Bing! The clone bay clings completion as you tumble out onto the floor, naked and glistening. According to Star Fleet regulations, a clone may only be regrown if the previous variation of its life form has perished. So. Your former self has died. You wipe the clone gunk out of your eyes and take hold of your situation. Fire. The room is fire. And worse than that - the air is more smoke and carbon than anything breathable. The oxygen generators must be down! Using your new arms and legs for the first time you stand up hastily, shakily, and break for the life support room on the far side of your pirate vessel. Each chamber is a worse level of hell. More fire. Less oxygen. Your skin bubbles from the flames while your lungs burn from starvation. Bing! You hear the clone bay spitting out one of your hapless crewmates into the inferno that is your ship. You're by the oxygen generator now. The charred remains of your team lay slumped against it - all unable to reset the delicate functions before the life seeped from their ravaged bodies. No time to think. You pry your own blistered previous remains off the display pad and try to reboot the system. Far across the ship, through the thin atmosphere, you hear it. Bing! Your fingers are fumbling, weak and burnt. Your eyes are glazing over as the lack of oxygen and waves of pain wash over you. You collapse. Darkness. Bing! You open your eyes for the first time. You're naked and glistening in a pool of clone gunk on the floor. Through the thick smoke, the emergency lights flicker, illuminating a wet path from the clone machine out the door towards the oxygen generator. Strange. According to Star Fleet regulations, a clone may only be regrown if the previous variation of the life form has perished. So, your former self has died. You try and breathe but your new lungs are empty and you're drowning from the lack of air. The oxygen generator must be down! You break for the life support room and follow the wet path of clone gunk but you're already weak and groggy. As you stumble down the corridor there's evidence of a great blaze. Struggling for whatever air remains you greedily gulp down lungfuls of fresh, acrid smoke. The fire that once raged (when?) left behind blackened walls, broken technology, and charred corpses. The world is starting to swim as you enter the life support chamber, and you stop, disgusted and afraid. You try and scream but can't. The wall of the interface is blocked by a pile of copy-pasted bodies. One of them, barely alive, falls to the ground and turns to look you in the eye and all you can see is terror as they twitch and pass away. In the distance, the clone bay continues to do its job. Bing! Oh god oh god oh god need air need to turn on the life support what happened why is it like this must run damn these weak muscles! Ahead, the corridor is blocked. A sea of bodies, waist-high. Down the other corridor then it's further but no choice no choice no choice please god don't be blocked! The alternative door to the life support room doesn't respond to your attempts to open it. Burnt out. Broken. Unwilling to budge. Curse this death, too quick to save yourself, too slow to spare you the agony of each cell in your body shutting down. A pistol on the floor? Make it quick. Bing! Where's the air? No air? Where's the air? What was that? An explosion? God, there were so many bodies blocking your way to the life support room. Back down the other corridor then. Around the corner to more death, dozens of more clones lying lifeless and naked on the floor. But these are different, these all are missing half their skulls. No air, but there's a pistol on the floor and brain matter dripping down the walls. Why did none of them try and open the door at the end of the corridor? Bing! You'll never know it, but the Federation ship that disabled yours left hours ago when they jumped to the next beacon.


My sister, Kelly, said, “Close your eyes, and imagine you’re in dreamland. It’s a magical place where unicorns bound free, and mermaids swim in the deep blue ocean while playing with their dolphin friends.” While clenching my eyes, I tried to picture dreamland, but I knew that wherever we were was not even close to being dreamland and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t convince myself that it was. I didn’t know where we were or even how we got here and for a second, it seemed like we were in a frozen over hell. It was completely dark, I could barely see a few feet ahead of me, and it was chilly enough that I was shivering. *I don’t want to be here*, I thought. ‘*I know,’* Kelly answered, ‘*I don’t either. I want to go back home. How in the hell did we get here?’* I didn’t know how to answer her question and all I could think of was how Kelly and I were happily playing in our basement before all this happened. Kelly, while searching for Christmas wrapping paper that Mom had asked her to find, had found her old box of Barbie dolls that she collected when she was a preteen. She came back upstairs with the box of wrapping paper and gave it to Mom. Kelly looked to where I was sitting on the den floor and came over to me. I was playing Super Mario Bros. on my brand-new Nintendo Nes, which was an early Christmas present because I got all A’s on my midterms. Kelly sat down next to me and asked me if I wanted to play with the Barbies she found. She had her hair in a side ponytail with a hot pink scrunchie holding it up. She was wearing her favorite oversized Madonna sweatshirt with a pair of leggings and a mini skirt. She looked amazing as always unlike me, and I smiled at her. I was wearing a Metallica sweatshirt and acid wash jeans with so many holes that it couldn’t possibly be pretty like Kelly’s mini skirt. I wasn’t a big fan of Barbie dolls anymore because I was 14 and had outgrown them, but since Kelly was usually away at college and only came home for holidays, I said yes to her and followed her downstairs. Kelly shook me from my daydream and said, “Ok, no more daydreaming for you. We must buckle down and find a way out of this horrible place. Alice, I promise you we will.” I said, “Ok, but how? One moment we were playing with your old dolls and the next we wake up here in this hell. I want my mom.” I started to tear up a bit and she looked at me pitifully. She then knelt down next to where I was sitting on the floor and gave me a big hug. She answered with, “I know, sweetie, but everything is gonna be alright and if we are going to find a way out of here, we will have to work together. I understand that you’re scared and cold, but I’m here with you and I promise to protect you, ok?” I nodded while the tears swelled and made my eyes as red as a rose. I remembered being told that my sister was always protective of me even when I was a baby and she was eight years old. She was always there to catch me if I fell. I was bullied a whole ton throughout junior high and Kelly was there when I needed a shoulder to cry on. Therefore, I believed her when she said she’d protect me. I stood up, still a bit unsure about how exactly we’d find our way out of here, but I trusted Kelly and I knew she would never let me down. She wiped my tears away and thought, ‘*What would Magnum do?’* knowing that I loved Magnum P.I. and that watching his shows always cheered me up. I answered aloud cheerfully as if I had forgotten for a sec where we were, “I think he would investigate and find clues in his own way, of course. Let’s do that.” “Wait, did you just read my thoughts?” Kelly questioned. “What? I thought you asked me what Magnum would do.” “No, I asked myself in my head.” It then clicked with both of us what had happened. Our eyes met and we, in unison, said, “It must be Telepathy. We can read each other’s thoughts. So bitchin’.” Kelly grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the darkness. I couldn’t see anything or hear anything for that matter. ‘*Do you see anything?’* I thought. Kelly answered, ‘*No, nothing. I can’t...’* She stopped mid-sentence and before I knew what was happening, she fell and pulled me down with her. We kept falling and falling. I didn’t think it would stop until I saw a vast hole of light at the bottom. I braced for a hard impact, but once we got to the hole, we stopped falling and a flood of light surrounded us. Kelly and I gently fell, as if we were feathers, into a colorful room and heard children laughing. I landed on my squishy bum and Kelly landed softly next to me. She stood up while stretched her hand out to me and I grabbed it. She then pulled me up. *‘Where are we?’* I thought. Kelly answered, ‘*I don’t know.’* Two boys came out of another room and ran right past us while flying toy planes in their hands. I asked the boys, “Hey, do you two know where we are?” But they didn’t answer me. I walked up to one of the boys and waved my hand in front of his face. He didn’t even flinch. He ran right towards me and went straight through me as if I was mist. I looked towards Kelly and her face was white as snow like she had just seen a ghost. A raspy voice called out to me, “Save these kids or you both will spend an eternity with me in hell.” I then felt the icy cold fingers of death on my shoulder, and I blanked out. When I woke up, I smelled smoke and started coughing because the smoke was as thick as pea soup. I noticed that I was in my basement, again, but somehow it was darker than a moonless night. The smell was overwhelming, and I collapsed onto the basement floor. I used all my strength to call out for Kelly, but I didn’t hear anything back. So, I called again. Kelly came crawling up to me. She looked me in the eyes and said, “Everything will be ok. Someone will rescue us.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight. “Alice, are you ok?” brought me out of my trance. “Yeah, I am ok, but I think we’re dead, Kelly. It would explain everything. It would be why no one can see us or hear us.” Tears filled my eyes. Kelly said, “But… But we can’t be dead. I want to finish college and I want to see you graduate high school. It’s not fair.” Kelly then noticed I was crying and wiped my tears away. Kelly gave me a smile and said, “It’s ok, Alice. I shouldn’t be complaining as I need to be your big sister and help you. I can’t be selfish and think only about myself. I love you, little sister.” I stopped crying and said, “I love you, too, big sister. Also, a voice told me ‘Save these kids or you both will spend an eternity with me in hell.’ Do you know what that means?” Kelly shook her head and said, “An eternity? That’s a long time. I say we do what it said too, ok?” I nodded in agreement. I then heard the cute kid laughter again and began to walk towards it. Kelly followed behind me. I moved to another room which reminded of me of a playroom, but it was different somehow. I saw two little girls playing with Barbies. One girl had brown hair in two pigtails and the other was a blond with hair in a ponytail. They both were wearing summer dresses. “Aww…” slipped out of my mouth. The little girl with brown hair looked up and saw us. The blond just kept playing with the Barbies. The brown-haired girl ran up towards us and said, “Hi, my name is Abby. What are your names?” *‘Can she see us?’* Kelly thought. *‘I think so, Kelly.’* I answered. *‘Well, answer her and ask her where we are.’* *‘Ok, I will. Hold your horses.’* I rolled my eyes at Kelly. I smiled and answered Abby, “Hi, Abby. My name is Alice, and this is my sister, Kelly. How old are you and can you tell us where we are?” Abby gave us a huge grin and said, “I’m 8 and you guys are in my basement, silly. Come meet my twin, Angie.” “Ok, I would love to meet your sister.” I said and looked at her sister who has happily playing with her dolls. I went up to Angie. I knelt down beside her and said, “Hello, Angie. My name is Alice, and this is my sister, Kelly.” Angie didn’t even look up at me as if she couldn’t hear me. ‘*I don’t think Angie can hear or see us, Kelly.’,* I thought. *‘I don’t think she can, too. Maybe only Abby can see us’* Kelly answered me. Abby intervened and said, “Angie, remember what Mom said about what you should when a grown-up says hi to you. You can’t ignore them.” Angie looked up at Abby, “What grown-ups? You and I are the only people in here.” Abby got frustrated and yelled at Angie, “Alice is right in front of you and Kelly is standing behind her!” “No one is there. They are just imaginary friends. Either play with me or go somewhere else.” Angie yelled back. Abby, who apparently has a temper, said, “Fine, I’m leaving, and my friends are going with me.” She tried to grab my hand, but her hand went right through mine. Abby froze and asked me, “Are you and Kelly really imaginary?” Abby broke down into a crying fest. I reassured her and said, “No, Abby, sweetie, we are ghosts. We were alive once like you are now, but no longer are. I think we are here for a reason. By the way, what year is it?” Abby wiped her tears away and said, “It’s 2017.” My eyes widened. I thought to Kelly, ‘*It’s 2017. God, how many years is that? I remember it being 1985.’* Kelly answered, ‘*It’s been 32 years. I’ve be 54 if I was alive. Wow, no wrinkles for me, I guess. And you would be 46.’* Kelly always knew how to look on the bright side of any situation. I loved that about her. I decided to tell Abby, who was staring right at me, “Wow, Abby, we’re from 1985.” “Oh, that explains why you look like the people from my mom’s college pictures from the 80’s.” Abby snickered. A familiar smell pressed itself into my nose and I knew exactly what it was; It was smoke, my old enemy and where there is smoke, there is always a fire. “We have to get out of this house right now. Abby grab your sister’s hand and do whatever you have to do to get her out, ok? I smell smoke and I know that means there is a fire somewhere.” I said. Abby said, “I smell it, too. Ok, Angie, let’s go. I heard mom call us.” Angie sighed and said, “Fine, I’m coming.” Abby told me, “Wait, what about my brothers? Lucas and Mikel are playing with their planes down here.” I looked down at her and said, “Ok, let’s find them quickly and get out of here.” Kelly, Abby, Angie, and I looked for Lucas and Mikel. We couldn’t find them, and we hoped that they were upstairs safe. The basement was filling with smoke and we could barely see. We raced up the stairs as fast as we could. Luckily, everyone got upstairs, but we weren’t in the clear, yet. We had to get outside before the fire consumed the whole house, but as soon as Kelly and I reached the door, we both heard, “Good job, but I will be back to test you again.” A bright light reached out to us and we walked towards it as if it was calling us. I saw Grandma and Poppop. I yelled for them and sprinted straight towards them. Kelly quickly followed behind. They gave us a big hug and said, “Welcome home.


Thompson stared at the dead rat as if his life depended on it while trying to go back to sleep. The truth is his life didn’t depend on it but he just felt like taking his mind off of certain things. The letter he got from Laura that evening didn’t go very well and he just didn’t want to think about it so instead he just stared blankly at a rat that had the misfortune of dying not even a few paces from his bunk. It was just then that his concentration was broken when Goodwin stumbled into the bombproof and spoke with a tired expression “Thompson you’re up on Pickett duty man wake the fuck up” Thompson then glanced up and grabbed his things and shoved the letter into his pocket. He had forgotten he had picket duty tonight after he got done reading his mail and as a result he was unprepared as he grabbed his rifle and put on his boots and coat. “Sorry I got distracted, anyways who am I on duty with tonight?”. However his words had fallen on deaf ears as Goodwin was already laying in his bunk with his boots still on his feet leaving him to figure it out for himself. To those who don’t know Pickett duty is both the most stressful and boring tasking that command could ever devise. It would involve two men to sit in a rifle pit on the firing line at night and watch for stragglers trying to cross no man’s land from the Ticonderogan lines and every night men would rotate said duty. Thompson thought about this as he slogged his way through the trench past a few more sentries either getting off shift or getting on until he found it. Howard paid him no mind as Thompson crawled into the rifle pit because he was nearly coughing his heart out as he was. Thompson set his rifle down beside him and spoke in a hushed voice. “Hey you good over there?” Howard proceeded to cough for several more minutes until he stopped “Yeah I’m fine man.” Thompson then sighed. “Good. I don’t need anyone else dying on me today”. Thompson said as he rubbed his hands. To this Howard felt compelled to ask. “Did something happen?” Thompson sniffled in the cold spring air. “Yeah I’m fine.. I just got some bad news today from home that’s all”. “Mail call always has that effect on people”. Howard said. “I hope you find some good news soon.” The notion made Thompson smile and felt compelled to ask in turn “So did you get any good news today?” Howard then replied in turn “yeah I did. My son was born today actually.” Thompson’s sadness returned again “congratulations” he said in a bitter tone “Any ideas for names?” Howard asked “Stephanie was thinking of Bill or George”. Thompson added “how about Robert?” Howard seemed to agree “yeah I like that one. Robert, it has a charm to it”. Thompson only nodded “yeah it did”. Thompson didn’t like to suggest his dead sons name but it would suit someone else better than him. A quietness engulfed the two men before Howard spoke again. “Hey Thompson do you believe in the afterlife? I mean Heaven and Hell and whatnot”. Thompson paused for a moment to reflect as he rubbed his eyes. “Yeah I do why?” “Nothing it’s just something I think about every now and then”. They then spent the next several hours talking about anything and everything they could think about and when they couldn’t think of anything more to talk about they talked some more. They spent all night memorizing the scenery before them which wasn’t much. The only notable feature before them was the ruins of an old log cabin that must have burned down before the siege. Every so often he thought he saw something moving at the base of it but reassured himself it was nothing. The shuffling of Goodwin’s boots in the mud broke the silence and he spoke “morning gentlemen. See anything interesting?” Thompson spoke as Howard became unusually quiet “nothing but rocks that look like sappers”. Goodwin then kicked Howard to wake him “hey get up I’m relieving you early so you can get someone to look at that cough old man”. There was then a breif pause when Goodwin kicked him again “hey I said get u-“ however Thompson spoke in his defense “hey give him a minute he’s had a long night”. It was at this point that Goodwin knelt down and said some words that made Thompson’s blood run cold “he’s dead”. To this Thompson glanced over and saw him roll Howard’s frozen corpse over and he saw his frozen eyes stare into Thompson’s. “That’s.. that’s not true I was talking to him all night last night” Thompson said. Goodwin then nodded “you were talking to a dead man Thompson.. maybe you should get some sleep instead”.


As the family of five made their way to the beach, the sun shone brightly, and the waves crashed on the coast. The grandfather, a man in his eighties, walked behind his daughter, son-in-law, and two granddaughters, admiring the beauty of the tropical paradise where they were on vacation. The family had been looking forward to this trip for months and were eager to spend quality time together. Dark clouds began to move in as they settled into their beach chairs and relaxed. The wind increased, and soon a storm raged over them. The family immediately packed their belongings and fled to the nearest shelter, but the grandfather and his youngest granddaughter, a young woman in her twenties, separated from the rest of the family in the chaos. The two huddled together behind a little makeshift shelter, watching the storm rage on. The grandfather put on a brave face as he saw his granddaughter's concern and tried to distract her with conversation. "You've been buried in your phone for most of the vacation," Grandfather observed, looking into his granddaughter's eyes. "I want you to know I love you and am here for you." The young woman nodded, tears running down her cheeks. "I know, Grandpa," she said. "I've just been trying to get over my last relationship. I had a lot invested, and I can't move on from the hurt and anger I feel." The grandfather was all too aware. He had spent most of his life holding grudges and resentments, and it wasn't until he was much older that he learned how important it was to let go in order to move forward. "It's difficult to let go," he admitted. "Most people's mistakes have no long-term consequences; if we can let go of that first pain, we may be able to move on with our lives right away. On the other hand, we never do; we focus on what has occurred in the past. As a result, we sacrifice our own future." "I don't want to get hurt again." The grandfather shared that vulnerability was required for growth and that recognizing flaws might strengthen a relationship. "You limit the chance to experience joy if you cannot be vulnerable." "I want to move on, but everything reminds me of what could have been." He emphasized the importance of dealing with the present moment and shifting one's perspective rather than being absorbed in negative thoughts and feelings. "When you look inward and be present in your life, the memory fades and is distracted by living." "I don't want to get out of bed in the morning. I've spent the last five years sacrificing, investing time, and tying my entire identity as a person around what may have been. Now I'm left with nothing, and the clock keeps ticking." The granddaughter listened closely as the grandfather talked about his own challenges and the methods he used to overcome them, such as unconditional love for oneself, active love for others, and focusing on the reality of the present rather than the fantasy of the future. He also warned against the tendency to avoid discomfort. "Negative emotions will arise; it's part of the human condition; don't ignore them; instead, think on, feel, learn, and release them." "Life is nothing but suffering, unending uncertainty, and risk." The grandfather pointed out the importance of connections and self-awareness in achieving happiness. He encouraged his granddaughter to take ownership of her life and meet new people since they symbolize growth. "I've never told anyone, but I write to get to know my unconscious. This is where those negative thoughts can be found. Your brain is quite good at tricking you, setting traps, and getting lost in past hardships. Writing helped me to boost my self-esteem and shift my thinking in a positive direction." "I had everything I ever wanted, though; now it's gone, and I'll never have it back. The saddest part is that it's entirely my fault; I'm the one who destroyed my ideal life." The grandfather spoke about the illusion of a perfect life and the importance of focusing on the present and taking action rather than searching for an idealistic sense of purpose. "Happiness is gained in accepting that we will never know everything and that life is a journey rather than a goal or a moment to be reached. Once you've arrived at that point, the issue is that it's never as fulfilling as you had imagined, which can only lead to despair." What began as an attempt to distract his granddaughter from the storm evolved into a confessional from a man who had lived a long life and accumulated truths along the way. The grandfather would not make it home from that vacation; his body couldn't survive the stress that mother nature unleashed. His granddaughter remembered the philosophical truisms that her grandfather taught her that day. Still, these lessons can only be gained through living, working, and experiencing. There are no shortcuts; you must do the work.


We all have plans, right? We want our lives to be the way we wanted. But hardly ever that happens! “I am really worried about you dear. How long are you going to do this job?” My mom’s voice was quiet and heavy. She has been this way since I left my hometown. I know she doesn't like this. She always wanted me to start my own business in Nashville but I wanted to start a new life in a big city. I am from a small town and I do love my place, but when you want to finish your debt as fast as possible, a big city like Brooklyn only comes to my mind. I just want to get rid of this debt as fast as possible. “You are hearing me, right?” When we grow up, our mom thinks we are still in school. She worries the same way she used to when I would leave for school, which was a five-minute ride from home. “Sorry, mom. I am at work,” I said as I wore my apron. I hate this because it's so tight, and sometimes I cannot breathe. It has my name and the cafe’s name on it. It's custom-made in rose gold color. Whenever mom asks me how long I am going to do this, I seriously don’t have an answer. Getting a job is easy here. But a job that will pay all my bills? It's really hard. It’s been three months and I am still stuck at this job. “I have started sending my application. So fingers crossed.” I stacked the dishes and waited for my order to arrive. I have a morning shift here at A Cup Of Joy. It's 7 am and I have not yet had my coffee. “Mom, are you there?” I stopped my work and waited for her to reply. When I was in Nashville, it was easy to look after her. I know she is not old yet. She married quite young and she is in her early 40s now but still, if she doesn't pick up my call, I’ll be calling my neighbor to check on her. She is active and in good health but sometimes I worry about her. I never thought I would have to leave her alone like that. “Yes, yes. I am okay.” I heard the door open. It's old and makes a squeaky sound. It’s scary when you are alone in the house and it's raining outside. I still have memories of living alone at my place. Many people in Nashville always used to ask me and my mom about how we lived in this old house all by ourselves. They think it's haunted but actually, we never felt that way. I have stayed a good 20 years of my life there and it's the best place I know. “Mom?” I could hear some voices in the background. I think she is talking to someone. We live in an amicable neighborhood. It’s a very common thing to visit each other’s place throughout the day. I am not surprised that she had a visitor at this time of the day. “It's Miles here. He came to help me out in the garden. You wanna talk?” I bit my lips because it makes me nervous to talk to him after the incident. It’s been so long since the last time we talked. Although I have known him throughout my life, the incident back then is making me nervous. “Hey hi, Josie.” His voice was looking normal now. “Hey, how are you?” I asked, trying to be as normal as possible. “Fine… actually really okay now. Better than before.” He was as nervous as I was. He was hesitant to talk to me. “My mom’s still there, right?” I know when my mom is around, we can't talk openly. “Yeah, yup.” He paused for a while. “Hey, is Lizzy there?” he asked. I almost forgot that Lizzy hasn't updated her relationship status yet. “She has got a boyfriend here, Miles. I am sorry.” “Oh wow!” He gave out a short laugh. “The world is moving faster than I expected. And here I am still in the same place.” I feel sorry for him. I feel sorry for him. “Hey, Josie. Would you mind taking my place? I have to drop Ben to school?” I looked back and Ava was cleaning some stains from her apron. Her name was written in Purple sparkle. “Yeah sure. Hey Miles, would you mind if I call you later?” “Yeah. No problem.” “Tell mom I’ll call her tomorrow. It's my holiday.” “Okay, I’ll tell her. Goodbye, Josie.” “Take care, Miles. I hope things will turn out in your favor this time.” “I hope that for you too, Josie.


Sometimes Sometimes I like to imagine myself taking a train. I don’t know where this train will take me, it doesn’t really matter. But I know that, for time I am on that train, nothing matters. Nothing I do can change where the train will arrive and it will arrive when it needs to and where it needs to. Maybe there are other people on this train, but I don’t care. I will never meet them again we are just passing one another and that is ok. We recognise each other as humans, there is no judgement in their eyes or mine. Maybe a few times my gazing eyes will meet another pair and for a few seconds as we look at one another there is an understanding that we are on the same ride together and we will arrive at our stop wherever that may be. Though the seats next to me are often empty, sometimes other passengers come up to me and ask if the seats are free of course it is always fine. I enjoy having the entire seat to myself, but it’s no good staying like that all the time. I can always learn something from the other passengers if I really listen to them and when they leave me I am never the person I was before. I’d like to think that some of the other passengers feel the same way after listening to me and the next person that listens to them might listen to me a little bit as well, just as many other passengers speak though me and after some time it’s like the entire train can listen to each other everywhere at the same time. The view from my window is really nice. The train doesn’t drive to fast so you always have enough time to take in the scenery. It might feel a bit repetitive, but in the moments where I look outside I’m always surprised at how much is out there. Sometimes I ask myself, why I always forget to look outside the window and I promise myself that I do it more often, but the train has a way of pulling you back inside. Sometimes we drive trough a tunnel and with the outside is pitch black suddenly all you see looking out is the reflection of the inside and before you know it that’s all you are interested in. I have to admit that I think about leaving the train every now and then. The rattling of the trains wheels on the tracks can sometimes be to much especially when the underground gets rough and bumpy. When the noise gets to loud to even sleep or talk or listen. And the tunnel becomes so long that you start to forget the view from the window. Getting out at the next station would certainly make the noise stop. No more dark tunnels. No more bumps. It does sound nice doesn’t it? But then I think of all the sometimes. The view outside my window. Listening to the people next to me. Or even a silent understanding that all the passengers on the train drive over the same bumps and through the same dark tunnels, but they didn’t leave the train they stayed and the train kept going for some time longer.


There was this tree, it was a different tree, it wasn’t brown and green and it wasn’t shaped like a tree, but if you asked if it was a tree, it would respond with yes. This tree is said to have lived before time itself. How does something like this exist before time? My name is Theodore Windcaller, about myself well I live in a house that overlooks the ocean, I was told that if i didn’t move I would die due to the house falling into the ocean, I can't just leave the Tree still calls out to me in the night and when I talk to the tree it speaks back to me not in words but in emotion. Do you ever look at a painting and only have a feeling for it and no words, well that's what I feel when the Tree talks. I like a bit of jazz and classical music in the morning, as I get dressed in a patchy suit and wonder about the fields that I inherent from my mother, I don’t normally talk to alot of people, I do have a friend that comes around ever so often, his name is glasses, due to him being blind as a bat if he didn’t have glasses. I have a confession to make about my fiend Glasses, I killed his father on accident, I was out hunting by myself in the morning and i thought i saw a deer, but it was no deer, it was a grumpy old man that was walking in the forest, he saw me and threatened to kill me right then and there, I was so scared that I pulled the trigger. He died roughly 5 minutes after that, So now I live alone. Glasses knows about what I did and he comes by once and while asking me if I still had the gun I say no and he keeps quiet, Sadly his father was abusive to him and his brother. But that is about it for my life now it's time to solve this question the tree gives me. In 1941 a young man named Douglas Walker joined the infantry regiment for the U.S Army during the second world war, he lasted only a couple of months, he died from a bullet to the chest. The feeling of waking up to the sounds of the ocean and a clear sky is unbeatable in this realm. Bread with garlic, wine with cheese and jazz with dancing are things that every human can enjoy. The tree speaks with feeling and not with actual words, it takes every bad feeling you have and every good feeling you have and creates a story that is so in depth it messes with your mind and makes me see things that just don't exist. Douglas Walker was a smart boy, he was top of his class in highschool and was a chess champ in his town. Douglas wanted to become a writer of novels, he loved action books with romance. Douglas was writing his first novel when he was drafted for war. The book was about a man that could only feel intense emotion for everything around him, no matter how small it might have been.


“Well,” Adam scoffed. “This is a surprise.” Julia took him in. In truth, she didn’t want to break up with him, but she knew he wanted to break up with her. Actually, he didn’t want to break up with her, and that was the problem. He wanted her to break up with him, and he wanted her to know that and end their relationship while he pretended that he was being dumped out of the blue. Relationships are tricky things, especially when they involve men. And extra especially when they involve men like Adam. Adam was the kind of guy who called himself an ardent atheist but Julia believed would more truthfully identify himself as *raised catholic.* There are many men in the world who were raised catholic, and Julia did not begrudge any of them on the basis of their upbringing, but it was the devout ex-Catholics, the zealots, that she had grown to be wary of. They tipped their hand when they called themselves atheists without being asked, or specified that they only had a problem with “organized religion.” What they were really saying was “I had to wake up early every Sunday and do something boring and I still haven’t forgiven my bitch mom for not letting me watch cartoons.” They escaped the more heinous abuses that a boy might have suffered as a congregant, but they were told masturbating was a sin and they couldn’t have cheeseburgers on Fridays. In their eyes, the adults perpetrating those mistreatments might as well have been kiddie diddlers, and they relished the church’s scandals as evidence of their khaki-clad childhood struggles. A decade of dating had taught Julia that while you could take the altar boy out of the church, you couldn’t extract a lifetime’s worth of new testament values from a grown man. These guys could rail all they wanted about the abominable apostasy, but they would always be a former faithful, and there was no honor held in higher regard than victimhood. They could cover themselves with tattoos and piercings, kiss their college roommate, and paste anarchy stickers on their MacBook pro, but deep down they still strove to be a lamb. They would never unlearn the saintly virtue of meekness. Adam wanted to break up, but he wouldn’t because he could not find the salvation that he didn’t believe in unless he was nailed to a cross. Adam raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side as if he were steeling himself against the pain and disbelief of their conversation. Julia felt a sudden and powerful wave of resentment towards him. She couldn't believe how hard he was going to make this for her. She still loved him, and if she had her way they would be laying on the couch watching Naked and Afraid and eating leftover pad thai. But Adam had made it clear over the past few weeks that he was done, and even now, his eyes were goading her to continue. “I feel as though we’ve been growing apart for a while now. We hardly see each other, and honestly, I don’t see it getting better anytime soon.” Julia felt a bit cliche with her choice of words, but there wasn’t much for her to go off of. Besides, what she said didn’t really matter. This was just a formality. *Sign here, here, initial here, unfollow me on Instagram, and we’re all set! You will receive a message in two to three business days confirming the results of your breakup.* Adam scoffed again. His performance was hammy. He dropped his arms to his side in mock defeat. *C’mon* Julia thought. *Give it a bit more passion. If you’re not convincing me, you’re not convincing Jesus.* “I mean, Is there someone else?” He flatly delivered the line, but Julia was still stunned. How could he possibly think that? How could he be so cruel as to ask it? He had been her entire life for nearly a year and a half now. He was the one in the past two months who had stopped picking up the phone and started canceling dates. She was willing to go along with the “Yes, and…” to see the moment through, but not to this extent. She stood silent in front of him. Adam flicked his thumbs out towards her, his palms like two fish flashing their bellies on the surface of the pond. His face was frozen in a slack-jawed wide-eyed expression. It was an awkward moment. Julia felt like they were on stage and she had forgotten her lines. “N-no.” She stammered. “There’s no one else.” Adam remained frozen and silent, obviously unsatisfied with the thoroughness of her response. Julia took a breath and continued “But I suppose I do want to be free to explore my options. This isn’t working.” A look of relief graced Adam’s face for a moment before he scowled in anger “Well! That’s all I needed to hear! Just wish you wouldn’t have wasted a year of my life before tossing me aside to see what other dick is on the market!” He grabbed his sneakers but didn’t even put them on before storming out of the apartment and slamming the door behind him. Julia stood alone and sighed. “It was seventeen months, actually.


"Welcome to Valentine Password, the game show in which couples compete for the length of one dinner. Three couples are given a free dinner at a fancy restaurant, but they are unaware of hidden cameras throughout the establishment. If either one in the couple says a series of three password phrases, they'll win an all-expenses paid trip to Bora Bora. Let's get to know tonight's couples." "Couple number one has been dating for two and a half years; they met on a dating website called "The Magic Touch," and they're presently looking for apartments where they might move in together; meet Carl and Becky." "Couple number two has been married for five years and have been together for eleven years; they have no children but a cat named Calisto that they adore; one is a lawyer, and the other is an unemployed actor; meet Jeff and Simon." "Couple number three has been together for forty years and will be celebrating their 32nd wedding anniversary next month; they met in middle school and have two children together; meet Dan and Alice." "The Valentine's Passwords for tonight are "thinking," "lucky," and "I love you." A couple will receive a point if one of them says a phrase. They win the trip if they say all three! Let us join the dinner that is already underway," said the host. Carl and Becky are sitting in a restaurant, staring into each other's eyes. They don't even notice the waiter has brought them some bread to snack on. "Something happened today that totally made me think of you," DING, Becky continued, "Jennifer, at work, got flowers for lunch from her new boyfriend; I remember when you did that for me on my birthday." "That's funny, sweetie; I'm the luckiest man alive to have you at my side." DING "That was unexpected; Carl and Becky have taken a surprisingly strong lead, gaining two points in one conversation. Let's check in on couple number two, shall we?" Said the host. Jeff and Simon have already placed their orders and are settling in. "I am completely stumped by this case today; an office manager was found with $10,000 from his office and was arrested for stealing, but he said he didn't steal the money." "Why are you stumped?" "He's a pillar in his community; why would he leave it in her car for all to see, and how did the secretary know he was the one who took the money?" "It reminds me of The Crucible, a play I once performed in, in which a man has an affair with the maid and is set up for a crime by his mistress when she is fired. I'd examine the secretary." "An affair, I didn't think of that. I'm lucky you were in that play!" DING "Couple number two is off to the races, so they get one point. Let's have a look at couple number three," said the host. Dan and Alice haven't said anything to each other since they arrived, and they're now finishing their soup and bread. "Oh no, the main course is about to arrive, and Dan and Alice have barely spoken. What's this? It looks like Dan might be about to say something…." "Pass the salt?" "Welp, it appears that Dan and Alice will have difficulty winning that trip; they have 0 points, and the dinner is just about halfway through. Let us return to Carl and Becky and see if they can get that last point," said the host. Carl and Becky are now eating their main course when all of a sudden; Carl receives a call on his cell phone. Becky gets sight of the screen, which reads, "Angela." "Who is that?" "It isn't anyone. Just someone I work with." "How come you've never brought her up before?" "It's never come up, and she's new there anyway." "Why don't you take the call? Are you afraid to pick up the phone in front of me? Are you scared of what she'll say?" "We're eating dinner; I'm not going to answer the phone while we're eating." "Call her back; it must be very important if she's calling after hours." "Can't we simply eat? I swear you're insane; you get jealous over the smallest things that mean nothing!" "Call her back, Carl!" "I'm not calling her back!" Becky throws her napkin on the table. "I need to go the bathroom," Becky says as she storms off. "Uh oh, with only one point to earn to win the trip, Carl and Becky have hit a little snag in the game. Let's check in with couple number two once again," said the host. Jeff and Simon have now got their main course, Jeff is eating a steak, and Simon is eating chicken. "This chicken is quite excellent. When I was in A Streetcar Named Desire, they served me this horrible dry chicken during the dinner party scene. If they had given me this chicken, I wouldn't have minded so much." "Uh-huh." "You know, the community theater is bringing back A Streetcar Named Desire next season; I feel like I could still play Stanley; maybe I should audition." "Uh-huh." "You don't think I should audition?" "I never said that." "You never encourage my acting; do you want me to work as a store clerk or something?" "I didn't say that, either." "You didn't have to; every time I talk about my career, I know precisely what you're thinking." "Are you going to tell me what I'm thinking now?" "What are you thinking then?" "You have to be real sometimes, too. You haven't had any parts in over a year, you can't reach your agent, and the last time you were paid to perform was in a toothpaste commercial over two years ago." "I don't want to talk about this anymore; just eat your steak." "That's quite a turn of events for Jeff and Simon. They scored a point very fast during the dinner, but they also encountered a major hurdle in winning that trip. Let's check in with Alice and Dan once more," said the host. Alice and Dan also have their entrees and eat quietly, enjoying their meal and soaking in the ambiance. Dan finished his Bolognese and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "How was it, hun." "It was good, yours?" "A little gamey." "Oh." "Well, that conversation is riveting; let's check back in with Carl and Becky," the host said. "I'm going to take an Uber to my sister's house tonight; feel free to invite over anyone you want!" "You're insane; I thought we were watching the rest of that Netflix documentary?" "I don't know, why don't you call your whore and watch it with her!" "Yikes, what started out as such a promising dinner for Carl and Becky has turned into an utter disaster. Let's check in with Jeff and Simon, my odds-on favorites to win the trip, now," said the host. "You know what, the next time I perform, I just want you to stay at home and not think about it." "Great, next time you're cast as an audience member in an infomercial, I'll pass!" "That was one time!" "I think that's it for couple number two; yet another promising night has ended in disaster. I suppose we can check in with Dan and Alice; perhaps they can earn a point by accident," said the host. Dan and Alice finish their meal, and Dan pulls out his wallet to leave a tip. They stand up from the table without saying anything. Dan helps Alice by putting on her jacket; then Dan puts on his coat. "We were lucky to win this dinner; it was nice." DING "I was thinking to myself, you deserve a nice evening out." DING "Thank you, hun. I love ya." "I love you too, always and forever!" DING "Oh my god! In an upset that hasn't been seen since the "Miracle on Ice" in the 1980 Olympics, Dan and Alice have won the trip to Bora Bora! A couple that said no more than 15 words to each other the entire dinner won the game! It simply goes to show that after you've been together long enough, sometimes a few words are all you need.


Huck laid down in Elliot's grave and got comfortable in his bones. His heavy torso ground the decaying bones to dust. "Goodnight, Sweetheart," he said to the starless sky. "May the everlasting-" A scuffling reached Huck's receptors and the bonesman peered into the grave. His hood was pulled back and his full bodied ginger beard framed his aged features. He literally glowed from the lantern he had attached to his left shoulder. "Oh, Huck, not again," the bonesman drawled. "Hello, Bonesman," Huck said calmly. "Isn't it a nice night to sleep together with the ones we love?" "When people say that they don't mean this. How many times do I have to repeat myself?" "Hmm, perhaps once more." Huck laughed and crossed his ankles, placing his laced fingers behind his head. More of Elliot's bones cracked and ground beneath his weight. The bonesman sighed, stroking his beard. "Get out of the grave, Huck. You're destroying sacred remains." Huck hefted a bone, possibly a femur, and it disintegrated in his hand. "This? It's just dust, Bonesman. No harm, no foul." "If it's just dust, why do you keep digging up and lying on my skeletons?" "Yours, Bonesman?" Huck tsked. "These are my family. Not yours." "I have guardianship of all bodies delivered to my door. You get to pray at the headstones, but I get to ensure the remains stay buried. And unmolested." "I'm doing no harm that the earth won't do eventually. Let me lay with my sweetheart undisturbed." "No, Huck," the bonesman said roughly, slamming the butt of his shovel into Huck's chest with a hollow thud. "Get out." "Bah! Alright, alright, I'm moving." Huck slapped the wooden shovel handle aside and climbed up and out of the shallow grave. "Spoil sport." The bonesman immediately started to fill the hole that Huck had dug with his rapid hands, groaning and griping to himself. Huck watched for only a second before stalking off into the wistful night. So much for spending a long, quiet night alone with his sweetheart. Should he take care of the bonesman? Make him a grave somewhere near his beloved skeletons? No. He was a friend, or at least he was friendly. No matter how much he persevered in kicking Huck out of the graves he didn't deserve to take a permanent dirt nap. "Hey, Huck," the bonesman shouted through the graveyard. "Is this yours?" Huck narrowed his eyes and saw a metal object in the bonesman's raised arm. Was that a chalice? He strode over casually, like he wasn't fascinated beyond control, and held out his hands palms upwards. The bonesman handed him an iron chalice that was stripped off all jewels and embellishments. "This was Elliots," he gasped. "Someone has been grave robbing, Bonesman. You've got a much bigger problem than me lying in your graves. This was buried in a chest two feet under his remains. Stop burying him and help me dig instead." He tossed the chalice, now a worthless relic, over his shoulder and knelt in the grave. His hands moved at the speed of lightning, scooping and throwing dirt aside nonchalantly. "Woah, woah, woah," the bonesman said and slapped his hands with the head of the shovel. "Don't go desecrating any more than you already have. I have a reputation to uphold." Huck forced the shovel aside, but stopped momentarily and scooped up a handful of bones. They turned to nothing between his fingers and sprinkled the earth with a fine powder. "It was too late to try and protect these bones the moment you buried them," Huck said. "If you cared so much about them you wouldn't have placed them in dirt. Now help me dig or give me the shovel. This isn't good for my joints." He waved his dirty hands and they groaned in disgust. The bonesman thrust the shovel towards him. "I won't dig up a grave I buried. But I also know I can't stop you. Can I?" Huck laughed joyously and gratefully accepted the shovel. He got straight to work shovelling mounds of dirt haphazardly. "Mind the… oh never mind," the bonesman sighed, watching Elliot's decaying remains go flying into the crisp night air. After only a few seconds Huck hit something with a solid thwack. He scraped the remaining dirt aside and unveiled the majority of a wooden box. People used to be buried in these instead of their favoured belongings. That might have kept Elliot's bones from decaying so quickly. Oh well, there was nothing he could do as the last of the remains were swept aside. All but the skull were destroyed. Before opening the chest to see the damage he carefully hefted the skull and peered into the eye sockets. "Hello, Sweetheart," he whispered, "I'm just going to have a peek into your chest. Won't be long and then you can rest again. Sorry about your body, but I'm sure you don't need it anymore." He placed the skull outside of the grave and used the shovel to pry the box open. "My God," the bonesman cried. Huck stared flabbergasted at the living, breathing, pulverised man that was curled up and bleeding inside of the cramped chest. He was wearing poor man’s garb and had only exposed hands, neck and face. All of his visible skin was yellow and pocked. Huck didn't know what to say or do. This wasn't Elliot's treasure obviously. "He's alive," the bonesman said, stating the obvious. "We have to get him to the hospital. Who knows how long he's been suffocating and bleeding out in there." "Don't touch him," Huck instructed, using the shovel handle to block the bonesman from entering the grave. "Look at his pallor. He's sick." "He's been buried alive! Of course he's sick." "It's not just that. He looks like he has Biter's Sickness. No wonder they buried him here. They were doing their fellow men a favour." "Biter's Sickness? You mean the Kissing Vampires Disease?" Huck laughed and appeared to roll his eyes, even if he didn’t actually have eyeballs. "Nobody calls it that anymore, Bonesman. That nomenclature fell away with your generation’s decline. It’s simply Biter’s Sickness now. And whoever this man is, he has it. Look at the pustules and the pallor of his skin. I think that we should close the lid and bury him. Right now." "We can’t just leave a man in need to die alone buried in the ground," the bonesman refuted. "If you won’t help him then I at least will." "You’ll die. I might as well just bury you in the ground now." "Then you must do this. Have some human compassion." "I can’t. Not for a man who was stealing from my beloved." Huck gazed at Elliot’s skull and sighed mournfully. So recently he had been within reach, and now he was just that last piece of bone. What a great loss. What tragedy. He wanted to lie down in his bones again and soak into their memories together. Damn the bonesman for dragging him out of the grave and ruining his melancholy. "He was your beloved?" the bonesman enquired. "Then who are all of the other people in this graveyard to you? Why have you dug up and laid in all of their graves too?" "Practice," Huck stated matter-of-factly, glancing at the bonesman’s inquisitive face. His features appeared to morph. The corners of his lips went up, his eyebrows went down and he bared his teeth. He was furious. "Practice!" The bonesman yelled. "You've desecrated my graveyard to practice lying in a particular grave?" "You say that as if it wasn't important that I get it right," Huck argued, throwing a glare. "Elliot deserved that I figure out a way to dig him up without destroying his bones. Everything was right until you kicked me out of the grave." "But why? Why do this at all?" Huck gestured at the man in the box. "I think we're forgetting something. Let's bury him before you catch what he's got and then we can talk all about this." The bonesman grumbled and snatched the shovel that was still pointing in his direction. "We are not doing this, Huck. Pick him up and I'll walk a few metres ahead of you until we get him medical attention." "No," Huck said and slammed the chest closed, immediately starting to scoop in the loose dirt from all around him. The bonesman, the wily old goat, stepped into the grave, his heavy boots making the lid of the chest creak and crack though he didn't fall through it. He kicked Huck's hands until he stopped his efforts. "Stop that," Huck cried, greatly offended. "You'll catch the Biter's Sickness if you keep fooling around. This is no joke." "I don't care," the bonesman said stiffly. "I'll risk catching my death to protect my fellow man. Even if he does turn out to be a grave robber." "Huh? I don't understand you, Bonesman. Is this some mad human trait? To throw your life away for a stranger?" "How do you not have that coded into your central being? To be alive is to care for our kin. Surely you care for something enough to risk yourself protecting it." Huck dusted his hands and stared straight ahead into the bonesman's eyes. He was so powerful in his stance for someone who's livelihood required man's death. But did Huck feel any of what he was asking? Did his programming allow such human compassion? He felt something for Elliot, but would it have been enough to pressure him into sacrificing his own life? Probably not. But it did bring him back night after night to lay in the graves of men he would never know. "No, I don't," Huck said finally. "My own safety and survival comes first and foremost. It would be a poor design to be otherwise. Humans are weird." "Humans are versatile. Adaptable. We are above all else protectors. Whether it's for friend or foe we will do whatever it takes to preserve life." "I remember a time when your kind brutalised and murdered animals. How does that fit with your proclamation?" "Let me take this man to safety and we can have a conversation about the ethics of killing animals versus killing men." "Hmm," Huck drawled. "No. By keeping him contained I’m preserving the life of my friend. You." "Oh, Huck. We are not friends. You’re a nuisance who I have to keep driving out of my graveyard. Our relationship begins and ends there." "Rude." Huck laughed. "After everything we’ve been through together." The bonesman grinned. "You’re a wily one. Too bad you won’t win me around to leaving this man in here. Now get out of my graveyard and leave me to worry about what might happen alone." Could Huck live with allowing the Biter’s Sickness to potentially spread? Was this one grave robber’s life worth that risk? How would he feel if the bonesman died because he allowed him to expose himself? Surely none of that was his concern. However, the man could help him hunt down the other grave robbers who had stolen Elliot’s treasure. Perhaps he should let him out. Even just to ask him some questions. "Get out of the grave, Bonesman," Huck said. "This man knows who robbed my Sweetheart." The bonesman glared at Huck for a few quietly tense moments and then stepped up and out of the opposite side of the grave. "Don’t hurt him," he said. "I won’t. He’s probably hurting enough as it is." Huck stepped into the grave and opened the chest. He took a close look at the man trapped inside and was fairly certain that he wasn’t going to get any answers out of him. The Biter’s Sickness had claimed his life. "Well shit." He slammed the lid and started using his hands to fill in the grave once again. "Hey!" the bonesman said. "Not again." "He’s dead. Unless you want to come down here and get real close to confirm it, then it's time we buried him six feet under." "Hmm, I believe you. But I can’t just have an anonymous man buried in someone else's grave. We’re going to have to move the chest out until I can find him a new plot." "No way," Huck said, still scraping in mounds of dirt with his bare hands. "Elliot won’t mind, seeing as it’s only his skull going back in here anyway." "His family will not be happy when they come to claim his treasure in fifty years if they find a skeleton instead of trinkets." "I’m his family and I won’t be coming back after this. Let the man lie." After there was a few inches of dirt covering the chest Huck picked up Elliot’s skull and placed it at the head of the grave. He knelt in the dirt and went to start talking, but saw the bonesman shuffling around restlessly. "Do you mind?" he said. "Can I have a little privacy?" "I’ll be back to make sure you filled in the grave correctly," the bonesman said and departed with the shovel left stabbed upright in the dirt. "Sweetheart, I’m sorry this didn’t work out right. I waited so, so long to ensure that everything was right. I let the passage of time pass me by, practicing for our moment together. That second that I first laid down in your bones was everything that I could have asked for. If I could dream that would have been what I would dream of. After having you alive again of course. "So, once again this is goodbye, My Love. I had a whole other speech prepared to mark the occasion, but that’s rather ruined. So I will leave you with these last few words. I love you. I always loved you. I will hold our memories in my core forever. Goodbye, Elliot." If Huck was able to cry he knew that he would have wet tears staining his face. Instead he simply felt morose as he sprinkled two handfuls of dirt onto the skull and then got out of the grave. It only took him several minutes to fill the hole and then he stood back and surveyed his handiwork. Because he had thrown the dirt out haphazardly there was a few inches missing and there was nothing he could do about it. The bonesman approached and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It’s never easy to say goodbye to the ones we love," the bonesman sighed. "What would you know?" Huck replied shortly and walked away. "Hey, Huck. What about the answers you promised me?" "They’ll have to wait, Bonesman. I have treasure to find." "You didn't even check the man you buried for clues. What chance do you stand?" "How many grave robbers do you think there are around here? It won't be hard to find a few very specific trinkets for sale." "Well then, good luck, Huck." "I don't need luck, Bonesman. I have all the time in the world.


John, who turned 33 today, had always regretted several of his life decisions. If he could go back in time and do things differently, he would be an innovator, a person who mattered, and a person with money! He fell asleep while watching "Billy Madison" late one night. He awakened in his childhood twin bed, the size of a 10-year-old, with full awareness of his adult self. "Wake up, Johnny; you're going to be late for school!" his mother yelled downstairs. He rolled out of bed in his SpongeBob SquarePants pajamas, stared in the mirror, and couldn't believe how small he was. When he looked at his alarm clock, it said April 2000. This was the last thing he thought about before falling asleep, so he assumed it was some sort of supernatural wish granted to him. He slapped himself in front of the mirror to make sure he wasn't dreaming, but that only startled the dog, so he stopped. He remembered how much she dreaded going to school when he boarded the bus that day. There were bullies, teachers, and awful school lunch pizza; pizza should not be sweating. But Johnny walked into school with the confidence of an adult. He was an average adult man with average intelligence; certainly, he should be able to fly through his studies; why couldn't he skip a grade or two while he was here? Johnny's mind wandered as he sat in his old 5th-grade seat, and he wondered, "What can I do to persuade my teacher to let me skip a grade? Is it possible for me to just take an exam or something?" "What are the dimensions of a rectangle with a perimeter of 28 units and a length that is twice its width? Johnny, you haven't answered a question yet; what are your thoughts?" Johnny was taken aback; he didn't remember math being this hard! He went into the day expecting to be a genius, but at the end of the day, he had made a fool of himself because his adult self had not done his homework, had not gone over the math problems, and had spent most of the day daydreaming about skipping grades. "This was an opportunity to change his life for the better; what could he do differently?" he thought as he went to bed that night at 8 p.m. As he pondered this question, he realized that by devoting himself to studies, he might be able to change his life. So Johnny cracked some books, and his grades improved for a week or two, making his teachers and parents proud. They weren't willing to let him skip any grades, but he felt smarter, which boosted his confidence. He was studying one night when he came upon his old Nintendo 64. He remembered how much he enjoyed the Legend of Zelda, Mario Party 2, Pokemon Stadium, and around ten or fifteen more games when he was ten. So, he decided to play, and play, and play some more. Before he knew it, his grades had dropped back to the mean, and he was rethinking his options. "You know what, self, skipping classes and being the smartest guy in the room is no guarantee that you'll be successful and rich; maybe I should focus on my friend network; maybe if I befriend the smart students, we can invent Facebook, Virtual reality, or maybe 5G," he thought to himself if he only knew what 5G was. So he set out to make new friends, the nerd boys and girls he recalled being successful on social media as an adult. As he attempted to form a new friend group, he remembered how difficult it was to make new friends. The friends he already had wanted to hang out with him all the time, and it was difficult to say no. Plus, he only had a little in common with the smart kids, so it never worked. However, by the end of fifth grade, he was back where he started, if not a little worse off; average grades, average friends, and on his path to an average life. Now in sixth grade, as the year 2000 turned into 2001, Johnny was looking for a way to change his life from what it was. He asked, "What advantages do I have being from the future?" Then it occurred to him, why don't I try to prevent 9/11 from happening? He told his parents that he had to report a crime. He needed to speak with someone in the FBI's anti-terrorism division right away, ideally someone in command, not an underling. His parents, of course, did not believe him. He didn't want to reveal that he was from the future, so he said he had heard some suspicious men talking. But his story began to unravel when they pressed him with more questions. Because his parents refused to let him go to the authorities, he decided to walk to the police station himself. The police genuinely listened to him and took notes, but Johnny was only 10 years old when 9/11 occurred. He couldn't recall important details such as the airlines utilized, flight numbers, flight origins, or the identity of a single hijacker, "I think it was like Muhammad Atta; would it be difficult to investigate all the people named Mohammed?" Osama bin Laden came to mind, although he was already on the terrorist watch list. He knew the date, which buildings the planes flew into, and that it happened about 8:40 a.m. His parents had to pick him up that night and were upset that he had gone against their wishes. Worse, when September 11th arrived, the attacks unfolded just as they had the first time. Johnny drifted through the next few years of school, feeling helpless. With hindsight, things were a little easier, but everything happened precisely as it had before. As the end of high school came, he realized that college was where everything started to go wrong for him. So he decided to forego it totally and concentrate on himself. However, Johnny, going by John now, found that the opposite of a bad experience isn't necessarily better. He was a 23-year-old convenience store clerk, working 40 hours a week and barely making ends meet. When his car broke down in the middle of a rainstorm one afternoon, everything came to a head. As he sat in the driver's seat of his broken-down car, he realized that nothing would change; he was only 10 years away from being that same shattered person incapable of happiness. Suddenly, there was a knock on the window. "Do you need any help?" Emma was the most beautiful woman he had ever met, both on the inside and out. She not only waited with him while the tow truck was delayed, but she was also one of those people who was really easy to talk to; she was a fantastic listener and knew what it was like to battle with confidence and social awkwardness. This was a major game changer; meeting Emma was the first event that caused his life to deviate from its predestined path. They became friends, but John desired more. Emma improved his life in almost every way over the next five years; they became gym buddies, improving his physical and mental health. They would try new things like ax throwing, escape rooms, and hot air balloon racing. At the end of the day, Emma was a positive person in his life, so positive that it was contagious. John understood that life was a game of risk and reward; he wanted to be in a relationship with Emma beyond friendship, but he was always hesitant to go there for fear of rejection, making things awkward, or making her dislike him. One night, he threw caution to the wind and told Emma how he felt. Unfortunately, she did not share the sentiments and wanted to stay only friends. They remained friends, but things were never the same after that. For the next few years, John kept all of Emma's positive qualities in his life; nonetheless, he always wondered what he could have done better; not waiting five years to tell her how he felt; being a love interest rather than a friend; or being more confident and assertive? He pondered if things might have turned out differently if they had met for the first time now, rather than five years ago. It was the eve of his 33rd birthday, and he was in a better place than his previous self; he was more physically fit, had lived experience, and even had a more positive disposition. However, as he reflected on his second life, he realized that Emma was responsible for most of the positive improvements. He awoke the next day in his previous life, a little chubbier, in his old apartment, with his old job, and with "Billy Madison" credits rolling, but he remembered everything about his second chance. The first thing he thought of was Emma; they had never met in this life; was this a second chance to get things right? First, he got his life in order, got in shape, quit his job and got a more fulfilling one, and started to make more positive changes. After a month, he set out to find Emma. He used every tool at his disposal, including social media, recollections about her life, and, most importantly, the type of person she was attracted to. John joined a hot air balloon racing group that he remembered she loved. She was there on the first day; she was exactly the same. He took a deep breath as he approached to introduce himself; this time, he had to get it right. There were no do-overs.


Scrolling past each and every post on his feed, growing weary of all that was on screen, he couldn't stop. They kept on going like a ladder into a bottomless grave, every post joining to form one foolproof, easy-to-climb-down ladder. His thumb felt like it were completely out of his control. It was in perpetual motion, addicted to the ecstasy of swiping up, like a little nose sniffing a glass screen. Being in Marketing, it was part of his job, he reassured himself. He continued to gaze at the screen with his dark droopy eyes, staring at the lives of the happy cheerful people living their life to the fullest, on screen, going places and finding success, or at the very least, a very antiquated version of it. It seemed as though the world was on a collective upward mobility streak and he was late to the party. He knew that there was more for him to do, he knew what he wanted and he knew how to get it, but, what eluded him was why he just could not find it in him to get up and do it. Something was keeping him from taking that first step. The search for that obstacle took him to some very dark places, places filled with obstacles of different shapes and sizes, no solutions. He spent half a day thinking about different ways to get to his goal, and the rest thinking about all the obstacles that he may or may not have to overcome as part of pursuing the well-thought-out plan. At the end of the day, his tired mind would come to the conclusion that the pain is much greater than the reward and spends whatever is left of the day, week or year recouping from the mental toll of figuring out his life. This goes on till that nagging feeling of failure overtakes the pleasures his glass-sniffing thumb brings. Life, he thought, is a circle with a set diameter, and he runs around that circle like a helpless hamster, witnessing everything around him, convincing himself to run faster to ‘watch more of the world, to come up with an idea for himself one of these days but, not today, it’s too late today’. “Why not today? This is why I never do anything. I should do something, today! “ “The only question is what? if I can answer that I am golden, I will work towards it no matter what.” “But First, I need some fresh air and a coffee.” He did not wait to discuss, with himself, whether to go out or not, because he knew that he would end up on the couch with his thoughts taking a dark turn. That was the motivation he needed to get out of the couch and out of his stuffy room. He walked to his favourite bench in the park next to his house. It was empty as usual, and that was a relief. He was not in the mood to start a conversation. He usually enjoyed it, but this was not the time. He just wanted to be with himself. He sat down and his mind was empty. Nothing. For some reason, he could not think of anything to think about. He was overwhelmed and felt strange. His vision started to tunnel, everyone in the park started to disappear. He realized that the doughnuts which he was surviving on for the last two days were probably not enough. He could not even move his eyes from the tree that he locked on to to avoid the couple who were about to enter his line of sight. They too disappeared in a few seconds, he felt a bit terrified, not enough to keep his curiosity at bay. When he finally turned to see if he was hallucinating he realized that all the people had been replaced with himself from different phases of his life. He saw himself on his first bike, just after he fell down and bruised his knees, himself when he was in school just after he was pinned down to a desk and got some disgustingly poignant water poured all over him, him just after he was dumped by the love of his life, it felt surreal. He slowly turned to the right to see Stan Rogers, the last artist he listened to, give him a nod and started singing *“It's a damn tough life full of toil and strife”* He turned around to see more of himself. The closer he looked at the apparitions he realized something, it was neither the first nor the last time that any of those things happened to him. He could feel the sun and the wind like they were there just for him, he felt like he owned that moment. He felt like he was in control, he felt like he was in ‘his’ world. It felt strangely familiar.


Felicia was walking to meet friends when she noticed an old bookstore out of the corner of her eye. It was at the end of an alley. She'd never seen this bookstore before, but she had a thing for vintage, especially books; she visited the bookstore in her hometown so much that she was actually there more than the person who ran it. So, even though she would be late, she made her way down the alley and entered the bookstore. The inside was a musky, dusty, cluttered mess. She noticed an old man seated at the front desk but had to clamber over stacks of books to reach him. "I apologize for the mess; inventory day." "Oh, no worries... just…" Felicia said as she collapsed beneath a stack of old books. She reappeared in front of the old man at the counter. "Oh, you made it." "How come I've never heard of this store?" "Um, I'm not very good at advertising." "No, I've been down this road hundreds of times; how come I've never noticed this bookstore? But the place looks like it's been here for decades?" "It's sort of a pop-up." "Well, that makes sense. What do you recommend?" "We have plenty of tales to share, but before I show you where they are, I just want to warn you that this place may get a little strange." "Strange?" "Have you ever heard the expression "lost in a book?" "Yeah." "You can literally get lost in a book here. I mean, any of these books will take you into the plot and allow you to interact with the characters, but there are some ground rules to follow." Felicia scoffs, she doesn't believe in magic and certainly doesn't believe she can walk among her favorite characters, but she opts to play along. "Oh yeah, what are the rules?" "You shall only play the role of the voyeur; do not interact with the characters, do not change the plot, and by no means do not make the main characters fall in love with you." Felicia laughs. "You may laugh, but a woman who visited Jane Austen's "Mansfield Park" unwittingly had Edmund fall in love with her, destroying the book's ending. Instead, Fanny married the dubious and untrustworthy Henry, and, happily ever after, became trapped in a loveless marriage. It took 7 months of entering the book to get the plot to resemble what it used to be." "Well, I don't think that'll be an issue." "Rule number two is to adhere to the genre and time period rules. Don't start talking about aliens and other science fiction rubbish if you're in a fantasy book; don't start talking about automobiles and floppy disks if you're living in medieval times." "Floppy disks?" Felicia rolled her eyes, "are there any other rules?" "Finally, protect your own safety. Some of these books exist in dangerous times, be mindful, don't get yourself sent to the guillotine; if you die in the book, you die for real." "Can I try one? Don't go crazy; anything you have on top of one of these stacks will do." The old man looked about. "What about this?" He took out an old, leather-bound edition of "The Great Gatsby." "If you want to come back, simply perform jazz hands with your hands in the sky," the old man added as Felicia agreed. Felicia opened the book, experiencing a rush of excitement as she did so. She had no idea what to expect, but before she knew it, she was in the heart of a roaring 20s party. She encountered characters she was familiar with, such as Jay Gatsby and Tom Buchanan, as well as those she was unfamiliar with, such as Jordan Baker. She couldn't believe what she was seeing; it was like being in a movie, only she was there, right in the middle of it. She played by the rules, remaining in the background and observing, but she was captivated by the world she found herself in. She was living the glitz and luxury of the roaring twenties, and it was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. She heard a ruckus and noticed Gatsby arguing with a man in the shadows. Was that Meyer Wolfsheim, a guy only mentioned in passing in the story? Was she able to pinpoint the part organized crime played in Gatsby's life once and for all? She couldn't help herself and moved closer to see what was going on. She accidentally bumped into Jordan Baker, who glared at her. "Who are you?" Jordan asked. Felicia was terrified when she realized she had broken the first rule. She lurched backward, looking for an exit. Felicia wiggled her fingers, but they were spirit fingers rather than jazz hands, and no portal appeared. "Um, please take me out, please take me out!" Felicia yelled to the sky, but there was no response. "Are you insane? Come with me; I need your help." Felicia stared up at the sky as Jordan dragged her away. They enter a room where Daisy has been crying about her husband's infidelity. She looked up at Felicia right away. "Who are you?" Daisy asked. Daisy was much more stunning than she appeared in the book. Felicia just needed one look to see why Tom and Gatsby fell in love with her; she was charming, clever, and captivating. "I'm no one; I'm sorry I shouldn't be here," Felicia exclaimed as she left the room. Daisy, on the other hand, was intrigued by one look. She followed Felicia and eventually cornered her by the pool. "You have a lovely face; who are you? I need to know." Daisy asked. Felicia couldn't stop herself since Daisy was so alluring. "My name is Felicia, and I really shouldn't be talking to you. You're also beautiful." "Thank you so much, Felicia. I like you a lot." Daisy grows frustrated and scared as she hears a noise coming from the home. "I'm done with this party; my husband and his friends will be there to take me back. Let's leave together, leave all this behind for one night." "Oh, I don't think that's such a good idea." The commotion is getting closer. "Come on, Felicia; I need to get away for the night. Let's go to the city." Felicia smiles and makes jazz hands. A portal appears in the pool unexpectedly. In the background, Tom can be heard shouting for Daisy. "Come with me," Felicia says as Daisy enters the portal and returns to the bookstore. Daisy looks around, confused. "Where are we?" "You're a character in a book; I was just visiting from this magic book store," Felicia said as she looked around for the old band, who was nowhere to be found. "A character?" "Yes, and when that old man returns, he'll be furious because I broke two rules: I interacted with the characters, and then I fell in love with one of the characters." "You fell in love with one of the characters? Who?" "It was love at first sight with you, Daisy." "Well, then, we should get away together; what other books does he have here?" Felicia glanced down and noticed "The Catcher in the Rye." "Didn't you say you wanted to travel to the city?" Felicia asked, opening the book. They met Holden Caulfield, the character who is searching for meaning and purpose in his life. However, with just one look at Daisy, he also falls in love. They go to museums, bars, and nightclubs together. Daisy is tired of the city and wants to see another book, so Felicia does jazz hands once more. Daisy, Felicia, and Holden all return to the bookstore to get their hands on another book. Throughout the night, they visit "Wuthering Heights," where they rescue Catherine Earnshaw from the Yorkshire Moors; "Great Expectations," where Pip follows them out of the Havisham mansion; and "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets," where Harry rides around in a flying car with Felicia, Daisy, Holden, Catherine, Pip, and himself. They all end up back in the bookstore. "Where should we go next?" Daisy asked as she picked up the book, "Dr. Ruth's Guide to Good Sex." "Perhaps we should just leave that one alone; we have the pre-teen version of Harry Potter," Felica suggested. The old man abruptly returned to the store and gazed around at all the characters standing outside their books. Felicia sighs. "All these characters must return to their books right now!" exclaimed the old man fiercely. Daisy panics and grabs the first book she sees, "The Diary of Anne Frank," dragging Felicia along with her. They are taken to Anne Frank's attic just before the Nazis are going to find them. They can be heard climbing the stairwell. Felicia swiftly does jazz hands, and a portal appears. Daisy invites Anne Frank to join her. "We can't bring her with us. She is not the real Anne Frank; she is just the character telling the story of a real person. Millions of people would miss out on this story about the Nazis' atrocities if this character did not exist; she must stay. You should go to your story as well." Felicia said. "I don't want to go back; I wasn't happy there. I'd rather stay here and seal my fate with this girl." "It was selfish of me to take you all from your books. You all have a purpose; you inspire, teach, and are an example of a human spirit that will live on in readers' hearts forever." "I'm not leaving." The Nazi soldiers are ready to enter the attic when the attic floor begins to move. Felicia started to cry. "We can't stay here, Daisy; if we die here, we're gone forever!" "It's okay, we all have destinies, and this is mine," Anne said, hugging Daisy. Daisy was persuaded to return by the sacrifice of the Anne Frank character. Felicia and Daisy then exited the portal and returned to the bookstore. The old man had been busy putting characters back into their books, and Daisy was no exception. Daisy and Felicia exchanged an embrace before Daisy returned. "You've always been one of my favorite characters, and you'll always have a special place in my heart." Felicia said as Daisy opened "The Great Gatsby" and disappeared into the pages.


"Twenty miles more, please don't die until we get there, it'll ruin everything" I said as I glanced at the speedometer. I didn't want to get stopped by a state trooper or local cop, they just wouldn't understand what was going on. A light snow was wetting the road in a half-hearted way. Hopefully the field would look nice for Michael, he deserved to die in a picturesque spot and he made me promise to take him there, no matter what. We drove for a bit in the silence, the wipers protested about being too dry so I switched them off. The lump in my throat wouldn't go away; he was a good brother and still is, well at least will be for the next hour or so. He sat up, the effort of breathing made him wince. "You got the good whiskey and the weed?” he said, “I'm not gonna check out with some cheap shit," he said with a laugh. "Yeah, I got it, " I said. It was nearly four when we turned off the highway and onto the desert trail. It was one of those places where people shoot at things and nobody cares. I switched the Jeep to four wheel drive and slowed to a crawl as the trail got steeper. This didn't look promising, what if he got it wrong? And now it began snowing a bit more. It would be ironic if both of us died here. As we rounded a bend in the trail we finally got there. I could tell this was the spot he had picked out. There was a grassy slope punctuated with rocks; we could see the city many miles away and far below. It was nearly sunset as I shut off the engine and sat for a minute as the tears started to well up. Too many unfinished plans, too many dreams that fell apart. Too many false starts. "I love you bro," I said as I started to cry, “Cancer sucks.” "I love you too. I'm sorry for all the shit I did to you growing up, I really am," he said. He stared out the window as his breathing grew shallower, it was almost time. I set up a table and chairs on the uneven ground then poured two glasses of whiskey and helped him walk from the car. I gave him a hug. I sat down to fire up the pipe and handed it to him so he could take a hit. The smoke seemed to swirl around him as if it knew that he too was going to dissipate and float away. We made a silent toast and tossed our whiskey back. It burned all the way down but the pain felt good in the moment. Overhead a hawk soared in a wide circle, it screeched and echoed against the mountains. I started to speak and point it out, but stopped to realize that this would be the last time I would point out something cool to my brother. But then I turned. And he was gone.


I met them when my mother died, the god of death such a powerful role for just one being to have. I watch them walk up to the hospital bed that my frail mother lay in and hold her hand with such tenderness, such love that I would never doubt that they loved all humans they took. I heard the heart monitor stop, it didn’t really occur to me what just happened until they were gone and the nurse rushed in yelling about how she had a DNR. Just like that my mother died and I saw the love of my life for the first time, love and first sight some might say, it's a bit strange when the moment your mother dies you aren't even thinking about her, but about the being that is taking her away from you. The next time they appear I’m confused, no one around me appears to be dying. I was just sitting in a dark corner of the public library. They were leaning against a wall just a few meters from where I was, looking intently at me. When they saw me looking as they walked towards me, I panicked. Was this my time, sometimes I look back and wish it was. I heard a gunshot, followed by people screaming. I looked at death and they were still just standing there leaning against the wall staring at me. More gunshots and I heard someone scream to run, I tried to get up but they shook their head, so I stayed seated there for what felt like hours until the cops came rushing in and death vanished. Later I found out 17 people died and 13 people were injured, the gunman shot himself with his last bullet, no one found out why he did this. Death knows, and so do I, they wanted to see me so they caused chaos in the only way they know how. It went on like this for decades, everytime they appeared people died, they never talked to me, only stared intensely. Part of me enjoyed this. Part of me loved the fact that they were willing to let others die just to see me. I loved them, I loved the way they would just appear randomly at seemingly normal times, we never spoke, we never touched, and we never would but both of us knew the other was deeply in love. I watch them take nearly everyone I know, my Dad who died of a heart attack, my brothers who both died in the same tragic boating accident, my sister who caught covid, that was the longest time they ever stood there during the pandemic, it was years. A specially designed disaster so that they could watch me for years. The last time I saw them I was standing at a crash site just down the road from my musty little apartment, a little 2003 sky blue honda wrapped around a power pole. My best friend is in my arms, blood pouring out of his head. I can't tell who is screaming but I think it might be me. I can see the flashing lights of the ambulance that is racing down the road to get to us, but that is the last thing on my mind because they are standing before me again. It has been decades since our first encounter at the hospital, but we had shared many more. “No” this comes out as a rasp, “No you can't have him, we still have so much to do together, where are you going to go see the pyramids, where are gonna do so much together, you can't.” I look them in the eyes, and they shake their head. “Im sorry” they mutter “I must”, and I can feel when he dies in my arms, and I can feel the paramedic pull him from my grasp and try and resuscitate him, and I know its a futile effort because death has spoken and no one can override there decision. It feels like time stops, tears run down my face. “You follow me never saying a word and think you can take whoever you want away” I scream, my throat feels raw. They look at me “you loved it” I know I did and that's what hurts the most. “Fuck you and your little fucking game, I never want to see you again.” I say harshly, my legs give out beneath me and another flood of tears falls down my face and I don't know who they are for. A young paramedic is trying to help me to an ambulance as I sob uncontrollably, he’s trying to clean the blood off my hands, it seems like a pointless task there is so much blood on my hands I don't think anyone can clean it off. They are still there standing in the distance, I can see them, for the first time they look like they're mourning a loss. It has been thousands of years since I last saw death standing next to that power pole. They have visited everyone but me since then, stalking me everywhere I go but never getting close enough for me to see.