The Gods hated Jared. In the grand scheme of the universe, they saw fit to curse him.

“Why? Why me?” Jared would despair, time and time again. Perhaps he unknowingly offended a descendant. Maybe they hated the sound of his voice. He could have stepped on the wrong worm. Not that Jared goes around purposely stepping on worms. We all know how the ground turns into a minefield after a hard rain. Despite one's best step, things just happen. Things just kept happening to Jared. Unfortunate things. Despite his best efforts, Jared's luck was running out. Jared had often wondered if he even had any to begin with. He never thought of himself as the superstitious type. He was a practical, feet on the ground, head forward kind of man. After these last several months, Jared found himself wishing on every star, pinching salt over his shoulder, and carrying around a rabbit's foot that he had once been gifted, and surprisingly, had not thrown out. All in the hope that his luck would change for the better.

He even bought himself Lucky Bamboo and a Maneri Neko, a lucky cat statue. He later found out, they are only lucky if you've been gifted them by someone else. So he gifted the plant and the statue to his boss... ex-boss's... six-year-old daughter.

The one he accidentally backed into with his car.

It was this incident that sent Jared down the slippery slide of unlucky happenstances. “Quit your moping, will you? Positivity only today!” Susan's voice was laced with stern optimism. Positivity, that was a hard concept for Jared. “You should've just left me at your house. I'll only bring you down.” Whatever optimism Jared may have held had long turned into hard pessimism. “Hush now. My home is your home for as long as you want or need it.” Susan sighed while putting the car in park. Want it and need it, he did. He was grateful for Susan and the warm safety she provided but it wasn't his home. Jared pondered the thought if he ever actually had one, a home. He could’ve had one, but that went up in flames. “It's been so long since I felt any desire or motivation for anything. So I'll have no negativity, not when I'm feeling lucky.” Her motherly warm brown eyes gave him a warning. She wasn't his mother, but in her opinion, she was as good as. Having grown up the best friend to her son, Jared had been there when Cole got married then moved away, and when her husband died. He saw Susan’s spark for life diminish over time. Which is why he couldn't help but feel like he was taking advantage of a lonely old lady. He had no money for food, no money for rent, nothing at all to give. It's not like he hasn't tried, but it's hard to move forward with a black mark casted on him. By the Gods and his ex-boss.

The diminishing spark flourished brightly as Susan bounced in step toward the building. He nodded with a small smile as he followed her into the casino. His life was Murphy's law. Being in a casino was the last place for him to be. For Susan, he would stay.

He just hoped her luck was better than his. Smoke drifted and danced to spinning bells and blaring sirens. Chimes rang out as fortunes were won. Groans and curses could be heard as fortunes were lost. The familiar scent of cigars and cigarettes perfumed the air as Susan trotted along the recently forgotten path. Each step further into the folds of the casino, memories flowed in. The joyful rush of her weekly visits faded when her husband died. Granted, she no longer had much joy for anything in her life. For two years, happiness faded as her loneliness grew. When she found out that her son's best friend's home laid in a pile of ash it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Although her funds weren't exactly unlimited, she at least had some. She was feeling lucky. In that luck, she hoped to pay back in kind what he gave to her. Jared followed Susan as she obviously knew where she was going. In no time she had gotten them set up in the bingo hall in front of a couple of screens. Jared felt this was a waste of time and money. Even if he managed to win something, it wouldn't change the circumstances in his life. Each day, there was always something to make him miserable. The most recent misery was his former landlords blaming him for the fire. It wasn't his fault the dryer went up in smoke. Still, Susan had taken him in and asked for nothing. He gave back where he could but he owed her. Accompanying her through rounds of bingo was the least he could do. “I haven't done this since my Bill was alive.” A distant sadness etched across her face, memories of her husband. She gently pushed them to the back of her mind so as to not get caught up in the longing and sorrow of missing him. Today was not about sadness. Jared never saw the point of bingo, even as a child in school. He thought it boring, monotonous. However, for Susan, he’d try his best to at least enjoy himself. The screen held four playing boards that he found difficult to maintain with hundreds of boxes filled with random numbers. Letters and numbers flashed across the screen, one after the other.

A woman’s flat voice droned on, “B 13, B 13.” No sooner she’d announce one, a new call would come out.

“N 39... N 39... I 22... I 22...”

He barely had one board checked before the next number came rolling across the screen. “How can you keep up,” he groaned in frustration. “Just click the auto-fill,” Susan informed him like it was an obvious fact. Round after round, he’d watch the numbers fill in. Four filled boxes—up, diagonal, across but never a fifth box—signifying a bingo. Susan had a few wins here or there. Considering what she spent to play, she’d only break even. Not enough to have a windfall to send Jared's way. “I need a break!” Jared told Susan. Tired of sitting and almost winning. Always so close, always falling short. A year ago the “Almost” would not have bothered him. But the days of slips and falls, scrapes and bruises, how his shoes always found the deepest puddle had left him sensitive.

“Go, I’ll keep an eye on your screen,” Susan understood. Not everyone had the patience for bingo. She knew some of the best things were worth waiting for. Jared walked the halls of the casino but was in his own world. He did his best to not feel sorry for himself but he wasn’t doing a very good job at it. When he was a child, his grandma always said, “Everything happens for a reason.”

He just couldn't see it. The reason. But he could see the result. His ex-boss's daughter, who was left to her own devices, ducked behind his car while he was backing. As a result, he lost his job. It wasn’t his fault that no one was looking after her, but his boss didn’t care.

A clogged dryer vent caused the home he was renting to burn down. To make matters worse his landlords decided to sue him for negligence. Susan was a blessing, but he felt that too would blow up in smoke. Head sunk in pity as he walked, Jared didn't see the woman with flaming red hair bumping into him.

“Sorry,” he muttered first, thinking he was the one that walked into her. She kept walking without a glance back. Jared's eyes returned to the ground, to continue sulking when he noticed a thick white envelope on the ground. Shock ripped through him as his thumb ran across dozens and dozens of one-hundred-dollar bills. His feet pivoted to look for the woman with the flaming red hair. In the distance, he thought he saw billows of red turning a corner. He took off after her and hoped his balance wouldn't falter. “Excuse me!” he called out after her. He managed to shorten the distance between them, but she didn't notice him trailing after her. “Miss!” he called again, closer than before. She turned to him with inquisitive eyes. “You dropped this,” Jared informed her, handing out the filled envelope. “So I did.” She hesitated a moment before reaching for it. She stared incredulously at him, her hand on the envelope, the envelope in his. “It's all there,” he insisted while fighting the urge to fidget. He wanted to remove his hand but he wanted to make sure the envelope wouldn't drop. She slowly blinked as realization dawned her face. “I'm sure it is. I'd be lost without it. Thank you…” her voice tapered, brows raised, almost waiting for him. “Jared,” he blurted, assuming his name is what she was wanting. “Jared, my lucky charm,” she smiled before walking away. Lucky charm. “Yeah right,” he chuckled. He went back to Susan in the bingo hall and chose to not waste another thought on what happened. He found Susan with a happy smile and tears in her eyes. Before he could ask she told him, “Cole just called, I'm going to be a grandmother.” Her happiness shined bright like a beacon in the dark of night. This is what Susan was needing and he knew it. “Also, while you were away we both won a few bingos!” She handed him a few vouchers, and found himself shocked at the amount. Of course, he wasn't surprised at all to find out he won while he was away. He took the bad luck with him. “It's all yours,” she insisted as he tried to hand back the vouchers. “Susan, no. I can't,” he told her but she wouldn't have it. “Please, let me help you,” Susan tried to protest. “You have been, but this, I won’t take from you. Use this money to go visit your first grandchild,” Jared insisted. He wouldn't accept this from her. It wasn't right. He couldn't ask any more of her than for a place to sleep. She would argue with him on this, but she'd do that later. “We'll table this for now. Let's play a little more. Anything won, You. Will. Keep.” She huffed in defiance. He nodded. He knew it was best not to argue with her. In the back of the hall the woman with the flaming red hair watched with interest and growing irritation laced with anger. She flitted back through the door, shifting herself to her home realm. “Your scheme failed.” The God of Circumstance was pleased her attempts to cause good fortune for Jared had failed. Granted her expertise didn't lie in fortune, but in luck rather. She let her fury for the circumstances the God created for Jared flow through her. “I wouldn't need to scheme if you hadn't felt the need to impede his luck and fortune!” She hated the way he felt the need to control the circumstances of people. Even though as the God of Circumstance, he could, she didn't think it right for him to mess with luck and fortune. Luck is random. Luck is being in the right place at the right moment. It doesn't differentiate and doesn't decide who is deserving or not. The Lady looked at her mate, the God of Fortune, with equal anger. A finger pointed in his direction, “You let him do this!” For months she had heard Jared's pleas. She couldn't understand why her God of Fortune would do nothing to intervene. Her mate gulped. He didn't want his Lady angry with him. “Perhaps it's time to find another to change the circumstances of others.” The mated pair looked at the God responsible for all interactions, all occurrences, and the indirect fate for so many. “Jared can hold out for a while longer. There are still many he is connected to who need their circumstances changed.” The God was adamant that the misfortunes of Jared were for the greater good. “That little Girl was sick. Her parents didn't notice and wouldn't have taken her in to be seen. Because of the accident, she had a full work up and they caught it. She will do great things when she grows up. His landlords? They were scamming their renters. Thanks to the fire, an investigation is being conducted. Their scheming will come to an end!” The God of Circumstance explained his justification for Jared’s unfortunate–not so happen–happenstances. “Find another! You always do!” Her arms crossed in defiance. He stared back unwavering. Not liking the fury of energy between his Lady and his friend, the God of Fortune stepped in front of her. “How about we settle this with a game? If my Lady wins, you leave Jared alone and allow her to make him lucky. If she loses, she won't interfere in your circumstances for the next decade.” He felt a brief jab of pain as his Lady smacked him on the arm. She didn't like this bet. She wanted to spread her luck to whoever, whenever. "Fine!” the other God agreed. “What game?” he asked, realizing he should have clarified that first. "Heads or tails!" the God of Fortune yelled as he flipped the small gold coin in the air. She did her best to suppress a smile. She was Lady Luck after all. Jared had long been ready to call it a day. He hoped bingo with Susan wouldn’t become a frequent trip. A loud ringing pierced his consciousness as Jared had zoned out. “Jared! You won,” Susan ecstatically brought Jared's attention to focus. “Winner” flashed in big bold letters across the screen. He looked at the boards. There were no down, across, or diagonally filled boxes that signified a bingo. “Oooh! That's lucky. You got a clover,” Susan explained. Four squares in the top left, top right, bottom left, and bottom right flickered and spun. Lucky, he thought. He hasn't been lucky in so long. He waited, expecting the shoe to drop. That his winning was a mistake. He expected to be tackled at the door to be prevented from leaving with the amount he won. It wasn't until the next day when he heard his previous landlords were being arrested for fraud that maybe... just maybe his luck was changing.


"But I don't understand" I told her. "It just doesn't make sense... You are such a logical person." Phillipa looked at me and rolled her eyes dramatically. "I'm telling you that my dreams come true. I'm not saying that I believe in the flat earth theory or joining the church of Scientology - " "But that doesn't make sense!" "To you it doesn't, Amelia. I'm not sure why you're so closed minded about this. Do you think I'm lying? You know this is true! What about the time I told you I dreamed that...” it was at this point that I tuned out.

I had once read a book about a girl who had dreams that came true in the future. It was a book that I found hard to categorize – simultaneously a kind of ‘dirty realism’ where you truly feel the mundane nature of the characters daily lives. Yet also tinged with a dystopian esotericism where things happened that never could in the real world. The feeling that I got when I thought of that book and the tug between reality and fiction was what I was experiencing in this conversation. Phillipa is, for lack of a less cliched way of putting it, a smart girl. She has a degree in Applied Mathematics and Computer Sciences and she works at an international firm as an Analytics Consultant. To even attempt to describe what that entails would inevitably prove my point that what she does is incredibly difficult and confusing. By all accounts, Phillipa is the picture of someone driven by reason. We’ve done all of those tests together – Myers-Briggs, the whole 16 personality test, I have even administered some Rorschach tests. She says are that they are all “statistically unreliable” and that she is “unconvinced that the data collection methods that support their findings were sufficiently rigorous”. But I just smile knowingly to myself when every time she gets placed in the categories that prioritize logic over feeling. Which is why I sit here gobsmacked as Phillipa tells me, once again, how she believes that she has dreams that happen. “So you’re basically the real life Joseph from the Bible? Having dreams that come true?” “Well I’m not sure what version of Joseph you were listening to but he didn’t have dreams that came true. He interpreted people’s dreams and told them what they meant. But to be fair, those dreams did come true. And no, I’m not saying that.” “Okay but then it’s more like star signs. So you see that you’re going to ‘have a bad day’ or that ‘good luck will come your way’ and then you subconsciously make those things happen? Because it’s already in your mind.” “Amelia. What an obtuse thing to say. You know that I don’t believe in star signs or the zodiac. It’s different to that. I’m not saying I’m psychic. But you can’t deny there have been multiple times I’ve dreamt things – I’ve written them down or told people about them, and then they happen.” Phillipa is to me an enigma in the way that her mind works. But I suppose we are all bundles of contrast. Perhaps it’s the way that I love strawberries but can’t stomach any strawberry flavored things. I love children but the thought of having my own turns my stomach. Phillipa to me represents all things logical and yet in this one area she appears to be so entirely willing to ignore facts. This woman who won’t believe a news story unless she’s verified it with at least three sources she deems reputable believes that she dreams things and then they come true in the real world. And for some reason the seemingly contradictory nature of these beliefs plagues me and I can’t help but interrogate my friend about it. “Alright, Phil. I know. It’s just interesting. It’s an interesting assertion. Do you always tell people the things you dream? Like, what id it was something big? Something bad? How do you know which of your dreams will come true? What if… WHAT IF you dreamt something was going to happen to me? What if you dreamt that I was going to die? Would you tell me?” “I’m not sure I enjoy the science-fiction tone you’re taking. But I like the idea as a whole. I’d need to think about it. If I told you, I would need to consider whether that would help or harm you. So I would consider how you were going to die and whether knowing it could make your life before then happier. I’d look at all the fact and then weight up –“ “HA! I knew it. You can’t resist. You can’t resist the logic, Phillipa. You default to reason and numbers. Does that not irk you? This one thing that seems so misaligned with everything else you believe?” “I know… I know it’s at odds with who I am and how I approach things. But to me it’s not illogical. I base the belief that my dreams come true on data that I’ve gathered. Through my personal experience. That’s been verified by other people that I’ve told about my dreams and then they’ve come true. So for me, based on my experience, it’s a deeply logical view.” Although I didn’t necessarily agree with her, I couldn’t refute Phillipa’s argument for why she felt the way she did. Even in defending an idea that seem to me incredibly unbelievable, Phillipa backed up her steadfast belief using her own personal internal system of logic. I looked at my friend and marvel. Perhaps she wasn’t as much of an enigma as I’d originally thought. “Okay but can we just agree that if you ever dream something terrible about me, like that I start enjoying pineapple on pizza or I start wearing Crocs, you will tell me immediately?” “Amelia if those were the sort of dreams I were having even I wouldn’t be able to believe that my dreams come true. I’m not completely delusional.”


The torrential rain furiously hit the tiles of the roof, causing an echo throughout the barn. An ominous mist seeped through the cracks of the wall, adding to the already frigid atmosphere. The only source of warmth and comfort was the small campfire in the middle of the room. Two shadows were cast by its flames, one of which seemed significantly more subdued than the other. The middle aged man was laying on his back, both hands shielding his face from the ill intentioned individual who stood before him. “Please… please don’t do this! I’ve already told you, I-“ “Cut the bullshit, old man. It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat!” the woman barked back at him, readjusting her aim as she did so. The wrath in her eyes could stop an entire army dead in its tracks but the raspiness in her voice could seduce any man. Seduce any man to his demise that is. Elena Storm took a few steps forward, and kicked one of the man hands away from his face, then proceeded to block it under her boot, slowly exerting more and more pressure. The man let out a scream, but was soon shushed by the young woman. “Keep a little dignity… a little dignity… ah damn it” “Cut!” As soon as the director ordered the camera man to stop rolling, a bell sounded in the background and the crew simultaneously turned off the rain and fog machines. The producer rubbed his eyes brows and lazily got up from his chair, throwing the megaphone onto the makeshift table. He slowly made his way to the previously fierce woman, now a shy actress hiding behind the leather uniform and the fake handgun. “Sara, Sara, Sara” the director shook his head, “remind me how many times we have to go through this scene?” Sara Blake hesitated, knowing that her answer would just upset him even more. She looked down at her feet, occasionally glancing at her co star removing the straw off his jeans. The director stood silently in front of her with his hands behind his back. The hubbub in the entire studio seemed to grow fainter and fainter, their attention was fully diverted onto the lead actress. Sara cleared her voice and mustered the courage to look at her superior in the eyes, “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’m doing my best to act here.” The director sneered, but his expression quickly changed into pure anger, “Well that’s exactly what you’re doing wrong! You’re not supposed to act! You’re supposed to be Elena Storm! Not Sara Blake pretending to be Elena Storm!” Sara slowly nodded, not wanting to show in any way any form of disagreement. “You know what miss Blake? I think we’re done for today,” he menacingly stated, “Yes everyone, we’re wrapping it up for today. We’ll continue tomorrow morning” he continued, facing his crew this time around. Before walking back to his station, the director briefly looked back at the actress, oh so slightly leaning towards her. “Don’t you make me regret this” he quietly said, making sure she heard every word. Sara gulped and nodded once more. The director murmured something under his breath and dismissed the actress. Her co worker being within earshot of their last exchange, went up to her and gave her the good old fashioned tap on the shoulder, clearly thinking that his act of kindness would help her or reassure her in any way. It didn’t. Instead, Sara Blake sought comfort in her dressing room, slaloming between curious and non-oblivious crewmembers. As she approached her dressing room, she noticed a glow under the door. The room usually bathed in darkness at this time of the day, why was the light turned on? The actress cautiously approached the door then proceeded to slowly lower the door handle. “Come in!” an all too familiar voice called out. Right in front of her Hollywoodian mirror, sat her stunt double, casually flipping through the script of A Glimmer of Death , the movie that they both were working on. “Stephany?” Sara expressed her surprise, “what-what are you doing here?” Stephany didn’t care to look behind her to face Sara, instead, she provocatively placed both of her feet onto the vanity table. “I’m just going through our script for tomorrow” she replied. “Okay, well… I don’t want to offend you in any way but… why are you in my dressing room?” Sara innocently asked while leaning against the door frame; not because she felt relaxed, but mainly to hide her nervousness. Stephany continued to look through the script. A smirk appeared when she landed on a particular page. “Mm. I heard you had a little trouble with this part. It doesn’t count if you’re planning your own defeat! ” she mockingly imitated the actress. Sara Blake let out a forced laughter, “Yes… I guess it didn’t exactly turn out the way it should have. But tomorrow’s a new day, I’m sure it will turn out fine… at least I hope so”. Her lack of confidence always emerged as she spoke. A chink in her armour. Stephanie flipped the script closed and threw it onto the vanity table. “You haven’t heard, have you?” “Haven’t heard what?” Sara worriedly asked. The stunt double scoffed and got up from her chair, crossed her arms and slowly paced towards her co-worker. “The director and I had a little chat and, after a little negotiation, he thinks that I may be suited for the lead” she bluntly announced. Sara felt as if the world was going to crash down on her. The solidity of her career was comparable to the thin, frail piece of paper of a contract she complied to with three pen strokes. “Why-what do you mean by that? I’ve gone through interviews, auditions and who knows how many hours of filming. You can’t replace me like that! You’re the stunt double. I swear if you spent the night with hi-“ “You’ve being filming for exactly three days, Sara. It is just as scrapable as salvageable, just with a different lead. And I don’t think it’s too wise to make assumptions” Stephanie responded, standing just two feet away from Blake. Sara looked away from Stephanie for a brief moment, trying to recompose herself. It wasn’t the time to show any shape or form of vulnerability. But unfortunately for her, the stunt double caught onto that. “But don’t worry Sara, tomorrow the director will do a trial. Technically, you’ll be given another chance, despite given a plethora of those throughout the week,” Stephanie said as she was about to head back out, “See you tomorrow, Elena Storm” The door slammed shut. The next day Sara nibbled on her fingernails during the entirety of Stephany’s performance. She mentally nit-picked every flawed move and delivery, but upon glancing at the director on her right, she quickly started to question her thought process: he seemed unfazed by the small mistakes, his gaze was fixed on her, it was impossible to tell what truly went through his mind. But given his body language, it was bad news for the lead actress. Sara leaned towards the director, unconsciously mimicking his prior day’s self. “We don’t have a second stunt double do we?” she whispered. The director scoffed, and slowly leaned as well towards Sara, all while his eyes being glued to the actors. “If I recall correctly, you started off as a stunt double, didn’t you?” he whispered back. Knowing what he was implying, Sara sat back in her chair without replying. Convinced that her career was over, she was almost ready to throw in the towel and walk away defeated. But before she could review her thoughts, the director signalled to her that it was her turn. Sara nervously rubbed her hands together and recited in her mind the script like a poem. Just as she was going to make her way towards the small campfire, her co-star suddenly walked off set. The crewmembers looked at each other and then at the director. “Let him be!” he said in an annoyed fashion, “Stephany, pretty please, could you briefly replace our dear colleague, because we simply don’t have all day” Stephany didn’t seem to exalted about the idea but went on with it. Sara couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on the corner of her mouth. The lights dimmed. The torrential rain started to furiously hit the tiles of the roof. The ominous mist seeped once more through the cracks of the wall Stephanie rolled onto her back, with her hands in front of her face, quickly trying to remember the lines of the co-star. “Please… please don’t do this! I’ve already told you, I-“ “Cut the bullshit, old man. It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat!” the woman barked back at her, readjusting her aim as she did so. The wrath in her eyes were fuelled by her determination and the raspiness in her voice was what differentiated her from your average actor. Sara Blake took a few steps forward, and kicked one of Stephany’s hands away from her face, then proceeded to block it under her boot, slowly exerting more and more pressure. She could feel her heel digging into the straw filled ground, all while feeling the sole of her foot squeezing her co-worker’s wrist. Stephany let out a scream, but was soon shushed by the young woman. “Keep a little dignity for the amount of time you’ve got left. Screaming serves no purpose, you’re merely entertaining the silence of the night. And before, sir, you ask who I truly am:  Ask yourself, what has brought you in the situation you have found yourself in, in present time” Sara Blake then released the pressure off the girl’s wrist and crouched next to her, slowly placing the plastic gun underneath Stephany’s chin. “Now, remind me what you’ve already told me?” she said in a menacing fashion. Stephany glanced at the director, and the latter abruptly stood up in response. “Cut!”


I sense his presence before I ever lay eyes on him. It doesn't surprise me, really. Baph is the type of entity who always enters announced . He is the syncopated tap of stiletto heels that echoes across a tile floor. A whiff of musk that rides the air till it finds your inhale. Double doors that open with intention. The crescendo of the music. And now, that announced entrance is staring at me from across a crowded lobby, smiling that sinful smile he knows will make me tremble. I know better than to look away, but I do. Which gives him the advantage. The next time I'm aware of him, it's because his lips are next to my ear. "Hello, Uri," he whispers. His voice awakens a swell of emotion I've spent lifetimes attempting to quell, and my eyes close as I attempt to force it back down my throat. "Are you meeting someone?" he continues, the curve of his chest pinning itself to my shoulder. Our breaths rise together as I inhale deeply. “Of course you are,” he chuckles. “You wouldn't be off your leash, otherwise.” His words are a fist to my stomach, my exhale releasing itself in a ragged breath. “Who are you here to save, hmmm?” he continues, hot breath trailing across the back of my neck.

“Go away,” I finally manage.

Baph chuckles again. “You know, that would carry much more weight, if you meant it .”

He pivots carefully to face me, maintaining the touch on my shoulder. I don’t bother to look away this time. Instead I lift my eyes to meet those endless dark pools that make his pupils. They’re always dilated. Always deep. Always attuned to every motion around him.

I can see myself in the black, my own face a softer mirror of his. We were both crafted by the same maker, after all. Our features conceived in the same mind, our existence birthed for the same purpose. And though Baph is no longer part of my world … He is still so beautiful.

“That’s better,” he coos. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes.” His gaze sweeps the room with excitement. “Who is it, Uri? No, don’t tell me, let me guess!” His dark head of curls brush against my cheek as he turns his head. They smell of smoke. There was a time they smelled of myrrh. “That one.” My eyes are drawn to his pointed finger. To his long, black nails that have been polished and filed to perfect coffin tips. I only look at the object of his gesture when I hear the laughter rumbling in his throat. The man has short hair the color of sand, and brown eyes that hide in deep sockets. He reaches into his pocket, checks his phone, replaces it, then waits perhaps ten seconds before doing so again. “I wonder who he’s so worried about,” Baph goads me. “A wife? A brother?” “His daughter. She promised to join him for the service,” I reply. “She had to stop for gas on the way. She’ll be here in a few minutes.” “Lucky little pig,” he quips. “His heart is weak, I can hear it from here. It won’t last much longer sputtering like that. Does the little pig know he’s going to die soon, Uri?” The words that come are not truly my own. They are the echo of my order. “That’s not for me to say.” “But it’s for Him to say. He could heal it. He could heal that sputtering, weak heart,” Baph reminds me. “Hmmm…” His eyes begin to scan the room once more. The crowd is thinning as the bulk of the people move into the sanctuary, compelled by the music that has begun to play. “It’s not the same, is it, Uri?” Baph asks, his eyes still moving to and fro. “Even their best would never compare.” For a moment I attune to the strings that are hammered and plucked with honed human skill, knowing he is right. They will spend their brief lives never touching the semblance of Baph’s mastery. The mere brush of his fingertips once summoned ethereal tones that moved galaxies. In his wake, the human prodigies and adepts alike are sounding brass and clanging cymbals. This time when Baph speaks, his words drift just before my lips. “He’ll never receive adorations like mine. Ever again .” Something in me stirs. Something resistant. Rebellious. “I … don’t think that bothers Him.” “But it bothers you, doesn’t it?” he presses. “He’s so weak and forgotten, He has to settle for these meager offerings. But why should you have to settle, too?” I feel the command, this time. He doesn’t have to touch me to bring my face back to his, my eyes back to his, my attention back to… him. “Do you miss me, Uri? I’ve missed you .” His hand is on my side, his touch simmering, drawing my gasp. “Oh dear… am I distracting you? You do have a job to do, after all.” His lips draw closer. “Who is it, Uri?” That’s when she comes through the door, of course. I’m compelled to look at her, even though I don’t want to give her away. Baph looks, too.

Our eyes lock onto her with synchronized attention. She’s young. Humans find her beautiful. Her face. Her body.

My kind might find her beautiful for other reasons. Her voice. Her soul. Baph’s lips curl into his most pleased smile. One that bares the tips of his pointed canines with teasing ferocity as his remark is released through a satisfied growl, “Oh… that one.” We don’t move. We just watch. She stands there, in the doorway, her hand still gripping the handle that granted her entry. Her body is poised to such extreme that the gentlest suggestion will either draw her deeper within, or push her back. “Stepping into my territory again, aren’t you?” he taunts. “He doesn’t want her.” “Why not?” His grip tightens on my side. “Look at you… Uriel… His Light … So…” A sound releases from his throat. Almost something of pleasure… admiration. “Why does He need something defiled when He has something so glorious? He doesn’t. He doesn’t need her.” “But …” His finger presses over my lips. “Shhh… I know what you’re thinking… But he wants her, right?” Baph shakes his head. “He just wants the praise. These pigs can’t HELP but praise. They will praise ANYTHING that makes them feel like they matter.” She’s uncertain now. Her weight falls back, pressing against the door, pushing it ajar just enough so that I can feel the breeze from the outside snake its way through the small opening. Baph’s whisper chills me. “But they don’t matter.” She’s going to leave. And so my spirit reaches across the lobby. My essence draws near to her, folding into her, so that I might penetrate the bonds Baph has so exquisitely laced around her mind, bending her to his will. And I whisper. “I have loved you…” His eyes narrow at this. His fingers dig painfully deeper, clawing at the fabric of my being so that I can finally feel the Hellfire in his grasp. The emotion that will forever separate us begins to boil within him so fiercely that its malice attempts to close around my throat. But it’s not enough to stop me. “... with an everlasting love… I have drawn you... ” His dark, slender tongue flicks amid his lips. “No!” But it’s too late. The door has closed behind her once more. And her fingers have slowly uncurled themselves. She takes a step inside. The music begins to draw her to the sanctuary. With a nervous breath, she passes through to where He is waiting for her. Baph’s fury is unleashed in a roar that would fill these mortals with terror, could they only hear it. But the rage quickly drowns amid agony. Amid tormented, frustrated anguish. “Why? WHY?” he screams. “They’re depraved! Ugly! Broken! They’re NOTHING!” His skin begins to darken till he glistens like obsidian, his eyes smoldering to dull flames that look into the Heavens as the inferno burning inside of him manifests through his open mouth. “He doesn’t love them! He just uses them to torment me! TO PUNISH ME!” he screams. “Well it won’t work! I don’t want you! I don’t need you! I HATE YOU!” I inhale the heat of his despair, holding it inside my lungs a moment, sharing the same pained feeling in my chest. “Do you really believe any of that?” I ask. His face turns to me. His eyes. Those black pools. So deep. Yet so empty. “I have to,” he whispers. “Otherwise… I can’t stand it.”


Jeremy peered through the backyard window at his usual perch in the hedge. Inside was a well-organized bedroom, with chess and martial arts trophies lined up, soft cream walls, checkered bed sheets, and a stuffed chess piece. Jeremy waited for this special time of the day, the moment he thought about all day long. It's 9:45 pm she's going to get changed and surf online till twelve-ish, Jeremy predicted to himself. Sure enough there she was as predicted. Her name was Sarah, she goes to Jeremy's school. She had soft features, curly brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a svelte build. Everything about Sarah was hard to look away from. She took off her plaid shirt first, then her black leggings. Revealing a lavender lace bra, and white simple low-waisted panties. "I love lavender on her skin", Jeremy commented to himself. Sarah looked through her drawer for some nightwear. She chose a pink nightshirt with owls on it then put it on. Then Sarah slides her arms in the shirt to unhook her bra and removes it. It was an odd habit that Jeremy liked.

The fact that Jeremy never saw Sarah fully nude, made him feel less guilty. He found out that Sarah lived close to him he couldn't resist. At first, it felt wrong, but he rationed with himself. He thought I'm not planning on hurting her. What she doesn't know can't hurt her. it'll be my little secret. Jeremy rarely spoke to Sarah at school. When they do talk it's mostly about homework questions or it’s just small talk. Jeremy would always fumble his words or say the wrong thing. His friends would poke fun at him afterward. They don’t know what he does at night. As Jeremy looked through Sarah's window she looked panicked. She looked at her bedroom door, closed her laptop, turned off the light, then ran into her closet. Jeremy tried to see what was going on, he pulled out his phone to call 9-1-1. The lights were turned back on by a man in grey sweats and a matching hoodie. He scooped Sarah's phone and laptop into his bag, then started digging in her drawers. Clothes flew out as the man scavenged around. Jeremy was already speaking with the 9-1-1 operator. He informed the police of what was going on. The operator assured, "Police will be at the house in ten minutes." Jeremy looked at the time it was 10:12pm, then his eyes glued to the closet. The thief took what he wanted and left the room. Jeremy was at ease now that he was gone. Then he thought, how was he going to explain to the cops how he saw the break-in? What will happen if Sarah finds out? What should I do? Sarah crawled out of her closet rattled. Sarah whipped her head to the door again and scrambled to her hiding place. But the door opened before she could lie low. Jeremy looked on helplessly as he clutched a branch.

The man was back, he grabbed Sarah, and threw her on the bed. He pulled her hair, pushed her down, like a rottweiler with its toy. Her silent cries and her kicks didn't seem to phase the man as he struck her. Jeremy's heart raced, his teeth grated each other. His body jolted towards the window with a stone in his hand. As he ran his arm flung the stone at the window. It shattered, and the man fled out the door. Sarah ran out and jumped through the window. "Jeremy?" Sarah said shakily. "I called the cops. Are you okay?" Assured Jeremy as he got closer to her. "I am fine, why are you in my backyard? How did you know someone broke in? He broke into the side of the house and my neighbors did not even notice. Were you spying on me?" Sarah's shock turned to suspicion way quicker than Jeremy could respond. Jeremy shook his head, "No!" He tried to think of a reason on the spot, "I knew this was going to happen. I knew you were going to be attacked! I tried to tell you after school but I couldn't find you. I called the cops at 10:12 and they said they would be here in ten minutes. But I know they will be five minutes late. So I picked up a stone and threw it. If you don't believe me, I predict the police will be here at 10:27pm." There was a long pause after Jeremy's story. Sarah was still quivering but her face was focused on Jeremy. Her arms folded and she spoke, "Not a minute early, not a minute late." She turned towards the gate leading to the front of the house. She gestured for Jeremy to go first. He opened the gate slowly and checked for the man. The coast was clear. They both went to the front and heard sirens around the corner. Sarah ran to the front and Jeremy sped to catch up. While he was catching up he changed the time to 10:27pm on his phone. Then he showed her his phone. Her eyes widened and she said, “Kippers tomorrow after school.” Jeremy nodded as the police pulled in. They questioned Sarah and Jeremy and investigated. When everything was done Jeremy went home to plan his date at Kippers.

Morning came and everyone was talking about the break-in at Sarah’s house. No one seemed to bother Jeremy so Sarah likely didn’t mention him. I can’t believe she bought it! Maybe it was the shock. Anyways, she’s safe now and I have a date! If I wasn’t there who knows what could’ve been. I’m a hero. I’m her hero. Thought Jeremy. He had a plan to seal his precognitive lie, that he required his friends' assistance. The first two classes passed and it was time for lunch. His friends always gathered at the same place, the second table to the right in the geography room. There was Lucas, Michael, and Patrick sitting at their spot. Jeremy greeted them and started the conversation, “So I got a date with Sarah last night,” Michael started to sniff loudly, “I smell bullshit.” Everyone chuckled except Jeremy. “Look guys I need your help. She thinks I can see the future.” The boys just looked at each other, Patrick sighed. “Dude, you are stalking her, now you are trying to convince her that you have superpowers. Do you think it’s the right time to even go out with her? Her house was broken into. You need help dude.” “I know her house was broken into. I was there.” Jeremy stated. The whole group now looked concerned, Lucas nervously asked, “Did you break in her home?” “No!” Jeremy defended himself, he explained everything that happened last night at Sarah’s, minus seeing Sarah getting changed.

Patrick just shook his head, his face was unimpressed. “This is too far Jeremy. How long will this last? Sarah was most likely scared out of her mind and you took advantage of it. Whatever you need help with, forget it. I tried to play it off, but you kept getting creeper.” Lucas injected, “I’m not sayin’ you should stalk people, but you did call the cops even though you could’ve gotten caught. You should meet up with her. Teller’ the truth.” Jeremy agreed, but then he said, “Guys this is a one-time thing. I bet we’ll laugh about it later. But I think I should keep the future telling going for a bit. If I can’t tell the future, she’ll be pissed, I’ll be arrested, and that’ll be the end for me. So I have a plan, who’s with me.” Jeremy raised his hand, Michael shrugged and raised his. That left Lucas and Patrick out, Patrick glared at Jeremy and left. Lucas got up to follow Patrick then gave the final word, “If you liked her. You wouldn’ be like dis.” That left Jeremy deflated from where he was in the morning.

“Why are you helping me?” Jeremy asked Michael. Michael just shrugged again and answered, “If she’s dumb enough to believe that shit, I think it’s worth the shot. So what’s your master plan Dr. Evil.” “Look this is only temporary I…” Jeremy was interrupted with Michael's hand, “Plan?’ Shoving Michael away Jeremy began to describe the plan. “You have to do what I tell you to. You’ll need your phone to tell the time. Sarah and I are going to be at Kippers at around 3:30-ish, so be there earlier. Don’t let us see you, and wear this.” Jeremy gave Michael a blonde wig and sunglasses then continued. “Since it’s just you, it makes the plan easier, You need to head to the washroom at 3:45 no matter if we’re there or not. Then wait till 4:05 and leave the washroom, stop, check your pockets and go back in. Come back out with your phone in your hand. Make sure the phone can’t be seen when you first come out, also don’t look at us. Can you do that?” Michael gave a mischievous smirk and put out his hand. “I owe you for bailing me out of detention and for those biology test answers. Let’s fucking do this.” Jeremy shook Michael’s hand. After school, Sarah was waiting for Jeremy and they both walked to Kippers. Kippers is your typical coffee shop, with simplistic decor, a warm colour scheme, and little tables with weaved stools. They made it there at 3:40, sure enough, Michael was there with the wig and sunglasses. Jeremy noticed him but Sarah didn’t seem to. The two both sat down after waiting for their drinks. “I just wanted to thank you for last night, I did not get the chance before.” Sarah started the conversation. “Yeah, it’s no problem you were just attacked then, I wasn’t expecting to be thanked,” Jeremy said kindly. “Are you okay by the way?” Sarah only calmly asked, “So is it true that you can see into the future?” Jeremy thought it was weird that she didn’t seem that surprised by it. It was also odd that Sarah avoided the question. He replied, “Yes, it’s true. Do you need more proof? I bet it would be hard to believe.” Sarah then leans in and scans him up and down. “You are right, I do need proof. Show me.” She said. Jeremy felt like a lab rat rather than a date, He was dumbfounded by how analytical Sarah was outside of school.

“So check the time on your phone. What time is it?” Sarah did what Jeremy said and showed him the time. It was 3:57pm. Jeremy then closed his eyes and started predicting, “A blonde guy is going to come out of the washroom at 4:05, and he’ll forget his phone.” Sarah studied the men's washroom door intensively. She really believes me. Jeremy thought to himself as his conscience started to eat away at him. Maybe I should just tell her the truth. No, I’m too far into this, if I tell her now she’ll kill me. “When did you realize you had the ability of precognitive thought?” Sarah questioned without looking away from the washroom door. “I realized it when I started high school, so it'll be a year now. Why did you pick Kippers to be our first date?” Jeremy flirtingly asked. Jeremy’s question made Sarah quickly glare at him for a second. Keeping her professional tone she replied, “What made you think this is a date? So when you call the police for someone, they have you date you afterward?” Now Jeremy’s guilt was hitting harder, he couldn’t answer her, all he could do was apologize. “I’m sorry, I guess I made things awkward didn’t I.” Then Michael came out of the washroom. Sarah looked at her phone and it was 4:05, she kept watching. Michael checked his pockets, acted shocked, then went back in. His acting was a little exaggerated but it seemed to fool Sarah since she was wide-eyed. “Follow me.” Sarah abruptly got up and left the shop with her drink, Jeremy rushed to catch up. Sarah walked behind Kippers and Jeremy followed till she stopped. They were surrounded by trash bins and out of sight. She delicately placed her drink down on a napkin she had in her pocket. All Jeremy saw after that was Sarah’s fist flying at his face. It landed and the wave of pain covered Jeremy's face knocking him back. His face and buttock were now throbbing, he groaned. “What the…” Jeremy didn’t get to finish. “What was that for? That was for stalking me and lying to me. Now you are going to say, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just really like you. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. It was only one time I swear. I didn’t know what I was thinking. Please don’t call the cops. Did Patrick tell you what was going on?” Sarah predicted as her blood boiled. Jeremy went pale, she said everything he was thinking down to the T, he asked. “How did you know?”

“Unlike you ungifted, lying, creep, I actually have powers. I can read minds. That is why I believed you at first. I thought maybe there are people like me with powers. I did not think to read anyone's mind when I was home alone that night. I heard the robber when he broke in, but I could read his mind the second time he came in. I did not read your thoughts till you started your little skit with your friend Michael. I saw myself in my underwear in your pig head. Then I read Michael's mind when he came out. He thought I was a stupid bitch and he was right to think so.” Sarah paused and peered down at Jeremy in disgust. She continued, “You are now thinking that you are a pervert that’s full of shit. Right?” Jeremy was just stunned, he just stared down and nodded. “First you will never talk to me again, second you need to get your morals right, and third, you should get better friends. I am not going to call the police, what happened here is not going to be discussed.” Sarah picked up her drink and walked past Jeremy as he got up. “So that’s why she’s good at chess.” Jeremy gingerly realized under his breath.

After recovering for the hit and the fact Sarah has powers, Jeremy went back and noticed Michael waiting. “She looked fucking pissed. Did she find out or did you tell her? I thought you were getting some back there. Man, she fucked up your face!” Michael said. Jeremy didn’t say anything and just kept walking home.


Chaos is a friend of mine. A man smashes his fist on the desk in front of me knocking the pens down onto the floor,

"I need to see the manager NOW!" A woman yanks the computer screen off the front desk smashing it underneath her feet. Screaming child tugs onto a man,

"Mom fainted!" "Ron!",

howling I scan for the red-golden uniform. There he is landing his muscular arm right in the face of some guy trying to manhandle him. Footsteps are scampering down the staircase others are marching out of the elevator. Some are mad, some are scared, some are calm but more importantly, all are angry. Soon there will be police hollering down the entire hotel taking statements from the witnesses. People will get to know our real faces - the dark face. The mask is falling off bit by bit. I can picture myself in the orange jumpsuit behind the bars enjoying a book over a cup of cold tasteless tea. Uh-oh! What have I done! My cheeks burn as glance at the manager fighting his way out of the crowd circling him. This all would have been avoided if that fat cat had not walked in. The fat cat that was never fat. *An hour ago* My fingers drum against the desk silently as I mumble some song lyrics. Behind me, the hotel's name shines in all its glory against the black ceramic tiles. The shimmering wall fountain diffracts the lights. I spin my chair around. My eyes settle on Sasha's mobile screen. It's five in the morning. The halls are empty. Sasha beside me yawns placing her coffee on the desk. Through the glass doors, I can see the silence on the road. The calm wind brushing against the palm trees at the entrance. The screech of a car startles me. A few people lazily step out of the car. "Sweet! Did I spot some FAT CATS here?",

we both jump out of our chairs straightening ourselves. "Guess you did!",

I whisper my eye locked at the entrance. "Play this off well!",

she taps my shoulder.

I wink,

"Of course! After all, I am the mastermind!",

I laugh sending strands of my hair dancing in the air. She smirks and leaves the front desk. "Stay in there! Guys! I said. Stay. In. There.",

a man screams as he walks through the glass gates. He turns around to shoot his eyes at his friends or whoever they are but they have already wandered off to somewhere. He rolls his eyes cursing as he approached the front desk. Lackadaisical, he places his hand on the desk. I stiffen a small smile. Sasha is right as always. Fat cat. Crispy navy blue suit, spotless white shirt, and a leather brown belt with Gucci's double GG glistening. "Good morning, sir.",

I fight the urge not to glare down his suit. What is he? Apollo? "Cole.",

he passes an eerie smile. "Sorry? I didn't quite catch that.",

I bite my smirk.

"You can call me Cole." "Mr. Cole... How can I help you? You have any reservations?" "No... Ummm... I heard there is an offer today?" Now we are speaking! "Uh.",

he passes me a coy smile running his fingers through his pitch-black hair. "Yes, of course.",

I bat my eyelashes at him,

"A free night stay for today if you book for at least two nights." "With you?",

he places his hand on the desk and leans closer. I want to roll my eyes so hard that they pop out of the sockets and bounce right into his face knocking him down - HOWEVER - I must refrain from unleashing my inner dog and be professional,

"Sorry Cole but we don't lend people. Just rooms and a few other services." "Few other services...",

he wriggles his eyes at me,

"What services are we talking about?" "Spa, jacuzzi, poolside bar, and few other things.",

this guy is getting on my last nerves. "Shisha service?",

he raises an eye at me. I nod. "Are you ready to book?",

I clasp my hands together putting on my best poker face. But God knows on inside, the soul is itching to spank him for eating my time. "Honey! What's the rush?!",

he straightens and presses his finger against the earpiece and mutters under his breath,

"Here goes nothing." "Sorry?" "Nothing.",

he passes a fake smile and yawns,

"Just my partners - er- friends. Where are they?",

he turns around narrowing his eyes, and speaks softly in the earpiece,

"Then I shall see you around." "I guess you will see the room service around more often." He slams his ID and credit card. I look at the cards on the desk then at him,

"Three suites for three nights.",

he states firmly. The ring of his mobile startles him. He rushes out of the lobby,

"Book my rooms, I'll be back! There's an emergency." "Wow! That was worth it! Ass!",

I glare as he leaves. A smirk crawls its way on my face as my gaze shift to the cash register,

"Skimmer, skimmer, skimmer!",

I dance my way to it,

"Happy April Fools' Day, Cole!" But wait... No, it can't be! This account is frozen. I dash to the front desk. Grasping the ID with shaky hands I turn it to see the name HAPPY APRIL FOOLS' DAY. The blue marker smeared across it. My eyes rush to the glass walls and the door Cole had left open. In the distance my eyes catch an SUV making its way away.

"Hey!",

I hurtle outside. The sun peaks out of the white cotton clouds splashing the colors across the sky. The flock of birds circling the trees within the thermal. A few pigeons snuggling in the depression of the building's architect coo. Spat! A green-white fluid roll down my black padded shoulder. I am still mourning for my lost deal and pooped coat when the fire alarm unnerves whatever courage was left in me. Sasha strides down towards me,

"Security alert! We have been attacked!",

she trips over her foot. "Shh! What happened? Are you serious! What if people hear you.",

pressing my finger against my lips I walk towards her to lend her a hand but she gags staring at my coat. "They know! They all know! The people used the jammers to sneak in and master to key to get into the rooms! They robbed our customers!", clutching my arm firmly she hisses.

"Who... who were they?",

a small voice escapes my mouth. "They ran away in SUV. I saw them with these sinful eyes",

she points at her eyes getting up, and walks down to the front desk. "Cole!",

I slam my hand on the desk,

"That scumbag!" "What are we gonna do?!" "Well...",

I bat my eyes at her,

"Feels like they all have been fooled twice!",

I wink. She rolls her eyes at me opening the cash register. Pulling all the dollar bills from each slot she stuffed them in her butt pocket. "What the F are you doing?",

I hiss hurling a coffee cup in her direction. It hit the tiles midway between us. She glances at me her fingers still busy stuffing all the cash. I charge at her but my feet slip over the spilled coffee sending me skidding across the floor. My confidence drowns into the flood of adrenalin and cortisol surging out of the adrenal glands. "Fool you twice, shame on you!",

she walks out of the hotel with no one there to stop her.


     Rosethorn was being tormented by a dead ghost.      She didn’t understand why; she hadn’t done anything wrong! Rosethorn, 25, lived in Chicago, worked as an editor for a popular newspaper, and had two pet cats. Just another ordinary folk in a world full of ordinary people.      So of course Rosethorn would be frightened and perplexed when a demon started haunting her dreams.      The first night it happened, Rosethorn brushed it off as just another nightmare. She had had her fair share of those in the past. Rosethorn went about with her day, editing newspapers and spending time with her cats, Sophie and Yoyo.

     What was the dream about? Well, it was actually quite disturbing. Rosethorn had been running down a damp, dark sewer tunnel, surrounded by darkness and searching out the light at the end of the tunnel. But no matter how far she got, or how fast she ran, Rosethorn could never catch up. She had been stuck in the tunnel.      Then there was a voice. That of a young child. Rosethorn had turned around to see a little boy, around the age of 8 or 9, with wide blue sapphire eyes and dressed in a white and blue sailor outfit.      “I’m lost.” The boy had said in an innocent, scared voice. “Can you help me find my mommy?”      Rosethorn had smiled, picked him up, and promised that she would get the two of them out of the sewer tunnel and up into the city to search for his mama. But when she looked back up again, the light at the end of the tunnel was gone .      Rosethorn was trapped in the tunnel, with a little boy crying for his mommy.      “The shadows are approaching.” The little boy said, pointing to the encroaching darkness with a tiny, wobbly finger.

     Rosethorn had been terrified. She ran as fast as she could blindly in any direction, but the shadows just kept coming. The little boy in her arms didn’t seem scared any longer, however.      “I’m lost.” He said again, in a cute, innocent, yet slightly mocking voice. “Can you help me find my mommy?”      Rosethorn glanced down at the child, only, to her shock, for him to blur and vanish into nothingness. She stopped, looking around for where the boy had gone.      “I’m lost. Can you help me find my mommy? I’m lost. Can you help me find my mommy? I’m lost. Can you help me find my mommy? ” Voices began to chant from the shadows, malice and glee rising through the undertones and gaining momentum. The shadows reached out, with their gnarly, black tendrils, and the last thing Rosethorn saw before she awoke with a startle was a pair of glowing narrowed red eyes, staring at her from the darkness.      The next night, Rosethorn dreamt of winning the lottery. But when she came to collect the money, the boy was there again, saying the same phrase in that cute, innocent voice of his.

     But Rosethorn knew better. Rosethorn had immediately figured out that it was highly unlikely that a person or thing from one dream would transcend into another, especially considering that the boy was a figure of her imagination, and not even anyone she knew.      The next night, Rosethorn was planting roses when the boy came out of the rose bushes and asked for help.      The night after that, Rosethorn dreamt of skydiving. But when she fell into a storm cloud, the boy was there again.      The night leading up to the present day, Rosethorn was skiing on Mount Everest. But when an avalanche rained snow and ice down upon her, the boy was there again. Chanting.      Asking.      Terrifying the living daylights out of her.      Rosethorn shuddered in the cold November breeze as she walked briskly through the crowded streets of Chicago on her way to work. Every night, she had a dream different to the one before. And on occasion, something she had been really focusing on lately would reappear one way or another in consecutive dreams. But those were things that Rosethorn knew and loved in real life.

     The boy wasn’t real. The boy wasn’t someone from a story or show that Rosethorn had known. The boy shouldn’t have existed!      Yet there he was. In her dreams. For five consecutive days.

     Something was terribly wrong.      Rosethorn had consulted her best friend Terra about her nightmarish dreams. Terra had told her that she was most likely hallucinating. After all, there was an unbreakable line between dreams and reality! What happens in her dreams stays in her dreams. The boy was just another figment of Rosethorn’s wild imagination, and he would fade with time.      Rosethorn hoped that what Terra had said was true. She desperately prayed that it was.      But all hopes came crashing down when Rosethorn took a shortcut through an alleyway to work and a small hand tugged gently on her coat.      Rosethorn looked down, and sucked in a sharp breath. Her silvery gray eyes widened until you could barely see the white of her eyes.

     Standing before her, next to a rotten dumpster, was the same little boy haunting her dreams. He had the exact same black hair, wide blue eyes, and sailor outfit. Those wide orbs were filled with the same fraud and mocking innocence and fear.

     “You’re…” Rosethorn began to hyperventilate, staggering away from the boy. It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it can’t be real —      “I’m lost.” The little boy whimpered. “Can you help me find my mommy?”      An ear-piercing scream tore through the alleyway.      From that day forward, Rosethorn Waters was never to be seen again. Her close friends and family were frantic, and the police conducted a thorough search. Eventually, they managed to pinpoint Rosethorn’s last known location to be an alleyway between Walter Street and 18th Ave. But there were no signs of a struggle. No signs of a murder, either.      The only thing that was there was a soft black feather, lying on the ground where Rosethorn had vanished.


I can hear the engine turn over in the parking lot as the bell on the glass door rings, and this is all so familiar. I let the door swing shut behind me and I am remembering how we used to do this all the time, a hundred years ago—you waiting in the truck with the air conditioning on to relieve you from the mid-July heat, me paying for our gas and slushies.

“Hey there!” I try not to feel too annoyed as the kid at the counter comes around to ask me how I’m doing, but we are in a hurry and it’s like he’s never even heard the words “personal space” before. “Oh, I love blue raspberry,” he informs me as I try to fit a medium lid on your large slushie. “Here,” he says, handing me the right size.

I don’t look at him; my blond hair hangs in my eyes, freshly dried from the rain that fell two hours ago. “Thanks.” “No problem.”

His skinny arms are folded across the chest of his dark uniform, which hangs loosely about him, and he is still smiling at our blue slushies as I fit the lids on.

“My mom used to hate these things,” he says. “She still does, actually. I love them, but she’s always like, ‘Blue raspberry? Why don’t they just call it sour blueberry or something? Don’t they know there’s no such thing—’” I am pulling a hundred and fifty dollars out of my jeans and dropping it at his feet because I cannot afford patience right now.

“Oh. Uh… sorry,” he mutters as the bell on the door rings again. He is scraping the bills off of the white tile floor, and people like him need to learn to be less comfortable. He clearly hasn’t been hit or pushed or told to back the hell off enough times in his life. He’s the sort of person to get into the front seat of an Uber, although I’m sure he has a pair of soft-hearted parents who drive him to work every morning and kiss him on the cheek, so he doesn’t have to worry about that.

“Hey,” you say.

I smile and you are smiling too. We sip our slushies as we merge onto the highway, resuming our journey to paradise.

The day our world fell apart was yesterday.

At least, that’s the way it seems. I can remember it all in perfect detail, the tears in your viridian eyes and the annihilating sensation of true love being torn away from you.

When I picked you up for dinner that night, you were happier than you are now. You were wearing a perfect red sundress covered in flowers, vibrant petals of yellow and pink and white, and your face was fresh and beautiful, even with the makeup you think you have to wear, and there were three rings on your left hand.

I had a ring too, the same one I am wearing now as we hold hands across the centre console. The ring is wrought in the shape of a silver flower, and you gave it to me after I told you how much I loved it, exactly one week before I picked you up in your red dress. “Jake, will you wear rings with me?” “Of course I’ll wear rings with you.” “Really?” “Yes. Give me the flower one.” And so the flower ring was mine, and I wear it everywhere now. If anyone judges me, I’ll just show them a picture of you and tell them, “she gave it to me,” and what will they say to that? You’re the most gorgeous girl in the world, my dear Aleta Colley.

The others were already at the restaurant when we arrived: my cousin, Jamie, and your best friend, Gabby, were by the doors, laughing about something on Jamie’s phone, while Jamie’s friend Ryan stood leaning against the dark windows to their left. Ryan was dressed in a plain white button-down that he had clearly spent an hour ironing and some brand new jeans and a pair of freshly polished white vans and his face. His face, I could imagine the way it dropped when he realized Jamie was coming.

“Don’t feel bad,” Jamie told me earlier that day. “He’ll feel awkward for a while and maybe he’ll hate me, but it’s fine. Hopefully he’ll leave Gabby alone after tonight.” A part of me did feel bad, though. A little. Another part of me knew that some people know how to find beautiful love, and some don’t. I spent months wanting you, remember, and I wanted you quietly. I waited, I was patient, and Ryan was like the overeager kid in the gas station. He was chasing the wrong girl, and he had to slow himself down.

The two girls working the front desk informed us they were full, but they could have a table for five ready in about twenty minutes, and isn’t that just the saddest thing you’ve ever heard? A table for five. I could almost taste the blood in Ryan’s face. After dinner, we bid our friends goodbye—Ryan practically sighed with relief once the bills were paid—and I drove you to our favorite cafe downtown. We sat in a booth, my arms around you in the corner, our bags in the other seat across the table, two chocolate milkshakes waiting on the mahogany surface.

“Jake,” you said.

“Aleta.” “I love you.” “And I love you.” “And I’ve been missing you.” I kissed your ear until you pushed me away, giggling, and I told you, “Being alone is so weird, Aleta. I always have my hands in my pockets when I’m at the store or something, and I’m so used to having them in yours.” “Aww, Jake.” “But I know I’m only without you physically. And this is growth.” We’d been spending less time with each other lately, and the time we did have was beautiful. We cherished it, because we knew it mattered now. We would both be starting university in the fall, and we would need time to focus and study, to work hard.

“Because I don’t want to enjoy you while you last, Jake. I just want to enjoy you. Forever.” “So do I, Aleta.” You sat a little straighter in the booth and held my face between your hands. “I’m really proud of us.” I held your wrists, our noses touching. “Me, too.” “We’re a lot stronger than we were a small time ago. We’re better at being apart—we’re doing things that seemed impossible a few months ago, and I feel way more ready to talk to my parents about it all. I’m still nervous about what they’ll say, and… I don’t know. I know we should’ve told them way earlier, but—” And then your mother was settling down in the cushioned seat across the table from us, the metallic sound of change in her purse, the brushing of her wool sweater as she propped her elbows on the table and clasped her hands together.

“We need to talk.” Do you remember the tulips I bought for you on your birthday, in December? I mean, everything about that is artificial—everything except for my love, of course. But tulips in December? What a fragile, short-lived gesture. You accepted them gratefully, but the tulips, of course, did not come naturally. They were either grown somewhere far away, or in a massive, corporate sized greenhouse here in Canada. In December. They were grown for the sole purpose of marketability and, as soon as they were beautiful, ready to sell, began to die.

We are like those tulips, you and I. Love has never looked so desperate as us on the 17th of July, five hours before your plane was scheduled to leave the airport and deliver you to Switzerland, forever away from me. You had family there, and your dad had found a new job overseas, and— And I doubted you. This was desperate, it was mad, and as I sat in my truck at the end of your street at five o’clock in the morning, the sun cresting the horizon, my body trembling with anticipation, I began to tell myself that you were not coming after all. Surely, you had realized how crazy this was, how much saner you’d be to just get on that plane and start your new life in Switzerland and forget about Jake Devland, the dream of a boy you lived in for a while. Your dad would start his new job in a few short days and you wouldn’t have to sleep on couches or in hotel rooms with me, and— But there you were, easing the front door shut behind you, hopping quickly and quietly down the concrete steps you’d been climbing for years, refusing to even glance at the windows you’d been gazing out of every day of your life. No looking back now.

We didn’t start driving for a while. You threw your duffel bag in the back seat and we just sat there, leant over the centre console, holding each other. I let you cry and shudder and kiss me with your wet lips, telling me you love me.

And then we left.

At six o’clock in the morning, the quarry is a dreamscape of emptiness. I have never seen a place so tranquil and pristine, so fit for the setting of not a goodbye but a tragic hello, a hello to a new beginning.

“Jake,” you say as we walk, hand in hand down the winding roads of pale sand. And then you are shuddering in my arms. “I’m scared.” “It’s okay,” I say, but maybe this was a mistake. Maybe… but no. No, because when I imagine going to sleep at night, knowing you are across the world forgetting about me, knowing I found you only to lose you, it kills me inside. I need you, and we are exactly where we are meant to be, here on the ghostly shores of paradise.

You are kissing my bare chest, my arms, and I am staring over your head at the cliffs above, where the train tracks stretch for miles in either direction. The air is still in this isolated place and the water is calm and constant, a single, seductive eye. I will be constant like that to you. I am calm and strong and it is such a wonderful feeling, to be so certain about someone. We’ve helped each other grow and I am ready to care for you, and so I know we will be okay. We are going to be something to remember, you and I.

We lay together on our towels, silent for a time with our hands intertwined, and every time we squeeze, it is like saying all of the words in our young, terrified hearts without actually saying them, like eating without eating, infusing the words into our veins through silver needles.

After some minutes, I prop myself on my elbow and bring your chin up with my two fingers, so our foreheads are together. “How do you feel?” You smirk, and until this moment I had thought smirking sadly was impossible. “I feel like a criminal,” you say, drawing pensively in the sand, and suddenly you are crying again. “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.” “I know,” I say, and I am wishing you’d stop crying, but I understand.

“I feel like everyone we know would say we’re stupid,” you cry. “There’s no one in my life who would respect me if they knew I was doing this.” Your skin was bronze, your hair silk, and your eyes two seas as deep and wet and clear as the open water before us as you gazed across its waveless surface. “It isn’t too late,” I say, and I am praying that you won’t make me bring you back and say goodbye to you.

You take a quivering breath and release my hands. “We both know that’s not true.” You are hugging your knees to your chest, and neither of us have a chance to say anything more before we realize that is, in fact, not too late, because there is a voice calling from the railroad tracks above.

Your body tenses as your head whips around and you gasp, “What the f—? Dad? ” On one of my last nights at home, a few days before I moved here and fell in love with you, I fell asleep at the top of the big red slide at Callander Park. I stayed there until morning, comatose, because I didn’t want to see the end of the night. I was moving away in two days and I tried to convince Harrison, who had to work early the next morning, to stay with me.

“Just drink a few coffees before your shift,” I said. “I’m moving soon, you’ll regret it if you don’t stay.” But it was just the two of us, no girls or any real excitement, just us and our drugs on the playground, and he left me there. “You sure you don’t want a ride?” “Nah, I wanna stay here a bit longer. I can walk.” So I stayed there, and I was alone when I woke up because I am always striving to make the good times last longer than they should. I’ve always had a hard time accepting that the golden moments are not meant to be forever, and that’s what got us into this mess in the first place. And this is where we end. We know this, both of us, as I hold you fiercely, your parents descending the rocky slope, bringing the awful truths of reality with them.

There are a lot of things we should have done differently, a lot of mistakes we’ve made together, but none of it matters anymore. What matters are your tears on my skin and your lips on mine as they watch, because this is the last time. “Please don’t fight them,” I say. My voice feels choked and distant. “It’s okay, Aleta.” “How can you say that?” “Because it is. It’s okay.” We could never run away. No, we were never going to make it. We are seventeen years old with a total of maybe 16 grand to our names, no plan, no jobs, no— No. I know you need a life with your family. I know you will need a wedding they can attend, one they approve of. You need guidance and safety and nights of peace where you fall asleep knowing that, yes, you are safe. Maybe you would settle for less, for me, but I no longer want that.

I want the most for you, which is why I am watching you cry from afar for the first time, something I am not used to doing because, until now, I have always been there to hold you while your tears fall.

You don’t look back, and I wait until you are over the hill before I collapse to my knees and let my own tears fall. I dig my nails into the dirt and I am shuddering, but I feel sure that we have done the right thing. We will have some time between us now, a few thousand miles, but that’s the beautiful thing about love. I need you, Aleta, and I know you need me too, and so, of course, if God appears to tell me that I have to wait five or six or a hundred years to see you again, I will hate Him for it.

But I will be here waiting.


My Fair Lady It happened at the fair. Our eyes locked, our hearts entwined and our lives tumbled. Sir Carlton Winslow, my good chum from university and myself, Sir Riley Fenwick, decided to take in the ever popular local market fair to delve into delectable street fare hawked out by costermongers and imbibe in some hardy ale dispensed by wanton wrenches. The bawdy sights and cacophony of sounds would provide a good diversion from our unending pressures of the late season of concerts, ballroom galas and afternoon teas we young blades were expected to grace our presence at or be forever outcasts in the high-society realms. What a boring and unproductive season this had turned out to be! The current crop of debutantes proved to be mousy, over-zealous gold diggers without an incomparable beauty among them. Unfortunately, we young eligible bachelors were obligated to play along if we were ever going to make a suitable marriage match made in heaven or in the history of banking for that matter. With our country being embroiled in war after war it is taking a toll on landed gentry. Dowries have been shrinking and more of us Corinthian types are being sent off to battle. Having a wife and heirs may reduce those odds. Still I would rather marry for love than for money or station in life. “What do you say, Ole Chum, we find some street eats and see what kind of entertainment we can find. Look, vendors of all goods line the promenade with colorful drapes of fabric tents. I can smell the roasted pig and sweet breads.” First we feasted on roasted meats and had a tipple or two then headed on down the cobblestones. We gravitated towards sounds of a harpsichord and found street musicians and dancers engaging the crowd. “Come dance with me.” A gaily clad gypsy pulled Carlton into her arms and swung him around clouding him in veils with zills clanging merrily. He laughed as he tripped the light fantastic. Then she spun him back out to me to catch before he fell flat on his face still giggling. We were almost run over by a dancing bear with a monkey on his back parading behind us. The red-vested monkey hopped down and sailed over the beast as he did a somersault. They joined the other performers including a contortionist, a dwarf, and a bearded lady. On another stage a magician was amazing the public with his illusions. Down the mall a puppet show was presented. I do believe that was the infamous Punch performing a routine. Children laughed uproariously. Nearby a strongman exhibition drew us closer. The burly fellow wielded a heavy mallet and took a swing at a metal plate attached to an upright huge scale. The ball on the scale soared to the top ringing a bell. Then he challenged the gentlemen assembled to give it a try. One white-haired macaroni stepped up no doubt to impress the fanning debutante on his arm of his manliness. Their chaperon tut-tutted behind them. Naturally, even with all his might thrown at the target the ball barely climbed the obstacle. Embarrassed the fool insisted the whole thing was rigged. I volunteered to rectify the argument and took a turn. The bell rang out true. Then Carlton, good chap, did the same. We tipped our top hats and carried on a midst the cheering. Amid the art displays sculptors were demonstrating their craft. One could step right up and get their hands dirty creating their own masterpiece. Further along we were tempted to enter the eating contests by the aromatic assault of funnel cakes and corn on the cob. But our bellies were still full of pulled pork. We did come away with small token trophies for our archery feats. Then we watched a rowing contest on the river. Some rogue convinced us to enter the amateur boxing match. So here we stood, best friends, bare-chested and bare-knuckled facing each other in a ring sparring off putting up our dukes. We would much rather be fencing one another. But we did what we could trying not to cause too much damage. “Okay, Riley, get ready. You asked for this.” “I'm not even the least bit angry with you. How am I supposed to knock your block off?” Thus we sparred and volleyed back and forth. He threw a jab and I ducked, I flung an uppercut and he backed away. Jab, hook, cross, counter-punch, clinch. Suddenly, I was dazzled. No, he hadn't landed a serious punch but I could only see stars. Stars in her eyes. The most beautiful smile in the world gazing up at me. Where had she come from? Then, POW! Carlton threw an upper cut that gobsmacked me silly and down I went. When I had my wits about me again she was still there her brow knitted with concern, her petite gloved hands clasped in front of her. I was sure I saw a vision of an angel in a white flowing gown with gold accents bestowing her grace upon me. Even through the sweat I could detect her delicate floral scent wafting towards me. “Oh, how horrible! Are you okay?” A sweeter than honey voice cried out. Do I prove how macho I am and jump up unscathed or play the helpless buffoon and let her care for me? “This is all play acting! Let's get away from this mayhem, My Dear, Lady Charity.” And she was led away by that white-haired dandy followed by an older woman in drab garb. “No, no. I can't lose you now.” I call after her but they are swallowed up in the revelry. “Come, Carlton, let's get dressed. I must find her. She is the Incomparable I have been yearning for.” “Don't be a fool. She is obviously spoken for. Banns may already have been announced this late in the season. Besides, he is dripping in old money. You wouldn't stand a chance. Let it rest.” “But she doesn't love him! I could tell by the way she looked at me. I must find her. There's been a crime! She stole my heart! My Fair Lady, Charity.”


Disclaimer: This story contains sex trafficking and Suicide “The world is a dark and dangerous place.”

That's what everyone says. That's what everyone believes. I guess that’s what happens when you live in this type of world. Let me start over. I am known as 14. We’re not supposed to talk about our birth names, I have a hard time remembering mine anyway. When I was 4 years old, I was taken and sold into the ring. The ring where we are kept in cages like animals. hung upside down for hours on end. Raped. Left shaking, cold and alone after being abused. All these awful things, but today has to be the worst.

I woke up this morning shivering with tears running down my face. I had a nightmare. A nightmare that I could wake up from, only to wake up into a different nightmare, one that I couldn’t even dream of escaping. Today we are being forced to eat the remains of one of our peers. She had hung herself. I can’t help but feel anger towards her. She chose the selfish way out, now the rest of us will be punished. I wouldn’t call her a friend. We don’t have friends. We’re sold and cycled through the ring too rapidly to make any connections. The girl was named 110. I had met her briefly. She didn’t speak. I left her alone. She had a sister I'd met weeks before. They were driven mad by the idea of finding each other in the ring. Everyone knows once you lose someone they are gone. Me and the girls sat in a circle around her body. I heard girls whispering under their breaths. Curses, Prayers. Some were silent, others were crying. Afterwards we were given some grace by our handlers by being returned to our cages for a moment of rest. We were to keep silent. I feel numb, Twiddling the bobby pin I'd found on the floor while I was being moved to this unit. It is all I have. I am comforted by this object because it is mine. It is all I have. It is only important to me because I am not allowed to have it, but that’s what makes it special.

I hear girls sobbing quietly to themselves. I know they’re all trying to hold their vomit in, in fear we’ll be punished for being sick. I am kept on the very top of the pile of broken girls. I feel all their pain beneath me, and I feel nothing towards them. Or maybe I just don’t want to. Being numb is the only way to survive this place.

I hear the girl under me whispering. Only then I realized it was for me. “Hey, what’s that you have?” she whispered, staring at my bobby pin. Oh no “It’s nothing.” I say, quickly closing it in my hand. The girl starts rambling about a great escape, her voice getting louder and louder. “Hey, shut the hell up, Okay?!” I whisper aggressively down at her. She gets quiet, I don’t hear another peep from her. I start thinking. I know I have to get out of here. I have to try, or I'm going to end up like 110. I deserve a chance at life, so do all of these girls. I’ve had this fantasy for a while. Of being left alone without a handler, finding our way out of the underground, getting in contact with the police. Just something to get out of here.

Left alone without a handler… I look to my left and to my surprise the handler has fallen asleep.

You know what. “Fuck it” I say loud enough for the girl below me to here. She looks up at me puzzled. “We’re going to get out of here or we are going to die trying.” I say, I'm shaking but putting on my brave face. “It’s about time too.” She says gesturing for the bobby pin.

I’m hesitant to give it to her, worried she’ll leave me for dead, but I take my chances. I don’t know how to pick a lock.

She stuffs the bobby pin into the keyhole, quietly wiggling it around. After a few seconds I begin to lose hope. At last, the lock clicks and her cage slowly open. I hear a few girls gasp from below, but they are careful to keep their mouths shut in hopes the girl will help them escape as well. She slowly crawls out of her cage, careful not to make any noise that will wake our handler up. She stands up slowly, letting the muscles in her legs get used to being stretched out like that again. I hold my breath. The girl looks to be taking a minute to think. “Please don’t leave us.” I say, I feel pathetic begging like this, but she is our only hope. The girl looks worried but lets out a breath and starts picking my lock. I feel a tear roll down my face. For the first time in years, I have hope. My lock clicks, my door opens. I am free for now, but we must be careful to keep it that way.

We start making our way down the pile letting girls out. The girls then wait at the bottom of the pile for everyone to be freed. The one with the bobby pin is opening one of the last cages when the lock falls to the floor, making a loud clicking sound. The handler is startled awake. He looks at us, puzzled as to how we got out. He opens his mouth to yell out, when one of the older girls snaps his neck. We all stare at her in shock as she slowly lowers his body to the ground. She looks at her hands, disgusted by what she has done, but looks up and nods at us, encouraging us to keep going.

All the girls are freed. We stand at the bottom. We share our names. Our real names.

I take the key from the guard and open the door to the tunnels. For once in our lives, we have a chance. We can make it out of this tunnel and be free. Or we can die trying.