“It’s spreading across the east coast, hitting DC the hardest. Patients are exhibiting signs of delirium and jaw soreness. On top of losing some verbal control and inhibition.” My lab partner, Eric, was drawn into the hysteria of what they were saying in the press. “I can’t believe it took this long to call in the CDC.” Even with a subtle neurological symptom the spreading of a condition through large population almost always meant something viral. I prepped the slides and microscope. “How many specimens do we have?” “Four, and the boss wants results.” He placed the vials on the counter without gloves. “The subject talked himself to death, if you can believe it. Went into a full syphilitic seizure.” His descriptions were always so grotesque. “Grab some sterilized tweezers and wash your hands please. What’s the head count so far?” “20 million, 800 thousand dead. It spreads through the mouth, that’s about all we know. The Organization thinks it has something to do with the physiology of the mouth.” I counted the seconds while he washed his hands. It was never long enough. “Quite the opposite from what I’ve heard, that it starts in the feet. We need to know what we’re looking for. The environment of the foot and the mouth are completely different.” “The only thing I can think of are the memory pills doled out by that sham health company. They use some kind of deep-sea mussel protein, ‘foot protein 5.’ If they’d test the ingredients, I’m sure they’d find something.” Eric glanced at my chest again, not thinking I would notice. I examined the specimens without assistance and recorded my findings. By the afternoon I had discovered enzymes used to break down food; nitrogenous waste was found on the sample, along with evidence of chitin fibrils, commonly found in insect species. “Are you sure this was taken from tongue tissue?” I asked Eric later. “This appears to be more linked to what you’d find in insects, parasites, and other isopods. A digestive system–“ He brought afternoon tea, “Sarah, I think you’ve watched too many scary movies. Tongues taste, they don’t digest.” The rest of the day was spent reading reports from WHO, trying to understand the condition. Infected patients were often unable to speak clearly, their tongues enflamed and scaly. After losing control of their speech they would become hostile and claim to say things they didn’t mean. No neurological damage was detected and all other motor functions were normal. Social issues were the first symptoms to be documented, when the patients found that they could not control their inner monologs, expressing their worst fears and deepest animosity. One man had to be escorted from a church when he couldn’t help but point out the number of black individuals who were in attendance. The wife of a politician went off her husband’s political policies and admitted to adultery with her fitness instructor. In New York a professor spoke in front of a large Psychology class, and proclaimed his love for large, busty women. “Whatever is happening, with the proteins found in the mouth, and abnormal social behavior, it is something completely new.” Eric was looking at me in that way again. I rubbed my forehead, “I think it’s time to go home for the day. I put what appear to be spores in petri dishes. They’ll observe them tomorrow. I don’t expect them to grow that fast.” Eric nodded and we followed the decontamination procedures. I arrived early the next day and discovered that the petri dishes contained biofilm, the spores were completely unrecognizable. “More inquiry requests?” Eric arrived forty minutes late and noticed the papers stacked on his desk. “I glossed over them. We’ll have more samples later. A few scientists in Wyoming believe they know what it is.” He read through the papers the rest of the morning while I examined the biofilm under the microscope. The bacteria within the slides were strange and foreign. I recorded my findings and signed the logs while Eric seemed to be getting more and more uncomfortable reading the transcripts and reports. He was giving me a headache with his constant shuffling. “Talk to me.” “It just doesn’t make sense.” He rubbed his mouth. “I don’t think we’re looking at tongue samples. This is —I have to make a few phone calls “ He never liked to jump to conclusions, let alone share his deductions with me. He never followed his gut feelings. I was thinking of the word “moron” but the words that came out of my mouth, in an angry, muttering tone, were “rapist.” I stood up in shock. I felt my mouth for any abnormalities or pain. Had I just said that? Everything that had happened since the arrival of the specimens and the information provided by WHO went through my head. Eric’s unsanitary workmanship drove me into a fury. After prodding my tongue with a depressor, he came back in the lab with a look of concern, his eyes were wide. I threw my tea cup at him and wanted to tell him that our lab had been compromised. But instead I shouted “You pig! Why are all men rapists!” I couldn’t focus and panicked, slapping my mouth. He remained silent while I looked into a mirror, examining my mouth for any discoloration. My tongue was sore to the touch. He tried to touch my back in comfort and said, “Sometimes women are asking for it” and stepped back, holding his mouth. His eyes darted around and tried to speak again, “Maybe you should try being with a woman.” He put his hands up as if to prevent a slap and ran from the lab, fumbling for his badge at the door. What did he know that he wasn’t telling me, or was not able to tell me? I ran to the papers on his desk and skimmed through them, my throat becoming sorer, head pounding. In my disgust I saw the phrases “tongues being replaced,” “parasitic lifeform,” and “flesh eating louse.” I quickly reacted, after taking in quick breaths, by putting the mirror to my mouth. That was when I noticed that my jaw was numb. I instinctually lifted my tongue and saw a mass of black fluid. Grabbing a scalpel, I placed it to the underside of my tongue, shaking and sweating as I placed an incision. Black fluid seeped out and filled my mouth with pain and dark blood. I had to stop and spit into the sink. A grotesque string of fluid, pus, and other visceral spilled into the drain. I returned to the mirror and probed the mass under my tongue with a depressor. Within seconds there was foreign movement inside. I gagged, trying to hold my tongue against the roof of my mouth. That was when the tiny legs of the louse appeared, unraveling and shuffling, disturbed by my wooden depressor. My eyes rolled into the back of my head; I could feel the legs bristle with excitement. My heartbeat faded and I passed out. Eric woke me up several minutes later by calling me “bitch” and “useless.” My mouth was numb and my tongue, if it was my tongue, was puffy and sore. When I tried to speak the words that came out were racial slurs. I held my face in dismay, trying to warn Eric of what was happening but judging from his responses of homophobia he was also infected. We gave each other glances of worry and proceeded to write each other notes, desperately trying to express ourselves. These were the events as they transpired. We are going to try to remove the louse that had eaten away and replaced our tongues. If something happens during the procedure please tell my family I love them because I can’t tell them myself.


"Sorry I'm late, I got here as soon as my meeting was over." Sara said "Did you get a promotion you didn't tell me about? How in the hell did you afford this thing? Jessica pointed directly at my umbrella with its distinguishable glossy blackwood handle "Haha, no not at all...Alan...gave it to me." "Alan?!" she said. "The, I'm going to go out with him once and that's all, Alan? Surely this wasn't a gift he gave you after JUST one date" "Actually, we have been out 4 times, he saw the umbrella I had and thought I would be safer with this one" "Remember when I got us matching umbrellas, we are supposed to be besties" Jessica said. "We ARE besties, but using umbrellas that you got during a 2 for 1 sale probably isn't the best thing to use, especially with how windy it has been lately." You can look around the cafe and notice each table has a cubby for an umbrella. Although it doesn't particularly rain a lot in our city, everyone walks around outside with an umbrella. It isn't for protection from the sun either, it is to protect us from the above. There have been mysterious disappearances that started happening in our city a few months ago. The disappearances seemed random at first, but investigators noticed a trend in all the cases; they all happened when the victim was alone, in broad daylight, and in direct view of the sky. No one is going to travel in a group all the time, so using an umbrella has become a part of everyday life. "Anyway, you didn't invite me here to talk about umbrellas or about Alan, what's on your mind?" Sara said with a concerning look on her face. "The company I am with is throwing a celebration party tonight at 9 and everyone is expected to go...I...am too shy for this kind of thing." "Shy? You aren't shy around me, you are definitely the outgoing one between the two of us." "But that is only because we have known each other for so long, it is hard for me to open up and let loose around complete strangers." "But they aren't strangers, these are people you work with." "I don't see these people outside of work, I largely keep to myself unless we are working on a group project. I am trying to figure a way to get out of it." "You said yourself you want to try new experiences and you got one right in front of you, you are definitely going." "Oh my, look who is being the more outgoing and aggressive one now. You got that fancy umbrella and now you have this new bravado about you." "Hahaha, you might be right. Maybe that little bit of confidence came from this thing" Here, take it with you." "I can't take a gift someone gave you." "You aren't taking it, you are borrowing it. We will swap back the next time I see you." "Thank you for being, you, Sara." "Just show them the side of Jessica I get to see all the time." "You are so fucking adorable, no wonder Alan is falling for you." "Shut up!" Sara said as she tried to cover up the redness in her face. "Let's go ahead and order so we can catch up before you head to the party." We talk for what seems like hours... "Shit!" Sara said. "It is 8:50, how far away is your party?" "It's about 10 minutes away...damn it I got to run!" "Have fun." Sara said. As Jessica bolts towards the door she stops abruptly to turn around and give Sara a huge hug. "Tell me all about it tomorrow, ok" Sara said with an excited look on her face. "You bet, thanks again." Sara goes back to the table they were sitting at to realize they were the last customers in the cafe. Sara was still eating a pastry she ordered that has long since gone cold after being engrossed in deep conversation with Jessica. "Miss, I just wanted to let you know that we close at 9" one of the workers said that was wiping down the remaining tables. "I know" Sara said "I was just finishing my pastry." "You got an umbrella?" said the worker "We have spares we keep just in case" Sara holds up the umbrella she traded with Jessica "I have one" she said Sara finishes her pastry and places the dish on the counter close to the kitchen before making her way out the front door. With umbrella in hand she notices the lights to the cafe turn off to match the rest of the city. There is a lights off policy at 9pm to help protect the homeless and anyone else that might find themselves without an umbrella at this hour. Street light use has been suspended indefinitely as well once disappearances also start happening at night. Her apartment building is only a few blocks away so she won't be outside for very long. The streets are empty and the wind is starting to pick up. There are conspiracies that "the above" are causing the increase in wind since more people are shielding themselves with umbrellas. There was light rain outside when Jessica made her way out of the cafe so seeing the accompanying wind wasn't all that surprising. Sara has only made it a few steps from the cafe when a strong gust of wind makes her clutch her umbrella tightly with both hands... *Snap!* The metal stretcher on the underside of the umbrella had snapped and the canopy was dangling in wind. "Oh no." Sara said in a crackly voice. In a panic, she presses as tightly against the restaurant wall as possible in hopes that the slight overhang of the building will provide her protection from the sky. She breathes heavier and heavier with each passing moment, she has never been without an umbrella before, her hands begin to shake uncontrollably. She reaches in her purse to grab her phone, almost dropping it because of the slipperiness from the rain and the uncontrollable shakiness that has taken over her entire body. She crouches down with her phone tucked as close to her chest as possible to not have the light from the screen linger in the darkness. She calls Jessica, but there is no answer. The party is well underway so she probably isn't paying attention to her phone. With her best friend not available, she calls Alan. "Alan! I'm in trouble can-" "In trouble!? What do you mean in trouble?" "My umbrella broke...*sniff*...and all the places around me are closed...I don't know what to do...i'm panicking" Sara starts sobbing uncontrollably to Alan "It broke, but I just got you a new-" "I let Jessica... *sniff*... borrow it when I saw her earlier...i'm sorry" "You have nothing to be sorry for, just try to calm down Sara, what building were you two in?" *sniff* "the Little Coffee Bean" "That's on the corner of 27th St and 6th Avenue, I'm on the way, avoid any lights you may see you understand?" Sara's breathing is starting to slow back down and her shaking is more reserved "Yeah...I understand" "When I turn on the road you are on, I will turn my headlights off in the distance, that is how you'll know it's me" "Ok...ok...thank you Alan" "See you soon" *click* Sara put the phone back in her purse and clanged as flat to the wall as possible. She held her head down to shield her face from the rain and to distract herself from the sky. A few minutes have passed and the rain is really pouring in now, but that gust of wind that broke her umbrella ceased to be. She started to think about those conspiracies she read about, but her thoughts were distracted by a faint light. There is a car in the distance with their headlights on. "I can't tell if that is Alan." she said to herself. "He said he would turn his lights off once he was on the same road as me." The car drives closer towards her and her anxiety starts to resurface. Her body starts to shake again as the vehicle gets closer and closer. "This isn't Alan..." Her legs spring to life and she starts running down the opposite street to avoid the oncoming lights Her body is being propelled by fear as she continues to run as hard as she possibly can She looks back to see if that car turned down the same road she was on when a faint glow illuminates the left side of her face...she ran into the path of an oncoming car... In an instant, she was slung into the dark sky above. All she can see is a small light that gets dimmer and dimmer, until it eventually disappears... The vehicle turns off its headlights as it drives down 6th Avenue, slowly creeping down the street looking for any faint signs of moment. It eventually stops at a store that has long since closed. "I don't see her..." Alan says to himself "Let me call her back." *Ring*... *Ring*... *Ring*... *Ring*... Alan looking down at his phone from the safety of his vehicle in a confusing and concerning daze, wondering where she is. He leans back and takes a deep breath "Sara, where are you?" "Hi, this is Sara, sorry I am unable to take your call-" *click* Alan averts his eyes away from his phone to see a small glimmer of light in his rearview mirror that goes dim the moment it catches his eye. Alan is terrified... "No" "I am just imagining things" He calls Sara back, a second later, that same glimmer of light reawakens in the distance.


A few years ago we had a local who came to us saying he would tell us what we needed to know, we knew he had the intel because he started spewing information that we didn’t even know right there at the gate, stuff that the guys at the ESP didn’t have the background to even understand. They searched him and brought him in because while they didn’t know what he was talking about they knew that someone did and that they’d get a good word put in from the higher-ups if this went well. The first question we always ask when someone is just volunteering intel is why. People get shot at the gate all the time and no one ever finds out about it, so why would this guy risk getting shot to help us. So we ask him, and he says something about how we find missing persons all the time, and how his wife and kid are missing. It’s true finding missing persons is one of our objectives but it’s pretty low on the list of priorities and it wasn’t the kind of stuff we were doing. Right then, in the middle of our conversation, two guys from the agency walk in. It was then that I realized this guy’s intel is probably pretty important to someone since the agency guys usually just sit around smoking and joking all day. But this time they were serious. They walk in, tell me and the other guys to leave the room. It’s just them three now. About 20 minutes later they walk out without the local and they give us the “rundown”. The rundown from the agency guys is them telling you what you’ll say and do, and you have to do it, no questions asked, otherwise you won’t keep your job too long. This time the rundown was, “We’re gonna tell this guy that we’ll do everything we can to get his family back if he gives us what we need and you guys are gonna tell him that too.” Then one of the agency guys takes me and walks about 20 feet from the group, and looks me in the eyes and says “Now I’m sure you know this, but that guy's family is dead, or might as well be because we’re not doing shit to find em’, and after we fill him in, this guy is never leaving the gates.” I know the drill, the guy before me filled me in, most of the locals that deal with the agency guys never leave the base anyways, but this was different because this local wasn’t an “enemy combatant” or whatever they call them now, this was just a civilian who thought we could help him. So they tell the local he can’t leave the base until they get the intel because he’s in danger anywhere that’s not here and that once they got the intel, they’d find his family and give him a house somewhere with some solar panels like they do with the guys that give us low-level intel. The reason they couldn’t let this local go when it was all said and done was that they had to give him background information so that he could fill in the blanks, and this “background” was stuff that no one but those two guys knew. It was stuff that if I knew, I might “step on an IED” in a week. The local stayed on base for about a week, then one of the agency guys gave me the new rundown. Again he looks me dead in the eye and says “Here’s what gonna happen, you’re escorting him off-base to his new house, when you guys get there he attacks you, and you take him out, bring his body back, make sure you’re at least 10 miles from here when you do it.” I take about 15 seconds before I say “ok”, then right before I’m about to turn and walk away he says “Make sure he’s not alive, because if you bring him back here and he has vital signs we’re gonna have a problem.” I nod and walk away. The next morning I wake up and look at the sun for a few minutes, I don’t know why but whenever I have to do something hard it’s what I always do in the morning. The local is already in the SUV when I get to it, he’s pretty calm but I can tell he’s happy. I feel f\*cking awful. I get in and we drive away. I’m hoping he doesn’t talk to me, that would only make it harder for me to do what I had to. He asks me if his family is ok, locals don’t usually know English, and if they do it’s not much so they always skip the small talk. I tell him they’re doing fine, that some guy radioed me saying so before I got in the car. Then I lie, I say I think one of the tires is flat so I pull over, you can get away with that kind of lie because most of these locals don’t drive cars so they wouldn’t know. I get out of the car and walk over to the back right tire, I let out a bunch of air so it looks flat. I stand next to the car for about 5 minutes. I already know exactly what I’m going to do, I played through the scenario about 100 times the night before. I walk over to the passenger door and tell him the tire is flat and I need his help replacing it. He’s eager to help and gets out of the car and asks what I want him to do. I tell him to walk over to the tire with me and hand him the car jack. I walk behind him as we go to the tire. I start talking to him, telling him how the houses we give people are nice, and that he’ll get enough electricity to have lights on at night. Then while he’s cranking the jack I pull out my SIG and shoot him. He dies instantly. I got a little splatter on the car which pissed me off, but what pissed me off is that I think he knew what was up, I mean I wasn’t even helping him, why the f\*ck would I ask for his help if all I was going to do was sit there while he cranked the jack, he must’ve known something was up. I just hope he didn’t know exactly what was up, because I’d feel awful knowing he knew he was living the last moments of his life and that he knew it was inevitable.


Tall, with steely blue eyes and messianic features; he walks with a commanding presence. An aura of intense charisma surrounds him. His name and personal details aren’t important however. He doesn’t seek fame or fortune for his mysterious deeds. His sole mission is to heal others and take away their lingering pain. He possesses the true gift of love and wholesome empathy. One day he walked up to a lady and stopped. She was startled that such a handsome gentleman would even notice her. She assumed he needed directions or assistance with some mundane matter, but the truth was far more complex. He asked her how she was doing. She studied his eyes. It was a sincere question. Her heart fluttered. She had self-image issues after a lifetime of eating disorders and disappointment in life. Her first instinct was to say she was ‘fine’. It wasn’t true, but it was the ‘polite thing to say’ when asked. People generally don’t care. It’s just an generic greeting. “I’m... not...happy.”; She answered truthfully. It felt good to be honest for a change. It seemed like he really wanted to know. What came next was more than she bargained for. He smiled and looked directly into her eyes. His smile widened. She followed suit. The man’s caring nature was contagious. Her heart began to beat faster. It was all she could do, to steady herself while their personal experience was taking place. “I know.”; He said matter-of-factly. “Would you be uncomfortable if I touched you on the shoulder?” It was an incredibly unusual request but she felt safe with him. Even relaxed. At that moment she didn’t doubt his motives at all or worry about his intentions. There was trust in his eyes. She consented. Then he reached over and lightly touched her on the shoulder, just as he requested. The moment the skin of his palm touched her upper arm, she felt an unimaginable energy source course through her body. It wasn’t painful or uncomfortable. In fact, it was like the most soothing, loving touch she had ever felt. Her eyes watered up. It was just as pure of a sensation as a mother caressing her newborn child. The lady openly wept like a baby. It was a spiritual experience that she couldn’t begin to understand but it made her feel alive and at peace with the universe. It was amazing. Then he spoke to her. “I saw your pain from a great distance, and I know it’s source. You were touched inappropriately by your father as a child and the only remedy for such horrible abuse is to be touched with genuine love. You’ve erected a wall around yourself to subconsciously avoid any sort of attention. You’ve sabotaged every relationship you’ve ever had because you convinced yourself that you deserved the abuse. You didn’t. Before others can love you, you must learn to love yourself. I’m freeing you of this pain. Now you can love yourself and be open to accepting life. Goodbye my friend.” The lady trembled in fear. The tall stranger already knew more about her than she realized about herself. She was finally free. It was like 200 pounds of self-loathing was cast off of her body from a simple touch of a stranger. He smiled at her again and was gone. The lady wiped away her fading tears and continued on her way as a new person, full of life and hope for the first time. The healing had only cost her a moment of trust and a touch from a gentle stranger on an earnest mission. The tall stranger approached a young man crouched in an alley. It was a dangerous part of town and it wasn’t wise to travel in those places alone or unarmed. The young man in the alley was a lifelong criminal. The alley was his ‘turf’ and he waited for unsuspecting people to make the mistake of walking past him. The tall stranger acknowledged the other man’s presence before the ambush could take place. Instead of running away or avoiding the confrontation, the tall stranger walked directly up to the mugger’s hiding spot. “Can I speak to you sir?”; He asked. It was so unusual for a potential mark to know what was about to transpire, that he stepped out from behind the dumpster to see what he wanted. It was a curious situation. At first the mugger adopted a defensive pose but the tall man’s lack of concern was genuinely disarming. In only a matter of seconds, both men stood face-to-face in neutral terms. “You grew up without a father figure or decent role models. Your brothers and their friends bullied you many times and pressured you into doing things that you aren’t proud of. You feel as if your life is cast in stone and you have no ability to leave that lifestyle behind but I’m here to tell you, that’s not true. You can be a better man. You can offer your own son a decent role model and pass on the positive affirmations. All you have to do, is embrace me and then walk away from this meaningless life.” The tall man held out his arms to affect a full body hug. At first the young man in the alley was taken aback. It was the most outrageous thing he’d ever heard. Who was the guy to offer lifestyle advice? His first instinct was to curse the crazy man with fiery blue eyes asking him for a hug. It was bizarre, but the tall man possessed a calming demeanor and offered words of encouragement. It was strangely tempting. As crazy as it seemed, he finally accepted. The moment the two souls embraced, the young man started shaking. It was the most powerful thing he’d ever felt. The hug was unconditional. It was warm and offered with pure motives. It presented him a chance of redemption and real change. He didn’t want to let go. It didn’t even occur to him that he was hugging a stranger in the alley. At that moment nothing else mattered. The stranger didn’t let go until all of his anger and hardness was gone. The stranger smiled and walked away. Another hurting person was healed. The tall man continued his journey down the city streets. He touched every single soul he encountered, just as they needed to be. He saw into their eyes and drew out their buried pain and misery. Some he held by hand. Others he put his arm around their shoulder or cradled their head against his chest in intimate support. He knew just how to help each suffering person along his purposeful path. He is a healer with the greatest gift. The gift of unconditional love and the power of loving touch.


Have you ever looked up at the sky and asked yourself what is out there? No,well the recluse knowing as William Greymoore did. But he knew too much and in turn they got him. Who killed him? Nobody knows. I was a friend of William Greymoore. Every month he would go missing. Then return with new knowledge on the cosmic universe. He would never say where he got the knowledge from. Five days before he was found dead. He told me they were watching him from his window. When I asked who. He said he doesn’t know but that he suspects something sinister. I myself to this day have no clue on who they were. He also told me if he goes missing this time or is found dead,it’s probably them. I asked if it was because of his research. He said he thinks it is because of that,but not to worry because he has a shotgun in his house. I told him to not leave the house and to always have his shotgun ready,he told me he will at that was that. 4 days before he was found dead he told me he can’t talk on the phone anymore because he thinks they have a wiretap on it. He said he would find a way to talk then hung up. A couple hours later I got a letter in the mail from him. In it he said. “Found a way to talk,hope this makes it to you,anyway.Four cars and a van are outside the house constantly. The van I think has some thermal thing(not really sure what it is) scanning to see if I’m home. I have never heard of technology like that. Stay away from my house,ok,DO NOT come near it,for your own safety. And I’m not sure if this is anything to be concerned with but I think they are walking or crawling about my roof at night. Maybe it’s just birds or something. I’m a bit paranoid. “ That wasn’t the last note that came through my door. The next one creeps me out so much. “They have become more active. Instead of staying in their dammed cars,they are now walking up to my door and looking in then knocking,but I’m not going to answer. I am certain it’s them at night on the roof,I don’t know what they’re doing to the roof but I think they’re trying to get in. My knowledge of things are definitely the reason for these people stalking me. I know it is. I fear they will get in one night and kill me while I sleep,so I can not spread the knowledge I know of the world. My garret window has been boarded up. I did it in the day. At night I lie in bed reading,trying not to fall asleep.” His garret window after 5 years,is still boarded up. His house now lies empty,squalid and abandoned. It now belongs to vermin and people,the latter I’m not sure of because I haven’t been back to the quaint town in years. His last note before he was found dead read: “I’m too tired to stay up anymore. I shall go to sleep tonight and see what happens. If I survive the night I will write to you again. I’m sorry for this.” The next day I waited but no letter came. I waited for 3 days and then went to his house,if they were there or not I was going to see if he was ok. Nobody was there. I walked atop the stairs and knocked. No answer. The door was strangely unlocked and a putrid stench came from inside. I ran in and found the poor recluse William Greymoore dead. He lay on the floor. Rigor mortis had set in. Strangled. To this day I know it was them. I know it wasn’t a suicide like everyone said. But I’m not saying anything because I know they’re still out there. But alas I fear I will never know who or what the people wanted,and why they killed the poor recluse knowing as William Greymoore. Note:Feedback is welcome,this is my second short story,it may not be the best but feedback helps me improve.


Trey opened his eyes slowly, seeing his nightstand next to his bed like he did every morning. It would be the last time Trey woke up in his bed. It would be the last time Trey woke up at all. He checked his phone to find no new notifications except for a calendar reminder. August 17th. He got out of bed and walked down the stairs of his parents’ small house. Sitting at the kitchen table lost in a thousand-yard stare was his mama, a large woman of color who spent her entire life trying to keep her family happy and healthy. Trey sat down across from her, noticing her coffee cup was full, but no steam was rising. She finally noticed him after a few minutes, tears welling up in her eyes. “Everything’s gonna be okay, ya hear?” His mama was trying to be strong for him, and he knew it. “Yes, mama. But...do you think...do you think he actually did it?” Trey needed to know the truth. Months of court cases, trials, and hearings left him mentally exhausted. But no matter what he heard, he refused to believe his father had killed a police officer. “I don’t know, baby. Your father is a good man, he just got caught up in a bad situation.” Trey noticed his mother had a picture frame in her hand. He couldn’t see what picture she was holding, but he guessed it was the one from the beach. That was her favorite. A perfect day with clear blue skies and the sounds of laughter filling the air. They had gone on vacation to Hawaii a few years ago, and it meant the world to Tamara. Trey’s family was not wealthy, but James had saved enough money for them to go on that trip, and Tamara wouldn’t trade those memories for all the money in the world. James had tried to teach Trey how to surf, but Trey was never a patient child, unlike his father, who had all the patience in the world. Tamara had gone swimming with dolphins, the boys were too nervous, and Tamara never let them forget. “Is today still...the day?” Trey asked, knowing her answer affected the lives of both men in the family. His mother couldn’t bring herself to say anything, so she just nodded her head ever so slightly. It was decided, then. On the day his father would be put to death for the murder of a police officer, Trey would take his own life. He spent the day making preparations. He washed the dishes, washed his laundry, swept the floors, vacuumed the carpets, cut the grass, and he even packed up his stuff in boxes so his Mama wouldn’t have to go through his stuff. As the sun set, Trey watched through his window, hoping his father got to see one last scene of beauty. He thought about what people would say about him. They’d ask why he did it, but he had a better question. Why not? High school was over and Trey had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. He didn’t have many friends, was too shy to play sports, wasn’t the smartest, and had no idea how to live his life without his dad’s guidance. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing special about him and there never would be. Midnight approached, and Trey slipped into the bathroom with a bottle of his mother's sleeping pills. He stared at himself in the mirror, trying to find the courage to end his suffering. He knew his father was set to be killed at 9PM in a California prison, but he lived on the east coast. Trey thought it would be kind of poetic to do it at the same time as his hero was going to be killed. His Father was his best friend, the last good piece of his life, the last reason to stay alive. Trey took one last look at himself. He traced his right hand up his left arm, his chocolate skin was soft until he reached his shoulder and felt a scar. A memory rushed into his mind; the day he fell out of a tree and broke his arm. He smiled to himself, he was always falling off of something. He looked into his brown eyes, up to his short brown hair, and back down to the beard he was trying to grow. His only regret might be not getting to experiment with facial hair. Trey took a deep breath. “I’ll see you on the other side, dad.” Trey popped off the white top off the orange container, but before he could pour the pills into his hand, an arm reached through the mirror before him, and pulled him in. Trey was standing in a room of mirrors. His brain filled with scenes from scary movies that take place in settings like these. The fear was overwhelming as he covered his eyes with his hands, fell to his knees, and cried out “DAD!” A moment passed and something was touching Trey’s shoulder. For another moment, Trey was too afraid to look at what was touching him, but he peaked through his fingers to see a familiar face. “Dad? What are you doing here? How is this real? How is this happening?” Standing above Trey with his hand on his son, was Trey’s dad. He was wearing his Hawaiian shirt, and had a lei around his neck. His clean-shaven head and black goatee always made Trey think his father was a better-looking Terry Crews. “It appears I have taken the form of your father, though I am not him. You must understand, I am the master of mirrors, whatever they see, I too see. You were prepared to take your life in my presence, and I stopped you.” “What? Is this a dream? I gotta be dreaming. Maybe I am! I took sleeping pills! I probably didn’t take enough!” Trey’s mind was eased by the thought. This was all a dream and absolutely 100% NOT REAL. “Perhaps you can explain your reasoning as to why you wish to end your existence.” said Mirror dad. “If you’re going to look like my dad can you at least talk like him?” “As I said before, I am not your father, nor did you attempt to end your life. Moments ago, I reached through your bathroom mirror and brought you to my home before you could swallow the pills.” Trey looked around the room. He thought he saw movement in some of the mirrors. He looked below him, and lowered his body until his face was staring directly at the floor. He could see a woman taking off her make up. Next to that one he saw a man talking to himself in a public bathroom, and in another one he saw a group of ballet dancers practicing their plier. He looked at every one that he could, seeing different people doing different things from all over the world. “Okay, so let’s say this isn’t a dream...why did you stop me?” “Why do you wish to end your existence?” “I don’t know...I” embarrassment washed over Trey. “Do you deserve to die?” “I guess not but I...” “Is the world better without you?” “Probably, the only person that will care that I’m gone is mama.” “800,000 souls leave the earth every year. Each one hoping to find peace in their death. But the dead do not understand that even though their burdens have lifted, those who loved them now carry the weight.” “Look mirror dad, I didn’t ask you to stop me. You’re preaching to the wrong choir, okay? People die every day, what is one more worthless life?” “Is it your understanding that most human beings enjoy happiness eternally?” “No, of course not. Everybody gets sad sometimes.” “But ‘everybody’ does not take their life when it happens.” “Yeah, but a lot do. You said 800,000 people kill themselves every year, right? Just add me to the list.” Silence filled the air. Trey began to feel uncomfortable as his father’s look alike stood unmoving. After a while, he finally spoke. “Are you aware what the purpose of mirrors are?” “Is this a trick question or...” “Are you aware what the purpose of mirrors are?” Mirror dad was sterner this time. “To see yourself, I guess?” “That is correct. A mirror is not only a reflection of what we see, but a reflection of who we are. You can lie to others, but you cannot lie to yourself. Well, successfully anyway. There will always be a truth we share with ourselves, even if the world knows something different. Every person who has ever existed has two faces. One that is worn, and one that is true. The worn face is perceived by others as your true face, people believe that they know who you are because they have seen you, or heard you speak. Hundreds of people think about who you are, based on their perceptions of you. Perhaps you are considered quiet to friends, but your Mother sees you as rambunctious. Perhaps your neighbor thinks you kind, yet your scorned lover thinks you cold. There are hundreds of versions of you in the minds of people you meet. The facades humans wear to be perceived as something acceptable by society, groups, or family members. The lies that are spun to make others believe you are more than what you are. But how many people know your true face?” Trey felt confused. Was everyone in the world just as scared as he was? His heart was beating fast, and he felt himself begin to sweat. He followed a bead that fell from his forehead and landed on the ground. He looked in the mirror below him and saw the man who was talking to himself in the public bathroom. “You always know when you see one. Being honest with one's self is not an easy task to accomplish, but when you succeed, you begin to see who you truly are.” Mirror dad was standing over Trey, looking at the man below. “Your true face.” Trey whispered. “So, you can see everybody’s true face?” “Incorrect. I can see what humans truly are. Their reflections, hidden to even them.” “I wish I could do that.” Trey looked up to the being who had the appearance of his father. The being smiled, and brought his hand up to eye level, and snapped his fingers. Trey opened his eyes slowly, seeing the nightstand next to his bed. But something was different. On his nightstand was a pair of reading glasses with a sticky note under them and the writing, “Try me.” Trey jumped out of bed in a panic. “That wasn’t real. That could not have been real.” He jumped over his bed to the other side where his phone was on the floor plugged in to the wall. He unlocked it and looked at the date on the screen. August 17th. Trey dropped the phone unintentionally. After taking five deep breaths, he walked to his nightstand and looked at the glasses without touching them. He moved one finger closer and closer to the glasses, afraid of what would happen when he touched them. When his finger finally touched the frame.... nothing happened. Trey exhaled. He picked up the glasses and inspected them. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so he put them up to his eyes. He could see a bit clearer, but other than that, they seemed like ordinary glasses. He put them in the pocket of his sweatpants and walked towards the bathroom. He crept to the door slowly, checking his corners, just in case. He opened the door handle like he was trying to sneak up on someone. It slowly creaked open, revealing an empty bathroom. He peeked into the mirror, wondering what he would see this time, but he only saw himself. Trey sighed with relief, and walked out of the room and down the stairs. He found his mother in the kitchen, sitting at the table with cold coffee and a picture frame in her lap. He didn’t want to go through this again, so he turned around to go back upstairs, when he caught a reflection in the stainless steel of his refrigerator. Once again, he saw his father in a Hawaiian shirt and a lei instead of himself. Trey jerked his neck to look behind him to find nobody there. He looked back in the mirror and saw his father wave at him. He then made a motion like he was putting on glasses. Trey felt his pocket and remembered the glasses. He was sure everything that had happened to him was all a dream; from the house of mirrors to the strange version of his dad. But he had to be sure. He took the glasses out of his sweatpants pocket, and raised them up to eye level. He looked through them while he faced the kitchen. He could not believe what he was seeing. In the same spot where his mother had been was now a giant brown bear. A brown bear that was...crying? Trey took the glasses off and put them back on multiple times, and no matter how many times he did it, he couldn’t believe it. He sprinted up the stairs, hearing his mother call his name from below. He ran into the bathroom and locked the door. “A bear? What the hell does that mean, man?” Trey spoke to the mirror. At first, he only saw himself, but he quickly faded away and the image of his father appeared once more. “Your mother spent her life protecting the people she cared about. She is strong and brave, and will do anything she can to keep you safe.” “Mama Bear.” Trey whispered. “My dad used to call her that.” An idea hit Trey. He put the glasses in his pocket and he ran out of the bathroom, down the stairs, past his mother, and out the door. His bare feet began to hurt as he sprinted down the sidewalk of the small neighborhood. He used the grass instead and within a few minutes found himself on the outskirts of a small town. He placed the glasses on the bridge of his nose and found they sat perfectly on his face. He was in awe as he witnessed animals and monsters alike in the hustle and bustle of the work day. Dogs, cats, mice, bears, vampires, zombies, werewolves, and more walked in and out of shops, drove cars, walked their pets, and shared meals. He began to walk around, passing stores along the way. In the glass of the stores he could see his father walking alongside him. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? To see people for what they really are. To see them for their soul, and nothing else.” “Yeah, but why do some people look like evil monsters?” Trey continued to move the glasses off and back on, seeing human beings become anything other than human. “Some humans drain the life out of those around them. Some walk-through life mindlessly, with no purpose or passion. They just exist, stumbling past it all. Some change in an instant, becoming completely different thanks to alcohol or drugs, or sometimes, a problem of the mind. The dogs are loyal, working for their treats. Cats have everything done for them, barely having to lift a finger for themselves. The biggest problem of all is the lie that lingers in the lives of the lost. You tell yourself that you are happy. That you are living the dream. But how many true faces do you see?” Trey walked around with the glasses on for hours. Among all the creatures, he did not see one that looked human. He walked and walked, until he arrived at the park his father would take him to when he was younger. He sat on a swing next to a cat being pushed by a dog. “Trey?” a young man's voice carried from a hundred feet away. Trey looked around at all the creatures around him, and couldn’t decipher which one had uttered his name. He took the glasses off and looked around once more. He saw Riz, a Bengali boy he had classes with last year in school. Riz was tall and had glasses, and never wore a pair of shorts in his life. It could be over a hundred degrees and he would still wear jeans. “Yo, Trey! What’s up man, it’s been a minute! How you been?” Trey did not want to deal with Riz. Riz was always talking about something nerdy, which Trey enjoyed, but not in public. “Hey man, I’m cool. What about you?” “Dude I’m great! About to go grab a coffee with some peeps, you want to come? We can catch up and...” “Sorry bro, I’m just dealing with stuff right now, but maybe next time.” Riz looked a bit hurt, but quickly replied. “For sure man! Maybe next time. Take it easy, okay?” Riz began to walk away, and out of curiosity, Trey put the glasses on. To his amazement, Riz looked the same. “WAIT!” Trey jumped off the swing and ran up to Riz. “Oh, cool you want to come?! Awesome!” “No. No, just wait, just listen. Your true face is just you?” “Uhm, I don’t think I...” “How do you see yourself for who you are? Everybody is something else and here you are, just you?” “Hey when did you get glasses? They look good!” “Stop joking around man! Tell me why you look like yourself!!” Trey was beginning to yell. “Chill out my man! Look I don’t know what you’re talking about, but come to the coffee shop and we can hang out!” “Yeah, okay man, I’ll meet you over there.” obviously uninterested, Trey turned around, looking for someone else who appeared the same with his glasses on and off. “Uhm, okay man. See you soon!” Riz walked off, unbothered. Trey walked around the park for another hour, and when he couldn’t find another true face, he sat in front of the fountain in the middle of the park. In the reflection of the water was his father in his Hawaiian shirt and Lei. “Ask.” said his mirror dad. “I don’t get it. How can that loser be the only person who looks normal?” “Rizwan is a young man of few worries or cares. He is unapologetically himself. He will not hide his passions and hobbies. He is willing to face ridicule for his beliefs and ideologies. He does not hide behind a mask, he wears his true face, always.” “But I thought you said everyone has two faces?” “Everyone does, but not everyone chooses to wear their true face. Rizwan has friends that will last a lifetime, he has family that love and support him for who he is. He has faced scrutiny his entire life, being called names for enjoying his books and games, for laughing when something is funny, for being kind when it is easier to be cruel. He has weathered the storm of insecurity, and now the sun shines on his smile. Not even your rejection of his offer was enough to deter his bright mood. There are people in this world who love who they are. Everyone is capable of reaching this level of self-enlightenment, but the battle may only be won by beginning it. Do not be fooled, Treyvon, it is *not* easy to become who you truly are. But it *is* worth the fight.” Trey thought about everything he had seen and heard today, and after some time he investigated the reflection of the fountain. “My dad always called me Treyvon; it was nice to hear it again.” A tear rolled down his cheek as he stood up. “Do you think my dad wore his true face?” “He was one of the few.” Trey smiled. He walked up to his house and wiped his feet on the welcome mat before walking inside. A brown bear roared and wrapped its arms around Trey. Trey took the glasses off with his one free hand and tossed them to the floor. He hugged his mom tighter than he ever had. Tears streamed down her face as her agony erupted from her voice. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without him, Trey. I don’t know how to be strong anymore. Those jurors found him guilty but I know in my heart he didn’t do it, baby.” She was weeping harder now. “I can’t lose you, too. Please baby, don’t you ever leave me.” Trey held her for a few minutes, and finally looked her in her eyes. “Everything is going to be okay. You are the strongest mama bear that I have ever known, and I promise that I’m going to keep you safe from now on. No matter what, I’ll never leave you, okay?” She sniffled and cleared her throat. “Mama bear. You sound like him. You look just like him, you know? So handsome, and so loving. You’re a good boy, baby. He would be so proud of you.” “Not yet, but he will be one day. I’m gonna be just like him. I’m gonna wear my true face.” Trey and his mother spent a few hours together in silence. She would begin to cry randomly throughout the day, and Trey made sure he was there for her. As midnight approached, Trey unlocked his phone, and sent a text. ‘Yo Riz, coffee tomorrow?’ He tossed the phone on his bed, and walked into the bathroom. He closed the door, and looked into the mirror. He saw only himself. He waited a few minutes to be sure his reflection wouldn’t change, and once he was satisfied, he stared deeply into the mirror and said, “Goodbye, Dad. I love you.” James sat in front of a small mirror in his cell. He took the glasses he was wearing off, and tossed them into the mirror. The mirror rippled as if he had thrown a stone into a pond. “Thank you for letting me spend one last day with my son.” James said holding back tears. “You always did right by me, it was the least I could do for you.” said James’ reflection. The mirror rippled once more, and James saw his son before him. “Goodbye, Dad. I love you.” James smiled as tears trickled down his face. A buzzing can be heard from the entrance of the cell. The jail door slides open. “James, it’s time.” said an officer standing in the hall. James took a deep breath, slowed his mind, and stood up. He let the guard hand cuff him and followed him down the hall. At the end of the hallway was a door with words above it. ‘Death Row.


(WP) The Little Fox and the Drums of War The fox had heard stories of the city her whole life, despite living in the wood since she was born. Being the oldest of all the kits, though, gave her an advantage over her brothers and sisters. Only her eyes gave her away as something not quite human, but with all the noise, she couldn’t really think of stealth. The wood was full of noises too, but nothing this harsh or loud. Her stomach grumbled, but she resisted returning to her animal form. She might not be human, but now was the perfect opportunity to act like it. She followed her nose deeper into town, her mouth watering at the savory scents of chili and garlic. Her father had warned her that she only had a few hours in her human form before she had to return to the forest, and she was feeling high on the sensation of it. She wasn’t here for pleasure, but none of the guards were with her and no one would be reporting back to her parents. She found a restaurant and sat down, ordering food for herself: hot and spicy ramen, soft boiled eggs with yolks like miniature suns, noodles covered in chili oil. She ate every bite slowly, savoring it. This was certainly different from hunting a woodland creature, but no less pleasant. As soon as she was finished with her food, she left money on the table, thinking about why she’d been allowed to go into the city for the first time. She was to spy on the humans who her kind despised; they consumed endlessly, violating the land and the natural laws that governed the world. She hadn’t wanted to, but her father insisted that she be the one to scout for the humans’ plans. After all, of all of his children, she was the only one gifted with such immense power. “*The gods gave us these powers for a reason, little one. These humans, they are a disease, a pestilence that must be erased from the earth. Only then can the world regain balance.”* But, try as she might, the little fox just couldn’t hate humans. What her parents said was true: they did consume, and burn, and rage, and hate, but they didn’t deserve to be eliminated completely. They were also kind, and good, and loving, and damn it all, they tried to make the world a better place. She changed back into a fox and headed into an abandoned building; she could hear the boom of voices bouncing off of the walls, though the humans were just whispering. She hid in the shadows, knowing that she only had a little bit of time left before she had to return home. “There’s a rumor that there are shifter families in the woods, the most prominent being a family of foxes. We have to burn the forest to the ground. How else will we prevent them from meddling with our plans?” The little fox didn’t need to hear anymore; she slunk out of the building to report back to her family. War was coming, and she had to stop it.


The shed was lit by a single candle on the table. Around the table there were four men, one of whom had the tallest shadow on the wooden wall. The tallest man's name was Gribb. A skilled mercenary, he was there in the service of the castle's lord. Although he did dress like one, Gribb did not have the intimidating looks of a mercenary for he was rather skinny - nor did he have the mercenary charm that the ballads always spoke of. His long hair was falling out and there was a hideous scar that split his lips in two which was barely hidden by his grey scruffy beard. He was the tallest man in the shed not because he was actually tall but because he was accompanied by three dwarves. The dwarves; named Dobber, Baldric and Whoredoom, were appointed by their lord to control the main gate. They were drinking beer and playing dice when Gribb arrived to deliver the bandit's head. Dobber, undoubtedly the dumbest of the three, had taken the head - because the lord was asleep - and paid the mercenary for his service. When the mercenary requested to join their game he could not say no; for the game was more fun with four people. Baldric did not like that the mercenary was with them and did not trust him. But he was too drunk to even care. "So," Whoredoom shouted, after taking a huge sip. "Why do they call you The Vulture? Because you look like one?" He laughed and spewed his drink on the table. Gribb grinned. "Why do they call you Whoredoom?" Baldric responded with a hiccup: "Because wherever he goes, the whores run away." The men laughed as Whoredoom groaned. "You know why they call me that," he shrugged. "I bring their doom by fucking them senselessly." "Sure," Baldric said and stood up to refill his cup. Dobber looked at Gribb's daggers and the long bow on the ground besides him. The mercenary also had a rusty sword which he allegedly never used. "I know why they call you The Vulture," the bald dwarf finally said, still looking at the weapons. "You loot your enemies. You never pay for anything, do you? Not even your clothes?" Gribb took a sip from his cup and smirked. He liked the dwarves. "I must pay for something. I am a mercenary, am I not? I kill for money." He looked down at his clothes and added: "Even so, I must admit I did not pay for these." Whoredoom and Dobber laughed loudly. Baldric was just watching the mercenary with a solemn look. "How do you sleep at night, Vulture? I heard you murdered those farmers up the hill." Gribb chuckled . "I am a weapon, good dwarf. Does your axe have feelings? Does it cry at night when you smash it on someone's head?" Baldric played with his beard. He had contempt in his eyes. The mercenary should not have been welcomed. He took a sip and replied: "My axe does not swing itself. It is I, who swings it." Gribb raised his cup and smiled. It was not a pretty smile. "Then consider me as an axe. An expensive one, of course." He finished his drink and continued: "It is the man who pays me, that swings it. If someone pays me enough, I can kill your entire family, then come here and drink with you. Because it is not personal. Did I murder those farmers? Sure, I did. Did I feel bad about it? Maybe a little bit. But only when it is night and I put my daggers beside my bed. Because only then, I am not on duty. I only take responsibility for my actions when I am doing it for myself and so far, not even once, have I murdered someone for myself." Dobber moved on his chair uncomfortably. "What if someone asks you to kill a baby?" Gribb shrugged. "Then I would kill it. For the right price." There was a silence in the shed. Even Whoredoom did not have anything to say. When the silence was interrupted by a whoot of an owl, Dobber asked: "Would you feel bad about it?" Gribb replied by sighing: "Sure I would..." He stood up and stretched his arms. "Only at night, in my bed." Whoredoom laughed and Baldric cursed. When another whoot was heard Gribb smiled sadly. "I shall also feel bad tonight. Thank you for the beer." The mercenary drew his two daggers and stabbed Dobber and Whoredoom in their necks. Baldric jumped to get his axe but the mercenary pulled another dagger and threw it at the dwarf's back. Finally, he walked towards a lever and pulled it down. The gate was open and hundreds of bandits rushed to the castle from the forest. As the night was about to be filled by screams and agony, the mercenary walked towards Baldric's lifeless body and took his axe. It was a little heavy for him but it did not matter.


I couldn't remember how I got here, in this odd place. I stood in this gigantic room of a cavern, larger than I could see the other ends of. There was just this side that was behind me -- this ever-expanding wall of dull, grey rock, reaching up to a cavern ceiling that must've been hundreds of feet high. Where I was standing was this sort of shore made entirely of the same rock, which led out into a sea of black water, stretching out farther than I could see. "The River Styx." a monotone voice behind me announced. I had yelled out for a moment, as I thought no one else was with me. I yelled out again when I saw the horrific figure that had spoken. Taller than me by half my height (mind you, I am not short), he stood in a black robe that covered all but his face and hands. All four of his hands, for he had two pairs of arms, one coming from his shoulders and another below that, beginning halfway down his exceptionally long torso. And his face, such an unnerving face! Wholly expressionless, and with very little in the way of features. His face was like that of a mannequin's, but with these beady eyes. They were without life, reflecting nothing! "You have died, and it is my responsibility to ferry you across these waters," he gestured towards a rowboat with one of his arms. Death! I had died? Surely an eventuality, especially for someone of my age, but to think I was well and truly dead -- how awful! I sat down upon a convenient stone in my shock. I was dead. Dead. What had happened? My mind began to spin with all that I had left behind. Interrupting my terrified ruminations, the large and unearthly ferryman looked down at me and informed me, "The price to cross this river is two coins of gold." Gold!? I desperately searched my person, in a panic. Nothing! Nothing! Nothing! How obvious it was becoming that I had no gold on me. The creature, he stared at me with this inscrutably blank gaze. A second of awful silence had passed as I saw him looking at me with this gaze. Then another. I nearly broke down crying -- was I to be stuck here for all eternity simply for the misfortune of a lack of coin? "I-", I paused trying so hard to get the words out, dreading what I would be told, "I have none." Five more seconds he must have given me that same silent, untelling look. Then, a sigh, "It doesn't matter. Just get in." A great relief washed over me. It was enough that I had almost nearly forgotten of my own death. Hesitantly, I thanked this odd man for his kindness while he guided me to his boat. Laid in it were two large oars. The ferryman had picked up both, one in his left arms and one in his right arms, and then pushed us off into the void-like sea. Nearly had I placed my hand into it, when the ferryman seemed like deciding to warn me: "You'll lose your memories." Not nearly loud enough I tell you! Had I been less attentive, he would have already been much too late. I quickly pulled my hand back into the boat, and tried to keep myself completely at its center. I looked back as the shoreline receded into darkness. Odd that I could see so far with no light, but perhaps this was the nature of the place I was in. Where was I then? "So," I began, speaking to the only other person in the boat, "where have I gone then? Is this, well you know... Hell?" I waited for a response, but he did not reply. I asked again, a bit more loudly -- perhaps ferrymen of the underworld were hard of hearing. For a second it seemed as though he was looking at me with defeat, as he replied, "No, this isn't Hell." I almost got around to asking just where I was, having gotten to opening my mouth when he continued that, "This is Hades. If you wish to know your fate you'll have to ask your judge, not your ferryman." It seemed to me as if the man preferred his silence, so I decided to oblige. The two of us had sat there in silence for what must have been one or two hours, the only sound being that psychopomp's rowing. I began worrying of my mortality. Had I been a good enough person? What was I guilty of? Such questions were becoming heavy on my mind. I noticed then that the rowing had stopped, and yet, as I had been paying close attention to, there was no land in sight. "Ferryman, what is happening?" There was this dejection in his voice as he said, so simply, "I do not feel like rowing anymore." A second passed as I gained the sense to reply: "What?" He sat down, as tall as I was, were I standing, "I do not want to row anymore." What the hell did this man mean he didn't want to row anymore? "So, we're taking a break then?" "Hm? No. I am not rowing anymore. I see no point in it." I was speechless for a good few seconds. What inanity! "But... It's your job! What am I supposed to do now?" The ferryman thought for a moment, and replied, "You can row yourself." He tossed the oars towards me. I was not ready to catch them, and they collided against me. The one to my right began slipping into the sea! I madly lunged at it, frantically trying to catch the damned thing before it fell in. Now laying, my hands managed to clasp around the handle of the oar. I felt something pushing against my leg. In my haste, I had jolted the left oar to begin falling in as well. With a desperate quickness I brought my leg over the oar and then pinned it down against the floor of the rowboat. My breath was ragged from the sudden effort, but I was still ready to scream at the madman. But before I could, he said, and in such a terribly bored tone, "Hmm. That was a close one." and laid down, resting his head over the end of the ship to look at the cavern ceiling. That bastard! I pulled both oars in the boat, and began processing all the madness that just happened with a great ire. That careless bastard! I still held one of the oars in my hands. I stood. I felt a bead of sweat drip from my cheek. I placed a foot over the handle of the other oar. He looked from the ceiling at me as the boat rocked from my standing, unimpressed. I yelled, with all the menace in my voice that I could muster, "I'll push you off!" My teeth ground into one another. He leaned up to sit, meeting me at eye level, "That will not work like you think it will." His face betrayed no sign of being intimidated. He was not even cockily amused! The damn creepy stoic! "Even if you were to throw me off and row away, you wouldn't be let through the gates without a ferryman." Before I could even consider a reply, he leaned his head back again. A minute passed, when I finally came to the decision that he probably wasn't bluffing. Angry and humiliated, I began rowing. I had to alternate sides for each time I rowed the boat, since I could not hold both the oars at once. It did not escape me that this meant I had even more embarrassed myself for making such an attempt to save both oars. After a few minutes had passed, I swallowed my pride and asked the ferryman -- no, the passenger -- if my heading was correct. This time not even looking at me, he replied, "Probably. I haven't been paying much attention to be honest." GOD DAMNIT! After cursing him out, I resumed rowing. It was all I could do, wasn't it? Hours and hours passed of this exhausting, mind-achingly boring rowing, when finally -- finally! -- I spotted land! And from the land rose a great wall, and within it, a giant gate stood. I really had been going the right way! "Yes!" I exclaimed. "That's it, right? That has to be it!" The passenger tilted his head back even further, such that he was viewing the structure upside-down, and after a moment of contemplation, decided that, "Yes. That should be it." He leaned up and stood, turning around to face it. I began putting much more effort into my rowing, exhausted though I was, when I heard him thinking out loud, "Hmmm, if you make it there, then they'll have me go back and pick someone else up. And I can't imagine that you wouldn't try to get me into trouble." He turned back toward me. As he took a step towards me, I took one back. The boat tilted towards my end slightly. "What-what are you doing," I asked. He reached out towards me with both his right arms and pushed me off. My leg struck the edge of the boat as I fell off screaming into the River Styx. I surface, not knowing where I am anymore. I find myself wading in this strange black sea… I don’t know where I am. I find myself wading in this strange black sea… I don’t know where I am.


I’d been pacing for hours, it felt like. If no one looked too hard I probably looked distraught. My bright red hands were evidence of all the hand wringing I’d been doing in the dingy ER waiting room. I would be distraught, anyway, if my luck turned... I could either be off the job and have some easy money, free and clear, or I was going to have to cancel my plans for Belize. “Mr. Hardin?” I whirled to the source of the voice and was faced with a tired looking woman in scrubs. If I were a betting man I would’ve bet she cleaned up real nice when she wasn’t tits deep in ER patients. “I’m Doctor Williams, I’m the attending physician this evening. I understand you’re the patient’s brother?” *This should be good.* With the most anguished expression I could muster, I nodded. “Yeah, uhhh,... I’m sorry, I’m just really broken up about what happened. Can you tell me how he’s doing?” The doctor gestured to one of the lobby chairs. “If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat?” Actually I minded a lot. The last place I wanted to be was an ER waiting room when cops came sniffing around for family members. I adjusted my hat again like I was trying to settle myself, keeping my face pointed towards the floor. Dr Williams sat close, closer than I liked anyone to sit next to me, even if she was hot. *The sooner I can get out of here and confirm, the better.* I hate hospitals. And doctors. We're in a symbiotic relationship really, I bag ‘em, they tag ‘em, but no one needs to know I'm the one doing the bagging. No one except my boss’s boss. How else would I pay for that sweet first-class flight to Belize? “Mr Hardin, your brother’s accident was very severe in nature. Have you spoken to the officer handling his accident?” I nodded, even though one sight of a cop’s face would have me slipping out the back doors. *No cops. No need to talk to them.* My hands threatened to sweat just thinking about it. “They said it was real bad,” I lied. “Your brother sustained injuries that honestly it’s a miracle he made it to the hospital alive.” *Shit. Alive? So close.* Not that I had anything to do with the twisted way fate dropped my mark before I could get within sniping distance of him. I was just that lucky. *Was.* Maybe my luck had run out, if the bastard lived. Unconsciously my hands started their wringing again. I nearly stopped, but then thought better of it. I’m distraught, remember? “Can you do anything for him, doc? When can I see uhhh.. Frank?” The doc didn’t answer me. That’s when I noticed *her* hands, tightening and releasing back and forth. I snuck a view up to her face again, now all worry and a penciled-in furrowed brow. *Maybe it really is my lucky day.* “Doc?” “I’m very sorry, Mr Hardin….” No one ever tells you that acting is a big part of being an assassin. Not that anyone ever condones doing close-quarter hits, but sometimes it’s just part of the job. Fake name, fake ID, fake brother, real big paycheck. Ya just gotta turn on the waterworks. Three, two, one… “Oh god!” I choked out. “Oh, Frank!” Her hand touched my shoulder sympathetically. “I’m so very sorry, sir. We did all we could.” “Jesus, Frank! My favorite brother!” I buried my face in my hands, workin’ up some real good sobs while thinking of the tragedy that Ronald Reagan wasn’t still in the White House. “The nurse will be out soon if you’d like to say goodbye. Again, I’m so sorry. You have my deepest condolences.” Through my hands I saw her feet shuffle off quickly. *Thank god.* As soon as she was out of view I did the thing I’d been looking forward to doing for hours. Phone. Text message inbox. Recent contacts. One word. “Confirmed.” And then the second next thing I’d been looking forward to doing. Phone. Text messages. Settings. Customize auto-away message. *“I will be back in the office May 15th, please forward all requests to the regional office manager, Frank Hardin.


“You have the ability to achieve great things, Cody. This is why I’ve chosen you to help save the Fading Vale.” He listened to the ham radio and sat with his mouth open. The voice started the day before, calling out his name from the small speaker. He didn’t respond but after hearing the panic-stricken voice say his own name he was forced to reconsider. Cody had considered just turning it off and pulling out his dusty console but the radio kept calling to him, especially when the voice sounded so desperate. He waited several minutes, hunched over at the table in the garage, for another crackling message but there was only static. The older man didn’t sound like anyone he knew and he spoke as if he were in a fantasy novel, talking about a “corruption that plagued the land.” The boy placed his finger on the off switch when he considered the first words that were spoken on the channel. The older man’s tone was filled with desperation and sadness, “I know you can hear me. Our time is drawing nigh. You must take heed. Our world is fading and soon yours will too. The magic of the Vale is diminishing. I have traveled across all planes of existence–” Static had interrupted and flooded the channel. At first, he was weirded out by the message, backing away slowly and going back to his room. It was a little bit creepy and somewhat odd. But he found it much more curious when he returned the next day with a notepad. His father wouldn’t notice it missing. He was too busy to even notice him when he was there, sitting on his chair in the living room and watching a game. Cody had sat at the workbench all day waiting for another transmission. He was slumped over with his hand on his cheek when the static popped and he perked up. “–must find them all. Grand Wizard — The Helm of Shadows has given me the ability to see into the great beyond and instill objects in your realm with magic.” This time the voice was choked with lumps. “Woe to our kingdom, woe to the valiant and to our peoples if you should fail. The sacred objects have been transmuted from my world to yours, to open a portal into our world. Only a person pure of heart can use them and I’m afraid there are no more in mine. Seek them out and bring them together.” The man then spoke his own name and the boy stood back, mouth agape. A line of ink on the paper showed where he had stopped writing and scrawled across the page. The last word was “the Fading Vale.” What did it mean? It couldn’t possibly be a real place. It reminded him of a fictional land only existing in fairy tales. He wanted to chuckle but the pronunciation of his name was too eerie. Before he could turn off the radio the elderly man spoke behind a wall of static, “-objects may seem trivial but they are very important. I have imbued them with the five facets of existence: physical, emotional, social, spiritual, and intellectual. These can be found near–” More static. “You’ll know– when– them.” He adjusted the knobs and pressed the speaker on the mic. He remembered the lingo his dad taught him, “Come in, this is Cody. Come in. Do you hear me?” When he received nothing back, he held his head in defeat and stared at the words. “Five facets of existence.” He said aloud. What did he mean? It was rather silly to belief in such fairy tales, especially when he was taught to never talk to strangers. There had to be some way to figure out if any of it was true. What was the harm in trying to find out? His father called from the kitchen, making him jerk. He’d ask Cody what he was doing and had the same reason, “playing with the radio,” which was the truth. It wasn’t like he would care. Rules, even if they were for his own protection, were meant to be broken. He made it into a game. Find the secret artifacts and save the Fading Vale. Real life was better than video games anyways. He looked around the garage, a room filled with tools and gadgets he didn’t fully understand. It was like a sorcerer’s lab, with racks for wands (screwdrivers) and containers of mystery. Surely if the wizard enchanted some random object it would have some importance to himself. It would have meaning. A box was sitting near the back door marked “Toys.” He pulled it out and opened the lid, furiously digging through the contents. All the toys brought back tearful memories of regret. His 10th birthday present, just last year, a small basketball, was sitting near the top. When he held it, he had nearly forgotten about the hours he spent throwing it at the hoop in the back. He bounced the ball, not as springy as it used to be, and rubbed his finger over the dirt spot on the side. It did feel like an artifact from a bygone era, a physical artifact. He set the ball on the workbench, having a new appreciation for the lost item. There was a smile across his face. He ran to his room, eager to uncover the secrets that had been forgotten. The dusty gaming console was sitting under the TV in his room. Nothing good had ever come from this except frustration. He looked around the mess, his clothes and blankets were jumbled together on the bed. There had to be something here of importance. Crouching he pulled things from under his bed, quickly rummaging through the unsung posters and toys. Each of the toys didn’t feel like they had magic properties. He didn’t know how he could tell but they somehow felt empty. He turned to the closet and noticed the collections of chains and necklaces. One of them did stick out, the necklace with the shark tooth. They had been at the beach when he got it, the sand was hot and the wind was warm that day. It had been one of his happiest family moments. He sat on the sand for hours, taking in the nice weather and meditating on the waves that crashed against the shore. The shark tooth dangled when he put on the necklace. He placed his palm over it, feeling a connection in his soul that steered him towards his desk. A composition notebook, with sketches and loose papers crammed inside, was sitting upright between several other books. He took it out and all the papers fell out. He cursed but then saw the notes that he had written in the open pages. They were from his math class. He flipped the page and saw notes from science class, and then drawings he made in art. It was all here, all of the things that he was supposed to know, all the knowledge passed down from his teachers. In the margins he had written his own interpretations and daydreams of the lessons from school. If there was anything in his room that was importance this would definitely be one of them, an “artifact.” There was a note on one page that not written by himself. It was written by his best friend, Stevie. In class they had shared a lot of things like pens, papers, and notes during a quiz but the thing that had brought them together in the first place was when he let him have a piece of gum. He pulled the gum pack from the jacket laying on the bed and held it up. This is what had brought them together and a tool he could use the break the ice to make other friends. The package glimmered in the light. He walked to the kitchen after giving up on searching his room for any other “magical” auras. He thought he heard his dad’s voice from the living room but he wasn’t there. He walked to the counter where he had left his pocket watch. It had elaborate engravings and when he popped it open, he saw his father’s initials. Instantly he lowered the watch and his eyes glossed over, to know that anyone, let alone his father, would give away something so personal. All the shame, guilt, and intimidation for doing bad things went away. He clutched it to his chest, feeling his father’s love, and that perhaps he wasn’t just the bad things and that he was a good son after all. If he saw him crying though, he would throw a fit. He put the watch in his pocket and went to the garage. As he laid the objects out in a row, he saw the meanings of them all at once and almost did cry if not for the absurdity of it. The wizard of the Fading Vale would be pleased, if he wasn’t consumed by the corruption already. But as he stared at the objects, he wasn’t sure how they were supposed to work together. The ball, the pack of gum, the journal, the pocket watch, the necklace, were they supposed to be combined? The radio was static. Maybe he had failed. Maybe the magical universe was gone forever. But then he heard rumbling near the garage door. A burst of light seeped in as the grumbling came louder, followed by the mechanical sound of the creaking door, being opened from the other side. When he moved his hand from his face, he saw his father standing there with a look of surprise. The door was fully open now and the sun was shining in. “Oh, hey kiddo. What are you up to?” Said his father. Cody smiled from ear to ear and said nothing. His father picked up the small basketball. He stared at his son with a look of playfulness, something Cody hadn’t seen in a while, and handed the ball to him. “You want to toss it around?” “Sure dad,” said Cody, turning off the radio. As they left the garage through the back a gust shuffled the leaves around the garage opening. A booted foot stepped out of midair, followed by a wooden staff that clattered on the driveway.


"It's just yesterday. What's the worst that could happen?" I shook my head with a smile as I reached cautiously towards the time machine sitting on the table. Next to me, Rex gasped and grabbed my arm. "Wait! But what if you like, mess up the space time continuum and cause the apocalypse or something?", he asked, eyes wide. I suppose I couldn't blame him for being scared. I probably would have been too, if my judgment wasn't clouded by one thing. "Please. That sort of thing only happens in movies", I scoffed. "I have a plan. It'll be fine". Though my voice was filled with bravado, even I felt a small chill creep down my spine, but I pushed it out of my mind as I ignored Rex's words and pushed one of the buttons. With an otherworldly sound that seemed almost like an angelic mixture of a jingle and a zap, the machine blinked to life, sparks flickering off the wires, and colored buttons flashing. Rex and I watched, wide-eyed. Even as Rex's nails dug into my arm painfully in fear, I punched a few buttons, and WHOOSH! There I was. Just yesterday, like I said. With the faintest of thuds, I landed in my own hallway, the day before, at noon. I'd been cursing my foolishness ever since. I was working on an important research project, and my sleep-deprived brain, exhausted from yet another night at the lab, was on coffee number ten. I hated coffee. I rarely drank the stuff. Oh, why, WHY hadn't I just accepted my limits and taken a nap instead? Oh well. You know what they say about hindsight... In my sleepy stupor, I'd managed to take a sip, and both spill it and choke on it at the same time. The immediate searing pain of hot coffee all over my boobs, immediately followed by the exponentially worse mental pain of seeing my laptop, which contained months of research and writing, that I'd just spit coffee all over, die. I thought my life was over. Then we found it. My saving grace. I'd seen the movies and read the books. I knew it was risky. I knew you couldn't let yourself see yourself. I didn't even want anything complicated. I'm not one of those dicks with a hero complex who felt the need to go meddle with history or anything. I knew if I tried to go back and kill Hitler, I'd fuck it up. But come on, nothing major was riding on my failure. Which is what I'd be if I didn't fix this. I'd already planned it through. Hearing the sound of the chair creaking from the kitchen, I knew yesterday's me was getting up to go get that fateful cup of coffee. I crept down the hall and stuck a foot out, just in time to trip myself as I walked back towards my work table, holding the cup of coffee that would have been my poor laptop's downfall. Yesterday me tumbles to the floor with a cry, and the hot coffee splatters harmlessly to the floor. As the WHOOSH begins to sweep me back to the present, and I'm pumping my fist in victory, I see a bruise has now appeared on my knee. Hah. Small price to pay! ... THUD! I land on my knees, and they immediately sink. What the fuck is wrong with my living room carpet, I found myself wondering as I awkwardly blinked. I shielded my eyes. It was awfully bright... "Rex, can you close the curtains? And did you turn the heat up while I was gone? I'm melting here..." BOOM! It was a small explosion, but I was thrown onto my back. All around me was nothing but rock and sand, with fires burning in the distance. The smell of sulfur pierced my nose. Was that... screaming in the distance?! For a moment, I was shellshocked. This couldn't be real. It didn't sink in until I saw the source of the screaming. It was Rex, and he was being chased by some sort of feathered, horrific, lizard-creature, waving what appeared to be an iPhone that was shooting fire. Rex screamed even louder as the monster closed in. His screaming was finally loud enough for me to make out the words.


For though I am strong And though I am not sad Sometimes all must pause And leave their souls to cry \- Austin Zalewski I could see that Dr. Paul Ostrander was perfectly happy. He had been that way since Winnetka in the ‘80s, thrilled to be Watson or Samwise Gamgee when our enemies would march up the beach (yet he played Batman with equal passion). Now I could see that he was happy from small to large, from enjoying a gratifying existence to admiring the waves’ quiet murmur at low tide. He was only slightly above average in most aspects of his life, but in the aggregate, far superior: confidently humble; his jaw not quite chiseled enough to catch a wandering eye, but able to keep one there once it arrives of its own accord; outspoken so as to encourage others to speak out themselves; more money than that necessary to enjoy life, yet not enough to indulge; having traveled and knowing the world, while still finding equally captivating beauty in Beverly, Massachusetts. He found mirroring Toni Morrison’s attention to fundamental human emotion – ascertaining, articulating, applying – to bring his life a particular and diverse focus. Ostrander found joy in, and gave joy to, his work. Endicott College students found him exceptionally enlightening, yet struggled to express the cause; it seemed clear that their skills improved throughout the course, yet correspondingly unclear how he would guide them to this result. Just one passage from Beloved illuminated his teaching philosophy, however: “Sweet, crazy conversations full of half sentences, daydreams and misunderstandings more thrilling than understanding could ever be.” It delighted him to sit amongst his pupils, watching the sun bend through the water on his desk and alight on a puzzled expression. Like many he found joy in love, but his was twofold – the corporeal one premeditated by Sula and the one for the text itself. He relished hot summer afternoons on the porch, sitting quietly next to her and admiring the beads of delicate sweat on her upper lip. He loved expecting to love her, he loved growing to love her, and he especially loved loving her – the unusually rewarding journey marked by “pleasant anticipation, like when you know you are going to fall in love with someone and you wait for the happy signs.” It was impossible to distinguish his love for her from his love for how the words predicted his love for her – assessing whether he adored reality or the intangible was irrelevant because they were interchangeable. A dynamic equilibrium. He found augmented joy in friendship; every conversation, every touch, every tear struck his core just as did Nel’s reunion with Sula…“It had been the longest time since she had had a rib-scraping laugh. She had forgotten how deep and down it could be.” With such delicacy Morrison gave life to that inexpressible feeling! He likened Stephen’s deep baritone over the phone to the surf’s slow, persistent rolling at dusk; circling round and round his ear and with each turn quieting his mind until only he and Stephen remained. Even his friends’ most arbitrary gestures revealed to him their particular literary beauty – how lucky he was to experience dual realities! They would go down to Boston some weekends when the weather was warm. Anna would have been 8 or so at that time, I think. Around the age when you still experience dual realities from your own experience – direct sensory perception contrasting with imaginative interpretation. The three of them, Ostrander, Anna, and she savored the feeling of grass between their toes as they gazed at the sky, bordered by the trees, bordered by the buildings. How could he be so blissfully happy? Ostrander left them there to enjoy the view one of those afternoons to walk down the path to the harbor. The ships waited patiently in the murky water – the sky so clear that day that they probably didn’t mind stopping to admire it either. He watched some water drip down the side of the railing for a while, concurrently sustaining the color of the black iron and glinting in the sun, then matched it in size and shape with his own salty tear. He let more draw out of him to mingle with the languid breeze and the mist on his face. He gripped the metal beneath his palms and felt aware that the waves of his sadness started beyond the fishing boats on the horizon. Then he sobbed, a timbre like Nel’s yet lacking the notes of oppression and loss: “It was a fine cry -- loud and long -- but it had no bottom and no top, just circles and circles of sorrow.


The light had become too bright to ignore. He tried rolling away from the source, but there was no helping it; he was awake. He had hoped to sleep in on his day off. It was only 15 minutes after his usual wake-up time. He looked at the clock, rolled onto his back, and, unwilling to concede defeat, resolved to stare at the ceiling until he was ready to start the day. After an indeterminate amount of time, there was a knock on the door to his apartment. “Redge, you ready for skivvy”? It was his neighbor, Tinir, an elf who he played board games with. Redge had forgotten that he agreed to play a new game some days prior. Now he was debating on whether to honor the commitment or feign sleep a while longer. In the end, his conscience won out. “Yeah, yeah. Just need five minutes,” He sat up and let out a heavy sigh. He then clumsily threw on his clothes and went out to meet his neighbor in the hallway. It was obvious from his disheveled appearance and lethargy that he had just woken up. Tinir apologized. “No, no, I was just about to get up anyway. Besides, I did tell you 8 o’clock didn’t I? ...do you mind if we play in the dining hall? I haven’t eaten breakfast yet.” The two made their way down to the building's dining area. They made quite the pair. Tinir (7’6”) was tall even by Elven standards. He towered over Redge who was not quite 6’, closer to the average of his race. Tinir had dark skin, hair, and eyes. In contrast, Redge had fair features. Tinir set up the board while Redge got his food. Skivvy was a relatively new game. Its name came from the goblin word for “traitor”. Both players received an army of pieces with which to conquer the board. What made it unique was that each player would mark the bottom of two of their opponent’s pieces while the other looked away. At the start of each round, they would roll one die. If the dice matched, they could activate a marked piece, taking full control of it. A player might guess which pieces were traitors by their opponents' reluctance to attack them. One might even preemptively destroy their own piece if their suspicion were great enough. Redge sat down. After having the rules explained to him, he judged that Tinir was too straightforward to be good at this kind of game. And he was quickly vindicated when he won their first match handily. During the second, however, Redge had become distracted by the conversation of an adjacent table. Two women were discussing rumors of a murder that had occured the previous night. “They say it was an orc. Tore him clean in half. No sign of the girl.” “Rose, please! Spare me the details, I’m trying to eat here.” “I’m sorry, it’s just… I’m scared. The orcs seem to be really getting out of hand. This is what? The third incident this month? These things never happened back home.” “You’re overreacting. Look, there’s one over there,” her eyes gestured to a table across the room where an orc and human were conversing. Just then, the conversation turned to jovial laughter. “See. Completely harmless. And don’t you think they have enough trouble without all these rumors? After all, they lost their home and way of life when...” “hey Redge, Redge, REDGE,” Redge snapped back to the game in front of him. “It’s your turn.” “Ah, sorry.” He lost the match.


Patient Z had been diagnosed with schizophrenia accompanied by paranoid delusions. What made him unusual was that his delusions seemed to be contagious. Several other mental health professionals had come to share some aspects of the patient's psychosis after interacting with him. To avoid preconceptions I had only studied observations of his behavior, rather than diagnostic sessions. When the orderlies brought him into my office, they allowed him to enter by sliding with his back along the walls. We had placed his chair against the wall and positioned my desk facing his chair. Once seated, he seemed calm and rational, though his eyes indicated a lack of sleep. "Good morning, Mr. Z. How are you today?" "As usual, doctor. And you?" "I'm fine." I looked down at my notes. "Do you know why I'm here?" "You want to ask me questions. To find out what's wrong with me." He looked at me. He was able to make eye contact but not sustain it, his gaze frequently flicking up and over my head or shoulder. I made a note. "You either won't believe my answers, or wish you didn't." "I'm prepared to listen to you with an open mind, Mr. Z." He stared at me for a long moment. "I'll tell you what you want to know. Why not? Don't say I didn't warn you." "Would you like to tell me what's going on in your own words?" He looked over my shoulder organising his thoughts. The he looked down and met my gaze. "Have you ever heard of P.T.?" "Do you mean 'physical therapy?'" "In this case, 'P.T.' stands for 'playable teaser.' It was a demo released by Konami for an upcoming video game in 2014. It was wildly popular but was withdrawn from circulation some six months later." I made a note. "If it was so popular, why did Konami withdraw it?" "The official reason was that the game's creator, Hideo Kojima, had a falling out with Konami." "That's not the real reason?" Z paused for a long minute. "Point of no return, doctor. Do you really want to know?" "Of course, Mr. Z." "OK. It's on your head." I waited for him to continue. "What you have to understand, doctor, is that playing this demo is profoundly disturbing. As you play you are stalked by a ghost or creature named 'Lisa.' Data miners discovered that Lisa is always behind you, though you can't see her. Eventually you get hints that she's following you around. Shadows and noises, sound effects …" He trailed off, staring upward with haunted eyes. "Mr. Z?" He seemed to recover his composure. "Sorry doctor. Anyway, the lucky players, the smart players … stopped playing. The others …" Again, I waited. "The unlucky players found that their perceptions had been … heightened. They began to see things. In reality. Things children sometimes see but stop seeing as they age. Do remember seeing the boogeyman as a child, doctor?" A shadow seemed to fall over him. It's not beneficial to engage patients in their delusions, but he had struck a chord. "Yes. It had empty eye sockets and …" "Purple hair. It is a creature of unspeakable horror." He swallowed, and again he looked over my head. "It's standing right behind you, doctor." I felt a chill down my back, and the hair stood up on my neck. I carefully rolled my chair to the wall behind me, all the while dreading that I would bump into the thing behind me. Never to be safe again.