Ordell walks slowly along this path he had walked for a good two years now. He is surprised the ground hadn't been indented with his footprints. The same path, the same road and the same failure. Losing his job and now his apartment. He doesn't know why he is walking towards it, it's not like it's his anymore. He felt unwanted, his friends offered him places to stay, all wanted him to get back up again. Get back up again like he always had. Get on top of his life, but not this time. One time too many has the world grabbed the rug out from under him. “Why me!” he screams as he collapses onto his knees as if to pray to some almighty power that had seemed to curse his very existence. “Give me a break!” his body just trembles uncontrollably as if he was in an earthquake. He looks around, no one had taken notice to him, this path was always deserted this time at night. Houses all had their lights out pretending as if they couldn’t hear him. He didn’t understand, why. He just sat there shaking unable to move on from his knees. "Hey, buddy." Says a crackly voice, He turns around to face the man who had just appeared behind him. "Well, it seems your in quite the pickle.” The man says almost laughing. “Guess I am.” He spits out, standing up to face the dark-haired man, who is wearing a nice pinstripe suit. “Well then. Ordell Silver, age 25. Degree in Chemistry, Physics and Biology. Graduated age 22, worked at the university for a year and then worked at Gild biotechnology. Fired today at 2:30 pm. You know if you wanna know something it was your partner's fault he sabotaged your experiment." He says as he moves towards Ordell, showing more of his pale complexion in the light. “Has brown eyes, brown hair and a tanned complexion. But you dye your hair black. Lost your apartment yesterday, parents, two years ago and now you're just kneeling to some god." “How?” Ordell asks unable to figure out if he had a stalker or if this guy is just good at guessing. The man walks forward and places his hand on his head. “I am the Giver.” The man states, kneeling the same way as Ordell facing him like a mirror. “Here to give you a second chance. But one condition.” "What do you mean a second chance?" he asks now totally invested into this conversation. “I will let you start your life again at the age of seventeen give you another chance.” But he holds up his finger, “One condition. You must watch your future with me. You must see what your letting go.” Ordell looks confused for a moment, trying to process what was just offered. “Nothing is waiting for me. I wouldn’t be surprised if I died of starvation in a week.” He responds confidently standing up ready to take on this new challenge. “Well. Is it a yes then?” The Giver asks. With Ordell’s nod, The Giver grabs his arm and yanks him into a portal. “Time for you to watch your life.” Ordell is transported to a pure white world, nothing but a white screen. “Let’s go a few days into your future.” With that the white turns into the world again, he is sitting at a bar worn and torn drinking what looks like a beer. Ordell turns to ask a question but, “No Ordell they can’t see as we are merely spectators, we can’t interact with the world like this.” “Surprised I can still afford this beer.” The Ordell from the bar says. He collapses into the bar seeming like he is out of energy, ready to take a nap. The bar is cozy, a real old fashion bar, pool table in the corner, wooden bar and stools and plenty of tables to watch the TV in the other corner. Seems more like a family bar than one for the young kids. "This is you in a few days, you just found a place down the road to a house you as a homeless person. Also, you pick up rubbish in the park down the road. You make about a hundred or fewer dollars per day." The Giver states as he takes a seat directly across from the bar from the Ordell at the bar. “I thought we couldn’t interact?” Ordell asks confused as he looks at himself. “Just the people. Now come and take a seat.” The Giver states pulling a chair out for Ordell. As he does, he watches himself. Wondering how he fell so far. Why is he like this? As he finishes his thought he notices a girl watching his other self at the bar. "Why is she looking at me?" he asks curiously at why a pretty girl like that would ever look at a dropkick like him sitting at the bar head buried between his arms. Clearly a loser. “That is someone. Just watch and you will find out.” The Giver says as he just continues to watch the other me. The other me sighs and looks towards the direction of the girl, in a flash, the girl flicks her long black hair covering her face from the vision of the Ordell at the bar. But to everyone behind her a clear bright red face. Then it fades to white, the world remains white except the table and chair that the Giver and Ordell are seated at. “Why did you show me that?” Ordell asks, “Because it is an important part of your future.” The Giver replies, "Hmm," Ordell responds as the world returns back to the bar again, the bar seems less packed and it seems like it is an early afternoon with the sun shining in through the windows giving the last bit of light before darkness envelopes the world. “Good evening!” says an older woman behind the bar, as she sees Ordell walks in through the door. He takes his seat at the bar he did last night. It seems homely like it was Ordell’s house with his parents. The same warmth radiated off this room. "Hey, Suzan." He says as he settles. “Bad day?” she asks curiously as she begins to pour a beer. "Just can't seem to earn enough. Nowhere to stay. Same old." Ordell says as he places five dollars on the bar. “Nah this one is on the house.” The woman says as she winks at him, to which he nods. "That woman reminds me of my mother," Ordell says to the Giver. “Yes, that's why you were drawn to this building.” The Giver responds. “Also it has been about six weeks since you lost your job. You have come in every day after work, not always drinking just to sit at the bar sometimes.” "Hmm," Ordell responds as his focus returns to the other him at the bar. Curious about how he wasn’t dead. "I would like to thank you, Suzan. You have been so nice to a dropkick like me." Ordell at the bar states. "Well, not just for my sake," Suzan says as she nods over to the black haired girl from last time Ordell was here. “My daughter has taken a liking to you. You seem like a good guy, good guy with shit luck.” She adds chuckling to herself. “I am not worthy of her attention.” He responds sighing as he looks over at the very pretty girl. “More worthy than most.” She coughs as she nods over to the pieces of trash in the back of the bar, always trying to cause problems and are known for being disrespectful to women. "I also want to retire. I want to leave the bar to her. But I am worried about me not here people will take advantage of her." "I don't know much about running a bar. I learnt some basic business during my brief go at Gild Biotechnology. But I was mostly in the science department." Ordell responds sighing, "Well, that's why I want to offer you a job. As well as a room free of charge while you work here with me and my daughter." Suzan says as she pulls out a piece of paper behind the bar. "My daughter sees you working at the park all day for jack pay and I know that place in the homeless home is crap. I would teach you how to run the bar and how to serve. So that you and my daughter can take over, you can look after her." Ordell at the bar seems stunned, at a loss for words. His body is frozen in time like a statue, then he moves his mouth barely. “I would love to.” He stutters out, pushing the drink to the side. “I can’t drink on the job,” he says smiling back at her. "I am so happy you accepted." Suzan beams at him, a smile worth a thousand dollars. She then hands him a pen and paper, which he reads through before he scribbles his signature at the bottom. “Thank you again. I can never repay this kindness.” He says bowing his head. “Alright time to introduce you to my daughter officially. She is interested in you. So please just be nice to her. I am not going to force you two together but she is a very shy girl. She is fragile since her father died.” Suzan sighs as she stares off into the wall, “She feels so lonely.” "I will try and be a good friend," Ordell says bowing his head. Knowing that she just asked him to be her protector. "Good. Together you two will achieve great things. Hopefully, I will get some grandchildren." Suzan says with happiness pouring out her mouth with each word. “You missed a few steps. And assuming that I am in love with her. A girl I have never met. But hopefully, at least we can both have a positive working relationship." Ordell says trying to bring this conversation back to a normal. The Ordell next to the Giver tilts his head confused. Looking to the Giver to give an explanation that doesn't come from him as the Giver stares at the Ordell at the bar, mindlessly watching the interaction. “Lavender!” calls Suzan, as she waves her over to the bar, “Coming mother.” The black haired girl responds as she rushes over to in front of the bar beside Ordell. “Lavender, I want you to meet our new co-worker, Ordell.” She says as she nods to Ordell sitting at the bar. “He will be working with us and learning how the bar works so we can reduce our workloads." Suzan states. Ordell turns around to face Lavender who seems to have gone red in the face from shock. “I am Ordell it is a pleasure to meet you, Lavender." As he holds out his hand for a handshake. But Lavender just stands there stunned unable to move as if she was paralyzed. As if a spell was removed she shakes her paralysis off and takes his hand. “Pleasure to meet you Ordell.” She says in response. With that they race around the bar with Ordell behind Lavender learning on how she was presenting herself, how she served the customers, he followed as if he was some sort of lost puppy. But unknown to him, Lavender was smiling from ear to ear. At the end of the busy day, Ordell looked worn out but excited to actually have a real job. He then proceeded without being asked to clean all the tables as customers left, then the bar cleaned much to the surprise of both Lavender and her mother. He just walks past the Ordell sitting with the Giver and continues to clean. He looks tired, out of it, looks like a corpse. Worked to the bone, not even on purpose just because he wanted to do it, to prove he was a hard worker. “Ordell don’t push yourself,” says Lavender rushing over to him, “It’s fine,” he lies as he falls over onto his knees. “Ordell me and mum can do some cleaning. You worked all day in the park and followed me around working all night, it is close to midnight. Don't push it." She says as she helps him into the chair. “Thank you, Lavender, you are truly an amazing person," Ordell responds as he breaths in an out catching his breath. “Only want to look out for you.” She says as she takes a seat next to him. Then the world fades to white again. The Giver stands up followed by Ordell walking behind him quietly. “That was nice wasn’t it?” he asks behind as he continues to walk on, "Yeah, amazing," Ordell responds, “Now we are doing a time skip, your six months older the week before you turn 26th on June 18th 2020," he states as the world reforms and a similar place to the bar appears, the walls the same. It is a hallway, with the same warmth as the bar but is far barer and quieter than it as well. "You and Lavender have grown quite close, really close." A door opens, Ordell steps out holding a rose. He looks like he is shaking as if someone was literally standing behind him shaking him like a tree. Then a second door opens and Lavender steps out. Like a flash, he hides the flower behind him and walks towards Lavender. "Hey, Lavender. I was.. um.” He stutters out still hiding the rose behind his back. “Hey what’s up Ordell?” she asks super happy and excited. "Umm. I was. Umm wondering. If." He stutters out barely forming any sought of a sentence. “Ordell are you ok?” she asks walking closer to him, pushing him against the wall. “You look all red and flustered in the face. Did you eat something not nice?” then in shock, “It wasn’t my stew for you was it?” she asks with a pleading look. “No no no," he says waving his hands in front of her, then she notices the rose and her eyes widen to be large like a child seeing all the presents for Christmas on Christmas day. "Umm." “Is that for me?” she asks, “Yes.” He responds, with that she leaps into his arms. “Yes I will be yours!” she yells excited beyond compare to anything. "Really?" he asks in a mix of shock and confusion by the pale girl wrapping her arms around his neck. “Yes. Took you long enough.” She says joking. With a tear in Ordell’s eye, the scene fades to white again, as he feels his heart pounding faster and faster. A few small tears of happiness and sadness roll down his face, unable to understand if his feelings were of joy or of sadness. “This is two months later.” The Giver says as the world reappears around them both and they are on a very familiar street. The one where Ordell collapsed giving up on life and on everything. Ordell watches the other him and Lavender walk towards then, full of happiness. He could feel the warmth radiating off them both. It was infectious, as they approached his heart rate increased exponentially. "This is where I gave up," Ordell tells Lavender, looking at the houses that were so familiar to him. "I thought I could never recover, after the loss of my job, apartment. My parents were dead, I had no one." "You won't have to worry about that again. You have me now." Lavender exclaims clinging more tightly to Ordell’s arm. "I know." He responds by resting his head on her head. They continue to walk down the street towards, spreading their happiness with every step. The scene changes again with a flash of white light, again they are in the homely bar again. Giver and Ordell take a seat, but it seems different, less busy and white bows and banners lining the room. "This is a month after that walk. You two moved very quickly. You saved her from those dropkicks that sit in the back. Harassing her every night almost mugging and raping her just down the road here. That solidified the fact that she wanted to never part from you. You were hard working and enjoying every moment of your life. Eight months after you lost your job, you are happier than you have ever been." The Giver says as he watches the scene. Then wedding music plays. The scene seems to move in fast forward, mostly regular customers, Suzan and a few of Ordell’s closest friends are in attendance. A pastor is a young man for a pastor, with no grey or white hairs, his face has no wrinkles and he looks rather excited to be performing this wedding. It races by all the setup, the yelling and running around like crazy people. The pool table had been moved somewhere and a small stage has taken its place. The chairs and tables all had white cloths on them and where Ordell and The Giver are sitting. This seems to be where the party is being held, after the actual wedding. Ordell is swept away by the whole event, like waves washing onto the shore, crashing down on unsuspecting people. Waves of emotions, he felt love, happiness, joy. But when those left him he felt other emotions, sadness, pain and loneliness. His face drained of most colour, replaced by a pale white ghost of the man he once was. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Says the pastor, Ordell and Lavender locked lips and the electricity shot through the room. Ordell standing next to The Giver can only feel jealousy. Jealous of himself, jealous of the man who got to live this life. “Why?” he asks himself as he watches what seems to be the light of the world part and walk down the aisle towards them. He reaches for Lavender but his hand passes right through her. “I haven’t spoken to her. Why do I love her then?” he asks The Giver who looks at him with truly the saddest expression. The expression of true regret filled the Givers eyes, what looked like an all-powerful king now looked like a powerless slave. “I am truly sorry. As you watch you will feel your emotions that he feels. Your counterpart and develop them yourself.” He says sincerely, unable to lose the regret that filled his eyes. "Oh God, what have I done?" Ordell asks himself collapsing into a heap on the ground. “I feel it, the lighting drawing us together. But I can’t.” “I want to thank everyone who came today.” Says the other Ordell standing from his seat and greeting everyone who came to see them get married. “It has been a hard road for these past eight months. I lost my job, my apartment and almost my life. But I met the love of my life. I was given a home by Suzan. I have never been happier in my entire life. If I had given up on that street I would have wanted to kill myself." “I know what you mean.” Says the Ordell on the floor who looks up to his other self. Tears running down his face trying to escape his eyes like he is of this nightmare of a dream. "I want to thank you for your support today because my family are all gone. I intend to make a family of my own. One that they would be proud of. I do it for them but I do it for myself as well.” Ordell says looking around at the room now tears are starting to fill his eyes. “Why did I give up why?” Ordell on the ground screams punching the ground as if it would give it back if he hit it hard enough, forcing back tears but it doesn’t work. They continue to run away from him like this life that he is watching is. “I am truly sorry but it is almost over.” The Giver says, “Before you finish I want to announce my retirement and passing of the bar over to my gorgeous baby girl and my new son in law. I couldn’t be more happy for you both.” Suzan says as the scene begins to pass to white as the Giver and Ordell who is still punching the ground. “I am so sorry.” The Giver says as a new scene forms around them. They are in a hospital room, pure white looks so pure and pristine. Lavender is sitting in the bed with a towel wrapped around something in her arms. It is so tranquil. Then suddenly it is ruined, Ordell bursts into the room. Sweat dripping from his body, a look of worry sown into his eyes and face. Then it transforms into one of pure excitement and happiness. “Is that our baby boy?” he asks stuttering and trembling. “Yes, this is our baby boy. This is Samuel." She says as she reveals a baby boy wrapped in her arms, Ordell manages to make it to her side and collapse onto the ground next to the bed. Tears pouring out mimicking what the other Ordell. “Thank you so much.” He stammers unable to look at them both, “You make me feel complete, you gave me a family. You gave me a reason to keep living. Two years ago I thought it was over and now I feel like my life has only just begun." “Don’t cry my precious Ordell. I thought I would be alone forever until I met you. I thought I would end up in a marriage built around necessity than actual love.” Lavender says as she places her head on Ordell. "I love you so much," Ordell says crawling up onto the bed and cuddling up to Lavender staring at their newborn son. The scene fades to white again. Ordell is standing watching the endless void of white light before him. The Giver actually has a tear in his eye. “One last scene. four years in the future.” The Giver says as a Christmas scene appears. The bar is as homely as ever, behind the pool table is a Christmas tree. Mistletoe hanging from some of the walls, decorations cover the entire bar. Then hanging above the bar are five stockings. “Wait are those.” Ordell stutters out looking at the name, "Samuel, Rose and Alice." He continues staring at the stockings hanging above the bar. "Are they my children?" he asks looking to the Giver who nods. With that, his eyes widen like an owl watching as Lavender holding a newborn baby in her arms sit down on a chair in the corner. “Come on Rose catch up!” yells a little boy as he holds a car pretending to drive it through the air. “Coming big brother!” responds an adorable little voice. A little girl holding a horse skips through following her elder brother. She looks around three years old, with hair that matches Lavenders long black lace like hair, that floats through the air as if it's a helium balloon. Lavender just smiles in the corner, holding the newborn baby Alice in her arms. Alice makes some sought of adorable baby noise trying to talk, "I know you want to play with them and when your older you can." Lavender says to Alice. With that an older Ordell walks into the room, holding a present under one of his arms and his other free held outstretched. "Daddy's home!" he yells, “Daddy!" yells Samuel and Rose running into her father's outstretched arms. They interlock into a hug and he squeezes tight looking as he will never let go of his children. “Dada!” squeals Alice from her mother's arms, throwing her arms around like a crazy person. “Alice you spoke!” her mother exclaimed bringing her up to her eye line. “Dada Dada!” Alice repeats repeatedly. "Oh god, what have I done?" Ordell asks himself next to the Giver, collapsing onto the ground unable to get up. Ordell just stands up and walks over to grovel at the feet of Lavender who is still sitting with baby Alice in her arms. "You are truly are amazing little one," Lavender tells Alice still oblivious to the second Ordell grovelling at her feet, “I ruined everything. I ruined it all! It’s all my fault you will never have this life. If you ever found out you would never forgive me. Now I choose to remove this from my life. I am such an idiot, of course, everyone has highs and lows. Now I will never be able to forgive myself for this.” Ordell screams at the ground. "So adorable," Lavender says placing her baby Alice into her arms. "Please forgive me, Lavender, please." Ordell pleads as the world falls away into white, but before Lavender disappears she looks up to stare into the emerald eyes of Ordell on the floor with tears starting to fall. “I will forgive you. Forever and always. Because I love you.” She says as she disappears into the white with the rest of the world. Leaving just Ordell on his knees and the Giver. “Will I remember all this?” Ordell asks turning around water dripping down his face. “Yes.” The Giver replies. "This is torture," Ordell says as he goes to join the Giver. "I am truly sorry. I thought maybe you just gave up and died. I didn't know your future until we started. For this, I am truly sorry." The Giver says as a chair and table materialized. “I hadn’t been there. I haven’t met her. But I feel so much love for her. So much towards that bar. Why?” Ordell asks at lost for what his life will become. "Love works in mysterious ways. You watched yourself fall in love and come back from the darkest point of your life." The Giver pauses looking out at the whiteness trying to understand what it is why he was chosen. "Before light, there must be darkness." “Well. What should I do?” Ordell asks him, “Nothing, but our time has come to an end. My time has come to an end. I have watched so many horrible things, people raped then murdered, tortured, executed but never in all my years have I seen something so painful for someone. This is the end. You will not just watch this future.” He pauses and turns to Ordell pain and understanding laced into the very eye itself. “This will be your future!” he yells, as the white deforms around him. “What are you doing?” Ordell yells running towards the Giver. "Ending this torture." The Giver says as his face begins to peel away into dust and floating away with the white. "Goodbye, Ordell have an even better life than you saw." With that the world appears around him, he is standing on the path he walked before the Giver came to him. Ordell is alone again, a failure and now someone had died for him. “WHY?” Ordell screams and collapses onto his knees ready to pray for anything a miracle. He was so scared. What if he screwed it up, what if she hates him? What if… "Why am I such a failure?" he asks aloud. Then like small pittering of rain he hears footsteps but his face still buried in his hands he doesn’t look up. “Sir. Are you ok?” asks a voice he knows all too well. The voice of Lavender, as he removes his hands the world stops. Their eyes meet, her emerald green eyes lock with his tears running down his face. "I feel like I have met you before." She says as she kneels down to meet him at his level. “I lost everything. My entire future.” Ordell says as he tries to wipe away his tears but they keep flowing, not of sadness but of happiness. "Then make a new one," Lavender says holding out her hand. "Alright," Ordell says taking her hand. “What is your name?” she asks concerned that this man may not even know who he is. “I am Ordell. I just lost my job and my apartment. My family has been dead for a while so I am all alone.” Ordell says as continues to stare into her eyes not ready to let her out of his sight. “My name is Lavender. If you need a job how about you work for my mum at our bar we will give you a room and everything. If you have no one. Then let me be someone.” Lavender says holding his stare, “I would love to!” Ordell says finally happy. With a twirl of Lavender’s black hair, she leads him down the path towards the future.


I was gullible enough to believe you cared. I thought you valued my friendship. Appreciated our long talks. Enjoyed spending time with me. But you only wanted one thing from me. You wanted an ego boost. I should have realized sooner. Our conversations were always flirtatious. We would occasionally talk about something ‘real’ but we would bookend our comments with more flirting. You only invited me over when you thought you would get something from me. You only initiated conversations when you were in a frisky mood. You never thought of me as a friend. I was never the one you would run to with good news or the one you would ask for advice. I played one role. I guess everything makes sense now. Why you were never there for me when I needed you. Why you dropped off the face of the planet when things got too serious. Why I could never rely on you for anything. I thought we were friends — but it turns out you were just someone who flirted with me to pass the time. It sucks because I thought our connection went deeper than the physical. I thought we got along well. I made you laugh. I opened up to you. I was my authentic self with you and you seemed to admire that. I thought of you as more than a potential hookup. I thought of you as a genuine friend. I would have liked to hang out with you even if flirting was off the table. I would have liked to get to know you better. I would have liked to have a permanent place in your world. It’s difficult to admit we were on completely different pages the entire time. I thought of you in one way and you thought of me in another way. Looking back, you clearly wanted nothing to do with me as a person. You were never interested in developing a friendship and I have to accept that fact. You never cared about me — but I cared about you. I texted you first. I remembered the little things you told me. I did cute favors for you. I treated you with the same amount of respect I give to the rest of my friends. But that is okay. I am not going to chase after your friendship. I am not going to drown you with messages, hoping you give me more than a one-word answer this time. I am not going to track you down and force you to pay attention to me. If you don’t want a place in my world, you can leave. I might cry about you but I’m not going to stop you. In the end, I am not upset that we never had the chance to become an official couple. I am not upset we developed an almost relationship but never crossed the barrier to boyfriend and girlfriend. I am upset that we aren’t friends anymore. And that, apparently, we were never even friends in the first place.


Prologue On the first day everyone thought it was just a meteor shower. But when small pieces of space debris started hitting the earth in numerous locations every day, people became alarmed. Scientists stared into the skies with wary eyes. The second day the debris increased in size and left craters in cities around the globe. Panic set in as people realized their governments couldn’t stop the mysterious assault from space. On the third day, dead stars slammed into the earth’s crust, devastating all life on impact. When the stars stopped falling darkness settled over the planet and the survivors were scattered about like grains of sand on a beach. A millennium passed, and the children’s children of the first survivors adapted to life on the bleak planet that was once a paradise. The Leader of the Pack Jo-el was leader of the Manpack by virtue of his strength and cunning. No leader of the Tel inherited the title. It had to be won after a series of trials. Afterwards he led his nomadic people across strange lands in search of game. They wore animal skins and carried spears and assorted small weapons, from clubs to knives. All of their weapons were created before they were born, when mankind still had the knowledge. They were scavenged from nameless ruins that were once thriving cities whose names were long forgotten. They spoke Bli, a polyglot of old languages, English, Russian, and Chinese. This, combined with their own secret sign language, enameled everyone in the Manpack to communicate. There were only three women among hundreds of men. They were revered and only mated with the most powerful men in the group. The few yearly births that resulted kept their population down, yet assured them of another generation. It was the law, and the Way of the Manpack. The men were all warriors. Their bodies were covered in a coat of short fur that even extended to their faces. Most were dark-furred but some, like Jo-el, had a coat of thick white fur. The three Blessed Mothers all had different-colored fur. Brown, gold, and white. They advised Jo-el on all of the laws…and in times of emergency. Of which, there were plenty. Scouts sometimes came across other organized groups that were hostile and a battle would ensue. The bloody hand-to-hand battles always resulted in deaths, no matter who claimed victory and held the field afterward. Jo-el, who had berserker blood in him, transformed into a killing machine during the action, always sending more enemies to their death than anyone in the Manpack. Afterward, with his white coat covered in blood, he looked like a demon from some ancient civilization. Because there were no longer any regular seasons on the earth, there were no safe places to go when massive freezes set in, or the scorching sun boiled unprotected heads for days on end. The Manpack was forced to run from bad weather, always in search of milder climbs. A day came when Jo-el and two scouts spotted something that made them stop in their tracks. They were standing on a rocky ledge of a mountain looking down into a valley when they saw a strange sight. It appeared to be three giant bubbles with people coming and going from them! They were dumbfounded and turned back to the main body to report to the Blessed Mothers who silently listened to the description of their discovery. Afterwards, they demanded to be taken to the spot where Jo-el saw the strange buildings. The sun was setting in a blood red horizon when the Blessed Mothers saw the massive bubbles. They were lit up and glowed in the gathering dusk. One of the women took a long metal instrument from out of a pack she was carrying and trained it on the bubbles. Joel saw her suck her breath in surprise as she squinted into the metal tube. “Hairless,” she told the other two women. “The people down below are hairless. How could this be?” The three women huddled together whispering while Jo-el and the two scouts stood nearby looking at the brightly lit bubbles, wondering what kind of miracle they were? They waited for hours as the women argued back and forth. Finally, they signeled they were ready to go back to camp. As Jo-el led the way back under the full moon he had a strong sense of something happening soon. Something earth shattering. When they got back to camp the Blessed Mothers called for a full meeting of the Manpack despite the lateness of the hour. “We’ve discovered another man-like species who appear to live like gods!” the first Mother told the gathering. “They are naked, without fur to warm their bodies, and they wear strange-looking multi-colored skins. We do not know of this race. Our legends give no clue to who these people are.” Worried grunts of alarm rippled through the gathering and some of the men called out for guidance. The first mother waited until they calmed down and then held her arms up and spread them wide for silence. “We must not attack these people. They could be gods and it would end badly for us. We must send an emissary to them to discover if they are friendly. It will be you Jo-el. Now come near as we give you some last minute advise before the morrow dawns.” The Colony The Latter Day Survivors of the Fallen Stars were in their morning religious service when the Scientist-in-Charge wrapped it up early and called for an emergency committee. Seven men and women, wearing rainbow-colored suits, sat in a semi-circle of chairs facing a golden throne with the Scientist-In-Charge on it. His tall thin regal frame was straight up as he cast his eyes over the committee. They tried not to show concern over the sudden meeting, but he could see it in their eyes. “My lords and ladies, be at ease. I have interesting news for you. Our drones have confirmed a large group of humanoids camping several miles from here.” Their alarm was palpable, but no one spoke. “They appear to be nomads armed with simple weapons. Of more interest however, these humanoids are covered with hair from head to foot. Our monitoring drone has followed their progress towards our valley for days. They are hunters following game. I expect we’ll make contact with them tomorrow. They’ve discovered us.” The next day. The Scientist-In-Charge stood in front of the main dome as Jo-el approached. At seven-feet tall, he was an imposing figure wrapped in an exotic animal skin. He was unarmed. A good sign. The white fur on his face and arms shimmered under the sun. His attempt at a friendly smile was more like a grimace with his uneven razor sharp teeth protuding from beneath his thick lips. Nevertheless, his intent was clear. He wanted to peacefully talk. Because he was a genius, the Scientist-In-Charge quickly figured out Jo-els sign language, which hours later, led to understanding his spoken language. He was impressed with Jo-el and understood why he was the leader of the Manpack. There was nothing evil about him. He radiated strength and honesty. He also reminder him of ancient myths about rare creatures that avoided humans. Names like Bigfoot, Sasquatch, and Yeti came to his mind. He decided Jo-el was a Yeti because of his coloring. The Scientist In Charge spoke to the committee via a mic he wore around his throat. “After talking with this stranger I see no danger to us,” he said. Then he listening for minutes on end as the committee burst into a series of arguments. The consensus was to take Jo-el captive so they could study his species. Their decision shocked the Scientist In Charge. His every instinct demanded he not betray Jo-el or his people. With a heavy heart he warned him of the committee’s intent and suggested he lead his people far away from the valley. He realized mankind was still not prepared to accept other species equal rights. With a heavy heart he went back inside the dome, hoping humanity would one day respect the creatures who survived after the terrible age when the stars fell out of the skies. As It Stands, accepting outsiders and other species, has never been the strong point of mankind.


I was five months old when I first met Death. I was in a stroller, kicking my little legs around while my mom pushed me along the sidewalk. I had a teething toy grasped in my chubby fingers, and I was gnawing on it, getting saliva all over my skirt. Then my mom gasped. I turned my head to the street, and lying right in the middle of the asphalt was a cat, limp and unmoving. Death was hovering over it, a figure shrouded in dark mist. He lifted his head, and although Death had no eyes, I knew he was looking right at me. My mom whispered “poor thing” and kept walking. I looked away, still chewing on my toy. \# The second time I met Death, I was six years old, and my grandfather was in the hospital. My mom was sitting next to his bed, clutching his hand with tears in her eyes. The white fluorescent lights were too bright for the occasion, and I was almost relieved when Death arrived. The darkness cooled my vision, providing a respite from the sadness and grief. We looked at each other, and I felt a comforting touch on my shoulder before he disappeared. \# I saw Death more often after that. He would come to me whenever I felt down, always seeming to know exactly when I needed him. We wouldn’t talk, but he was a reassuring presence at my side, a reminder that I would always have a friend with me, no matter what happened. When my best friend moved away, leaving me with empty spaces and a lonely spirit, Death was there. When my first girlfriend dumped me for a guy, telling me that I was just an experiment and coloring my heart blue, Death was there. When I was stressed about college applications, pulling at my hair and chewing my nails into blunt stubs, Death was there. He was a storm, taking away lives and leaving destruction in his wake, but the winds and rain would cover up my damaged pieces, leaving me impossibly warm and giving me an excuse to keep going. We didn’t have a lot in common, but we managed to form an indestructible bond. \# When I first met Olivia, I was twenty. We were in the same college lecture, seated two spaces away from each other and dozing off in our chairs. When the professor called us out, worried about our wellbeing, we looked at each other and chuckled, mirth dancing in our eyes. She pulled me aside after the lecture, and we went out in search of warm drinks, snowflakes decorating our coats and biting winds pulling color from our cheeks. She ordered a hot chocolate and I ordered a black coffee, and we got to know each other amongst soft jazz music and twinkling lights. And from then on, we were inseparable. \# There were some things about Olivia I would never understand. The way she would leave the toothpaste tube open after brushing her teeth. Her confrontational nature. Her hatred of fish. How she didn’t care about anyone’s opinion. How she wanted to travel the world. We were opposites in every way, but somehow, even after all these years, we just clicked. She was a force to be reckoned with, and I loved her all the more for it. Nothing would stand in her way. Not even Death. But Death was always there. He reminded you that you’d never be alone, that you’d always have him, even in your darkest moments. \# I was forty years old when I saw Olivia for the last time. We had had twenty years together, twenty wonderful years, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. We were in the hospital, and the fluorescent lights burned my retinas, the memory of white sheets and tear-filled eyes replaying in my head. I knew how it ended, with dark mists and cold bodies, and I wished I didn’t. Death was by the wall, lingering in the corners of my vision. Olivia’s fingers clutched mine, and she was so beautiful I found myself grateful for one last moment with her. Because although she was gone, Death would always be there, a comfort, a reassurance. A promise.


The neighborhood was asleep but he and his son were awake. It’s 4:51 in the morning and Christmas lights illuminate the street revealing small bungalows and houses with unshoveled snow on their driveways. He parks the car near the last house on the right and leaves it running. This is their neighborhood but they drive in the winter to keep warm. Before they get out they savor one last moment of warmth as they stuff their pouches and the crevices under their arm pits with newspapers. The boy did not want to get up today. He faked that he was asleep like he did on Sunday mornings when his Dad tried to wake him up to go to Mass. Dad wasn’t having it, not today, he needed the extra hands because he had to get to work earlier than usual. He’s been working retail during the holidays for the last six years and the paper route the last two. The boy would help on holidays and some Sundays because of the ad bundles. But he doesn’t want to help today, and his dad doesn’t blame him. “Take the houses on the right.” He said as he walked to the houses on the left. The boy’s shoes crunched with each footstep, the snow from yesterday had frozen over. He was trying to be careful because he slipped and got a bruise on his left butt cheek the previous Sunday. He wasn’t trying to get a matching one on his right. The papers tossed and turned in his pouch like laundry in the dryer as he approached the first house. He reaches under his arm pit and tosses a paper onto the front door mat of 2301 Parkview Lane. Nails it. 2305 Parkview Lane is a bungalow that has an elevated front porch with a roof covering some patio furniture, a swing, and a couple of sleds. He breathes into his hand to give him some grip, grabs the next bundle, and underhands the throw. It lands on the second to the top step. Doesn’t nail it. “Make sure you get it on the porch.” His dad said in his head. He marches up the stairs and squats down to pick up the paper. He tosses it up the remaining stairs and it lightly hits the screen door. He sucks in the cold air through his teeth, praying no one heard that, especially his dad. The coast is clear, thank God. He heads back down the stairs, one at a time. Skip the next house, and then leave the paper on the mailbox for 2313, he thought to himself. Across the street, he was realizing that this is the only quality time he’s had with his son in months. Dinner last night didn’t go so well. He was late because his boss was hovering over his shoulder most of his shift and he couldn’t afford to get another write-up. By the time he got to dinner, the boy had eaten already but his wife waited for him. “He couldn’t wait.” She said as the boy drowned his final two fries in ketchup. He kissed her on the cheek and then they unwrapped their burgers to eat. After his final bite he noticed the boy was looking down at his feet. “What’s wrong, son?” The boy shook his head. “Buddy?” “Nothing.” “Something happen at school.” “No.” He looked at his wife, she shook her head in a way that said, “Don’t bother.” “Did you have fun at your class Christmas party today?” “You were supposed to come.” The boy said as he made eye contact with him for the first time. He forgot. He had been doing that a lot lately, but this time it stung. “You just work all the time. You never have time for me anymore.” The boy’s eyes sunk back to the floor. He didn’t say anything because he knew the kid was right. He didn’t even say he was sorry. After his wife calmed the boy down he went back to work and they went home. He stood in the parking lot before getting into his car, letting the cold air fill up his lungs. He thought of his dad and wished he could give him a call. He finished delivering his batch to all of the houses on the left while the boy was barely halfway done with the houses on the right. He checks his watch, 5:02. 31 houses left, clock in time is in 43 minutes. He walks over to meet the boy halfway. “Come on, bud, let’s pick it up. I’ve got to get to work soon.” He says as he takes the papers from the boy. When he finishes the rest of the street he tells the boy to stay put and he’ll pull the car up. As he waits, the boy puts his fingers up to his mouth and exhales onto them, trying to regain feeling. After his dad pulls up he gets in and they head to the next street. The boy has his hands pressed up against the vents. The heat slowly deteriorates until it becomes just a blow of air. “Heat’s going out again.” The boy says as he crams his hands into his coat pockets. “It’ll be okay, just keep folding, the newspaper will help keep your hands warm.” The boy grabs a stack of unfolded papers from the backseat and a handful of rubber bands from the cupholder. Fold the right side, fold the left side, rubber band around once, twice, snap, and toss onto the dash. Repeat. As he folds the fifth paper he stretches the rubber band too far and it snaps and whips into his thumb. The boy hates it when this happens, his dad does too. He grabs another rubber band and delicately finagles the rubber band around the paper and tosses it onto the dash. He grabs another stack and keeps folding as they arrive to the next street. Westview Drive is a darker road. A streetlight is burnt out and another one is covered by a mass of tree branches. Most of the houses don’t have Christmas lights either. The boy reaches inside of the glove box and pulls out two flashlights, a mag light for dad and a smaller LED light for himself. “Double time.” His dad says as he exits the car. They split up again. The boy has the flashlight in between his teeth. Everyone on his side of the street got the paper. He’s walking faster and the wind is beginning to pick up which makes everything colder. The first house belonged to an elderly woman who was always awake by the time they delivered the paper. She stood in the doorway wearing a white robe and bed head. She opens the door as the boy offers the paper to her. “Helping dad today?” She said. The boy nodded. “Well stay warm, ya here?” “Yes ma’am. Have a good day.” He said with the flashlight still in his mouth. Looking across the street he saw dad was almost done with his side. He picks up his pace. He’s not worried so much about getting the papers on the porch now, but he still tries his best. When dad finishes he has four houses remaining. “Hurry up, son!” His dad yells as he jogs over to the car. “I shouldn’t rush him.” He thinks as he puts his mag light back in the glove box. Still no heat. If he’s cold the boy will be much colder. Only six houses left after this, and their all by their house. “I’ll make it up to him.” He thought as he drove to pick up the boy. At least he hoped he could. The stairs leading up to the last house are covered with snow and the guard rails on the sides are glistened with ice formations that hang off of the edges. The boy grabs hold of the railings and slowly walks up the steps. When he gets halfway up he reaches into his pouch and grabs the last paper and tosses it onto the doormat. As he turns around to go back down he clutches the railing for dear life. Down the steps, one at a time, he knows he’s being slow and that dad’s in a hurry, but… too late. The boy misses the last step and his foot slides out from underneath him. He tries to grab for the railing but his hand slips off and he slams down on the edge of the last step, his elbow makes the first impact. The flashlight falls out of his mouth and slides down the sidewalk still shining. His hand turns red and numb while his elbow throbs. The melting snow begins to seep through his pants and his long john underwear. He can’t stand up and it’s taking everything not to cry. Dad pulls up to the side of the street. He sees his boy sitting down. He honks the horn. “What’s he doing?” He thought. 5:24. The boy isn’t getting up. He reaches across the passenger seat and begins cranking down the window. “Let’s go!” He yelled, trying not to wake the neighbors. The boy shakes his head. He gets out of the car and jogs towards him. “Son let’s go, I got 20 minutes until I have to be at-.” He stops. He sees a tear rolling down his boy’s cheek. He kneels down. “What happened?” He asks. “Nothing.” “Buddy, talk to me.” The boy shakes his head. “Did you slip and fall?” He asks. The boy keeps looking down at the ground. “I’m sorry. I am. But can you stand up for me? We really gotta keep moving.” He pleads. The boy pushes himself up off the cold cement. The back of his pants are soaked through and he clutches his arm as he walks to the car. He stands there watching his son and he begins to follow him, picking up the flashlight and turning it off along the way. The boy looks out the window as they drive back to their house. The dad keeps looking over to him, not knowing what to say. He pulls into his driveway at 5:30. When the car comes to a full stop the boy unbuckles his seat belt and opens the door. “Wait.” He says. “You feel that?” He says as he puts his hand toward the vent. The boy puts his hand on the vent as well, he smiles. “Heat’s coming back.” The boy nods to him as he puts both of his hands on the vents, still smiling. “Wait here a minute okay?” His dad says as he grabs the remaining six papers off the dash. He hops out of the car and leaves it running. Quality time with his dad was scarce when he was a kid. Catholic family and he was the youngest of seven. His dad worked for the newspaper, writing columns and reporting on local news. One day his dad took him to the office, showed him the printing press and the type writer he worked on. His dad told him he could be anything he wanted to be, so long as he did it well. Not great, but well. He didn’t think he’d be in this spot, delivering papers at 5:33 in the morning before he went to his next job. He could firmly say he did both jobs well, though. Well, except for one. And as he delivers his last paper he realizes this. He looks at his car and the boy is still sitting inside. He gets in the car and blows into hands while rubbing them together. The boys hands are still glued to the vents, the feeling finally coming back. “How’s your arm?” He asks. “A little better, I can move it now.” “Buddy, I’m sorry.” “It’s okay.” He reaches for the boys hand. The boy reaches back and takes it. “For everything.” The boy looks at him and nods. He knows what he means. “I just miss you.” He tells him. “I miss you, too. And I will be better, okay? You don’t have to understand everything right now, that’s not your job. I may have other responsibilities, but you’re my greatest responsibility.” Both of their hands are dry and are smudged with ink but they keep holding one another for a moment. The boy hops out of the car and he watches him trudge up to the house. He puts the car in reverse and backs into the street. He makes sure his son gets inside before putting it in drive. As the boy opens the front door he turns back to his dad, waves, and then goes inside their house. He drives down their street passing the small houses and bungalows decorated with Christmas lights and mechanical reindeer. He thought of his dad, who taught him his first paper route, and remembered his laugh and cheer. And he wipes the tear across his cheek, smearing the skin under his eye with newspaper ink.


Natasha groaned as she awoke to the sound of her phone buzzing against her headboard. Her forehead throbbed with pain while nausea engulfed her stomach. She smacked her dry lips and felt overpowered by thirst. With her eyes shut, she fumbled her hand around until she found her phone and grabbed it. She tapped the spot where she thought the “answer” button might be on the touch screen. Then, with a hacking cough, she held the receiver up to her mouth and said, “Hello?” A woman’s voice said, “Hello, I’m calling for the owner of Natasha’s Crossing Over Encounters.” “Whaddya want?” “Uh… I understand you’re a psychic who can communicate with people who’ve passed on, is that correct?” Natasha opened her bloodshot eyes and sat up. “Ahem, yes that’s right. Sorry, I thought you were a salesperson. How can I help you?” “My name is Serena Henderson. My husband passed away not long ago, but I still feel his presence in our condo. I’d like you to come see if you can communicate with him.” “Absolutely, Mrs. Henderson.” “Please, call me Serena.” “Alright, Serena. Can you give me your address?” “It’s 1011 Paulson Street, suite 1007.” Natasha got out of bed and walked over to her flimsy desk in her small, ramshackle bedroom. The beer cans that covered the floor clanked against each other as she shuffled through them. She opened the lid of her outdated laptop that sat on the desk and typed Serena’s name and address into a search engine. The first search result was a directory page for “Serena and Michael Henderson.” Beneath it was a link to a week-old article on the city newspaper’s website. The headline said, “Banker’s Suicide Stuns Community.” Natasha knocked on the woodgrain-patterned door inside the condo complex. It was so solid and heavy that it hurt her knuckles. The door opened a few moments later to reveal a petite woman with auburn hair standing in the doorway. She wore grey suit pants, a white short-sleeved button up shirt, and black pumps. Natasha felt underdressed in her plain black t-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. The woman looked her up and down with an expression of mild surprise. “You’re the psychic?” she said. Natasha smiled as she stuck her hand out and said, “Yes, I’m Natasha. Good to meet you.” After a slight hesitation, the woman shook her hand and said, “Nice to meet you as well. I’m Serena. Please come in.” Natasha noticed several finger-shaped bruises on the underside of Serena’s right arm. She glanced at her other arm as she walked past her into the condo’s living room and saw similar bruises there as well. The condo had posh hardwood floors, chrome-plated fixtures and luxurious art deco furniture. Framed artwork of various sizes and styles covered the white-painted walls. There was a large portrait of Serena in a wedding dress embracing a man in a tuxedo as a centerpiece. The far wall consisted of plate glass windows revealing a panoramic view of the city’s skyline. As Natasha looked around, she noticed a stack of papers including what appeared to be several bills on an end table. Each one had phrases such as “PAST DUE” and “FINAL NOTICE” stamped upon them in big red block letters. “That’s not a good sign,” she thought. “How can people afford a place like this and not be able to pay their bills? That means she probably won’t be able to pay me anytime soon, either. Oh well, I’m already here. I guess I’ll see this through.” “You have a beautiful home,” she said. “Thank you.” “Please accept my condolences for Michael’s passing.” Serena’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “How did you know my husband’s name?” Natasha shrugged and said, “I’m a psychic. I also understand that his death was a suicide, is this correct?” Serena looked at Natasha with her mouth agape, then her face fell, and she nodded. With sadness in her voice, she said, “Yes, that’s true.” “Yet, you still feel his presence you say?” “Yes, even though Michael died more than a week ago, I still feel as if he’s here. Every morning when I wake up, I see an indent on his pillow and his covers tossed aside as if he’d slept there the night before. I even found his cufflinks and one of his ties set out on top of his dresser as if he was getting ready for work. And a couple days ago, I was making dinner in the kitchen and went into the bedroom for a moment. When I returned, I found a bowl of his cereal sitting on the countertop.” She let out a stilted laugh and said, “He never did like my cooking.” Tears began to stream down Serena’s face. Natasha said, “May I ask how he died?” Serena sniffled, then gave her a puzzled look and said, “I thought you were psychic.” Natasha cringed and said, “Well… I… you see… it’s not always clear what–” “He electrocuted himself. While I was out having dinner with some clients, he drew a bath in our bathroom, sat in the water, and dropped a radio into it. The shock blew out the circuit breaker, and the condo was pitch black when I got home. I searched the entire place with a flashlight before I found him in there. The sight was horrific.” Serena started to cry, then she turned around and buried her face into her hands. Natasha shuffled her feet and swung her arms in awkward discomfort. Sobbing, Serena said, “I thought we were happy together. I thought he was happy. Please, help me understand why he killed himself, and why’s he still here.” A buzzing sound came from Serena’s pocket. She reached into it and took out her phone, then typed in her code to unlock it. Natasha saw the code over her shoulder and memorized it. Serena wiped the tears from her eyes as she looked at the screen. “Excuse me, Natasha. I just got an urgent email from one of my clients. I need to send them a file from my computer in my home office. I’ll be back in a moment.” “You haven’t taken time off from work to grieve?” “I can’t. I’m a corporate finance lawyer and I’m in the middle of a major acquisition for one of my firm’s largest clients. Most of my colleagues don’t even know about Michael’s death yet. I’ll tell them when the time is right.” Natasha looked shocked for a moment and then said, “Do you mind if I look around a bit?” “Not at all. Please feel free to go anywhere in the condo.” Serena plugged her phone into its charger and set it down on a nearby table. Then she walked down the hallway adjoining the living room and into her office. The sound of typing came down the hallway, and Natasha scurried over to the phone and used the code to unlock it. She scrolled through Serena’s emails and saw they were all work-related. She kept scrolling until she found one with a subject line that said, “RE: I think I have a problem.” The email was a month old and came from a person named Miranda Johnson. She opened it. “Hey Sis, I understand your concern, but I think you’re overreacting. Just because Michael has been working late a lot these days doesn’t mean he’s seeing other women. You work late all the time too, don’t you? I’ll call you tonight and we can talk about it some more, ok? Love you, Miranda” The sound of typing stopped. Natasha closed the email app and turned off the screen, then put the phone back down on the table. She hurried over to the other side of the condo and found the door to the bedroom. Inside was a king-sized bed with white pillows and a fluffy white duvet. Another door to a darkened room stood open next to it. She walked into the bedroom and through the doorway. Feeling around on the wall, she found a light switch and flipped it on. The light revealed that she was in the bathroom. White tiles covered the floor, and the smell of bleach stung her nostrils. An oversized, pearl-white bathtub sat in the corner. She went over to it and looked inside. When she did, the lights turned off and the door slammed shut. “Hey!” Natasha said. She ran over to the door and tried to open it, but couldn’t. She pounded on it and said, “Serena? Is that you? Let me out of here!” A strange blue light filled the room. Natasha looked behind her and saw that it came from the bathroom mirror. In the glass, she saw a man and a woman standing next to each other. She realized that the woman was Serena and the man was the one she’d seen in the portrait in the living room. Serena looked at her and said, “That thing out there isn’t me.” The man said, “I didn’t kill myself. That thing killed us both. It will kill you too if you don’t leave right now. Go!” There was a knock at the door and the lights turned back on. Natasha looked at the door, then back at the mirror. When she did, she saw nothing but her own reflection staring back at her. “Is everything alright in there?” said Serena’s voice through the door. “I thought I heard shouting.” Natasha thought, “I must still be hallucinating from all that acid I took last night.” Then she said, “Everything’s fine! I just had a… psychic vision.” “You did? Come out here and tell me what you saw.” Natasha opened the door and found Serena standing there with a concerned look on her face. “What happened? What did you see?” “I communed with Michael’s spirit. He told me you don’t need to worry about the money and that you’ll be able to pay your bills again soon.” Serena’s nodded with a grave expression and said, “Go on.” “He also said he’s sorry for his infidelities, and that he never meant to hurt you, emotionally or physically.” Serena frowned. Tears pooled in her eyes as she hugged herself, running her hands over the bruises on her arms. “So, it’s true. He was cheating on me,” she said. “Yes,” Natasha said in a hoarse whisper. “Why did he kill himself?” “I’m not sure yet.” “Would it help if you saw the radio he dropped into the tub? “You still have it?” “Yes, it’s right there behind you.” Serena pointed at a clock radio sitting on top of a dresser next to the bed. Its digital display showed the correct time. Natasha thought, “It’s weird that she’d keep the radio her husband used to electrocute himself. It’s even weirder that it still works.” She walked over to the dresser and picked up the radio to examine it. When she turned it over, she saw that it didn’t have a power cord. It ran on batteries. “Serena, there must be a mistake. There’s no way that anyone could electrocute themselves with a battery-powered radio.” Natasha turned around and saw that Serena was gone. In her place stood a bizarre, humanoid creature with long, greasy black hair. Yellow-brown, finger-shaped splotches like bruises covered its skin. Its misshapen limbs ended in sharp talons, and its eyes were white without pupils or irises. It opened its mouth to reveal rows of sharp, needle-like teeth. Natasha gasped and dropped the radio.


Super Dan climbed in through the police commissioner's fourth floor office window."You called?" he said with a cocky grin."Yes Dan Man, we need your help and also some of your assistance." said the police commissioner."Hey, hold on! I'm Super Dan, not Dan Man." "Oh," the police commissioner chewed on a finger nail, "the chief inspector and I thought you called yourself Dan Man. We've always called you Dan Man - haven't you noticed previously until up to now?""You have a large 'D' on your chest." pointed out the chief inspector of crime, as he moved a handheld magnifying glass in and out over said 'D'."Well, that's because 'S' is already in use." said Super Dan."Say what?" said the police commissioner."It's being used and basically, is ruled out forever now." said Super Dan."It is?" said the chief inspector, "that's sad.""Yes, well, whatever, a 'D' is what it is" said Super Dan."For Super Dan?" said the chief inspector."That's right." said Super Dan."Not Dan Man." said the police commissioner."No.""Dan Man sounds alright though, don't you think?" said the chief inspector."Look," said Super Dan, his patience coming all unravelled, "anyway - what did you want me for? First I saw a 'P' projected into the night sky - the next minute it was slowly turning around clockwise to form a 'd' in lower case." Super Dan frowned in an obvious manner, "You need to be careful about that, you could have ended up with Pee Man.""We know, we switched it around as soon as we noticed." said the police commissioner."Believe me, you do not want Pee Man turning up unannounced." said Super Dan."Yes, yes," the police commissioner wiped an anxious white handkerchief across his perspiring forehead "for sure - we know Dan Man, we know.""Anyway, now that I am here," said Super Dan, hands on hips, "what is the mission?""Your mission tonight Dan Man, take it or leave it," the police commissioner pulled down on the hem of his waistcoat and pushed his chin forward, "is to fly past every circular intersection roundabout within the county and each bed sheet daubed with birthday greetings that you find, you are to remove - and dispose of in a responsible manner.""Well, okay, fly no, bicycle yes, I accept." said Super Dan."Eliminate these eyesores, this plague upon our land, promise you will not fail us." said the chief inspector."You have my word." said Super Dan."Er-umm, Dan Man," the police commissioner said, "you've laddered your tights." Two evenings later... On this occasion, Super Dan rang the front door bell."Dan Man!" cried the chief inspector, ushering Super Dan quickly inside and up the oak banister staircase."Yes! I am here again - and you did it again didn't you, a 'P' and then a 'd'. You really must be much more careful, one of these days you are going to have Pee Man arrive.""Yes - yes, we know - we know." said the chief inspector.They clambered up the next three flights of stairs in silence, until they reached the office where the police commissioner had been waiting, pacing backwards and forwards impatiently."So, what is it this time?" Super Dan said."Dan Man, you remember the task we set you the other night?" said the police commissioner."Y-es, indeed I do." Super Dan said, sashaying his cape over a shoulder with pride."Well what's all this we hear about the makeshift, roadside shrines being cleared away?" said the police commissioner."As well as the birthday bed sheets? We-ll," said Super Dan, "It just seemed a natural extension for the mission, two birds with one stone. I cycled past them at first, barely giving them a second look, but as I got more and more into the bed sheet job, I found I couldn't stop myself.""DAN MAN! You shouldn't have done that!" the police commissioner and chief inspector chorused together (only fractionally out of sync)."..." Super Dan came speechless."Earlier today we received instructions from the lord city mayor, telling us to tell you to go back and reinstate all the makeshift roadside shrines you've taken down." said the police commissioner."What?! Are you serious? Why exactly?" said Super Dan."He wouldn't say - even when pressed to tell. He just wants it all put back." said the chief inspector."How am I going to be able to do that? I can't remember what where went!" said Super Dan."What went where?" cut in the police commissioner, rubbing his thumb across the stubble on his chin."Yes, that as well. If I try to put the makeshift roadside shrines back together, the bereaved families and friends are bound to notice they won't look anything like how they remembered them. I mean - I didn't take any photos as a record, I just tore them down and shoved all the rubbish into black bin bags. How can you expect me to do this?" said Super Dan."Well Dan Man, you are just going to have to try your best, or..." said the police commissioner."Or what?" said Super Dan."If you do not carry out your instructions successfully, then you'll just have to wait and see what the consequences are."Both the police commissioner and the chief inspector of crime folded their arms across their own chests in a pugnacious fashion, throwing back their heads in loud and demeaning laughter, not stopping until their cheeks ached, as Super Dan hurriedly exited the building. to be continued...


Martin’s phone chimed with an email notification. He blinked, confused. He had set up the email a couple years back by request, but had never received one email- not even spam. He shuffled the several feet across the yellow linoleum of his tiny Manhattan kitchen and picked up the phone. Opening the email app for the second time ever, he read the subject line: *THE CALM AFTER THE STORM*. He stared numbly for a moment, taking in the message’s meeting. As his thoughts coalesced, he turned on the TV to make certain his fears: the world was ending, and nothing would ever be the same again. The creature that filled the television screen was one that fed on sadness and despair. It incited emotions within the vulnerable, and fed back on those in a vicious cycle, killing its hosts at range within hours. Its mind control powers were lesser known, but used to compel others to inflict atrocities or pain to jump start the cycle for others. And it had landed in one of the largest cities in the country. Martin went to his closet, pushing gently past the faded khakis and sweaters. Hanging in the back of the closet was a simple gray cloak, free of any logo or design. It was a light gray, the kind of departing stormclouds. He donned it over his existing khakis and sweater. No mask. He was told when he was given the cloak that he wouldn’t need it. He locked up his small, dingy apartment, and took to the street. He was the Calm once more. \*\*\* The Romanian neighborhood in Manhattan was normally relatively loud in the morning. The honking of traffic mixed with the day-to-day sounds of millions of New Yorkers going about their business. Today, it was eerily silent. Everyone shuffled along the sidewalks and through the streets, vagrant, confused looks in their eyes. The traffic was unpleasantly polite, and not a single horn or curse could be heard on the streets. It was peaceful, but it was a false pretense of peace. The creature had taken the vibrancy of the city and replaced it with numbing despair. A gentle sound of shoe scuffing on brick caught the Calm’s ear, up and behind him. Glancing up, he saw a young man standing on the lip of an old apartment building, teetering on its edge. A few bottles scattered the sidewalk at his feet. With a nod, the Calm took to the sky, lifting slowly on the breeze, rising calmly toward the man. The man hardly seemed to notice the flying man in a sweater and cape before him. He began to take a step forward. The Calm gently placed a hand on his chest. “I know you’re in pain, but this isn’t your fault. It’s not your fault. This too will pass. Sadness and despair are part of life, but they aren’t all of it. I can’t make the decision for you, and I’ll respect your choice. But you deserve to know there’s more than this, and you deserve the chance to find out. And I can help you, if you’d like.” He released his hand. The man’s eyes became less clouded, and they watered. With a sob, he stepped backwards, away from the ledge. The Calm landed and held him tight, assuring him it was okay. They talked for a moment, until the Calm heard another sound. Smiling, he handed the young man a card, and took off, heading north. \*\*\* Leiber Metro Hospital was plagued by the same eerie quietness as the streets nearby had been. The Calm walked through the sliding doors, surveying the situation. Fortunately, the staff were working. However, they all had the same hopeless look in their eyes- the one you saw from forty years of losing patients. He offered soft smiles on his way to the room where he’d heard the sound. He knocked on a door. After a moment, a small girl answered. Her eyes were red and blotchy, and she looked confused. “Who… who are you?” The Calm knelt. “I’m Martin. Can I help you?” Eyes still welling, the girl nodded, and took him in the room by the hand. An elderly woman was in a hospital bed, not stirring. A monitor by the bed emitted a blaring, continuous sound, rather than its optimistic, periodic blip. The Calm reached over and flicked off the monitor. “I’m Susie. Mom and Dad are talking to the doctors, and Grandma Joan won’t wake up.” The Calm nodded, thoughtfully. “How old are you?” “Six.” “I see. Well Susie, do you know what happens when you get very old?” “You go to sleep and you don’t wake up. My grandpa went to sleep only a few days ago.” “Yes, you go to sleep. Grandma Joan is sleeping now too. But that’s not a reason to be sad.” Susie looked up, confused. “It’s not?” “No, it’s not. Everyone has a time to wake, and a time to sleep. Your Grandma Joan lived a long and happy life, and got to meet you for six whole years. Was she a happy grandma?” Susie nodded, smiling a little. “Then that’s a good, happy life. You get the chance to live a long and happy life too, like Grandma Joan. Keep moving forward, and if it’s time to go, it’s time to go. I’m sure your Grandma Joan is in a better place. I’m sure she’s happy there too.” The room’s door opened, and a middle-aged couple walked in. Mom and Dad, the Calm presumed. They looked confused at the Calm’s presence, but walked past him and gently hugged Susie. The Calm wordlessly left the room. He had many more rooms to visit. That was, until he hear the roar that shook the building. Perhaps there was other work to do first. \*\*\* Times Square was dominated by the creature. It took up a good third of the space, black ichor dripping over its carapace, yellow eyes like headlights. Police officers stood in a semicircle around the creature, firearms drawn and pointed at a captive crowd. The crowd screamed, and the creature roared in ecstasy. The fear and despair here was palpable, and the Calm was forced to ground, landing awkwardly between the crowd and peacekeepers, rolling his ankle. The guns all snapped to him. The Calm began walking forward. “Stop, or we’ll shoot!” He ignored the command, but slowed his steps until he stopped short by five feet. The gun barrels wavered gently. “You’re better than this. You’re better than this fear of your neighbors, your citizens. You protect and serve, and this is in no way that. The creature behind you has its hooks in you. Don’t let it! You are held to a high standard! With great pow-” A gun barked, and the Calm jerked, forced to one knee. Blood trickled through the sweater, near his left elbow. He coughed, and cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose you already knew the rest.” The officers stirred, as if from a daze. A look of shame spread across the squad. One by one, they lowered their guns, and parted. No one stood between him and the creature now. It roared in challenge, and fear and despair lashed out at Martin. He staggered to his feet, and removed the cloak, using it as an impromptu tourniquet. Blearily, he could see a film crew, which had been documenting the standoff, now had their focus on him. “There’s a lot of things to be afraid of these days. War, famine, disease, crime. But not the emotions themselves. Not despair itself, not fear itself, not emptiness itself.” He began to walk forward, limping slightly from this awkward land. The creature lashed out with its tentacles, but they stopped inches from the Calm’s body. “The world doesn’t need the Avengers, or the X-Men, or the Fantastic Four for the little stuff. The Galaxy doesn’t need its Guardians every day. For most of us, there’s no Doctor Doom or Mad Titan coming to ruin our Mondays. It’s the little things every day, and a different kind of hero is needed for those fights.” He touched the creature, and it roared in surprise and confusion. Looking back at the crowd, Martin suddenly smiled brightly. “Be that kind of hero. Another definition of a hero is someone who is concerned about other people's well-being, and will go out of his or her way to help them -- even if there is no chance of a reward. That person who helps others simply because it should or must be done, and because it is the right thing to do, is indeed without a doubt, a real superhero.” He gripped the creature’s mass, focused his will against the well of despair inside of him, the crowd, everyone, and said a single word. “Excelsior.” Martin and the creature took flight, rising slowly, in spite of the creature’s roar of protest. They rose, picking up speed once they cleared the cloud cover. Two minutes later, and they were in space. Another five, and they began nearing the warm light of the nearest star. The creature’s roar turned to squawks, and its motions flailed even more rapidly. Martin had no words for now, at the end. All that mattered was the everyday folk, with their everyday lives, and their everyday problems. They could do with a little less despair, and he would gladly make this sacrifice for them. Everyone needed a little push, a little assistance now and then. His smile widening into a grin, he dove with the creature, taking them both into the bright, shining sun.


Everyone had a number. Always counting down. My parents had their number, my friends and family, even the president had her own number. Everyone could see everyone’s number except for one person; themselves. The number had five parts to it. Years, days, hours, minutes, and seconds. This number was how long you have left to live. About a century ago the world had an overpopulation problem. This was the solution. From the day the law was passed, all children born from then on had to have an implant that limited how long they could live. At first it was a set number but the populus didn’t like that. Now it was a random number from 25-150 years. Only the very rich could live past that. You had to pay one million credits for an extra year. The biggest taboo in society was asking what your number was or telling someone else what it was. There’s a saying that goes: ignorance is bliss. What if you can’t ignore the obvious? “So, what do you want to do for your 25th birthday sweetie? I was thinking we could go skydiving or scuba diving like you’ve always wanted to.” My mom was an amazing woman. She was the lady I wanted to be. Her number was 23:7:3:45:32. She was only 47 years old. My dad didn’t make it that far. “Mom, my birthday isn’t for another three weeks.” I answered. “Well, I want to plan ahead. This is the biggest year of anyone’s life. It’s the last safe year” she answered back. Nobody liked their 25th birthday because it meant that you could die any second afterwards. “I’ll let you know if I think of anything mom. I’ll think about it while I’m at dinner.” “Surprise!” yelled my two best friends when I walked into the dinner room. Asusena and Sarah were my best friends since high school. “Aw guys, you shouldn’t have” I said to them. “Don’t be stupid Renee. You should’ve known we’d do this before we left for London,” said Sarah “We wanted to spend one last night with you before we left” added Asusena. There was a palpable silence. “Well, let’s enjoy the night then!” encouraged Sarah. We sat down and enjoyed our dinner and talked all night. “We have a surprise for you before we head to the airport tonight” said Asusena as she pulled a small box out from under her chair. “Happy birthday best friend!” exclaimed Sarah as Asusena slid it across the table towards me. “Guys you shouldn’t have” I said as I took it in my hands. They both gave me the same look that said “really?” I opened the box as they smiled knowing what it was. It was a small rectangular piece of paper. A check. The amount was on the other side. I saw the amount, dropped the check, and cried. “Why?” I asked sobbing. “Because you are our best friend and we hope this bit of money helps you live forever.” Answered Sarah with a hug. Asusena joined the hug and we sat there crying and laughing then crying again until my two best friends finally had to leave for the airport. When they left I cried more knowing I’d never see them again. They both had a little over a month left. $750,000. That’s a lot of money to give. That’s all that’s been on my mind the past three weeks. I couldn’t buy my extra year until I turned 25 in 6 hours. I would still have to find another $100,000 because apparently my dad had left me $150,000 in his will that wasn’t effective until 3 days before my birthday. My mom and I was waiting in line at a sky diving company while my mom chewed an employee out for being slow to get us our equipment. She finally returned with a victorious smile that read “guess who just got a discount”. She told me that once she talked common sense into him we got a 25% discount. We got our gear on and after the hour-long crash course, no pun intended, we waited for the plane. The plane crawled out of its hanger and my mother and I along with 10 other people climbed in. Everyone besides the employees had an average of a week left of time with the lowest being 12 hours. The plane struggled up into the air and we climbed higher into the sky for about five or ten minutes. The light turned green and out we went. The wind was deafening but so amazing. My heart was pumping so fast and it was hard to breathe because of the force of the wind. All that kept going through my mind was that I was turning 25 in a couple of hours. The man on my backwoods had the parachutes was whooping and telling me this is his favorite part. About 30 seconds later he signaled me he was going to pull the parachute open. I waited for it to open but it never did. He yelled at me that the primary chute wasn’t opening and that he had to use the reserve one. He pulled the cord for the reserve and it opened. There was a sudden jolt of us slowing down. Then a sickening rip as the the parachute tore in half. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit” was all that ran through my mind, like a song on repeat, as the ground got closer and closer. “100 more years” my partner yelled in my ear. He was telling me how much time I had left. Too bad I’ll never get to live it through.


The first fifty years, two months, and three days of his adult life had finally passed. Prior days were spent dreaming of what life could have been for him and at night, delusions of family dinners and banters of love with his wife danced in his fabricated memories. He painted a fictional story for himself, riding the tidal waves of imagination carried by his ever-thinking mind. From holding his daughter’s hand as she took her first step to walking her down the aisle for her wedding, he regularly visualized events he wished were real. In reality, he was a lonely soul. Family and friends were few and far between for him. His only, for lack of a better word, support was a chain-smoking alcoholic of a father, who spent most days drunk and passed out when not at work. His adolescence consisted of endless hours of mindless cartoon watching. His teenage years weren’t any different as video games replaced the slapstick animations that littered his television. By sixteen, he was stealing cigarette boxes from his father’s cartons and washing down the menthol flavor with the cheap beer stocked in the fridge. Close to failing high school and dropping out, by some miracle, he managed to graduate. An accomplishment he ignored, as no one, but he, was able to partake in the joy. Unemployed for all of summer, with no plans to further his education, he had reached his eighteenth year of life, and like many other recent and past milestones, he spent it alone. He was never sure if his father, who was fast asleep on the couch, forgot or even knew his birthday, but after nine or ten drinks, it wasn’t important. He lit a cigarette and pondered in his inebriated state, mentally creating plans to make big changes to his life. As a legal adult, he made a vow to himself to turn his life towards another path. He envisioned a promising future filled with success and good company surrounding him. Drowsy and nodding off, it already felt like reality. He saw his future years with actual birthday candles flickering, standing tall and many, as wax dripped onto the cake’s icing. Airhorns and loud chatter echoed in the smoke from congratulatory cigars, in celebration of his new wife and his soon-to-be parenthood. With his daughter tugging his arm to wake him in the morning, he could feel the warmth of the sun’s rays slowly peeking through the curtained windows. “Sir! We need to go now!!” yelled the fireman. “Huh? What—What’s going on?” he asked. As he suddenly awoke, he watched the flames swaying back and forth, ridiculing his foolish hangover and stupidity. A blanket of black drifted along the ceiling, muffling the cries and calls for help from above. His father, with legs burnt looked still and motionless. “We have to get my dad! He’s burning! No! Wait!!” he pled while being carried down to safety. He sat across from the apartment building, staring up at the horror that ripped through his home and above. Flashes of red and blue lights bouncing off the bricks brought him into a mindless stare, wondering what could have caused this disaster. Heavy puffs of smoke from the watered down, still burning embers billowed into the early morning sky. With the fire subsiding, he watched the rescue team bring out bodies, seemingly unmoving, and began to question why he was the only one still breathing. With his adrenaline fading, glancing down, he winced in pain.


"Asmah, there’s something I have to tell you.” Downstairs from the promenade, by the shore, was Fatihah’s favorite spot in Beirut. Under the moonlight, the two young women sat alone on the pier. “Two years ago, I was a lot like you. I went to protests. Human rights abuses. Corruption. People were suffering. We wanted change and we thought we were doing our part. "One night the police came and took me away. I was scared but then I met Ali. He was not a policeman. He had a kind face. I didn’t want to trust him but with time I realized he just wanted to help me. My situation was difficult. I had been misled by some very bad people. It reflected badly on my parents. They were also arrested but Ali gave me options. My parents would be alright. Everything would be alright. God knows, I didn’t trust him but I was so afraid.” “Oh God, Fatihah. That’s horrible!” Asmah said, eyes wide. “Ali asked me about an American exchange student at my university. John Brown. Ali asked if we were just classmates or something more? Of course, he knew already. He let me go and I went back to the marches and John. But afterwards I would meet Ali and tell him everything.” Fatihah trailed off for a moment. “Ali told me a few days after it happened. He looked so sad. He really did understand. We even cried together. John Brown was not his real name. It was Brian O’Donnell. They had found photographs, documents, money. I loved him, Asmah. I couldn’t believe it. But there was no doubt.” “Wait, what happened with John – with Brian?” Asmah asked. “He wasn’t allowed to leave.” Fatihah said looking Asmah in the eyes. “You mean, they arrested him?” Asmah asked. Fatihah looked away for a moment. The only sound came from the cafés above and a fisherman’s boat out at sea. “Asmah, your journalist friend, Ahmed. He isn’t who you think.” Fatihah said. “Wait, what?” Asmah said shaking her head, “He's Ahmed. He's a hero. Fatihah, what are you saying?” “Asmah, he is not. Let me help you.” Fatihah began, eyes shining in the moonlight. After a moment's thought, Asmah stammered: “That’s a lie! Who are you even? I thought we were friends but...” Asmah got up, turning away. “Asmah. Don’t!” Fatihah said, standing up. “It’s too late. We’ve lost her.” came Ali's voice over Fatihah’s earpiece. “It’s over.” “Asmah. Please! They won’t let you leave. I can help you.” Fatihah called out. Asmah stopped, looked over her shoulder at Fatihah, then turned and ran. “Fatihah.” Ali whispered. “I’m sorry, Asmah.” Fatihah said, taking the gun from her handbag. To the café-goers above, the shot was indistinguishable from the engine noise of the fishing boat that had pulled up. Seawater was poured over the stain. Asmah’s body was loaded onto the boat next to Ahmed’s. “It’s alright, Fatihah. You did the right thing. Everything will be alright.


Any feedback is appreciated! let me know any criticisms you have! Don't hold back. I just got into writing but I am constantly trying to improve. Blue. Blue like the vast expanse of the ocean or the ever-mysterious sky. A light blue, a happy blue. There are sad blues, like the melancholy feeling on a Sunday afternoon. There are violent blues, as a spot of blue appears after a blow to the body. There are scary blues, like the blue reflection of the lights on a cop car on a rear-view mirror. But this blue. Her blue. This was the best blue I had ever seen. I was so taken aback by her blue that I stared silently for a moment. A moment too long. My throat tightened and my stomach dropped and my brain was telling me to say something. Anything. My mouth opened and my lungs pushed air around my vocal chords but I coulddn’t get my tongue to move. The resulting grunt made her blue confused. Her eyebrows scrunched in concern and she smiled slightly. The awkwardness required a smile. Those blue sapphires never broke their hold on my eyes though. She just wouldn’t look away. I was reminded of a story I had heard my dad tell me, about how when angels used to visit earth men would be forced to look away because their glory and their beauty were too much for the eyes of mere mortals. This is how I felt now. As my heart rate rose, my eyes dropped and this is when she finally spoke. As the sound waves cut through the air and met my ears, pushing through my ear canal and vibrating my ear drums, my brain registered that this was perhaps the most beautiful voice I had ever heard. I consider myself a dedicated fan to music. Aretha Franklin, Ray Charles, Elvis, Sam Cooke, I listened to and loved them all. But as her words registered in my brain I realized I had never heard a more beautiful sound. “Are you okay?” She asked, still concerned. Water falls at 32 feet per second over the Niagara Falls. It hits the base of the falls with upwards of 2,500 pounds of force. Still, with no hyperbolism, I can say with complete confidence that when the blood rushed to my face it was even more forceful. The warm flow came up my chest and throat and pooled in my cheeks. I thought my cheeks may double in size. Of course, that morning, like every other, I had completely shaved my face. There was not a piece of stubble on my face to obscure my embarrassment. My eyes met hers again, and I jerked backwards as if struck. I had never been more scared in my life. I was not a small man, nor one easily intimidated. I stood tall and strong, with a straight spine and my soldiers back. I had pride and confidence, and I was well respected by most everyone I knew. But here, now, I was terrified. I stood almost a foot taller than her, and I had a muscle-bound body from year of manual labor. She was slim. Yet, she was the scariest thing I had ever seen. In some people’s lives, there is a moment or two where they possess a superhuman ability. In 2006, a Canadian woman fought off a polar bear with her bare hands to save several children. In 2013, two sisters lifted a tractor off of their father in Oregon. The girls were 14 and 16 years old. The tractor weighed three tons. These superhuman abilities come from insane pressure and the feeling of imminent death to one’s self or their loved ones in the event that they do not act. In this moment, I too, developed a superhuman ability. I spoke. “Yes,” I said. She smiled at me, and then the world slowed down. Her blonde curly hair began to twist counterclockwise, and her chin moved in the same direction. Her shoulders moved in opposite directions as her beautiful blue eyes finally broke their grasp on mine. She was turning away. The awestruck wonder and love-at-first-sight feeling I had was replaced with panic. The blood in my face flowed down back into my heart and out into the rest of my body. My adrenal gland was working in overdrive. I felt the same fear that man feels standing on the edge of a cliff, looking at death and misery beneath. Fight or flight. That’s what that’s called. There’s a third F. Freeze. I couldn’t move. I was watching an angel walk away from me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. For the second time that day, I was superman. “Hey!” I called after her. Nice. Hey? Are you kidding me? That’s what I came up with? She turned again, and the sun shined down on me once more. Well, you all know the rest of the story. I just thought I would share with you what it was like when we met. I want to thank you all so much for coming out tonight. Please, drink our booze, and eat our food. I want to thank my parents, and Allie’s parents. I also appreciate you all indulging me as I rant and rave about how much I love this woman. She truly is an angel. I didn’t know it that day, but I would soon figure out that she was as beautiful on the outside as within. In wedding tradition, the bride wears something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. I told Allie that she already has her something blue. She told me that’s cheesy, which it undoubtedly is. But if you saw her something blue the way I do, I think you would understand. Thanks, everybody.


“Hi” “hi.” “What’s up?” “nothin really. u?” “Eh you know. Netflix lol.” “niccceeee. what you watching?” “Just The Office. I freaking love Dwight lmao” “nah. michael is the best character.” “Oh don’t get me wrong, I love them all haha.” “You still there?” “yeah sorry.” “Lol it’s cool.” “So you come on here often?” “not really. something about “dating” apps just kinda freaks me out, it’s weird to just hook up with someone when you only talk to them via texting.” “Yet here you are” “i said it was weird. it can still be fun.” “I suppose.” “and now you probably think i’m a slut.” “Oh stop. I do not.” “whatever.” “I’m sorry? Do you want me to think that you are or something?” “idk.” “Well I don’t think you are. Your profile picture is too... idk, just too nice or whatever.” “yeah. because nice is what I was going for. ” “do u ever feel like ur having a heart attack but like, you know you’re not?” “What?” “nothing.” “ugh im so bored.” “Lol me too. Wanna chill or something?” “not tonight. i have plans.” “Oh okay.” “Watcha doing?” “its kinda hard to explain.” “Do you have a boyfriend or something?” “if i had a boyfriend i certainly wouldnt be here.” “no offense or anything.” “but like, what are we even doing here? whats the point of swiping on pictures just to talk to strangers for a short amount of time searching for something to quell our loneliness” “u there?” “Yeah I’m here.” “did i scare u away yet?” “No not yet.” “good.” “It’s getting late though, it’s like 11:30 and I have to be up at 5:00 for work.” “stop being lame. u will get plenty of sleep.” “Are you not letting me go to bed?” “im not letting myself be alone, and ur the only one talking to me right now.” “Why don’t you want to be alone...?” “Hello?” “Hello???” “hi. sorry, what up?” “Okay I’m not playing these games anymore haha, what’s going on? You’re being hella sketchy” “hahahahaha im sorry. im here now though” “This is the first time you laughed since we started talking.” “i wasn’t actually laughing. just because i typed hahaha doesn’t mean i was actually over here laughing or anything.” “Okay.” “have u ever drowned?” “No...” “it’s extremely painful. u feel as if ur entire world is breaking down beside u, as if u can save urself but the fact that ur panicking stops u from actually simply pulling ur head above water. people try to save u, they jump in and try to pull u out. but u end up pulling them under with u. not because ur trying to hurt them or anything, just because u are panicking and are willing to grab onto anything to help u stay afloat. u dont realize what u are doing. u dont care. all u care about is getting another breath of air. but eventually people stop running in to save u, so u are forced to drown alone in a cold, silent hell. u can scream all u want but nobody hears it. nobody cares, or if they do care they simply dont hear you screaming for help.” “Jesus. Did this happen at the beach or something.” “its been happening for a couple years now.” “I don’t think I understand.” “ok” “u still up?” “It’s 2 in the morning lol I have to get to sleep.” “can u stay up a little bit longer?” “im tired of drowning.” “I mean I can stay up for a little longer I guess. What are you doing?” “ill send u a pic.” “did u get it?” “Yeah that’s a beautiful view, do you have like a top floor apartment or something? I love the city skyline.” “no. i go to the roof sometimes just to hangout or whatever.” “That’s pretty cool. Plus it’s an amazing view.” “yeah i know.” “i like sitting on the edge. just letting my feet dangle off while i stare out into the vast number of windows.” “That sounds kinda risky...” “whats the worst that could happen? i fall and the drowning ends? i fall and nobody has to save me anymore?” “Please don’t talk like this.” “go to bed, dear. u have to work and i think im okay with being alone right now.” “Yeah, but I’m not okay with you being alone right now.” “my phones about to die though.” “Bullshit.” “JUST LET ME GO.” “No.” “Hello?” “Hello???” “HELLO?!?!?” “hi.” “What the hell. Where did you go?” “funny how u can miss someone u didnt even meet.