She ran toward the bush and smiled. “Here, I’ve never seen a flower in so long!” “Spring has come once again!” the voice said. “What was it again, miss?” A loud clank was heard from the bar when its keeper finally caught the attention of the newcomer. The unfamiliar young woman winced as she accidentally knocked down an empty mug behind her arm, drawing more attention to herself with the noise. She unknowingly fell asleep and was dreaming. The regulars of the pub have been whispering ever since she stepped in its doors and seemingly stomped her way inside for a drink. Who is she? they wondered. Every inhabitant of the old town knew who lived and treaded on its hellish roads and scratched on its lifeless dirt with grave hopes— and this girl was no local. No one bothered to approach her, as her bulky bag of unknown possessions and dark patched overcoat were all enough to drive the onlookers away, and the barman was the only one who was obligated enough to do so. “I’m sorry, what?” she answered. “Your order, miss. I did not get what you said,” the colossal smiling man reminded. His locks were tied up in a neat bun, with shade as dark as burnt coal and curls coiled like springs. Just like every other person in the pub, and even if you walked down the frontier to hopefully locate an innkeeper who would accept you at three in the morning, everyone’s hair was as dark as hardwood or ebony. On the other hand, the maiden’s hair was as fiery as the flames used to ignite the coal itself. And on that night, she was the only person in town to have locks that red. “Oh,” she realized. “I said, what is the cheapest thing you sell?” “Our house special. The best beer you’ll find here in Brimstone.” She scrunched up her nose. “Brimstone?” “You’re in Brimstone, miss,” the barman smiled. His gigantic hands carefully cleaned the mug she knocked over earlier. One would think he could smash it with his fist, yet he handled it delicately. Straightforwardly, she asked again. “How much is your beer?” “One silver.” “One silver?” she frowned. “Don’t you have anything for like, five coppers? What about water?” The gentle giant finished wiping the mug in his hand before responding again. “Sadly, miss, we have no water left tonight. Beer’s the cheapest I can give you.” She grunted to herself and kicked the knapsack resting by her feet. She felt parched to the core after carrying the immense backpack on her shoulders for so long. It only composed of clothes, a pen and notebook, and a thick blanket, with its pockets keeping a few stale biscuits, an empty bottle, and a dagger. To her, her most prized possession was her notebook, for it contained a few notes and sketches of her journeys. It had some details of how her jobs used to be, but in a few of its leaves contained songs of her pain— melodies and poems— that she merely sang and whistled to the wind as her only audience. If one flew over the lands and asked about where she’s been, nobody would be able to identify this. She was Eve to Bellwood, Estelle to Travis, and Erla to Emberville. The only thing you’d find on her card was “E. Still”, and there existed a ton of E. Stills on the land. Years of bending her back, lifting goods, and carrying the knapsack during her travels made her look like a tramp carrying a weight that hunched her back forward. It was true though. For one who has only breathed for two decades on earth, she has walked distances and has settled in places she no longer kept track of. Twenty years of not having any bit of familiarity turned her into the harshness that’s scarred her, the coldness that nearly froze her to death during winter, and the dryness of every drought she tearlessly cried her way through. She has been out in the heat and the cold her entire life, and the only direction she knew was where the wind and seasons pointed her towards. It’s been long since she’s seen a flower bloom, and Brimstone was no springtime paradise. After taking a deep breath, she stood up from her chair to leave the pub. The barman lifted his hand and called, “Wait, miss. I have a question.” She lifted her knapsack on the stool and sighed. “What is it?” “You are not from here, I’m sure.” The girl snorted as she adjusted her bag straps. “I’m not from anywhere.” “How old are you, miss?” he questioned. She was appalled by his inquiry. “Excuse me? I’m a full-grown and independent adult, if that’s what you’re asking.” “Don’t get me wrong. You just look young. You’re thin, quite-” The customers of the pub had their attention diverted again toward the red-haired girl they were talking about only a few minutes ago. She loudly pounded the wooden counter with her boot before swiftly pointing her dagger to the man’s chin. Two regulars from afar stood up to defend the pacific barman, who waved them away with his callused right hand. “Please, miss-” “Don’t you ever call me miss again,” she threatened. She looked straight into the man’s confused eyes, already attacked sharply by her deadly glare. “I’ll stab your hands repeatedly, and you will no longer be able to serve those little expensive drinks of yours.” The man swallowed before responding. He was quivering deep inside, but he had to explain himself. She had misunderstood his intentions, but he didn’t want to blame her. She looked like she’s been alone her whole life, and it’s possible that he just tugged on the wrong string. “Please. I was asking because I don’t serve liquor to young fellas. The sheriff might take me out, you know? Although I think you’re more likely to do more to me than him.” She narrowed her eyes, as if observing him thoroughly, before lowering the dagger to her pocket. The girl has never really stabbed anyone, yet she’s scratched and wounded a few. Some men just don’t know how to leave women alone—

except when they’re already bleeding. “Alright,” she said. The barman immediately grabbed the nearest mug and turned to his keg. “Hey. Beer’s on me, on the house. I have some pulled pork here as well.” She raised an eyebrow at him. Without saying a word, she went back to her seat. The kind giant slid a mug of his specialty beer alongside a small bowl of dry pulled pork. Before taking a sip, the girl commented. “No one has ever given me this much for free.” “Really?” She picked up a chunk of pulled pork and nodded. Poor woman , he thought. Girls with such disposition as hers looked to be more likely to work as an innkeeper or somewhere by the alleys. Hell, she would do great in the army. However, she was this thin unhealthy woman with tanned skin heavily covered by covers of coats and jackets and unevenly cut hair that would’ve been beautiful if it were groomed. The barman pitifully smiled at her before speaking again. “Well in case someone does again, it be best to thank them. No need to thank me, though.” She took a sip of the beer. The apparent best in Brimstone, but probably the best one she’s had in her life. As she stood up to transfer to a table on the corner, she shyly smiled graciously to him. “Thank you.” From the back corner, a young man wearing a stained old apron over a checkered shirt came stumbling into the pub. His face had a little bit of dirt, yet his bright eyes and white teeth made him quite radiant; it was easy to ignore the mess that he was. The chestnut hair on his head was all over the place, with his cheeky and innocent nature that all the customers knew well and enjoyed. They loved it when he served them drinks or greeted them good night before leaving. He found joy in interacting with the same people every day, then tending to Lou’s pony at dusk. About ten people would attend his monthly music performances to his little crowd, and that was what gave him life and enrichment. One would say he had the voice of an angel; some described that he was blessed by the heavens or gods themselves, if such divinities existed. “Hey, Lou! I’m done organizing the back room,” he exclaimed. He ran toward the gentle giant tending the bar, Lou, who flipped a silver on his hand and patted the young man on the shoulder. “Thanks, my boy.” Lou had been caring for the young man for quite some time now, for nearly two decades already. The boy’s father was his best friend, who died from the pox epidemic one summer. The saintly child was merely a weakling, whose mother abandoned him right after the father’s demise. At 20, he has grown into an epitome of optimism, and that somehow, hope can still thrive even on the driest of lands. “Lou, who is that?” The boy pointed to the farthest corner of a room. His eyes twinkled at the sight of such a woman from afar, who he immediately found enchanting. Lou chuckled. “Not sure who she is, but a newcomer. She had no silvers so I gave her a beer and some of our pork.” The young man enticingly smiled. Sure, he’s seen the wonder of puppies being born near the alleys and the distant memory of green butterflies by the farmland, yet he has never seen such wonder unlike the red-haired woman quietly sipping on her mug of beer. Her locks were dry, but to him they were lustrous. Her subtle smiles after each sip were stellar to him. The way she looked around the room made him want her to gaze onto him as well. The entire pub of drinkers found her intriguing, yet to the young man quite dumbstruck next to Lou, she looks like someone he’s seen in a dream. As if, she was someone he’s already known. “Do you wanna talk to her?” Lou asked him. The captivated young boy nodded enthusiastically and grabbed a napkin from his apron pocket. He only knew how to fold two things: a cube and a bird, which he learned from Ol’ Gretla’s. Only the bird seemed most acceptable, so he hurriedly turned and folded on the soft paper for a makeshift gift. “My boy, are you sure? She’s…feisty.” “Yeah,” he answered. “I’m sure. For some reason, I really am.” After finishing the folded bird, he took a deep breath and nodded at Lou. Here it goes , he thought. He felt his brown shoes drum on the floors with each step, discordant with his heartbeat growing faster. Some of the customers greeted him as he passed by, yet he didn’t notice them. A woman gasped when she noticed him walking toward the redhead, as if they were waiting for hell to break loose. “Do you like to, uhm, I mean…do you like the pork?” The young girl’s curious dark eyes met the boy's, who handed her a paper bird. Her eyebrows furrowed, but something about his voice was calming. “Who are you?” she questioned. “The pork! I mean, I know the man, who gave the pork. He, uh. He takes care of me.” “Oh.” The girl sipped on her mug in silence. She didn’t know why the man approached her about the pork, but something about his nature made her smile. “What’s your name?” he asked. She put her mug down as she replied. “I don’t give my name to some random bar waiter.” “I’m no random man. I assure you. It’s just that-” “Just what?” The young man found himself finally staring into her eyes deeply. He was breathless; he felt lost in them yet it somehow looked like comfort. Like home. “When I first saw you, I felt like something was drawing me to you.” The girl raised an eyebrow while he continued to speak. “I know we’ve never met, but I feel like I’ve known you my entire life.”  At that moment, she felt something echo in her ears. Some sweet sound of strings. The room was steady and windless and she hasn’t heard music in months, yet something about it felt so new and familiar. Perhaps I was imagining it , she thought. “Alright. I’m E.” The young man lit up upon her introduction, but realized it was only a letter. “E? Like the letter?” “Yes,” she affirmed. “I’m E.” “Is that your real name?” “Maybe.” He laughed in response and decided to play along. “In that case, my name’s O. Can I sit with you?” The two of them talked for more than an hour, until the lights that were left lit in the pub was the incandescent bulb shining from above them. A warm glow emanated on the lovebirds— which was what Lou whispered to himself while gazing at them from a distance as he cleaned up the place. “So, you’ve been lonely your whole life then,” O commented. “No,” E defended. “I’m alone. Just because I’m alone doesn’t mean I’m lonely. I’m perfectly happy on my own.” “Do you like being on your own?” E hesitated upon hearing O’s inquiry. She was never totally alone in her life, yet never did she settle in one space or walk one direction. Something about her instinct felt to never trust anyone. No matter what they offered her. No matter the flair. “Maybe. Something about myself never trusted the world around me. But I try to be happy.” O nodded silently and contemplated to himself. Never trusted the world ? It was a familiar thought of his to feel some kind of betrayal. The world was unkind, indeed, but he always tried to be happy for Lou. But somehow, he understood completely. He decided to ask. “When was the last time that you felt a bit of happiness?” “That’s easy,” E beamed. “When I saw a nest of wrens on the way here.” “That made you happy?” She flicked a stray rice grain to his face. “Hey, if you still want me to stay, don’t judge what makes me happy.” O apologized and spontaneously, a thought crossed his mind. “Hey, do you wanna know what makes me happy? I can show it to you.” E caressed her fingers on the dusty mirror next to his bed. “So, this is where you sleep?” O nodded. He was briskly clearing out his place, quite embarrassed over the mess. However, E did not care at all, as she was fascinated to find one have a decent room all to himself. “What were you gonna show me, O?” Just as she asked the question, O pulled out his surprise from behind his cupboard: his guitar. He strummed it once, checking if it was in tune. E stared at him in awe. She had always loved the sound of strings, despite rarely hearing its sound. During those occasions she did, she was often listening from afar, drowning the music in her ears, hoping they would play in her head forever. There was something about the hum of strings that felt intimate. Whenever she heard a song, she knew of a distinct tune. However, never has she ever heard that melody play. “Will you play me a song?” E requested. O nervously looked up at her and cleared his throat. “Well, sure. Uhm, can we go outside? I’m more comfortable playing there.” The creaks of the porch disturbed the silence of the approaching dawn. One could see the sky starting to lose its darkness, yet E and O— strangers about three hours ago— somehow felt connected. “I like playing outside. I feel the wind come when I sing here.” O strummed a chord as he took a deep breath. “It’s like the air speaks to me, and I always hope that it brings the sound of my song to anyone who needs to hear it.” E slowly closed her eyes to drown out her senses and listen to O play his guitar. She felt a chill down her spine— a spark inside her— revive as he started to sing a wordless song. It was it: the song she’s always wanted to hear— the melody that only existed in her head, existed in someone else’s. As O continued humming and singing, E joined in, harmoniously. It left him astonished. He thought only he knew the song he repeatedly whistled and hummed out to the silence. They were one with the notes, and little did they know, they were bringing the world back into tune— like two little songbirds. The two of them were already resting on each other as they sang, when E felt a cold drop fall on her knee. “Rain…” she mumbled. O grinned widely. “Rain! Oh heavens, it hasn’t rained in so long!” The two of them enthusiastically cheered between themselves. They haven’t felt this much water in a long time, and it was a miraculous blessing. E ran toward the end of the street, relishing the downpour that seeped through her hair. As she skipped around, a wonderful sight rendered her with amazement. “O! Come here!” O ran on the path and followed intently. They were both looking at a bush, with a beautiful fresh carnation red bud sprouting from it. “Here, I’ve never seen a flower in so long! ” E exclaimed. O looked up to the sky and screamed. “Spring has come once again!” E gasped. It was as if she knew this would happen. And it all felt right. “Hey,” she called O. “My name’s Eurydice.” “Your name sounds beautiful. Reminds me of a melody.” Wonderstruck, Eurydice took his hand and walked down the rain with him. “I’m Orpheus, by the way.”


As one would expect from a 1936 month of January, it was well below freezing outside. But despite that and the snow covered ground, Dumarché stood on the roof, pacing occasionally back and forth with his cigarette snugly placed between his index and middle finger. “Well, good morning Professeur Leguen ” Silvestri greeted his colleague as he emerged from the rooftop access staircase. Dumarché scoffed and threw his cigarette to the ground. “Shame my mother isn’t around to hear that” he replied all while covering his discarded cigarette with snow, extinguishing the remnants of its flame. Silvestri laughed out loud while jollily walking towards his colleague and grabbed him by the arm, directing him to face the cityscape. The latter had a vivid orange glow to it, making the buildings indiscernible from one another. It seemed as if a large, panoramic shadow stood quietly before them. The calmness of dawn was almost therapeutic to Dumarché, especially when he knew what lied ahead of him. “You’ll be having a coffee with Mr. Fitzgerald at the café adjacent to the Royal Theatre at 10 am sharp,” Silvestri said, rubbing his hands together “but be there at 9:55, always good to give a good impression” Dumarché turned towards his colleague, “Despite what happened yesterday, he still doesn’t suspect a thing? No suspicious questions raised? Or even out of place statements on that matter?” Silvestri scoffed, “No, you’re still known as the man who can speak to the dead and I’m still known as the assistant of the man who can speak to the dead” “Very well” Dumarché replied as he looked down at his watch, “I should be off soo- “You’ve got his family’s background information?” Silvestri cut him off, eagerly trying to reassure himself that the plan will go smoothly. There wasn’t any room for error. Dumarché cleared his voice, keeping his gaze on the horizon, “James Fitzgerald Jr. didn’t know any of his grandparents, so no need to mention them. He didn’t get along very well with his late sister, yet she was very important to him. She’s the one who initially worked in the shadows to help him get where he is now, but after a few years they fell out. Then, unbeknownst to him, she got diagnosed with TB and her health quickly deteriorated soon after. Mr Fitzgerald wanted to give her a necklace as an apology, but soon found out that his sister had died. Ten years has passed and he still keeps the necklace in his right pocket. Then I play with his emotions and discuss about touchy subjects then I should be alright” Silvestri nodded then took a few steps backwards, indicating to his colleague that time was of the essence. “Oh,” Silvestri suddenly added, “don’t forget to add that his father was a farmer and that his mother used to work as a florist downtown” Dumarché frowned, “why is that even relevant?” “Well,” Silvestri crossed his arms, “Because no one knows about it. It wasn’t ever specified in any of the interviews he has partaken in” Dumarché nodded and made his way to the door leading to the staircase. His hand hovered over the handle as he paused: he turned around to face his colleague once more. “Where did you get that information from then?” he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him. “I managed to set up a small engagement with the old lady, but don’t worry, she has probably forgotten about our encounter by now” he reassured him with a smug smile. January 1935, 10:01 AM The two men decided to sit in a secluded area of the café: no window in proximity nor any tables to avoid any potential eavesdroppers. Just him, Fitzgerald and the waiter who would occasionally stop by. The appointment hadn’t started yet, instead, Mr Fitzgerald bombarded Dumarché with questions. His curiosity was understandable though: the man who sat in across him was going to reveal some potentially sensitive information, so it only seemed fair to dig into their lives. Dumarché calmly responded to one question after the other. He had rehearsed all possible outcomes: after five years of practice, he had sometimes wondered how he hadn’t convinced himself yet that he was indeed whom he pretended to be. Dumarché then pulled a slight frown on his face: the first act of his show. Usually what was expected from his “clients” was slight sign of worry or surprise. Once they blurt out a classic, what’s wrong , he could start the session. But instead Mr Fitzgerald proved himself to be a difficult customer. Question after question, Dumarché found himself improvising answers. He couldn’t lose his Fitzgerald now, he was the only means to get what him and Silvestri wanted: reach the other elites of the city, grow close to them and hit jackpot. Dumarché looked around the room for diversion: coincidentally, a nearby overhead lamp sporadically flickered. What seemed like the perfect way to start a session turned out useless. Fitzgerald didn’t seem very receptive to Dumarché’s cues to ever so slightly look at left side of the room. How long will I be able to stay in character… Then, as if it were rehearsed, the waiter appeared with two cups of tea. As he placed the mauve cups on the table, Dumarché noticed a flowery pattern on them. A potentially promising conversation starter. Before Fitzgerald was able to resume the interrogation, Dumarché cleared his voice as gently placed both of his hands around his cup of tea. “If I’m not mistaken, your mother used to work as a florist not too far from here. Is that right?” Fitzgerald seemed totally taken by surprised by the statement. “Yes. How did you..?” “Know? Well. The universe works in mysterious ways, so it’s hard to say really. It’s one of those things that I just know” The client slowly nodded. Dumarché closed his eyes to add a bit of theatrics. “But that’s because your mother is still alive. But now I do sense a presence… yes… another woman in fact..” Fitzgerald’s eyes widened. “Did you have a sister perhaps?” Dumarché slightly opened one eye to keep track of his clients reactions. Fitzgerald seemed to be in a trance, impatiently waiting for what he had to add. “Mm. She tells me that a necklace that was destined to her is still in your possession. It’s always close to you isn’t it? In a pocket perhaps?” And from that point on, Dumarché knew he had just bought his way to the higher ranks. The session only lasted for half an hour, but given how Fitzgerald reacted to the trip down memory lane, it was safe to say that it was successful. Both men shook hands and according to Fitzgerald, the payment was going to be imminent. Professor Leguen didn’t have a fixed price for his sessions, instead, he would announce the price at the end of each rendezvous. And as you would expect, he didn’t charge a small sum of money. January 1935, 13:12 Silvestri and Dumarché met up on the usual rooftop. Lunch was especially dull that midday but the morale was high. Maybe this time around the plan was going to be successful. “And tomorrow, we will get our 500 dollars” Dumarché announced as he dug into his Campbell can of soup. “I still can’t believe you pulled it off” Silvestri said, not hiding his surprise. Fooling men like Fitzgerald was beyond difficult, some would argue that it was a stroke of luck. “Well, the job’s done” “Mm. You’ve read through the history of the other clients?” “I quickly skimmed through them. Not very important people so frankly I’m not too worried” Dumarché confidently replied, “Where are you going next?” Silvestri sat silently for a few seconds, visibly hesitant about his response. Dumarché was distracted with his meal, so his doubt went unnoticed. “I’ll go around the city so I can retrieve more information about Fitzgerald, he ought to arrange a new meeting soon or later” he blurted out. “Yes you’re probably right” Dumarché said as he slurped the remaining soup at the bottom of the can. He then stood up to readjust his coat. Silvestri sighed and stood up as well, “We must meet at the local park at ten tonight, alright? We’ve got to talk about the financial aspect of all of this” Dumarché smiled, “Financial aspect? I know we’ve being struggling in the last few months but I think we’re on the road to success, if you’re asking me. I can assure you, we will be eating at five star restaurants if we keep going on like this” “Just… meet me at the local park at ten tonight, alright?” he insisted, before adding “I… want you to meet someone that can help us” Dumarché seemed slightly suspicious but ultimately went on with it. There was no reason to argue at this point: That day has been the most successful day they’ve had for a long time. January 1935, 9:50 PM Silvestri paced back and forth between two trees with his arms crossed. His shivers were partly explained by the frigid weather. His colleague was to arrive in five minutes. How am I going to put this to him. There is no right way to do this. He stopped pacing and took the time to look at nearby busy road just beyond the treeline. The hubbub of the city was always somewhat comforting to Silvestri, especially when he knew what lied ahead. “Silvestri?” He spun around to find his colleague, making his way towards him through the thick snow. Silvestri looked down at his watch: his colleague turned up way too early, it wasn’t meant to happen this way. He quickly scanned the nearby street. This time around though, Dumarché caught onto Silvestri’s nervousness. “What’s wrong?” Silvestri took a big inhale, and took a few steps backwards from his colleague, surprising the latter. “As.. As you may know, we’ve been struggling lately. And to be candid I didn’t know how long the financial problems would last for. I have a family to take care of.” Dumarché seemed slightly nervous about his colleague’s unusual behaviour. “Where is the other person who was supposed to be here?” “He’ll be here any minut-“ Silvestri cut himself off for a few seconds, but ultimately continued, “No one’s meant to show up, Dumarché” Dumarché took a few steps forwards all while being wary of his surroundings. “What are you talking about? Didn’t you specifically ask me to meet you up here? To meet someone?” Silvestri took a few additional steps backwards as his colleague approached him. “Dumarché… the police knows what we’re doing.” Dumarché turned pale upon hearing that but immediately tried to think rationally. “Well… in that case we just keep our profile low for a little whi- “No” Silvestri cut him off while nervously running his fingers through his jet black hair, “They’re after you” Dumarché paused and shook his head in denial, “and you as well” A sudden commotion sounded at the other end of the park. Streaks of lights between the trees and the foliage grew stronger and stronger. As Dumarché was ready to make a run for it, he noticed how calm Silvestri looked. This made him stop dead in his tracks. “What are you doing for god sake, come one!” he urged his colleague “Dumarché… they know you’re here because I told them that you were to meet me here.” “What?” “They offered me a great sum of money, incomparable to what we had gotten before. My kid is not well, Dumarché!” Despite the growing sound of footsteps in the background, Dumarché stood there in disbelief. After quickly processing what his colleague just said, he placed both of his hands on his head in frustration. He couldn’t think straight. “Why... why!” “I had no choice.” In pure anger, Dumarché abruptly walked towards Silvestri and threw a punch across his face, causing his colleague to fall into the snow. Dumarché threw himself onto him and placed his hands around Silvestri’s neck. “You bastard! We’ve being working together for the past god knows how many years and this is how you repay me? You worthless son of a- His loosened his grip and jumped backwards as soon as he realised that the police was just a few trees away from them at this point. He quickly glanced at Silvestri, who still was lying in the snow, heavily breathing with his hand on his neck. Dumarché took two steps backwards and before spinning around to run, he took a last good look at his colleague, “We’re not done” he menacingly said. And before he knew it, he was running down a beaten path in the dark. He had no notion of where he was going nor of what he was doing. All he knew was he was about to loose a good chunk of his life because of the way he lead said life. The numerous footsteps behind him seemed to get closer by the second. The adrenaline pumping though his veins wasn’t going to keep up with much longer. He knew it was over. He found himself running along a lake just as police officer tackled him from the side. His cheek hit the snow, cushioning his fall despite the weight of the police officer on his legs. The amount of mist coming out of his mouth blinded him during the first few seconds of his being on the cold ground. As soon as it started clearing up, he was greeted with a beautiful reflection of the moon on the lake. The last spectacle of nature that he would be witnessing for a long time.


It was chilly outside as Abigail walked down the street to where the local coffee shop was located. The leaves were bright orange and red color as they caught the breeze and floated to the ground.

"Abby!" A female's voice called from down the street. Waverly jogged to where I stood. "Where are you going?"

"The coffee shop, I heard they had new drinks out," I reply cheerfully.

"Can I join you?" Waverly asks breathlessly. The few moments she jogged must have exerted her. A nod and we walk inside where the warm atmosphere of The Portly's Coffee Shop hit us both.

A sign stood in the middle of the sitting area, listing all of the new drinks. Pumpkin spice chai tea, hot Carmel apple cider, maple cinnamon latte, pumpkin spice hot chocolate, and original hor chocolate.

"What are you getting?" Waverly whispered as if we were in a library.

"The hot Carmel apple cider sounds good," I said before walking to the counter and orders.

"Hot chocolate," Waverly mumbles and gives a boy the money and I do the same.

"Just plain hot chocolate?" I tease. She shrugged. Grabbing our drinks we went to a two-seat table was near the window.

The shop wasn't big. A bookshelf lined one wall, three booths on another, the counter took up the other wall and a window where small tables were against. In the middle of the shop, there were bigger tables that seat more people, but I had never needed to use them since it was usually just me and my best friend, Brina. Waverly was my other friend, but we rarely ever hung out here.

Autumn colored flowers rested in vases in the middle of all the tables, and Salem the pale orange cat sniffed at the ones nearest to us.

"Hey kitty," Waverly crooned and reached out to scratch behind his ears.

"Is something wrong?" I finally ask. She never came here with me and she despised animals with a passion.

"No," she muttered. I shook my head slightly in disappointment before taking a sip of the hot drink. Carmel and apple burst among my taste buds as the drink made my belly warm. Closing my eyes with delight I almost didn't see Waverly's tears begin to fall.

"Liar," I opened my eyes back up and grabbed her hands, forcing her to look me in the eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Wesley broke up with me," a choked sob wracked her body and I got up to hug her.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know," I whispered against her hair. I was more attracted to girls, but I had seen that Wesley fit all of the stereotypes surrounding jocks. Brina and I had been too afraid to say anything when we saw how happy he had made her.

"Here," reaching up, I grabbed an orange and black paper butterfly, one of many that had been dangling from the ceiling, and put it in her hair. "You're too beautiful to cry over someone like him, think of it like this, he was a cacoon and now you're free to spread your wings." Waverly sniffed and gave a small smile.

"Thank you," she whispered. I nodded and sat back down to sip on my Carmel drink.

"I heard the coffee shop was doing an art fundraiser," I changed the subject. "It goes to Save the Turtles, you draw a turtle and color it in autumn colors." Waverly's face immediately lit up. Drawing was her passion and there was no doubt she would win if she were to enter it. "It's a five-dollar submission fee, and the winner gets to go to the aquarium for free next month."

"I'm entering!" Waverly said with some excitement, as she pulled out a small sketchbook from her purse and went to work.

Thirty minutes later she held up a cute drawing of a baby turtle, shaded and beautifully colored with orange, brown, and red. "What do you think?"

"The details are good," I replied critically. "Colors are amazing. It looks beautiful!"

"Tha-" she began to say before a scream tore through her windpipe. A green spider had made its way onto the table and Waverly was bashing it with her sketchbook.

"Everything okay over here?" The male cashier asked as he rushed over.

"A spider," I rolled my eyes. "Or was a spider," a grimace at the spiders' guts, which was all over Waverly's once beautiful turtle drawing.

"That looks amazing," the guy gently pried Waverly's fingers from the book to get a better look. "I'm guessing you're entering?" Waverly had gone quiet and gave a subtle nod.

"Name's Landon," he greeted before setting the book down. After a few awkward seconds, I introduced both of us. He gave a grin at Waverly before leaving.

"You can't tell me you didn't notice," I say pointedly taking another gulp of my chilling cider.

"Notice what?" "He was totally into you!" I sputter with surprise. Usually, she was the one trying to set me and Brina up, but now it was my turn.

"Even if he was, I'm still in love with Wes," she whispered agonizingly.

"Wes is probably gay and used you as a cover-up," I say sourly. She gave me an astonished look before getting up and leaving the shop. I sat there, shocked, before giving a huge sigh.

"Candy corn?" A girl asks as she takes Waverly's now-vacated seat. "It always helps me when I have friend troubles." Her hair was an Auburn color, freckles lined her high cheekbones, and brown eyes gazed at me warmly.

"It's fall minus well gain some pounds," I laugh and grab a hand full of candy corn to stuff in my mouth. "Thanks," I smile at her. She had to be the most gorgeous girl I have ever seen in my life.

We sat there in comfortable silence for a while before I got the courage to ask, "Want to go to the pumpkin patch this Saturday?"

"Deal," her eyes lit up with excitement. "By the way my name is Hazel."

"Abigail," I whisper as I slowly began to fall in love in the autumn coffee shop.


Professor Tripathi wolfed down his meal as he sat all alone in the college canteen of Delhi University, at times shifting his eyes to a fat book with crisp yellowing pages. A simple kurta pajama which he wore was now stained with the spicy red chutney of the vada he ate. Though he and his white kurta were in a mess but the book he was reading lay unharmed as he carefully turned the page with his left unused hand. Not a speck nor a spot. He stood contrast to his own personalities. Organised but unorganised, meticulous yet careless this man contradicted himself in his own ways. He was famous for such incidents that proved that this man had some bug inside his head. But Professor Shailesh Tripathi was famous in ways more than that. His extensive work on the Gupta Empire and the dynasties of the South and his unbiased research thesis on the colonial period in India had been nationally acclaimed and regarded. The man had always found the past interesting, a familiarity in those years that were buried so deep in time's frame. Yet with so many years of study and close evaluation he realised that neither the life in the past or present was worth living. It sure made a living but was not an era to live a life. Shailesh had always been a staunch believer of the concept of yugas. In hinduism the concept of yugas or as referred to as large tracts of time has been divided into four parts. Satya Yug or the golden period of flourish and the rise of humanity to the zenith with the moral compass undeflected. The next was the treta yug then the dvapar and finally the kali yug. It was believed that with each yug the morals, the values and the concepts of humanity would loosen and lessen bit by bit finally leading to the end of the civilization. The Kali yug was the ongoing time and the man of letters in history knew that Kalki would never come, the said or told saviour of humanity in Kali Yug. The tenth avtar of the Vishnu. Professor Tripathi couldn't put his mind to one place. The idea had got him excited. The truth of the other time was a necessity to know. No matter who said what. The curiosity, his obsession would not let it rest. Though he believed in the concepts of yuga, but he harnessed enough doubt to believe his belief. Unknown and untrue till proven he thought to himself. The shift was short today. The Professor had retired to his quaters early devouring a plate of chole kulche sitting on his favourite armchair. Though he was once married but his wife died young. He still missed her around, those intelligent eyes and her indomitable spirit. He used to cook for her every day, everytime. Tripathi had a lost a part of him when he had to part ways with her. Things never changed, rather he made sure that it never did. Tripathi looked at the clock and realised it was late already. Gulping down the last piece of kulcha he rose to wash himself and get fresh. The bell rang exactly at 6.45. The professor was impressed. He liked people on time, but he seldom did that himself, the weirdo as he was. Tripathi opened the door.  A man of medium height and strong build stepped in. Dressed in a cotton shirt and trousers, a gold rim spectacle sat on his nose and a whiff of an expensive aftershave filled the room. He held out it his hands in a respectful namaste. 'Namaskar' he said greeting the professor. 'Come in Bakshi.' Sailesh smiled. The two gentlemen took seats opposite to each other as they both sipped into cups of hot tea. 'Professor what is that a historian wants from a physicist? We have nothing in common. ' Bakshi smiled. 'Sure Bakshi? ' Sailesh took a sip and closed his eyes. 'Enlighten me! The know-it-all' Tripathi sensed a tone of mockery taunting him. But that how Bakshi was. 'Well we have a very common thing amongst us. Time my dear. It's time. You are still lost in solving paradoxes and I still am lost in understanding what happened in them.' 'Who can win against you? But still why do you need me. Do you want to have a debate old boy? ' 'No. I need help Bakshi. I need your help. ' 'Your work is completed isn't it. I want a confluence of history and physics. ' Samiran Bakshi had been trying to keep himself in checks. He respected Tripathi but now he found his tempers flying. 'With due respect professor. My work is not yet complete. And it would take fifteen more years. I have just scratched the surface. The time machine I build is not for you to take a ride to see what Akbar ate for breakfast.' 'That's not what I want. I want your invention to answer my questions. It's for the same plethora of reasons Nandini talked to you. I want to finish what she left unfinished. ' For the rest of the time both talked and discussed, shared and progressed into various discussions. Samiran left by 9. The professor knew he would never agree, but he had guessed that he would be able to plant the idea. And the work seemed to be complete. The rest fifteen years took more than a snap to fade. Still, active in his work and teachings Professor Tripathi was finally there signing the 'No objection' document. He had taken it to the press and the media that he knew that this was risk. Even if he died today they should know he had lived a life of peace and tranquility and this is much out of his curiosity. He said that no matter what was the outcome today the people should not lose their faith in the physicist for he was the future. He was the new light. Professor Tripathi walked in the chamber. Alone. Instructions had been given. It was a small wooden door that he opened first and then vanished into the interiors. Bakshi had the controls, and he had warned the professor to hold the propellor in proper control. A little mistake could end up in consequences not even he was sure about. The professor had died the next morning. A heart attack. Nobody knew if the time travel had been successful, and he had not said a word after he had come. He looked old, he looked frail, and he had locked himself in Bakshi's room afterwards. Not responding, not answering. Bakshi strolled in his room. This room had the last breath of the professor.He didn't know if he should feel annoyed or sad. This man had always been a trouble. And here he was in trouble again. The mob was breaking in waves already having declared Bakshi as a failed and killer scientist. Engrossed in thoughts Bakshi suddenly spotted the professor's handkerchief. The pink embroidered one. The one that Nandini had woven. He picked it up feeling the fabric in his hand and was stunned. The writing was haphazard but corrigible and in the red ink of the professor's pen. Samiran you have created a wonder. All my life I have proved my beliefs and this time you did it for me. Yes your machine travels past and yes I wanted you to believe that I wanted to shift back in yugs. But that's not what I wanted this time. I have always known you were a murderer. You had killed my wife that day when she refused to leave me for you. I know I can't get you hanged for her death but my death can rob you off all that you have earned. This handkerchief leaves no proof and this heart attack is induced. No luck trying to figure out how, you will hit the rock. I have arranged it my friend. Adieu! ~Tripathi Samiran looked outside the window. The mob looked restless as a sharp rock smashed through the windows hurting him. Blood trickled down his wound as the agitation grew.


The dreams only continued to plague me more so. I had tried everything. Fasting, prayer and even attempting in vain to drown them with unwatered wine, but the entrance to the tunnels remained vivid in my mind's eye. I was the companion of a friend of the great Hugues de Payens. I gained his acquaintance a Christmas mass in Paris several years ago now. The choir was singing in chorus as his firm grip compressed my hand, candles flickered deep in his pupils and I could sense the greatness of the man. Word made it's way to us that Jerusalem had fallen in the great Year of our Lord, 1118, and de Payens hastened to gather a small friendly group to bring along with him. De Payens had invited my companion on the excursion and I was subsequently invited soon after.

The ancient Holy city was filled with wonders and great places and scenes I had only read of in the Good Book. The smoky smell of burned firewood and cattle prevailed. Our first night there we were put into a procession and marched in the great Temple Mount. A full moon was glinting off the golden domed roof making it appear mere silver. Inside, de Payens voice boomed with authority has we were all were given white tunics with large red crosses sewn into the chest. Then silence fell across the room before we made a solemn vow to never tell anyone of what we were doing here. Our voices chanted in holy rhythm. That was six years ago, almost to the day. That night we learned what our mission was to be. We were going to search the tunnels below the Temple Mount for the Arch of the Covenant. Another hush controlled the room after that news was relinquished. What excitement! We were now soldiers of God Almighty. After the vows, fellowship and wine that followed the dreams began earnestly. All I could see was the inky black entrance to were we would be working but there was a low rumble coming from the depth of the hole that worried me. It was almost a growl. Dreams are dreams however and to my godly knowledge do not have any impact on our day to day lives. I toiled on, along with everyone else.

The tunnels were pitch black. Once inside all the clamor of Jerusalem vanished. The only light waving and flickering off of our torches. The orange glow making our red crosses appear royal purple. Closer to the exit the tunnels were fairly clear but the deeper we made our way the older and dirtier things had gotten. Several cave ins had slowed our way but we worked long into the nights bringing bucket after bucket up and outside into the world.

Another thing I found odd at this time, was the deeper we gained entry and the closer we came to being directly beneath the Mount a strange pressure was pushing against us. It was not trying to force us out of the tunnels but it was crushing our very beings like deep ocean water. Nose bleeds became more and more frequent and at times I thought my eyes would pop out of their sockets.

One night, we had been deep under the ground and we were sure we were close to being directly underneath the Temple Mount. We had all been digging for hours when a commotion broke out up toward the front. Then exaltation. Hugues de Payens began to sob at the base of a bronze door he had just unearthed. Torches flickered wildly with the cheers of the men. The cheers were muffled and there was no echo once it was done. My friend, Monet, clapped my shoulder and his silver front incisor gleamed in the fire light has he smiled. "We have done it, mon amie." "Oui. Dieu est heureux." Hugues, once regaining control of himself, stood and put both his hands on the door, like he was telling a carriage to halt. The Earth let out a groan and she trembled at his touch. Dust fell from the tops of the tunnel and several of the men did Hail Mary's. Hugues was shouting prayers. Other men were praying too but I was distracted. This whole scene was familiar. Then I placed it. It was the reoccurring dream I had been having. I wasn't seeing the entrance to the tunnel itself, I was seeing the entrance to the Arch of the Covenant. Hugues shoved on the door but it would not budge. Then other men helped him and it screamed on it's hinges as it slowly rolled open. I could only stand and watch in terror. Once the doorway was wide open and the only thing staring back was jet black darkness, de Payens brought up a torch and the dancing orange flicker of flame waltz across the golden container with angels nesting on top. The shimmer of the flame light was intensely bright off of the Arch. We all stood speechless. Hugues approach the holy relic and brought his hand out to open the thing. A silent scream was coming up from my throat but I couldn't make a sound. Hugues flipped the lid to the ground and nothing happened. Hugues's eyes were covered in shadow as he peered into the ancient container. Before he could get light over the edge, the Earth around us let out another bellow. It was as if we had passed through it's maw and were now settling down in it's belly. Waiting to be absorbed. The tunnel and room the Arch was in was silent until the moving planet had silenced. Then before anyone made a move, a heavenly light burst out from the Arch. Hundreds of white orbs circled around in the glowing light going up and up like riding a tornado. I could feel the warm wind that was coming out of the box. Hugues eyes were wide with amazement the moment before the pressure finally caused them both to burst inside his sockets. De Payens let out a horrible scream before his tongue turned to liquid in his mouth. The men immediately behind him began to turn but it was too late. The back of their tunics burst into flames.

Monet had me by the shoulder and we were running up has fast as we could. The closer to the opening we made it the lighter the pressure felt. One glance behind me and I could see the white light seeping it's way up the tunnels behind us. Monet had tripped in the dark and I stumbled over him in a lump. I was up and running before I even thought again about Monet. When I made the opening and dove into the outside world, I turned to no one behind me. Monet was gone. Then the light began to emerge deep in the darkness and I knew I had to close the opening as quickly as I could. I scrambled to my feet, sliding on loose gravel as I did. I was pushing on the enormous door with all I had. The ground at my feet was brightening. Then before the door had been shut the weight of the light his the other side and sent me sprawling. I was dazed and something tickled my brain. I looked up and watched the light and the orbs inside it swirl up into the night sky. The next morning, I was found outside still lying on the ground. A French officer ran up to me, "Monsieur, allez-vons bien?" "I'm okay, I believe. I could use some water." I didn't have the heart to tell him just yet of the night before. I didn't really know how to tell anyone. He was just staring at me with a quizzical look on his face.

"Monsieur?" "What is the matter?" "Je ne comprends pas." He stood up and tilted his head like a curious dog. I was beginning to realize he didn't understand me at all. "Water." I said and realized it sounded very strange. "Water." I said again and it wasn't the right word. I can think of the word in my head, L'eau , but every time I went to say it, it came out, "Water." Whatever the devil that was. Whatever happened to me last night it has changed my language.

Months have passed and I'm here in the Bastille in France. Nothing but time on my hands. I couldn't answer any of the questions pertaining to the night before. I can understand everyone but no one can understand me. Everyone seems to think I'm speaking some form of English but none of which anyone today can speak. I've had plenty of time to think about the events of that night and what I saw. I firmly believe now that there was never an Arch of the Covenant. I think the box we unearthed was Pandora's box itself. The very one. If it was the evil is out now. Nothing I can do about it. Even if I could no one can understand what I saying or writing. This is all gibberish to everyone who sees this but I. So, if anyone ever uncovers my tale and can possibly decipher this text, you'll know what has come of your world.

Now, my time has come and they're beckoning for me at the door. Off to be broken on the wheel. Another wretched soul lost. I already know where I'll be heading afterwards. We can only learn so much and live.


"Holly, why are we standing in the cemetery? It's the day after Thanksgiving and we should be in line somewhere shopping for stuff we don't need." Clair said. "First off, we're in a pandemic, Clair. Black Friday is already online and has been for a week. We're all that Mama and Pop had. We should at least try to be here." "They won't notice if we are or aren't, Hol. They're dead. Hate to break it to ya." Holly and Clair Brockfort stood at the tombstones of their parents. The brisk fall day bit into their skin like demons' teeth. "Holly Mae Brockfort, this is ridiculous! I'm tired of this every year. Mom and Dad wouldn't want us constantly sobbing over dirt. It's not enough water to make anything grow." Holly gave her sister an evil side eyed glare. "I don't understand why you're not more..." "What? I'm not more what? Mushy, emotional, shallow? It's because I realized they're dead. No amount of tears I cry, regardless of what a movie says, will bring them back!" Clair strode away, hiding her own tears. Weakness, her father said, was unacceptable in his children. His military training seeped into Clair's thinking. Her rebellious side shown more with every passing month. Where Holly was the softer of the twins, Clair was attached to her father's side. One day, she saw him kiss another woman. She'd been thirteen. "Mom shouldn't have been with him. She'd be alive and that bastard would've released us all from our captivity. Now? We're without parents. I'm sorry I don't share the amount of pity you do for them. I'm not that way. I never will be. So, go ahead and cry for them all you want. I'll be in the car checking Amazon." Clair walked away swiping at her tears. As she wiped her hands on her pants, her phone rang. "Clair Brockfort." "Hey Babe," Jordan McAvoy, Clair's boyfriend of two years, called her once he ended his shift at the construction site. As a building surveyor, he often wore a suit. "I have a favor to ask of you, J," "You know it's not a favor. I love making you happy.. especially today. I don't know or understand why this has to be a tradition every year. They're dead." "My sister." "Is a flaming emotional wreck. She needs help." "I do too. I admit it. I nearly broke at the site." "When you get home tonight, no objections. I'm going to care for you." "What about you?" "I took some measures for a mall space and helped three couples redesign their kitchens. It's not as hard on me as today is on you." "This. This is why I love you. I didn't even work today and I feel like I've been in a prize fight with Tyson Fury." "Come home and I'll take care of you." Clair laughed. "I'm sure you will." "Before I try to contain myself, Clair, what did you want?" "Could you send me a picture of you right now?" Jordan laughed. "Um, ok.." the text message sound pinged with an incoming message. Clair fumbled her phone at the site of Jordan in a pair of black boxer briefs, wearing his glasses. "Are you trying to kill me?" Clair asks. "You wanted it." "I'm gonna die either in a graveyard of embarrassment or in a high speed chase to get home." "You're mad, Love." "Nah, just in need of some distractions." "Glad you're finding me a distraction." Jordan said. "Don't I always?" "Whenever you need me, I'm there." Clair chuckled into the phone. "Thanks, I mean that. I appreciate it." Holly approached the car. "I need to go." Clair said. "Come home safe, Angel. I miss you." "I'll be there soon." Clair ended the call. Holly entered the car. "We need to get to the house." Holly said. "Why?" Clair asked. "There's something there for you." "Okay?" The girls went to the house and entered. Neither stepped foot in it since their parents died. Inside, the mantel was adorned with pictures. Three stood out to Clair. "Have you ever seen these, Hol?" Clair asked. "What are they?" "Well, one is Dad in his Marine Formal uniform and Mom in some sort of dress." They both read: May 1993 The next picture was their mother, heavily pregnant. "This must have been when mom was having us." Holly said. "She was gorgeous." Clair said. The last picture was their father holding their mother. "I was a horrible kid." Clair said. "I wasn't much better." Holly said. "Remember when we tried to sneak out of the house and I ended up in the hospital?" "Oh yeah, I had to run to the porch and get Dad." "They were happy til the end, Clair. I want that." "It's funny. I have that with Jordan. You'll find it, Hol. He's out there somewhere wondering where you are." "We were lucky, weren't we?" "Dad came home to his family and he never left after he came home." "Mom.. Loved him like he should've been." Holly handed Clair a box. "Mom wanted you to have this. She wanted to make sure you knew you were loved." Clair opened the box to see a plaster cobblestone with the inscription "I love you, Mommy." "She kept this?" Clair asked. "She kept everything you made." Clair handed Holly a similar box with a note written in male chicken scratching. Holly opened it and found a purple blob with ridges. "Oh God! I remember this! Dad kept it?" "He always told me, whenever we were out in the yard, 'Ya know your sister tried really hard. I didn't have the heart to tell I quit smoking when I married your mom." Holly laughed then sniffed. "He didn't smoke? Why was that silver ashtray out there?" "Uncle Glenn. He smoked. Daddy didn't. Uncle Glenn and those hideous cigars. Dad would come in from the garage and smelled so awful! Mama threw him in the shower and told him to wash up or else he was sleeping in the tent." The sisters looked at each other, laughing. "I love you, Berry." Clair said. "I love you too, Peach." They embraced. After they depart the home, Clair's phone rang. "Hey, I'm getting bored at home. You coming back yet?" Clair laughed. "Yeah, I'm gonna make sure Holly gets home." "Good. She needs her sister." Clair looked at Holly. "Not as much as I need her."


Emma, Rachel, Megan, Brianna, Nsimba (yes that was his real name), Ricky, Jen, and Jordan. Those are the names that I remember of the nurses who took care of me for six weeks and three days at CMMC. The women and one man who took out my catheter (Megan), argued on my behalf for better pain meds (Ricky the fucking Rockstar), wiped my ass after going to the bathroom (Emma), emptied my bed pan (Nsimba), and told me to cough to bring down my fever so I could avoid going back to the ICU (Jen). And of course, the nurse who not only helped me survived but also helped me live has chosen to have her name changed. Only the brightest ones don’t want to be seen. But she will be seen in this piece because although every nurse that took care of me deserves credit, Nurse “Jordan” fucking saved me. I’m sure Jordan was taking care of me long before I was aware of it (thanks to being heavily drugged and in a catatonic state for at least two of my six week stay). And sometimes I don’t remember our days together so much as I remember moments in our days together. The first memory I have of Jordan was the day she came into my room and told me we needed to go for a walk. It was maybe halfway into my hospital stint and up until that moment I had been laying on my back for weeks on end watching True Crime tv. There were no days or nights. I forgot what the date was. I barely knew what month it was. The only way I knew it was nighttime was seeing the new nurses come in for their 7 pm shift. Jordan was always on days. By the time she wanted me to walk with her, I had three drainage tubes coming out of my stomach. I didn’t know it yet, but in another week, I would have my sixth and final surgery to take out my staples and have a feeding sack placed in the fourth and final quadrant of my abdomen. At the time of Jordan’s request of relearning how to walk, I also had a skinny feeding tube snaked down my nose (it had already fallen out once, and the way to correct that is to simultaneously swallow air as a nurse pushes it back down your nose. How graceful) and I was on oxygen. I had no fucking idea why this nurse was asking me to do the impossible— and with a smile on her face. Jordan was a petite nurse. She was shortish with almost black hair that she always had tied back in a bun. She was in her late thirties—I think she said she was almost 40—but she definitely looked and acted younger. At first, I thought she was immature because of how positive she always was. I mean we were in a fucking hospital during Covid, where was the hope in that ? But I have come to realize that I was just a miserable and dying patient (which, who could blame me?) and Jordan’s happy go lucky attitude healed me better than any of those marvelous drugs that nurse Ricky raged for me to have. Back to relearning how to walk. It took me half an hour, half an hour , to get out of bed. I couldn’t just sit up in bed, swing my legs over the edge, step onto the ground and push myself up into a standing position. No, I had to take both arms, grip the side of the bed I wanted to turn towards, pull with all my might to get from my back onto my side, push myself up into a sitting position with both hands still gripping the plastic hospital bed, take a three minute break as I caught my breath, hold back tears, grab Jordan’s hands and have her pull me upright off the bed, fight the urge to just collapse back onto the bed and give up, and as I stood there gripping Jordan’s hands and her saying “You did it! You did it!” I couldn’t help but smile through the pain. The celebration didn’t last long though. We were just getting started. Jordan then recruited another nurse to hold my hands and make sure I didn’t drop dead (which was a legit concern at that point) as Jordan herself grabbed my walker, readjusted the tube in my nose (as I quietly muttered “It’s fine, just fucking leave it alone ”), grabbed the oxygen tank, and reassessed the three tubes coming out of my stomach. I was ready to walk. It wasn’t necessarily hard for my brain to remember place one foot in front of the other …but it was hard to do just that with the amount of pain it brought. Instead of easily taking one step at a time, it felt like there was this straight iron rod in my body and someone was trying to fold and break me in half. I stooped rather than stood. I hobbled rather than took steps. After leaving my hospital room’s door, I was exhausted . Jordan and the other nurse were on either side of my walker with Jordan was pushing along the oxygen tank. Both nurses kept saying shit like “You’re doing great .” “How are you feeling ?” “It’ll get better .” With each new step I was gaining more confidence. The doctors had told me weeks ago I probably would never be able to walk again. And although I took it in stride and accepted it as my new normal, I was beyond ecstatic to be walking again. I’ll never forget the advice that Jordan gave me for that first walk. We were halfway down the hallway in the hospital, and I wanted to finish. I was determined. I could do it. As if Jordan sensed my willpower, she said, “Now, we could keep going and finish the hallway, but remember you have to go back. In other words, if you feel like you can finish the hallway, could you do it again to get back to the room?” My steps then stopped. I could finish the hallway, but I knew I couldn’t turn around and do it all over again. They would have to carry me back to my room. A third nurse was on standby with a wheelchair in case that happened, but I wouldn’t let it come to that. “I wanna turn around,” I said shamefully. “No, you’re ready to turn around,” Jordan chirped with the ever-present smile on her face that was starting to grow on me. There was this thing that Jordan always pulled every morning she entered my room, and I know she’s sporting a shit eating grin right now while she reads this, knowing what’s coming. I used to always keep my blinds down in my room. Again, day and nighttime were not relative terms to me so I slept when I could. When my room wasn’t being plagued by doctors and specialists, when I wasn’t being shipped down to cat scans, emergency surgeries, and the ICU, I slept when I could . And sometimes that was during the day. And in those cases, I didn’t like the sun screaming in my face. So, I would always have the blinds drawn. The first day Jordan came waltzing in my room and drew up my shade I winced/smiled. “There! It’s a lovely day and the sun is shining! Much better.” This is the first nurse I’m going to hate , I thought to myself. To Jordan I said, “I don’t like the blinds up. Please put them back down.” “Oh, ok,” she said as she did as I asked. But the next day she came into my room and opened them again. And I told her to close them again. She laughed and said “oh, ok” again. And that’s how it went every morning. Then when she realized she couldn’t convert me to being a sunshine, positivity loving patient, she would open the blinds as a joke and let me grumble that she was crazy and was trying to kill me. Our friendship blossomed into a relationship where she would try to combat my bad moods with pokes and jokes. Usually, she won. And she appreciated my banter and shit talking because at the end of the day, I always gave her my 110% effort. Of course, I let her know how fucking crazy she was to expect me to double my laps, or sit in a chair for an hour straight (hardest and most painful thing ever at the time), or to start doing stairs but I still did it all for her. There were times where if I didn’t feel like doing anything, and told another nurse who was asking “not today.” Jordan would then hear about it, come into my room, and plead at my bedside. “Do it for me,” she’d say as she was kneeling at my bed and holding my hands. Fucking a that’s all that wonderful woman had to say. “Do it for me ,” and all of a sudden, I found the strength to do it. To survive. And to live . Here’s the point in the story where a disclaimer is needed: I’m not trying to toot my own horn, but I was fucking funny in the hospital. My dark sense of humor that I always had growing up came in handy while I was plastered to a hospital bed for six long weeks. I could make any nurse laugh, and even made a few doctors chuckle. Jordan was my favorite to crack up, and my wit surprised her. I would always get a bewildered look followed by her genuine laughter. Every day was a new day to try to make Jordan laugh. Sometimes that meant more to me than any health improvement I may have made. One day Jordan came into my room and as she yanked up my window shade (as I rolled my eyes) she said she had something fun for us to do. “I need to stick this pill up your butt.” “Oh, goody,” I cried with sarcasm. Jordan and another nurse helped push me onto my side so that I was facing the wall. Jordan undid my Johnny and said, “Now, try to think of something pleasant.” I did not skip a damn beat. “Ok, Bryan .” Jordan did skip a beat. I could picture her finger and thumb pinching the horse pill that was about to be inserted into my anus, and her stopping midway. “Why did you call me ‘Bryan’?” Her curiosity got the best of her. “Because he was the last person who put something up my ass that was pleasant .” It was true, Bryan was the guy I had an affair with and during our drunken hotel hookups we would have anal sex. And it felt good. Credit to a guy with a small dick for once. I felt the hospital bed shake. At first, I thought we were experiencing an earthquake—which with my luck I wouldn’t be surprised. But Jordan was shaking the bed with her laughter. She was starting to suck in air she was laughing so hard. Then just as quick, I felt the pill go up my ass and my own laughter almost made me shit it right back out. Those were the days I’ll always cherish in the hospital. Jordan and her laughter. One day when Jordan started her shift at 7 am I was having a rare bad day. There were days I cried, days I wanted it to end, and days I said fuck it. But those were simply fleeting moments that were always remedied by Jordan or another compassionate nurse. But this day was different. On this day, for once my hope was completely on E. I woke up and just decided I didn’t care. I didn’t want to improve. I told myself I was barely improving at all and that my life was pointless. I would never truly live again. That was the saddest day of my life. So, when Jordan came in and pulled up my shade like usual, I didn’t give her shit for once. I just stared at the wall as Forensic Files played on the little tv in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jordan do a double take at my silence. She didn’t say anything but checked my vitals and asked if we were walking today, as if it were a choice. But I did treat it like a choice and my silence was my answer. She then tried to make a joke, but I still stayed silent. I knew I was being rude, but I was just so over it. I had been in the hospital 5 weeks with no end in sight. I had died twice. The pain meds were barely touching my pain. My cell phone had shit the bed in the middle of all this. I couldn’t have visitors. I died during my first surgery and had five more after that. Each time I was scared I would die and wouldn’t be so lucky as to be revived again . Sorry Jordan, but life wasn’t looking so positive for me at that point. Jordan knelt by my bedside again and took my hands into hers. With tears in her eyes she said, “I am so sorry .” And that was all. And she closed my blinds and left the room. The rest of the day I felt heart broken and guilty as fuck for breaking her spirit. But the next day she again waltzed into my room and opened my blinds. And I told her to get the hell out of my room as we laughed. The last day of my journey Jordan unfortunately wasn’t working. I was discharged on a Saturday and the day before she was running around my room double checking everything and reminding me all the OT tips and tricks I learned and how to administer my own drugs through the PICC line I would be discharged with. She told me she was so proud of me and that she loved me. She never brought up my drinking or said she was worried—true to herself, she stayed positive . It was almost as if I didn’t need her my last day in the hospital because she had already taught me everything I needed to know. It’s been nine months since I’ve been discharged. And Jordan was my nurse again when I had hernia surgery back in February. She was still the same old Jordan. Coming into my room, drawing the blinds, but now she was head nurse! I am so proud of Jordan and owe her my life. I had many nurses who I will always owe credit to, but Jordan was a superhero. She not only took care of me, but she laughed, cried, triumphed, and lost alongside me. She wasn’t just a bystander who administered drugs and did her job. She went above and beyond . I have many reasons to stay sober and make sure I never relapse, and I proudly say that Nurse Jordan (whose real name I leave out, out of respect, which she asked me to do last time I saw her but hope that one day the world will know her fully—I told you readers she was a superhero!) is one of the top reasons I stay sober. I look forward to the day that you literally spill sunshine into my room, and I can make and hear you laugh again.


The dining room of the restaurant was crowded, despite the fact that it was New Years Eve. At every table there were the usual date night couples along with small parties of friends, and in the corner there was a single table, with a single man, waiting.

  This was the table.

  The table he would meet her.

  The girl.

  He looked again at his watch. They hadn’t said how long it would be before she arrived, they had just been clear on two things, the table, and the girl. A blond. He had always liked blondes, but of course they knew that. The fates knew everything. Either way, it didn’t change anything. Why they chose to reveal their plans to him, a nobody from nowhere, was a mystery.all he knew is that he wouldn’t miss this for the world.   So there he sat, the corner booth, when suddenly a cold wave splashed over him.   He looked down in surprise at his soaked shirt sleeve.

  “I am so sorry!” said the waitress, blond hair spilling over her shoulder and green eyes wide with surprise. Her hands were holding tightly to the glass that just recently had its contents spilled over the tall man sitting on his own.

  The man smiled good natured. “That’s all right.” He took his napkin and dabbed at his shirt, trying to soak up some of the water.

  The girl on front of him blushed and starting fumbling with a rag from her apron. “I tripped, there’s a hole in the carpet, I’ve told them to get it fixed.”

  She bent down and began to pick up ice cubes with her rag.   He took the opportunity to examine her roots.

Brown.

  A dye job.

  Not his blond then.

  “That’s perfectly alright, probably would have made the same mistake myself.”

  She smiled. “Can I get you anything?” She gave him a flirty little smile.

  He appreciated the attention, but he wasn’t interested.

  Not anymore.   She moved on, apologizing again.

  Things were starting to get awkward. He had already had dinner, but she hadn’t showed. The fake blond waitress had given him a glance here and there, checking on him once, but left him alone after that. Another hour and a desert later, he decided to turn in for the night. He would contact the fates and tell them something must have gone wrong. It was close enough to midnight that if he left now, he would make it to the apartment in time to watch the ball drop. Besides, the manager was giving him those searching glances the management gives when they will be needing a table and someone stubbornly refuses to leave.

  He grabbed his jacket when he heard the voice of the young hostess out front. “Sorry miss, I’m afraid the restaurant is full, you will have to wait.”   He looked up across his table, across the room, and across from the hostess, there stood a young, blond woman, glaring at the hostess.

  “Are you sure?” She asked. “I’m sure I made a reservation... check again.”   The hostess’s eyes scanned over the computer screen again.

  “I’m sorry, but all the reservations we have are already here.”   It was clear from the glare in the woman’s face that she was about to make a scene.

  “Ma’am.”

  The hostess turned at the eager voice at her elbow, and recognized the tall man from the corner booth. He was looking at the woman across from her, who all at once looked up at him sharply.   “If you don’t mind the company, I would be honored if you would join me at my table.”

  The blond woman looked him up and down, taking in his lean muscular frame and his cornflower blue eyes. He didn’t look half bad, really. Besides, she was starving. Usually she was a little more cautious around strangers, but one night of adventure wouldn’t kill her, would it?

  “Thanks,” she smiled at him as they slid into his booth. His waiter came by for her order. She didn’t even need to look at a menu. She had been coming to this restaurant for years now, always getting the same order.   “So,” he said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, “Can I ask what your name is?”   She smiled at him. “Sandy.”

  Sandy. His pulse quickened at the very sound of the name.   He smiled back at her. “Hi Sandy, I’m Bill.”

  “Nice to meet you Bill. Thank you so much for letting me share your table, I would have hated missing my dinner plans.”

  He shrugged. “That’s alright. Honestly I’m surprised it’s so crowded. You would think that on New Year’s Eve people would be out at parties.”   Sandy shrugged. “I guess not everyone is out celebrating. Some of us,” She hesitated, and then continued on. “Well, I know I didn’t have anyone special to celebrate with this year.”

  The question hung in the air.

  A small glimpse of sadness crossed the tall man’s face, and his smile slipped into a grimace for a moment.

  “Neither did I, and yet, here we are.” After an hour of soup and conversation, Bill had learned a lot about his dinner companion.

  She had grown up in Arizona, moved all over with her family, and was on town on business. She loved yoga, beach houses, and chocolate.

  “I should probably cut back on the chocolate though, I’m watching my figure.” He grinned as she looked down in false modesty. He reached across the table ad took her hand. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you are beautiful. May I have the pleasure of buying you a slice of chocolate cake?”

  She smiled. “You are the sweetest! Thank you so much I’d love one.”   He grinned, leaning back in his seat.

  When the waitress came back, he asked for the two largest slices of cake they had to offer.

  As Sandy finished her dinner, two pieces of cake around the corner. Her eyes went wide with delight.

  Bill almost laughed. Everything was going perfectly.

  After they had had their desert, they were reluctant to let the night end.

  “It’s almost midnight,” Bill said. “If we go now, we might make it to the bridge in time to see some fireworks.”   Sandy agreed and they strolled out into the night air.

  The dyed blond waitress watched disappointedly as the tall handsome man left with the blond woman on his arm. She watched as they tuned the corner. And then turned to walk back to her table, which appeared to be leaving- along with every other table in the restaurant. She stood there, confused, as the bustling restaurant emptied onto the street in less than two minutes. She stopped the last customer as he headed towards the door.   “Excuse me, sir. Is everything alright? Did something happen?”

  With a single word, the gentleman left, closing the door behind him.

  The hostess walked up to her, looking puzzled.

  “What did he say?”

  The waitress frowned, turning to her.

  “Fate.”   They walked in the moonlight, down the sidewalks and onto the bridge. As cars went by, his hands started to shake and his mind went racing.  The moment was coming, and the timing had to be perfect.

“So, what about you?” Sandy laughed, “I feel like I’ve been talking myself all this time, and I don’t know a thing about you.”

  They stopped in the middle of the bridge, and leaned over the edge.   “Well, there’s not much to tell about me really,”   Confidently, he sat on the edge of the bridge rail, letting us legs dangle over the edge.

  Sandy leaned forward, clearly wanting to join him. “Be careful!” She warned.

  He chuckled. “Oh, its safe enough. Besides, we aren’t that high up.” He gave her a hand and helped her swing her leges over to sit beside him.

  They watched the water ripple below, waiting for the fireworks to start.

  “I’m not as exciting as you, Sandra Phelps.”

  Her smiled faltered, and she grabbed onto the rail. Her stomach, which had preach felt a bit queasy after overindulging in that giant slice of cake, had begun to do flips.

  She had never given him her full name.   He continued. “I’ve never embezzled millions of dollars from my family’s company, or killed my assistant after she found out.”

  Something was wrong. Very very wrong. With every word, pain grew and grew inside her stomach. Suddenly she realized she had made a grave mistake.

  “Missy. That’s what her name was, your assistant. At least, that’s what i called her.” He looked at her then, all kindness leaving his face, his cornflower blue eyes now seemed more like ice. “She was my wife.”

  It was in that moment that the poison took its full affect. Sandra’s body went limp.

  A car drove by, and their headlights caught her blond hair as she fell into the water.

  The man on the bridge yelled after her.

  The couple in the car pulled over, running to help the distraught man.

  “That woman, she, she jumped into the river!” He began to take off his jacket, leaning forward.

  The couple pulled him back.

  “Go call 911,” They said, but they knew it was already too late. The woman was floating in the water, lifeless.

  The distraught man walked away hurriedly, pulling out a phone. A burner phone, with a single number in it’s contacts, that was not 911.   The phone rang once, and a voice on the other end answered.

  “Fate.”   “The target has been terminated.”

  “Body?”   “River. Probably a suicide.” The man smiled a grim smile.   The voice on the other side did not smile. “Probably. And the poison?”   “Untraceable.”   “In the water?”

  The man hesitated. “No. In the soup. She would have suspected the water. I had to flatter her just to distract her long enough.”

  There was a pause on the other end.   “That may be a problem.”

  The tall man frowned. “How big of a problem?”   The voice on the other end of the line sighed. “We will be in touch. Until then lie low.”   There was a click, and the call ended. The man put his phone back in his pocket. After waiting five years to avenge his wife, he could lie low for a while. Until then, he would wait. Wait, for the call of Fate.


Since the beginning of time, humans have been the only creatures to roam the earth. Well besides animals of course. Except humanity has never been that accepting of new things. They're afraid of things that are different. And god forbid you're something that they've been taught to hate. So when Alex learned that there was more to the multiverse than just earth she had to take the chance to escape. She had already known since the time that she came out that she wouldn't be accepted. And considering that she's already African American she was already doing pretty bad on earth. Humankind could never accept people for what they were, and so the best thing for her to do was leave. Now when she learned of the multiverse theory she didn't know for sure it was possible. Heck, she knew that people on earth hadn't even figured that science out yet. Until she found a portal already open that is. And who was she to decline such an amazing opportunity to explore a new place and make new discovery's? But who was she kidding she just really wanted to leave Earth behind. So she did. She gathered all of the strength and energy she had and she took that leap. Yep, she took that leap alright, and on the other side of the portal was a small cliff. Okay, it was a pretty big cliff. And when she took that leap it took her right over the edge of that cliff. Her vision was blinking in and out and she was trying to keep her eyes open. With blurry vision, she looked up to see a human-sized green blob with a tail. And that's all she saw before she passed out. When she awoke she noticed two things. One was that she was most definitely in the forest or a wooded area of some kind. And two was that she was surrounded by different well, for the loss of a better term, furry's. Now in her mind, she knew that wasn't what they were but that's the only way she could explain it when she had just woken up. It was obvious to her that they hadn't seen anything like her. And if it weren't for the people that looked like humans but with long pointy ear's she wouldn't have thought people knew anything about a species like hers. "Um hello?" She said to the people staring at her. For some weird reason, she thought that her tongue was moving in weird ways. And this was probably because she was not speaking in her native tongue; not that she knew that. Not long after she spoke a beautiful woman when with long blonde hair and 2 braids gong around her head stepped forward. She gave a kind smile a held out her hand to Alex. For Alex, this was something that she didn't expect. This woman was smiling so kindly that it shocked her. On Earth, no one would ever do such a thing. As a matter of fact, if someone saw her lying asleep injured, some people would have just ignored her. And even worse some people may have taken advantage of her in that state. She knew that she was different from these people and she was sure they knew she was different too. So why were they being so kind to her? She smiled at the thought of a society that wasn't so judgemental. It was clear to see if you looked around at the different species gathered around. There were so many different kinds and yet none of them were being judged and yelling at each other or arguing. And none of them were judging her either. She slowly reached out her hand to the elf's (an educated guess based on the woman's ears) and grabbed onto her hand. The woman gently pulled her up and once again sent her a kind smile. "Welcome to Asunaa. The place where dreams come true." She said calmly with her smooth and soothing voice. And for some reason, I understood why she said this. The place where being different is good. The place where everyone is accepted with their flaws and all. I think It'll be nice here. "Thank you. It's nice to meet you all." I smiled back. This is going to be my new home and I know that they'll accept me for who I am. Or will they? I mean yes they don't really care about what species you are but that doesn't mean anything If they find out I'm gay. Oh gosh, I'm definitely about to start panicking now. The elf, who I'm assuming is the leader of the people, pulled my hand that she was still holding closer to her as she started walking. Not wanting my arm to be pulled I followed along. The people that were surrounding us moved out of the way as she pulled me along towards what looked like a large hut. Once inside the hut she pulled out a seat from the side of the room for me to sit on and then sat on her own. "What happened to you? Where did you come from? What are you here?" She demanded from me. Okay wow, that's a big change in personality from how she was outside. "I'm sorry if I scared you. I just want what's best for my people. Someone who just falls from the sky out of nowhere isn't exactly what we would call the norm." She explained, and I could tell that she meant it by the expression on her face. "I don't really know how to explain this so If you get confused please tell me. I come from a place called Earth. The people on earth are generally okay but there are a lot of bad people there. Too many for a lot of people to feel safe. I wanted to leave Earth but I didn't really have a way to. That is, until I saw this colorful swirl that I concluded was a portal. And so me, wanting to leave earth an any way that I could took the chance and leaped through it." "And that is how you fell through the sky I assume?" She questioned me. "Yep!" I exclaimed feeling happy that I got the point across correctly. "Well in that case you're basically a runaway. A refugee if you will. And we'll help take care of you like you're one of our own. No one deserves to be left behind." I started to tear up after she finished speaking. No one has made me feel as safe as she has already. "Come along we need to announce you to the village. Camile, you can come out now and go ring the bell." I was confused about who she was talking to until a girl in a red hoodie stepped away from the wall. "She's a chameleon. And yes she looks a lot like your species but she has special abilities. Take for instance the camaflouge that you just saw." Okay wow, that's so cool. We both stood up and I followed her out the door as Camile went to ring the bell. It was a large golden-brown bell in the middle of the town/village. Once the bell had rung everyone started to gather around. "Listen up folks, we've got a new kid in town. Make her feel welcome and at home." She stated making sure everyone understood to take care of Alex. Everyone smiled and then started cheering. One person even yelled out "Welcome home new kid". It felt great to finally be appreciated. Oh yes, this is definitely the start of a new adventure.


   We are lost in an action film, the sounds of pounding feet, shouts and breaking glass are the musical score and the smoke and heat blanketing the street are the special effects. This insanity has to be fiction, real people aren’t monsters that destroy property, raze neighborhoods and attack and kill others! But as I sit in the middle of Main Street cradling my dying sister in my arms, I know this is my reality, not a high budget action film.

  Tears make long furrows down her soot stained cheeks and blood trickles from the corner of her mouth unto my sleeve.

“I love you, Munchie.” She softly whispers. “I’m so sorry, Kara. You were right we shouldn’t have come tonight.” I sobbed leaning my head against hers.  “Not your fault, I thought it was for Henry, but it wasn’t….. these people are.......only out here for the chaos……they are creating.  Tell Mom and Dad I am….sorry.” Her lashes flutter as her once lustrous eyes fade, her lids close slowly, never to open again.  “Kara! Kara! No don’t leave me, I’m so sorry, so sorry……  “Young man, let me help you get her out of here.”

I look up into kind eyes, filled with compassion; his face is haunted by the tragedy that is swirling around us. He leans down and gently lifts Kara into his arms and signals to another officer that he is taking us somewhere safer. As he takes us behind the barrier, I see the looks of pity and sorrow these officers give me. I had thought, no I’d been told that they were the enemy, but what I see is a group of men and women just trying to help stop the violence and chaos that has ensued because of one despicable person, that never should have been in uniform in the first place.            * * * * * *  * * * * * * * * * * * *

12 hours earlier  “I cannot believe this crap, another mayor suspending an officer for tasering a suspect who was resisting arrest! It’s incredible.” His Dad growled into the news paper.  “Honey, we’re eating breakfast, can we discuss this later?  “No Mom! We need to talk about this now.” Keith demanded.  “Cops are attacking the black community, and they need to be punished.”  “What happened to Henry Marvel was horrific, nobody and I mean NOBODY is denying that. But that was a rogue cop, he’s been arrested and charged. He will be tried and prosecuted. The whole police force should not be condemned because of the crimes of one.” His Dad told him. “That’s not enough, look at what you just read to us, cops tasering people!  That’s not okay!” Keith argued. “Those people had committed a crime and were resisting arrest, they have to be held accountable for what they do and police have to be able to do their jobs, to keep the community safe.” His Dad explained.  “And who holds the cops accountable!” Keith shouted as he jumped up from his seat.   “The federal government, other officers, society. If it didn’t work then the ‘cop’ who killed Henry Marvel, wouldn’t be in custody now, he has not got away with what he did! That is what being held accountable looks like.”

“There are lots of others.” Keith said adamantly.   “Who? Please be specific.”

  “I don’t know their names off the top of my head.”   “How can you or I prove your right or wrong without any specifics?”

  “Your racists just like the cops!” “Keith! …. Have I ever taught you to look down at a person because of the color of their skin?” “No.” “Have I not taught you that every man is equal, that no one is better than the other, and that we are all brothers and sisters in Gods eye.”  “Yes, but the media says…..”  “I care what God says, not the media, politicians or celebrities.” I taught you to use your brain, to study up on things that are happening, not to blindly follow the masses into hysteria or worse.” “I know, but…..”

“But what? Why did you call me racist? Was it because I didn’t agree with what you were saying? That is exactly what the media does, if they can't substantiate their point they cry racism. I taught you better than that!” “ But on the social media site I was on they said that 85% of cops attack innocent blacks, it’s an epidemic!” “Keith, open your eyes, those sites are meant to enflame people, they lie and twist what is really happening to fit their agenda.” Keith glared at his Dad, he didn’t believe that, it wouldn’t be on the news if it wasn’t facts. “What happened to that poor man, is not a race issue. It is a human rights issue, an issue of a police officer, thinking he is above the laws he’s meant to uphold, it’s about one sick human being refusing to care about the sanctity of life.  Son there will always be some narrow minded bigots that are racist, white, black, brown, it’s not exclusive. You need to realize that most people are not like that. Think about the people you see everyday at the store or at school or at the fast food restaurant, they are the same as you and me.   Are they looking down on you? Are you looking down on them? Or are you just going about your day, seeing people going about their everyday lives, no conflict, no strife. Until you have an horrific incident happen and instead seeing a sick individual that needs to be put in prison for his crime and a family that has lost a loved one, we have people deflecting it to scream about racism and police brutality.” His dad told him. “Well I want to go the the protest tonight, to show that I know what happened was wrong!” “I’m glad your becoming a young man of strong convictions, but you are not going to that protest, what is happening at these gatherings is way beyond Henry Marvel or any equality protest.” Keith grudgingly nodded to his Dad and left the room, with his sister trailing behind him.

“I don’t care what Dad said, I’m going to the protest tonight to make my voice heard…..Come with me Kara, it’ll be fun.”

“I don’t know, I’ve seen some of the protests turn violent.” Kara frowned thinking of the images she’d seen. “That’s only because the cops harass the protestors.” “But what are we protesting against? I haven’t heard a single person try to defend that cop who did this, everyone from the president and other police officers to joe blow on the street, thinks it was horrific and wrong.”

“We are protesting the cops who use brutality against black people!”  Keith shouted at her, then got real quiet hoping his parents weren’t listening. “I think the whole population of the United States is on the same page regarding police brutality, its wrong against anyone, that’s why they arrest those who commit it, Munchie.” Keith popped a cheez ball in his mouth and he rolled his eyes at her use of his nick name.

“Don’t you feel bad for Henry Marvel?” “Of course I do! What happened to him should never happen to a human being.” Kara cried. “Then go for that, if nothing else.” “Okay I’ll go with you.” “I’m going to make a sign to take, just make sure you don’t let Mom or Dad know, we’ll sneak out after they leave for bowling.” Kara agreed and went to her room to make her own sign.   After their parents had left Kara came down stairs with her sign, it said;

                  STOP THE VIOLENCE                SKIN COLOR IS JUST THE                                 WRAPPING                     WE ARE ALL THE SAME                                     INSIDE  “Really Kara! That’s all you could come up with!” Keith scowled at her.  “What’s wrong with my sign? You told me, you’re going tonight to make your voice heard, that’s what I’m trying to do. I believe we are all God’s children, no matter our skin color. And ALL the violence needs to stop.

 What does your sign say?” Keith turned his sign around for his sister.                          AN EYE FOR AN EYE                         JUSTICE FOR HENRY!  She scowled at his sign, but didn’t say anything.  “What do you think?” he prodded her.  “You really want to know?”  “Of course I do, why, you don’t like it?” Keith started getting angry.  “I just think you could have picked a more peaceful message is all.” She told her brother.  “That cop needs to pay, so do all others like him!”  “Don’t we have a judicial system for that? Who are you now Judge, Jury and executioner?” “Just stay home; I don’t want you with me with your kumbaya attitude.” “I thought we were going to pay our respects to Henry and show we don’t want something like this to happen ever again. What is this about for you, justice or revenge?” “I’m leaving, you sound just like Dad, and I’m sick of it. I keep up with

Social media, I know what’s happening, you can stick your head in the sand if you want but I’m going to demand justice.” With that he grabbed his sign and slammed out the door. Kara sighed and followed her brother out into the night.

 Keith knew Kara was about 25 feet behind him but he refused to wait or speak to her. They still had a couple of blocks to go before they got to the meeting place for the protest. A car pulled up beside him,  “Hey Dude, here’s some material for the protest.” The guy handed him a couple of bricks, laughing as he drove away.  What the heck was that about, Keith thought with disgust. He was glad Kara was aways behind him, because he could just imagine what she would have said about that. He dropped the bricks and listened, he could hear people chanting. He glanced behind and saw Kara was still following him and soon he was absorbed into the mass of people.

“Justice for Henry”  “Stop the slaughter.” Was the battle cry and Keith joined the chorus, but soon the tone changed,

“Death to the cops” someone shouted then others echoed the yell.  Keith watched as a group of teens threw bricks through the window of Mr. Carlson’s Barber shop. Mr. Carlson was a kind elderly black man, who always had a smile on his face and candy for the kids. He and his Dad had been getting haircuts there since before he could walk. Why would they do that to his business? Next they vandalized the Mikes market, Keith watched as people ran in and came out with arms full of cigarettes and food, a couple of guys dragged out the clerk. They pushed him into the street and started beating him with a skateboard. Flames erupted a few feet away from Keith when someone threw a Molotov cocktail into a vehicle that had been parked on the street. Keith was shocked, why were they destroying things and attacking people, he had believed all the stories of violence and destruction had been just propaganda to stop the protests. At least that's what they said on the news and social media platforms. He saw the guy that had given him the bricks earlier, he had a baseball bat and was hitting anybody who was unfortunate enough to get close. What did any of this have to do with Henry Marvel? What did it have to do with police brutality against blacks?  Keith saw black, white and brown people being attacked and businesses being destroyed by whites, browns and blacks alike. There was unity in the destruction, meaning no one and nothing was safe. Kara! He had to find her. He dropped his sign and turned and ran. He frantically looked for his sister but chaos had taken over the streets. There were two types of people now, those seeking refuge from the violence and destruction and those who were causing the violence and destruction.  He saw people carrying TV’s, computers and phones out of an electronics shop. And people trashing the bakery, but he didn’t see his sister. He heard someone behind him yell ‘Cops’ then people scattered as he heard loud popping sounds going off.  Smoke billowed and filled the street as more businesses caught fire.   Finally he spotted his sister about 15 feet ahead of him; the fire highlighted her profile like a giant spotlight. He screamed her name but she didn’t hear him, she was struggling against a tall man who was gripping her arm. Keith ran as fast as he could to get to her, he screamed her name with every step. When she heard him call her name their eyes met, his urgent, hers filled with fear. Time froze when he saw the flash of a blade, the fire illuminated it as it swung downward and was buried in his sister’s chest. He reached her only seconds after; he sank to his knees and gently gathered her into his arms. He cradled her to his chest fearing it was too late. Why? Why?  Keith cried for help as people streamed around them, some stopped to film them with their phones, but none of them offered any help. Insanity ruled the night. “Young man, let me help you…………

     * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Satan snickered as he watched the chaos and suffering from afar. Humans were so easy to manipulate.