Crash! Hailey fell down in the middle of the spin. Mr Guller walked over to her, his face a deep maroon color. “Jenny, what in the world was that?!” She stood up. “Umm, a spin-jazz hands combo? I just… tripped.” She turned to glare at the reason she fell - Tammy Sanchez, mean girl, popular, pretty, catches the eye of every guy. Her middle name was “evil”.

   They went to high school together, and every day there, she was tormented, ridiculed, intimidated. For no reason, whatsoever. And now, Tammy was trying to get Hailey kicked off the dance team. They were doing a performance at the Christmas Extravaganza, and it was less than 36 hours away.

   “What kind of spin was that?!” Mr Guller yelled, bringing her back to reality. “Again, I tripped,” Hailey said. Mr Guller’s face deepened in color, if that was even possible. “Bullshit! Take 10, everyone!” He stomped off to his office, most likely to scream in rage or makeout with a cardboard cutout of Jessica Alba.    Tammy sashayed over to where Haily had dropped herself. “The poor man… I’d think he would just be fed up with your stupid little mistakes by now, don’t you?” She said in a singsong voice. Hailey stood up again, standing a good 2 and ½ inches above Tammy. “Why do you hate me?” She asked. She was furious at this brat, but she couldn’t do anything to her, as her father was good friends with the principal of the school.

   “I don’t hate you.”

   “Then why must you make my life hell?”    “Peer pressure?”

   “If your dad wasn’t tight with the principal…”    “What? You’d beat me up? You’d trip me? Guess what, Hailey, you wouldn’t get a chance! The only time I’m not surrounded by my adoring fans is when I’m in the bathroom. But one time I did find someone in there…”

   “Ugh!” Hailey stalked off. She walked off the stage into the wings, backstage, out of the auditorium. She walked down the hallways until she reached her locker. “35-12-why is she so mean?” Haily asked herself, putting in her code and popping the lock off. She dug through her backpack to find her phone, and she unlocked it. No new notifications. Well, there was one from her mom, but that didn’t count in her mind.

   Laughter rippled down the hall from the auditorium, but Hailey ignored it.

   Mom: I’ll pick you up at 5? Love you, be safe! <3

Augh, moms. She glanced at the time. 4:36. Twenty-four more minutes. She heard Mr Guller screaming at everyone to hurry back to their spots, so she put her phone back in her bag, locked her locker, and ran back to the auditorium. She got to her place just as the music started, and she started dancing.

Step, step, shimmy, kick kick, swoop, turn, wiggle, shimmy shimmy, back step back step, point, 2, 3, 4, step step, shimmy, kick kick, swoop, “Whoa!”

   Hailey toppled on top of Tammy, who had just tripped her, again. Mr Guller slammed the pause button, and stomped towards Hailey. “Hailey, stop falling!” He screamed. “I didn’t! Tammy tripped me, again! She’s trying to get me kicked off the team!” Mr Guller looked at Tammy. “Is this true?”

   Tammy stood up. “No! I might have accidentally tripped her, but I’m not trying to get her kicked off!” Mr Guller turned his head slowly towards Hailey. “Hailey, it is one thing to be late, to mess up, or to fall. But falling on top of Tammy, and lying?! I AM THIS CLOSE TO KICKING YOU OFF THE TEAM!!” He screamed, showing her his pointer finger and thumb, just an inch apart.

   He stalked off into the wings. Tammy walked over to Hailey. “I expected more from him. Perhaps kicking you off. Sad.” Hailey whipped around to glare at Tammy. She had tears in her eyes and her face was red. “Aww, you gonna cry?” Tammy asked in a crybaby tone. She really didn’t like talking normally.

   Hailey had had enough of Tammy’s bullshit. She had been dealing with it since grade 7. So, instead of talking it out, she balled up her fist, and aimed right for Tammy’s perfect face. Tammy fell on the floor, and everyone immediately surrounded her. Before anyone could glare at her, go tell Mr Guller, or anything, she ran. Hailey ended up walking home. All she wanted was peace and quiet for Christmas. It was one and a half miles to get back home, but she didn’t care. She walked in silence, tears falling down her face. She really hated being pushed around and bullied. She also hated violence, though. She knew that she would probably be suspended, and her parents would ground her until her 21st birthday.

   When Hailey finally got home, her parents were standing in the dining room, looking worried. She closed the door, and her parents looked up to see their daughter. They rushed towards her, saying how scared they were, how worried, and “don’t do that ever again!”.

   She was looking down the entire time, but when she looked up, her parents asked what was wrong. Apparently, it was very evident that she had been crying. She tried to hold back tears as she told them that she punched someone, but the water flooded the dam. Her parents hugged her while she cried. They told her that she would be grounded for three days, no phone until then either, but she didn’t care.

The three days went by fast. She was still sad, and her parents were slightly disappointed (especially when they had to pay $485 for abuse to Tammy’s parents), but they still had a wonderful few days together. Then, the day before Christmas, her parents woke her up at 4:30 in the morning. They brought her to the car, and they started driving.

   She woke up at 5:03 at the airport. Her parents led her through check in, security, and finding the gate. First they stopped at Starbucks for breakfast. “OK, I’ve held it off long enough. Where are we going?” Hailey asked. “You’ll see,” her parents replied. After 10 minutes, an announcement came on overhead.

   “ Attention. Flight 294 to Hawaii is now boarding. Flight 294 is now boarding. ” Her parents grabbed their carry-ons and stood up. Hurriedly, she stood up too, thinking they were preparing to get on another plane. But they started walking to the Hawaii gate. Hailey’s eyes widened as she watched her parents turn around and motion for her to follow. When she finally did, next stop, peace, quiet, and Hawaii.


This was a once in a life time social experiment I wanted to conduct since I have been on the work force. All my life, I have been surrounded with noise, pollution, traffic, and technology. Always on the move and always trying to keep up with time. I no longer wish to be slave of time. I want to be master of time. I want to breathe, see the time slow down, think about myself… A friend of a friend recommended me to go spend a month in this remote winter cabin. All alone. With no electricity, no internet, and no phone service. Basically, with no technology. I would feel like I am living before the Industrial Revolution. I would feel like taking a trip to the early 19 th century.  I need this. My brain requires to get away from noise, pollution, time, and technology. This will be a unique vacation. Even if I wanted, no one will be able to reach me. No cell phone, no power to charge my laptop or any electrical device. I need fresh air and keep my eyes away from any type of screen. For food, I was mentioned that I would have to hunt for my own food and cook it. No electricity means no fridge. I must hunt or collect food from the wilderness on a daily basis. I will not be able to store food. In the brochure my friend gave me, it mentions that there are no human beings in a 100 km radius. I will be dropped off by a valet service and after thirty days, someone from the same travel agency, will come pick me up. The cost of this solo adventure is a $5,000.    I do know that I will have access to a vast collection of novels during my stay. Thank God! At least I will have time to read. Only hard copy books, not in a digital form. I always preferred the smell of a good book in hands. Especially, a new book that was never opened.    The day has finally arrived. I am dropped off by the valet service. I am asked to sign a contract and a brochure is handed to me. Similar to the one my friend had given me. It is a remote area, on a hill, with a beautiful view of the forest, the valley and the frozen lake.    The cabin is one huge room where kitchen, living room and bedroom are one big unit. Only the bathroom is separate room of its own. No hot water because of no electricity! Oh boy! I will have to heat my water when I need to take a bath. No shower here…    I did lot of wilderness camping with my dad and my Uncle Wayne during my childhood. That experience will come handy for the next few weeks. We did hunt, fishing, picking up edible mushrooms. I will have to rely more on hunting because in this snow, it will be a challenge to find mushrooms, fruits or veggies.    It is 6 PM by now. I did bring with me a tuna sandwich with me. I am not going out to get food at this time. Not in this cold, and snow. In fact, I brought with me a loaf of bread, and a jar of peanut butter. That stuff can stay out without being refrigerated. The days I will not feel like going hunting, I will have this backup food. I won’t starve but it won’t be the best food to enjoy.    Almost time for bed. It is such a great feeling to hear only the sound of the nature. Unbelievable how it feels. How your mind and body can benefit from this silence. I hear the wind blowing, snow is everywhere, night has settled, I see an owl on the tree from a dozen yard. It is so peaceful that it feels like I am in a haunted place. It feels like the dawn of time. When our ancestors lived in the nature.    Before I go to bed, let’s start reading one of the novels offered to me. Oh wow! I have seen the movie but never read the novel it was based upon. The Shining. This novel will be a perfect read for the situation I am in. Like the main character Jack, I am in a remote cold snowy place but yes, I am not in an immense hotel. Moreover, this place is not haunted. Well…I hope not…   Almost 11:15 PM. I am well immersed into the story of Stephen King. As I stand up to head to go to sleep, I hear heavy knocks on the door. Who could that be at this time? I was told there was no living soul in this area. I open the door. Nobody. I look to my left…to my right…no one. Weird. Am I hearing things? I get back inside and close the door.    I will go to bed. Hope to get a good sleep. Tomorrow will be another day. They furnished plenty of blankets. I will be fine. In the morning I will need to go out into the woods to hunt or fish by a river or a lake.    After a good night rest, I feel great today. Looking from the window, it seems like we go twelve inches of snow. Not the time to venture I guess. I should stick to my bread and peanut butter. I will go get the woods from the back of the cabin in the storage facility and heat up water for my bath.    It has not been a full twenty-four hours yet in this cabin but I can say that mentally and physically I feel less drained compared to my daily urban life. Maybe I should look to move somewhere quiet like this place. Somewhere in the Colorado Rockies maybe.   Almost time to leave the place. I feel re-energized. I was getting used to live without technology but I miss my tv shows, movies, online gaming, the social media, etc. I am considering to move in such a place when I retire. Maybe with a dog.   The valet is here. I am packing my stuff and about to leave. As I am talking to him, he asked me if I had any usual encounter at night. Maybe a big knock on the door at precisely 11:11PM. I said yes.

‘’That was the so-called ghost of Walter. People say that cabin used to belong to him. For some reason, he committed suicide apparently at 11:11 PM,’’ said the valet.    “Oh my God! Are you saying my life was in danger during my stay here?’’    ‘’No. I would not think so. You are not the only person who has stayed here.’’    ‘’You should mention this in your brochure.’’    “It is there, in fine prints…’’    As I drive away with the valet, I see a face through the window of the cabin. Well now…for sure I am not returning here again. It will have to be another location next time.


I love my tin snail. 29 horsepower, full length roll back sunroof, four gears, fun suspension. She may date back to 1971 but the front inboard mounted brakes are the same technology used in formula one cars. I have to say, I feel more like a rally driver as I throw her round the corners. Speaking of corners, there’s a guy with his thumb up at the bend, heading out of Talby. I’d love the company, I wonder if he’ll accept a lift from a 2CV? Some consider these old Citroens unsafe but, with their built-in crumple zones, almost vertical steering shaft, and practically no blind spots, they measure up pretty well to more modern vehicles. Only one way to find out if he shares my enthusiasm. I apply those formula one brakes and pull in to the verge just past the hitch hiker. He runs up alongside my flipped-open passenger window in his hi top Converse All Stars. He can’t be much younger than me but he’s somehow getting away with skinny jeans. I’ve never liked them on guys, but each to their own. I'm sure people don't expect a 2CV driver to be wearing a well-pressed trouser suit and stilettos either. ‘Hi! Thanks for stopping. Where are you headed?’ His ponytail, about the same length as mine, catches the wind as he ducks to talk to me. ‘Pandel Lakes. On your way?’ ‘Perfect! I’m going to Anacant.’ ‘Ah, You’re on My way! Get in. Sling your rucksack in the back.’ ‘Cool, thanks. I’m Danny. Danny Grant.’ ‘Hi Danny.’ I smile. ‘I’m a Danny too, Danny Roke. Danielle, but only my mother calls me that. Nice to meet you.’ He deposits his bag in the back and slams the door before climbing into the front. I wait while he sorts his seatbelt and then we’re off. ‘So what takes you to Anacant?’ ‘Adventure I suppose. I’ve got friends there planning a party at a cabin, but the public transport is terrible up that way and I had to sell my car last month.’ His face falls a little. ‘What kind of car was it?’ ‘A grey 1971 VW beetle.’ ‘A man after my own heart! Can’t beat the classics.’ I tap my steering wheel. ‘Got just over six grand for it. Much needed cash but I’ll miss that car.’ Danny rubs his chin. ‘Tell me about your Citroen. I’ve always wanted to try one of these gear sticks. Maybe you can talk me through it?' ‘She’s 1971 as well. I’ve had a few problems with rust but she’s in good nick at the moment, aren’t you Red?’ I pat the dash board a couple of times. ‘Red? That’s original.’ Danny has a charming and infectious laugh. ‘Yeah, but it’s not just because of her colour. Red was my favourite Fraggle when I was a kid. Do you have any favourite TV characters from back in the day?’ ‘I was more into cartoons than puppets. I quite liked He Man and that tiger he rode…’ ‘Battlecat!’ we both say in unison and giggle. ‘Yeah, I quite fancied taming wild animals and going on adventures with them. There was something attractive about a magic sword too, and leading a secret double life.’ ‘You'd have had to run around in a silver breastplate and red furry knickers though.’ ‘I think you have paid altogether too much attention to cartoon underwear!’ Danny sniggers. ‘Does it still count as underwear if it’s all you’ve got on?’ ‘Good question.’ There are rabbits on the grass at the side of the road. They seem unperturbed by the country traffic and continue to graze as we pass them. We’re soon entering the woods. Huge pines and firs on either side block out much of the sun and substantially cool the air. ‘So what takes you to the lakes?’ Danny asks. ‘Family history. I’m going to find my great aunt before she kicks the bucket.’ ‘Find her? Was she lost?’ ‘Sort of. A rift in the family before I was born meant that I never met her. Dad told me about her on his death bed and made me promise to make amends. She never had kids and she’s been isolated from us. Then her husband died, so she's basically on her own. It’s a shame to leave things that way.’ ‘Does she know you’re coming?’ ‘Yes, but she may assume I’m a boy. We exchanged a few letters and I just signed them “Danny”. It didn’t occur to me until this morning that she may be surprised when I show up. In her car!’ ‘Her car?’ ‘Apparently so. She loaned it to my grandad who loaned it to my uncle without her permission. That was the start of the feud. Things got out of hand. Just to spite her my uncle left it to my mother in his will, my mother kept it and that was the final straw. By the time I was born Aunt Lucy was never spoken of. I’m sure my grandad had his reasons but really it doesn’t sound like it was her fault.’ ‘And I thought my family were weird.’ ‘Yeah. My mum gave the car to me without ever telling me where it came from. She was furious when my dad spilled the beans. But he died two days later so what could she do?’ ‘Does your mum know you’re going?’ ‘No. You’re the first person I've told. I figured I’d get to know Aunt Lucy a bit, then try to reintroduce them before anyone else dies.’ I let out a long, slow breath. ‘I figure returning the car is step one in mending the family.’ ‘And she lives up at Pandel Lakes? If she can afford one of those mansions she might not want a 1971 Citroen. No offense meant.’ Danny pulls down the passenger sun visor, even though we are still in the tree shadow. He uses the mirror to check on his bag. ‘None taken. I assumed the same thing, but it’s the thought that counts. Maybe the car has sentimental value.’ ‘Maybe, perhaps she’ll reward you.’ ‘All I want is to get her and my mum back together and not have Aunt Lucy die alone. She can leave her fortunes to the RSPCA for all I care. It sounds like she might too, she’s got nine cats!’ ‘Nine cats! I hope you’re not allergic?’ ‘Fortunately not. I’m just glad it’s not dogs. I can’t stand dogs. Terrifying.’ ‘Did she say much else in her letters? Do you know what to expect when you meet her?’ ‘Well, her late husband invested in a few inventions and companies that did remarkably well after the war. Not least of all Velcro. He was a shrewd businessman and Lucy listened to him when he warned her that her family would only take advantage of their good fortune. I’m hoping I can prove him wrong.’ ‘And it starts with returning the car?’ ‘Exactly.’ We both fall silent as we come out of the cool shade and back into the blazing sun. The tall dark trees are replaced by open fields of corn and rapeseed, green and yellow as far as I can see. My nose starts to stream from the pollen. ‘Could you pass me the tissues from the glove shelf?’ Danny reaches out and finds a pack of Handy Andies. He removes two and hands them to me. ‘That’s something I have in common with her.' I wipe my nose. 'She gets terrible hay fever too. I was going to bring her flowers, but I’ll opt for chocolate instead. I’ll stop in Anacant when I drop you off and see if I can find some. Apparently she likes ginger.’ ‘There’s a really nice chocolate shop in the arcade. I can show you if you like?’ ‘That would be great.’ I shift down into third as we come to a winding hill. ‘So, about that gear box? Does it take a lot of getting used to?’ ‘Not really, it’s pretty easy when you have a bit of practise.’ I talk him through the gear positions and show him as I change up and down them. It's good to find someone interested in the car, usually people take the Mick a bit. After all, the design brief was literally to build an "umbrella on wheels". ‘So, who is it you’re visiting in Anacant? Old school friends?’ ‘Uni mates. We get together once a year at Joe’s cabin and get plastered. There’s more beer than gear in my pack.’ Danny laughs. ‘But an annual blow out is fine. And this year it’s everyone’s 40ths.’ ‘Ah, wives and kids invited?’ ‘Nope. Just the lads, no girls allowed. And we’re big enough kids without having a group of actual toddlers running around.’ ‘Makes sense. I guess no one based near Talby? No one to pick you up?’ ‘Nah, everyone spread far and wide after graduation. I promised them I'd get there. I'm really grateful you stopped.’ ‘No problem. Maybe I can pick you up on the way back too? I'll hire a car in Anacant if Aunt Lucy keeps the flying dustbin.’ ‘That’s very kind. When are you heading back through?’ ‘Probably Sunday night but I’ll see how it goes. I’m booked into a hotel at the lake for the whole weekend, but fully prepared to leave early if I'm not well received.’ ‘Which hotel? Have you gone budget with the Owl or luxury with the Cross Keys?’ ‘Oh, you know it?’ ‘Yeah, we stayed at the Owl a few times before Joe bought the cabin. Did some fishing, hiking. It’s nice up there, but there’s more night life in the town.’ ‘I’ve actually taken the middle ground and gone for the Green Room B&B. It’s closer to Lucy’s place and she’s agreed to meet me in the café next door. I’m hoping she’ll recognise me. All I really said was that I have a long brown ponytail, and frankly that would describe you just as well!’ We see the first sign for Anacant. I’m almost sad to be close to dropping Danny off. It’s been so nice to chat and I have no idea how frosty a reception I might get at the lakes. The heavy stink of manure hits us from an adjacent field. ‘Phew! Closing the windows won’t help I’m afraid. Red is naturally well ventilated.’ Danny grins at me. ‘No problem. I'm used to farm aromas.’ I indicate left off the next roundabout in all its floral glory, and we’re there. Anacant. "Three times winner of Britain in Bloom" crows the sign. The copious amounts of hanging baskets and colourful borders clashing along the sleepy roadsides don’t scream party time for a bunch of uni mates. But it’s true, there are pubs, more night life than at the lakes. ‘So, where’s this chocolate shop and where should I drop you off?’ ‘You can drop me at the arcade, I’m happy to walk to rest of the way. Take the next left onto the high street and pull up outside the bank if you can.’ I manage to park two spaces down from Barclays. Sure enough there’s a little shopping arcade. ‘I’ll come with you, might pick something up from the off licence next door.’ We get out of the car and walk under the archway into the tiny shopping centre. The shops are closed down. Probably victims of the covid pandemic. ‘Is it still going to be open?’ ‘I don’t know, let’s find out, it’s right at the end.’ The passageway turns a corner between more closed shops. Such a shame that so many independent businesses have been lost. There’s a vape place, a deli, a sandwich shop, a jeweller, a key cutter, a couple of gifty looking places, all shut down. There’s no one around and we're out of sight of the high street. It’s eerily quiet. The passageway opens up into a little courtyard and there at the far side is the off licence "Paul's Wines" and the chocolate shop “Sweet Dreams”, very quaint. Both closed. … Danny dropped a few blood-stained Handy Andy tissues into a litter bin before he emerged back onto Anacant High Street. Alone. He knew how backwards this little town was, he knew there was no CCTV in the Victorian arcade, or even on the High Street. It would be a while before anyone found anything amiss. He took the keys to the 2CV out of his pocket and hoped that the car wasn’t conspicuous enough for the locals to notice. Half of them drove old beetles and original minis anyway so it wasn’t all that out of place. He sat in the driver's seat with the clutch depressed for just long enough to try out the gear positions. It was true, they were quick to get used to. He drove up to Pandel Lakes, via a petrol station where he bought some cheap chocolate covered ginger. He checked in to the Green Room B&B as “Danny Roke”. After removing the luggage from the car boot and dropping it off with his own rucksack, he took a quick shower. Then he sat himself down, the only customer in the Lionhead Café next door. It was three lattes and a piece of chocolate cake before an elderly woman with a cardigan covered in cat hair let herself in. ‘Danny?’ she said, peering at him over her glasses. ‘Yes! Aunt Lucy?’ Danny stood up and offered her his hand. ‘You’re just how I imagined you!’ Lucy’s eyes lit up and she hugged him.


I awoke this morning with the words “thank you” on my lips. This occurrence has been going on for at least the last fifty years. I’ve experienced joys and sorrows like most humans I know. With all of these experiences, there have been lessons taught and learned; sometimes repeated. Yes, I have found it is possible to learn from sorrows, as well as joys. I have come to believe that such learning is why I am living my life here on planet Earth. Here and now is where the potential to gain greater understanding is rife in every human experience we have. Understanding of our experiences helps us to expand our consciousness of what it means to be a human being, and apply that understanding to the choices we make using our God-given free will all along the way. When I look back, I can see choices I made at junctures along the way that brought me to where I am today. Most importantly, I am grateful for the roads I’ve chosen to travel that have made all the difference with respect to learning and growing as a member of the human species. I wish to share some of lessons I’ve learned for which I am eternally grateful. First and foremost, I have learned about the power of unconditional love. I am grateful for my parents who were role models for me, because their love was never based on conditions they could’ve, but didn’t, place on me. They practiced unconditional love all their lives. I am grateful for the tools and freedom they gave me to explore and learn. These tools were encouraging curiosity, perseverance, patience, courage, forgiveness, mercy, understanding, and love, always love, both as a noun and a verb. They instilled in me one simple rule to guide my behavioral choices toward others: “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.” In each chapter of my life, I have used these tools and still do in my striving to grow and learn. So, I greet each morning with gratitude for their unconditional love and wisdom. My parents fell in love in the midst of WWII. I am grateful they met before Pearl Harbor, and weathered the war with their love sustaining them. How they met was a consequence of a choice that seemed ordained by fate. Here’s how that meeting happened. My mother was attending a small co-ed college in Conway, Arkansas. My father was in-between jobs. He had finished a flight training school because he dreamed of flying airplanes since he was a young boy. He and a buddy were adventuring, hitchhiking north to visit the Great Lakes because they had never seen them. Just outside Conway, Arkansas, one ride dropped them off. They discussed whether to stick their thumbs out for another ride or go into town to get something to eat. The decision was made with the toss of a coin. Heads continue to hitchhike and tails go into town. Tails it was. A local pharmacist directed them to the student union on campus because that was where young people gathered. At the student union, my handsome smiling father noticed three young women sitting at a table in the midst of a card game of bridge, which his older sister had taught him to play, so he walked up to them and asked if they needed a fourth. They said they did and asked him to join the game. He thanked them and sat down across from the woman who became my mother. He always said, he fell in love at that very moment. Mother always said it took her a little longer for her, but it happened. Then came Pearl Harbor, and my father volunteered immediately. Because he already knew how to fly planes, he became part of the Army Air Corps, which eventually became the US Air Force. In 1943, they married. The war ended. He continued to serve in the Air Force. I was born after the war ended. We moved around a bit the first seven years of my life. When I was seven, Mother and Daddy settled down in a little town north of San Francisco. They shared an abiding love of God although they did not share a similar religious background. They searched for a church among the town’s many churches that worked for them both. They settled on a little white church of no particular denomination that they found peaceful, uplifting, and provided them with new friends. That is where I went to Sunday School and later, as I grew older, I attended services after Sunday School. I loved the services because they were heavy on hymn singing and light on preaching. I loved the hymn singing most of all. To this day, I have my favorites like “There Is A Balm in Gilead,” “I’ll fly Away,” and “Amazing Grace.” Then, when I was approaching my twelfth birthday, I was suddenly presented with a conundrum. My parents told me that when I was thirteen, I would have to go through a ceremony to formally become a member of our church. I was stunned since I thought I was already a member. They patiently explained it all to me. Now, they had taught me to be as informed as I could be whenever I found myself confronted with a problem involving a choice. The first step in finding a solution was to talk to God in the language of my heart and see what answer came. So, after their explanation about the upcoming church membership question, I said, “I will talk to God about this.” They nodded. That night in my bed, before sleep, I talked to God. I asked Him what to do. I fell asleep and dreamed vividly. I was shown a path. In the dream, I saw myself visiting other churches that existed in our little town. When I awoke, the message imprinted in my mind was like a telegram from God: “Seek and ye shall find.” At breakfast, I told my parents my dream. They looked at one another and spoke in unison, “What do you want to do?” I told them, “I want to spend the whole year I’m twelve going to any church here in town as I wish, as well as any town I may visit. I want to explore and experience other churches.” I paused and continued, “I don’t know enough to make a choice. I want to seek.” My parents took this all in, looked at each other, and agreed to my proposal, as long as I went to church somewhere every Sunday and kept a notebook of my thoughts and feelings related to my experiences. I loved writing, and so that was easy for me to agree to do that.  I had one question, “Will you drive me if I need a ride?” “Of course,” Daddy said, as Mother nodded her agreement. Thus, began my year of seeking. My search was limited by the fact that in my hometown there were only various denominations of Christian churches at that time. I did not have the opportunity to explore religions other than Christianity. Nevertheless, it was amazing to me how much variety there was among those denominations. Later in my life as a young adult, I would explore more. However, that year I was twelve sanctioned by my parents’ trust in God’s message to me in my dream and their commitment to the value of exploratory gathering of data to make an informed choice, I did so seek. I realize now that seeking was key to my development in becoming the person I am today. At the end of my twelfth year, I reviewed my notebooks and realized that the little white nondenominational church of my parents suited me best at the time. My chief reason was simple and true. At the little white church, the congregation sang more during their services than any of the other churches. For me, music was a direct connection to God. Also, that church echoed and emphasized the Golden Rule imprinted on my heart of “doing unto others as I would have others do unto me.” So, I joined the church when I turned thirteen and sang with gusto. Later that year I even sang with the choir and learned Handel’s Messiah, singing the Hallelujah Chorus with all my heart and strength. I am also grateful to my parents for bringing the love of reading and telling stories into my life. As Strickland Gillilan says in his poem The Reading Mother : “You may have tangible wealth untold; Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold. Richer than I you can never be – I had a Mother who read to me.” I also had my father who enchanted and entertained me with stories of his boyhood and beyond; thus, building my love for storytelling. After I left home and began seeking beyond Christianity, I found my way through books to the teachings of Eastern spiritual traditions of Buddhism, Hinduism, and Taoism. These opened my mind and heart ever wider until one day after again talking to God seeking His guidance on learning how to meditate, I happened upon the book Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda. I read it avidly, hooked from page 1. I wrote away for the lessons and studied them. I knew I had found a guide to meditation and the most inclusive path to God I had ever encountered. I’d found what I had started seeking as a twelve- year-old. My parents respected my choice of this spiritual path completely. My father did ask one question: “Is God in your yogi book the same one I know?” “Oh yes, Daddy,” I replied continuing, “as I understand it, there is only one.” He beamed his love with a wide grin from ear to ear. Completely at ease, he never asked another question. Mother never asked a single question. As always, she trusted and supported my choice unquestioningly, unconditionally. In 2005, my parents died three weeks apart. Though I miss them still, I carry their unconditional love inside me always. That gift only fueled our love to grow stronger with the passing years, and I was given the opportunity to give unconditional love back to them freely until they both left this Earth. Mother died first and Daddy followed after her since being on Earth without her was untenable for him. I saw her a day before she died and held her hand singing her favorite hymn, “I’ll Fly Away,” to her. I was by Daddy’s side when he died. He had been dozing, and suddenly woke up looking at the blinds over his hospital window. I knew how much he always loved to fly in the clear blue sky, so I asked if he wanted to see the sky. He nodded. I raised the blinds and the brilliant blue sky greeted our eyes. I held his hand. Within an hour without any struggle, he took his last breath literally flying away. Being a loving witness to their final days was a gift. Without a doubt, the unconditional love given to me by my parents throughout our shared time on Earth is something for which I remain deeply, truly grateful.


Thick blue smoke plumed and pooled around the old man's head. His grandson sat crosslegged before him on the harsh concrete floor of their subterranean shelter, watching the coils of smoke slowly unfurling upwards and collecting beneath the low, stained ceiling. There was one window in the room; a small rectangular pane of filthy glass close to the top of the wall. A pallid stream of light penetrated the layer of grime welded to it. The boy's grandfather sat across the room drinking in the meagre ray of light, the leathered seams of his face moving subtly with each inhale and exhale. He would sit there until the light was gone. Sometimes he would read a book, an old newspaper, or a magazine. Sometimes he would simply sit and stare and smoke. But on rare occasion, he would speak. Sometimes he would even tell a story, a story of the way things used to be. The boy could count the amount of times such stories had passed from his grandfather's lips on one hand. He could count the times he had slept soundly through the night with the same fingers. Those were the nights where he would dream of a better world, a world with televisions and internet and schools. A world with blue skies and sunlight that wouldn’t peel the skin from your body after more than thirty seconds in it. A world where everyone had had a place and a purpose, and the surface had not been a barren tundra of death, decay, and baking heat. A world full of life and colours. The boy often had questions about colours, much to his grandfather’s irritation. Colours were difficult, if not impossible, to describe to someone who had never seen said colour before, as his grandfather had explained to him. But a young boy’s curiosity is not something to be quashed. Only something to be sated. He asked his grandfather to describe green to him. The old man remained silent for a long time, first appearing annoyed, until his lip trembled and tears welled in his eyes. He shook his head ever so slightly and eventually leaned down, at least as far as he could, towards his grandson. He closed his eyes and removed his glasses with a shaky hand. The boy had never seen his grandfather at such close proximity; usually he was a statue in his armchair, ancient and unmovable. His eyes were squeezed shut, the crow's-feet either side deep, splitting crevasses mapped into his face. Stamped on either side of the bridge of his nose were little indents from where his glasses sat. The bags under his eyes were damp and tears threatened to well out despite his eyes being closed, but with a tight, rattling breath, they suddenly opened. "Look," he said huskily. "I'm looking," the boy replied. "Your eyes are blue, like mine." "Look closer," he said, not unkindly. The smoke from his pipe curled between them like something alive, stinging the boy’s eyes. He blinked the mild pain away. The boy squinted at his grandfather’s eyes. "Look between the strands of blue. What do you see?" he asked the boy. The boy looked again, knowing where to look this time. He inspected the glassy convex of one of his grandfather’s eyes, following the wavering threads of blue that curved out from the pupil. His forehead and eyebrows relaxed and his eyes widened. "What...what is that?" he said. "There's... there's more than one other colour there. I know that one...that's yellow! And that other one..." He suddenly grabbed his grandfather's face with both hands, holding it in place. "How many...how many colours are there in eyes?" he demanded. His grandfather wheezed a chuckle. "As many as you can see." "I like green," the boy decided, returning to his original sitting position, his own blue eyes round and lit up. "Yes," his grandfather agreed, "it's a good colour." He sucked on his pipe and sighed the fumes out, a cloud of bluish smoke once again rising above his head like a thought bubble in a comic, slowly dispersing. "You want to hear a story then?" he asked. The boy only scooched in closer on the ground, the answer obvious on his face. "Alright. Well, once upon a time, there was a grumpy old man,’ he started. “Are there cars in the story?” the boy interjected. ‘Not this one,’ his grandfather said, with a shake of his head. He opened his mouth to continue. “What about healthcare?” the boy said. “ No, ’ his grandfather replied. “I don’t know why I ever tried to explain healthcare,” he grumbled. “And before you ask, there’s no aeroplanes or chocolate bars or…or fridges or anything like that either!” The boy looked up at him meekly and swallowed, his eyes almost perfect circles. “What’s a fridge again?” he asked, quietly. “Keeps things cold,” he replied. “Don’t ask me how!” he added quickly. “Anyway, where was I. Once upon a time, there was a grouchy old man.” “Grumpy.” “Grumpy! Whatever.” He sighed and took a drag of his pipe. “Truth was, he was both grouchy and grumpy. He was very sad, too. And bitter and resentful. He had a lot of reasons to be. He hated sitting in a stinky, cramped shelter all day every day, and he hated that his daughter had to go out and risk her life on the surface in order for him to survive. He yearned for the ways of the old world from whence he'd come to return." He smiled at that little turn of phrase. "But a miracle occurred," he continued, his smile growing ever so slightly. Little jewels of moisture sparkled in his eyes and trickled down his cheeks when he blinked. "He realised, that he gets to spend more time with his grandson than he ever would have in the world the way it was before. He realised that that boy, that wonderful boy, was the only thing that sustained him in this miserable existence. And slowly, he's learning to appreciate what he has. Slowly." He took a draw of his pipe, tears streaming freely down his face now, collecting in his many wrinkles. He caught his grandson's eye, and they were both grinning, both crying. "And guess who taught me that?"


"You are not supposed to play here,' Monty shouted at the top of the voice to scare off Tim.

'Yes, you red skin trash. You are not allowed to spoil this place with your dirty presence,' said one of the bully friends of Monty.

'I was just swinging, and I didn't do anything wrong.' argued Tim. 'Don't you dare talk to us? You are a creature of the swamp, and you belong there.' 'I am not from the swamp. I am from another planet destroyed by the Mega Dwarf. Our family is a refugee over here,' said Tim Monty could not fathom the reply, and with the help of magic, he uplifted Tim from the swing. Tim began spinning in the air due to Monty's spell, and after few minutes of spin, Tim fell to the ground. He was unable to stand and preferred to sit on the ground.

Seeing the dizzy Tim struggling to stand up, Monty and his friend began laughing. Tim was unable to digest this insult. Tim's ego urged him to use the magic against Monty. However, the rule of the city forbade the refugee to use any magic for one year. If anyone failed to follow this instruction, banishment was the punishment. Some passersby saw this incident and hurried towards Tim. That stranger helped Tim by scaring away the bully Monty and his friends.

Tim regained balance and somehow reached home. Tim's mother forced him to make new friends in this new land.

Many children hated Tim for his physical appearance. The recent incident made Tim more aware of his physical appearance. On their home planet, now destroyed by the Mega Dwarf, no one talked about physical appearance. All they could talk about was the character. The soothing fragrance was the indicator of the amount of character inside that individual. On this planet, all they can talk about how handsome a person is. The more beautiful a person, the more respect one can garner. On Tim's home planet, a person garners respect based on the soothing fragrance. An individual would be able to emit fragrance if his/her heart is full of moral values implemented in their daily life. 'What happened to your fragrance, Tim?' 'This planet is not ready to accept us, Mom.' 'Do not worry, son. You accept it as your own planet and the people living here as your family. Forgive their actions and think good of them.' 'But how can I? All they do and think ill of me. How can I forgive those boys for their cruelty?' 'Because one has to for a peaceful co-existence. The opposing force will come to their senses when they will realize the wrongness of their action,' said Tim's mom. 'Their thoughts were worse than their actions. They did not know the magic spells well or they would have torn me to pieces and fed to the birds.' 'Never ever let them know that you can read their thoughts. They will not fathom that and will banish us for that.' 'Okay, Mom.' Tim began reading the book that his father gave him to complete in a week. In the world of fairies, self-education was the key to scale new heights. Tim's father rose to an influential position in two weeks based on the vast knowledge gathered from books.

'What happened to your fragrance?'

'I told you already, Mom. Why are...,' Tim could not finish the sentence when he saw his father standing right next to his table. Tim knew that he failed to judge the source of the question. Tim preferred silence instead of righting his wrongs.

Tim's father read Tim's mind and gathered what happened to Tim. Tim's father got the answer that did Tim's fragrance became weak. 'I am proud of you, my boy.' 'There is nothing to be proud of. Those boys used magic on me and I did nothing.' 'You did one thing, and that is the most difficult one. You resisted the urge to assert your greatness with your abundant power. You controlled your ego and anger, a feat unachievable by many.' 'I appeared weak, Dad.' 'It is better to conceal your power rather than use it for an irrelevant reason.' After that, Tim's father got busy improvising the weapon to destroy the Mega Dwarf.

The defense counsel hired Tim's father to develop a weapon to destroy Mega Dwarf. Mega Dwarf had a weakness, and Tim's father observed it when Mega Dwarf was busy destroying Tim's planet.

Tim's family was powerful enough to rule the newfound fairyland, but they preferred to mingle. The creator did not bless Tim's family with wings like other fairies. However, Almighty blessed them with the power to fly without wings. They were red in appearance that shattered the preconceived notion that people in fairyland are beautiful. They were beautiful from the inside. However, the fairies of the new land could not identify the beauty. Every living creature detests what they can not understand. Tim faced this kind of hate every time. Two years went by, and the weapon was not yet ready. Tim was now helping his father to make that weapon. But they failed in the trial.

What worried them is that Mega Dwarf could attack them any day as it was almost two years since the last sighting. All they need to complete the weapon was the source of energy that can last about five minutes. That weapon must remain functional for about five minutes to penetrate the thick skin of that Mega Dwarf. They failed to find such a source of energy. Detested due to incompetency, Tim went deep into the Jungleland to find some peace. He meditated by could not concentrate. A deer was running here and there to save its life from the lion. That disturbed the peaceful environment. It was more than two years of Tim's resident on that planet, the rule of Magic spell ban did not apply to Tim.

Tim used the spell and sent the lion into the deep sleep. However, the deer was still jumping as the Magic spell by Tim was ineffective on it. He saw that a stone near the deer was absorbing the magic spell. He tested the stone again by casting a spell to destroy it. To his dismay, the stone absorbed all the Magic spells and began glowing. The more he used the Magic spell, the more it glows. He placed that stone in his pocket. He went back to the city and resumed his duty. That dreadful day arrived, and Mega Dwarf attacked the home of the fairies. That dwarf began destroying whatever came in its way. The defense was strong enough to delay the dwarf's progress but not enough to halt the mega dwarf.

Tim knew what to do and thus placed that stone in the weapon. It absorbed all the magic spell of the Mega Dwarf. The defense grew stronger with stone absorbing all the spells, and energy from the Mega Dwarf. Tim fired the shot, and it pierced the skin of the Mega Dwarf to end its life.

A red face radiating soothing fragrance destroyed the destroyer of the planets.


There are occasions when the reality defies reason, were the inexplicable is the only explanation, and the ending is rarely happy. If you’re a fan of the unknown, the strange, and the dark, then let me tell you, you arrive at the best place, because this is Dr. Dread’s dark dairy. Today we present: A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL. August 24, 2005 was the date when Dr. Alonso Puentes examined the victim. He had bruises all over his body, but they were not the cause of death. He was about 32 years old, single, a photographer, fairly well known, and an amateur scientist in his free time. Daniel Hernandez had a bright future ahead of him. Unfortunately, the bullet that pierced his chest and exploded his ribs didn’t get the memo. Normally, Alonso did not see these kinds of high-profile cases. However, in the past few years, the morgue where he worked gained something of a reputation for clearing up strange and unexplained cases. They had no choice anyway. After the strikes, the bombings, the accusations, the refugees, and the general chaos, the government was not going to take a no for an answer. He had no other option. It all started… … when my grandmother passed away. She had been a very important person to me. Words cannot describe how much her departure hurt me. It was precisely for this reason that I began my research. If I knew what I know now, I would have thought about it more carefully, I assure you. I never imagined the impact it would have, yet I have no regrets. I simply thought things would be different. Daniel Hernández was responsible for what many would call “the discovery of the century”. Anyway that title would be an understatement, because it shook the world to its foundations. And although many were more or less open in public to the possibility that it was all true, in secret they prayed that it was all just an elaborate lie and a bad joke and by a young man with too much time on his hands, because they were afraid of the consequences if it was not. In September of the same year, an important judge in a small German town wrote: “I think we are living at the precise moment when the curtain is going to fall. Yesterday’s ideas lose or will lose status. I don’t know what will happen, but I predict a catastrophe.” On October 6, the specialized magazine, Ima-Gen, published Daniel’s photograph, and chaos ensued. The scientific community had to rethink its entire approach to the study of the world, after they did the necessary studies to confirm its authenticity. Philosophy books flew off the shelves. The big international banks went on strike and demanded the original photo. In Bangladesh, China, South America, Australia, Somalia, Portugal, people crowded outside churches. Mexico, on the other hand, weathered the crisis with a little more calm. Everywhere you looked, there were hordes of people flooding the streets, some begging for mercy, others stealing anything that wasn’t nailed to the ground. I saw the carnage. When I went to the zocalo in the morning, I saw all the women, and men who stained the ground with their blood in front of the flag. The police were throwing their bodies to the side of the sidewalk, as if they were garbage bags. Some are already calling it, “The night of the screams”, because that was the only thing you could hear when the greens marched. Federico Oropeza Migala, Mexico´s president at that time, was a man of many qualities, an artist by temperament and an excellent orator. He desired the welfare of his people and was burning with the desire to fix their situation, but although he understood the importance of recent events for his country, he could not treat them realistically; enclosed in daydreams and romantic fantasies, he saw everything distorted by the prism of the old Mexican empire. The photo Daniel took made him see that empire closer than ever. That is why he acted the way he did. I took the photo to find peace, but it was quite the opposite. After I posted it, people kept bothering me. They came in all shapes and sizes, asking me for every imaginable thing, telling me the worst things they could think of. I especially remember a lady who stopped me once when I went grocery shopping. She said I was a saint, and asked me to help her ten-year-old son, who had been sick for many years with a heart deformity. The doctors told her he was probably going to die. The lady begged me to ask for help, to save the little boy. I did not know what to tell her. How to explain to her that I only took a picture, more by chance than anything else? I told her I was sorry, but there was nothing I could do. She looked me straight in the eye, spat at me, and then left sobbing. All in all, she had at least been kind. The others started directly with threats, extortion, or offers to buy the original photo with more zeros than I had ever seen in my life. There was even one who left me a couple of chicken breasts in front of the door, I guess for cooking. He sent the military to control the chaos. In his eagerness to maintain what little political power the country now held, he decided to close each and every border. However, bureaucracy was of no use in stopping the millions of migrants from all over the world coming to Mexico, either to escape the chaos of their own countries, or hoping to see the picture with their own eyes. However, most migrants are dangerous, and when bars and barbed wire were no longer enough, many other options were considered, each more peaceful than the last, and the best action was taken for all parts involved. A few weeks ago, while I was visiting my grandmother at the cemetery, I came across the lady by chance, the same one who asked me for help with her son. At first I was surprised, but then I understood everything when I looked at the tombstone next to her legs. She was visiting her son’s grave. She had covered it with toys, his favorite, she explained. The doctors had not been able to save him, because between the closing of the borders and the commercial blockade, there were not enough medicines, nor equipment, like the one her son needed. She didn’t blame me. After all, I didn’t know any of this was going to happen. While I can’t imagine her pain, she told me with some sadness that there were people who had it even worse. The migrants, she said, were not even lucky enough to go to the hospital. A friend of hers, who lived on the border with Guatemala, told her what was happening there. When the government realized how many people were trying to cross, and that they were not likely to stop them all, they sent a bunch of caravans full of food, water, and tents for the new arrivals. A sort of plaza was set up in the center of the caravans. There was food and music for dancing, even fireworks. The air was filled with hope and everyone was smiling, until gunfire drowned out the laughter and blended with the firecrackers bursting on the ground. The national guard emerged from under the caravans, no longer carrying food and water, but rifles and pistols. Without provocation, they took up positions and opened fire on all civilians, migrants or not. Her friend says that most of the migrants had no belongings other than the clothes on their backs, they were not dangerous. She herself barely escaped because she played dead, and had to spend the whole night and the next day surrounded by the dead, among the flies and dried blood, because she was afraid that when she stood up she too would be shot. The government reported that during that period there were several criminal groups acting illicitly along the southern and northern border, and categorically denied having any relationship with the activities of such groups. Defense Secretary Manuel Olma, a man tormented by multiple accusations of infidelity, assured that an investigation would be conducted to get to the bottom of the matter. However, the truth was never uncovered. Before I left, the lady gave me a hug and thanked me, because in a sense, my photo gave her peace. That made me feel a little better, at least it wasn’t all bad. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of having a huge weight on my shoulders. Like a giant sea monster that was going to crush me. Towards 2007, most countries in the world, at least those not in open opposition to Mexico, were pressuring President Federico to extend their appreciation for the young Daniel and offer him their support. But although they did not say so, their real intention was to take control of the controversial photograph. However, the president refused, and not only that, he also kept the artist’s privacy intact. On November 23 … …I have a frightful nightmare, on which I met my grandmother inside a tunnel, when a train was about to hit us. By reflex I looked out of the window, and saw a man in the street. He was standing under a lamp post, doing nothing. I checked the clock, it was three in the morning. I looked at him for quite a while, wondering what he could be doing there. And suddenly he turned his head, straight towards where I was. I hid for a moment and when I looked again, it was sure, that guy was looking at my window. And not only him, during the week I saw other people who looked suspicious. They were always far enough away to not call too much attention, but close enough for me to notice them. I had a suspicion that they were following me, and I couldn’t, or didn’t want to, imagine what they would do if they came near me. … the government invited Daniel, through a television communique, to collaborate cordially with the authorities in order to preserve his work in a museum. At night, I hear a lot of people walking outside my house. I live in a secluded area, almost a farm, because I thought it was safer in the countryside than in the city. Now I’m not so sure. That’s why I went with a friend of mine who is a veterinarian and also breeds and trains guard dogs. He lent me his two best dogs. I thought that would be enough, but it was not. A few days later, I looked out the kitchen window. Behind the house it’s all bush, so there’s no reason for anyone to lurk around. However, I saw a light coming from the forest; it was a huge fire, about four hundred meters from my house. I went out the back door to get a better look, and I could barely notice that there was a group of people around the fire, although at that distance I could only see black silhouettes. I went to the house to get my camera, put the telephoto lens on it, and through the details of those people, became clear. Dressed in white robes, they raised their hands to the sky and appeared to be dancing. In the center of the bonfire, there was a person burning, tied to the trunk of a tree, and writhing to free himself. I kept watching because I was in a panic, but I should have left, because suddenly, the hooded people turned straight to where I was and started rushing. Then I went into the house and locked the door. I hid in my study and not long after, the dogs started barking like crazy. The people outside were banging on the door and the windows. I could hear them. And I’m sure the dogs bit someone, because later I found blood, however my poor companions could do no more. Heard five shots and then there was silence. It was at that moment that I decided to leave the house. I jumped out of the window and started running into the woods. I crouched among the wild grass, hoping the darkness of the wood will cover me up. I didn’t open my eyes, not even when a clamor came loudly from a point obviously straight ahead. Their prayers ringing loudly in my ears as they pass a couple o meters away. If one of them look closely, he surely would discover me. But they didn’t. I sat there for what felt like hours. Their number was anyone’s guess. It seemed to me that there were limitless groups of them searching for me in the darkness. I could only pray to God that they would not find me. I knew for sure he was there with me, but I didn’t know if he could hear me. I could only pray to God that they would not find me. I knew for sure he was there with me, but I didn’t know if he could hear me. This morning, I called the police. They came immediately, along with a group of military in helicopters. They won’t leave and they won’t let me leave. They say they are staying to protect me, but they are turning the whole house upside down, looking for the photo. If anyone finds this, I’m scared. On December 22, 2007, Daniel Hernandez Delgado was found dead in his home. No one knew where he hid the original photograph of what many call “The miracle”. The official report given by Dr. Alonso Vazquez Puentes was clear: Suicide. Delete Created with Sketch. Daniel Hernandez was a young man with a promising future. He wanted to see a loved one again through his work, however his ambition took him too close to the sun and he forgot that humanity’s worst enemy is itself. But don’t let that keep you awake at night, remember this is just another chapter of Dr. Dread’s dark diary.


   “ Are you coming tonight?” She screamed into the phone. She probably thought that Mr. Ken wasn’t hearing her above the noise of the vehicles for she noticed from background noises that he was in the bus. “ I don’t know as of now, I still have a lot to cover today, I will give you an answer in three hours time.” Mr. Ken Obiakor had been on the road since 6:00am. He knew from experience that Nigerian time is different from the rest of the world. When you’re hosting or being hosted in any occasion, just know that any hour you put on the card means plus one hour. It has became a tradition here now to add one hour on any occasion one is invited. Courts, banks, hospitals, ceremonies etc. Any kind of invitation.

People don’t like being the first to arrive in any meeting or occasions for they see it as belittling themselves by loitering around waiting for others to show up. He was invited to lecture the market women on the do’s and don't's of fire prevention. It was scheduled to start around 9am and the journey was two hours journey. He left his house around 6am and got there by 15minutes to 9 but ended up staying another 50 minutes before people began trickling in and the event finally took off around 5 after 10.

It lasted about two and half hours before he started his home ward journey. It was really a stressful journey but he doesn’t have choice nowadays like most do since after the covid-19 locked down was lifted. Most firms embarked on laying workers off and he was one of the victims of his organization's down sizing.

He had gotten work in the privately owned firefighting firm after graduation. after his lay off, he had used his contact in getting lectures and demonstration on anything concerning fire out break. Thanks for four years knowledge he garnered in the firm. It has been the means he had used in supporting his family while hoping that his applications to government own firms would be successful.

He had used the opportunity provided by the occasion to water ground like the saying around here goes. He handed over his contact cards to the organizers of the event and most women he believed has connections. He noted that they were impressed by his presentation and drill demonstration.

     On disembarking from the bus after two hours plus journey, he entered a restaurant nearby and ordered a plate of fried rice with goat meat. He would have preferred pounded yam and Egusi soup but he still have three invitations to honour, the food would be heave in him. He opted for rice. While on the food, he remembered that he had not returned call to his former classmate as promised.

She and her husband is organizing Thanks given party for the contract her husband got in supplying spare parts to an oil servicing company in Rivers state. First part of the contract had been successfully executed and they decided to host their friends to little get together.

While on the food, he did his calculations and decided that attending that get together was practically not possible. He signed, focused on his food and promised to call the lady after meal.

         On finishing the meal, his phone rang and it was his landlord calling to remind him that his jubilee wedding anniversary has gone half way already, “Where are you?” he demanded. “ Ah, sorry sir, I am on my way immediately” 30 minutes later, he entered the man compound. After presenting his gifts, and chatting with the celebrants and other guests, he excused himself to attend yet another birthday party of a friends kid. He entered a supermarket and demanded for a toy.

“ Why is the gift too expensive?” he queried. “Sir, there are all foreign products” “foreign products?, you mean to tell me that toys can not be produce here?” “ No sir, no company like that exist yet” “ How do you mean, you mean that all these engineers don’t know yet that children toys are hidden treasure?” “ I am not sure that any foreign companies would listen to their advice to invest in the country sir” “ I don’t mean partnering with any foreign firm, I mean going it alone” “ Ah, sir, they don’t have that knowledge and money” “ How do you mean?, you mean they can’t produce toys?” “ Maybe manual wooden ones sir,” “wooden?, I mean like all these ones here” “ Ah, sir they can not. I think their lecturers don’t teach them these things” “ Don’t teach them?, ah, these guys can produce real cars for goodness sake” “ Sir, if they producer, would you buy?, the bridge they built in my village fell within three months and kill six people. No body will buy anything they produce, it is too dangerous” “ What type of mentality do you have?,,

“ Sir, this mentality is normal I tell you true. my cousin was among the victims of that bridge. I see a lot of those engineers every evening here, they knew a lot of politics, money and women, not toys” “ Hand me my gift, I hope you wrapped it well?” “ sure, it will need scissors to open it” On getting to the friends building, he noticed a crowds of about 50 or more people gathered in front of the three storey house, he went near to know what was going on. He had only been there for a minutes when suddenly they were rounded by the police vans. Everyone was pushed into the van and taken to the station. On getting to the station, they pushed everyone inside the holding cells after collecting everything on them for safe keeping like they said.

One hour later, they started calling them out one after the other for questioning.

Mr. Ken's dilemma was that no one knows where he was. The friend he went to his house don’t even know he was arrested in front of his house, his family don't know too. His phone has been confiscated and Nigerian police and they cell is never anything to write home about. “ Who is Kenneth here?” one officer asked. “Yes, I am the one” “You seems to know a lot of caring friends, they have been calling this line for long now, you are the type of customers we need here. Follow me” As he picked up the phone, a woman voice barked into his ear; “What happened, are you coming?”


The first thing I noticed, was the cool breeze that engulfed my body suddenly. I could smell pine and taste the coolness of the air in my mouth. Then, the brightness of the large full moon in the sky shone on me. It shone on us all. We were here once more.

I took a deep breath, enjoying all the aromas and feelings of my surroundings. It has been a while since I stretched my legs. I squatted briefly to stretch my hamstrings and quads. “Ladies and Gents,” began a familiar voice, “Satan has sent us here once more, awaiting another human sacrifice,” This was Shin, the leader of our sect. I opened my eyes to see that the other members and I were all standing in a circle, surrounding a large cauldron as we stood in an open space in the wood, surrounded by pine trees in the dark. We had torches lit to see our path. Years ago, a social movement was created within a community in the Philippines. It began as a group of friends and family who shared the same beliefs and virtues of peace and gratitude , bringing everyone closer together.

Once this group had realized how successful they were becoming in teaching their ways, they began reaching out and recruiting members globally which, ultimately, was the downfall of this social institution.

They were named Lims. Lim Lowe was the original founder of this cult. His last name, Lim, means ‘forest’ or ‘woods’ . This cult spent most of their time embracing the beauty of nature, performing a lot of their rituals and ceremonies outside in the wood or even by the lake on certain nights. When Lowe decided to open the gates to recruit new members, an adversary of Lims sent in a demon child, undetected. Lims believed in the importance of Peace for all and gratitude in everyday life. But when Shin became part of this cult and took notice of the numbers, and realized the opportunity for growth, to become a powerful leader, he outvoted Lowe, kicking him from his own organization. Shin convinced the other members that Lowe was a descendant of the devil and sacrificed him at a fire in the wood that night. None of the members were expecting Shin to be one himself. That was the first full moon of sacrifice. Now, it has become a ritual. Every full moon about once a month, or every thirty days. These are the only days that I exist. On these full moon nights, we are to sacrifice a human and feed their blood to the Devil. Then, and only then, would we return to our compressed dark room that we stay in for thirty days. Seems like a pretty lousy deal to me.

There are still humans within our cult, but very few, and they are the ones who bring us our sacrifices while we are in isolation. The majority of the cult is composed of demons like myself.

I’d like to learn more than just the human language and how they speak. I want to learn their emotions and try to understand why they do certain things.

I would prefer to live amongst the human race and blend with their world, for this way of life is exhausting and quite cruel. Though this is something you could never admit to the face of Shin or his goons.

This Particular night, there was a human that lay face down in the middle of our circle, he was next to the cauldron. He was the next human sacrifice that we would be feeding the demon.

We chanted a loud prayer of sorts to the Devil and it went as so: “ We take pride in the sins we commit. Oh, dear Satan, we are grateful that you provide us with life this night. We are grateful that you create the large bright moon which ultimately helps in the process of sacrificing an innocent. We pray you to accept this sacrifice as a token of our gratitude and admiration for all you’ve brought for our lives and all sinners within The Lims.” We hear a groan from the human on the ground. “Didn’t anyone think to kill this man before we take all his blood? Come on people, we aren’t cruel!” Shin yelled. Everyone remained quiet except for the groaning man on the ground. “Now, the ceremony has been ruined because of one of you!” He accused the humans of our group. There were about ten of them that remained.

“Well, who was in charge of this one?” He demanded, frustrated. He was quite scary when upset, he was a direct descendant of the devil.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Shin was pointing at another member who stood across from me in our circle. With all of our members there, our circle had a diameter of one hundred feet or so going both vertically and horizontally.

This human member was an old recruit. He was an older member than I was, but of course, I was of demon blood, and humans will always die before one of us. It’s in Shin’s nature to kill off the humans first. Shin grabbed the man by the hood of his cloak, and yanked him in the air, cutting off the oxygen for the old man. As the man struggled to free himself from the grasp, Shin merely tossed him in the cauldron effortlessly as if throwing a pair of socks into his laundry basket. All that could be heard now was the screaming of the old man as his flesh burnt, and those horrid fumes filled the air. It was unfortunate to watch him go. And sad to hear him wail in pain. “Listen up, the sacrifice is over!” Shin shouted to everyone but sounded very disappointed. “Let us enjoy our ceremonies before we return to darkness”. All the members cheered and split up to mingle with others, and Shin turned to another human in our group and said “Figure out something to do with this one, eh?” nodding to the innocent on the ground. The human member nodded, frightened and headed for the intended sacrifice right away. Shin walked away. I was curious. Of the man who lay face-down on the dirt. “Hey!” I shouted to the purple-cloaked mortal who bent over the sacrifice. He still lay there groaning. “I’ll deal with him,” I said. He made no arguments or any judgements, he simply stood up and backed away. I approached the one on the floor. I turned him over and noticed his face was all bruised and bloodied. He had been beaten pretty badly before being taken here, it seems.

But even with the black eye, broken nose and swollen lip, he still had so much life in his face. I longed for that.

He attempted to open his left eye, the one that wasn’t bruised or swollen, and looked at me in mine. He raised an arm shakily and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. He smiled partially, still dazed and woozy from his beating, then passed out instantaneously. I let his head drop and hit the ground with a THUD. I backed up quickly, feeling squeamish. Not so much sick as I felt, nervous? This was not a feeling I was taught, this was never a feeling I experienced before. I think I was feeling… Human. I carried the man away from my group and dropped him off near a human village. I believed he would be in good hands there.

It would be about a month before I would return, anyways. Though as I walked away from the village that night, I was feeling that same nervousness from before, coiling in my stomach rapidly. I found myself foolishly hoping the Human would be alright. During the next full moon, I had a sense of relief wash over me when I opened my eyes to see that the corps which lay on the dirt was not that of the man who I carried to the village. We sang our chant and sacrificed the human, and during our mingling time at the ceremony, I snuck to the village in hopes that I would spot that man.

It seemed unlikely that I would, but there he sat on a park bench in the middle of the night, staring in my direction. When he spotted me, he stood up slowly. “It’s you,” he remarked. I debated on replying to him or saying anything at all. “And who am I?” I asked him.

We were in shouting range and I was approaching him slowly. “You’re the angel who saved me,” He put it simply.

I stopped in my tracks. I almost laughed for a moment, but that was not something that came naturally to me, so it sounded like phlegm was stuck in my throat and I was trying to get it out. “I am quite the opposite of an angel,” I assured him. He came closer to me. He stepped into the moonlight and I was able to get a better view of his face. His eye was still bruised but not black or swollen as it had been a month ago, and he had minimal bandages covering what I think were stitches that had been recently removed. His face was so appealing to look at. It wasn’t pale or sickly, he was tan and I could hear his heartbeat and his pulse. He was so lively and I wanted it so badly. “I don’t believe that,” he began, coming so close I could smell his human scent. “You saved my life. You brought me here to find shelter from the enemies. I was wondering when I would see you again.” I was still in my purple cloak, my long brown hair curled and falling onto my shoulders. He stared me in the eyes and smiled. He held my hands and said, “Thank you”. I smiled unknowingly, and he remarked how beautiful I looked.

“What do they call you?” I asked, curiously. “My name is Tommy”. The handsome man replied. “And who are you?” he asked. “I am Marribelle,” I said. He leaned close and kissed me once on my lips, sending butterflies throughout. I think I was beginning to fall for a human. I had to return to my sect shortly after that but assured Tommy that I would return to see him in due time. The next full moon was the last one I experienced. The cool breeze was there but, different, it tingled, it stung, the aromas, the smells, it was a very strong awakening for someone who has been locked up for a month. This time I could smell smoke and felt the sensation of burning. I opened my eyes and shrieked in agony. I was tied to a post in the cauldron, my legs were in the boiling water, and flames from the fire were so large that they engulfed the cauldron and were burning me from all around. My hair was starting to sizzle.

I had trouble seeing through the smoke, but I could just make out all the other cult members standing around the cauldron. So it seemed as though I was the one being sacrificed. “Ah, so you’ve come to,” said Shin, walking with his arms behind his back. “Let me out, Shin!” I demanded, squirming desperately to free myself from this burning agony. “I’m afraid I received terrible news, one of our members has betrayed us by befriending a human,” He said. “Oh yeah? And who told you that? A human member of Lims? Come on, Shin, I’m of demon blood!” I argued, trying to prove that if having human members in the cult is okay, then why wouldn’t I be able to socialize with one outside of it? “That doesn’t matter to me now. Demon blood or not, if you betray me, you will get burnt like the rest of them,” He said. “So, what? I’m your sacrifice then?” I asked, trying to hold in my screams of pain. My legs were completely numb now. I didn’t want to look down because I knew my skin had melted away. I was on the verge of passing out. “No, of course not. You’re not human,” he pointed out. He was smiling maliciously. “I’ve chosen someone better for the job, someone I think you know quite, well,” he said and pointed to another cauldron that was next to mine and therefore difficult to see from my point of view.

I strained to turn my head to see what had been in it. I could tell it was a body, and it took me a moment to realize, but my view wasn’t obstructed enough for me to know that the shrivelled-up, crisp and burnt body was Tommy’s. I felt a stab of pain in my heart, even though no physical damage had been inflicted upon it. The light from the full moon went dark after that.


Ryan Erickson had quietly glowing, copper-penny eyes and soft, curling, coal-black hair with only a strand or two of silver at his temples. He was about 35 years old, lightly built and hovering just above the six foot mark. His face was thin, but his jaw was finely chiseled and completed with a handsome cleft chin. He had a good-natured manner, and he had a very sweet, very warm, dimpled smile which instantly melted the heart of the beholder. He was very patient and fairly reserved; he worked hard, and was good at his job. The first impression of a man with a good heart proved true as one became more familiar with him. Ryan was a chef by trade and by hobby; he was always putting together amazing works of food-art in his home and at work, although the workplace environment created restrictions and monotony for him. When the restaurant’s menu was condensed to fast-food adjacent burgers, fries, and pizza as a precaution during the coronavirus outbreak, Ryan made sure his staff were grilling the burgers just right, buttering and toasting the brioche buns to perfection, and not over-frying the chicken tenders. He brought a homemade seasoning oil to put on the pizza crust, even though outside ingredients and creativity were strictly forbidden. It was depressing to have his creativity stifled by the severe restrictions; but customers still regularly and genuinely complimented the food, often saying it was a “pleasant surprise” to have such well cooked, nicely plated “fast” food. Even if the fare itself wasn’t high quality or original, with chef Ryan in charge the preparation and presentation was. His patient, thoughtful nature combined with his quick wit and years of restaurant experience made it easy for him to throw things together quickly, but with as much excellence and care as if he’d spent hours. When he worked on the presentation of a dish, it didn’t matter if it was a plain cheese pizza or a romantic dinner for his girlfriend; a very focused, deliberate look would come over his face, and his physical body seemed to sync with his spirit as his natural artistic talent and an innate love for beauty came pouring out of him and into his dishes. Every piece of shredded cheese, sheet of seaweed, or slice of pepperoni was mulled over and gently placed in just the right spot. Every dish was a painting, too pretty to eat, but in the end too delicious to resist and soon devoured heartily by the one he had bestowed it upon. He loved to experiment with different foods from around the world; he had an appreciation for all classes of cookery, and loved to celebrate other cultures by making traditional dishes for his loved ones, and sometimes for pure enjoyment and the expansion of his own skill. He was especially interested in Japanese cuisine, and lamented bitterly that he could not make ramen noodles from scratch. He could, however, make sushi more beautiful and delicious than the most expensive sushi restaurant in LA.

His love of cooking was rivaled only by his love of spoiling his family and friends with his creations. His deepest and most meaningful show of affection was to cook for those he loved. He took regular trips to visit his father and sister who lived a state away, and every time he went to see them he would splurge on high quality, rich, and nutritious foods. Needless to say, they would all eat like kings for the weekend.

Once, when his mother was down and out with a particularly nasty cold, Ryan went to her house and made her a ridiculously beautiful minestrone-esque soup, packed with vegetables he scoured from the fridge and made with homemade bone broth. He spent two whole days on the soup, and there was lots of overnight stewing and vigorous hours of chopping and mixing and seasoning. When it was finally done, his mother insisted it healed her immediately, and it probably did; her son’s love was infused into every cubed squash, every minced onion and every minute of stewing. Ryan also loved to cook for his girlfriend, Jane. During the work week, he couldn’t make anything very complicated or fancy for her lunch, so she always requested a simple steak salad; the steak was juicy and sliced even and thin, pink in the middle and pleasantly charred around the edges. The salad was piled high with the sweetest cherry tomatoes, impeccably cut slivers of firm, vividly green avocado, and aromatic, toasted almonds. It was finished with dried cherries - Ryan’s favorite sweet - which he had dubbed “adult candy.”

Jane loved to walk in right as he was plating it; she loved to see his soul and body become one as he created something beautiful. She felt like a princess every time he handed her her special, custom, gorgeous salad. He was always regretful that he couldn’t make her something more advanced or complicated but she would have taken anything he made her, and loved it completely because it had been made by him. He would then walk her down to the ground floor and send her off with many sweet kisses and a promise to meet up later.

She loved to leave the salad out on the counter at her job, so customers would ask her, who made that? It looks so good! She would brag that she was seeing a chef and he made her the loveliest meals. People would laugh when her expression changed so dramatically at the thought of him; her rosy complexion would deepen and her twinkling eyes would positively shine. A powerful brightness soaked into her smile, and her whole person would glow with a love light. After the salad had been fully appreciated by strangers, she would feel satisfied enough to eat it, and she always relished every bite of the lovely steak, the sweet tomatoes, the fresh spring greens and the love that had been blended into every tiny detail and poured all over.


On a seemingly average winter day, Jolyne, known in the workplace as the apathetic new recruit, was staying late at her job at Blueworks Incorporated. Her job as an accountant was as thrilling as it sounds but at least it paid her bills. A job so tedious where she sat a computer all day wasn’t really her style anyway. She’d rather be exploring the world in a private jet with a pet tiger and a surplus of the finest champagne. But here she was, clacking away at the keyboard in her deserted office building. She sighed with relief as she typed in the final report of the day and stood up to stretch. For the first time in hours, she looked out her window and was shocked to see mountains of snow crowding the building. This had to be the worst blizzard to hit her town in decades and she didn’t even know it was happening!

“Great,” she thought to herself. “Being forced to stay at this crappy job for longer is exactly what I needed.” Just as Jolyne was reaching for the phone on her desk, the entire building went dark and all electronics powered down. She mumbled curses and slammed the phone down. “Could this get any worse?” she thought. After taking a few deep breaths, she began to plan what she should do next. She went to the exit and tried shoving the door but the packed snow wouldn’t budge. She tried the windows and second exit but her efforts were futile. The entire building was frozen shut. At this moment, Jolyne felt panic arise within but she was able to drown this out by making a plan. “Stay calm, Jolyne.” she thought. “A panic attack wouldn’t be a helpful response to this situation so stay calm. I can’t be the only one left in the entire building, right? I should look for someone else.” She grabbed the emergency flashlight from under her desk and set out to explore the building. Despite working there for two weeks, she hadn’t been given a tour of the entire office. If she was being completely honest, she knew little about what the company actually did. All she had to do was keep a record of the amount of money that was being spent. As she walked through the unfamiliar and confusing hallways, a shiver ran down her spine. This part of the building felt like an old hospital that reeked of bleach. Peering into the darkness, a large door with a warning sign loomed at the end of the hallway. The closer she got to the door, the sign on the door became legible. Painted in black was the message “Reap what you sow. When you look for trouble, you will find it.” Jolyne froze in puzzlement. “What the hell does this mean?” she thought. She had already been skeptical of Blueworks but this was just weird. “Why would someone paint such a creepy message in an office building?” After staring for a few moments, Jolyne gulped and pushed down her fear. She knew that she had to get out of the building and there could be something useful behind the door. She extended her arm and placed a finger on the doorknob. A light tingling sensation flowed through her hand as she placed her entire hand around the handle. Before she could react, the numbness turned to a sharp pain that crawled up her arm and across her body. She yelped and yanked at her arm but her fingers seemed to be glued down. The pain rippled through her abdomen and she let out one final scream of desperation before she went unconscious.

After an undetermined amount of time, Jolyne woke up in a daze. Her head felt like it was going to burst and she tried to place her hand on her forehead but she realized her wrists were chained to the ground. Panic struck her heart as she made futile attempts to free herself from the shackles. She looked up and had never been more confused or terrified. The room was lit by candles and the architecture mimicked the gloomy and gothic architecture of 15th century Europe. “W-where am I?” she said aloud. A looming figure crawled from the shadows. “Who’s there? Show yourself!” Jolyne cried. The figure took off the hood shielding its eyes and two red orbs stared directly at Jolyne.

“I am not a monster,” growled the silhouette. “I’m not…” it trailed off. “I am, I am… what am I? I am… a chronicler of sorts yes, yes that sounds right. I write these events down for my master and you are next in line.” The features of the beast were indistinct but Jolyne made out a terrifying grin plastered across its face. “Now tell me,” it continued. “What is your name? I must know, you see, I write these events down for my master.” Silent tears streamed down Jolyne’s cheeks as the creature crawled nearer. “Be not afraid,” it hummed through a smile. “I’ll tell you my name if you promise to tell me yours. I’m Doppio. See it’s not difficult. What’s your name? I must write these events down for my master.” Jolyne knew she had no other choice but to speak.

“Jo…” the figure glared patiently. “Go on,” it mumbled. Jolyne gulped. “I’m Jolyne Cujoh,” she said with fear. Doppio smiled menacingly. “Excellent!” Doppio giggled. “Diavolo will be pleased. I write these events down for my master, you see. It makes him so happy.” At that moment Jolyne felt an itch from below her skin as if her organs were being prodded and poked. The itch grew to a stabbing sensation and she writhed in pain. Doppio let out a hysterical laugh. “Oh Jolyne what a curious one you are. Diavolo will be here soon to sing for you and he will be so pleased. Won’t it be lovely to hear a song written just for you? And I’m sure you will feel so much better after opening up your mind, and your flesh if we’re speaking literally haha!" Jolyne cried out as she felt her skin begin to tear. Thousands of needles appeared from under her skin and stabbed her flesh from the inside out. She couldn’t understand how she had ended up in such a bizarre situation because of a blizzard. The last thing she heard before losing consciousness once again was Doppio’s laughter and a deep voice humming her name.

Jolyne heard a faint voice calling her name. As she became aware of her surroundings, she quickly sat up in terror. She looked around. She was back in the office building sitting in her cubicle. “What the… what just happened? Was it all a dream?” She shuddered. “Despite how real it felt, it must have been.” “Jolyne!” a deep voice shouted. “Why are you sleeping on the job? You know our company policy strictly forbids that.” Jolyne turned to face her boss in shock. “I- I’m so sorry boss. This will not happen again.” She looked down. “Now Jolyne, we have a new recruit and I’m assigning you to teach him the ropes of this company,” said the boss. Jolyne looked up again. Sure enough, next to her boss was a young man with neatly braided pink hair. He seemed timid but happy to be there. To Jolyne, he almost seemed familiar, but she couldn’t figure out why. “I trust that you will teach him everything he needs to know here at Blueworks,” the boss continued. “I’ll leave you to it, Ms. Cujoh.” The boss turned and walked back to his office in a determined manner. Jolyne let all the fear from her nightmare wash away and she looked towards the young man. “H-hello nice to meet you uh, Ms. Cujoh.” He smiled nervously. “Please call me Jolyne. Ms. Cujoh feels too formal for me. I suppose I should give you a quick tour of the office.” She grabbed a clipboard and stood up. The boy turned to the window and gasped. “Oh look it’s snowing! I haven’t seen weather like this in years, isn't it beautiful?” Jolyne turned and shrugged. “I prefer the warm summer months. Now let's get going, follow me.” Jolyne turned towards the hallway and the boy followed close behind. “By the way,” she said. “I never got your name.” A glint of red flashed across the boy’s eyes. “Oh of course,” he said with a gentle smile. “My name is Doppio.”