored and it tried bullying the cool Fairy. “See, I am the king of vices and you are the queen of virtues. Let us play a game today. Let us choose a person and apply our forces and see who wins. I know in these modern days of Kaliyuga, I have a stronghold on anyone and everyone. But still, let us give a try. What do you say?” Fairy retained her cool calm posture and replied. “I am not into any game. I shall be a mere spectator. You do what you want to do. I will count till ten and you spot your victim and start.” “Why ten? 3-13-8 are my favourite numbers. So, you count till 13.” Saturn opened its eyes and picked up Thangamma. She was a maidservant in Ranee’s house who always remained honest and trustworthy.

Ranee was quite upset on that day. She was very angry with her eight-year-old daughter, Mrudula.  The girl had lost one of her golden studs. It was taken out recently from the locker for her birthday. Before it could be kept back, it got lost. ‘What a stupid girl! Does not know to keep her things safe.’ Ranee said loudly. More than the loss of the jewel, others in the house, irritated her the most. They kept questioning her why at all she decked up the girl with costly items. Precious items were to be handled with due care and diligence. Ranee searched for the stud hither and thither and it was not to be found. She told Thangamma about the stud. When it fell, or where it fell could not be established. At home or outside? It could having fallen somewhere and hid under the table or cot or somewhere else, wherever she was playing. The servant was asked to dust and sweep well, all places thoroughly. Thangamma did her job very well. She knelt and peeped under the cot and found something shiny. She swayed her broom and pulled the stuff to her. It was the front portion of the stud that had gone under the cot. Probably, it would have fallen on ground and rolled down under. She looked for the screw. A tiny thing. It was not found anywhere, even as much she would try. Thangamma was known for her honesty and loyalty and that was one of the reasons that Ranee was not supervising her work. But on that particular day, Thangamma was under the influence of Satan. She thought of keeping the piece of gold for herself. She had tied it to her saree and hid the same under its folds. Strangely that day, she swept the staircase also, searching for the screw and found it there. This also she tucked into her saree. She went and told Ranee that in spite of her best efforts, she could not find the lost jewel. A blatant lie. A thief and a liar for the first time! Satan winked at Fairy, as though wanting to say, ‘See how my charm is working!’ Ranee had high hopes of getting the 15000/- piece of gold and after Thangamma’s sweeping and searching, the good news would come. Alas! It did not happen. What the elderly people in the house told, seemed to be correct. She should not have ventured to adorn her daughter with a precious piece of jewellery. At least she should have remembered to remove the golden studs as soon as the birthday function was over. Since the studs suited the girl very well and she looked prettier, Ranee did not bother much. Now it was too late and a total loss. Thangamma went home. She had a son, Muthu. She had pinned high hopes on Muthu. He should study well, come out successfully, should get a decent government job or some permanent job, carry some ethical values, bother about family welfare, a bright future awaiting him, et cetera et cetera. Her husband, Manickam, was a good for nothing fellow and on top, a drunkard. Most irritating factor being, highly dominating. A hopeless one. She was the sole bread winner in the family and obviously had to do all juggleries to keep ‘hand to mouth’ going steady. Any small amount of saving meant a lot to her, so as to ensure Muthu’s bright future. This piece of jewellery was an addition. She carefully took out the stud and screw hidden inside the folds of her saree. She neatly put them in a cover and hid the same inside a stainless-steel container containing pulses. She often changed the place where she kept her secrete reserves. She had to guard her precious little belongings from her notorious husband. This time, the item was more precious because for the first time, she had stolen a golden stud. Stealing was much against her consciousness. She felt the pinch even now. In what way, she was different from her husband? He was laying hands on her hard-earned savings and for the first time, she too, did the same blunder. She laid hands on things which did not belong to her. She consoled herself stating that her husband squandered her earnings, meant for running the family, whereas, her theft, she linked it to her son’s bright future. It did not occur to her that she cheated her employer. She thought, of course there was some monetary loss to Ranee, but very soon they would overcome it. She hardly realized that it was a breach of trust and that she would be branded forever as ‘once a thief always a thief’. Luckily, she did not feel that she was richer nor having a jackpot in her pocket. Suddenly, she heard some ladies wailing, crying, howling and rushing towards her house. Her adrenal shot up. What went wrong? Did her husband create any ruckus? Her son… Aiyyoh! “Oh! God save me. Spare my son. Nothing should happen to him.” Amidst the ladies clamouring and crying, she could not make out anything. Someone with better senses explained to her that her son met with an accident and was rushed to Surya Hospital. Thangamma was torn apart and almost fainted. She feared the worst must have befallen on her. She grabbed whatever money she had kept in her rice drum and also the golden stud packet from another container and ran towards the hospital. All the way, she kept praying to all Gods. No sooner she heard the news of her son, Muthu’s accident, the first and foremost thought that occurred to her was, her first-time wrong doing. A misdeed, root cause of all mis-fortunes. Why did she set her eyes on that small girl’s stud.? The ill-gotten money had shown its true colours now. ‘Money, easy-come, easy-go.’ She decided then and then to return the stud to Ranee and seek confession and if possible, to forgive her. She was at peace now. By then, she came to the hospital. Again, the adrenal shot up. In her anxiety, she was more in tears and her words failed. The nurse calmed her down. She assured Thangamma that there was nothing to worry. The boy was riding on his cycle. He, on suddenly colliding with a scooter, fell unconscious, more due to shock and fear. The crowding mob mistook it for instant death. Though there was nothing alarming. The scooter-rider also had the jerk and some minor bruises. What a great relief! Tremendously thankful to God. Thangamma straight went to the scooter-fellow, sought apology and gave the left-over money for his vehicle repairs. Immediately she left for Ranee’s place. On seeing Thangamma coming to her, Ranee smilingly, told the other woman, to whom she was talking to. ‘Think of the devil, err, no, no, think of the angel and there she is.’ Thangamma carefully opened the packet containing Mrudula’s ear-stud and gave it to Ranee. She said it was found outside but near ‘your’ house. Once again, Ranee turned to the other woman and said, ‘see, how honest and trustworthy she is’. She continued. “You can simply leave the house to her care and go anywhere. All things will remain intact. In fact, she herself is a jewel.” Turning to Thangamma, Ranee said, ‘this lady wanted a baby-sitter cum domestic helper and I recommended you. All she wanted was an honest and sincere person. Hence, I suggested your name. You will be given good salary and you may have to work from 11 am to 6 pm. Is that okay with you?’

Thangamma fell flat on Ranees’s feet with tear-filled eyes. Actually, Thangamma betrayed Ranee and cheated her. But Ranee on the contrary, was very benevolent and attributed some noble credentials to her name and recommended her for a higher income. No doubt, Muthu’s bright future was ensured. What more she wanted.

Ranee comforted her.  ” You deserve it. I have not done anything great to be so grateful. Don’t be so emotional.” Fairy, turning to Satan said, “Initially, you were winning. Finally, the victory, is….” Satan did not listen fully to Fairy’s utterings. It turned its face away and went in search of another possible victim, may be a gullible one.