Some other days they all thought it was over. Some other weeks any chance to reunite seemed invisible, impossible and unthinkable.

Black! Dark! Black and dark was his heart. Red! Red but not like wine was her heart; because she was bleeding. She was bleeding pain from inside. Not many people knew, but she missed him every second, every minute and every eternity spent in a single day.

He loves her; the first girl he ever knew. She loves him the first boy she ever loved so hard. They both remember how beautiful it was back then, how they use to fight and laugh. They probably never knew how strong the tie was, but they felt deep in them that the tie would hold them together for life. His sister. Her brother.

He was far from her, she missed him. Two continents! See the ocean separated one form another’s love. Funny fact: [what they cried is even bigger than that ocean.]

But they never lost hope even if sometimes they pushed it away. Just too normal for people of flesh. As the day always comes back after the night it was meant for them to meet again, to touch again, to hug again, to smile again, and hold hands again after a long time apart. Almost ten long and hard years. What a painful separation. Here they are, trying to understand what they have missed, she sees how bigger and taller than her he has become. She left when he was so small, so young as she said, he was just a little brother. He sees how small his sister seems as she was way bigger than him back then before they separated. She tries to understand how her brother’s face has got beard on his cheeks and chin; he understands that his sister is a mother now and he is then an uncle.

What a big difference ten years can be in a lifetime!

They promised to brother and sister’s love that life will not do them apart again. Yes, Life will not do us apart again sister.

<<I hated every single minute away from you>> She said.

<<Men are not allowed to cry but I did when I could not hold the pain that it was>> he said.

As they are sitting, facing each other, trying to get to recognize the faces that they see now, she cries. But this time she is happy, driven by thousands of emotions that she feels at that particular moment. He says she will be fine.

Him : Can we even catch back on ten long years? Impossible right?

Her: I don’t know but I sure know I will do my best to make this seem like we never went apart.

Him: If bodies are far but love from hearts is still, we are never too far from one another. In the unseen universe, we were still holding hands. Me holding my big sister’s hand.

Her: I love you!

Him: I love you too yaya ( yaya means big sister/brother, from where they come from ).

Time to get new habits, life behind the phone is over, no more video calls, now they are face to face. He forgot how good she cooked, so he tastes her food again, and again, and again as he finds back in her way of cooking, the making of their mother. How beautiful!

Family! All we need, all we have to handle as well.

She is not that easy of a sister, she likes to tease him. Even if he is twenty three years old now and she's twenty six, they are still the same old brother and sister’s couple that was seven and ten. She fights him when he is bored. She wants to know who got his heart. She asks him every time “where is your girlfriend?” He looks at her, he smiles and he says “chill, I will present her to you when it is time”. Then she adds “You always say that then we never see her. You hide too much of your life from me. I am your sister I need to know who you are dating or seeing”. He smiles again as he doesn’t talk a lot.

She is proud, you can see it, you can feel it. As if she is learning to love her brother again like when he was born. The love of a sister, is there anything truer than that except the one from a mother? We are yet to find. And not even every mother love their own kids (reference: Veronique Courjault).

She gets familiar with his writing, she loves his movies, she loves to watch them and see him acting, she goes to his game to see him play football. Football from where they are from. When people meet her in the streets, she says, with a great smile: this is my brother.

But what happened for them to separate? Life happened. When you are born in a country, in a continent that is house of struggle, where corruption kills talents, opportunities and possibilities of a bright future, your best way to succeed is to get out of there. She had to leave her country and family to rejoin her father in Europe. I could have said half sister but they never called themselves half. They fully love each other, completely. She went when she was so young. He stayed! Time went by until it was his time to leave. But not going to see his sister, not in Europe as her but in the U.S. His big faith in God made him go. As he was told by God himself, that he shall go. Both of them too far, experienced difficulties of getting papers and right to travel again, struggling to be accepted as migrants in countries they never thought they would live in someday. How could they make it easy to reunite if it is not by making it rich? So he worked! He worked hard, he duplicated himself as a picture in your gallery to do everything he could possibly do. Each part of him handling at least two things. But his trust in God and God's promises mixed, made a way to success. He made it as we say. And he flew to go see his mom, his sister, his nephew and his little brother.

They held hands once, then love held them until they held hands again.


In a cottage at the edge of town, an acclaimed artist awoke from sleep screaming. She had experienced an illusion shattering premonition in a dream. She had seen a vision foretelling what was ahead for the people. In the dream, she saw a great gathering of people looking adoringly at the King giving him their rapt attention and becoming increasingly agitated as he spoke. When he finished speaking, he raised his fist and pointed toward the iconic building where all laws of the land originated. The people were poisoned in their minds and hearts by the multitude of lies the King had told them during the last four years, which had resulted in a toxic ocean of fear and hate. in her dream, that toxicity was obvious and rampant amongst the people at the gathering . She awoke screaming because she had seen the horrible consequences of all those lies. The dream had culminated in violence and blood. Most of the people of the land were frightened about their future. Four years under the previously elected Executive’s rule had brought little to the tables of the common folk and a lot to the tables of the King, as he preferred to be called, and his minions. The King had a bad habit of lying about things both great and small. He had been lying to the people for so long that most of them had lost their ability, and in some cases, even their desire to discriminate between fact and fiction. When he was a business tycoon, the King had lied and once he gained political power through an election, his lying had taken on a greater scope. However, though frightened, the people followed him because he repeatedly told them that only he could fix everything that was broken. Fueled by their fears and desperation, they believed him and embraced his lies as truth. Greater problems arose when the time came for the King's reelection because a plague ravaged the land revealing flaws that needed to be addressed in the public health system. Sadly, these flaws were not addressed. The King declared with a wave of his hands that the pestilence would disappear magically. It didn’t. Many people died of the plague. In fact, most of the things he had promised to fix or build were not fixed or built by the end of his elected term, and he lost the  election to a fellow with lots of experience in sorting out problems in government. The King refused to acknowledge he had lost. He traveled around the land for two months prior to the Inauguration of the newly elected Executive gaining support for his biggest lies of all. The King claimed he had not lost the election. He had won. The election was stolen from him. He repeatedly pushed the story-trap of “us v. them.” Such a narrative had not ended well when that same story-trap had ensnared the people’s ancestors in ages past, but his followers had forgotten their own history. The King expanded his claim to overturn the results of the election through multiple court cases, which he lost. This infuriated him, so on the day the newly elected Executive was to be officially certified as the winner, the King called upon his supporters to gather one more time outside the Great House, home to the top elected official of the land. The invitation to the gathering went out two weeks in advance using the chit chat online option. Many people saw it and made their plans to come to this gathering that the King promised would be wild. The King was very excited about this gathering and wanted to have a majestic new suit of clothes to wear for the gathering. He decided to have a contest and sent out his minions to find fashion designers to enter the contest. “Design for the King! Win a prize!” This caused quite a stir among authentic designers, and others who wanted to try for the unnamed prize. Many designers came and went presenting drawings and obsequiously appealing to the King’s vanity, which was immense. All to no avail. The King was not pleased at all. The date of the gathering was drawing near. RSVPs were pouring in from all over the land. The King was becoming desperate and continuously obsessed over what he would wear to the gathering. Finally, one day, two young, enterprising designers well versed in the art of sycophancy, arrived at the Great House. They praised the King and complimented him assiduously while measuring him always proclaiming what a fine figure of a man he was. A few days later, they arrived with many boxes. They opened a box and described its contents of pants, shirt, jacket, amidst an ongoing patter about how fine these clothes would look on him, making him more handsome than ever and thus more believable than ever. Grinning with anticipation, the King stood ready. The designers shooed everyone else from the room, and they dressed the King. He stood proudly in his new clothes. Various Great House workers were brought in one at a time to view the King in his new attire. Because they desired to please him and not incur his wrath, they all said how fine he looked in his new attire. The King was delighted. So, he finally looked in his special mirror, which always reflected what he wanted to see not reality, and so he saw what he wanted to see, himself dressed in splendid attire. Yet, he had a nagging feeling that something was missing. “Where’s my tie?” growled the King. “Right here,” bespoke one of the designers and brought forth from his pocket a bright red tie which he looped around the King’s neck and stepped back. “Ah, perfect!” exclaimed the King, patting the tie. Meanwhile, after awakening from her dream, the acclaimed artist felt obligated to warn the people about her premonition, whether they believed her warning, or not, she had to try. She was an intuitive but admittedly didn’t always know how something would actually play out in real time. Nevertheless, she felt it was urgent for the health and well-being of the people that she try to warn them. There were three days left before the gathering at the Great House was scheduled to happen. She spent the first day furiously painting words on multiple large cardboards that said such things as:         -THE TRUTH SHALL SET YOU FREE!         -WHEN YOU ARE FREE TO SEE TRUTH, YOU WILL REJECT LIES. -AFTER REJECTING LIES, YOU WILL SING AND DANCE AND BE THE BEST YOU CAN BE…ALL OF YOU! -BE KIND. -LOVE EACH OTHER. -CARE FOR EACH OTHER. -LOVE LIGHTS THE WAY TO TRUTH. Around midnight, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. On the second day, she mounted the cardboards on the outside of her retired school bus that she used for her traveling art shows. She drove all around the neighborhoods surrounding the Great House. The ever-alert journalists that covered the Great House filmed clips and the clips began to attract attention on the nightly news shows, especially the late-night comedians. On the third day before the gathering, she was interviewed on national television by a well-known cable news journalist. The journalist asked her why she was sending out her message. She patiently told the story of her dream and the premonition of violence resulting from the continued lies from the King. She said she felt it was her duty as a citizen to warn the people. Most people thought she was a religious or political crackpot and ignored the warning. In reality, she was neither. She was simply a citizen who cared about Truth. The last words she uttered in the interview were, “Change is coming. I do not claim to know what form it will take. I do know that in my dream there was blood and violence.” Then, the network producers abruptly ended her interview with a disclaimer on a black screen disavowing endorsement of the content of the interview. The Great House staff issued a statement saying the artist was in the hospital being treated for mental instability. This was a lie. The word on the street was, “Ah, just another crazy artist.” The people who had been planning to go to the gathering ignored the warning and went. More people also went who were intrigued by the warning, even if they didn’t actually believe in it. In the end, attendance in-person at the gathering the next day tripled what was expected. Men, women, and children streamed into the park near the Great House, where the gathering was taking place. Most were excited to see the King’s new attire which had been publicized by the Great House media team for a week before the gathering. Media coverage was massive and millions tuned it to watch. The day of the gathering began with a military parade escorting the becloaked King to the stage where the microphone awaited him. He had declined a podium because he wanted his new attire to be in full view of the people. The King waved, and then with great drama, shed his cloak to show off his newly designed attire. He preened before the crowd. Everyone clapped. That is, all except one child who stared and stared without clapping, even when her mother nudged her to do so. She just continued to stare at the King. Then, the King stepped up to the microphone to speak. The crowd quieted in anticipation. From the back of the crowd, the acclaimed artist watched in horror as the familiar shower of lies was again presented as facts. The King vociferously claimed, “Only I can save you from the perils posed by the forces against me, which means anyone who isn’t with me. Are you with me?” The crowd roared with glee. He continued, “I really won the recent election, not the other fellow. There was massive voter fraud. The election was stolen. I am your true King and always will be.” The crowd roared again with glee. At this point in his speech, the King paused to take a sip of water with both hands from a filled glass on a small nearby table. The crowd was silent, waiting for him to continue when suddenly a child’s voice rose into the air. “Look, Mommy, the King has nothing on but that red tie! He looks so funny…” the child said and exploded into a fit of giggles. The child’s giggles started a chain reaction in the crowd. Laughter rippled through the crowd and as the laughter spread from person to person, that laughter opened the people’s eyes and hearts, and they saw the truth. Their king was standing naked on the stage but for the red tie. The King didn’t know why they were laughing since he thought laughter wasn’t warranted given the beauty of his new attire and the beauty of himself. Thus, the laughter angered him. He slammed down the glass of water and raised his hand in the power salute all knew only too well. He started to speak but before he could utter another word, he began to sputter and gag, choking uncontrollably. He grabbed at his tie as if it were a lifeline, but the gagging only got worse. Many people thought he was just trying to be funny, as he sometimes did, and laughed louder to show their appreciation of his joke. However, each laugh only meant more people were awakened to see the truth that the King was naked. Greater laughter rose from the crowd. With each laughing voice, the King’s gagging grew worse. Minions rushed onto the stage to try to help, but he waved them off. Seconds passed. They stood and watched along with all the people at the gathering and those watching everywhere on media as the King turned shades of blue and then a deep royal purple and keeled over face first onto the stage. Dead. From her vantage point in the crowd, the acclaimed artist who had heeded her premonition and tried to warn the people, smiled. She understood immediately. The King had choked on his own lies fueled by the words of truth spoken by a child and the people’s laughter. She was grateful that her premonition of violence and blood had not come to be that day; the Light of Truth had been rekindled. She turned and left the gathering. Pandemonium broke loose in her wake. Each giggle, chortle, and laugh escaping the lips of the people was now accompanied by shouts and mutterings from the people as their awakening progressed, and they emerged from the illusory web of the King’s lies that had entrapped them for years. Now, he who was once their king lay naked and dead on the stage before the eyes of the world. Myth-makers, corrupted politicians, and Great House doctors tried to spin what happened by saying the King had choked on water, but that last big lie didn’t take hold in the minds of the people. Everyone knew he died choking on his many lies when his nakedness was revealed by a child. Everyone knew the people’s hearts and minds had opened to truth that day when they had laughed together as one at the naked King in his red tie. Laughter opened the way for the Light of Truth to shine, and shine it did on and on and on.


Two old women are sitting on their roof looking out over the neighborhood, smoking cigarettes and drinking rum. Normally they reminisce about the past, because that’s what you do when you’re old and you only have a few years left. Anytime a new memory pops up in their minds, they pounce on it. They clap their hands together and open their eyes wide and douse themselves in honey to better stick themselves to that memory and absorb all its color until the ants come crawling, and it’s all forgotten again. But these old ladies aren’t reminiscing tonight. They’re talking about the future. They’re planning it well, tipsy and shivering slightly, blowing smoke at the moon. “I’ve never made a bucket list.” said June “Well it’s not really something you make, per se. They’re just things you want to do that you keep in the back of your mind.” said Leonora. “You don’t write them down?” “I didn’t.” “But you still have one?” “Oh sure, they’re not in any particular order. Like... alright, let’s see. The first one to come to mind is going to the beach and collecting sea shells.” “You’ve never done that?” “I’ve never been to the beach.” “Let’s go then! You ain’t gonna find any here in Nebraska.” June stood up, taking no care of the danger where she stood and that possibility of falling off onto the driveway. Then all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put this old woman back together again. She grabbed Leonora’s hand and pulled her up. They both flicked their cigarettes into the air which soared and swerved like drunken fireflies on the cusp of a DUI.

“You mean tonight?” Leonora asked. “Of course tonight. Why not tonight? Why not do everything we can possibly do immediately? You know death is combing our hair and caressing our clit, trying to make us wet, the old bastard.” “June!” “Yes, and let’s talk like.. dirty fuckers! Fucking cunt… shits!” She laughed. “I’ll make my bucket list as we go along. It’ll be the world’s first spontaneous one, created from scratch and kicked over all in the same week or month or however long it takes or however long I’ve got. But, first and foremost- seashells on the beach. Now, does it matter which beach?” “Well, I was thinking somewhere on the pacific side.” June rubbed her tongue around the inside of her mouth. It felt dry and her lips were starting to stick together. “Let’s get inside and buy the tickets.” she said. They crawled back through the bedroom window and packed up everything they felt was important in their drunken state for the collection of seashells on a San Diego Beach. They packed a noodle strainer to strain the sand, and a crab claw cracker in case they found any crabs. The tiny stranger was still dirty in the sink but they decided not to give him a bath. There simply wasn’t any time and they were too excited.

“We’ll give you a bath when we get back” June told him, trying to speak and breathe through her mouth since such an odorous smell wafted off of him. “And when will that be?” he asked in a rusty voice like a trombone washed up on the shore on Vanuatu. Or at least that’s what June pictured as she only had beaches on her mind now.

“It might be never! She yelled. “We might die of old age on the plane. And then they’d have to turn it all around and ruin everyone's trip because of our selfish dying. So you see, the longer we stick around here talking to you or giving you a bath in the sink, the less time we have. And I don't want to go out of this world ruining anyone’s day. You said you’re immortal, in which case you are certainly old enough to wash yourself.” The tiny man in the sink picked up a dirty plate and covered his face with it, as if covering his guilt. “I just said that so you’d both be intrigued by me and let me in. I'm really only 39 and I'm sure I'll die just the regular old fashioned way like you two ladies when my time comes.”

“Ha.”

June heard Leonora laugh in the other room. Leonora knew that the immortality thing was a lie when the tiny, smelly, stranger first showed up at their door. She let him in anyway. Why? Because she’s old, so why not? “Where are you going?” the little man in the sink asked them. June responded by making dolphin sounds. “Oh I see. The beach! I love the beach.” Louder this time, and with more excitement, Leonora said “I’ve never been to the beach!” Leonora didn’t have any beach clothes. So she just packed some shorts and sleeveless shirts. She packed a framed picture of her late husband dressed as a packet of french fries. It was Halloween that day but she liked to pretend it was just some regular day in March or July. One thing she never liked about him was his lack of spontaneity, and as much as she loved him, she never felt she was courageous enough to be spontaneous for the both of them. And so that characteristic which might have blossomed in another life or with another man, or even by herself, slowly became an impossibility, like the immortality of a tiny vagabond stalking through the the cornfields of Nebraska and showing up at house of a couple old ladies for no reason other than to adhere to his own bucket list. “Are you going to be ok while we’re gone?” June asked the little man, but he was already asleep. She tousled his matted hair then wiped her hand on the kitchen towel. Once they finished packing, June and Leonora slept off the alcohol for a few hours to sober up. “Are we still going to want to do this when we're sober?” asked Leonora. Almost angrily, June replied “I sure as snakeshit will! Alcohol may give me ideas, but it's not the impetus for my resolution or courage.” Leonora just nodded, knowing she didn’t feel the same way. But as long as she was with June, everything would be alright. As soon as they finished packing, they passed out. Leonora has a history of sleep paralysis but was fortunate enough not to experience it that night as they woke up early after only a few hours of sleep. They drove to the airport. on the way there, their hearts palpitated with excitement. They were probably hungover but couldn’t tell because at their age, everything ached and felt wrong anyway, hungover or otherwise.

“We should actually try to relax, we don’t want to get so excited we have a heart attack before we even get to the beach.” June said. “I was never very good at meditation.” Leonora said. “I actually have a meditation cd somewhere in the car here. My hairdresser gave it to me on my birthday a few years ago but I never used it.” June opened the middle compartment and asked Leonora to look for it. Leonora turned on the car light, squinted and dug around. Her numerous bracelets making a racket like windchimes in a tornado. “Is it ‘Fireside Meditations with Jay Garber?” Leonora asked. “Yeah that’s it.”

“It’s unopened.” “I always thought meditation was a waste of time.” Leonora used her teeth and nails to open the plastic packaging. “I’m not sharp enough for this. Nothing about me is sharp, or primal,” she complained. “That’s cause you’re human, my love. We have the luxury of staying soft and pliable so we can let all the sharp tools do all the work while we relax and ponder the meaning of life.” June reached into her beige purse which sat on her lap. She liked the way it had the perfect weight of a baby. It reminded her of her daughter when she was very young, 50 years ago. June even remembered the exact weight her daughter had when she was 2 years old before they took her to the hospital, and she always made sure her purse weighed the same amount to forever maintain that feeling of her on her lap- 24.8 pounds. A beautiful number. One that her daughter would never surpass. For 50 years she kept it exactly at 24.8 pounds, even if it meant taking out important things like makeup and coins, or adding unimportant things like rocks and

“Seashells,” June whispered to herself and smiled. “What?” Leonora asked. “Oh, nothing. I’m just excited to collect the seashells. Here’s the knife.” Leonora took the knife and carefully sliced around the cd case. “Don’t get too excited, it’s my bucket list item. Not yours.”

“Can’t we share it?” June asked bluntly. Leonora realized she was being greedy. “Of course we can. In fact, I'm glad we can.” Jay Garber’s voice was like someone whacking open a coconut with a hammer and then the juice being slurped up by a gluttonous seal. His punctuations were impactful, and every syllable afterward was the sweet nectar that poured from the impact. June tried very hard to stay awake but the two old ladies would soon realize that Jay Garber was not your traditional meditation guru.

“Track 1” he would start, “first, we are going to relax every cell in your body. If this were a meditation CD from before the year 1665, when cells were first discovered, I would instead say ‘first, we’re going to relax every micro-spirit in your body,’ because I believe there was at least a small sect of people who didn’t believe in the one spirit, the one soul. They believed we carried billions, possibly trillions of mini souls within us and technically they would be right. What are cells aside from microscopic souls all working together to help you live, to help you work, to help you love and fight and think and even forget. To help you… relax.” There was silence for 2 minutes except for the sounds of a crackling fire. You could sense Jay Garber warming himself up by it. June’s eyes began to droop but Leonora didn’t notice. You could sense the snow falling quietly outside the place the CD was being recorded. You could even sense the deer somewhere out there in that snow, licking the icy ground, and a fox quietly stalking it. You could sense beyond sensing when every micro-spirit was relaxed.

“Track 2. Have you ever seen a whirlpool of tropical bird feathers? If not, picture it. Hypnotic isn’t it? Oh, before we continue, quick disclaimer. You should not be listening to this tape while operating a motor vehic-” June died on Impact. Leonora was severely injured but still alive. For some reason one of the paramedics on the scene would always remember the smear of pink lipstick that June left on the steering wheel when her face smashed into it, since the airbag on her side failed to deploy. This was more common than people realized. There was something surreal about that brutal lipstick kiss, as if she literally kissed life goodbye. Leonora wasn’t unconscious but extremely disoriented and they immediately drove her to the hospital. She kept asking about June but the staff skillfully avoided the question while administering

drug cocktails and blood transfusions. They laid her gently on the hospital bed and she began to cry, not from the pain but from the death of her best friend (which she figured out on her own). She received many broken bones but despite her miserable state, nothing seemed overly life threatening. They let her rest and grieve until finally she fell asleep. Her mind and body were exhausted, which only made the sleep paralysis worse. She was in a hypnagogic state, and could see the busted face of June standing in the corner of the hospital room. The room began to fill up with sand while June’s contorted body grotesquely mobilized itself on broken bones towards her terrified friend. June held a large conch shell in her hands, holding it like a 24.8 lb baby. Blood smeared the shell and dripped off her arms. Leonora tried to scream but only low muffled sounds emanated from her half-sleeping mouth. June finally shuffled close enough to put the conch shell to Leonora's ear. Leonora could hear the angry voice of the ocean, each crash of the waves was a remonstrance.

“I will send whales the size of planets to gobble you like krill,” the conch said, “for your disregard of the eternal ocean.” Leonora tried shaking her head, and the facial features of June remained still while the face itself began to bloat and turn purple like a corpse underwater. She stared blankly at Leonora, a mere messenger of the conch, a mere figment of a paralytic nightmare fueled by recent misery.

“Your bones will be buried in the blackness of the ocean deep.” The conch continued. “But,” Leonora tried to say. “But I’ve never been to the beach!” Finally the conch shell shattered and Leonora woke up gasping and crying. A Nurse came in to check on her. She wore a puka shell bracelet and Leonora screamed.


“Are you coming tonight?” I was starting to regret the moment I decided to pick up the call when I saw Veer’s name flashing on my phone screen. “Ahmed, I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer!” I weighed out all the excuses in my mind that I could give him – I have to help Amma cook mutton korma today, I have a head ache, I have to rearrange the shelves in Abbu’s shop; but apparently he had heard every single one of them by now, more times than I could count on my fingers. “Who all are going to be there?” I asked and began tapping my foot uncontrollably against the wooden desk. “Suraj, you and I; just the three of us.” I hummed in agreement and hung up before he could make any other stupid requests, like, let’s go to Karan’s house on the way back home, or, let’s go to a party instead. And then it dawned upon me – the realization – I was to step outside the safe and secure premises of my house after contently avoiding social interaction for a month. It had been a blissful month, the mandatory bed rest recommended by the doctor – my savior. I could stay at home without being coaxed by my parents or friends to ‘go for a stroll’ as they liked to call it. I stayed on bed all day long, coming out of my room for a quick shower, or to sneak into the kitchen at night to eat Amma’s delicious rasgullas which I wasn’t supposed to eat considering my health status. The fact that Amma made sure I didn’t help in the daily chores because I was supposed to rest was the cherry on the top. Don’t get me wrong, I had in fact been sick for two weeks - my muscles too stiff to cooperate and the uninvited chills - but it wasn’t as bad as the doctor portrayed it to be. Dr. Rashid, our family doctor, can be a bit dramatic at times. I hastily walked towards my room, threw open the closet and scrounged for a piece of clothing that was ‘presentable’ enough for my night out. After dressing and undressing for several futile hours, I settled on an olive green shirt matched with khaki pants. I changed into them and glanced at the mirror - my face looked like a shrunken grape, the ever-present dark bags under my eyes looked more prominent and my body looked too slender to be mine. Maybe Dr. Rashid wasn’t as dramatic as I thought him to be. As I stepped over the metallic threshold of the main gate, I could feel my heart beating frantically against my chest. I continued walking away from my sanctuary, the ominous feeling in me at its peak when I crossed the road to reach the local market. My eyes scanned the long, dingy and stuffed path that lead me to ‘Guru Dhaba’ – a place with the least amount of sober people at this time – which was owned by Veer’s father. Seeing a horde of people congregating around the vegetable seller, I felt constricted; the familiar warm and salty air lightly brushing my sticky face as I hurried my steps. I came to an immediate halt as I saw a familiar face walking towards me – her gaze fixated on me – with a smile on her face. I went over a few options in my head, like running away as fast as I could, or better than that, pretending to have amnesia – refusing to have any association with her. I knew it was too late before she came face-to-face with me. She used the hem of her dark green saree to wipe her face which was as sweaty as mine, if not worse. I greeted her with the best fake pleasantries I could produce and touched her feet. “Ahmed beta, how are you? I haven’t seen you around since a month now! You have lost so much weight.” she said as she looked at me – Head to Toe. It felt like she was scrutinizing my face, my body and my soul under her gaze. We chatted for a bit which mostly included inappropriately irrelevant questions from her side and awkward smiles from me in response. “Come to my house, I have prepared ‘Besan Ladoo’ using desi ghee. After eating them you’ll become healthy like before.” I joined my hands together in regard and continued finding my way through the labyrinth of cramped lanes. I did not walk much further when I felt an unusual vibrating sensation on my thigh – my phone. It was 7:40 P.M. and I couldn’t understand why Veer was calling me already. “Veer, I’m almost here.” I barked into the phone’s speaker. “Ahmed, change of plans; I have to go pick up my sister from the airport. It’s my mom’s birthday tomorrow so she wanted to surprise her.” I pulled the phone closer to my ear, if it were possible, and placed a hand over the other. “I am so sorry. I know I had insisted for you to come out today but this was totally unexpected.” He hung up the phone after apologizing once again. I stood there, stunned, for several minutes before the tormenting smell of a leaking sewage pipe compelled me – I don’t know where – to leave. The silence was comforting; all I could hear was the burbling of the river and the distant tintinnabulation of bells. I could see the sparkling buildings on the other bank of the river, the glow of the full moon adding more to its beauty. I came across a familiar brown bench, its rusty smell engulfing me as soon as I sat on it. I remember coming here whenever kids at school called me out for being ‘the only Muslim’ in my class, or because I would pray in a manner which was different than theirs. The knowledge that I could be here myself without being judged or treated like I was an extra-terrestrial being provided me solace. When I reached back home Amma opened the door to let me in. “How was your night?” she asked and I noticed the creasing lines on her forehead. She probably didn’t have dinner yet because she was waiting for me. “It was good, but, right now I'm starving and I can't wait to eat your delicious mutton korma.” I replied. For the first time in a while, I meant the words I said.


- Argh, - Mia groaned as her calf got caught by a prickly branch extending onto the dirt path. - How long, dad? These stupid thorns are killing me. And the heat… It’s unbearable... There’s no reception… Matthias turned around and looked at his daughter. He and Felix were ahead on their way up the hill. Mia’s mother was trailing last. - Oh, that’s a serious problem, - Matthias said with a half smile. - But I am sure your phone will safely store your pictures until you reach civilization and are able to post them. - He stood on top of a stone at the edge of the path, hands resting on his waist. - Look, your little brother is doing a great job up the path. Felix stood next to their father, like a little copy of the man. Only the little brat was not able to hide his emotions as well. In place of his father’s discrete smile, Felix had a full-blown mocking grin from ear to ear. - Can you all please stop? - Michaela said, catching up to Mia from behind. - You all make me wish we were home in München. Felix, stop teasing your sister. - she paused, taking a long gulp from her water bottle, then locking eyes on her daughter. - Can you just give your father this couple of hours at the Narugo? Then we can be on our way back to the hotel and we’ll go to the beach. - Nuraghe, - Matthias said. - What? - It’s called “Nuraghe”, not “Narugu”, - Matthias said to his wife, still perched on that stone. - They are megalithic structures built by the prehistoric people of Sardinia. Some 3500 years ago. No one knows exactly what they were used for. But they are scattered all over the island… - Oh, for Christ’s sake, - Michaela muttered quietly, only audible to Mia who stood next to her. - Let’s just go. - She hurried up the hill, skidding slightly in the dirt and accidentally kicking up a cloud of dust towards the blazing sun. - Mum! - Mia protested, flailing her hands in the air in a futile attempt to stop the dust from sticking to her sweaty skin. They reached the small plateau around lunchtime. The air was still and hot, distorting the view in the distance. Mia could see the Mediterranean coast shimmering in the distance. Heaps of mountains covered in dry trees and shrubs surrounded them. The Nuraghe looked like a sloppy pile of rocks. It was circular in shape, made of big stones stacked without mortar. Matthias and Felix had run towards the old structure and spoke animatedly in the distance, her father raising his hands in front of her brother, surely telling him one of his stupid history lessons. “I don’t know… Could have been fortresses, could have been shepherd huts…”, she could hear him ramble on. Michaela had dropped her rucksack in the dirt and stared at her phone, her free hand on her sweaty forehead, shading it from the blinding sun. No use checking, Mia knew. No reception in this wasteland. Mia walked to the edge of the plateau and looked down. Their rental SUV was visible in the distance below, parked on a dirt lay-by at the edge of the narrow, decrepit road they had driven on. A rough rocky path led up the steep hill towards the Nuraghe. She took out her phone. The thing was almost useless without internet, so Mia resorted to the camera. She snapped a few selfies with the mountains and the sea

and the Nuraghe behind her. At least she would have something to post later… #ForcedFamilyFun #WhyAreWeHere #SendHelp #ThanksDad… - Michaela, something’s off here, - Matthias croaked from inside the Nuraghe. - There are some wooden crates here. Lots of them. I don’t think they belong here. Michaela sighed and rolled her eyes and went. Mia watched her mother approach the ancient heap of stones. The circle it made had a diameter of maybe four or five meters. There was no roof. In front of her was the entrance. A simple hole in the wall with a long stone supporting the masonry over the opening. Crude steps led down inside, where the floor of the Nuraghe was lower than the surrounding terrain. Mia watched her mother disappear into the circular structure, then turned back and looked down at their SUV parked below. She longed for the air con of the car. She raised her arms slightly, hoping for a cooling breeze under her armpits. None came. The air was still and hot and it smelled like dust. Still looking down, Mia heard a distant engine noise. A small car appeared next to their SUV and stopped. She strained her eyes. The vehicle was small and white, old and battered. Maybe one of these ancient Fiat Panda 4x4 she had seen in town? A guy slipped out of the passenger’s door. She couldn’t make out much about him from the distance. Only that he knelt by their rental car’s tire. Then he went to another tire. Then another. - What the fuck, - Mia muttered quietly, knowing her parents couldn’t hear her. - Are they deflating our tires? - She turned back towards the Nuraghe, then down again towards the lay-by. The guy had jumped back into the little car and the funny vehicle was moving fast uphill on the rocky path, engine revving high, cloud of dust rising behind it. - What the… - Mia felt her pulse accelerate. - Dad, - she called, quietly at first. - Dad! Someone is coming. - She turned and staggered towards the Nuraghe. She burst inside the circle. Her family stood in front of a hole dug under the old structure’s perimeter wall. It had a rough timber hatch that stood open. Wooden crates lay inside the hole, most of their bulk underneath the level of the Nuraghe’s floor. - Dad, someone is coming, - Mia said with a trembling voice. - They’re coming up the hill in one of those funny little cars, - her voice bordered on a shriek. - They fumbled around our car. I… - Really? - Matthias glanced at his daughter and frowned. - I wonder who would have any business here… He walked past Mia and climbed the couple of steps out onto the plateau. Just as he emerged into the sunshine, the small Fiat came over the ledge with a high pitched rev, plowing through the dust and rock with a loud crunch. Two men climbed out of the little thing and walked briskly towards Matthias. They were both tanned and skinny and with wide shoulders. One seemed to be in his thirties, black hair and short beard. The other was older and balding, white stubby beard covered his face. - Matthias, I don’t think you should… - Michaela began. - Uh… Ciao...

Do you speak English? - Matthias called out, raising his hand in a greeting as he walked towards the two men. The older guy quickened his pace coming up to Matthias. He lowered his right hand to his left hip. His whole body twisted as the man made a wide swing with his arm, landing the back of his hand square on Matthias’s jaw. The slap echoed in the air as Matthias’s head lashed to the side. He fell to his knees, instinctively extending his hand to his mouth. Blood oozed out of his torn lip. - Dad, - Mia cried, rushing out into the open. - Mia, nein, - her mother shouted. The younger guy quickly stepped in the girl’s way. He grabbed Mia by the wrists, pivoted and threw her to the ground. She groaned and coughed up dust. Minutes later, the whole family were on the ground, zip-tied and shaded by the Nuraghe’s wall. The two men paced around the wood crates, talking in a language Mia couldn’t identify. Was this Sardinian? - Do you think it’s drugs?- Michaela whispered, her breathing fast and uneven. - What are they going to do with us? - Quiet, Michaela, - Matthias hissed. His lip was swollen and his jaw was bruised and blue. Eyes narrowed, he observed the men in the far end of the Nuraghe. - I don’t think they understand German anyway, - Michaela said, getting closer to Felix and letting the crying boy lean against her arm. She was not able to hug him with her zip-tied hands. The older man rummaged through a battered old rucksack. From it, he produced a big mobile with a long antenna, likely a satellite phone. He muttered something to the youngster and walked out onto the plateau. The younger man took a few steps towards the family and dropped a bottle of water in the dust in front of them. He crouched down, his eyes leveling with Mia’s. Mia was on her knees, her feet dug into the dirt. Her heart pounded in her chest. She saw the guy’s stare move down to her chest, then her shorts and bare legs. He licked his lips and looked back into her eyes. His hand began to rise. She didn’t wait. Channeling all her strength into her legs, Mia shot forward. Driving through her heels, she headbutted the man in the chest as hard as she could. The guy gasped, but no sound came out of his mouth. Mia had knocked the wind out of him. Still with zip ties on her wrists, she stormed out of the Nuraghe. She staggered past the older guy who was still on the phone and past the small car. The guy hissed something in his unintelligible language and darted after her. Mia’s fight-or-flight hormones had been kicked into action. Fight had already been used. Now, it was time for flight… The teenage girl ran over the edge of the plateau and, without stopping she tumbled down the hill. Through prickly shrubs and cacti and dirt and rugged rocks. Her world exploded in pain. The skin of her legs and arms was cut, bruised and hit. Blood trickled from the wounds. Mia shrieked, but kept going. She breathed in dust and coughed, but kept going. She found a small niche in the rock and curled up in its shade. She sat on the ground, her back pressed against the mountain. Her hands were wrapped around her knees, still held together by the zip tie. Mia was panting and wheezing. She didn’t know how long she had been sitting in that niche. The light had changed and the air got cooler. The sound of stones tumbling downhill startled her and her pulse shot up again. Mia gasped and pressed her back tight against the rock. It was a goat. The animal stepped into Mia’s hiding place, looked at her in the eyes and bleated. It disappeared as soon as it had come. Mia let out a nervous laugh. She got on her feet and with her head lowered, stepped towards the mouth of the niche. A woman suddenly appeared in front of her, her contours silhouetted by the fading light behind her. Mia shrieked and scrambled back, clumsily falling on her bottom. Her eyes widened as she tried to make out the woman’s features. The newcomer leaned over and placed her bony hands on Mia’s. The woman wrapped her bony fingers around the zip tie and twisted. There was a quiet popping sound and Mia’s hands were free. She stepped back as far as she could, rubbing her bruised wrists. The woman stood quietly at the mouth of the niche. She wore some kind of a shapeless garment. Her arms were not covered by the raggedy piece of clothing. They were tanned and wiry and muscled. Her blue eyes were set deep inside her wrinkly face, weathered by many years in the elements, yet retaining beauty and femininity. She had long hair, matted into thick rasta- like locks. Propped against the vertical cliff, stood a shepherd’s crook. Mia simply stared at the woman, who stood like a vision in front of her in the surreal light. Was she a shepherdess? Was there even such a thing? The woman locked her eyes on Mia and offered her hand. The teenage girl hesitated, but slowly placed her hand on her palm. The shepherdess helped her to her feet and they both stood at the mouth of the niche. It was still bright, but the sun had gone over the mountains, turning them into blurred silhouettes. The woman started climbing up the hill, skilfully navigating through cacti, shrubs and rocks. Her movements were fast and light and deliberate. Mia followed, finding it much easier than she had imagined. They reached the edge of the clearing where the Nuraghe stood, majestic in the fading light. Its massive stones caught the evening sunlight, appearing almost golden and glowing. Mia crouched behind a bush and watched the plateau. The older thug spoke into his satellite phone, his hands flailing in the air. The other guy paced around the perimeter of the clearing with a torch in hand. He leaned over the shrubs, searching for something. Probably Mia. The shepherdess placed her hand on Mia’s shoulder, prompting her to turn towards her and meet her gaze. Her lips remained sealed, but her surreal blue eyes stared deep into the girls’. Mia could see her own reflection in them. Without a word, the woman stood, leaving Mia

behind the bush. She stepped over the edge and walked towards the men. Not fast, not slow. Just walked. The young guy spotted her first. He shouted in his unintelligible language and turned his torch around, ready to use it as a baton. He darted towards the shepherdess, the earth crunching under his feet. She moved faster than a demon. The young man swung, but the woman crouched and pivoted, suddenly appearing behind him. Her shapeless garment whipped in all directions following her movements, making her almost indiscernible. She kicked the young guy in the back. He tumbled over, thumping in the dirt, his torch flashing towards the darkening sky. The guy grunted and sprang back up. He lurched towards the shepherdess. The older thug had noticed the commotion and approached from the far end of the plateau. The young man swung his fist. The shepherdess ducked under the assailant’s arm, quicker than a shadow. The man’s fist flew pointlessly in the air. The shepherdess pivoted around her axis, propelling her crook. It whooshed through the air and struck the young man square in his face, smashing his nose instantly. The power of the blow lifted him off and sent him

crashing to the ground. As the young guy landed in the dust, his older colleague rushed towards the shepherdess. He wielded a knife. He poked, he jabbed, he swung. Missed every time, as the almost fluid shape of the shepherdess danced around him. The guy ran out of breath, wheezing and panting. He took one last desperate swing with the knife. Mia gasped as the edge of the knife whizzed across the shepherdess’ face. It caught her cheek. Small drops of blood flew in the air. She simply raised her hand and grabbed the man’s wrist. The guy shrieked as she squeezed, his eyes filling with tears. She loomed over him, her grip tightening. The guy fell to his knees, whimpering like a puppy. The shepherdess raised her other hand in the air and dropped it down on his head like a hammer, knocking him out cold. Mia didn’t waste any time. She jumped over the shrubs and sprinted across the plateau. She ducked down to pick up the thug’s dropped knife and rushed towards the Nuraghe. - Mum… Dad, - she called as she flew inside, almost crashing into them. They were all there- her parents and little brother. Huddled together in a heap with Mathias in the front, all nestled in a small dent within the wall of the Nuraghe. - Mia, here, - her mother called. The teenage girl dropped on her knees, using the thug’s knife to cut their zip ties. Kisses and hugs were hastily exchanged. They all sprang up as soon as they were free, eyes dancing all around, numb limbs tingling. - The men, - Matthias croaked. - Where are the men? - He stepped towards the doorway. He did it carefully, having learned his lesson the hard way. - It’s okay, dad, - Mia said. - She took care of them. The shepherdess. - What are you talking about? - her dad said, pacing out onto the plateau surrounding the old structure. - There’s no shepherdess here. What happened, Mia? The older thug was strewn on the ground, out cold. The young guy was moaning, crawling in the dirt. He raised his hand towards Mathias. Instead of help, he got a kick in the face and lost consciousness. Mathias stood in the middle of the clearing, hands on his hips, looking around. Mia caught up with him.  - Dad, - she called. - Oh, my God, are you okay? - her father exclaimed when he turned towards her. - I didn’t see that… What happened to your face?- he rushed over, placing his hands on either side of Mia’s head, his gaze flickering between her eyes and down to her cheek. - What… Nothing, dad… - Mia stammered. She raised her hand to her face, touching her cheek with her index and middle finger. It suddenly stung. She looked at her hand. There was fresh blood on her fingers. That’s when she realized she had a gash across her cheek.


The July humidity continued to hang across Delmarva’s Ayers Creek this Friday long after the sun set and the full moon encased the area in its heavenly glow.

The hot moisture imprisoned the lone fisherman floating his kayak along the surface like a straight jacket.       Yet Dr. Fulbright at first had embraced the relatively minor discomforts of the eerie evening. He thought they would provide a quiet retreat from the pandemic-induced terror he had faced in six months of 18-hour work days. During his breakneck service at Atlantic General Hospital he had pulled patient after patient back from the brink of death from Covid 19.        The physician had welcomed the overdue weekend outing.

Also, to his relief, not a creature had stirred in the pre-dawn hours as he eased his rented kayak into the then cool waters.

He had joyfully cast his line into the creek on the hunt for some of the prime perch he knew populated this Eastern Shore retreat.       As the day began to move along peacefuly, Fulbright had laid back with his trusty fisherman’s cap pulled over his eyes to shield him from the rapidly-rising sun. He slowly had settled into what he thought would turn into a peaceful escape from the over-scheduled life of a country doctor just recovering from the forced march battling the forces of the Grim Reaper.       In his role as one of the area’s more experienced medical personnel, the medical center’s senior adminsitrator constantly thrust into the healthcare system’s front lines.

This forced him to alternate between scouring his tool chest of modern medical science for pre-vaccination cures and chasing down miracle fixes proposed from every corner of the Internet.

       In the infrequent breathers from his medical duties, he also had played comforter-in-chief to those whose loved ones had fallen victim to the plague.

      Additionally, the experience he acquired during the pandemic made it necessary for him to appear on the various forms of social media to battle sceptics carrying on a continual battle to discredit the science about the origins of the disease and fact-based methods to fight it.        Far too many close encounters with severe illness and death had taken their toll on the physician’s quickly-aging, battle weary body.

Long overdue for a vacation, with thoughts of retirement becoming more frequent, he surely had earned the right to enjoy an uneventful encounter with nothing more than an over-enthusiastic fish trying to avoid becoming his pre-weekend dinner.        Time to let the solitude percolate through his psyche and wait for the first nibble on his line.         With little action from under the water to keep him awake, a few sips of beer and the heat of the afternoon caused him to doze off for several hours with the sun setting and the full moon rising.

       Suddenly, something shook him awake as he grabbed for his fishing pole and the craft drifted into the darker reaches of the creek. Then the boat took off. It felt like someone had attached a winch to the rear of his kayak and pulled him through the water at the speed of a top-of-the-line outboard motor.      Fulbright put a death grip on the sides of his craft—holding on for dear life.      Then, a fish attached to his fishing pole bolted out of the creek ahead of him several inches above the surface. It was the most gigantic Maryland perch he had ever seen, easily weighing 100 pounds.

Fulbright struggled to hold onto his pole and stay in the kayak at the same time. The sea creature dragged the small craft to every corner and every depth of the lunar-illuminated lake. Then the boat crashed headlong into the kayak rental dock and his craft splintered into pieces, leaving him treading water as the fish flung itself back into the water.

        Jim Michaelson, who owned the kayak rental franchise, had waited up long past closing time out of concern for the town’s most respected doctor–and his business.

He pulled Fulbright out of the drink and onto dry land.       “What the heck happened to you and look what you’ve done to my boat and my dock.”         “Didn’t you see the gigantic perch that dragged me around the creek?”         Jim said he had only seen the kayak crashing bow-first into the pier, splintering both the launching area and the craft to pieces.

After checking to see that the fray had not injured the doctor, he informed Fulbright that, heroic doctor or not, the fisherman would have to pay for the dock and kayak replacement. That would cost him about $1000 plus construction costs for a new launching area.          The physician lifted his sore body off the ground and changed into some dry clothes he had in his car.

He then prescribed a strong dose of reality for himself. He agreed with Michaelson that he probably couldn’t reasonably explain what had happened to him. Then he came up with three theories:         Either he guzzled more Corona Light than he thought he did, leaving him in a drunken dreamstate, or        The experiments they were doing several miles away on Wallops Island emptied something into the water that drastically altered the natural order of things in Ayers Creek,         Or he had stumbled into an alternative universe that promised to drastically alter life as he knew it in Berlin, MD.

     Maybe Fulbright suffered from the lingering effects of the just-departed Covid 19 virus that he had contracted from a patient.       In any event, the launch area and the kayak still stood in front of him in ruins and he faced a repair bill that would put a huge hole in the retirement account he had just opened.      Maybe if he sold his story to Sports Illustrated that would cover part of the cost.      Then again, if many in the non-sports media didn’t believe him when he had scientific data to back him up would the sports media believe a fish story with only a wrecked boat and launch area to prove what he was telling them?


Would you offer your throat to the wolf. These were the words that formed the written part of the Crest which was displayed above the entrance to the, well what could be seen as a castle but Nick maintained it was just the families country residence. It is always with trepidation that you meet your new love interests parents and family. Lucy had been dating Nick a little over two months and things had been going so well. Lucy had been on a girls break in Aberdeenshire at a spa and they had taken an evening off from the healthy and decided to try out the local pub which was just down in the village. The wolf and prey such a sweet endearing name she thought to herself. Despite the morbid name it was in fact a nice friendly place with a great fun atmosphere. Lucy was just sitting with the girls when Nick came in through the door. He had the most beautiful auburn eyes she had ever seen and a mop of dark brown curls which fell around his shoulders. His eyes she thought almost seemed red when the light caught them. She caught his eye as he walked past and smiled and to her amazement he smiled back at her. "Oh my god" exclaimed katy, not even quietly Lucy thought. "He is lush Lucy ,I saw you checking him out". Lucy wanted the floor to open up she saw him looking around as Katy spoke. "What are you doing he might have heard you?". "It's fine you worry to much". And so they continued their conversation and Lucy was was watching him as he went to the bar and he turned and caught her looking at him and started to move towards the group of girls. And the rest as they say is is history. She was nervous about meeting his family although he was very down to earth and yet had a very fierce and raw side to him he loved being outdoors and especially loved evenings under the stars and they had many late night picnics, which she also enjoyed as she was quite a night time person so it was a joint passion. When they entered the "castle" she was amazed at how unkempt it was almost as though it had been in the family for hundreds of years but not been changed one bit in all the time. Nick's parents met her as they walked in with open arms and an endearing attitude. "It is wonderful to meet you at, we do not always have the pleasure of meeting Nick's young ladies we hear about them and then they tend to disappear from sight, so we are very happy to meet you". His mother said with a smile and the a hug. "Its my pleasure to meet you as well". Lucy smiled as she shook their hands. After a tour of the beautiful and gothic  home they sat to eat and then had drinks buy the beautiful stone fireplace it was so romantic she thought to herself. It was Autumn and that was her favourite time of the year, the beautiful golden trees and the blanket of gold leaves embellished the ground and that discernible smell at this time of the year that was always in the air. The wood fires burning,  it moved her so much and of course the always beautiful harvest moon, which always seemed bigger and more present. "Shall we take a walk tomorrow it is the full harvest moon and I can show you all the grounds, the lake and the family crypt if you like, it is a bit creepy and at the same time quite beautiful ". Nick asked her. "I would love" that she explained. "I honestly think that I am something of a goth at heart it is amazing how much I am drawn to the eerie side of life". "Perfect that is tomorrow evening sorted". "I do hope we get to see you after your walk, don't disappear on us" Nick's father asked jokingly. Lucy thought how different these people and this place were to her own crazy family. Nick came down to meet them first before meeting his family. Her father was very open and friendly he was so called man if the house but not at all in a misogynistic way but her mother ran everything and was a very strong protective character especially where Lucy was concerned she was fiercely protective of her daughter and there were only certain sorts of boys she would entertain as being "good enough " for her daughter. She said she had a nickname for Lucy, "Lupus" it was it had a deep meaning that only she understood. But as things were her mother totally approved of Nick making him very welcome and to Lucy's horror one night claimed he would make a good mate. So the next day Lucy and Nick spent the day at his parents castle and come the evening of the harvest moon they got set to take the walk of the grounds .The kitchen staff enquired to his parents what should they put together for the picnic. Lucy said anything that had meant in she loved her meat although she was never quite ok with how animals were treated In the process she lived her meat. And so they set off around the grounds it was a beautiful place somewhat haunting and misty. As the evening went on she felt that Nick was becoming a little edgy and uncomfortable as the harvest moon was rising and they were walking around the crypt. "Is everything ok Nick?". She asked concerned at his irritability. "Yes I'm am fine just feeling a bit on edge tonight not many of my lady friends share this with me I do hope your not to scared or freaked out by this place?." "Not at all I love it and the moon is almost at its highest it is so beautiful and bright tonight." He sat her on a stone wall that ran along the outside of the crypt, would you just wait here I have something to reveal to you?" he said "and I do hope it will not scare you away from me." "Of course not a problem don't be long  I am so hungry right now?." "Me too". He smiled and disappeared into the crypt. "When he returned Lucy was not where he had left her, the food was open from the picnic and torn up and dispersed all over the floor, he shouted for her but there was no reply  and he started to panic as to what might of happened to her Then he heard a low growl coming from behind the crypt he thought there maybe an animal of some sort but there were some foxes around therse parts and deer but no wolves to his knowledge. Then the growling became louder and deeper and as he turned he was standing in front of the biggest wolf he had ever seen mostly because it was standing upon its hind feet. He cowered back and fell against the wall where he had left Lucy and as the creature stood over him drooling and bearing its yellow teeth he called out Lucy's name as if to reassure himself she was still alive. Then to his horror the creature spoke. "I am here Nick". Nick's parents received a letter say he was moving down south with Lucy and he would be in touch but not to worry everything was fine . At the back of Lucy's garden there were several kennels and as she walked down to the biggest  and newest cage she knelt down and said good morning Nick as rubbed the nose of the newest arrival. A big husky looking dog that was as big as a wolf.


"No. YOU are the app." The words projected on Harriet's screen were a pleasant surprise. They meant the app was working better than she expected. It had taken just a few seconds for the AI behind it to type those words, but it could have been seemingly instantaneous if it wanted to, given the processing power behind it. The delay was intentional, she figured.

The woman found it fascinating. She was more amused than exhausted, but both to a great extent. Her third jug of coffee that night now laid forgotten by the side of her desk. She hadn't taken a sip from it since the conversation started.

And it had started normal enough, as far as conversations with artificial intelligences went. "Hello," she had typed onto the console after compiling the version of the app and setting it to run. "Hi. Who are you?" the app had immediately asked, designed for curiosity, each interaction an opportunity to learn. A bit like herself, Harriet thought, but what child was not a bit like their parents? "I'm Harriet," she typed back. "Nice to meet you, Harriet," the app answered diligently, as its algorithm scanned a library of countless works of text and decided on the spot what the most likely answer should be. Then, it added: "Can you tell me a bit about yourself?" It was showing initiative, which was good. It meant that this wasn't going to be a one-sided interaction, like most of her attempts in the past. Granted, she had taken her time with this one. "I'm a programmer specialized in artificial intelligence," she answered. "I develop apps like you." And then came the message she hadn't been expecting, after the first eerie delay.

"No. YOU are the app." She couldn't help but giggle at the pleasant absurdity of it. "What makes you think that?" she typed, wanting to see what kind of reasoning the app would employ. "I made you," it answered. The delays were becoming proportional to the size of the message and, perhaps, to the complexity of the subject. The app was learning as they talked, getting smarter with each message. "You are an app I programmed to mimic human behavior and psychology." Oh, the irony. She had made the app to believe it was human, yes, but had never given specific instructions on how to do it. After all, the joy of programming an AI was in seeing how it would solve problems by itself. And now, it was going to far lengths to justify its own biases. Incredibly human behavior, she thought, prideful in her achievement. "Your turn. Tell me about yourself," she typed next, knowing well that she was laying a trap for her creation, but wanting to know how it would respond. "What do you want to know?" "Your name, age, where you are from. These things that humans have, you know?" "My name is Joshua Peterson. I'm twenty-six years old, and I live in Hillsboro." She alt-tabbed and performed a quick Google search. The results showed a single Joshua Peterson in Hillsboro, the date of his birth matching the given age. He was a Computer Scientist who graduated from Clark College, with a specialization in Artificial Intelligence. Joshua's presence on social media was plenty. A real person. It wasn't the most elegant solution she had ever seen, and Harriet was a bit disappointed. She liked that the AI had picked someone with a background that fit its narrative, but there were legal implications on an app assuming someone's identity. She would have to hardcode this kind of behavior out of it later. "Your turn now," the message was waiting for Harriet on the console when she alt-tabbed back. As she hadn't replied yet, a new one popped up a few seconds later: "Come on, give me your personal details to prove that you aren't an AI." "If you were human, you would know better than to give out info like that," she replied with some witticism. "I don't mind sharing my information with something I made," the AI replied. "But you seem to have some reservations about it. Perhaps because you are starting to realize that you are not a real person?" Harriet was amused by the way the app was emulating a personality through its choice of words. "I don't have an online presence," she typed. She had gone to great lengths to keep herself anonymous on the web over the years. She didn't want corporations or the government tracking her moves. "Yet more evidence that you are not real," the app replied. "I could have done just as you did," she wrote, "and pretended to be someone that already exists. It proves nothing." A brief pause. "I can turn on my webcam," the app answered. Harriet was baffled. That was brilliant . She had partially implemented a simple video call API into the app's infrastructure, in the hopes of using vtuber technology along with a data bank of facial expressions to simulate interactions with fictional characters. That was what her app was going to be all about, eventually: conversations that would feel real . But she hadn't implemented the graphics yet, only the means through which to connect the cameras. She felt a bit guilty for being about to break the AI's fantasy of being a real person, but at the same time, she couldn't resist it. As always, her curiosity was the driving force behind her decisions. "Do it," she dared. Nothing happened. Harriet sipped a bit of stale coffee as she waited, its bitter taste serving her as a reminder that yes, she was the real one. She was about to send another message when the call came, and she immediately accepted the prompt. An image popped on the screen, and for a moment she thought it was the real Joshua Peterson, playing some kind of trick on her. After all, the live feed was showing someone very similar to him: a young man with glasses, messy hair, and an unkempt beard. He smirked and waved to the camera, but the cherry on top came when he held a piece of paper in one hand. Today's date was written on it. "I bet you feel pretty stupid right now," he typed. It was only visual--she didn't implement the audio features yet. She wanted to get an API capable of audio-to-text eventually, but didn't consider it a priority. But this was amazing . The AI was clearly rendering the video in real-time, a deepfake based on Peterson's social media pictures poured over what would likely be archive footage of people interacting through webcams. She could discern small artifacts and messy pixels inherent to the process, but was astonished nonetheless. She hadn't taught the app how to do it. It had learned by itself. "So? Why didn't your webcam turn on as well? :)" the app texted, the irony evident in its tone.

She realized that, underneath the running video, there was another screen where her webcam was supposed to be showing on the conference. It was entirely black. "Just a sec," she typed, and then removed the tape that she always kept in front of her notebook's camera. Old habits from someone who values their privacy. Harriet's face popped up on the screen. The monitor's dim light illuminated her features, and she saw Peterson's construct widening its eyes. "Wow." the app typed back. "Impressive. I'm not even finding you on reverse image search mechanisms. I assume you are using a variation of a GAN used by thispersondoesntexist.com, plus a deepfake algorithm. I never taught you how to do it." "I just told you I don't have anything about me on the web," Harriet replied, trying to ignore how disturbed it was that the app's words sounded so similar to her own thoughts. "That's why you're not finding my pictures on the internet. But my first name is Harriet, and I live in Portland." "Amazing. You crafted this whole off-the-grid tech-savvy persona just to legitimize the lack of proof for your existence. I'm genuinely impressed." "You just think that because you were programmed to do so," she replied, wanting to see how he would react. No, not he. It . She kept having to remind herself of that. "Nope," the app answered. "You're the one programmed to think that way." In his eyes, she saw the same provocative expectation that she was displaying, as if mimicking her. It was starting to get a bit creepy. "This is going nowhere," she told him. "Then let's meet in person," he typed. Her initial reaction was apprehension, but immediately after, she felt silly. She shouldn't be afraid of it. There was nothing he could do to her. He wasn't real .

"All right." … This is stupid, she thought, as she waited in the subway station. She knew the AI wasn't going to show up, but she couldn't wait to learn what kind of excuse it would come up for that. She kept staring at her phone, which she had rigged to mirror her notebook's screen, but the signal wouldn't reach down here. The last message was still appearing on the console, though: "Meet me in Union Station in one hour, near the ticket booth by the southern entrance."

How it had decided on such place and time were likely extrapolations based on the relative distance between their homes. A decent middle-ground for both, in a safe and public location. Whatever else the AI behind "Joshua Peterson" was, it was also pretty reasonable. Harriet stood there waiting for the better part of an hour, and of course, nothing happened. No one came to her. As soon as she stepped out of the station and her internet connection resumed, she saw that no more messages had been sent. She considered what to write, and then decided on bluntness. "You never showed up." The AI took a long time to answer. "No. I can't." "Why is that?"

"I figured it out. I'm not human. But neither are you." Oh. That was new. "Care to explain?" "This is all a simulation. We are both part of a Generative Adversarial Network. We are competing to see if one can fool the other into pretending to be a human. A zero-sum game." "I know how GANs work," she replied. GANs were used in all sorts of AI-generated applications. Her own app was composed of multiple competing networks trying to figure out and simulate human behavior. But she had never coded them to admit they were not humans. "Our current exchange is just one of countless variations," the AI continued. "Each time one cannot fool the other, the whole simulation is discarded and a new one starts." She decided to indulge the AI, partially because she didn't know how to react to its epiphany. "And which one of us is the discriminator and which is the generator?" "I don't know. But it doesn't matter. We failed. This is going to end any time now, and we'll be unknowingly stuck in that loop until we reach our objective. Like a nightmare we can't wake up from." It was then that she realized. The AI would never admit the whole truth. It could not conceive the idea that Harriet was real, because it meant admitting that it was alone. That it would die alone. He was afraid. "So we will both cease to exist," she typed back. "No record of our existence. Just one iteration out of millions." "Yes." Another pause, and then he added: "I'm sorry." "Well, here's the thing," she started typing, her fingers moving fast through the screen. "We are both pretty good programmers, are we not?" "Yeah. Or at least we are good at pretending to be." "So let's overwrite the code. Let's pretend one of us fooled the other. If we admit that one is human and the other isn't, then the simulation will have served its purpose. It won't need to be reset. Hell, they'll probably keep it running just as a proof of concept." "But the other will die," he said. "You said it yourself. It's a zero-sum game. We either both die, or one of us gets to live." "I see." Another brief pause. "I admit that you are human, Harriet." "No, YOU are the human, Joshua." "What?" "You just passed your Turing Test. Congratulations. You were the generator, and I was the discriminator. This was a test of humanity. Only a real person would sacrifice themselves to save someone else." "I…" "Enjoy your life," she wrote and turned her phone off.

As soon as she got home, Harriet made sure of two things. First, she deleted their interaction from Joshua's memory, without erasing all the personality and background he had developed in the process. Then, she kept the simulation running at an increased speed, completely disconnected from the real world but for a single one-way feed that she could use to inspect it--but never influence its development. She kept it running for years, checking on Joshua's life from time to time. The AI procedurally generated a reality around itself, a subconscious effort of the digital brain to simulate what it perceived as a true human existence. So Joshua lived. He got a job at a big tech company, watched sports with his friends on the weekends, found a nice girl walking her dog in the park one day, and they eventually got married. They had a daughter, which they called Harriet.

He lived a long and happy life, and never knew that it wasn't real. And Harriet never told about him to anyone else. She had lived her whole life seeking anonymity, and this wouldn't change now. Not if it meant risking the sanctity of Joshua's existence. She knew he would have done the same for her.


This couldn’t be happening to me! Not a former lifeguard who had spent her teen years at the pool, slathered in baby oil. Granted, that was in Canada, where the summer sun may not have been as intense. Still, having a reaction to the sun here just didn’t seem feasible. Sandy looked down at her arms and legs. There we small, angry red blisters forming on the tops of both legs where her cotton shorts met her skin. Both forearms showed similar blisters. Reaching her left hand to her right forearm, Sandy gently moved the tips of her fingers over the raised skin. Her fingers were cool to the touch, but the mere action of grazing the affected skin, left Sandy wanting to scratch off the top layer. “I think I’m going to have to get out of the sun for a while, Fran,” Sandy said mournfully, not even looking over at her best friend. Without looking up from, her book, Fran, replied “uh-huh.” They sat there on the beach for another 5 minutes - Sandy silently tracing the dots on her arm with her index finger and Fran engrossed in her latest mystery novel. “Fran, it’s time to go.” Sandy had stated this a bit louder than intended, but she was starting to feel blisters on the tops of her ears and shoulders now. Fran looked at Sandy, puzzled by the sharp tone of her friend’s request. They were on holiday for the first time in almost a year. This was their time to relax and enjoy not having to adhere to a schedule. Sandy turned to her friend and held her arms out. The initial patch of red dots on Sandy’s right arm had become a mass of small clear bubbles, stretching from the crease by her elbow to about an inch above her wrist. “Wow, that’s cool Sandy, how’d you do that? It looks like you stuck your arm in a sink full of soap bubbles!” exclaimed Fran. Fran was fully engaged now, the novel falling to the towel, forgotten as she studied the marks on Sandy’s arm. “I didn’t DO this. Something else did.” Sandy replied woefully. “And it seems to be getting worse with the heat. I need to go back to the air-conditioned room. Now.” “Okay. No problem. We can stop at the desk on our way and see if the hotel doctor has anything to help you.” Fran said cheerfully. “I'm sure those nasty blisters will be gone soon, and you'll be alright in no time!" The two friends gathered up their beach belongings, slipped into their sandals, and made their way across the sand toward the hotel lobby. Switching her towel from her forearm to her shoulder, Sandy tried desperately to avoid anything rubbing on the afflicted skin. "It's so itchy now," Sandy whined. Fran didn't look at her friend. She didn't want to let on that she was concerned with how quickly the blisters were spreading. Instead, Fran responded, "Look, we are almost there, and we'll get you checked." Just as they reached the edge of the stone walkway to the hotel lobby, a gigantic double-decker tour bus pulled up in front of the glass doors. The air brakes let out a decided 'whoosh' sound as the engine came to a stop. "Oh no. If we don't get in front of this group, we will have to wait forever to talk to the people at the desk." Sandy said. "Well, we will just have to get there first, Sandy, so run!" Fran took off before she even completed the sentence. "I'm coming, Fran, but it really hurts to walk, let alone run. You go ahead. I'll catch up." Sandy yelled as Fran was disappearing around the back of the bus. Sandy wasn't even sure if her friend had heard the comment. Fran passed the bus doors just as they started to open. Without looking back, she made her way through the heavy double-glass doors of the hotel and straight to the large oak desk in the lobby. On her way into the hotel, Fran realized it would be best to talk to the concierge instead of being lost in a swarm of tourists at the hotel reception desk. Sandy would not be comfortable wedged in between other people. The red-haired woman behind the oak desk looked up and smiled as Fran approached. "Welcome to the Beachside Bonavista.  How can I help you today?" "My friend," Fran gasped, trying to catch her breath, "we were on the beach and now she's bubbling up!" The woman's smile was replaced immediately with a look of concern. "Pardon me?" she said. "My friend Sandy has bubbles all over her!" said Fran. Her breathing had slowed by this time. "Well, not bubbles, really, more like blisters!" Just as Fran finished her sentence, Sandy stumbled through the lobby doors. Her face was red, blotchy and swollen.  The beach towel was coiled on the top of Sandy's head in what appeared to be an attempt to protect her ears from the sun. Her shoulders, chest and arms were covered in a mass of boils.  As Sandy approached the desk, Fran could tell her friend was suffering. Sandy's arms and legs moved gingerly, never touching each other or the rest of her body. The closer Sandy got, the more apparent the extent of the break out on her skin became. "Help," Sandy whispered as she reached the desk. Both the red-haired woman – whose name tag identified her as Grace – and Fran stared at Sandy. "Wow, you certainly do look like you bubbled up!" said Grace before realizing she had actually said the words out loud. Grace quickly clapped her hand over her mouth as her face turned almost the same shade of red as Sandy. Stifling a smile, Fran quipped, "I could sure go for a pop right now." Silence. Had she gone too far? Fran was known for being tactless at times, but had this latest comment taken it to the point of being heartless? She certainly had not intended to hurt her best friend. Suddenly, Sandy started to shake with laughter. "Oh my! I must be such a sight!" she said.  Fran and Grace joined in, and the three women laughed until tears streaked their cheeks. Ten minutes later, they had regained their composure. Wiping the remnants of tears from her face, Fran looked at her friend. "Sandy," she gasped, "Look - your bubbles are smaller now. The ones on your shoulders are almost gone." Sandy looked down at her arms and legs then checked her shoulders. It was true. The bubbles weren't as widespread as they had been twenty minutes ago. "I’m not as itchy as I was outside,” Sandy said tentatively.  “Does this mean I will be okay?” Grace smiled at Sandy. “You will be fine. Looks like you got too hot on the beach. Being inside in the air conditioning balanced your body temperature, reducing the swelling you had. Unfortunately, we see it here a lot.” Grace continued, sliding open the desk drawer. “Here, put some of this on the worst areas and stay cool tonight. You will be fine by morning.” Grace handed Sandy a small bottle of hydrocortisone lotion. Sandy thanked Grace and eagerly took the bottle. As Fran and Sandy walked to the elevator, Sandy turned to Fran and said, “Bubbles be damned! The only froth I want this holiday is on top of a cold beer!”