A Worn-Out, Broken-Down Susie My wife Vicki and I were visiting her recently widowed mother in Fort Myers. It was Norma’s second go around with widowhood. Her mid-life marriage to “Doc,” a semi-quack, womanizing chiropractor, was mostly a matter of economic necessity after   the life shattering death of Vicki’s father Bill. Suffice to say Doc was never Norma’s true love, and she took his passing with outward respect, but little remorse. Let’s just say Norma didn’t knock herself out this time wearing black. Vicki and I had been with Norma a few months earlier when death from liver cancer was knocking at Doc’s door and she needed to make nursing home arrangements. “Whatever’s cheapest,” was her sole criterion.            It was Sunday morning, the final day of our intended stay. Overcome with boredom, I thought to make myself useful by taking Norma’s aging Honda to the car wash. She used the car sparingly, mainly for traversing the ultra-dangerous U.S. 41 to and from the Publix, a weekly sojourn we feared would lead to her auto accidental demise. Nevertheless, the Honda needed a cleaning, and the tires were much closer to flat than properly inflated.

           I was seated in Doc’s Naugahyde recliner in the living room, folding and stacking the Fort Myers News-Press.   I called out my mission to Vicki and Norma, who were in the kitchen engaged in the daunting task of cleaning out Norma’s freezer. She and Doc were depression-era Hoosiers before retiring to the sunny, manufactured-home lifestyle in Ft. Myers. Their enthusiasm for thrift was outdone only by their penchant for saving and freezing morsels of unconsumed food, no matter how meager.

“I’m going to get Norma’s car washed,” I announced. “Norma—where are the keys?”

“That’s nice of you, honey,” Vicki chimed from the kitchen. “Where are your car keys, Mom,” I overheard her add.

“I don’t know,” Norma muttered gruffly. Her tone of voice and hillbilly accent combined to produce expressions of the English language which were uniquely hers. Although Norma cared deeply for those she loved, her words were often barked in the manner of a disgruntled truck driver rather than the considerate, courteous way of a caring parent. “Are they in the car?” I asked loudly, rising from the chair, and striding to the front door. “I don’t know, Gary,” she called back. “You can go and see.” “Be back in about an hour,” I advised.

As it turned out, Norma’s car key was in the ignition, so I coaxed the rickety Honda to life and proceeded to the Sunoco Super Car Wash and convenience store out at the intersection of U.S. 41 and Coral Cay Avenue. There I invested a dollar and a half’s worth of quarters to inflate the tires, and ten dollars for a “deluxe” automated car wash, complete with Lavender Spring air freshener. After the addition of twenty dollars or so worth of 87 Octane rated gasoline, Norma’s previously dilapidated, unkempt Honda was transformed into a relatively clean albeit decidedly mediocre one. Thinking ahead, I was looking forward to the drive back to Palm Beach in my gleaming red Porsche.            As I was reaching for the car door, I noticed a woman approaching. I first looked away, but having sensed distress in her expression, I looked back to her and remained outside the car. I would be less than candid if I did not admit that the woman’s appearance also contributed to my decision to engage her rather than drive away. She had long, straight brown hair, a tan, slender body and was skimpily attired, even for July in South Florida. She wore frayed, cut-off denim shorts and a faded, spill-stained FSU tee-shirt. The tee-shirt fit her snugly, suggesting that she wore no bra underneath.

           “Excuse me, sir,” the woman said as she came within range. “Can you spare me a dollar? —My car’s broke down and I need to call for a ride.”            Although usually repelled by such entreaties, I found myself taken in by the woman’s bedraggled yet attractive appearance and unfortunate circumstances. And, eerily, at closer range she bore an almost “twin sister” resemblance to Susie Norcross, a particularly unforgettable girlfriend from my distant college days at Indiana University.            Without hesitation, I reached into my pocket and withdrew my money clip. I fingered the bills, at first looking to find a One. But I thought again, and for some reason picked out a Twenty and handed it to the woman. “Maybe this’ll help,” I said.            She accepted the bill then bowed her head and began to sob. After a moment she approached closer and extended her arms around me. She pressed her face into my shoulder briefly, then stepped back and regarded me with moistened eyes and a forced smile. During the process I sensed the lingering fragrances of both perfume and gin, remnants, no doubt, of a hard-scrabble Saturday night that had left her without a cent or the means to return to wherever she called home.            “Thank you—so much,” she said, and then turned and began walking slowly away. Every two or three steps she would look back and thinly smile.            Uncharacteristically, “Good Samaritan” instincts took control of my behavior and I walked toward her. “Let’s go inside and call a wrecker,” I suggested. “Maybe they can get your car started.”            “I can’t go in there,” she said, her countenance shifting from dejected to frightened.            “Why not?” I asked, but she offered no explanation. Her eyes moistened anew, and she looked nervously away. Looking past her toward the entrance to the store, I noticed a Lee County Sheriff’s cruiser parked adjacent to the vacant handicapped parking space.            Regarding her now with even greater interest and concern, I sensed the depth of her plight. My professional experience as a lawyer facilitated my supposition: she has outstanding warrants I surmised.            “You got a cell phone?” she asked.            “Sure,” I said, reaching into my pocket to withdraw it. I booted the phone and handed it to her.            “Thanks,” she said, accepting the phone then walking away as she attempted to place a call. I watched her as she sniffed back a sob and raised the phone to her ear. In the process she shook her head slightly and smoothed her free hand back through the flowing brown tresses. A shiver of desire registered within me, along with a flash-back to my college days with Susie. A moment or two later the woman turned her back to me as she began speaking into the phone.            Although I could not hear the words, the woman’s body language indicated that the conversation was not going well.  After a minute or so, her agitation stopped, and she lowered the phone from her ear. Her back still to me, she closed the lid of the phone.   Finally, she turned, head bowed, and began walking back toward me.            “Problems?” I asked.            “No—yeah—oh, what the hell—fuck it,” she said as she handed me back the phone.            “Uh—fuck what?” I said carefully. “What was that all about?”            “Oh, my asshole roommate—says he’s too busy to pick me up.”            “Where do you want to go?” I asked.            “It’s in Coral Cay—I share an apartment with Mr. Asshole.”            “Get in the car,” I said, gesturing toward the passenger side door. “I’ve always wanted to see Coral Cay.”            My invitation had a similar effect to giving her the Twenty. She looked into my eyes, pursed her lips, and began to sob again. “Oh, thank you,” she said, leaning into a renewed embrace. This one was firmer than the first, and the sensation confirmed my earlier suspicion that she wore no bra.

           “I need a Diet Coke,” I announced, stepping back, and looking off again in the direction of the convenience store entrance. “You want something for the road?” I asked.

Initially, she declined my offer, but as I moved away toward the store she called out: “You know, I’d love a Yahoo—and some Twinkies, if they got ‘em.”

Good God—Yahoo? — I thought.            “You Vassar grads are all alike,” I called back with laugh.  The woman made no response and proceeded to get into the car. After procuring the Diet Coke, Yahoo and Twinkies, I returned to the Honda to resume the improbable, impromptu valet service I had somehow gotten myself into. While inside the store, I had taken notice of the Deputy Sheriff whose cruiser was parked at the door. He had seemed harmless enough to me, but as I waited in line to pay the cashier, I could imagine the terror the deputy’s presence could invoke in someone in my newly-found passenger’s apparent circumstances. The trip to Coral Cay took about a quarter hour. “Nice car,” the woman said as she cracked open the Yahoo and peeled off the Twinkies wrapper. “How long you had it?”            “It’s my mother-in-law’s,” I corrected. “My wife and I are over here helping her with some things—Her husband passed away about a month ago—By the way, what’s your name?”            “Donna Davis,” she said. “Friends call me Dee Dee—How about you? And where are you and this, uh, wife from?” I thought I detected a hint of disappointment in her acknowledgment that I was married.            “Name’s Gary, we’re from West Palm Beach” I said, before taking a sip from the Diet Coke.

           “Where’s that?” Dee Dee responded, her mood noticeably lightened by her initial enjoyment of the sugar-shock breakfast food I had provided.            Startled by the geographic if not complete ignorance indicated by her question, my visceral response was to choke on the mouthful of soda rather than respond. My reaction spewed cola out over the steering wheel and temporarily rendered me incapable of driving. I pulled off the highway to recover, dabbing my watering eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. “Christ!” I sputtered. “Excuse me!”            “You gonna be OK?” Dee Dee asked. She placed the can of Yahoo in the drink holder, laid the Twinkie on the dashboard and looked over to me.  Recovering with a series of deep breaths, I returned her stare. In her dark brown eyes, I perceived not only a caring concern for my well-being, but a strangely attractive intellectual dullness. My right-brain instincts took control of the moment.  I leaned toward her intending a kiss. She responded willingly, and with the parted-lips technique that sensuous women have developed into an art form.            After several mindless moments, engaged in this unscripted but undeniably inviting kiss, I pulled away and regarded Dee Dee anew. “Who-o-oa,” I said. “What’s going on here?” As I contemplated the circumstances, my mind wandered to the scene in the 50’s era movie The Seven Year Itch in which family man Tom Ewell attempts to apologize to the young, sultry and daffy Marilyn Monroe for abruptly kissing her: “ I’ve never done that before ,” he says remorsefully. “ Happens to me all the time ,” Marilyn responds.            “You tell me what’s going on, Gary,” Dee Dee said after a moment. “I just think you’re a nice guy.”            “I-I am,” I stammered as I guided the car back onto the highway. “There’s—just something about you,” I continued haltingly. “It’s just—you look almost exactly like this girl I wasted about half of my college education chasing after—It’s very—very weird, that’s all—Her name was—Susie.”            Dee Dee made no response to my strange revelations, refocusing her attention on the half-eaten Twinkie and the can of Yahoo. It was apparent that like Marilyn in the movie, Dee Dee experienced little surprise at my advances, and our encounter presented to her none of the drama and moral confusion it posed for me. Two or three miles passed by without further conversation.            During the silence, my thoughts flashed back to Susie episodes from my college days. From time to time I glanced at my passenger, and dual realizations were re-enforced: Dee Dee really did bear a striking resemblance to my old flame; and despite the danger signs the circumstances of our encounter veritably screamed, I was yearningly attracted to her. It was as if, some thirty years after breaking my foolish, undergraduate heart, a worn-out, broken-down Susie had re-entered by life, available somehow to pick up where our teenage romance had ended. The polarity of our current life experiences seemed only to heighten my attraction to Dee Dee. At this alternative universe moment, Susie needed me again—She even wanted me— Desired me. I attempted to douse my racing and irrational thoughts with a fresh swig of Diet Coke.            “So, tell me ‘bout this—what’s her name? —Susie?” Dee Dee asked.

           “Oh—just a girl I went with in college,” I said—“Indiana University—you know—up north?”            “Never been there—musta been cold.”            “Sometimes,” I said after a moment, considering again the shallowness and provinciality of her conversation.  Has she ever been anywhere? I wondered. “Tell me about you,” I continued. “Are you a native Floridian?”            “I was born here—if that’s what you mean—and I got a good tan—But I ain’t no freakin’ native.”            I laughed at her response, not really knowing if it was an attempt at her own repartee, or further confirmation of her remarkable lack of sophistication. “Lived here your whole life?” I continued.            “Yeah, mostly—moved to Winter Haven for a couple of years when I was married—but been back around here—‘bout ten years, I’d say.”            “Do you work?” I asked.            “God, these are tight,” Dee Dee said, reaching forward to replace the Yahoo in the drink holder. Leaning back into the seat and extending her shapely legs into the foot well, she stifled a yawn, then unsnapped the button of her shorts and unzipped the zipper half way down, revealing a provocative section of her evenly-tanned lower pelvic region. “Ohh—that’s better,” she said. “Yeah, I’m a dancer—least I used to be.”            “Really,” I said after a moment, the pieces of the bizarre puzzle I had inserted myself into coming together. “So good old Susie Norcross dropped out of IU, moved to Florida and became a stripper,” I babbled.

           “What the hell does that mean?” Dee Dee asked, in a suddenly perturbed tone, quite distinct from the respectful and flirtatious manner she had shown so far.            “Nothing—nothing at all,” I replied. “I’m sorry—and I don’t want to make light of your situation—It’s just that your Susie twin represents a very impressionable chapter of my past—and I guess I’m somehow trying to recapture it—I’m sure Freud could explain everything.”            “Floyd? —Floyd who?” Dee Dee said, then shrugged and looked away, out the passenger side window. “You know, Gary,” she continued after a while, “you’re a nice enough guy—But you’re really kinda weird. ”  “You got that right, kid,” I said. Dee Dee’s negative reaction to my sophomoric ramblings worked to stimulate some left-brain activity. These logic-based thoughts had the effect of tempering my strange and increasingly lustful attraction to a down-and-out, on-the-lam, aging Fort Myers stripper, who somehow in my mind had transformed into the incarnation of my long-lost college sweetheart.            Our trip across to Coral Cay continued in silence.            “Turn right on Medalion Way—up there, just past the light,” Dee Dee said, as we approached the vicinity of her apartment. I thought to inquire whether “Mr. Asshole” would be there but thought better of it.            “Anywhere around here’ll be OK,” Dee Dee said as I turned into the Emerald Dunes Apartments complex.            “Good luck to you, Dee Dee,” I said, “and I hope all my silly shit about Susie didn’t offend you.”            “No Gary, not at all—I’m just wonderin’ what it is you want—you know?” She looked at me with warmth and intensity again, like she had back at the car wash. Then she opened the door, turned, and stepped out of the car. Watching her movements my perception fixated again on her earthy, erotic attractiveness. Twinges of lust returned as I watched her proceed, step by sexy step toward the apartment door. Opening it, she turned, smoothed her hand back through her hair again and looked directly into my eyes.

           “You sure you gotta go?” she called back. “It’s OK if you wanna call me Susie.”            I had begun to slowly back Norma’s Honda out of the parking place but stopped upon hearing the alluring question.  I returned the transmission lever to Park and sat still in the car holding Dee Dee’s stare. For several moments I engaged again the right brain versus left brain analysis of the situation. My left-brain instincts eventually winning out, I shifted the car into Reverse again and returned my attention to driving the car.            On the way back to Fort Myers, I played my Dee Dee encounter repeatedly in my mind. With each re-run I felt better and better about how things had resolved. I flipped the windshield visor mirror open, looked at myself and smiled. “Ya done good, boy!” I said.            As the miles back to Norma’s counted down I engaged in a long-overdue contemplation of my station in life: Although susceptible to the temptations of sin, at the core I am a moral person, capable of compassion for the plight of others not so fortunate. Noting that noon was fast approaching, I called Vicki.

“Hey,” she answered in her uniquely charming southern Indiana accent.            “Thought I’d stop by Subway and pick up some subs for lunch.”            “Aw—honey—that’s so nice—yeah, get a half veggie for me, and you and Mom can split a meatball—she loves those”—Hey, Mom want to talk to you.”            “Hey Gary—thanks for washing the car. You’re a good man—Vicki and I are lucky to have ya’.            “No, Norma,” I said, fondly envisioning the two of them standing in her tiny kitchen amid the clutter attendant to the freezer-cleaning project. “It’s the other way around.” ***


Jake the master chef “Aww, Jakey. Mummy loves you matey, just remember that. Yeah..?’ “Yes Mummy.” “Now Hun, don’t answer the door to anyone and Mummy won’t be long. I…just need some time to me self, you know to relax.” “Yes mummy.” “Did you get the dinner I left on the table?’. “Yes Mummy … Mummy can you come home soon?” “Aww Jakey, I won’t be long”. There is laughing in the background and clinking glass, it sounds like she’s at the pub again. “Mum, are you at the pub again?” “No, no, nooo matey. Just ran into some old friends with Aunty Rebecca. You remember Gordo and Stimps?’ I nod on the phone; they were the two blokes that used to come to tea all the time, just before Dad took all his stuff and left. Mum keeps talking I don’t really have to say anything. She’s not listening anyway, I just continue to nod.  I’m not sure whether she’s talking to me or to someone else. “We’re just catching up and we’ll be home soon.” “Hey Nadine, we’re going for a smoke,” someone yells above all the other voices. “Jakey, I gotta go! I’ll be home soon! Awww love ya maate.” Then the phone goes dead. I look at the chicken schnitzel and vegies in a box on the table, I always get one of those on pay day. I take it out of the box, poke the fork through the plastic three times for luck and put it in the microwave for three minutes. It’s still a bit cold from the shop but not frozen so it doesn’t take that much time to cook. I love cooking. Mum showed me how to scramble eggs last week. She reckons I make the best toast ever and lets me get us breakfast every morning. Sometimes I come home from school and her toast is still on the table and she’s asleep on the couch. That’s the days she feels really sick. The light in the microwave is a buttery gold; I reckon that’s why it cooks my tea really nice and warm. Just as the bell on the microwave dings, the doorbell goes and there’s a knock at the door. “Jake, Jake, are ya there mate?”

Really! I get so excited, “Dad is that you?”

“Yeah mate, can ya let me in?” Dad sounds tired and I hear him lean onto the wall next to the door, both the wall and Dad give a soft groan. I want to ask him if he is Ok but I have to let him know what Mum said. “Mum…Mum…Mum said…” “Aww Jakey, it’s ya old man – you can let me in; besides Nadine was expecting me. She said she’d pay me back today. It’s pay day today isn’t it Jakey?” “Yeah, I got me schnitzel dinner for tea! Hang on Dad; I’ve got to get me tea out of the microwave. I’m cooking it. Do you want some?’ “Aww. Jakey, you’ve made tea for ya old man. You’d better let me in eh? What sort of schnitzel are we havin? Bet you can cook up a treat yeah?” I love seeing Dad; I wish he wouldn’t fight with Mum so much and maybe he could come round more often. I open the door and he’s standing there with his arms open. I give him a hug and he stumbles back a bit.  “Easy mate, you don’t know your own strength. Gees, least she’s feedin ya right.” I take dad by the hand and start telling him about school. How Mrs Jenkins reckons I could go to cooking school one day where they teach you stuff like on Master Chef. Dad uses the wall a bit to help himself into the kitchen. His eyesight is a bit bad at night. He smells of beer and wee. He must have forgotten they were yesterday’s pants when he put them on. Dad slumps into a kitchen chair and reaches into his top pocket for a smoke. As he lights the smoke I drag the ashtray over to him and find a clean plate. I look for another one as I begin to cut up dinner and share it between the plate and the cooking tray. I’ll just use the tray now, then I’ll do some of the dishes in the sink till I find a plate. Gee, it will be just like going out for tea. I tell him about how sharing something in two becomes two halves and that if mum and Shantell were here we could share it in four and it would be one quarter. Dad looks at me and starts to say something like he’s really upset, when there’s a loud bang at the front door. “You arsehole! What you doing here?” Mum yells as she flies down the passage. “Jakey, didn’t I tell you not to let anyone in?” She looks cold and angry at Dad, “I guess you tricked him, didn’t ya?” she spits the words out as she glares at Dad. In a flash she picks up the plate of tea I just put out for dad and throws it across the room. My tea! If I don’t grab it now, she’ll throw it. I grab my half of the schnitzel and vegies on the tray and hug it as I race to the back door. The back door kicks back at me as I try to get through and knocks the tray as if trying to wrestle it from my arms, spilling peas, carrot and potato pieces over the back step and pieces of board I put there last week to make a bridge over the puddles. I really wanted to put it on a plate so Dad and I could sit and eat it like we were eating out. I’m glad I didn’t or I would have smashed my dinner as well.  I had enough time to pick up the potato and some carrot, and almost cry with relief; least the good bits still in the tray, the yummy meat and thick gravy spread on top of the crumb coat.  I feel the potato burning my hand but it’s not as bad as the tears burning my eyes and that really sore lump in my throat.

Clutching my tea as carefully as I can, I run down the backyard. It’s just starting to get dark and everything is starting to look like a black and white photo. I slip into the fold in the base of the trunk of the old fir tree that seemed to be urging me forward so he could grab me, hug me and carefully sit me in his safe care. That’s why I call this tree Gramps, he makes me feel safe. This is my spot – I don’t need a cushion. The pine needles are soft and always smell like Christmas. I know this because Nan and Pop have a real Christmas tree every year; a tiny, tiny one, not like Gramps, my tree, they smell the same though. You can only see the top of Gramps from down the street and our front yard, from the back yard; he just goes on for ever. I sit down and can’t stop the tears soaking my face and soaking my shirt. I put my vegies carefully back into the tray – I’ll eat it soon. I…. I’ve just got to relax. I can hear Mum and Dad yelling, and then it all goes quiet. It’s OK. I pick up my tea and start to eat. I forgot I was so hungry. Part of tummy feels good after the food but part of it still feels empty, like there’s a hidden pocket in it. I rub my tummy and think about how good the chicken tasted and it eases the bits that still feel empty. Oh good, I hear laughter from the kitchen. The empty feeling flows away. I knew the food would find its way there. Mum must have got some smoke, that’s the laugh she has when she has, “Happy Smoke”. It’s her special medicine to help her cope. Maybe Dad will stay this time. We could go and get his things tomorrow and maybe we could go and get Shantell from the family she is staying with. My tea settles in my tummy and works out the knots and hidden pockets of emptiness, spreading a warmth that mingles with the tinkling of mum’s laugh. Maybe… maybe we could have tea out tomorrow, all of us.


It was early autumn. The air was fresh and crisp, and the light breeze carried the vibrant fall leaves. A cold breeze playfully tossed the fall leaves, sending whirlwinds of color down our street. I lay on my bed, though the sun had been up for hours. I chose a different spot to zone out every day: my beanbag, the couch, my bed. It never made a difference. Every night, I still cried myself to sleep, soaking my pillow, which was stiff with tears. I didn’t bother to turn it over onto the fresh side. Every day the sun rose, but even its radiance and warmth couldn’t light my world. Not now, that my mother was gone.

I stared at the ceiling. When I was little, mom and I would lie on our backs, tracing shapes in the ceiling plaster. I named them now - the spaceship flying out to the stars, the sleek otter swimming with the cool brook, a ewe lamb, away from its pasture. They don’t mean anything anymore, though. They’re just splotches of plaster. Everything in the house radiated off her, the kitchen, paintings on the wall, the unmoving pictures that still, somehow, held some movement of joy. The bench, the piano, was mom’s, and only hers. Often she held out her hand, asking me to join in the symphonies of the music, but she, only, ever played the pieces, now stuck in my head, in a familiar pace.

The cool draft pressed my lungs, choking me, as the memories drowned me. I couldn’t stand it anymore, the shapes on the ceiling, the pictures of her smiling face, the bench, the pieces stuck in my head, the horrible, muffled silence of the house, the hours passed unnoticed. I ran downstairs, out the door, listening to the cicadas chirp through the sleepy silence. I pause at the mailbox, watching a mail truck turn the corner at the end of the street. I opened the mailbox, not expecting to find anything, but I needed to do something new.

Back in the house, I flipped through the mail. A lump formed in my throat when I see that several of the letters were addressed to Hazelle Johnson. Most of the letters are for my dad, but one of the letters is addressed to me. A smile almost crept on my face after seeing the stamp had the queen's profile on it. It was from Will, my brother, who attended college in England. I tore open the envelope, and read: Dear Bree, I couldn’t believe it when I heard that mom had been killed in a car crash. I miss you and dad like crazy. Tell Dad that I’m coming on the twenty-first. Hang in there, Bree. See you soon. Love, Will ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ I got up the next day, realizing that it was seven days since it happened. Since the day she left. Since the day mom was, irrevocably, gone. I’m surprised I lasted this long. After eating breakfast with my father, who barely acknowledged my presence before shutting himself in his office, I decided to talk a stroll through the town.

The sun hadn’t come out to warm the streets down, so it was cool outside. I slipped on the soft blue jacket that mom bought me before hurrying outside.

Thirty minutes later, I walked further than I had ever before - the part of town I had only ever seen through a car window.

The road sloped downwards, and as I began to walk downhill, I saw the red door of a black house open, and a girl and a dog walked out. The girl firmly gripped the harness of the dog, walking cautiously uphill towards me. She seemed to be blind.

I was so fascinated that I almost didn’t hear the whir of a bike tire. Almost. When I looked up, I saw a man on a bike riding swiftly towards the girl and her dog. I expected him to steer clear from her, but he was listening to music, not paying attention to what was ahead of him.

“Watch out!” I screamed. The girl looked up, confused. Her dog barked and tried to pull her out of the way. The biker looked up, but it was too late for him to change course. He was going to crash! Without thinking, I leaped into the bike’s path. I felt it collide with my body, knocking me down on the cold, hard asphalt. My head slammed against the ground and I blacked out.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the music. It was the piano, and at first, I thought it was my mom playing. But I had never heard this song before. All the songs mom used to play were worn in my head. A never-ending cycle of tunes and rhythms.

I opened my eyes. I was lying on a tan, leather couch, and it was the blind girl playing the piano, not mom.

I tried to raise myself on my elbows, but my head was throbbing. I fell back on the couch with a groan. The girl stopped playing abruptly. “Mom! She’s awake!” she called and hurried over to kneel by the sofa. She moved with such ease through the room that I wondered if she was really blind.

Then, a short woman with short, blond hair and blue eyes came into view, holding an ice pack. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her eyes knit with worry. “Lousy,” I mumbled, my body throbbing. The woman gently placed the ice pack on my head and said. “I’m Julia Belmont, and this is my daughter, Selene.” I looked at Selene. She was tall, with a willowy figure, just like her mother. Her hair was a wavy, dirty-blonde sheet, and her eyes were gray as the stormy clouds, wide and clear, filled with light.

“What happened?” I asked, pausing with uncertainty. “All I remember was jumping in front of the bike and then…” I paused, with a loss of words.

Julia smiled gently. “Yes, that’s what the biker said. He was quite worked up. He didn’t even say sorry. Seemed to think it was your fault you got hit.” She sighed. “At least he helped me carry you here.” “I had to jump ahead. Otherwise, he would have hit her,” I said, gesturing to Selene.

“Are you always this noble? The biker wouldn’t have hurt me any worse than he hurt you,” she said, with a smile playing across her lips. I giggled. “I suppose you’re right. I couldn’t just stand there and watch it happen, though.” I added, “It wouldn’t have been fair.” She laughed. It was a musical one, like the ringing of bells. The kind that made everyone smile and joins in. I couldn’t suppress it anymore. I joined in and Julia looked between us, chuckling.

I realized it was the first time I had laughed since she left. It felt so good to be free. When we stopped laughing, Selene asked, “What’s your name, Ms. Nobleness?” “Bree.” “Should I call your parents?” Julia asked, worry reflecting in her eyes. “They might be worried…” I cut in quickly, “No, I’m sure they’re not.” `“Alright,” Julia said, clearly worried. “If you’re sure.” Just then, I noticed the dog, a black Labrador Retriever, which had been next to the sofa the whole time.

“What’s your dog’s name?” I asked, stroking its silky, black fur.

“Luz,” Selene replied. “It means ‘light’ in Spanish.” “Why’d you name her that?” I asked, curious. “I guess,” she began, thoughtful. “I guess it’s because she’s kind of my light - she’s invisible to me, but I can’t see without her.” “Are you girls hungry?” Julia called from the other room. “Do you want some food?” “Sure! Thanks, Mom,” Selene called back. A few minutes later, Maria came in, carrying a tray of crackers and cheese. Selene and I devoured it, and Selene fed Luz a few bits of cheese. When they were finished, Julia came in, holding a phone. “Do you want to stay and to rest a few hours?” she asked me. “If you do, I need you to call your parents and let them know you’re OK. Otherwise, I can drive you home or you can have them come pick you up.” I sat up, but it made me feel dizzy. “Can I stay here for a while?” I asked. “Of course. Just let them know you’re okay,” she said. She handed me the phone, and I whispered to myself, “829-291-0932,” as I dialed our number. As I had expected, no one picked up. I left a message saying that I would be home in a few hours. I didn’t need to worry dad about anything. It’s not like he’d notice I was gone anyway.

He only remembered mom anyway. I laid back down the soft, brown pillows. I ached all over. Selene went back to the piano, a beautiful symphony of notes. Luz snuffed comfortingly in my ears. I relaxed my stiffened muscles and eventually drifted off to sleep.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ When I opened my eyes again, I felt less sore. Selene was still at the piano, but the light had changed, and I felt like I had been asleep for at least an hour.

Julia poked her head into the room. “Want some lunch?” “Sure,” I replied, suddenly feeling hungrier than I had in ages.

“Are grilled cheese sandwiches OK?” I nodded and sat up. I still was soaked with aches and sore, and there were scratches and bruises on her arms and legs, but I felt a little better. “Do you play the piano?” Selene asked. “I took a few lessons a while back,” I replied. “I know some easy duets we could play,” she said hopefully. “I have the music, in case that makes it easier?” “OK,” I replied, though I was unsure. The bench, the piano, was mom’s spot. Not mine.

I played with Selene until Julia called us for lunch. The duets were simple and easy to play, but they had harmonies that sound cool together. I enjoyed the duets as much as the sandwiches that followed.

“Can Bree stay a while longer?” Selene asked her mom. She caught my eye, and added, “Only if you want to.” “Sure. If that’s OK with you guys.” I replied, hoping Julia would allow it.

“It’s fine by me, as long as you’re sure your parents won’t mind,” Julia said. I doubted my father would even notice I was gone. We spent the afternoon hours playing. Selene pulled out a solo piece since we were out of duets. This one looked familiar, though.

“My mom used to play this,” I said softly. My voice dropped to a whisper. “She died in a car crash a week ago.” “Oh my god!” cried Selene. “You must be so sad.” I nodded. “My dad just wanders around the house or shuts himself in his office. And my brother, Will, who’s in England, sent me a letter. He’s coming home in a few weeks.” Selene took my hand and squeezed it. A warm sensation spread through my body. “Well, at least you have that to look forward to. You have to remember to look for the good things in life. If we dwell on the bad things, we’ll never enjoy life.” She paused, then added, “I wasn’t always blind, you know. I got very sick one day when I was little, and now I can’t see. At first, I cried so much. I missed light and colors. I missed seeing the little I took for granted. But then, my parents got me Luz, and I learned to play the piano. I can feel the light that can’t see, through music. I can feel the colors, even if I can’t see them, through the music.” ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ Later, Julia drove me home. As they pulled up to the house, its shuttered, dark windows stared back at me. It was a ghost house, cold and unfeeling, quiet as a graveyard. Not the welcoming house it had once been.

It just wasn’t right. “Are you sure your parents are home?” Julia asked, staring at my bleak house.

I nodded, my throat tight. Julia turned around to look at me. “It was very sweet of you to jump in front of that bike. And Selene loved having someone to play with. If you want to come over sometime, you can have your parents call me.” I nodded and got out of the car. “Thanks for everything.” I managed to say. I climbed up the stairs to the front door and pushed it open. It was unlocked, just as I’d left it. I watched from the window as Julia’s night blue car drove away. I was sick of the dark, dreary silence. I went up to my bedroom. It was hot, and stiflingly stuffy inside, so I opened my window, as wide as it would go. I grabbed my weathered copy of To Kill a Mockingbird and ran outside. I sat in the tire swing hanging from the willow tree and read for the rest of the afternoon. When I got back inside, I almost felt good.

At dinner (pizza, again ) I told dad what happened at Selene’s house. He seemed shaken. “I’m sorry, Bree,” he said. “I’ve been so grieved from losing Hazelle that I haven’t paid any attention to you.”

“It’s OK, Dad,” I said quickly. “No, it’s not. Hazelle is gone. There’s nothing I can do about it. We need to move on.” “I was wondering,” I said. “Could you help me find some of Mom’s piano pieces? I want to try to play some.” “Sure,” dad said, almost smiling. “And, one more thing, could you call Selene’s mom and see when I can come over?”

“Of course.” When they finished eating, dad showed me where mom’s music was kept, then left to call Julia leaving me to play. The bench. It was mom’s spot, and it radiated of her. The memories of her didn’t drown me, for once. I stumbled through the first few pieces but gradually relaxed into it and played with more confidence. I could feel her presence, in the music, underneath my fingers. A few minutes later, dad came back into the room. He waited for me to finish the song she was playing, then he said, “Want to start taking piano lessons again?” I smiled, watching the sun sink behind the rooftops across the street. Even when it was gone, it wasn’t really dark. Just twilight. “That would be great,” I said.


What follows is a transcript of an apology to the people of Earth, and specifically the residents of Silver Lake, Indiana.

[BRACKETED] words indicate imprecise translation.

Hello, people of Earth. This message is being translated into the language practiced by the humans who reside in the area designated Silver Lake, Indiana, using the Verpal Language Unscrambler 2. As my segment-mate Zolak is so fond of reminding me, our model is very outdated and overdue for replacement. Any translation errors that may occur are the result of this technical deficiency and are not intended to be an act of disrespect. I humbly apologize for any confusion that may arise as a result of my negligence in the upkeep of our private Dimensional Collapser Transport. Zolak has secured a promise from me that I will replace it when we return to [THE HIVE].

Let me begin by apologizing for everything that has unfolded in the days following our unplanned arrival on your world. I assure you this was quite accidental, owed in large part to two hundred rambunctious hatchlings who were [RAISING THE DICKENS] in the back of the ship. This proved quite a distraction to Zolak, who was navigating and who gave me the wrong directions. Zolak insists the directions were correct and that I missed my turn because I was the one not paying attention. We have agreed to disagree. Compromise is the [ADHESIVE BODILY FLUID] that keeps us together. We do hope you understand how deeply and truly sorry we are for causing such a cultural [HULABALOO]. Our misadventure no doubt caught all of you by surprise, as it did the [ASSIMILATION] Phages when we reported the incident to the proper authorities. As it turns out, your planet isn’t set for [ASSIMILATION] for another 250 years! Zolak joked that this is the first time we have been early for something. This is a joke at my expense as I am occasionally tardy to [HIVE] functions.

Also, we want to assure you that your immediate military response upon our arrival was completely justified and certainly not an overreaction on your part. Protect what’s yours, that’s a law followed in all corners of the universe. Where we come from, when a [SKITTERING DEATH SWARM] arrives at your [HOME] unannounced, you do not give them a chance to [KILL AND CONSUME], you [KILL AND CONSUME] first. So fear not, we were in the wrong, not you.

With this in mind, I would like to also apologize for the deployment of the Organic Liquidator Orbitals as a countermeasure. That was a step too far. When Zolak and I purchased the ship, I argued that the standard defense array was more than reasonable for casual space travel, but Zolak insisted we have the orbitals installed because of an [AUNT] who ended up in a [BAD PART OF TOWN] planet and was overtaken and consumed by highly evolved predatory fauna. I have had to hear this story over and over again, as if this one [AUNT] was more special than the others. Zolak has 200 [AUNTS]! Anyway, we [SPLURGED] and got the orbitals. And yes, I am forced to admit that they were highly effective, and mildly thrilling as well, especially for the brood. And no doubt a sight to behold for any of your species who were outside the liquidation zone. But I still think they were an extravagance and an overreaction on our part. As they say in the parlance of your people, “My bad”. We would also like to apologize to the human residents of the Silver Lake area. We are so, so sorry that the timing of our arrival coincided with a number of events occurring in the city limits. Our species has a deep and profound respect for the individuality of the [UNASSIMILATED], and as such, we offer our apologies to these specific people who were affected by our arrival: The members of the local Civil War Re-enactment Community, Chapter 239. We are so sorry for not only disrupting your sacred religious violence simulation but also for the extensive damage caused by our ship’s defense response system. Our onboard AI misidentified your replica weapons as authentic, and all your shooting and screaming as aggression. The AI later indicated that 43 human war zealots were vaporized. Zolak and I will be sending personalized apologies to each of the genetic units whose humans were vaporized, once we return to the [HIVE]. We have left two vats of bio-paste to offset any food loss you would have to endure at not getting to consume their remains in the typical fashion.

The Silver Lake Fire Department, Women’s Auxiliary, Girl Scout Troop #782, the Silver Lake Chapter of the Rotary Club, the Starlight Junior Girls Dance Team, the Chippewa County Antique Car Club, and the countless humans who were in attendance at what the AI has determined is the “Fall Harvest Parade”. I did not take into account just how much heat is produced by our ship’s atmospheric retro-thrusters. In my search for a good place to land I lost track of how close to the ground we were flying. We are truly, deeply sorry for all the lives lost and the labor cost to rebuild.

To anyone who was impregnated by our [PRECIOUS] spawn, we apologize for any discomfort you may have experienced in the implantation process, as well as any lingering side effects. It has been a long enough trip that many of our brood reached adulthood and needed to secrete their pod glisteners before they started devouring their younger broodmates. The implantation process, while beautiful to us, has been described as [DEEPLY UNSETTLING] by other species we have encountered, depending on the physiology of the host. The good news is that the gestation period for an implanted [NEEDLE-TOOTHED STOMACH EXPLODER] larva is quite short!

Oh, and please, do not feel guilty about any offspring you may have slaughtered as they ran through your humble village [SOWING THEIR WILD OATS]. If there is one thing Zolak and I agree on, it’s that we have entirely too many mouths to feed.

We probably should say a few words on behalf of the lake itself. So sorry about that. Unfortunately, the Organic Liquid Orbitals produce an inordinate amount of radioactive runoff that needs to be dumped before it can be reignited. I suggested we wait until we were in the vacuum of space before jettisoning the waste but Zolak was rubbing its legs together quite vociferously at this point insisting that nobody would even care if we just dump and go. The bad news about your lake though is the water will not be [PALATABLE] again for another 3000 years, and organic life will likely never return. The good news is the green glow is a permanent feature that I think is quite pretty.

We understand that we have probably set back relations between humankind and [THE INSATIABLE HORDE] before they’ve even had a chance to start, but I assure you, despite the carnage, we are a very [GREGARIOUS] and welcoming species. We do hope you can find a way to forgive us for our transgressions and understand that we never would have been here in the first place if not for Zolak’s insistence on being the navigator when they have time and again given us inaccurate directions leading to situations like this, where I am having to apologize to a species for ruining their lives. I just wanted a nice [FAMILY VACATION]. Just me, Zolak, and 200 of our offspring, taking some time away from the endless toil of [FEEDING THE INSATIABLE QUEEN]. My [BROODFATHER] used to take us on trips to Troxon IV to watch the skinworms emerge from the sludge pools, back when I was of an age where I still hadn’t developed my pod glisteners. I don’t know how they did it back then. My brood was well over 400! Can you imagine the mess just in the Dimensional Collapser Transport?

I’m rambling. Anyway, I wanted to take them somewhere amazing, like the Feces Pits of Roobe II. I wouldn’t have brought my brood to a [BACKWATER] planet like this under normal circumstances. You can’t be too careful where you go these days. But, had we ended up where I wanted to go, I don’t think we would be returning to [THE HIVE] so engorged with important life lessons. My brood have a newfound respect for how [PRE-ASSIMILATION] species like your own have managed to barely scrape by with such primitive means. Witnessing such futile determination has truly inspired them to be even more productive members of our worker society.

My brood are not the only ones whose [GULLET STONES] are wearing away the edges of a newly learned truth. I realized that I have been trying to give my brood the same experience I had when I was their age. I thought if I could show them something amazing, maybe they would respect me as much as I respected my own [BROODFATHER]. But then, when I heard them cheering as our ship obliterated your pitiable attempts to defend yourselves, I realized that it isn’t the destination so much as it is the experience. How many of my kind can say they watched their [BROODFATHER] heroically fend off the assaults of a [PRE-ASSIMILATION] species? Nothing will replace those memories.

You know, I really thought I [BLEW IT] with this trip. But maybe I didn't after all. Maybe it takes getting lost to truly find what we are all looking for.

Oh, before we go, our onboard AI has determined that you are currently experiencing a [CALDERA POX] outbreak. As this is endemic to our planet, I have to imagine you contracted it from one of our pesky brood. Not to worry, the symptoms are very mild—your species should only experience headaches, nausea, dimensional blindness, and moderate to severe hemorrhaging. It's one of our more survivable [COMMON COLDS]. You'll be fine! See you in 250 years!


It’s a nice summer evening – the birds are chirping, and the grass has just been cut. The football team practices in the distance, as Wendy sits off to the side. The school day had finished hours ago, and the football game would begin soon. Wendy watched her boyfriend run across the field, his teammates following closely behind. The day had dragged on – teacher after teacher piling more and more homework on her shoulders left the young girl nervous for the upcoming weekend. Wendy knew she’d find herself studying and working all weekend, barely being able to see her friends or relax to herself.                “Hey Wendy!” Bebe Chandler, Wendy’s best friend since elementary school came running down the field, a football barely missing her head. A sigh fell from Wendy’s lips. The girl could be so ditzy sometimes.                “Did you finish the math homework?”                “The one that was, just, assigned?” The smile feel from Bebe’s face, while showing back up on Wendy’s.                “Right…” The sunset casted a warming glow on the two girls faces, as they both sat together on the grass. The peaceful silence created between them made a nice atmosphere, and Wendy found herself at ease. Bebe always had that effect on her, it felt like the other girl knew Wendy inside and out, and brought a peaceful atmosphere even when Wendy felt herself losing control.                “Oh my god! I forgot to tell you! Clyde gave me the prettiest bracelet on our date last week!” Bebe suddenly lunges forward, her torso colliding with Wendy’s in less than a few seconds. Bebe’s outstretched hand almost slaps Wendy in the face, jiggling afterwards with a slight bounce.                It’s like time stopped.                It must’ve been Bebe’s new perfume – the girl was always trying something new out, self care wise, but it’s like Wendy’s smelt it before.                It reminded her of her mother.                Wendy had lost her mother when she in elementary school, she was only eleven to be exact. Although she loves her father and appreciated him so much growing up – she missed out on having someone she could relate to in her own home. The years have dulled the pain since then, but Wendy could still perfectly see her mothers smile if she thought about it hard enough.                Wendy could still remember “Parent Date Night” at her house. Her parents would get all dolled up and go to the local theatre once a month, leaving Wendy with her babysitter for the entire night. She always thought her mother looked so pretty, sitting by her vanity before they went out. Wendy always admired the care her mother put into getting pretty.                “Wendy, what are you staring at?” A soft smile broke out on her mothers face. The lipstick she just applied sat perfectly on her lips. Their eyes locked in the mirror, and Wendy felt herself blush from the attention.                “Why do you put makeup on mom?” The smile from Wendy’s moms face dropped a little – there was something in her eyes Wendy couldn’t quite place.                “You’ll understand when you’re older darling.” A pity smile was shown in her direction. It was gone before Wendy could even process it, and her mother went back to putting blush on her cheeks. The powder flew off her mothers face, and right into Wendy’s nose – making the young girl cough.                “Oh Wendy,” Her mother quickly spun to face her, bending down to be eye-level with the girl. “I’m sorry sweetie.” Wendy didn’t even know she was tearing up until she felt her mother’s thumbs wipe the tears away. Wendy could see the light sparkle in her eyes, and the eyeliner she put on – the line was shaky, and she knew her mother’s hands could never stay still enough to the liner on.                “Are you okay, sweetheart?” Wendy felt so, safe. Her mothers arms wrapped around her so snuggly, it felt like two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly. Wendy felt like she could do anything, be anyone as long as she was in her mothers arms. The soft aroma of her perfume filled Wendy’s nostrils, quickly destroying of the blush particles left over. The scent of vanilla was strong, but not too overpowering, and it made Wendy feel warm inside. Her short arms wrapped around her moms neck, and she let her head rest on her shoulder. Parent Date Night always made her nervous, but Wendy was always a nervous child. She could never calm down until she heard her parents car pull into the drive-way, and would only fall asleep once she felt her mothers lips on her forehead. But in this moment in time, where the clock has stopped and the only thing that matters is her mother and her, Wendy felt like she could take on the world.                When only one parent came back that night, Wendy realized she had to take on the world, this time, alone.                “Oh, so you think it’s ugly? Clyde’s gonna cry when I tell him.” Bebe brought her hand back, cradling her arm like it got burnt. Her sweet eyes looked so hurt that Wendy almost felt bad. Almost.                “That’s not why I was silent,” an eye-roll, sometimes Wendy couldn’t stand the girl. “Are you using a new perfume? It smells nice.”                “I can’t believe you noticed! It is new!” A smile instantly broke out onto Bebe’s face, all bad feelings forgotten in a flash. “I got it from Nicole – we went to that new store in the mall the other day. Girl Boss, I think? Cheesy name, but it just smelt so good I had to buy it!”                It was funny really – how one closed door can lead to another. Wendy knew she was never going to get her mother back, she realized that years ago. But sitting here next to her best friend, she knew that it was going to be alright. Yes, she was still taking on the world, but she was not alone. She had her friends, she had her boyfriend, she the strength of everyone she’s interacted with.                Yes, she was taking on the world, but she was with those who loved her. And for the first time in a long time, she felt safe.


-AUTUMN-

The sun hung low in the sky as they walked the rows of the orchard. The hazy, orange light warmed their backs, their shadows stretching ever further before them. The leaves had just started to turn, but the trees were still heavy with fruit. The branches sagged as though trying to tempt those below with their succulent delights.

The hunter reached up and took the perfectly red apple in his hand. He twisted, snapping the stem, then turned the fruit this way and that. Not a single blemish. He rubbed the apple against his shirt, buffing it until he could almost see his reflection in the skin. Looking up, he realised that his companion for this walk had not slowed. He jogged to catch back up.

“Here,” he said, “This one looked good.”

She barely gave it a glance as he placed it in her basket. She kept walking.

“What about these ones?” he asked, pointing out a particularly good looking tree.

“The tree we are looking for is further,” she said.

“How much further?”

“The end of the orchard.”

The hunter looked into the distance and shuddered. He could not see the far end of the orchard clearly. A strange fog seemed to cover it, though it was not cold. It looked darker there. She sensed his reluctance and sighed.

“How did it come to this?” she wondered aloud.

-SUMMER-

The Queen regent ran her hand across the bark of the apple trees as she walked. It was still too early for picking. The small, green fruit looked shiny and appetising, but the flesh would be sour and sickening. She put one foot in front of the other, putting no thought into where she was headed.

She could hear laughter in the distance. The ground keeper’s daughters, running and playing. They wore crowns woven from flowers upon their heads amd smiled as they pretended to be princesses. If only the reality of royalty was as happy, she mused.

Her position was a precarious one. The King was ailing. She was a second wife and a foreigner to this land, ruling in the place of a man who was much loved by all. It would not be long before she would have to bury him, and what then? If he died...

When , she reminded herself. When he dies , as though telling herself often would make it hurt any less when it happened. The kingdom had not seen him for months, which was just as well. He was not a pretty sight to behold. There was very little of the man she had fallen in love with left. The attack had finished him, body and soul.

He would know what to do. She was doing her best to rule as well as he would have done. If she could do that, the people would not question her. She could not allow the Kingdom to appear weak, lest the vultures of the neighbouring lands descend. She had come to love this land and its people and she would not see them lost to war. She had to be wise, her rule just and righteous, firm but fair. Let there be no one in the kingdom more worthy to be called ruler than she. That was the aim. She had taken the tools of her past trade and fashioned a seeing glass to guide the way forwards.

Was she a good ruler? Did the people approve of her reign? She had asked the seeing glass the question that kept her awake at night, but the answer had seemed wrong. That would teach her for wording her questions so loosely. Fair had too many meanings.

The girl. That was the problem. She was not fit to rule. The Queen had spent years trying to change her and her efforts had come to nought. The girl could not be allowed to come to the throne as she surely would if the Queen did not act fast.

It was time to take matters into her own hands.

-SPRING-

Blossom hung thick in the orchard. It’s sweet yet earthy smell filled the air. The King walked back from the far end, hands clasped behind his back. He was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice the woman slip out from behind a tree and fall into step beside him.

“I thought I would find you here,” she said.

That snapped him back to the present. Looking across and seeing her was enough to make him smile again. He reached out and took her hand. They walked in comfortable silence together.

“I had to ask her something,” he said after a while.

“Did you get an answer?” she asked.

“I think so.”

He stopped and faced her, taking her other hand. Before he had a chance to continue, she had spotted the bandage on his wrist. She fussed with it, tutting to herself.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Just a nip,” he assured her, “Nothing serious. She didn’t mean it.”

“I thought she was getting better.”

“And she is. You have done so much for her. You care for her as if she were your own, and... well...”

He lowered himself to one knee. He watched her eyes widen, her jaw drop open slightly.

“Here?” she asked, squirming slightly, “In her place? Elenora’s orchard?”

“I can’t wait any longer,” he told her, “Elenora is gone. She would want me to be happy. I want us to be a family. Together we have been through the darkest times. Together, we can face anything.”

“I...”

She hesitated.

“I do.”

-WINTER-

“What have you done!” yelled the King.

He ran to the figure collapsed in the orchard. There was blood on the ground, a gash in her hand.

“Elenora?”

His wife looked up at him, her smile wide and terrifying. Her eyes were unrecognisable to him in that moment.

“I wished for a child,” she told him, “We shall have our child. At any cost.”

***

They buried her beneath the furthest tree.

It was a quiet affair. Closed casket. Seeing Elenora’s body after the birth had been terrible enough. The King did not want to see it again. So pale... Too pale. Like the child.

The earth was cold in his fist. It hit the coffin lid, hard and heavy. He stared downwards, unable to move. An arm took his and gently led him away. It was the woman. The one he had sent for. The one they had told him could fix such things. She had come bearing strange tools and spoken words in a language that had scared the midwife, but it had been too late.

“There was nothing to be done,” she told him, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” he said, “But the child-“

“Shall be cared for,” she interrupted him, “I will do all I can to help her.”

Snow crunched underfoot as they made their way back to the castle grounds. Beyond the garden walls, the kingdom grieved.

-AUTUMN-

“It came to this because of me,” the huntsman said, “This is my fault, your highness. If I had done as you said...”

The Queen stopped then. She placed a hand on his arm gingerly, as though out of practice at comforting others.

“No,” she said softly, “I asked too much. Whatever else she is, the girl looks human. You may be a hunter, but you are no monster.”

“I shot her,” he said, “My aim was off, but I still did it. I missed her heart, but the bolt went through her even so. I saw it. She should have died.”

“Like I said,” the Queen said, “She looks human.”

They continued onwards. The sky was growing darker. A fine mist had started to gather around their feet.

“Did you bring the axe?”

“Of course, your highness,” he said uneasily, “Why do we need it?”

“It has been some time since I have ventured this far,” the Queen said, “Things may have grown restless. Some... pruning may be required.”

The hunter saw it then- the furthest tree in the orchard. It was bare of leaves with bark as black as tar. The claw-like, gnarled branches seemed to move in a way that had very little to do with the wind. It looked dead and yet there was a single apple growing from the lowest branch. The skin was crimson and shone temptingly, but it looked almost as though something was moving within it, stretching the apple’s surface as it writhed. The only juice within an apple like that would be poison.

The hunter made the mistake of looking into the shadows around the tree and regretted it. He gripped the axe tighter. They needed that apple. The King’s death would be avenged.

-EPILOGUE-

Years passed. The Queen walked the orchard less and less, not wanting to think about the crime she had committed. No one could know what she had saved them from. They would not have believed her if she tried to tell them. What she had done was for the greater good. She would be forgiven in time. She told herself this frequently, but it did nothing to stop the nightmares. The war she had feared did not come. No one dared face her. Infamy, it seemed, would be her armour.

Winter arrived once more, along with an invitation from a neighbouring prince. A wedding. It bored her to attend such things, but she could not refuse. It was trivial, but a duty nonetheless.

The church was as cold as the freshly fallen sheet of snow outside. The prince looked resplendent in his finery, practically glowing with joy. His mother and father too looked overjoyed, but the bride seemed to have no family of her own. The queen recognised many of the faces around her, though they would not meet her eyes. She tried to ignore the whispers, the empty space that seemed to radiate from around her, pushing those she had once called allies away. They would understand, she told herself, if only they knew the truth.

The band began to play. As one, the audience turned to look at the bride.

The Queen's breath stuck in her throat.

The girl walked down the aisle, teeth showing through her smile, her skin pale, hair dark, lips apple red. Her eyes never left her stepmother.

The ceremony was a blur. The Queen felt faint and her body began to shake visibly. Her neighbours broke their silence in concern, but she could not explain it to them.

Afterwards there was dancing. The band led them outside and there was much laughter as they formed a circle in the snow and began to whirl around, everyone dancing with each other. The Queen joined in, knowing that there would be no true escape in excusing herself. Everyone she came face to face with was smiling. Let them be happy, she told herself. Let this not be the end.

The moment came. The dance carried them towards one another and suddenly they were face to face, hand in hand. The girls grip hardened around the Queen’s hands, the nails digging in. Drawing blood.

The blood welled, blooming from the Queen’s veins like apples growing on a tree. The droplet fell, a crimson tear struck the snow.

Blood on snow...

That's how it all started. The Queen mused, staring her demise in the face. How fitting that it should end the same.

How I wish that I had a daughter that had skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood and hair as black as ebony.

But at what cost? Only a monster could have survived the fruit from that tree. Only a corpse cursed beyond all recognition could have created such a thing.

The girl smiled, exposing oddly pointed teeth. She was the fairest, the Queen realised, but not because of the unnatural paleness of her skin. All were equal in the eyes of a monster. Death was indiscriminate.

The wedding party danced. They danced until the laughter turned to screams, until the snow turned red with blood.

They danced until they died.


“Mom, bring it fast. I can’t wait anymore!”, I said. I could smell the pasta with the flavours teasing me, all the way from the kitchen. As my mom placed the dish on the table, she went on to say, “One of these days, you have to learn how to make this pasta. When I will be too old to cook, you will have to make it for me.” “Not so fast. But don’t worry, I have the recipe.”, I said. “Not the secret ingredient.”, she said with a smile. “I am going to guess it any day now.”, I quipped as I put a mouthful of the delicious goodness into my mouth. As I closed my eyes to savour it, the last thing I see is my reflection, in my mother’s beautiful eyes. I seem happy.  I wake up with a jerk, realising it was a dream. It was the last good memory I remember before the chaos. Before that dreaded night, you left us mom, I think to myself. “Dahl, honey, you have to talk to your father. You need each other during these grievous times.” Dahl (short for Dahlia) that’s what my mom used to call me. I look up to see mom sitting on the sofa with a suggestive look. Everyone processes grief in different ways, I apparently do so by hallucinating about my dead mother. “We really don’t have to, mom. He is preoccupied with work and so am I with school. Everything is fine”, I said. Mothers, don’t stop looking after you even in afterlife! It has been 3 months. 3 months, since the night you gasped for air and I stood in shock as dad dialled for an ambulance. 3 months, since my dad lost the love of his life and I lost my best friend, my confidante, my mother. People say time flies by- it does, when you are living your life to the fullest. But for us, it has been a never-ending series of excruciating pain and wishful thinking. Every second thinking what could’ve been. At least I do. I think dad does too. I wouldn’t know, we haven’t talked much since the car ride back from the funeral when he limited his words to- “God, I hope she is happy.” Come to think of it, it is easier this way because every time I so much as think about her I drown in a cesspool of tears. I am sure he does too. And not talking about it, let’s us go about our lives normally, whatever that is. I rested on this plethora of thoughts like a pillow and drifted off to sleep. Next morning, I go downstairs to stop for breakfast before school and frown at a plate of sandwich. “The crusts aren’t cut off; I know but eat it. He is trying.”, Mom said. As I rush out the door, mouthful of sandwich, I see dad frantically searching for his keys. I look at mom who points to the drawer in the corner and take the keys out. “Give him two Krispy cremes too!”, mom says all excited. As I hand him the keys and the treats, he looks at me surprised. “Who told you I like to keep them for good luck before an important presentation at work?” I glance at mom, who chuckles and blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind. “Mom told me…. I mean I saw her giving these to you”. Wow, lying comes easy to me now. Dad does what you will hardly call a smile and goes out the door. On the bus ride back from school, I tried guessing the secret ingredient. Basil? Cinnamon? Anchovy? Mint? All these guesses were met with mocking laughs from my mother and crazy stares from half of the children on the bus. As the night sets in, I complete my homework and go down to dinner automatically. As I walk down the stairs, I remember the times mom used to knock and beckon me for dinner. We both ate in silence. As I stuffed the store-bought pasta in my mouth, I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “What is this dump? Mom made it so much better.” “What did you just say? She is not here and all you care about is the food? I have not mourned my wife’s death and delved straight into work for you to sit here and gloat?”, he growled. I felt anger building up inside me. All those repressed emotions struggling for a way out. “Dahl, don’t say a word.” I couldn’t hear her anymore. “Really? This is you trying? Leaving for work without saying a word and coming back home to more silence!” I shouted. “What do you want me to do? Sit still while you throw silly tantrums? Even your mother’s death hasn’t changed you a bit.” He retorted. To say these words were stinging would be an understatement. As I opened my mouth, I knew I would immediately regret what I said, “I wish you died instead of mom.” These words hit him like a wave. He stared at me for a full minute and then stormed off to his room closing the door with a bang. I don’t know what came over me. I guess I wanted to hurt him more than I was hurting. “Is this what you really wanted?” mom asked rhetorically and went upstairs. As I went into the room, expecting to see mom, wanting to explain to her that I made a mistake, I was greeted by nothing. I wondered if she is upset and this is the second-last time I am going to see her. I called out to her a few times, but the one time I want my mind to go crazy and hallucinate, it doesn’t. Frustrated, I get up to go fill the pitcher and I hear sounds from the other room. Sobbing sounds. Stifled cries growing in amplitude by the minute. As it went on to become full-blown crying, I started to open the door. But I stopped myself, with a nagging thought at the back of my mind. He is finally processing mom’s death, finally dropping all things to do the most important one. Mom leaving me prematurely, has forced me to be more mature. With that thought and closed lights behind dad’s door, I retreated to my room. If the silence before was awkward, this was a notch higher. I had several missed moments, but I couldn’t bring myself to apologise. It is funny how easily you say the things you shouldn’t but need immense courage to say the things you should. These days were painfully lonely for me as well as my non-hallucinating, perfectly sound mind. After a lot of debate with my own reflection in the mirror, I came to the conclusion that only one thing could justify my apology and bring us closer- Our shared love for mom. I decided to try to make the pasta we loved a tad bit less than mom. As I dusted the pots and pans which the spiders had so lovingly called home, I heard shuffling of steps. Dad was standing there, looking forlorn. I smiled a little and that seemed to set him off to cooking. Foraging for the vegetables, he asked, “Do you have the recipe?” Oh boy, small talk. I tried to shrug it off. “I do but I don’t think I will be able to pull it off.”, I said. “At least try. We owe it to her.” He comforted. With her mention, I let out a breath that I didn’t realise I was holding in for so long. “Dad, I miss her and I know you miss her more. I spend every waking minute punishing myself for the moments I spent arguing with her which could have been spent enjoying and making memories with her. I wish she wouldn’t have left us so soon, I wish for a few more moments with her. Dad, you’ve been hiding it, but I know you cry at nights. The pain is unfathomable apart but sharing it will dull the ache a little.”, I said. “I am so sorry, kiddo. Grieving due to her untimely demise, made me overlook that you had suffered a much greater loss. We both are hurting and we both need each other during this testing time. We were too stubborn to admit it before but we are coming to terms with it now.”, he explained. “I am sorry too, dad. I need you to help me try to take on things one day at a time. And enough of the emotional outpour, mom would have laughed at our faces and called us- ‘SUCKERS’”, I said and we shared a laugh. “How do you know?”, he questioned. “I just do”, I said with a smile. “Let’s honour her by remembering the beautiful moments that defined her impeccable and humble soul.” I said as we resumed with the pasta cooking. “You’re right. Remember the time, our dog, Peggy, ate her garden foliage when she wasn’t looking?”, dad chuckled. “Got it! Dad, you’re a genius!”, I exclaimed as I ran to the kitchen. I took some leaves, cut them and mixed them to the pasta base. I sent dad to the dining space for the big reveal and finished with some last touches. “Bon Appetit!” I said as he took a mouthful. Suddenly, his face contorted into a smile. “This tastes exactly like your mother made it. I am so proud of you! How did you figure it out?” He asked. “I am her daughter”, I quipped never being surer. Tears brimming in his eyes he hugged me tight, first time in these months. I felt good for the first time in these months. As I took in the warmth of the hug, I opened my eyes to see my mother standing there, her beautiful eyes swimming in tears. “So, what was the secret ingredient?”, she asked curiously. “Love”, I said. “Dahl, do I look like a hipster to you? Love makes you feel like it tastes better, it doesn’t actually work.” She said annoyed. “I am kidding. Its thyme, the one you grew in the home garden.” I said confidently. She flashed a huge smile and said, “You will do just fine without me. Just know, I will always be there for you any-thyme! I love you!” Something in me changed, I knew I would never see her again but I was fine with it. As I let go of the hug, I whispered, “I love you!” and saw her disappear in the blink of an eye. “She’s gone.”, I realised out loud. “Oh kiddo, she might not be here but she will always look out for you”, dad quipped. “I know, dad. I know”, I said like I had experienced the realness of it all!


We have plenty of time.

I turned away from him as he carried a basket load of laundry up the stairs. His heavy feet stomping each stair as though he was climbing the dark side of a mountain into battle. I sighed and fought the thoughts that hoped he missed a step. Those words made my blood boil! In his world time waits for him, and in reality, time screws us over again and again and like idiots, we repeat the same patterns. Him, rolling his eyes and insisting that time is his mistress, and me in the corner agreeing through gritted teeth and silent smiles.

He reached the top of the stairs safely and smiled back at me, his smile was always so warm and kind. Like a portal, always throws me back in time, stuck in memories thinking of the days gone by, the days when he was- well he wasn’t much different than he is today. He still kisses me when he wakes up in the morning, he still makes breakfast and falls asleep on my breasts. He is still him, so maybe it’s me.

I nod and smile and continue packing up the last few boxes for the moving van. In a few minutes, the truck will arrive and go before us to a land flowing with milk and honey. Well, maybe not so, but it better be for I am moving my whole life in search of something new, something exciting, something absolutely life-changing. That’s what I tell myself, but in truth, we’re moving to the other side of the country because he got a nice new job and what better way to celebrate ten years of marriage than to wrap up the past, pack up the present, and thrust into the future! His words, not mine. In a few hours, we will be aboard a sixteen-hour flight and so this new land must have milk, honey and everything nice- my life depends on it.

They have come and gone. As the driver carried the last box out of the house, I closed the door behind him and turned back to see the empty beige coloured walls of the house. Without furniture and paintings and bookshelves and everything that made this a home, it looks like the inside of an eggshell. Standing there, I remember those words again and my feet could no longer carry me, so I let myself fall to the ground, staring at what was once a room of many colours. I realised how much I hate these beige walls, I remember when we first viewed it, I loved the space but wanted to change the colours, I wanted each room to be its own unique space, I wanted to make this palace my playground. ‘There’s plenty of time to do that', he said. Five years down the line, here I am staring at the same ugly beige walls. This opened the floodgates of every time I heard those words.

When our friends travelled the world during our college days, ‘We have plenty of time’, he said.

Yet this trip to our Neverland is the farthest I’ve been from home.

When we had dated for 4 years, and we began to speak of marriage, ‘We have plenty of time’, he said. My father died long before I walked down the aisle 3 years later.

When I thought about having kids, ‘We have plenty of time’, he said. And now- well time may be his mistress but she has been ever so cruel to me.

I could feel the tears burn and fill my eyes, tilting my head up I held them there, there’s no time for tears, not here, not now. I held my eyes shut, holding them until the tears returned to where they came from. He was standing before me when I opened them, ‘I’m ready', he said with a grin, stretching his hand out to lift me off the floor. Moments later, the doorbell rang, it was the taxi driver. It would be the last time I would hear that melody, the last time I would see these walls. There I was, leaving just as I had arrived, with nothing- if not less.

He led me out the door and into the car. Waiting in the back seat, I watched as he lifted our boxes and loaded them up into the trunk. The way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt, the way his body moved. I closed my eyes at the familiar sight, smiling and remembering every time my hands rubbed against those arms, every time my body leaned into his allowing him to lift me into himself. Interrupted by the driver’s voice, I opened my eyes. It was time to wrap up the past and sit in my present. Two hours late for a six-hour ride.

I lost the first couple of hours. I can’t for the life of me remember what I was thinking of as I stared blankly out the windows. I remember thinking about how fast the trees were moving, and how it made me feel like I was going back in time but nothing past that. The sound of his voice brought me back to him. He held my hand and repeated what he said but still, I could not quite understand. I looked up and caught the driver’s eye in the mirror. He was looking at me, also waiting for a response.

‘You are going to love our new home’, he said for the last time.

‘Yes, yes. I will’, I said and smiled squeezing the hand that was holding mine.

He turned away immediately, satisfied with my response. I looked up and again staring into the driver’s eyes, he saw my smile fall and fade away almost as quickly as it appeared.

I returned my gaze to its safe space, staring out the window, and I thought? Where is home? The house I grew up in? The house we shared as roommates in college? The house where we said our vows? The house we lost time in? Or the one with the ugly beige walls?

I wonder where home was to him. The one where his mother died, the one where he broke my heart? The one where we are going to? Or the one with the ugly beige walls? What if I remove myself from the narrative, what if I didn’t make it to this new house with him, will it still be home? If the walls were beige as before, and all our old furniture and pictures were put up. If all was the same but for the postcode, would it still be home? Where is home? Where is his home, if not with me? I wish I didn't know the answer to this, but like all things, time revealed this to me. Two hours to our final destination, the driver asked a question. In hindsight, this was an absolute point.

‘Sir, shall we keep to the highway? I looked at him, also waiting for his response. He went on about how the inner roads were smaller and darker but everyone avoided them and so should be faster. Then he looked at me and said, ‘We have plenty of time- we’ll make it’.

About an hour later, there was a loud bang, and then the car began to crawl and finally it came to a stop. In the middle of this lonely inner road, the worst had happened. A flat tyre. We got out of the car and waited and watched as the driver scrambled to fix his spare tyre as quickly as he could.

We both walked a few yards from the car and I let out a deep sigh.

‘It’s not my fault’, he said quietly.

‘I didn’t say it was’, I replied, rolling my eyes, avoiding his gaze.

‘But you think it is, don't you? ‘You have no idea what I think. Drop it’, I said sternly.

‘Because you never speak to me! We have spent the last 5 hours in silence!’ I looked at him, ‘Yes, this is your fault?’ And honestly, I was fine until he raised his voice and I just lost it. I could no longer hear every word that he said but I was determined for my voice to be louder. I didn’t even notice the driver who had fixed his tyre and was now staring at us in shock.

‘If you didn’t waste all that time-’

I didn’t let the words drop out of his mouth. I had heard enough. ‘If I had not wasted time?! We had no time! I didn’t waste any time, you wasted our entire lives!’, I shouted back at him.

He was dumbstruck. I could see in his warm eyes that my words hurt, and I would have taken it back if it wasn’t the truth.

‘You wasted your life’, he said quietly and returned to the car.

For a moment, I could not lift my feet to move from the spot where I stood. Finally, I walked to the car in silence. Raising my head up, holding those tears in because this was not the time or place. Again in silence, we finished our trip, arriving at the airport just as our plane took off.

Standing outside the airport, surrounded by a crowd, I felt so small, so alone, so broken.

I stood still as he rolled his box forward into the building. He took a few steps before he realised that I wasn’t next to him. When he did notice, he stopped and looked back, he stared at me, for the first time, knowing my thoughts without hearing my words, for the first time, seeing the tears that formed in my eyes roll down my cheeks.

I smiled silently as I often did. He did nothing, allowing his tears to fall too.

I turned back taking nothing, as I came with nothing, and entered the car that brought us. I sat in and could not take my eyes away from its safe space, out the window, looking at my husband, my home. Where is home, if not with him? As we drove out of sight, the driver said, ‘I’m sorry you missed your flight’.

In tears, with a broken heart, I said, ‘We were never going to make it’.


Emmie wished the butterfly feeling in the pit of her stomach didn’t exist. She was doing everything in her power to calm her nerves. Deep breathing, counting the floating leaves on the river and constantly reassuring herself.

Standing in the middle of the park, she forced her feet to remain glued to the cobblestones. To her right, an old tire dangled from a massive oak tree, whose leaves had fallen, creating a blanket of gold and orange surrounding her. To her left, the river that ran through the middle of the park, still had a few stray ducks, but most had left for a warmer climate.

They had agreed to meet here at the tire swing, so she would stay put.

Maybe he was late?

No, he wasn’t. Emmie was early.

Was he at a different location? Was she in the wrong place?

No, there was only one tire swing in the whole park, that’s why she had chosen this spot.

Emmie pulled out her phone and checked their previous conversation one more time, just to be sure. Yep. Meet at the only tire swing in the whole park.

Suddenly grateful for the cool autumn air, Emmie flushed with unnecessary embarrassment at her own anxiety.

Stop it, you’re being stupid , she chided herself.

Slowly spinning, Emmie surveyed the area not for the first time. There was no sign of the tall, handsome man.

Flickering on the water caught her eye.

Expecting to see a duck swimming between the fallen oak tree leaves, Emmie stifled a gasp when instead she saw her own reflection waving hysterically at her.

She blinked and the reflection returned to normal. Was she hallucinating? Slowly she raised her hand. The reflection mirrored her movement. Great, she thought, I’m so nervous I'm seeing things.

“Emmie!”

She spun, jumping in surprise.

“Emmett! Hi, you scared me,” she said as the tall man approached her. Emmett wore a university jacket and a beanie which left his long hair peeking out the sides and back. She liked his long hair, but with the weather getting colder, she couldn’t blame him for choosing a hat…even if it wrecked his perfect hair. He gave her a lopsided grin, a dimple appearing. “I noticed. I didn’t mean to startle you, but you seemed to be really focused on something.” He glanced towards the river.

“Oh,” she waved a hand, suddenly sweating despite the cool air. “Sorry about that, just admiring the scenery. I like to draw, and was kinda inspired.”

All of her drawings consisted of stick men. But there was no way she could admit that she might have possibly seen her own reflection move on its own. Emmie wasn’t sure if it had been real.

His face lit up. “Thats cool. Do you only draw scenery stuff or people too?”

“Um..” Crap. “I’m really not that good. I don’t show anybody my stuff.” That ought to work. His smile never wavered. “Nah, you’re just being humble.”

She let out a nervous laugh and gestured to the path. “Well, shall we?”

He nodded and the two started walking along the path that ran alongside the river.

“You know,” Emmett began, “I almost didn’t agree to this.”

“Oh? How come?” He hates me. He shrugged, sheepishly staring at his foot as he kicked a rock. “Nothing against you, I just normally don’t go on dates with girls recommended by friends.”

Emmie tilted her head up at him. “Why am I different?”

He smiled, his dimple appearing again. “Emmett. Emmie. Emmett and Emmie, I don’t know. It’s kinda dumb, but I couldn’t pass up on a girl named Emmie.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I guess it is cool how that worked out.” After a pause she added, “So what do you like to do for fun?”

Having fought off the urge for this long, Emmie’s gaze shifted past Emmett and to the river. The many leaves and reeds shifted under the current of the water and her reflection waved frantically at her.

Her toe snagged and she teetered forward. She caught herself, and Emmett, who had been answering her question, saw she was alright and kept talking.

“...so there's the kill streak and my buddy got to over two hundred.”

She didn’t remember hearing which video game he was talking about so instead of asking, she smiled and nodded at him.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how many I got?” Emmett prompted.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry! How many did you get?”

“Five hundred and thirty-two,” he said proudly. “Wow, thats…a lot.” Emmie heard herself respond but her eyes landed past him and on the water again.

“Yeah,” he continued, “The trick is…”

His words fell on deaf ears as she stared at her reflection that was waving hysterically at her. The scarf had half fallen and was her mouth moving? Emmie’s hands moved to her own scarf, and the reflection snapped back to normal. Her scarf remained snuggly tucked around her neck.

“...then he strangled the grandma! It was too funny.” Emmett laughed as he finished whatever story he just told. Emmie laughed with him though she had no idea why.

“Hey, are you hungry?” Emmett asked. “I know this place-” “Yes!” Anything to get away from the river.

“Sweet!” He grinned and both dimples appeared this time. Wow, he’s cute. Why can’t I just focus on his face and not the stupid river reflection thing? “You’ll like it, it’s got a lot of paintings and stuff. Scenery stuff too,” Emmett said. “Huh? Oh, right! Yeah, that sounds cool.” Right, he still thought she drew. He led the way off the path and vaulted into another story of how he and his friends first found the place. Emmie tried her best to listen. Earnestly listen. But she couldn’t shake the image of her reflection nor the sudden hole in her gut. Maybe she just needed some food; she hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast. Yeah, that was it! Once she had some food in her belly she’d be able to enjoy this date and actually listen- oh crap, his story ! “...So there we were, ‘proving a point’ to the guy. Wow, he was basically pissing his pants! It wasn’t until later…” Emmett kept talking, and looking at his surroundings. Emmie had to take longer strides to match his pace. The two entered the marketplace of the city park, and the trail turned to cobblestone. Cute shops and Cafes lined the small street with patios and chairs. Ice cream and souvenir shops. It was quiet, but that was expected this time of year.

As they walked, Emmie caught sight of her reflection in the glass window. She was clearer now, and silently screaming. Emmie tried to make out the words.

Mop, urine gray..swim? That made no sense!

“Here we are!” Emmett announced, opening a door and stepping inside.

Emmie stepped in after him and immediately stopped in her tracks as dread filled her to her toes.

“Huh,” said Emmett. “I guess they switched it up. No more scenery paintings.”

Mirrors littered the walls. Tall and thin, short and wide. Square, circle or triangle. Ones with gold, silver and wooden frames. Even a few with no frames.

Emmie was bombarded with her reflection, all waving hysterically at her.

The barista from behind the counter called, “Welcome to the Reflection Cafe! What can I get you?”

Emmett placed a hand on Emmie’s shoulder, gently pulling her forward. Emmie had never wanted to run away so badly in her entire life.

“I’ll have the…” Emmett began.

As Emmett peered at the menu, Emmie tried desperately to not stare at one of her reeflections, and failed miserably.

Her reflections had blue lips and her skin seemed to be turning gray. Was it always like that? Had she not noticed it on the river? Or was her reflection evolving into something worse? She kept waving towards the door and shouting at her, though her voice was muted to silence.

“The tuna sandwich and a coffee,” Emmett finally ordered. “Emmie? What do you want?”

She jerked. “Oh, I'll have herbal tea, please. If you have any.” Something calming. “I’m sorry, we just ran out. But I've got earl gray or chai.”

“Chai, please.” Why did I say chai? I hate chai. Emmett reached into his pocket, paused then patted down all of his other pockets. “Um, this is awkward. I think I forgot my wallet.” “It’s okay,” Emmie said and stepped forward. She didn’t have the energy to care who paid at this point.

She pulled out her wallet, and went to tap. Her gaze landed on the mirror behind the barista and this time fully expecting to see her freakish reflection managed to keep a straight face.

Emmett took a step towards her, his reflection falling into the mirror.

Her reflection recoiled from his..

“Thanks, by the way,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

Emmie watched his image in the mirror as he spoke and then whipped her head to look at him. Normal. He was normal. Smiling that cute, dimpled smile. She felt sick.

“Bathroom,” she blurted out. “I’ll be right back.”

Bile caught in her throat, she couldn’t move fast enough. She refused to be the person who vomited on a first date. In the bathroom, she splashed water on her face and gripped the sink with white knuckles.

Eyes closed she muttered under her breath, “You’re seeing things, Emmie. You’re hungry and this is probably a side effect of the new meds you’re taking. No big deal. Emmett does not have a forked tongue. You are seeing things. You will open your eyes and see your normal, panicked self and you’ll be alright.”

She snapped her eyes open only to immediately jerk away from the sink. She was back. Blue lips, sunken eyes, gray skin and scarf coiled around her neck. Only this time she wasn’t screaming, but her blue lips carefully mouthing words.

“Stop…Run..away from….him?” Emmie whispered the words her reflection had been trying to say.

A different feeling of sickness hit her and she felt cold. She shook her head. “No. No. No, he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

Not wanting to argue with a reflection, Emmie stepped out of the bathroom and marched herself back to where Emmett sat. “Hey,” he said as she approached. “Better?”

Apparently she had taken so long their orders were on the table.

“Yeah, I think..” Emmie paused as she noticed the lid on her cup wasn't fully sealed and a few drops of chai tea spotted the table. Emmetts spoon lay on his napkin, soaking the thin material.

It could be his coffee, but the feeling in her gut told her otherwise. The reflection in the mirror gave her a knowing look, crossing her arms.

“...I don’t think I feel well. I’m sorry but I should go,” she finally said.

“Oh, that sucks. Um, here at least have your drink.” He stood up, handing it to her. The unsealed lid slipped off, clattering to the floor.

“No thanks, I’ve lost my appetite.” Emmie inched toward the door.

“If it’s that bad, at least let me drive you home-”

“No, it’s okay, I don't want to leave my car here.” Almost there. “Come one, Emmie. We barely got to know one another. At least stay for your drink.” She caught the look in his eye and the realization of the truth terrified her more than the reflection had.

“I’m sure. Bye!” she leapt out the door before he could say another word.

He did not follow. Neither did her poisoned reflection.