They greet you at the local café. They are the first things you notice as you enter your supermarket. Their beautiful hues of fuchsia, violet, orange, gold and emerald greens await you before you make it to the check out line. This is exactly what you needed on this cool and windy first day of spring. They smell just as amazing as they look. You breathe in their fragrant scent and try to chose just one. But each one is lovelier than the next. You have made your decision. You reach down and lift two bundles from the green plastic cones in which they are displayed. At the register you notice more than a few eyes are on your last minute purchase. In the parking lot some people smile while others whisper their approval at your choice. On the drive home you sing along with the radio. Several times you look in the rear view mirror and smile at them. After parking your car, you gather up everything and head for the front door. Once inside, you drop your shopping bags on the floor in the foyer beside the door. Then you joyfully head toward your kitchen in search of something to put them in. When they are on the counter you remove the shiny foil paper that surrounds them. With shears in hand you give them a nice sharp trim. Then run cold water from the tap over their leaves and stems. You position each and every one till you feel they are just right. The first vase you settle in the center of your dining table. The second one you decide belongs on the white side table so visitors can see them when they walk through the door. You start water in the kettle for your afternoon tea. You stare out the back window at this gloomy March day and remember when your gardens were in full bloom. You love how the yard looks in summer and spring. You wish it was warm enough to plant something. The sound of the kettle starting to boil brings you back to the moment. When the tea is ready you settle into your favorite arm chair and gaze upon them again. The last rays of the afternoon sunshine streams through the windows and shines on their pretty faces. *** A few weeks go by and everywhere you notice the many signs of spring. Leaves are now on once bare branches. Buds appear where they weren't before. The dull muddy brown grass is again growing into a lavish deep green. On your way into work you have begun to roll your window down. The air is crisp but inviting and you know the afternoon will be quite warm. You can already feel it against the side of your face. You inhale it all in. In the evenings you take your dog Lucy with you for the walks you have missed all winter long. That next evening you decide to stop off for some color for your space. Yes, a new paint would certainly do the trick but its not what you have in mind. You have returned to the store and you stand there admiring them all. You try to make up your mind. An older woman has stepped up beside you and she smiles. "Oh how pretty. Look at them." "Yes, they really are. My only problem is I can never chose just one." "I guess that's true. I can see they make you very happy. Its written on your face. And you've just made up my mind." She reaches for two and smiles again as she leaves you there. You take another moment before you decide. Then you gather up your choices and head for the cashier. Back in your kitchen its the same routine. Unwrap, trim, water, display. Stand back and grin as you've done before. This goes on several times in the next three days. Your home is looking and smelling beautiful. You hate to keep them all to yourself. Most of your family and friends would appreciate them too. *** It turned out to be a beautiful Saturday in April. You have a small get together with family and some of your closest friends. It is much warmer than anyone expected. And its what everyone seems to talk about as they gather in your yard. You spent most of Friday night making and preparing food for this special day. You even bought a new floral dress that your more than happy to show off. Your older brother offered to man the grill. He has finished the chicken and will soon start the steaks. Your mother made her famous potato salad. Your sister brought a delicious chocolate cake. A few of the ladies from work surprised you with dessert. You are happy to show everyone the plants and vegetables you spent all last weekend working on. As everyone complements your yard you feel very proud. "I never knew you had such a green thumb." Your mom says. "I really like it now. It keeps me sane." You explain. "Hey we all need something. For me its drinking." Lisa laughs. You take them on a tour and everyone seems to love what you have done. The afternoon went better than you expected. Everyone drank and ate till their hearts content. *** Soon most of your guests have gone. Your tiding up with your sister and good friend when you notice your mom staring at your table in the front hall. You set the dirty dishes down on your counter then hurry off  to speak with your mom. She turns to you and you touch her hand. She seems in awe too. "Mom, is everything ok?" You ask. " Oh yeah, I'm just so proud of you. Your happy. That's all I ever want. And this place and your garden, its all so        lovely. But I think these here, well their my favorite ones of all. Just look at them." "Mom, I do every single day. And you want to know a secret ?" She nods at you. "These are my favorite too. I think its because they were the first flowers I bought. They been here all along."


It was a lovely mid-summer evening, strobing my hair, dressing in aurora white, brightening my face as a sunburst tiara, “Might be a great day!” I smiled. Yeah! my first ever date with Jake. Streaming in my mind, “Might be for me, not him", I fastened my seat belt, got cracking right away. “You lucky, lucky girl, if you need to know what love is” recalling the lyrics, my thoughts flew away with me. I cherished the way I prepared myself on my way to Jake's home. ‘Few months back’

Dull days in sequence, virtual sessions were in queue, I felt bored as usual. The unusual change in screen at the sour of the moment, caught all our attention. My eyelids fluttered repeatedly. An eye-catching visual on the screen appeared out of the blue.

"I'm mad, who is this?” he made me crazy. Private chat box started popping up one after the other. “ Who is he?”, “Isn't he handsome!”, “Soo Hot!!!”, “OMG”, girls in the class passed their comments. Course coordinator Mrs. Laura delivered a welcome speech, I clicked his screen to zoom-in. Looking closer, I never got to widen my eyes to watch the screen like this, of course i didn't miss to switch off my web cam.

Jeez!!!, our new language professor, nothing else that could be grabbed in her speech. Oh! Man, there is something in his eyes, zoomed in to maximum already . I was waiting in the wings, “Come on man!”, searching his voice scales, set his frequency in my mind. When he started to speak, I was all ears. "Hi everybody, I am Jake”, his frequency was stunning more than i expected, as I watched his Adam's apple rising and falling. “Your new language professor and a research scholar.” He introduced himself. Yeah! His voice was gentle, warm and welcoming, everybody in mute were listening thoroughly. “Your in-depth language skills can take you to the heights” his words etched in my brain, he disappeared sooner in the blink of an eye.

 I used to be the last to join nevertheless, I joined early in his class (virtual class). “Hello!! How are you?” he waved at me. I smiled instantly. "He was such a mighty handsome, he was like a warmth of the sun in winter and a hopeful sign of joy”, I admired.

Zoomed in, Oh, jeez!!, those blue eyes... “Tanya, right?” He waved at me again. “Ye-y-Yes, you are right, you have a strong memory too” I delivered my prompt response. He shrugged and smiled; I acknowledged. "Something in his eyes” I swore. Multiple alerts popped up to join the class appeared in the screen simultaneously. He welcomed most of my friends by their names, everybody in mute were watching and waiting for him to start his speech. Oh! Gosh!! his words were cream of the crop, I envision something... Those were fresh and freezing. I entered the realm of fantasy, “just forty-five minutes session is not fulfilling” i said to myself. There was nothing I could do, I gazed at him.

He was such a energetic person, loved to deliver speech. He was unreserved and enjoyed interactions with us. His affable nature qualified him to be a gregarious man. I turned curious and more focused in attending all his lectures. I made multiple attempts just to collect all his personal information, I started to ask as many doubts as I could though I was struggling to frame my sentences many a time. I loved the way he responded; he replied in broad and detail. Often times I failed to logout even after his sessions ended. His absence could not be expressed and its influence could not be explained. I was attracted by his endeavoring manners; he could earn unconditional love and regards. I felt as if i had lost myself in his compassion and attitude. He stole my heart. “Are you not working today?” I sent him a text message with hesitation.

“Yes!” he gave me a swift response.

“Hope you are fine” I wanted to confirm.

“Doing great, no worries” he replied with a smiley. I was overwhelmed with his responses. I was fond of him undoubtedly. Being anxious during lock-down, started to count the days nearing college reopen. We could stay connected via virtual sessions, phone calls and whatsApp chats. My heart awaited to meet up with him in person.

Government started declaring lockdown relaxations in phases. Leaving the dozens of thoughts behind, I took out my phone and started to text. "I wish to meet you in person" I typed "sure" he replied without hesitation. "Where are we meeting? " I asked at the speed of the light. "I'm held up currently, shall we connect later?" he asked My crazy urges could not get settled, I started typing with all possible haste. “I would like to meet you. Where are you?”, thought for a moment and decided to click back space. All my brainwaves were surrounded by his thoughts, "how long will this continue? You are in my dreams irrespective of day and night. I bet your memory can gauge the depth of my love. I love you to the moon and back, I will be lost lying in your arms. Honestly, I forget myself almost....” I wandered in my thoughts while in my couch. ‘At Jake's home’

It was my big day, dreamt of it so long, rode my car to the shared location using google maps. His house covered with an extensive garden. Man of charm, dressed in crackling cuffs and collars, looked into my eyes. “Hey! Welcome Tanya, how do you do?” he smiled at me in a peaceful valley. I gazed at him with astonishment. “Go....Good!” i reacted. He was the tall man with blue eyes, sharp jaws, tight lipped smile, I was just admired him with no words.

 I surrendered myself in his large frame, the tall man waved his arm. “Hi!!” I smiled. He showed me the way to his drawing room, overflowed with plenty of paintings, fixed on the walls. Definitely he was a great admirer, I could witness from all his pieces of art. “Please come and have your seat” his orotund voice, made me turned suddenly. I had to lift my chin to see his face, “Yeah, com-co-coming” of course my voice turned tremulous.

“How may I help you?” he asked me while his fingers rushed to brush up his glossy hair that fell on his forehead. “How could I open my mouth, answer him?” as my mind was not streaming in line. All that I practiced in front of my mirror had gone wrong, nothing I could remember to persuade him now. All of a sudden, my pores opened widely, my hair stood on end as his eyes were glanced at me.

“Tea or Coffee, Tanya dear?” she was extremely soft spoken. I turned my face to her in surprise as she mentioned my name. “My mother Hazel, Tanya”. He introduced me. “Hello!” I greeted her, then I was in deep surprise. “Date at his home” nothing to wonder, could go with it, but “Date in front of his mother!!” so uncommon. “How could he have misunderstood me? how could I have expressed thoroughly on this day? Did he has really meant it for a date?”. Too many questions tagged in my brain. “How are you?” Mrs. Hazel asked. “Good” I whispered. She offered us a cup of coffee and left us alone. “Have to say something now without waste a single minute” I forced myself even more, I was aware that no one could come for a help. Shifted my silky hair on my cheeks behind my ears, my eyes were open widely, swayed my tongue over my lips, I was like a bird flapping against a wind.

“I-I want to spend rest of my life with you” I told him openly. His sudden gaze pierced in me; We were in deep silence for few seconds. “Oh! God, come on man, say something” My heart rushed to witness his next expression. “Tanyaaaa...hmm...” nothing I could hear from him except my name for a few more minutes, he left me with my deep thoughts about him,how was he going to react?

After a few seconds, I turned following his gaze, he offered a warm smile, he rolled up his cuffs, wiped his brow free of sweat and started. “Maybe You admired my strength and unnoticed my flaws, you are aware of things as a young adult furthermore i need not attempt to convince you. Honestly, I don’t expect this from you. Your views will change over time. What is love, meant to you is different from mine. Still, I take care of you as my student. I hope you can understand me in better ways” he spoke gently. He turned my thoughts down yet I admired him by this accomplishment. I learnt from him that he was a great observer who delivering limited words. I loved the way he divulged his opinion when I lost in contemplation. Though I missed him a lot, his words were accurate on life. One thing I could confirm that he was not a person roaming around, making relationships as he could make the world inside the walls. Definitely it's an art. I could observe, his passion for painting, love for gardening, he enjoyed his home more than anything; for the world outside, he was such a broad mentor. I could not compel him and I did not do that, but he stole my heart once again. He was a man of wise thoughts.

“I respect and value your opinion. My love and regards are always there for you, thank you Jake, definitely you made my day special, I love the way you are” I greeted him with a warm smile. "I miss you" I said in mute and walked away since his words meant a lot to me. -from the diary of Tanya The End


The gate was large and magnificent. It’s shining, gold-bronze arches at the top had a regal design that seemed Heavenly. For David and Meghan, it was almost frightening to walk through. What if they weren’t worthy? What if they were burned by fire upon entrance? It had started with a map, but not just any map. Meghan and David had been neighbors as children, and when the time called for quarantining at home, Meghan had returned. She’d only lived at the large home for three years from ages 8-11. But she and David had been best friends, always riding bikes and scooters together, going on imaginary adventures, writing stories together, and sword-fighting in the backyard. She also remembered folks saying her house was haunted.

 	Maybe that’s why they left after only three years. She couldn’t remember anything strange happening off the top of her head but she was also just a kid. Nevertheless, her family owned the property, as it had been in their possession for centuries. They had never sold it to an outsider, which Meghan thought strange. Why was it so special? It didn’t matter though. Meghan figured if she was going to be forced to stay inside for an indefinite amount of time, she might as well do it somewhere memorable. Of course, the house came to mind right away. She had packed her bags, jumped on a plane, and made her way to sunny and peaceful Texas. She hadn’t been back since being 11.

David had always lived next door but in Texas, that could mean a solid 10-minute walk, at least. Meghan was surprised to find that her favorite childhood friend had also returned to be at home with his family during these uncertain times. She hadn’t gone looking for him but he had shown up at her door, curious as to who could possibly be staying at the estate after it’d been empty all these years. She greeted him with a pleasant surprise and he hugged her equally as pleasantly. It was going to be fun to catch up. Not to mention, David was cute! He’d grown up to be quite the man and little did Meghan know, that David thought she looked just as beautiful. Fortunately, for them, both were single at the time. Meghan invited David to stay over if he wanted, as there was plenty of space for the multitudes. He obliged to stay for a few nights and they decided what better way to waste time than look for treasure! Meghan’s mom had stopped the kids from ravaging around the house when they were younger, as “The house had Noble history not to be tampered with,” in her words. Consequently, the two had mainly played outside but were also forbidden from journeying deep into the woods that surrounded the home. Now, they were going to do both! Day three seemed to be the magical day, as, after hours and hours of investigating the house, David found something unusual: a large, old, crumply-folded piece of paper. It was blank though! But Meghan knew there was something about that piece of paper, as it’d been discovered in a hidden spot. In the movies, they would hold the paper up to fire to reveal secret messages. And it actually worked! Day 4, they followed the mysterious map all the way out to the woods behind the house. And this, my friends, is where our story begins. A whole other story of a whole other world but let me not get ahead of myself! Meghan and David stared dramatically at the top of the incredible, double-doored gate that stood mighty and tall. It was breathtakingly beautiful and yet, otherworldly. “Meg, are you seeing this?!” “With both my eyes.” “How is this possible?” “I don’t think it is.” The map had led the two, old friends to the deep, center of the dark woods and had pointed specifically to two, slender but incredibly tall, trees. Trees that had strange markings on them and seemed in surprisingly good shape to be so ancient.  When they had approached the trees, close enough to touch them, suddenly a blinding-bright gate appeared out of nowhere, right in between the trees! This was impossible. “The map…” “What?” “The map,” Meghan repeated, “Turn it over.” On the back, there were riddles and phrases that they didn’t quite understand. Meghan continued, “It says: “ To the worthy, come through.”” David looked at the map. “It also says: “ The Chosen hold the map but now is no time to nap. Go forward before you can go back.”” “Are we worthy?” Meghan asked. David gulped, “I guess there is only one way to find out.” As he approached the gate, the entryway flashed back and forth between intimidating flames of fire and a sheetlike, translucent, wavering light. He looked back at Meghan, “Pray I am worthy!” And he stepped through. “David! No!” But he was gone. Great , thought Meghan. I was beginning to remember why I liked David so much as a kid. Now I’ve lost him again, unless… But could she? Could she find the courage to step through the gate too? What if he was gone forever and she would be too? But what if he was simply on the other side, waiting for her? “The map says to go forward; it led us here. It chose us. We have to be worthy.” With a deep breath, she neared the entryway. She stuck her hand through the portal and nothing happened. Well, okay, that’s a good sign. She then put one foot through the portal and no pain. She looked up and saw the fire disappear and the translucent light shimmering in front of her. Guess I’m worthy .  “David!” She called before she realized what she was looking at. She quickly turned around but the portal gate was gone! In front of her appeared to be a city, a very large one at that. But not just any city, it was, it was, it was splendid! Sparkling, tall buildings that appeared to radiantly shine in the bright sun were scattered throughout. People walked all around her and they all appeared to be smiling. The roads were paved in, was that, gold?! Animals of all kinds of colors, that she’d never seen before, leaped about joyfully. And the colors, yes the colors, everything seemed so pretty! She pinched herself. Am I alive? She slowly took one step forward and paused to watch a bright, lavender bird bounce across the path in front of her whistling a delightful melody. The bird seemed almost... human. She looked up in the fluffy, proud green trees and they seemed to almost wave at her in the gentle breeze. The weather couldn’t be more perfect and the animals seemed to agree. Peculiar looking creatures, almost like teddy bears mixed with squirrels, seemed to giggle in the trees as she walked by. Was this real life? No matter, I have to find David, she thought. She found him staring up in amazement at the grand city unfolded in front of them, at yet another gate, equally as dazzling. “Meghan,” he said without even looking at her, “Where are we?” “If we were dead, I’d say Heaven but we aren’t dead, are we?”

“I’ve never felt so alive!” He exclaimed and grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s go!” He sounded as playful and free as a child. Meghan couldn’t help but laugh, as she realized how happy she herself felt. This felt like perfection, at its finest. The two skipped down the gold road, which turned into silver, and then rainbow, and then like stars sparkling in the night sky. They were headed towards the tallest, most bedazzling building that they could see, the Castle! As they approached the snowy-white Castle, they began to hear the most enchanting, angelic sound they’d ever heard, like angels singing in another octave all around them! It felt like a dream come true and Disney World was nothing compared to this. Meghan knocked on the front doors of the Castle. Immediately, they opened, and tall men dressed almost like British soldiers in those tall, fluffy hats (or perhaps more like Nutcrackers dressed in white and sparkling silver uniforms), opened the doors smiling. “Welcome to the Home of the High King!” They proudly announced. Meghan and David looked at each other in amazement and smiled. This was awesome! Suddenly, a short, chubby little man scurried up to them. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” He cheerfully exclaimed. “Come on, this way! The King will be so happy to meet you!” He led them around the fancily decorated hallways, as people of all ages, sizes, shapes, and colors looked onward and cheered. “Why are they so happy?” Meghan asked. “Well, you are our newest arrivals of course! We love visitors!” The kind man led the two up turning hallways that were like ramps taking them higher, all around the Castle to the very center, middle of the entire place. “One second,” he said, and just as fast, he was back with two, white, regal-looking, cushioned chairs.

“Have a seat and the King will be right with you.” And he was right, just as soon as the two had a seat, there was the King, even more radiant than all they’d seen so far, seeming to smile at them straight through his Emerald eyes. “Hello.” His voice seemed to boom and echo throughout the whole room and beyond. He stood up and he was tall, like the men outside, but he was dressed in all white, except for golden slippers and a gold crown that seemed to shimmer perfectly. There was a glow about him that seemed not of this world. Meghan and David just stared in amazement, once more. He was the most beautiful, living being they had ever seen and yet he felt more powerful too, beyond anything they’d ever experienced. The two had also found themselves suddenly standing straight up, as he had walked in the room, without even realizing they had done that. “Please friends, do have a seat,” he smiled so big. They snapped out of it and plopped back down in the chairs. “What is this place?” David asked. The King laughed with a chuckle so deep and sudden, the whole Castle seemed to respond. “Come, let me show you.” The King walked closer and extended his hand. The two slowly rose and as if in slow-motion, approached the King, never taking their eyes off of him and his glory. Meghan touched his hand and a wave of something shot through her body and seemed to wake up her senses. David touched him and suddenly felt light as a feather, like he could float away. “Whoa, what was that?” Meghan exclaimed. “I’m the King of Heaven,” the wonderful man gently responded, almost in a whisper. “This is...is...is Heaven?” asked David. Laughing, the King responded simply, “It is.” “Are we dead then?” Meghan asked. Still chuckling, the King said, “No, only in a different place.” “But how?” asked David. The King sat down on the step leading up to his glorious, majestic throne. The two sat right beside him like curious children. “David McEntire and Meghan Carter,” he gazed intently at each of them, “Your families are important to me.” “I’m sorry?” “Your ancestors lived to know me and trust me. I did incredible and magnificent things through their lives. They were my friends and now they get to live here with me, in my Royal Kingdom, forever.” “Our families are here?” “Oh, indeed. And one day, if you find my words pleasing and acceptable, you will join them here in Paradise when the time comes.” “I would like that,” said Meghan. “Yeah,” agreed David, “Me too! This place is AMAZING.” “I hope we can get to know each other better,” The King said with a pure warmth and tenderness in his eyes Meghan had never seen. “Not to seem weird,” she began, “But I, I feel like I know you.” “I know you,” said the King, “And I have great plans for the both of you.” “You do?” “I do. You found the map in your home, a home filled with my angels and dedicated to my work, long ago.” “Wow…” said David. “You were chosen, both of you, for such a time as this. Your ancestors prayed bold prayers and now you are reaping the benefits. It is no accident you are here, my children.” The two looked at each other and smiled. “Now, please let me have your hands. I will place them in my bowl of anointed oil and show you things you have never seen. You will see the future and you will know what you must do when you return.” And so, our story goes on...


I was out of breath and could hear how fast my heart was pounding, but I had to keep running. It was the only way. I told myself not to look back. I felt like I couldn’t see anything, everything was blurry. Nothing made sense. I really wish I would’ve stayed at home, but she was so nice and warm, I couldn’t tell her no. I pulled out my phone and began to call the police while I was running. He was right behind me, keeping up, but I could tell he was weak. I finally approached my house. 6 hours earlier Kara was the new girl in the neighborhood, and as always, I had to be the one to welcome her and her family to the area. When I knocked on the door, she recognized me from school, and came outside, closing the door behind her. As we were talking, her parents came out, and they seemed like very nice people. I told them the local spots of eatery, shopping, and other fun things to do. I guess the conversation went well, and they liked me enough to invite me to dinner later tonight. I wanted to be nice and said yes to the offer. I thought to myself that Kara and I could be very good friends. Before I left, her mother came out and handed me a vanilla cake. “I own a bakery, in the city”, Kennedy, her mom said. “Thank you. It looks great”, I replied back. “Bye, Sariah. See you later”, Kara shouted, while waving her hand and smiling at me. I looked back to wave, and then I saw something very strange from the upstairs window- a little boy. He had no emotion on his face, and he was just staring at me. I thought nothing about it and turned to head back home. When I walked into the house, I told my mom about the boy I had seen in the window, and how they invited me over for a dinner. She didn’t like me going over to a strangers house, but I told her they seemed like very nice people and I went to school with Kara, we even had a couple classes together. The day flew by, and it was time for me to get ready to go over to the Wilson’s house for dinner. As I started walking over to their house, the sun was slowly setting, and the wind started to get heavier. I approached their driveway, and before I could knock on their door, Mrs. Wilson already opened it, and welcomed me in. The inside of their house was beautiful, modern, and minimalist. The only thing that was strange was the way they were all dressed, very mid 1900’s. Kara introduced me to her older brother, Karter, her younger sister, Joselyn, and her younger brother, Jace. “I guess you were the boy I saw in the upstairs window earlier”, I said, looking at Jace, while cracking a friendly laugh. But in my head, I knew he didn’t look like the same boy I saw earlier. I saw Mr. Wilson’s eyes become cold, and Mrs. Wilson flash a quick smile. “Perhaps it was. Please lets all sit down and eat. I made spaghetti, with salad and bread”, Mrs. Wilson gestured. We all went into the dining room and took a seat at the table. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were seated at the head of the table. I was sitting in the middle, next to Joselyn and Jace, with Kara and Karter sitting across from us. There was one extra seat, but that wasn’t the problem. The strange thing was a plate of spaghetti and bread, with a glass of water, in front of that empty seat. “Is anyone else joining us this evening?”, I questioned, but knew deep down inside, I should’ve just let it go. Everyone laughed, except for Kara, who looked embarrassed. My question wasn’t answered, so I let it go, and tried not to ask any more questions. However, Mr. Wilson did ask a lot of about my family, and I, and he seemed pleased. I learned a lot about their family, the normal stuff. They were from California, Mr. Wilson was a top surgeon at the downtown hospital, Karter was a basketball star, home from college, and they moved around a lot, reasons undisclosed, and no, I didn’t ask. I began to have this sickening feeling, like something was wrong, but I was good at hiding it, because I didn’t want the Wilson’s to think I wasn’t enjoying my time here. I pulled out my phone from underneath the table, to text my best friends, Juan, and Alexis, in a group chat about where I was and what was happening. “Sariah, we don’t use our cell phones at the dinner table”, Mrs. Wilson said to me in a stern voice. I quickly sent the message and apologized. That was weird, and I didn’t like the way she spoke to me. I felt uncomfortable, and something told me to just walk up and leave. I looked up at Kara, who mouthed, sorry, and then quickly looked back down to her food and swiveled some pasta onto her fork. It went quiet for a few minutes, until there was a loud thud coming from upstairs. I looked up to the ceiling but kept my thoughts to myself. I had to get out of here. Mr. Wilson and Mrs. Wilson looked at each other with a menace smile and went to go check upstairs. When they were out of sight, Karter grabbed my wrist and told me to get out of here right now. Kara looked at the front door, and told him it was locked, and could only be unlocked with a key that they always hid. Kara apologized over and over and told me that her parents forced her to invite me dinner. “What do they want?”, I asked. Joselyn and Jace looked up at me, and in unison said, “You”. My eyes widened, and I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. Kara told me after dinner, to excuse myself to go the bathroom, and escape out the window, and call the police. I was scared, but I heard her loud and clear. The Wilson’s came back downstairs, and everyone had to act normal. I could heat my heart pounding, I just wanted to run. After, everyone was finished eating, and before she presented us with dessert, I excused myself to the bathroom on the first floor, but there was one problem…. there wasn’t a window. I felt my eyes begin to tear up, and pulled out my cell phone, with a whole bunch of missed text messages from Juan and Alexis. I stumbled back and fell on the floor. There was a picture of Mr. and Mrs. Wilson who were wanted for kidnapping, and the kids looked exactly like Karter, Jace, and the boy I saw upstairs. I had to leave. I frantically sent an emergency text to my parents and for Alexis and Juan to call the police. I needed an escape plan, but why would Kara lie about a window being in the bathroom. I heard a heavy knock on the door, turned on the water faucet, dried my hands, opened the door, and walked out. When I walked into the dining room, Kara looked at me with a confused look on her face, wandering why I didn’t leave. The Wilson’s went into the next room over to play on the twin pianos they had. Joselyn and Jace went into the living room to watch a movie, leaving me with Kara and Karter. I told them that there wasn’t a window in the bathroom, and they both look confused. “They probably got rid of it, and covered it up”, Karter said. I started to ask them questions, and the more terrified I became. Karter was kidnapped when he was just ten years old, from his aunt and uncle, until he found out later that his parents actually sold him to the Wilson’s for money. They had this perceived idea that they could only have girls, and they wanted boys so bad that they would do whatever it took to have them. Jace was taken two years ago, from a movie theatre in Utah, and the boy I saw upstairs is the newest boy they bought from the internet a couple weeks ago in California, and therefore had to move. Kara had threatened several times to call the feds on her parents, but they threatened her with death, and when she still wouldn’t listen, her father drugged her and sexually assaulted her, with her mother laughing and watching. She knew as soon as she told, they would kill her. They’ve killed before. They knew enough was enough, they needed out, and I was the one who was going to help. Although, Karter went to college in the city, he had nowhere to go, no other family to call up, and he wouldn’t dare leave Kara and the other kids alone with them. Karter said they were getting drunk and would forget all about me soon. This was my chance to go upstairs, get the little boy out of the house, run home, and call the police. That was exactly what I did. I ran upstairs and saw a room that was locked. I knocked on it quietly, and the little boy answered, except he wasn’t a little boy, he looked my age. He pulled me into the room and locked the door. “What are you doing? You have to go. Run back downstairs, the door doesn’t need a key to be unlocked. Kara and Karter are apart of this sick family too. Karter invited me to dinner, and next thing you know I wake up in this house. You have to go!”, he urged. “Please come with me!”, I cried. He agreed because he knew this was his one and only chance. He told me his name is Nico, but they wanted to call him Kyle. We went back and forth to discuss our plan, until we heard the piano stop being played, the television was off, and the lights went out. Nico pulled me to the window, opened it, and asked me if I was scared. I said yes, but that couldn’t stop me. We heard the Wilson’s coming up the stairs, humming to a song. “I like the way you look, Sariah”, I heard Mr. Wilson say. “Ohhhh Kyllleee”, Karter sung. It was horrifying. Nico and I began to climb out the window quickly but safely, but I saw Kara standing in front of the door, with a hand gun. You’ve got to be kidding me. We managed to both get steady on the roof and walk to the side of the house where there were no windows, and where nobody could see us. “Get strapped up, they can’t be far”, I heard Mrs. Wilson say. I was praying that Nico wasn’t apart of this sick game, but the photo Alexis and Juan sent me, he had to be genuine. My cell phone had no service, and we needed a plan quick. Nico looked around both sides of the house and told me the coast was clear. We climbed down from the roof, and had to jump a little, but it wasn’t too bad. We had to stay quiet. At this point, the whole family, was out in the street, looking from east to west. Nico grabbed my hand and we started to run as fast as we could. “Over there!”, Kara screamed, and then we heard gun shots go up in the air, causing both of us to duck our heads but continue to run. I was out of breath and could hear how fast my heart was pounding, but I had to keep running. It was the only way. I told myself not to look back. I felt like I couldn’t see anything, everything was blurry. Nothing made sense. I really wish I would’ve stayed at home, but she was so nice and warm, I couldn’t tell her no. I pulled out my phone and began to call the police while I was running. Nico was right behind me, keeping up, but I could tell he was weak. We finally approached my house. The police were there and so were my parents with Juan and Alexis. I told them the house everything happened at and that’s when Nico tackled me down to the ground, and the police started shooting at the Wilson’s. By the end of the night, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were dead, Kara was handcuffed in the back of the police car, smiling, and Karter was gone, along with the two children, Joselyn and Jace. Nico and I were both able to give a very detailed looked at Karter and the kids. The police called the FBI who examined the house and provided us with even more terrifying details. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were on the top ten most wanted FBI list for kidnapping, terrorism, robbery, child, and sex trafficking, and three counts of murder. Karter and Kara were both of their children, who were coerced into participating with the kidnapping of Nico, Joselyn, and Jace. Mrs. Wilson was involved in a severe car accident that left her with the inability to not have any more kids, and she couldn’t bear the thought, and decided that she was going to take children who could resemble her own. That was the last time I ever welcomed the new person into the neighborhood. I also had no problem telling people no. Nico and I became really good friends, and he was adopted by my family, after we learned that his parents  were killed in a house fire set by, Kara.


The soft grass tickling my feet, the sweet smell of cherry blossoms. The light gently caresses my hair. It all seems so familiar, yet so foreign.      To think that only two days ago, I was wrapped up safely in a blanket. Now, I am here. Looking out at the ocean that seemingly stretches to eternity. Yet, it had to be fate.      I ponder briefly, what I would be doing right now had I not taken that wrong turn. Had I not opened that ever so peculiar door carved into the mountain? Stepping through was as though stepping into another world. One without judgment, without fear, and free of expectations. It was just simply there.      As many questions as I have, I do not feel an urge to find an answer. It is as if they are just floating in my head, perfectly fine remaining where they are.      I shut my eyes, thinking that this might just be a wonderful dream.

I could be tending to my plants right now,

I think.      When I open my eyes, I am no longer on the beach. Instead, I am in a large garden, but it is not mine. The smell of cherry blossoms is gone, replaced with a faint sound of drums. I am standing what seems to be in the middle of it all. To my left is a large orchard, and to my right fields of crops grow. In front of me are small boxes full of smaller plants.      All of which are teeming with majestic fruits I have never seen before. The colors of the rainbow are dancing across the plant leaves. A small voice in my head says “go one, try one”. I walk over to the orchard. There's a strange tree that’s just as tall as I am. It’s an odd shade of pink, with small barbs sticking out of it. I run my hand along its bark, and notice the rubbery texture.      Its fruit is much too large for its small branches. Yet somehow, it manages to hold it. I pluck off its fruit with ease. It looks similar to an apple, but much larger, and pulpous. I use my hands to pull it apart, as it squirts me with a strange juice.      Once I manage to separate the two halves, I see that it’s completely hollow. In the hollow pit, it’s filled with a strange sticky liquid resemblant to honey. I immediately take a sip, and feel a flood of joy wash over me. It has no taste, but it fills me with strange emotions.      I spent many hours there, perhaps many days. Time seems completely irrelevant, and is therefore forgotten. All I know is that my thoughts are not an intrusion, as they often are. I close my eyes after I feel satisfied, and think of a rainforest.      As I open my eyes, I see the world around me pixelate into a complete image of a rainforest. This time, I’m sitting with my legs crossed. I grip the ground with my hands; the soil feels soft and damp. Looking up, I see the cloudy sky above. I listen, as the thunder rolls throughout the land. Bright sparks of light shoot out of the clouds, and reach the ground below. I smile, thinking of the tranquillity of this all. Suddenly, a shiver runs down my spine.      This time, my eyes remain open. I picture in my mind a place of warmth, and see the landscape before me deteriorate. It’s replaced with a blinding sun. I squint, so the rays don’t reach my eyes as much. I look down, and see the sand beneath my feet sliding away.

I’m on a sand dune,

I laugh, falling into the dune. Letting the sun warmed sand envelop me in a blanket of dune. I slide down to the bottom, filled with an uncontrollable joy. I roll in the sand, feeling like a child for the first time in a long time.            As I shut my eyes to avoid the sandy blizzard I was stirring up, I hear the faint voice again. “It’s time,” it says. “Time for what?” I hear my voice utter, as I continue to enjoy the sand. “Time to return… to real life” I can feel the burn in my eyes, never wanting to leave this newfound wonder. “You can always return to Choice Kingdom, but you cannot stay forever. A life awaits you. People that love you. Always remember, your Choice Kingdom is with you wherever you go. Have no fear,” and just like that, it all vanished.      Everything. The bright sun, the soft sand rubbing against my leg. The warmth that sent shivers down my spine. What happened to it all? I couldn’t see anything but the dark, but I could hear my sobs. My useless tears falling into the abyss of darkness around me. How could I return to the abysmal life that awaited me? I try to walk, but my legs can’t move. My arms don’t work, and my voice is silenced.      Slowly, the light returned. The darkness fades, until there is none left. For a moment, I’m unsure of where I am, but I quickly realize I’m at the door. That ever so peculiar door that holds the magic of the universe. My tears are dried, for a reason I’m not sure of. It’s as if an imaginary force has fixed my emotions. In fact, I believe it’s a very real force. Two years later      You’re probably wondering where I am now, well let me tell you! After the Choice Kingdom, things changed. For some strange reason, my mind had been refreshed. It was as if all the negativity had been released, and I could only think positive thoughts. Of course, this didn’t last forever. Soon I found myself returning to my old ways of thinking. The positivity slowly faded into pure negativity. That’s when I remembered, Choice Kingdom. Even the thought itself sparked happiness. Therefore, I hiked back up the mountain to that ever so peculiar door. The subtle voice in my mind was awoken, “Enter”.


Trink and I stood over the boy’s motionless body. My hands were stained crimson, Trink’s still pristine. He always had a knack for cleanliness.

“Dude, I- wh- what have we done?” The words had barely escaped my mouth when Trink grabbed me and wrapped me into an engulfing hug.

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” Trink reassured me. “We just- you- we got a little carried away. This wasn’t supposed to happen…” His words trailed off.

I started to speak before Trink squeezed me harder, sending me back into silence. “But it’s ok. I can- I can deal with this, Ray. Go home- ok, maybe not home. You told your parents you’d be at my house tonight, right?” I nodded, my eyes still locked on the body on the floor. Blood soaked the kid’s clothes, yet his face was still clean, locked into a mortified expression. Forever. “Start walking back. I don’t know how long I’ll take but I’ll fix this. Just start walking and don’t talk to anyone.” Trink let me go and I saw the bloody handprints I had left on his shirt. He stood still over the boy and I could almost hear the metallic grind of the gears in his head. I left before I had to see anything else.

The walk to Trink’s house was cold and dark. I was thankful for the slightly oversized jacket I had snagged on the way out. The sleeves were long enough for my to pull over my hands, and the dark color of the fabric hid any stains. New or old.

I tried to clear my head by going through all the events that led up to this moment. Trink and I had met during our biology class this past semester. I was watching a true crime video while evading schoolwork when I caught a glimpse of this guy behind me. He was staring straight at my screen. I turned slightly to look at him, then turned on subtitles for my video. I saw his reflection grin.

He spoke to my after class that day. Our last blocks were on the same hallway, so we departed class together. Every sentence we exchanged revealed a new shared interest, most prevalent being a love for murder mysteries. Trink, as he liked to be called, gave me his phone number before leaving and told me to text him. I did so the following night.

Hey, this is Ray from bio I thought so. I was waiting for your text Well, here it is Splendid. Have you checked the news yet today? No Someone murdered a kid. Hes like the 3rd one in the past 6 months. That’s awful :( Awful yes, but also a pattern A pattern ? You heard me. You think its a serial killer ? Potentially.

And I want to get involved.

That was months ago. Since, Trink and I have spent hours together, pouring over every detail we could find, scouring local newspapers and sneaking around crime scenes. Others saw no connection between the murders; we simply took this as a sign that we weren’t dealing with a rookie. At the time of the… day, there had been 8 kills over 10 months. The killer was getting antsy and leaving more room for error.

Slowly, but surely, Trink and I were able to put together the killer’s signature: He targeted children, usually between 10 and 13. They all had some form of respiratory illness. But, most importantly, he had a two steps when killing: suffocation and then mutilation, primarily in the torso.

“It can’t be a coincidence they all had screwy lungs,” I said, leaning over Trink’s shoulder as he typed furiously on our ongoing document about the killer.

“Nothing’s a coincidence here, idiot.” I punched him lightly on the arm. “Yeah, and I’m sure the police know that too. Don’t get me wrong, I love overanalyzing pictures of stabbed kids with you, but you don’t really think we can solve this... “ I paused. “ Right?” Trink stopped typing and sighed. “Ray. I would have agreed with you, like, a month ago. But I- we’re too deep in this now. I can’t have you bail.” “I wasn’t going to!” I pushed myself off the back of his chair and sat on his bed. “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page here. This isn’t just some cold case from the Roaring 20’s. These are kids in our community being MURDERED. We aren’t private detectives, we’re fucking juniors. We can’t overstep-” “I know, Ray, I fucking know.” Trink put his head in his hands. “I’m not Sherlock Holmes. I know, I know, I know, I know.” We sat in silence for a while before Trink spoke again.

“God, this kinda puts a damper on my plans.” “Plans?” He hadn’t told me about any plans.

“Yes, plans. Listen.” Trink stood up and turned in his chair, now facing the back with his arms crossed over the head rest. “Look, I noticed you were kinda losing interest in this. And that’s fine. The semester is almost done, exams are coming up, all that shit. But we’ve been working on this for so long, I wanted to try one more thing. And I have it all planned out.”

Trink explained to me the idea of an escape room that would replicate the circumstances our murderer likely experienced during one of his previous kills. Trink would set everything up, we would meet at his house, and then we would go out together at night and try to complete it.

“We could be practically inside the mind of the killer. We could, we could have the exact same thought process! We could see why he made certain decisions. We could differentiate between stupid mistakes and intentional clues planted around. And I would make sure everything was perfect.” I could see the desperation in his eyes. This was Trink’s last hope.

“And it would all be fake, right?”

“Of course, of course. Purely for research purposes.” Trink was leaning closer to me.

I sighed. It took a few more days and a lot of pleading texts, but I finally agreed to the escape room. Trink set the date and I started making a plan with what little information I had. Time slowly marched forward to the day, right in the middle of our Thanksgiving break.

I left my house at seven. When I arrived at Trink’s, we didn’t talk about the escape room. In fact, I’d almost forgotten about it before Trink broke the silence that had arisen when we had both pulled out our phones half an hour ago. It was 11 pm.

“Hey. It’s time.” My stomach dropped. “Oh yeah. I almost-” Trink didn’t let me finish before pulling me up by the arm. “Grab a jacket before we leave. It’s gonna be cold.” Something was off about his voice. It was more withheld than usual.

I picked a large-ish black zip-up jacket from his closet and met him at the door to his room. I started heading out towards his staircase before Trink’s arm came across my chest.

“We aren’t going that way. Follow me.” I never thought my first time sneaking out of a boy’s house would consist of me squeezing through a bathroom window to go re-enact a murder. But then again, I never could have predicted the following events either.

We walked in silence for many reasons. We didn’t want to be caught. It was cold, and the puffs of suspended breath in front of us would have only made it worse. It’s not like there was much to say anyway. I had no idea where we were going or what was waiting for me, but I didn’t have any reason to distrust him, right? I hadn’t known Trink very long in the grand view of everything, but we’d bonded so closely over these few months. He wouldn’t do anything. Plus, nobody except us knew about our investigation, and he liked it that way. Why risk ad- “You’re falling behind,” Trink said, finally breaking the tension between us.

My eyes had mainly been glued to the ground the whole journey. I looked up and saw Trink stopped roughly 10 feet ahead of me. “My bad.” I jogged to catch up. “It’s alright. We’re almost there. Just through those trees.” Trink pointed forward at a thicket of trees denser than the ones earlier on the path. I nodded and tried to keep pace the rest of the way.

I sat in the middle of a small clearing and took in my surroundings. Trink had disappeared into the trees a few minutes prior, claiming he still needed to grab a few things. I hadn’t noticed anything man-made or out of place sitting around. What did he set up, then? My questions were answered with a dense THUD! and a large black duffel bag.

“Wha-” “Don’t ask questions. It’s time to start.” Trink unzipped the bag to reveal a… “A KID?” I screeched, scrambling back in horror from the unconscious boy. “Don’t worry, he’s fi-” Trink cut himself off after finally gazing into the bag. “He was supposed to be awake…” “Supposed to be- kid- what the fuck?” The words tumbled out of my mouth, thoughts barely able to collect themselves before something else urged to leave. I sat there in disbelief.

Trink squatted and put his head to the boy’s chest. “He’s still breathing.” I stared at Trink, my mouth gaping. “Did you expect him to be DEAD?” “I don’t know, I forgot the fucker had asthma!” “How the hell do you know that?!” “Because he’s my little brother’s friend!” “YOU KIDNAPPED YOUR LITTLE BROTHERS FRIEND TO KI-” Trink crawled towards me and slapped his hand over my mouth. “Stop screaming. Stop it. You’re gonna get us caught.” “Cmammhmm? Comm dminf wfmt?” My words came out muffled through his sleeve.

“What?” Trink brought his arm down. “What the fuck do you mean caught? What are you going to do to him?” “I don’t know, this wasn’t supposed to happen, nothing has gone to plan so f-” Our bickering was cut short by a child’s coughing. “Fuck,” Trink muttered. “He’s coming to.” Trink looked over to me with fear in his eyes. “I mean, we can’t… he’s gonna snitch. This is illegal- ok no shit it’s illegal, I…” And then something in Trink’s face changed.

And he got up. And he walked over to the kid And he wrapped his hands around the kid’s throat. “What are you doing! Trink, get off- stop it! Stop! Please!” I pleaded, scrambling up and trying to pull Trink away. It was useless, Trink was bigger and much stronger than me. I continued to fight, but the reality was setting in. The boy, barely half awake, didn’t have it in him to thrash. It took less than a minute before he was gone. Trink let go and the boy fell limp. Trink was shaking. He fell back onto the ground, leaving me standing over the body. “I- Trink.” My words came out deflated. “This doesn’t even match his signature. We’re fucked. We can’t even blame the killer.”

Silence.

“I don’t want to go to jail..” Trink muttered. I tried shoving my hands in my pockets, not sure what else to do with my arms, when I hit something cold and dense. I pulled the item out. A pocket knife. Trink and I shared a glance, first at the knife, then each other. I flipped out the blade, and Trink shook his head. “No, Ray, please-” I turned back around and closed my eyes before finishing our murder’s signature.

I now reached into my pocket, expecting to feel that same cold heaviness before remembering I had left it at the scene. I stood alone in the dark, unsure whether to wait for Trink or continue. I decided to call him.

“What.” He sounded breathless. “Do you want me to head back?” “Are you not already home.” “No. I got lost,” I lied.

“Are you still on the path?” I could hear the urgency rising in his voice.

“Trink, we’ve got to tell the police-” “Shut up. No we don’t. They have no way of knowing it was us.” “I can’t live with this, Trink!” “Nobody knows this killer better than us! It’s the perfect crime!” He was practically screaming at this point. “I’m telling the police. We’re both responsible and we’re both kids, maybe they won’t be that hard on us.” Trink sighed. “You really don’t get it, do you?” The voice coming through my phone started to echo, and his words hit me twice. “I think you’re starting to cut out, it’s echoing-” I went silent when I heard the footprints behind me. I whipped around, once again reaching for the absent knife, to see Trink walking towards me. I hung up the phone and spoke. “Trink, jesus, you scared me. How did you find me? Was I still on the right path?”

No response. Trink just glared me down as a pit started to form in the bottom of my stomach.

“Trink?” Before I could say anything else, Trink stopped in front of me and continued to stare. He stood there for a few seconds before something clicked in his brain and his face settled into the same expression he’d had back in the thicket. Right before- His hands shot up around my neck and tightened. I tried to flail and scream but it wasn’t long before the night sky started getting darker and darker. As I felt my body slowly shutting off, I noticed something. Trink didn’t look nearly as horrified as he had while strangling the boy. He wasn’t enjoying it, but was not remorseful either. When Trink finally let go, my body fell slack against the cold damp ground. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pocket knife, now significantly duller than when it had first been used.

He flicked out the blade with one swift motion, and got to work covering his tracks.


I maneuver my way around the countertop, scouring its marble surface for a very basic thing, a form of tea. I stop and turn, almost knocking over a dish rack and busting all of the plates and cups suspended and drying. I panic and dash forwards and catch the collapsing rack. It’s around five o’clock in the morning and, to clarify, I am not a morning person. And so this, this half asleep, confused, and groggy state; it’s normal for me this early in the morning. But then again, that's only because I haven’t had my tea yet. Some prefer the ugly cousin to Tea, coffee. And well, let's just say coffee is the horrid combination of acidic mud water that is quite abrasive to my pallet. Which leaves me really only one choice to lock down my caffeine addiction. Black tea. I carefully search cabinet after cabinet, drawer after drawer, but to no avail. I look under and over, down and up, side to side, until I come upon a small, very expensive looking, box of tea. You would never guess where it ended up residing. Inside of the fridge. Along with a bunch of coffee packets of a different variety laying on their sides.

The box, full black in color, had a golden trim along the top and bottom. I'm quite impartial towards brands when I’m like this, as I’m not really thinking about it at the moment. All I needed to know was that the box was labeled to my desire. And low and behold, it was.

“How about that..” I whisper beneath my breath before looking back at the countless open cabinets and drawers. With a hum of relief sounding in my mind, I slowly close each door and, while I'm at it, retrieve a small kettle from the pots and pans cabinet. Once I finish cleaning up my mess, I prepare the kettle and set it down on the stove to heat. I also set aside a cup; a decently sized mug that had the words “1’st Class Dad!” on the front. I let a small smirk grow at the edge of my mouth and lean against the counter.

I have two sons and a daughter, all three the light of my life. All three are adorable in their own way and make it very hard to leave in the morning. Cassy with her adorable puppy dog eyes and Tommy and Yale with their abnormal stubbornness; something they all definitely get from their mother. But, at this early hour, they are fast asleep and I'm usually gone before anyone’s the wiser. It’s better that way. Less difficult that way for me to go to work. If I had it my way I’d never leave and spend all the time I have with my family. But, we live in a society, right? Then, there’s my beautiful wife who’s the most open minded and accepting person in the world; so, of course I fell for her immediately. Her name’s Marie and she was always like that, and that, at least for me, is the hardest part about going to work. Leaving that bed, ooh man is it rough. Then again, bills need to be paid. And there is no shortage of work to be done. I glance upwards at the beginnings of the early morning dawn through a nearby window. It’s one hell of a sight to see. The window, all foggy from the cold and fractile air, overlooked the city; New York City, for anyone who may be wondering. To see the bustling city from a penthouse view puts a lot into perspective for how small everyone is. From up there, everyone was about the size of a coin, maybe even an ant. The world is a vast and humongous place, and even yet, sometimes people get so enveloped in themselves that they lose sight of that. Every now and then I just sit and contemplate, exactly like this. And almost every time, like the crack of a bell, the tea kettle sounds and snaps me out of it. The whistle of the kettle shot steam from its spout with a violent rattle. I cut the heat as quickly as I could to prevent any more noise and remove it from the stove. I am always careful to grasp the handle with a cloth ever since I burned my hand so badly last time.

I pour the hot water into the mug and plop a teabag in. Watching the tea bag as it bobbed and floated effortlessly in the burning hot water is always satisfying to me. The way the colors of the leaves bled into the water and stained it a nice deep brown. I’ve always found it somewhat therapeutic and relaxing to make tea. It’s like a moment of meditation that keeps me calm both during and after the process. That, and if I don’t have my tea in the morning I’ll lose my freaking marbles. But that outcome I reserve for Mondays, mostly.

I rinse the kettle and wipe down the counter and cabinets with a sterilizing cloth while I wait for the tea to finish steeping. I’d been quite wreckless with the mess I made while searching. Again, another exhibit as to why I need caffeine to function properly.

I polish the counter to be how it was when I walked in and toss the rag into the trash. With a quick motion, I grasp my tea and head over to the couch in the living room of the penthouse. On the coffee table my black suitcase sat lying open with all of my various equipment sitting neat and orderly. If I didn’t organize my work stuff, I would probably panic when it came down to it. But, that is again, a hypothetical. Everything in my life is neat and orderly because I make it so. I place down the cup after taking a sip and peer into my briefcase once more. Just to be sure, I account for everything. First my Beretta M9A3, clean and polished; sitting snugly in its felt mold. My personal favorite and you can’t really go wrong with it. Second, my silencer. A basic straight-through silencer, perfect for my needs. Third, the five clips of ammunition as well as extra bullets in case of emergency. These, well, they are self explanatory. And my fourth and final item on the list, the gas mask. Everything is here and where it is supposed to be. A deep breath fills my lungs and a warm comfort washes over me. I sip

my tea once more and then place the cup back down. I glance at the time: 5:25 AM.

“With five minutes to spare.”

I clear my throat and slide a manilla folder from the seam of my briefcase. One big red word read “Classified” across the top as I part it open. Inside was a picture of a man with light brown hair and a gleam in his eye. All things considered, I would never pick him out to be a domestic abuser. Nor someone who would do the countless horrid things listed in his file. But then again, that's the surprise of this job. You never know who’s next in line.

 I glance upwards to the man tied down to his own chair and gagged with the rag I found in the bathroom. “Don’t worry Mr. Abrams, I have one last question for you, then I’ll be out of your hair.” He glanced at me with one pleading eye, partially because the other was swollen shut. “Or, more like you’ll be out of mine.” I close the folder, toss it on the table and lean forwards to pull the gag out. “Now, Mr. Abrams. Tell me something. What kind of earthly psychopath keeps raw tea bags in the refrigerator?” And the only sound that comes out of his mouth is a confused, yet, fearful whimper.


I figured with all this grand universe to explore you likely wouldn’t be back for a while. What gives? “Wow...It’s been damn near a month⎯and the green tea with lemon and honey will help with this cold.” “You don’t look sick to me.” “I may not look it but I can’t stop sneezing and my eyes keep watering.” “I can’t believe I’m falling for this...spirits don’t catch colds?” “How do you know? You’re not a ghost. And I’m sneezing all over the place. And in threes every so often.” “Threes?” “Yeah, one right after another. Then the goosebumps come and I break out in a cold sweat.” “Okay, you’re taking it too far⎯goosebumps and a cold sweat. Spirits don’t have skin.” “I’m a ghost...I thought I told you that.” “It’s the same thing.” “Must not be since I’m sweating and sneezing.” “And spirits don’t have sweat glands and tear ducts.” “Well, ghosts do because my eyes water to the point my vision gets blurry.” “Well, how come you’re not crying now?” “I didn’t say crying I said watering. I have a cold that’s why the honey and the lemon in the tea.” Mobi sips her tea turns toward the kitchen door and waits. “Who are you talking to?” Her husband Charles asks peeking around the doorway. “I was finishing up some important basketball stuff on my computer⎯deep in thought.” “Didn’t sound like rebounds and free throws to me,” Oriana says.

Mobi whips her head toward Oriana, “Before I was rudely interrupted I was figuring my bracket.” “I’m over here,” her husband states. “I know. I thought I heard something...an old bat...by the window.” Oriana laughs⎯tea burns her lip. “What did you call me?...Tell him, I say hello.” Mobi turns back toward her husband, “And hello. Yes, you are over there.” “I didn’t say for you to say hello I said for you to tell him I said hello. You haven’t told him, have you?” “I’m a little distracted, Charles. And certain things can’t be conversated about.” “I’m not some taboo topic. He knew me when I was living, We can reacquaint now that I’m a ghost.” Charles says, “We always compare brackets⎯rebounds, assists, points per game⎯before we finish all the entries.” “I know. And I’m in the middle of the men’s first bracket entry. On top of finishing five more, I have to run to the farmer’s market, finish chopping this salad, vacuum the car, then we’ll go to Home Depot, come back, and pick the movies to watch.” Mobi splashes tea on herself as she turns to find Oriana standing right on top of her shaking her head. “Wow...Relationships are supposed to be about honesty. I’m standing right here. All you had to do was reintroduce us: Charles...You remember Oriana. ” “He would have had a heart attack, Ori’. Maybe...I’d like to have him in the physical realm for fifty more years.” “Like you’re doing so bad with me visiting on occasion. What makes him any different? We were friends in kindergarten through seventh grade, then you came in eighth grade. And the town was in a tizzy. Athletic and beautiful in eighth grade a varsity starter in⎯name it. The senior boys in all the townships were falling all over themselves. And some of the senior men too.” Mobi laughs. A stream of tea dribbles down her lip to her chin. She grabs her paper towel, dabs it. “That was a handful of injuries and decades ago, Oriana. And that’s not funny.” “Now look at you retired WNBA player and current college basketball coach. And by the way...Is that legal for the head coach to bet on her team to win it all in March Madness.” “Yes, it’s legal. And it’s not gambling. I’m predicting...If you don’t mind...that we have the best team in the nation. Vegas is not in play here. You know how this works. I haven’t put down any flow.” “How long before Charles wants to have a serious talk with you?” “A serious talk about what?” “About you talking to yourself?” “I don’t talk to myself, Oriana.” “What are you doing now?” “Talking to you about your gambling problem.” Oriana chuckles, “I don’t have a gambling problem. You’re the head coach betting on her team to win the national championship. The audacity of some people.” “Some gall, right?” “When Charles witnesses our tea parties what is it he sees?” Ori asks. “Two friends reminiscing, making the most of an early Sunday afternoon.” Mobi hastens to the entry of the kitchen, looks down the hallway, then upstairs⎯Charles slips out of her line of sight at the top of the stairs where he is listening. Mobi saunters back to the kitchen. “I’m always on my computer, my blue tooth is connected, I have my earpiece in. I talk to you. I talk to coaching staff. I talk to agents. I talk to recruits. I talk to parents. I inform him: it’s simply business.” “And what if he catches you like moments ago and you’re joking and deep in conversation, smiling from ear to ear...he might think you’re having an affair.” Mobi smirks...raises an eyebrow and looks down her nose. “I was not and am not smiling from ear to ear.” “When was it...a couple of games ago? The game your girls won by almost fifty points. You and that opposing head coach shook hands and held each other’s gaze for longer than should be allowed...if you ask me.” “Stop...you should be ashamed of yourself. That kid is barely thirty years old.” “I’m just sayin’... He was a looker. And thirty ain’t twenty.” “I am more than happily married.” “Than why all the secrets,” whispers Oriana. “Why are you whispering?” “Just in case you know who is listening.” “There are no... secrets. And as you saw you know who doesn’t hear you.” “He could...I could simply make myself known to him.” “I know. And we could all reminisce. Ori’ I already find him going through his family album much more since you died. His brother, sisters, parents are still alive. But there you are. Your family, his family⎯the Fourth of July,

camping, fall festivals, pictures of you two...field level seats at the World Series when you’ll were ten, eleven.” “You believe…” “Wait. Before you ask. Yes, I believe if he sees you again. He will want to spend most his time with you.” “But keeping things as is you can have both of us as good friends,” Ori states “Yes.”


He walks the road alone. His cane clicks against the cobblestone, relieving his weary feet of the burden of his weight. Against the brightly burning mid-afternoon sun, his skin glistens, his chapped lips and crimson cheeks peeling off from the heat. They have been doing that for a long time now, the layers shedding off as if he is some sort of lizard, and he wonders if it will reach a point where he will no longer have any skin left. Because he has a long time until he can stop again under the cool shade of a tree, basking in the sweet relief. He still has a long road to walk.

Twisting and writhing through the immense landscape, the road he travels is a snake, fickle and a trickster. It forges a path through uncharted lands, villages and cities, passing by sprawling oceans and fantastical forests. Although it is tiny, it is overflowing with tales told by travelling bards and wizened by the experienced feet it touches. But it is lonely; there are no other snakes, no other paths that intertwine. Only destinations along the way, no end. Perhaps it too searches for a way home. Looking down at his feet he becomes hypnotized by the pace at which his heels click when they meet the road. When he forgets how little space there is around him and becomes aware of the company of his loneliness, the vast road begins to feel like an empty desert. Snake turns into lion. It bears its pearly white teeth in warning: do not travel too far. You will not find a way back. Lucky for him, he has no way back. Never did, not really. Home, the concrete thing turned into ambition, then hope, and in turn dream. Eventually, he reaches his next stop, a bustling metropolis filled with humming and buzzing and the faint smell of stale life. The people are curious things, they keep their heads down but they are not unfriendly. It is wonderful, it is unlike anything he has ever laid his ancient eyes on. Eager to start he sets up shop, unloading his pack and setting up his table, which he covers with a rich violet cloth. One of the many skills he picked up: purple indicates wealth, royalty. Although he might not have much besides his knickknacks and the dusty clothes that cling to him, he takes pride in his wealth of knowledge. On the cloth, he sets out his items, each one representing a new, wonderous place, each one symbolising an entire culture with only a stroke of paint or a curve of a disc. He sells what he can then he sets off again. For although he has journeyed so far down the road, a great amount of it remains untraveled.

Each time he reveals his wares, he reflects on the places he has been. In the back of his mind, he remembers the earlier days, how he first began, his first destinations. The humble yet plentiful sprawls of huts squatting in blooming forests, the sands and the whitewashed facades. He collected jewellery and pottery from there, some of which he still has, too cracked to sell to any wise soul. Then there was the grandeur of the columns, holding the buildings higher than they had ever been, and within them were the indescribably marvellous mosaics and statues. Of all the places he had been, that one lingered with him the most, the atmosphere still clinging to his skin. In that city, there was a powerful feeling that came over him, the currents of the houses and their inhabitants willing him to float away with them, enter their daze of righteous euphoria. Perhaps why that place stayed with him so much is because out of everywhere he had been, it had been the closest to home. He has no understanding of why besides that simply complex…feeling. Home is like a diamond, preciously unattainable. You can collect as much gold and silver, as many rubies, opals and emeralds as there are below the ground. But it will never be the same as a diamond, that thing that can withstand everything, that is so robust yet beautiful. But he has begun to worry that perhaps home is a lie. Maybe it is not a diamond, maybe the

idea

of it is. His resolve and ambition are what never weathers, while reality wastes away.

Suddenly conscious, he stops. Something is wrong. The road around him is different as it always is, with the inklings of the place he was not long before still bleeding into the country. It is the same flavour, with the tall grey buildings spewing smoke like great dragons. This is part of his routine, no problems are apparent. Still, his gut has never failed him yet. He unslings his sack and begins to sift through his wares, on the hunt for any irregularities. Determined to catch this mouse of doubt, he tosses everything out and sorts through it. No one else travels the road, he has no fear of interruption. He counts and piles before realising that he is missing something. A pot, not one of his finest items but something he has clutched onto long enough to miss. Deciding he must go back, he packs his things and as he goes he realises this is the first time he will be turning back. When he returns to the city it is different. The population wear different colours, their heads are even deeper forward, staring at strange plates that are too thin to be stone and emit coloured light like lanterns. Buildings are taller, tiny spear-like structures jut out from the flat roofs. Fingers not reaching but clawing to the sky, almost like that beloved familiar city he visited so long ago. His pot is long gone, lost in the strange reshuffling in the city.

How is this possible,

he thinks,

I did not set off on the road too long ago.

However, that tiny piece has become the least of his worries. He does not know the city he just visited. He could put it down to age, but that would be naïve. This is no natural phenomenon.

A city dissolved around him and he is home. One of the precious few memories he had stored in the back of his mind, protected in a bottle, breaks free as the glass shatters. It is a revelation, but not some happy epiphany. No, it is trauma repressed but now relived. How he danced with them, his equals, in the light of the heavens above. His home, the home of the gods. He had been one of them, he had sung their songs and played their games. And he had lost. They had turned away from him, forsaken their promises to him when he was born into their ranks. Now he wants to laugh because they are dusty memories, mentions in his story. Forgettable. So he tosses his head back and the sound escapes his lips, the lyrical noise flowing out of him, a release of his anger, sadness and finally hope. No more keeping hope bottled up. He has set it free. The strength of his weary legs falters and he collapses onto the road, his calloused hands feel the smooth cement. They put him back. But they made a mistake, because there is his pot at his feet, cracked but very much present. Present…past…future…

Road widens. Snake turns lion but he slays it and steps over the corpse, leaving it to bleed. The gods can keep their home, he needs none, just the road and a new friend. Time.


 Miraculously, I did NOT become a hoarder. From what I understand by watching hours of compelling reality television, hoarding is a condition that can manifest after a trauma, often by losing someone through death. Having lost my husband 2 yrs., 10 weeks, and 5 days ago, thankfully, it's safe to say, I didn't choose that route. There are no piles of newspapers, clutter, or rotting garbage, making it challenging to navigate through the rooms of my home. Instead, I became, what I like to call, a "selective collector" to help me process the grief and accept my new status as a widow. (That's what I tell myself anyway.)  	My compilation is relatively small in quantity, inexpensive to buy, but intriguing nonetheless. Especially if you know the mysterious background as to why I found myself drawn to these particular items. The unusual curios are confined to the shelves of a built-in wall bookcase amongst smooth-to-the-touch, wood-turned bowls, delicate pottery with leaf imprints embedded within the clay, and colorful hand-woven baskets created from natural grasses. Items that come from the earth and are rich in texture and soothing to gaze upon. Fully displayed, my collection has become an alter of sorts. Souvenirs of a memory that instantly transports me back to a fleeting moment when saying goodbye was a pleasant, heartfelt experience. One that has helped me cope with oncoming grief.

 	Unlike snow globes, kitschy salt and pepper shakers, baseball cards, or vintage toys in their original packaging, my unique procurements are not an obsession or bought to reap the financial rewards when their values increase. My collection is inspired by a personal encounter with a small bird during a difficult time. A friendship that brought new meaning to my life. As the caregiver to my then-terminal husband, I found joy in the most unexpected place - on my doorstep.  	Stepping outside my front door early one morning, just as the sun rose on a cool spring day, I was drawn to what appeared to be the beginnings of a nest being built on the wooden door frame ledge above my head. The dark mound of gnarly shoots, sprigs, and crude branches stood out against the pale ivory-painted woodwork, surprising me with its sudden appearance. Its size was hard to miss amongst the sticky, stringy cobwebs around the door jam, bits of grass cuttings, and dust that had flown through the air and settled on every surface from the previous day's mowing. Curiously, the nest had appeared overnight. Precariously perched there, half on, half off the ledge in the far left corner, teetering on a narrow wood plank with little to support it from behind. This crude nest could have been at risk from the unpredictable weather elements. One strong gust of wind would destroy it quickly. I assumed the bird chose that very spot to protect it from neighborhood cats, and with the exterior porch light's illumination, there might have been a gentle glow that assisted with building the nest in the dark hours of the night. I noted the nest briefly, then went on my way, leaving it be. Giving it little attention at that stage of development.  Gradually, other materials were added until they formed a solid structure of twigs, grasses, moss, mud, and leaves. A design that looked sturdy and deep enough to securely, yet gently, cup the precious eggs to be laid within. I watched with great curiosity as each day brought new developments. This was my first time witnessing a nest being built up close.   As time passed, the protective mother bird, a robin, finally showed herself to me. She was perched within her nest, possibly over eggs inside. Occasionally she'd swoop down on me as I left the confines of my home. Dive bombing me by flying within a couple feet of my body but not attacking. This was now her territory, and she wasn't about to let any harm come to her or the nest. She was guarding it, and she meant business. I came and went gingerly. Quietly entering and exiting my home. I'd gently close the door to avoid jarring the framework foundation. I had no intention of disturbing her or bringing on any mistrust. I was happy to share the space.

 Watching this feathered creature thrilled me. I reverted to being a curious small child, all wide-eyed with excitement and wonder, witnessing Mother Nature's magnificent glory through one of her winged creations. Each day, I captured the nesting progress on my cell phone by snapping a few quick photos from a safe distance, then running inside to share them with my ill husband. The time-lapse of images showed the progression of how new life was coming. It was fresh and exciting. Would I see any eggs? When might they be laid? Every day brought a new level of fascination and questions. I remembered my own human "nesting " experiences decades ago as an expectant mother. Getting everything ready in time was critical.

 	Feeling like Sir David Attenborough as I observed from a safe distance, I was drawn to this beautiful wonder of nature and could hear an imaginary narrative voice documenting the process. In my head, Sir David was beside me, describing how everything was unfolding as intended. At a time when I was feeling the anticipatory grief of my husband slipping away and the heaviness of being his caregiver, there was something extraordinary happening before me. This small act of nature was a glimmer of light for me. Being privy to something magical for a few minutes each day released me from all the complicated physical and emotional sorrow that I was going through. When the world felt cruel and unbearable, I was reminded that there was also beauty.

 Later that week, I stepped outside to see three small nestlings appearing to look over the edge of the twigs that made up their home. My heart swelled. Their featherless heads appeared like wrinkled, skinless grapes bobbing up and down. Their beaks were wide open as they made tiny chirping noises. The mother bird was nowhere to be seen. Possibly searching for worms and insects to feed them. Again, I remained at a safe distance to observe in silence, and with my trusty phone camera, I snapped the newest images, thoroughly fascinated by the progress made from the time the nest was created.  	As time progressed, the chicks grew, and dark-colored feathers formed. Little tufts of down that appeared slightly oily were now covering the bald patches. Again, they would look over the side of the nest and chirp at me. Their dark eyes, now open, were clearly visible, and their gaze was intent. Each day they would see me for a few minutes and seemed comfortable with my presence. I would speak to them in hushed quiet tones, fully confident that they were just as fascinated with me as I was with them. Their large baby bird eyes shone brightly, making me smile. Even Mama Bird grew to be unphased by my coming and goings. I was now accepted and trusted. She often flew into a nearby oak tree and watched me and her nest from afar. She knew I would do them no harm.

 With the passing days, feathers covered the babies, their wings fully formed, and seemingly, it was time they were on their way. I stepped outside the door to witness two birds jump at that very moment from the nest and fly off awkwardly into the nearby tree where their mother often perched. The third bird, however, gave me a spectacular parting gift. The little fledgling jumped out of the nest, awkwardly flopping about, and promptly landed at my feet. Standing on my jute fiber "welcome" doormat at the entrance of my home, it looked up at me with its shiny dark eyes. Its stare was intent. Gazing at me with great effort and focus, I felt an incredible connection. This tiny creature was saying goodbye. I realized what a special moment this was, and again, I grabbed my camera and snapped what would be my last photo - one of that baby bird looking up at me. It stayed with me for a few minutes. I talked to it in hushed tones, thanking it for bringing joy into my life. And with that, it flew off on its own. Never to be seen again. The nest was abandoned. Left deserted, so they could move forward with their lives and be free. Free to fly, free from any constraints. I was sad to no longer have the daily interactions, but I experienced something rare between myself and a wild animal I will never forget. As crazy as it sounds, I felt a kinship, an emotional bond with these creatures. The small daily interactions had such an important impact on my mental health. I would like to think I gave them something in return, even if it was just sharing the confines of my home and offering safety.  After my husband passed away several months later, I gravitated toward birdcages for unknown reasons. I had no desire to own or keep a bird as a pet - I would rather see them in their wild habitat. These birdcages were nothing that would hold a real bird; they were ornamental. Purely decorative Victorian, French, and Venetian reproductions with elaborate scrolled wrought iron bars and domes, Chinese pagoda varieties with several tiers, and square box wooden cages with miniature hatch doors that raised up and down. Some were purposely rusted to look vintage, others painted or given a blue-green patina for an aged appearance. I was drawn to the large ornate birdcages and the miniature versions- roughly the size of a small bird. All varieties of primitive, rustic, and shabby-chic decor styles. This became my "collection."  I started researching birdcages and birds and wondered what the significance might be. Why was I drawn to them? There had to have been some profound meaning. Something deep in my psyche, perhaps?  The answer seemed obvious. Christian, Hindu, Muslim, and Buddhist teachings accept the bird as a metaphor for the human soul. In Japan, the crane is believed to carry the soul to heaven and grant immortality. In Hiroshima, colorful origami folded paper cranes are made and gifted to bring peace, compassion, and healing. Birds symbolize freedom, hope, transformation, and new beginnings in indigenous, spiritual, and religious beliefs. Birds are seen as messengers of God, and flying birds are seen as a link between the spirit world and the earthly realm.   	Flying meant independence, being liberated, and not being held down by convention or restrictions. An empty birdcage represents freedom and making new choices in life. For me, the symbolism hit home. It was a reminder that one needs to evolve by "leaving the nest" or "cage." To take that leap of faith, to grow and soar. This could be a sign that I needed to live a spectacular life with my finite time on this planet. One that honored me and my husband (the experiences he couldn't have due to his early passing.)  My husband's soul was freed once he left this earthly realm, and drastic changes to my existence came with it. I was no longer living a life of constant foreboding and heavy round-the-clock caregiving duties. Like the baby bird, I had to start anew and face the scary world alone. Making myself the priority. Letting go of "what was," I could recognize the beauty, meaning, and purpose of life and death. This was my call to action to start living.  Observing this spectacular aspect of nature, I experienced many emotions and teachings. With these came hope, gratitude, and celebrating things differently. I had a new set of eyes and perspective.  I can either grieve, mourn and dwell on what is no longer my life, or I can see the beauty and understand the difficulties of letting go and coming to a place of acceptance. Grateful for the incredible ride, I now understand that the most significant growth comes from the darkest times.

 I can't think of a better animal interaction I could have had - and at a time when I needed it most. My ongoing fascination with birds gives me a new level of understanding, enlightenment, meaning, and purpose. Unexplainable and spiritual encounters with random feathered friends have continued to bring me ongoing joy. Feeding (and photographing) robins, chickadees, sparrows, wrens, tufted titmice, and even woodpeckers from my hand have become treasured moments in time that bring tears to my eyes. Being trusted and part of an animal's world is truly a gift. The birdcages I so lovingly collect will always remind me to be connected to nature, to delight in the little things in life, to be curious, and never let myself be held back or restricted from what I want to achieve. I will always aim to soar high like the birds that inspire me.