Abandoning his 20-year-old sports car which suffered from a serious oil leak at the San Francisco International Airport was Jeff’s first real step outside his home town. He decided to embark on a flight to the capital of America’s last frontier, a city which he researched years ago during a grade school homework assignment. After paying cash for his one-way ticket, he could only count on what remained in his wallet, a mere five hundred dollars. This freedom to get away from it all unfolded only after the brute realization that he and Maria were just no longer good for one another. Breaking up spontaneously like this was a numinous experience, a liberation he had never dreamed of before. At the same time, it was heart-wrenching to admit that love was not enough to overcome the insurmountable differences arising between two young persons so attracted to one another. If only Maria had taken to heart the sound advice of first lady Nancy Reagan: “just say no”, they might have been able to weather the storm together. The first leg of the trip landed at Seattle where Jeff was to benefit from a blessing in disguise. You see, the airline was offering a free round-trip ticket voucher to anyone who would volunteer to give up their seat on the now overbooked connecting flight. Jeff, in no rush and who was just now embarking on this uncharted adventure, accepted the incentive to continue to his destination on a later flight scheduled to leave in just a few hours more! It was a late August Sunday afternoon when the aircraft’s pilot performed the expected smooth landing at Juneau International Airport. Because of the State of Alaska’s northerly position on the globe, the sun was still very high in the sky this time of year. Jeff travelled light this day, not having even brought his toothbrush. The total of eight hours in the sky had now taken him 1,500 miles from home. Jeff was the first person off the plane to summon a taxi, which took him downtown during an economical 15-minute fare. The foremost thing on Jeff’s mind was to rent a room for the night. And before his money ran out, he would need to quickly find work somewhere or other. Having not researched the local accommodations beforehand and without having the energy to run around town aimlessly, Jeff checked into the first place he found, The Alaskan Hotel. This well-preserved Victorian building on South Franklin Street was erected during the Alaska Gold Rush and would have to make do for now. After purchasing a few bathroom items at the pharmacy and grabbing a bite to eat, Jeff called it a day. The bed, linens, and furnishings appeared to be newish and plenty comfortable. After breakfast on Monday morning, Jeff took a short walk to the local branch of the state employment service. His last job was making deliveries of cash to commercial banks via an armored truck. When Jeff spied a job announcement of “bank teller” posted on the bulletin board, it naturally caught his attention. Jeff’s Great-aunt Gertrude had tutored him in arithmetic even before kindergarten, so Jeff felt he had the skill set and integrity necessary to work efficiently and correctly with any and all financial transactions. He filled out the appropriate form to discuss his interest in that work offer with an office staff employee. After a brief wait, arrangements were made over the telephone with Doug, the credit union manager, to interview Jeff the following day. As he checked out of his hotel room, Jeff had faith that things were already looking up for him here in Juneau. But before he left, he asked the front desk clerk if, by any chance, the hotel offered a weekly rate for a longer stay? The answer was “no”, but the same gentleman suggested Jeff might have better luck at another place just around the corner. Jeff headed right over to the Imperial Bar on Front Street. The Imperial, established in 1891, was known as the oldest operating bar in the State of Alaska. When Jeff introduced himself to Sandy, the bartender, he was not yet aware of the history of the structure and its business reputation as a dive bar. Sandy explained to Jeff that the two upper stories of the building were rooms for rent. The only room available at the moment had plumbing installed only to accommodate a small wash basin. Any resident living there would need to share a shower and toilet located in the hall. When Jeff found the rate was less than a hundred dollars a week, he made arrangements with Sandy to move right in! The deal for the room was completed about noontime. Before Jeff could even walk upstairs to inspect his new home, one of the few local gals in the bar offered to buy him a beer. Jeff was both surprised and suspicious at the offer, but politely accepted the come-on. Jeff soon forgot whatever chit-chat took place between them while sipping his drink. But he will never forget what happened in the end. When the conversation concluded, the girl’s true intentions came to light when she asked Jeff for cab fare. Jeff did not want to upset the natives, so he gave the lady a twenty dollar bill. She left (never to be seen from again). That turned out to be a pretty expensive beer after all! At the time, Jeff did not recognize the bartender or his new “drinking partner” as native Alaskans of the Tlingit tribe. Later he would learn they are well-known for their woodworking skills, especially with respect for carving the legendary local totem poles. Jeff found his bare room had no refrigerator, kitchen, or microwave; furnished with only a bed and a chair. For the moment, he could not afford any more restaurant meals either. He walked over to the local “Super Bear” market on Mendenhall Mall Road to find some items to eat that he could store without refrigeration. He decided on some baby food in the glass jars with the twist-off lids and soda crackers. Then he purchased a new pair of slacks, shirt, and tie to wear for his job interview the following day. Tuesday’s interview with the manager and assistant manager (Cindy) at the credit union could not have gone better. Jeff was asked to report for work and training the following day (Wednesday). Jeff’s room had no television or telephone, so after the interview he walked over to the public library on Marine Way to do some reading. During this first visit he picked up the newspaper and looked over a few magazines. In the coming weeks, he would take some books back to his room to read during the evening hours. The first day training as a bank teller was stressful. Leif, the young man (head teller) performing the orientation was charming and easy going. By the way, Leif is a Norse name meaning “heir” or “descendant”. The pleasant credit union members were all Alaska State employees who worked in the large government building across the street on Willoughby Avenue. Thanks be to God, by the time Jeff’s cash on hand had run out, it was payday! Jeff was taken aback the first time he encountered a black bear roaming a downtown street at night. He was informed this species of bear were rather small and habitually raided the garbage cans while leaving the human population alone. Nonetheless, Jeff wanted nothing to do with this aspect of summer Juneau “nightlife”. Fortunately, the larger and more unpredictable brown bears reside on nearby Admiralty Island. When his fellow co-workers at the credit union discussed seeing the Aurora Borealis the evening before, Jeff felt left out of the exciting conversation. His room at the Imperial had a window, but it lacked a view of the skyline. Regardless, it might be difficult to see the Northern Lights clearly from downtown thanks to the bright street lights. The second month in Juneau, a larger room which included a small kitchen and a private bath became available just down the hall at the sane Imperial Bar. Jeff was ready and willing to pay a higher weekly rate for more amenable lodgings and moved right over. Sometime later, one weekend afternoon, Jeff heard a loud rustling sound coming from another room down the hall. He walked over to investigate. The noise was due to a lady cleaning out the inside of the room with a snow shovel. However, the room was not filled with snow. The room was filled with hundreds, maybe thousands of empty beer cans! Every square inch of floor space was covered in aluminum beer cans to a height of a foot or so. The bathtub was filled with empty cans also. How could anyone walk, let alone live, under such conditions? Safe to say the last resident living there had a drinking problem. Utilities were included in the rooms rented at the Imperial. Winters were the most uncomfortable time of the year indoors, but not for the reason you may be thinking. It was actually so warm inside that Jeff had to leave a window partially open even in the month of December. You see, individual rooms did not have a thermostat and it seemed the heating system (wherever it was controlled) was constantly in operation during cold spells. What happened to the voucher Jeff had been given from the airline for a free round trip anywhere the airline serviced? Well, Jeff flew back home to California on vacation without having given any prior notice to his family. They had no clue of his upcoming visit. When he walked in the door to see his parents, they were in for a shocking, but sweet surprise! Back in Juneau, eventually a family on the uppermost floor of the Imperial who lived in the largest room in the building was planning to move on. They offered this “penthouse suite” to Jeff, who would have been amiss not to accept such an opportunity to upgrade. Not luxurious by any definition of the term, but the most spacious room available nonetheless. Another increase in rent was required, but still well within Jeff’s budget. Jeff’s four years living in Juneau became an exploit of sorts and a pleasure. Not everyone is willing to fly to Alaska on a whim with literally just the clothes on their back. But then again, thirty-five years ago it was a whole different world we lived in. Even today, in order to insure a successful relocation in a faraway place, it’s best to bring plenty of ambition, confidence, and adaptability rather than just pack a suitcase full of garments and bathroom necessities.


“You’re a very brave young woman,” Mr. Weiss told me. “Babysitting alone under the current circumstances.” “What circumstances?” I asked. “Well, you know. I’m sure you’ve heard of the maniac who escaped from the asylum last night.” My eyes widened, and it felt as if most of the organs in my thorax had suddenly vanished. Many words could be used to describe me, but brave did not fall into that category. I stood motionless in absolute terror until his wife burst out laughing. “You poor thing,” Mrs. Weiss chuckled. “He’s messing with you of course. There’s no asylum anywhere near Wellington Hills.” The couple reveled in my panic for what seemed like an eternity, cackling heartily as I made every effort not to lash out at them violently. Good thing their daughter was sitting in the living room with us, forcing me by her presence to watch my language. “You really got me there,” I said, faking the shadow of a smile. “I do get scared quite easily. My big brother told me too many babysitter legends when I was younger.” “Big brothers,” sighed Mr. Weiss. “Aren’t they the worst? Caroline’s brother couldn’t even sacrifice his social life for one night to watch over little Sybill.” “Stop it Peter,” said Mrs. Weiss. “My brother babysat tons of time before, it’s about time we actually pay someone to watch over her. Sybill is at that age where girls can be a tad difficult sometimes, aren’t you darling?” Little Sybill sat completely still, her face unreadable. She must have been around eight years old, I thought. Something felt off about her. This was my first time in the Weiss residence, and the kid hadn’t said a single word since my arrival, remaining perfectly steady in the living room couch. The family lived in a vast, spacious home – a manor, really – with long halls and a majestic marble staircase that curved and circled the open second floor. In my babysitting experience, eight-year-old children rarely acted difficult. If anything, most would have been running around such a house ecstatically at all times, turning it into one big playground. Had my parents been able to afford a place like this, my babysitter would definitely have found me swinging from the chandelier. “Alright, time for us to go,” said Mr. Weiss. He got up from his white leather armchair and walked over to his daughter, the orange glow from the fireplace dancing across his face. “Promise me you’ll behave with Lexie, my little darling. Dad is counting on you. Remember what happens to little girls who cry wolf.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Goodbye daddy,” said Sybill in a soft voice. I heard a hint of tremor escaping her throat. In no way did she seem difficult, quite the contrary. It was a tremor of anxiety mixed with an otherwise sweet voice. “What about me?” asked Mrs. Weiss. “Goodbye,” added Sybill, her voice growing colder. Her mother frowned, prompting her to complete the sentence. “Goodbye mommy.” Mr. and Mrs. Weiss moved into the atrium. Minutes later, I heard the entrance door closing. Sybill and I were now alone. “Would you like to play a game?” I asked her with the cheerfulness expected from first-time babysitters. “I brought Monopoly.” “No.” I had apparently overestimated the popularity of property transaction games with young kids. At first, I assumed this was the attitude her mother had warned me about, but the more I looked into her eyes, the more I got the impression Sybill just did not trust me. “How about video games? Your father told me you liked Mario.” “No.” “There must be something you’d like to do. What’s your favorite game?” “I don’t have one.” “Everybody has one.” She stopped replying and avoided further eye contact. “Okay,” I said, increasingly desperate. “We can watch TV for now. Hopefully there are no escapees from the asylum on the news. Let me know if ever you want to talk, we can also just have a chat.” The reference to my frightful episode did not amuse her. I turned on the TV and resolved to watch it in silence. At the very least, the news anchor’s voice dissipated the tension and gave both of us the opportunity to stop pretending like we had to interact. We waited diligently until the end of the newscast, faking passion for world politics. “Done,” I said. “Time for bed now. Thankfully, no dangerous prisoners on the loose. Your mom won’t get to laugh at me again tonight.” “She’s not my mom.” I muted the TV. The silence had now reached whole new levels of awkwardness. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, your father never mentioned she wasn’t your biological mom. You know, I have a stepmom too, and she never replaced my biological mom in my heart, but we’re a lot closer now. We’ll get there.” “That’s not what I meant. I did have a mom. Until yesterday.” Her voice betrayed a tremor again and sent a shiver down my spine. “I’m not sure I understand. Where did she go?” “To the basement.” “And then?” “Then… she never came back.” “That’s impossible. Mrs. Weiss…” “Whoever this woman is, she’s not my mom, I swear. She just showed up this morning, and dad tried to convince it was her, but it’s not!” Her conviction was such that I almost believed her for a split second before coming back to my senses. It couldn’t me. Mr. and Mrs. Weiss were clearly very familiar with each other, the kind of familiarity that only comes from several years of marriage. I grabbed Sybill’s hand. “Sybill, I think you might be a little confused.” “Why don’t you believe me? You said we could talk.” “We can talk about true things, not about lies. Is this why your father told you not to cry wolf? Do you come up with stories like that often?” “It’s not a story! Mom went down to the basement last night, I saw her, and she never came back. I think…” She stopped short. Whatever it was she wanted to say, a part of herself would not let her. The girl’s frail little body quaked, agitated by some horrifying thought that she refused to share. I grabbed her shaking hand and did the best I could to put up a brave front. “What is it? Is there something you’re afraid of?” “I… I…” After many a failed whisper, she took a deep breath and steadied. “I think my dad killed her.” My blood ran cold at the words. “That’s a very serious accusation you’re making,” I replied. “It’s your father we’re talking about. Did you go down to the basement to see if she was still there?” “Of course not! I was terrified.” “It’s very inappropriate to invent such stories.” Her story sounded completely ludicrous of course, but there was only one way to disprove it. For once in my life, I had to be brave and go see for myself. *** The basement door swung open, creaking with every inch along the way. I shone my flashlight down the sinister wooden stairs and carefully inspected the concrete floor from afar. From my squatting position in the atrium, I could see nothing out of place: no body, no blood, no signs of struggle. A murder could not possibly have taken place down there. “You see Sybill. Everything is completely ordinary.” “Maybe he cleaned up after.” “You don’t just clean up murder scenes overnight, Sybill. Please, I need your help with this. I need you to admit this was just your imagination.” “I know what I saw.” “Very well. Let me go down and take a closer look.” “No, please! What if you don’t come back either.” “Sweetie, of course I’ll come back. We’re alone in the house. I’m just going to prove to you once and for all the whole ordeal was nothing but a bad dream.” “I’m begging you, don’t go!” Before she could even finish, my feet were already making their way downstairs. The steps cracked every time I moved. Cobwebs dangled from the low ceiling, which did cast upon the room a certain eeriness, although this had to be expected from a basement. Mr. Weiss might not have been a murderer, but he was certainly a hoarder. Every corner overflowed with old furniture and rusty appliances. There were enough coffee tables and armchairs to fill up another living room altogether. For a brief moment, it felt as though I had stepped inside a cave of wonders. Until I heard his voice, that is. “My wife did like to redecorate a lot.” I spun on the spot. Mr. Weiss stood up from a dusty loveseat in the shadows behind the wooden stairs, a body bag in his arms. A tuft of hair poked out of the topmost opening in the zipper. “How sad she had to leave us. No more decorating on the horizon.” “You… I don’t understand, you left an hour ago,” I shakily blurted out, dropping my flashlight under the shock. “I’m afraid what you heard was the basement door,” said another voice, cold and calculative. This time, Mrs. Weiss emerged from the shadows. “You already met my new partner of course,” added Mr. Weiss. “As you saw earlier from our little joke, she has a taste for terror. It’s something we have in common. There’s nothing like a good real-life scare. Not all maniacs come from asylums.” Mrs. Weiss reached down her left stocking and pulled out a small dagger before approaching in a slow, bloodthirsty walk. At the sight, my thorax emptied itself again, this time leaving behind a void so overwhelming I could barely make out the room around me. As I backed up into a washing machine, it took everything I had to keep breathing. “You can’t do this,” I said, my voice breaking with every word. “Sybill’s upstairs, she expects me.” “Don’t worry,” replied Mr. Weiss. “My daughter often cries wolf. No one ever believes her.”


It had been 24 years since she had seen it, but the place looked the same. She, my mother, would’ve been happy to see me here, outside in the fresh air. I walked against the rough pavement, running my long fingertips against the cold marble siding of a fountain, a large statue towering over my small frame. Rubbing my hands together to keep warm, I pulled a bag of chips from the shopping bag I’d been carrying and bit into a chip silently. The cold embrace of the wind eventually guided me to a waste bin, the chip bag still half-full. It had been 24 years since I had tossed pennies in the fountain, an eager child leaning over to see her reflection, and met with another girl’s face. As I sat on the edge of the fountain, I threw crumbs to the pigeons, avoiding the water pooling inside the fountain. After a few days of seeing this girl wherever I went, my parents assumed it was another imaginary friend, someone to confide in when I was alone. The wind whipped through my hair, sending the birds back into the ashen sky. She didn’t help me though. The girl was my mirror image, just like me, a girl destined to be alone.

The cold grew more intense, and people began to leave, carrying on with their regular lives, leaving me biting the inside of my cheek, letting the cold wrap itself around me like a blanket. Throughout my 4 years on campus, there wasn’t any girl running in the shadows to greet me, no hidden reflection bouncing into view.

“Dedri.” My father had said that laboriously hot afternoon. “Dedri, it’s your mother.”And I was all alone at the duck pond the next year, the soft ‘plink’ of my penny against the marble fountain, a harsh reminder.

Rain splattered onto my glasses’ frames, and I yanked my hoodie over my head to keep my hair dry. Despite my frustration at the world, I smiled, shrugging my shoulders from side-to-side. Maybe, if I jogged a half-mile to the subway station I would make it on time; but the rain was coming down in sticky sheets. I shivered, now regretting that my umbrella was still stuck underneath the driver’s seat of my father’s old car. Slowly, I got up to wait the rain out in a shop, but I twisted in shock at the sight of my reflection in the overflowing fountain.

“Hello.” The reflection spoke, eyeing me suspiciously, a wild glint in her eye. I touched my palm to my cheek, watching as the girl in the fountain kept her hands at her sides. “I said, hello.” I swallowed my questions and whispered a silent hello to the girl, trying to touch the water where the girl rippled.

“I’m not going anywhere if you were wondering. Best to head over to the museum over there past 5th avenue if you want to make sure.” With that, the girl winked and her reflection in the water disappeared. I considered forgetting that this ever happened and walk to the subway-rain or not- or call my friend to pick me up, but despite my thoughts, my feet were suddenly walking towards the museum. Some sort of imaginary friend.

The museum wasn’t far from the duck pond, even in the sticky sheets of rain. Everything was clustered around one area in these parts, the familiar street signs flashing into view. Father would often guide me through the sea of people and buy us a VIP pass for the museum and the day would be spent on learning, milkshakes, and exhibits with a free piggyback ride out the back door. Today, the museum wasn’t too crowded, and only a few people were in line for tickets. I waited my turn and calmly wandered through the nearly empty halls, half-hoping that the girl wouldn’t show.

Touring the museum was kind of like checking off items on a grocery list. Each aisle held a new exhibit with looming statues peering downward with glazed eyes. Carefully, I read every plaque in the mammal section, wondering how to contact an imaginary girl from my youth. Aimlessly, I found myself staring into a cracked mirror, washing my face in the bathroom when I heard a voice. “Hello, again friend.”

Shuddering, I pulled away from the mirror to see the girl on the other side, waving her hand. Though it had slipped my notice before, the girl wasn’t exactly like me. She shared my freckles, bony shoulders, and a slight gap in her teeth, but her hair was neatly plaited down her back. Sighing, I tugged at my own frizzy mess and frowned at the girl in the mirror.

“What do you want from me?”

The girl clapped her hands as if she were calling us to order. I sheepishly hung my head and checked the bottom of each stall, hoping somebody would be there to see us. The bathroom was empty. “Now, now my sweet Dedri. That’s no way to start a conversation.”

Her voice rang out in sweet melodies, causing me to lean against the bathroom sink.

“Well, if we want to ‘start this properly’, what’s your name?”

The girl rolled her eyes around and around over and over until I thought her eyes might pop out of their sockets.

“ Children. Tsk, tsk. Of course, you wouldn’t remember-but my name’s Aja if you would like to call me such.” Stupidly, I pressed my palm to the mirror, waiting for her to disappear unlike the fountain incident, but she stayed rooted in position.

“ You know, you’re quite a rookie for making acquaintances.” Gracefully, the girl flipped out of the mirror and landed in front of me on the tiled floor, her appearance just like that of a human. “ And don’t touch me, please. Your hand will go right through.”

Aja guided me out of the bathroom and twirled to one side. I lowered my hoodie, giving quick glances to inspect the hallways. There was hardly anyone in the big brick building, but I had to be certain. Aja leaned against one of the stone pillars, sizing me up and down.

“ My my, it’s been a long time.”

Trying to squeeze the water out of my socks, I only took one glance at Aja.

“I’m not a child anymore.” “ And I can see that.” Those days by the fountain were so long ago; it felt like centuries.

My phone was clammy in my hands, sopping wet, but either way, it wasn’t of much use here. The reception wasn’t all too great, and there wasn’t anyone to call. Crispen and Wendy weren’t going to know I was at the museum; my closest friends were lagging back at the university before the break to catch one of those ‘break parties’ everyone was talking about on campus.

“So, now that we’ve made acquaintances, what do you want from me?”

Aja stood in front of a sculpture, seeming lost in thought. “ What is it that I want? No, I have nothing to want really. It’s more about what you want I’m afraid.”

I rubbed the sculpture, resisting the urge to snort in public. “There’s always something to want.”

Wistfully, the girl attempted to touch the sculpture, only to see her hand come out from the other side.

“ Have you ever been to the harbor, or Ferry Heights annual festival? I heard the views were breathtaking.” Her voice sounded hollow as she peered at another painting somberly. And the ironic thing was; that I had stared into the water from the harbor after our first fishing trip, and won a stuffed bear at Ferry Heights festival when I was younger, my parents nearly losing me to the sea after the fishing line had yanked me forward, a rosy-cheeked bubbling child. The girl’s wanting nearly wanted me to lie, ease her pains of being-whatever she was-but I spoke to the ground softly instead. “Yes. And the views were quite breathtaking.”

“ Did you know that spirits are bound to the one they care for, through life and death until they are set free?”

“No, not really. I still don’t know who you are, actually.” To me, this was all a game, a mind illusion that had finally driven me insane, but I still thought of Aja as an imaginary friend, just an invisible friend to offer soft turf to stand on- a comforting pillow to rest your head upon. “ I’m your imaginary friend, so you can clearly see you didn’t have much of an imagination in your early years.”

I scoffed, wondering why I was taking this to heart. “Well, I searched for you when I was younger, but you just vanished.”

“ No, I was simply not needed anymore.You realize that imaginary friends have a life when they’re not with their owners-right?”

She summoned a book and started to read, not letting me get a peek at the cover. “So what? You were needed now?” The museum suddenly felt like a jail cell where time passed quicker than my father’s stopwatch. How long had I been here hallucinating? What time was it?

Aja didn’t seem so surprised at my outburst of panic. “ When you search, I have to come. You wanted me here, so now I’m here-kind of like an alarm clock always going off randomly.”

I pictured an annoyed Aja sleeping in her bed or sipping some morning coffee when all those alarm bells began ringing. Suddenly, I felt a pang of guilt, remembering all those times I had searched for her in my younger years, including some of my older ones. But I wasn’t so sure that I was still looking for the same person.

“So, you want to head outside?” I counter. “ It’s getting a little depressing out here.” I pulled at Aja, my hand barely skimming her ghostly frame, but she didn’t budge.

“ No, it’d be best if we stay away from other people.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I flipped it over to find my dad’s number on the front. He had sent me a text that he was coming to pick me up from the break party so we could have cupcakes together. Slowly, I put the phone back in my pocket and saw Aja, still leaning against the pillar, talking to me. “ Tomorrow at 7, preferably AM, but PM works too, at the museum here.” She spoke without looking at me, eyes fixed on her watch. I nodded in approval, but not to what she was saying.

“No, not tomorrow, or next week. It’s about time, 24 years and all.”

Aja’s book clattered to the floor, and her feet started to rise through the roof. “ But-!” Those were the last words that came out of her mouth; and I completed them myself.

“But I’ll never be alone anymore”

...And that was all that mattered.


Seeing something after only picturing it in your mind for so long, was always a strange thing. There were always those slight alterations, those few freckles, you’d forget within your internalised portrait. I’d, in a way, forgotten how she looked. Her smile was the same. Her scent, a combination of her vanilla perfume (which hadn’t changed) and the fresh cotton of her clothes, yet with the hidden hint of tobacco that she clearly wished to disguise - unsuccessfully. I knew that scent would never change, as her mum had bought her that same perfume when she first moved away from home, and since her passing, she never let the bottle even verge on half- empty, just in case it stopped being sold. The smoking was a habit I never favoured of hers, but I got used to it. I knew it was her warm hug in the winter, her old friend on a summer’s evening, and that bit of reassurance that was unobtainable for me to provide. I could sit here and reminisce over our relationship forever. I could think about how I was terrible. I could also think about how she was terrible. In actual fact, literature loves to tell us all about the beauty of love: it’s perfection; it’s inability to break your heart in every possible way. As far as perfect goes, she was far from it. But sitting here, now, looking into those sage – coloured eyes, little specks of brown, she looks prettier than I’d ever thought she could. I wonder what she must be thinking about me. Is she thinking I look tired because I have spent sleepless nights working on a novel which will probably be the death of me? Is she remembering the time I told her I wasn’t in love anymore? Is she remembering how the last time we saw each other, we agreed we would never see each other again, and I walked away, wiping the tears which temporarily burnt my cheeks? I suspected by the slight pain that tinged her eye, that in fact, she was. I fidgeted in my seat, suddenly feeling embarrassed. I’d not dressed up for the occasion,  as I didn’t want it to appear that I had intentionally meant to look nice. That would be trying too hard. She clearly had a similar idea, but she always looked better than me without any effort. She was wearing a brown, round – necked jumper, with the same blue jeans (slight fraying at the knee) that she had worn when we were together. The shade of the jumper complimented her auburn hair like the warm tones of an autumn tree, the leaves being her green eyes. But what did I know? That just sounded like something a writer would say. I am a writer, of course, but that’s all fiction. I scanned the coffee shop, to see if anyone was looking at us: sensing my apprehension and her discomfort. Maybe we looked like a couple. That thought settled my nerves for a little while. I wasn’t sure why I was overthinking, as like I previously mentioned, this wasn’t one of those extraordinary love stories, and in reality, we were just two people that had fallen out of love with one another. A man with his cold cappuccino and a woman in her, now I come to look closely, relatively average brown jumper. Even so, I smiled at her, with the image of her sat in this very coffee shop came to mind, of which seemed like a very long time ago. We spoke for a while. It was a little forced at the beginning, and nervous laughter often overpowered most of the conversation, along with regular distant glances out of the window to the busy street. I considered how every person that walked past that coffee shop, in that moment, had their own life and their own love stories to tell. I wondered how many of them would write about it as I did. I wondered how many of those I would obliviously come to read someday. No one here knew of where we had been half an hour before we walked into this small, cosy café, and no one knew where we would go to the second after we walked out. That was one of the more bizarre concepts of life that I could never quite get my head around. Who else was sat here, discussing the breakdown of their relationship with an ex-girlfriend? Catching me deep within my own thoughts, she picked up the plastic bag next to her, which I assumed was filled with my things. Having caught me by surprise, I snatched the bag in humiliation, hoping that no one would notice this exchange. I had been told this would be the hardest part of the experience, as though they are passing you back the memories you shared, ridding any part of your life that is still the slightest bit prominent in theirs. I didn’t feel this way, however, as I did really miss that baggy band t-shirt that she’d taken from me after the first night we had slept together at hers. She’d even had it in her suitcase when we moved in, hanging it up in her wardrobe as though claiming it as her own.  I would be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little, though. After the closure was…closed, we headed to our separate homes. I had thought, when I’d walked in earlier that day, that perhaps things would be reconciled. That is what often happens between two people that decide they need closure. Perhaps that’s more common in couples who reunite after a few drinks, in one of their homes, dimmed lighting, often a mistake. The bitter taste of cappuccino in my mouth and the dryness of the aftermath of small talk for the past hour. She seemed to have a weight lifted off her shoulders, which comforted me, thinking that she had struggled just as much as I had to become accustomed to loneliness again, but that she now knew she was going to be okay. Sometimes the quietness was bliss, but every now and again, the solemn silence truly was exhausting. I paid the bill (as I always did, despite each penny spent reminding me of my unfinished novel), and we parted ways. In a heart-wrenching rom-com It would seem fitting to say that it was raining, a little windy, but perfect weather to walk home after a breakup. In actual fact, it was. We live in England. The sky was a plain grey, and the walk home was the same. I never spoke to her again, but life continued, as it does. “How many times have I got to tell you? Mark, the readers aren’t going to like it. We’ve been waiting for some material from you for months now; people are losing interest.” “But it’s reality, Sir. The kind of books we write nowadays, the kinds of books we read… they’re a façade. Heightened expectations of love nowadays are damaging real, happy relationships. Content is no longer enough for anyone. I wanted to express what real love is like; what real breakups are like; what real life is like. I think people will appreciate it.” “No one wants to read that, Mark. Rewrite the chapter and come back to me when it’s done.”


Anxiety, sweaty palms, too many bodies - so why do I feel like I’m backed into a corner with no where to go. How crowded can a train be at this time of day it’s only 6:00am. To hide behind the hoodie I wear, the bruises black and blue across my face. The sound of my heart slowly fading as I leave behind the life I once saw as my future. I see white what can it be, is that you nan i see. Why are you here? is this a dream, please talk to me. No words just pure silence from her, until I saw a little boy the size of a watermelon appeared before me. Who are you? Are you lost? lets go find your parents. He pointed his finger at me, confused as I was the words I heard was MUM!. He suddenly disappeared and I couldn’t come to terms of where I was. Until a light flash before my eyes as I watched a reflection of myself in the corner of the train. If I am here, who is that. Mysterious voice “It’s you” but I couldn’t understand how is that me. As I watched from above I saw the police officer announced me as dead and tapped the crime scene with the yellow tape. As a vision of what had happened made me realise I died the night before, HOW! I was raped and beaten by the man who said he loved me. I was murdered by the man who gave me the black and blue bruises. I was murdered by the man who gave me life.... MY DAD!!!!!! He took away the life I saw as my future and all because my step mother hated me. She never did love me the way my real mother loved me. But I assumed my real mother loved me despite her disappearing at the age of 5 years old. Why she left me with this man I would never know, cause he took away my chance to find the mother who birthed me. But as the police officer starts searching my body, he finds a piece of ID with the name (sara Burke) that’s me. As evidence is bagged in a clear seal bag, the sudden shock caused the officer to faint. As he stutters with the fear in his voice, he shouted with tears ”she was pregnant“. Everyone stood still as another officer came to examine me and cried “WHO WOULD DO THIS”. Yes! I was 16 and pregnant and the father was none another than my dad. I was raped my whole life and my step mum knew.She was jealous at the attention I got until I fell pregnant and wanted me gone for good. Don’t get me wrong I knew I had to leave before they got to me. But where was I meant to go, stories you hear about how the system fails us. Scared me to the core that I knew I was going to die, it was either I died or my step mother would leave my dad. I was given the opportunity to spend my last day however it pleased me and I sat down with my Mother Nature. Begging her to let the gods take me away instead of the brutal way I knew I was going to die. I watched the day turn into night within a matter of hours. I was angry with the gods cause I felt like no one was hearing my cry for help. I kneeled and prayed as my father repeatedly punched me 1 2 and 3 times in the head. Leaving me unconscious, eyes barely hanging onto life my step mother said “good riddance“. He ripped my clothes off and raped me til I bleed. I said “Dad before I leave this earth tell my real mum I love her and I will see her again”. SILENCE........... 6:00am he stuffed my body into a train, making sure he had no eye witnesses. I was gasping on to the last bit of air I had left. I told my dad karma would get him and whether I’m alive or dead I would get justice for me and my son. To his surprise he didn’t know I was pregnant but I wasn’t shocked. His twisted wife would have him wrapped under her thumb. As I turned my back I saw everyone I loved waiting for me including my son who was that watermelon. I knew the life I lived on that train was a life my dad put on me. But the life I have here in heaven will be the life i would make my own. But before I died the last thing I saw on earth before the angels himself took me. Was the sunsetting to shine through people window. The blue skies, the birds singing in harmony as I hum along with them. The leaves falling off the trees as autumn starts to sink in and my eyes close one last time. Mother Nature showed me life after death is just as beautiful as life now. The girl in the hoodie with the face painted in black and blue that was Sara Burke. That girl is me but I would never let that girl be defined as a victim. She was brave, strong, confident and had the humblest heart of gold. God knew he needed her more with him so he allowed her to watch the sun rise. As her sun was setting for a better and brighter future with the people she loved and who loved her. Sara burke knew the day would come where her dad would pay for her death. She never saw the bad in people despite being stood on like a roach. As she walked towards her loved ones, the light behind her started to fade. The life she knew in black and blue become nothing but full of colours. This is my story of the girl who cried black and blue .


Slowly, my horse and I trot into the woods. The same sights greet me, the trees, the bushes, the flowers. I stare into the distance and see no movement. Then I call out to the animals of the woods. One shrill, high whistle. Then the ground vibrates and Angnes, my horse, whinnies: throwing his legs up in the air. All the animals come: the bunnies, the birds, foxes and raccoons, chipmunks and squirrels, birds, porcupines, opossums, and whatever other animals there were in the crowd that stood before me. "Hi, Aina!" one bird chirps. Those two words cause the animals to lose it. "Aina!" "You have to help me!" "Did you hear the news?" "I can't find my sister!" "I need help!" The pleas of help and latest news updates overcome me. How long had I been away? One day. "AINA, THERE'S A MONSTER!" one animal says. Everyone freezes and turns around to look at one chubby, fat raccoon. The forest is quiet for a moment, then everyone bursts into laughter. "Monster?!" "You're crazy," "I told you that Timothy needs to go to a lunatic asylum!" The raccoon: Timothy, is clearly offended and refuses to be ignored or laughed at. "I swear! I'm telling the truth!" Timothy cries. I stare at him. All I know is that monsters aren't real. "Timothy, how about you show us where the monster is?" I ask kindly. Panting, he points to the right. Everyone turns around to face the right. "Idiot, there's nothing there," someone mutters. "Robbie! Check what's over there!" I scream at the woodpecker which is perched upon one of the branches in the trees. "No, you do it yourself you lazy grandma!" he scowls. I stare at him. "I'm twelve!" I scream. "Who cares?!" he replies. How rude! I scowl at him, then trudge over to the right of the trees. Then I see who Timothy believes to be monsters: hunters. "Guys!" I pant. "Timothy's not wrong, hunters came to the forest!" As you could expect, everyone starts to panic. Then a twig cracks. Everyone runs to bushes or scurries up trees. A hunter walks over and picks up Timothy, pokes him, and carries him over to their truck. I clamp my hand over to mouth to hold back a scream. I hear Timothy helplessly screaming 'let me out! let me out!' to the hunters, but they don't understand woodland animals: it's useless. Slowly, another raccoon and I walk over to the truck, the hunters are nowhere to be seen. the other raccoon: Alice, does whatever raccoons do with locks, and it pops open. Timothy walks out. "Don't ever put me in a wooden cage again," he says, kicking the wooden cage. "Personally, I would've used a metal one," Alice says. I nod in agreement. "WHERE'S THE RACCOON?!" one hunter roars, obviously infuriated that Alice and I took Timothy. "I say we teach those hunters a lesson for trying to take Timmy,"one small raccoon says, beating his fists together. "And how do you expect a twelve-year old and a whole bunch of woodland animals to do that?" I ask. The raccoon shrugs and walks back into the crowd. "Oh! Oh! We could take their guns and shoot them!" Robbie yells. Everyone stares at him. "You know, maybe we should take Robbie to a lunatic asylum." a rabbit says. Murmurs of agreement spread through the crowd. "Hey! I'm perfectly stable!" Robbie says. He stands on his legs and walks off the branch. Everyone stares as Robbie falls to the ground. "Uh... Robbie?" I ask and touch him with my finger. He doesn't move. "ROBBIE!" Robbie chokes and sits up. "Totally stable," he coughs. Everyone in the crowd of woodland creatures sigh. "Okay, so what's the plan to get the hunters to leave?" I ask. The woods are silent. "Ooh! We could fly around and annoy them!" one raccoon screams. "No!" I smile. "They would shoot us all, dummy," one animal says. "Plus- not all of us can fly," another fox says. "We'll scare them." one fox says firmly. "Great idea, let's put on a circus and put on some clown makeup!" I say sarcastically. "Yeah! the fox grins. "No!" I smile. "Aw!" the fox groans. "Or we could go around biting them and-" one animal starts. "No!" I smile. "ALRIGHT WE'RE GOING WITH THE CLOWN IDEA!" one animal screeches. "Oh yes, great idea," I say sarcastically. "Just two little problems that  obviously don't occur to you: one, we don't have any clown makeup. Two: you aren't the boss here," "YEAH I AM!" the possum screams. "Sorry dear Ally, but, obviously I: Stephan the fox and respected above all." a fox says. "No Stephan, I am more respected for I am your mother." another fox scowls. "Well, we live in the water, we have a territory of our very own. I, Felicia the fish, am obviously the ruler of the jungle." Felicia says. "Dear Felicia, the only reason that your species have their own territory is because no one would like to bear looking at your beady eyes, smelling your foul scent, or meeting you whatsoever!" a bear says. "I, since I have the full right gifted to me from Mother Nature herself,can eat you all: I, Betty the bear am the most powerful one in the jungle!" "What?!" I scream. "Guys, we're trying to get rid of the-" "No Betty, I'm your older sister. I am obviously the more powerful one." another bear scowls. "I'm the brother older than all of you! I, Bennedick the bear, declare myself king of the jungle!" another bear argues. "I'm a horse! As I being the only horse here, I declare myself Queen Angnes!" Angnes says. "I'm obviously smarter and more gifted than all of you, so I am the most respected," an owl says. "Who made you king, old grandpa?!" Robbie snaps. "If we're choosing leaders, I'm the most capable and the only female human. The only human to generalize, I should be the most powerful leader." I say. A powerful rumbling shakes the forest and panicked, forgetting the quarrel about who was the best forest animal, everyone scurries to the bushes. The hunters' green truck drives off into the distance, leaving a cloud of dust behind. "That went well," I shrug.


Title: A Virtual Tradition Author: Haripriya Authors Note: Hello everyone! I wish you all a happy Saturday! Other than the previous one, this story is a bit more traditional, yet still cheerful and happy. During these tough, challenging times, we might have a negative mindset. But please remember that this won't be permanent. Everyone is working together to solve this! But there are always other solutions we could do which are just as effective as being together, and this story teaches that. I hope you enjoy it! "Students! During your fall break, I want you to think of one new holiday, or tradition you can come up with during Thanksgiving. When we come back to school on the 30th, feel free to share what you and your family did! I look forward to hearing everyone's ideas." Naomi's teacher explained to the class. The poor girl kept pondering over what to come up with. She didn't really have an idea of what to say. What

new  tradition could she possibly come up with? She wasn't necessarily known as the creative one, but more of the quiet one.

She was more on the introvert side, though sometimes she was an ambivert. One of her main hobbies was to read, and write poems, or to be more specific, a haiku. They really challenge her to write short, yet beautiful poems. She normally does that on her own time. After homework, you may also find her painting flowers or drawing self-portraits. But coming up with new traditions wasn't on her to-do list. In fact, the teacher's assignment over the break puzzled everyone in her class. What if they come up with a tradition, but then realize it already existed? Or that other families already do it?

You couldn't blame anyone. It was a challenging thing to come up with. Especially considering the fact that thanksgiving won't be celebrated like how it used to be. No more groups together, no more traveling to another's house, and buying them presents. No more eating together, like a feast. It was too dangerous to go out like that. The virus has been getting even worse since the start, so going out wasn't even an option. So how could traditions be celebrated without seeing your family and friends? Without experiencing it with them? Without creating those precious, valuable moments with them? Naomi was really in a pickle. "Hey there Naomi...if you don't mind, can I sit here?" asked her friend in her science class, Clair. "Yeah! Sure, you can sit. Here, let me just scootch my backpack for you so that you can have more space." she said, and placed her heavy book bag between her feet. "Do you have more space now?" Naomi asked. "Oh yes, I do! Thanks, Naomi!" replied Clair cheerfully. "Hey... by any chance, do you have an idea about the traditions thing? It's almost like my brain switched off today because I don't seem to be getting any good ideas for it. I don't want to

steal  your idea, but just want to get inspired by it. It's fine if you don't have an idea though." said Naomi. "Well, I don't know if this idea is so good that you'll get inspired by it, but I'll tell you anyway. So I was planning to do a Thanksgiving game night. Usually, we won't have time to play games because we will be visiting family and doing other activities, but since we're not planning to go out anywhere this year, I was thinking of playing lots of games." Clair said and continued looking at the glass window.

"Actually that's a great idea! Though I am going to try and come up with something different, that tradition is a great start, Clair! Well... I wish we could talk more about this, but I have to go home. Anyways, have a great Thanksgiving break, and see you on Monday!" replied Naomi. The two friends waved a good-bye, and Naomi went out of the school and started strolling through the paved sidewalk, kicking the small pebbles and stones. Her hands were in her sweater's pockets, buried inside. She swayed left to right, still wondering about what new tradition she could make.

✻✻✻ After a long walk, she finally reached home. Still wandering, and hesitantly taking each step. She knocked on the door and saw her mother's face light up. Naomi fake-smiled, and placed her backpack on the couch, still thinking. She was in deep thought. Naomi wanted her tradition to be unique as well as something fun and exciting, something her family would actually enjoy for Thanksgiving. Considering all those factors, she still kept thinking about Clair's reply to what she was thinking of doing with her family.

She remembered her saying, "... but since we're not planning to go out anywhere this year... "

Suddenly, she got it. Yes, families couldn't physically be with each other due to the current circumstances, but good thing this isn't the 19th century, because the 21st century has something they didn't, and that is technology. They didn't have electronics, wi-fi, or the internet in general. Naomi was going to use that as an advantage.

Since no one can properly connect with their families and loved ones by meeting them in person, devices such as phones, ipads, tablets, and computers will come in really handy. She had a perfect idea: doing Thanksgiving virtually.

She thought that on the 26th her family could video call with her grandparents and cousins. After all, the whole purpose of Thanksgiving was thanking and being grateful for what we have, she thought that everyone could right one thing that they are grateful of! Showing love and affection towards family members by giving them proper respect and significance is also another part of Thanksgiving. Naomi thought of everyone doing a type of kindness craft together.

She knew that was going to be the perfect fun activity that would bring everyone closer together, and at the same time enjoy and cherish their time together virtually. So what if people can't go to their families' house to gather together? Fortunately, technology now exists and people can get together that way. She could just imagine her new activity was going to be such a huge hit. Picturing everyone's smiling faces and the amount of fun they were all going to have. Naomi couldn't wait any longer. She just HAD to share this exciting news with her family, for everything was going to be just perfect. She just couldn't believe her idea was actually going to work out! With a proud smile, she strode along the hallway, head up, and high.

~ The End ~


Logan could hardly believe their good luck. After all of these years, they’d finally done it. Vesper Cross, also known as the unbeatable superhero Spark, was at their mercy. She was currently chained to a support beam in this old observatory. The chains were non-conductive, obviously, and therefore able to resist her electricity-summoning powers. Logan was quite proud of that. Never mind that any middle schooler could have constructed them. All that mattered now was Logan’s revenge. They added the last few calibrations to their super computer, a large touchscreen monitor that took up a good third of their workstation. That is, if you can call a folding plastic table a workstation. The rest of it was littered with maps, equation papers and the odd takeout box. Shit. They’d forgotten about the boxes. Logan quickly scooped up the pizza box and styrofoam containers, searching for a place to dump them. There was no way in hell they were going to let Vesper see those. That’s what had gotten them in this whole damn mess to begin with. It had been their first meeting, almost three years ago. Spark had become a new hero in town, and Logan, known as the time-warping Specter, was eager to test her out. All it had taken was a little flex of their power here and there, just enough to cause trouble, and they’d left enough of a trace to lead her here, to the observatory. Logan’s home turf, their evil lair, if you will. As soon as the air crackled with her nervous energy, Logan had readied themselves for the grand entrance. It was a well known fact that PR won just as many battles as soldiers, and if they could get this first encounter right, it could change the odds in their favor. So, Logan straightened the collar on their suit, turned around and- Fumbled. Just like that. They’d screwed up right out of the damn gate. Tripped over the customary “I’ve been expecting you”, like they were a newbie. But she was stunning. Warm, dark skin, long black braids sparking like severed electrical wires. And eyes that were completely golden, like twin suns blazing in unison. Logan had felt their jaw start to drop, their mouth turn dry. Vesper had caught them completely off guard. Which was embarrassing. And awkward and just plain stupid, Logan reasoned. Not to mention completely unacceptable. So they hit the rewind and tried again. And again. And again. Each time, they’d fucked it up somehow. Tripping over their carefully rehearsed speech, or in some cases, their own feet. On the fifth try, they shoved their hands into their hair, groaning at the blush of embarrassment flooding over their pale face. “Keep going. You’re doing a great job.” A voice had said, causing their head to shoot up and stare at Vesper, who was grinning at them smugly. Logan started running calculations in their head, trying to figure out how- “It’s the whole electricity thing. Make me immune to time warps, I guess.” She explained, leaning against a support beam so casually, as if this were an everyday occurrence. Vesper waved a hand towards them, still smiling in that alluring mocking way of hers. “But please continue. It’s so cute the way you try.” That had been the beginning of their rivalry. Logan had thrown every obstacle they could at her since, only to Vesper to maneuver around or through them in some unexpected way. No monologue, no matter how detailed or threatening, seemed to distract her. In fact, she acted like she enjoyed them. Flirtatious banter was a norm for the two of them. But thing had gotten far more tense in recent months, the banter turning into something practically... genuine. “It’s such a shame, you know.” Vesper had commented the last time around, after she’d won yet again in the game of cat and mouse. Tightening the restraints around their ankles, just before leaving them in front of the police station. She’d caught their eyes, her iridescent suns opposite a pair of pale gray asteroids. “With a mind as brilliant as yours, you could be creating such wonderful things instead of causing mayhem. I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Specter.” The words had come out so earnest that Logan’s voice evaporated, confused by this strange hero, practically on her knees before them and speaking with such affection in her voice. She’d stood up then, taking a moment to brush plain brown hair of their eyes. “You’d be a terrible waste to the world rotting.” And with that, Vesper had left them there. It had taken weeks for them to shake off the longing? heartache? confusion and settle firmly into fury. She was probably trying to manipulate them into making some horrid mistake, but that wasn’t going to happen. Not this time. They finally shoved the takeout boxes behind a few crates and returned in time to see Vesper come to consciousness. Her head slowly rising, eyes fluttering open like a sleeping princess from some fairytale. “Wha- what the fuck?” Alright, definitely not a princess. She flexed against the chains, wrestling with them for a moment before scanning the room, eyes landing on Logan. “Glad to see you’re finally awake. Now the final phase of my plan can begin.” They recited, having practiced for at least ten minutes before deciding on the perfect way to phrase their intentions. “Specter? What are you doing? What the hell is going on?” She sounded so concerned, but Logan swallowed down any feelings of guilt. “I bet you honestly thought you’d gotten rid of me, didn’t you, Vesper?” Her face went from concern to shock in a split second. A smile grew across Logan’s lips at her reaction. “Yes, I know who you are under that mask. I’ve known for a while. I was simply waiting for the perfect time to use it.” Logan turned to their computer and pulled up a program, the window displaying a map of the city. They began entering in an activation code while still casually talking to their soon-to-be victim. “Originally, I planned to use this program to search for life forms on other planets. But you just had to try and manipulate me, didn’t you? Couldn’t let me continue with my galactic research, just had to interfere. Well, don’t you worry your little head over me. I’ll not bother you with my monologues tonight.” “Specter, what are you doing?” Vesper repeated slowly, the trepidation returning to her voice. Guilt and regret rose in Logan’s esophagus like bile, but they shoved it down again. Instead, they turned back to her and forced a tight smile. “Enacting my revenge.” They gestured to the map on the screen. “This program was designed to target life forms with similar DNA, but I made a few tweaks after that stunt you pulled. Now, it targets any life form you have formed strong attachments to. In short, I press this,” Logan’s gloved fingers moved to float over a large blue button onscreen, “and I will know the exact coordinates of those you love.” Vesper’s eyes widened, the usual golden fire that usually consumed them fading to an equally mesmerizing hazel color. “Specter. Please, don’t do this.” She struggled against the chains again, trying to conjure enough electricity to melt the restraints. But by the time they broke, it would be too late. Logan fought against the urge to turn away from her and pressed the button. The program began to emit a beeping sound as it searched out it’s quarry. Within seconds, a mechanical voice said, “Target acquired.“ Logan glanced back at the screen to take in the glorious moment they finally got the upper hand and- That couldn’t be right. They flashed their gray gaze from Vesper to the screen to Vesper again. It... It didn’t make any sense. Why would she- how could it even be possible? “Target acquired.” The voice croaked again, flashing Logan’s coordinates across the screen. They should know, because they ran a test before Vesper had even gotten here. But how? Why? “I didn‘t want you to find out like this.” She groaned, letting her head fall against the support beam. Logan was still baffled. “But... why me? What about your parents or boyfriend or-“ She cut them off with another groan. “Seriously? You think I’m straight? That’s a bit disappointing.” With a final spark and flex, the chains fell to the ground in a half melted heap. Rubbing her wrists, Vesper walked over to them, still not looking them in the eye. “My parents kicked me out because I’m bi. It’s only been a couple weeks, but I don’t exactly have a lot of love for someone who’d do that to their child.” A black bubble of anger started to form in Logan’s gut. They knew how rough the world was to people who were different like them. And it made them want to find and burn any who tried that shit on her. “As for why I like you,” Vesper continue, snapping their attention back to the subject at hand, “I don’t know. I mean, you’re cute and brilliant and so passionate about space, and we flirt constantly when we fight which is just a little bit hot, so...” She pushed past her braids to rub at her neck, blushing behind the mask. “Oh.” The embarrassment flooded through Logan at light speed. “You weren’t trying to manipulate my feelings into being a good guy?” “No! That experiment was just really dangerous and I didn’t want you getting hurt!” “Oh.” Vesper let her mouth quirk up into a little smirk. “You already said that, genius.” ”I know that, it’s just....” Logan clenched their fists. They had a chance, an open window, right here in this second. Were they going to go for it? Or let the possible future drift into the cosmos? Their gloved hand found another, weaving their fingers between her own. “I like you.” Vesper squeezed their hand, smiling in that alluring way of hers. “I like you more, Specter.” “I highly doubt that. And... it’s Logan. Logan Topolinski.” A weight lifted off their form, letting them smile back at Vesper for the first time all night. “Logan. I like that name.” A pause drifted between them, easy and comfortable. “Are those takeout boxes in the corner?” Shit.


Mavis looked around her makeshift art studio – the place where she would isolate herself from the world for the next month. Stacks of clean canvases waited to be transformed. Brand new paints, pastels and brushes her parents gave her at college graduation last month were neatly arranged in clear plastic bins. Her easel was angled just right to catch the morning sun that streamed in through the large picture window.

In exchange for house sitting for her aunt and caring for her two cats, Mavis had been gifted this guest room as a place to hone her craft. But where to begin... She tied on her clean new painting smock and looked out the window at the trees, which surrounded the house for miles. She was a 20-minute drive from the nearest town. But she had everything she needed for now, and her aunt had left enough cat food and litter to feed an army of cats. She promised herself she would fill some of these canvasses before she ventured into town to explore and do more shopping.

But her mind was blank, until she thought of that phrase again --

an army of cats . She looked at Sandy, the beautiful red, black and white calico, who sat patiently watching her from the sunny windowsill; and then at Sylvester, her aunt’s Siamese cat who stood alert, his piercing blue eyes tracking a squirrel in a tree outside the window. It felt as if the two cats were standing guard, waiting for Mavis to pick up a brush and get started. They were her only companions for the month, the only living, breathing things she would see most days. Why not start by painting them? As she scanned the paint colors, a vision began to form in her mind. She started with Sandy, combining red and yellow to get the perfect blend, before adding in black and white to recreate the intricate mix of colors that made up her fur coat. Then she focused on Sylvester, mixing up several shades of gray and brown to recreate his regal and muscular body. She stood back and admired what she had done. Now for the rest of the cats. After mixing red, yellow and blue in every possible combination, she painted 10 more cats, all different sizes and shapes and fur patterns. The stars were out by the time she put down her brush. Mavis yawned as she set the canvas to dry, cleaned up, and left the studio. She made herself a light dinner from the groceries she had purchased earlier, sitting alone at the small kitchen table. The house was eerily quiet. After dinner, she moved to the lumpy living room sofa and flipped through the channels on the old TV. She went to sleep feeling alone in the dark house, and grateful for her two companions, who curled up beside her in bed.

*** The sun came into her room early. The window blinds were open, and stripes of light reflected on the wall in front of her bed. Mavis yawned and stretched before getting up and heading into the bathroom to get ready for the day. As she was brushing her teeth she heard the faraway sound of a cat meowing, and then a sharper sound, almost like a baby crying. That must be Sylvester. Her aunt had warned her that Siamese cats are quite vocal. She got dressed, and by the time she went downstairs, the two cats were both crying anxiously and pacing in front of the front door. What did they want? They were allowed outside, but her aunt said they’d be in the kitchen waiting for food first thing in the morning. Mavis opened the door and yelped in surprise. There were cats, a whole bunch of them, sitting on the front porch and lawn. She scanned the group, counting 8, 9, 10 cats outside, plus her two, made a dozen cats. The hair rose on her arms as she stared at the scene. She slammed the door and ran up to her studio, her whole body trembling. She picked up the picture from the table where it was drying and yes – the cats outside were almost identical to the ones she had painted. She dropped the canvas.

Okay, Mavis, calm down. Slow deep breathes. There’s a logical explanation for this. Maybe I saw those cats in town yesterday and just didn’t remember. Or maybe it’s just a big fat coincidence. Sure, it’s possible I drew 10 cats and those exact cats happened to show up at my house the next morning. But then something else occurred to Mavis – something that defied logic but seemed the only possible explanation. Maybe anything she painted would appear before her eyes the next day. Maybe she was a witch, or this house was magic, or someone had cast a spell on her paints. There was only one way to find out. Mavis quickly ate breakfast and fed her cats, putting a huge bowl of food and water outside for the others, who had made themselves at home on her front lawn. Then she went back to her art studio.

She picked up another blank canvas, the same set of paints as yesterday and put on her now-stained smock. But what would she draw? What did she want?  Well, there were a lot of things she wanted, but she wasn’t sure how this power worked. Maybe something terrible would happen if she didn’t use it wisely. Isn’t that what always happened in movies? People got too cavalier with their power and the next thing you know they destroyed the world, or an entire population of people was wiped out.

Get a grip, Mavis. That’s not going to happen. Just come up with something small and innocent like cats. But what… Then it came to her, and she smiled. If this worked, it would be a wonderful surprise, and if not, well, hopefully no harm done. Her aunt’s house was drab and dated, the cushions on the tweed couch sagging, the kitchen cabinets were practically falling off the hinges and the front porch railing was falling apart.

I’d better not change the front of the house. The neighbors are probably already wondering about the cats. They might get really suspicious if the outside of the house changes visibly overnight. But the inside...  She could surprise her aunt with a newly designed  living room and kitchen. She just had to picture it and draw it, and with any luck it would turn into reality when she woke up tomorrow. She still had a long month ahead of her in this house, and new furnishings would certainly make it more homey, help her feel less isolated.

Mavis already missed her friends terribly, and wondered if she made the right choice staying home instead of going to Europe with them for the month. They were visiting six cities, including London and Paris, staying in youth hostels and travelling by highspeed rail from one adventure to the next. They begged her to go, but she didn’t want to spend the money. Plus, she had promised her aunt months ago that she would house sit before she started her job hunt. It was nice here in the country, especially with all the cats, but her life had gone from one nonstop house party to living alone in the woods in just a few short weeks.

What do I have to lose by trying to make this house nicer.  Heck, I’m going to paint a picture today anyway, so I might as well try. If it doesn’t work, nobody will know how crazy I am -- except me.

It was a long day of painting. Mavis wanted every detail to be perfect. She knew her aunt liked calm colors, so she drew the living room in blush tones and grays, with a large comfy sectional sofa and big coffee table with a matching area rug. Plus, one of those big screen TVs and a little bar area where her aunt could keep her bottles of wine and something called Harvey’s Bristol Cream.

I don’t even want to know what that tastes like. For the kitchen she drew white cabinets and black marbled counters, just like they showed on all the decorating shows. She made an island in the middle with chairs around it, and mixed grays and whites to create stainless steel appliances. She was pleased with the result, and hoped she hadn’t missed anything. She made herself another simple meal, and decided to let in the cats into the house before she went to sleep. They had been making a racket out there on the lawn since it got dark, and she wanted to keep them safe. After all, she had created them.

Mavis was woken up not by the light coming through the window, but by the feel of something pressing down on her, and something tickling her face. Her eyes shot open. Seven cats were on the bed with her, one laying on her chest with his tail swaying up and back across her face. Four were cuddled up at her feet and another two were on her pillow, one practically wrapped up in her hair.

Okay, the cats are still here. That has to mean something. But what am I going to find when I go downstairs?

She felt a bit foolish to think that the living room and kitchen could have transformed. That was a far cry from 10 cats showing up on your lawn. This would be the test of her powers - and how far she could take them. She took her time getting ready, afraid to see what may or may not have happened to  her aunt’s little cottage. When she finally walked down the stairs, cats moving between her legs and meowing loudly, she blinked twice, unable to believe what she was seeing. The scene in front of her was a real-life version of the picture she painted, right down to the color of the walls and the pattern in the area rug. It looked like a different house, brighter, cleaner and more welcoming. She walked over and sat down on the soft cushions of the large sofa, sinking into it. The cats followed, surrounding her, their hungry mews softening for a moment as they, too, seemed to be processing the changes to the room. Mavis could have sat there all day, but she had a kitchen to see, and many mouths to feed. Walking from the stylish new living room into the modern kitchen, she took in every detail of the space, details that were at once foreign and very familiar. The kitchen was perfect – every detail replicating her painting. She fed her cats and then sat at the clean new kitchen island to eat her own breakfast before she returned to the comfy sofa to process what had happened over these past two days. She couldn’t believe she was going through all this alone. She desperately wished she could talk to someone about what was happening, but she couldn’t exactly call her friends and try to explain.

They’ll think I’ve lost my mine – and it’s quite possible I have.

An intense wave of loneliness caused a lump in her throat.  As she stared at her big-screen TV, the cats purring loudly around her, she felt overwhelmed by weight to this new power she had discovered. She could use it to feed the hungry, to house the homeless, but thinking about that made her brain hurt. She was only 22, and she wasn’t sure what was right, what was ethical or even if her powers would go beyond this small country house. Maybe it was best she didn’t push her luck. But as an idea formed in her mind, she realized what she needed to do. There was risk to the next painting she wanted to draw. Maybe a big risk. But she had to give it a try. She left her cats napping on the new couch as she went back upstairs to her studio. She took her third canvas in three days, tied on her painting smock and contemplated what she was about to draw. The decision was made – there was no turning back. She focused on this project more intently than she had ever focused on any painting.

It was late in the day before she finished. She was hungry and tired, but she felt at peace, prepared to face the consequences of what she had just done. She took one last look at the canvas before she moved it to the same spot she had put the others to dry overnight. Looking back at her were the smiling faces of her four best college friends. They were sitting on the new couch in her living room, surrounded by her 12 cats. The picture had come out exactly how she planned it.

But what if something goes horribly wrong? What if I’ve gone too far, trying to manipulate time and space? B ut she couldn’t let herself think that way. The decision was made, and the paint was already starting to dry.

Mavis started to feel better as she ate her dinner and took care of her cats. Before she went upstairs for the night, she straightened up the house for her visitors. As she settled into bed that night surrounded by her cats, she said a little prayer that she would wake up to the doorbell ringing and the squealing voices of her friends. Her logical mind told her it could never happen.

This is insane. It doesn’t make any sense.  But in her heart, in her soul, she knew they were already on their way, and her summer of magic and adventure was just beginning.


Burp “Number 58.” I can hear the words but there is a thin piece of white cloth in front of me, dulling the sound. “Number 58.” I feel like I should do something but I’m stuck deep inside my head. “Number 58.” Pause. “That’s you.” The woman, beside me, nudges me aggressively, more of a shove. “You’re ticket,” she points at a piece of paper in my hand, “it’s your number.” My brain begins to surface, and I can see the room I’m in. “They don’t like to be kept waiting.” She says. I want to ask who, but it feels like I’m the only one who doesn’t know. The only one in a room filled with thousands of people. A young man comes up to me and takes my hand while cupping my elbow. His movement is not threatening but it feels like the option of having a choice has been removed. He takes me into a hallway and into a small room. “Sit here.” He says in a soft voice that is disproportionately lower than his youthful appearance would suggest. I sit and wait. I am alone, sitting across a huge desk. There is a large window to my right but every time I try to look out the window it turns white, fuzzy white, like an off-air channel. There is nothing on the desk, just the shine of a dark oak surface reflecting a bright white ceiling. There is a small light in the corner of the room, sitting on the floor. The chair behind the desks is large and ornate, a throne. I am the subject. I have decided this is a lucid dream, or an NDE, but I don’t remember going to bed, or dying. I just remember a sort of fading experience, I think, maybe, I was making dinner. I can hear my dog barking, but that’s it. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t killed. I don’t have anything anyone wants and I’m pretty sure no one knows me well enough to hate me that much, I think. The door behind me opens and a large fat man comes in and sits on his throne. He touches his desk; it lights up like a huge computer screen. After watching him press and swipe his desk surface for a least a few minutes, I decide to speak. “Hello?” He put his hand up in the universal shut up sign, using one finger to signal the amount of time he will need to remain a rude asshole. Finally, he speaks. “You are number 58?” “Yes.” I grab the piece of paper with my number on it, crumpled inside my sweaty fist, and put it on his desk. “Do you remember anything?” There is no concern in his voice, just data collection. “Yes,” I answer, “My dog barking, maybe the smell of my dinner?” “Shit.” He says, frantically hitting his desk and swiping, like he has killed a bug and can’t get it off his desk. “How about now, can you still remember a dog barking?” “What dog?” “Perfect.” For the first time he looks up and me and smiles. “Welcome.” “I don’t feel welcome.” He laughs and leans back. “Well, you definitely were not invited.” Pause. “Great,” I get up. “Then I can go?” He laughs again, but this time it sounds more like a snort. “Go where?” “Home?” I ask. I feel like I am being tested in my own dream. “You’re not dreaming and there is no home for you, there never was.” He leans forward, about to explain something he has explained a million times before. “You are what happens when time slips, just a bit. A glitch that creates a shadow. You existed parallel to the real you.” I am confused, but I have a feeling I am about to be more confused. Pause. “Sit.” He points with the same rude finger he told me to shut up with. I can feel myself sitting in the chair, hearing him talk to me, and I feel very real to me. “You see, time is a measurement allowing material existence to develop.” “Ok…”  “It is a very slow method of frequency containment that allows the growth of what you would call a soul.” His robot tone expresses a need to release information without any concern for its impact. “If time burps, as we call it, the shift creates a shadow on the soul developing and you exist parallel to yourself, but you are not part of the system.” He sits back and pauses. “So, does everyone alive develop a shadow when this happens?” As I ask this question, I can see the interest fade from his dark little eyes. “No,” he starts scanning his desktop, moving images I can’t see. “Only a weak soul develops a shadow when a burp happens.” Did he just insult me? “Ok, well.” I stare at the top of his head as he examines something on the desk screen that is clearly more important than a glitch created by a weak soul. “Do I exist?” I whisper, not really wanting the answer. “Yes,” he says not looking up.  “Please exit, someone will show you where to go.” With that, I take my weak shadow soul and leave the room. Exit, exist…maybe I’m just a fading image waiting to evaporate. A very tall woman in a purple jump suit greets me outside the room. “Hello Sunshine.” She seems friendly. “Sorry, I mean Moonlight.” “Moonlight?” I am confused, again. “I can’t get these names straight,” she says, moving her hand up and down an invisible screen in front of her. “Are you one of those pronoun people?” As her frustration grows, I offer my label. “My name is Sasha.” “Are you sure, you don’t look like a Sasha.” She keeps flipping through her invisible Rolodex. “Ah, there you are, Sasha.” She shoos the invisible screen away with a grand arm gesture that looks like she is moving through a cloth doorway. “How do you feel?” Wow, no one has asked me that yet, and now that I think about it, I don’t feel anything. “Nothing.” I answer. I would feel defeated… if I could. “Good.” My blue escort says. I don’t like her. She leads me into a long green hallway and tells me to go through the third door on the left. As she is leaving, she yells, number ten is secured, then disappears into the room we just came out of. I thought about not going into the room, but where else do I go? I open the door. There are two chairs and nothing else. I sit in one of the chairs and only then realize someone is sitting in the other chair. “You must be number 10, do you feel secured?” she laughs, but not in a mean way. I sit down, “I don’t feel anything, I think.” “Here.” She reaches across to me and grabs my left forearm. I feel a warm glow start to radiate from my stomach outward. So, I can feel again. “I figured out how to bypass the system.” She smiles, “Don’t tell anyone, always say you feel nothing, don’t laugh or cry, or look confused.” I am confused. “What are we doing here?” I kind of wish I didn’t feel anything again, it was easier. “Well,” she angles herself towards me and I am oddly touched by her direct attention. “What they are doing and what we are doing are two different things.” “OK.” I try to hide the confusion on my face. “That,” she points at my face, “that look, don’t to that around anyone.” “Ok,” this feels like she is giving me lessons on how not to be human. “Did you understand anything they explained to you?” she looks deep into my eyes, checking for honesty. “I sort of get it, but it doesn’t feel real.” She laughs, “that’s how I felt, until they pulled my feelings out. “What do they want?” this still doesn’t feel real. “They gather us ten at a time.” She pauses, “do you want me to pull your feelings, so you don’t freak out?” “Yes please.” She explains that they gather us ten at a time to see if we are compatible, as a group, to form a single viable soul. If that is possible, a process called “blending” begins. We are scanned and every inch of our limited existence is labeled and assigned a function. Then we are kept in a holding position until they can mix and match a full soul. “What if they can’t create a full soul?” I ask, not freaking out, because… I can’t. “We are sent back to our previous reality.” “Oh,” I feel a…nothing, I feel nothing. “So that’s good right, we just go home?” “No, that’s bad. If you are blended you become part of a whole, there is protection in the whole.” She puts her hand on me and returns my feelings. I feel darkness, I feel sadness. “If you are sent back and you are not attached to a soul, you are not protected.” “From what?” My mind thinks of demons and every ounce of evil. “Everything.” She finally says. “But there are ways to survive without being consumed.” “Again,” I say with as much calm as I can fake, “from what, and can you be more specific.” She looks at me directly but this time I feel less comforted by her direct attention. “If we don’t get blended, look for me and I will help you.” “How will if find you?” “My name is Lex.” She takes my hand and presses her thumb into the palm of my hand. “I just transferred my energy signature to you, press your palm with your thumb and let my name appear in your head, the two signatures will combine and create a connection.” “Sure, I guess.” I still think I’m dreaming. The room is suddenly filled with a red glow. “Shit.” Lex says. “What?” I want her to take my feelings out again. “We didn’t blend.” She looks at me and says her name again. “Lex.” I say her name as she slowly fades. I’m dreaming, I must be dreaming.


Big Band music blared from the garage, as Seravina entered from the kitchen. The large circular clock on the far wall read 2:12 am. The usually organized mechanic’s paradise had car parts, wrenches, grease, oil, nuts, bolts, and an assortment of bizarre gadgets jumbled on the floor, the shelves, and the ceiling. She stepped carefully around the obstacles and spills and moved over to the mechanical beast, Tood referred to as

‘the Chevy’ or ‘Dragon’.

The music changed to an upbeat jazz song with a female singer. The princess listened to a few bars before recognizing Completely , a new song, which Tood played for her two days ago. She knew he was in here, she could hear a tool whirring underneath the car. The Chevy was covered in a green tarp, except for the hood.

Floodlights illuminated the engine and beneath the disassembled vehicle. The music stopped suddenly. “Who’s there?” Tood called from underneath. “It’s me, Seravina. May we have a conversation?” “Sure. As long as you don’t mind talking, while I’m working here.”

“I would prefer seeing you face to face, but I know how busy you have become.” He torqued a wrench. “I am sorry about that.

I am not trying to avoid you.

I couldn’t sleep last night.

I was so fidgety, so I decided to rebuild the engine.” She leaned her back against the machine. “My slumber has also been disturbed with numerous nightmarish apparitions. I awoke and made some herbal tea, but that only heightened my anxiety and I could not return to bed.”

“I could use some help. There are some mechanic coveralls on the counter. Slip one on and ‘Seravina, Come on Down’!” “Just a moment.” She smiled at the comment. She had watched a game show on the telepicture device called ‘The Price is Right’, which Mrs. Hemingway and Tood loved.

She had enjoyed the frantic run of the peasants to the front of the stage in order to win trivial items in degrading carnival games.   She found the bibs, chose one, and quickly undressed. She removed her shirt and jeans along with her shoes.

She arranged her long hair into a ponytail braid as she stood in her underwear in the cold garage. Tood looked up and saw her beautiful physique. He quickly averted his eyes. “Princess. You did not have to remove any of your clothes. The suit would have covered you completely.”

“Thank you.

I will remember it for next time. “ She placed the blue bibs on and zipped it up. “I know nothing of these contraptions.”

She walked over to his side and sat on the floor. “How do I look?” Tood cleared his throat to keep his jaw from dropping. “Great.

Ready to work. Over there is a scooter.

Lay on it and come next to me.”

She found the mechanic’s scooter and lay on her stomach.

She pushed herself toward the machinist.

She glided across the garage. “This is quite enjoyable.” Tood looked up and grinned. “Cute.

Lay on your back and slide next to me.” He tapped the floor.

 She laughed, “Oh. I see.” She got rearranged and moved next to him.  “Hello.”

“Hi.” He raised his hands over his head and pulled on a wrench, “So what’s on your mind?” “Tood, I would like to speak to you about what happened the other night.” “My lady, so much has happened.

Please be specific.” Tood smirked and gave her side glance. Seravina did not notice the look. “Specifically, I am referring to the night we danced and kissed.” She looked at her hands.

“Oh.” Tood over exaggerated. “I remember.

Could you put your hand on mine.

When I count to three, pull with me.” “Certainly.” “One, two, three.” They pulled together and the final bolt easily moved. Tood turned the bolt until it fell into his grease covered hands.

A small square lead container dropped in his hands. “Thanks. I have been trying to get this all night.” He slid out from the car and she followed. “I do recall quite a strike in the face.”

He sat up, stood up, and held out his hand. She accepted his hand and he lifted her up.“I do apologize for that outburst, but I was referring to the event prior and…” He drew her close. “I remember every fantastic moment. Vina, I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.” “Truly you do? I

love you as well.” They embraced and kissed passionately. “Are we betrothed?” She began to cry. “Yes, my love. I won your hand and your heart. Why are you crying?” “I have remembered…remembered what I did and who I hurt.” “That’s wonderful, my peach.” “I am not your peach and it is not wonderful. It is horrendous!” “Before you confess, let me guess what you did lovey-dovey, please?” “Lovey-dovey, what?” Tood cleared his throat, “You came here to manipulate me into finding Divadus, so you could kill him.

You were going to feign some injuries to win my sympathies. Which you probably did have, since you used the gold necklace and jewel.

But instead of finding me, you met up with Captain Chico and most likely Popson and Chang.

How am I doing so far?” “Unfortunately, 100 percent. How did you know?” “I put the pieces together.

You described the events at Five Pennies in accurate detail. You recognized the fountain and Popson and Chang. You admitted to ruining a man’s life.

Chico’s life is shattered.” “Thanks to me.” She sobbed. Yes. Thanks to you.” “What? You are glad he is in jail and awaiting trial?” “Yes. He is a low life scum and thug who deserves all the punishment.

I believe in Divine retribution.

His corruption and manipulation in Between could have gone on for years, if you had not exposed the real Chico to everyone.

He is getting what he deserves.

Your motives may not have been pure, but your actions have removed wickedness from our fair land.

All’s well that ends well.” “But an innocent woman was murdered. I started the chain reaction which led to her demise!” “Innocent? She probably deserved it too. A casualty of war.” “Tood, we are not at war. This was a peaceful time.” “A casualty of peace then.”

Tood continued, “Come to think of it, the City Council deserves to die because of their wicked lies and trespasses.

Let’s go get them.

We can be the hand of Good and cleanse the town of all unrighteousness.” He grabbed a sword from the corner of the garage and marched toward the exit. “No Tood! Stop!!

They don’t deserve to die. I am the one who caused it all.

The wounds, the party, the destruction, the mob, and…” “The murder!” Tood stopped and turned toward her. “You’re right. You do deserve to die.

Here you go.”

Tood thrust the sword into her midsection and twisted. “Die evil doer!” Seravina released an ear-splitting scream of terror. She sprung upright in her bed with sweat pouring from her body.

She checked her stomach and wiped the perspiration from her forehead . She crashed her head back on her pillow in frustration and anxiety.

The third night in a row with the same haunting images. She knew she would not be able to return to slumber. She stared blankly at the ceiling.

In frustration, she kicked the covers off, stomped out of bed.

The small electric clock on the table read: 2:12 am. The princess removed her nightgown, put on pants of sweat and an elastic shirt, Emmy had called spandex.

She grabbed a pair of blue socks and silently exited her room and down the spiral staircase.

Tood had shown her the torture room and how to operate some of the devices including the treadmill. “Treadmill, odd name.” She had always enjoyed running, but not in the same place and not on a machine.

She stopped outside the room and heard a whirring sound.  Vina opened the door without a squeak.

The princess witnessed Tood, with his ears covered and eyes shut, using the elliptical machine.  The vigor and violence in which he beat the machine indicated to her, he also had a restless night.

She slipped past him and started the treadmill on the walk setting.

The machine groaned awake and yawned her feet to take one methodical step at a time.

Seravina increased the speed to a vigorous walk as she stretched and strode her long legs.

In a moment, she would start her run.

Tood heard the treadmill start and watched Seravina begin her walk.  He slowed his pace and removed the headphones. “Good morning.” “Good morning,” She replied, “I hope I have not interfered with your self-torture.” He grinned and slowed further, “I am almost done with this part.  I am off to do some flailing next.” The princess looked at him in surprise and then laughed, “I almost thought it was not a jest.” She started to jog. “Did I wake you with my exercise?” He stepped off the machine and walked toward her. Sweat had soaked into all his clothes.  He drank from a clear bottle.

“Not at all. I woke up and could not return to sleep.

So I decided to torture my body instead, as you suggested.

How long have you been here?” “About an hour.

I also couldn’t return to sleep. Tons on my mind.” “Thousands of pounds is too much even for you, my lord.

Please share your load.” She smiled at him. “It may help.” He shifted his weight from left to right. “Ok. Well, first, the junkers have been reporting strange things happening in the Swamp and River Drayne.” “What kind of things?” Seravina asked. “They say it has been too quiet near the Swamp. They fear something is watching them.

Some have claimed seeing purple giants in the marshlands and junks. The Swamp Monster has not been seen in weeks. She has kept life in balance there for decades.” “You told me the Swamp Queen is sentient and made an alliance with your people.” “Exactly.

I pay homage to her each month. If she is no longer there, then…” “What could be strong enough to displace her and take control of her kingdom?” “Bingo.

Whatever it is, it is immensely strong.

I need to investigate it with Woof.

The other problem is more confusing.” “What’s the new dilemma? “Some of the water from the River Drayne has been purposely diverted into the Wamp.” “For what purpose? Irrigation? Industry? Filtration?” “Your guess is as good as mine.” “Anything else on your industrious mind?”     “I have deciphered most of Emmy’s message.” “Excellent.  Do you know where she is?”

“Near New York City, a large metropolis with millions of people.

But she also gave clues about a beach location.” “Perhaps it is a false location to throw off her captor. Or the coordinates of something valuable.” He sipped the water. “Maybe.” “Anything else?”

He chuckled, “Bad dreams. Actually, the same one three nights in a row” He rubbed his neck. Seravina stopped running and nearly fell off the tread. She stumbled and scrambled to match the tread and the console. She slammed the automatic stop button. “Hey, are you alright? You nearly crashed.” “I am fine. I also had a nightmare, which awakened me abruptly, for three days.” The Junkman drank some more, opened up a miniature frigger and handed a clear bottle to Seravina. “Tell me what happened in your dream.” “No. Let me hear your night images first.” He took another drink and sat down on the Bowflex. He blushed. “You and I were sitting on a bench near a garden. I was.. You were…We were… getting to know each other.  Personally.  Passionately. Intimately.” “Lord Dorf,” Seravina blushed, “Were we… procreating?” “No, no, no.

We were kissing.

Just kissing, I think.” The princess gave a sly grin, “Continue, please.” “So, it was a wonderful time until car headlights shined on us.

It blinded us, but I could see the outline of the Chevy.

The engine roared and sped toward us.

We barely jumped out of the way.

Then I was all alone, hiding behind the Big Tree.

I watched as a couple got married, but then I saw the Chevy bearing down on them.

I screamed to warn them, but it was too late.

Dragon turned around and chased me down.

I ran as fast as I could, but it drew closer and closer.

It cornered me near the fountain in Tween.  As I gazed into the driver’s side, you were behind the wheel.

You maniacally laughed and then drove the vehicle into me. I woke up.” He sipped his water. “Fascinating.

Dreams are bizarre.

I understand now why you have been avoiding me.” “I am sorry for avoiding you.  It was silly, really, over a dream.” “I do not know how to ‘drive’ this burdensome beast.” Tood rubbed his wavy hair. “I know.

Please tell me your dream.” “I would like to hear more of our intimate time together.” She smirked.  “Vina, your dream.” “As you wish.

Maybe another time.” She flirted. “Well, you and I were in the garage together, but I had never been in there.  You were working on the mechanical creature.

The garage was littered with all sorts of spills, tools, and devices.

You asked me to help you.

I dressed in blue coveralls.

I helped you remove a small contraption. You said you had been trying to remove it for three days. Then we hugged and kissed. You then accused all of Between of evil deeds.

You were bent on their destruction.  When I protested, you drove a sword into my torso.”

 	“Princess, follow me, please.” Tood left the exercise room and went straight to the kitchen.

Seravina briskly followed and sipped her water. “Where are we going?”  He walked past the kitchen island and opened the door to the garage.

The automatic lights illuminated the room. “Did the dream garage look like this?” The elf dropped the water bottle and it spilled across the cold tile. “Yes, exactly.” He held out his hand.  She grabbed it and followed him to the far  side of the Chevy.  She noticed the blue bibs and then the scooter. He released her hand and went to the hood.

He returned with a lead container with a greasy rag inside.

“Is this what we removed together?” “It is.  How can this be?  It was only a dream.” “I think you have experienced a premonition.

I have been secretly working on this since Emmy…left.”  Tood explained. “I found this hidden.  Bolted between the front axle and engine block, two nights ago.

Until tonight, I couldn’t remove it.” “What is it?” Vina inquired. “Have a look.” Tood encouraged. She reached her hand toward the container then stopped.  She pinched her right leg until she winced. “I am awake, I think.  How to make sure?” Without warning, she slapped Tood across the face.

She felt the sting in her hand against Tood’s hard jaw. “Oww! What was that for?” She shook her fingers, “I apologize, just making sure you are real and not an apparition.” “Man, you pack a wallop!” He rubbed his jaw. “Apologies, my Lord.”

 She removed the greasy rag and placed it on the ground.  Her hands trembled as she unwrapped it.  An ethereal crimson glow emerged from the floor and illuminated her face and hands.  She gently placed her hands around the light. “Yes, your Majesty.  It is your inheritance.  It is your birthright. It is your kingdom.” The elf princess said in reverence, “The Bloodstone.”

She held it aloft and then placed it over her heart.

It glowed brighter and brighter, surrounding her in a warm white light.

The stone vanished.  Seravina’s skin glowed brilliant red and then returned to her normal tone.

She stood with a majestic glow.

Tood fell down on one knee and proclaimed, “It is the highest honor to be the first to speak with the new Empress of the Elven Kingdom.”