Annihilating The Bridge Transient      Going under the bridge is the best part of my daily run. This morning as I approached the entrance, I saw a figure in the middle of the path. He was a pale-skinned hobo who appeared to have taken up residence underneath the bridge.

     This worthless pile of filth & disease was sitting inside of a stolen shopping cart, cradling his mucous soaked chicken legs with a set of nimble looking hands. His fingernails were long, black, & unkempt and looked like they could cause serious problems if duke got any bright ideas.       I was getting closer to the entrance but all of my instincts told me to turn back. I slowed down to walk so I could calmly analyze the situation without a racing heartbeat. I was moving closer to the haggardly beast with each step. If people saw me retreat I’d look like a bitch. Not on my watch.

     My mind was spiraling out of control. Was I making the wrong decision? Is this intense & overpowering fear I feel at the sight of a hobo even justified? Fuck that bitch. I ain’t ever scared. I knew if I remained calm and used the logic bestowed upon my gender by evolutionary forces then I could act my way out of this nightmarish hellscape.

      “Rational thoughts”, I mumbled as I entered the passageway below the bridge. The goblin was maybe ten feet in front of me and staggered slightly to my right. As I walked I was doing my best to avoid eye contact. I didn’t want to give it a chance to see my eyes and glimpse my emotional vulnerabilities before overpowering me under a secluded overpass. I assure you I had no intention of getting dommed. My movements were turning more mechanical which tends to happen when I become consumed by self-awareness, but I was still making solid progress with all things considered. Walking down the path in that moment it seemed like everything was going to be alright. But of course, as soon as I thought I was free the abomination grabbed me by the arm with an emotionless face ... BIG MISTAKE BUSTER.

     Immediately I put my hand around his throat and lifted him out of his retarded alley-cart with one arm gracefully placed behind my back. I lessened the throat grip and grabbed him by the ear instead. I leaned him in close & whispered, “ever play with dolls guy?” “No”, he whimpered. “Yo ass finna be a ragdoll, MAGGOT! WE DON’T BREAK THE LAW ROUND HERE JACK!” And with that I began violently lashing his frail body against the concrete like he was a human sized whip; slamming him with extreme force and cruelty. Faint cries for help could be heard from his severely disfigured face. “I hope Obamacare covers plastic surgery for terrorists”, I asserted, as I proceeded doing what was right. WHAM! It felt like an eternity but I couldn’t stop, I’m a crusader for justice. A few minutes after the massacre began a small audience gathered around to witness what must’ve looked like the plight of an honorable man with an unquenchable thirst for justice & peace. My excitement peaked when I noticed there was a local media crew in attendance. This made my slamming even more rapid & impactful. Massive cracks in the concrete began to appear. I was drenched in blood. Blushing like a schoolgirl on prom night. “I hope they make me look cute. I’ve always wanted to be famous”, I thought .

     The longer people stayed the more they were soaked in this terrorist’s blood. I’ll never know if this is what triggered the collective vomiting but regardless the entire pavement was a brownish-green color (definitely not cute on camera when mixed with my olive complexion) accompanied by an atrocious odor to it that only got worse as the weather grew hotter. None of it mattered. I was putting on a clinic. I was having an absolute blast! I hadn’t decimated a vagrant in a while and doing it under the bridge gave me a warm feeling of nostalgia. “Just like the good ole days”, I thought as the man’s body started making a new noise after slapping against the pavement. His body was starting to feel loose & sprightly, flexible, as if me liquidating his organs was somehow acting as a massage session instead of a gruesome homicide. “I’ll just send him the bill when I’m done lol..or I guess I’ll have to send it to his estate..LOL🤣”. That made me chuckle….      At that moment everything grew quiet. The birds were no longer lively & bird-like & offered no warning before they started falling out of the sky. Simultaneously, a swarm of locusts appeared out of nowhere & completely blackened out the sky. “Fuck... I hope this doesn’t ruin any reviews of my performance”, I thought as I began wrapping things up.      To help ease me into the present moment I became more in tune with my surroundings and watched as my rage levels quickly stabilized. I no longer needed the assailant.      “EEEK!”, a little girl let out a bloodcurdling scream as she fainted in a puddle of communal body fluid. “If that little drama queen steals my show she’s got another thing coming!” With my senses coming back to me, I looked at the hand I used to pulverize the frail homeless man & realized what made the little bumpkin diva shriek..whoops…..lol.. In my hand was the bridge-troll’s severed arm, completely detached from the rest of his horrible body! I threw the piece of shit’s arm over to the spectators (didn’t get the reaction I had hoped for) & canvassed the area until I found the rest of the murder victim’s mangled corpse. Jesus fucking Christ it was disgusting. His ribs had apparently snapped at some point in the melee and were now protruding through his flabby gut. “Shoulda done more crunches instead of browsing the black cargo pants section of Hot Topic, you fuckin nerd 😂🤣”. Its eyeballs had popped out the eye sockets & were dangling from his skull. His face looked like he had been skinned by Leatherface then set on fire. Its legs had been completely flattened and drained of any blood. I guess his weak bones weren’t meant to withstand the type of trauma I was putting him through. Should have been taking a calcium supplement. I thought about breaking the remaining bones in his body to turn him into a human jump rope which would finally give him a purpose in life, but thinking about the maintenance required for a genuine human-skin accessory made my logical man brain decide to leave it alone.

     As I hovered over my trophy I was overwhelmed by a deep feeling of fulfillment and masculine pride. A single tear streamed down my smiling face as I stared at the lifeless sex-offender’s gooey cadaver. He was built like a Korean female and had the psychology of Hannibal Lecter; just an absolute piece of shit.      When I started my jog that morning I wasn’t planning on annihilating transients. I had no idea I would be dismembering a body in front of a crowd of spectators (accidentally). I never imagined I would have the power to crush the bones of a victim into an extremely fine powder, or captivate a bewildered audience for nearly half an hour as the Book of Revelations unfolded around me... But the moral of the story is this: not all hero’s wear capes. I didn’t wake up that morning with the specific goal of ridding American streets of another insidious scoundrel who refused to pay taxes. I never knew I was going to murder a man in broad daylight, in front of a crowd of adorning fans & local members of the media. But when times get tough leaders step up & do what’s right. Evil comes in many forms. Sometimes it’s disguised as a turban-wearing Muslim shouting “Allah’Akbar!”. Or as an angry little German man with a homosexual mustache. Or sometimes, it can even take the form of a seemingly harmless drifter living out of a shopping cart underneath a bridge in a heavily populated part of town. The point is that whenever evil pops its creepy little head into existence you have to destroy it. Like I did with that piece of shit drifter for touching me on the arm. Or like Seal Team 6 did with Osama bin Laden. Or the allied forces against the Nazis. So unless you think you’re better than me, the Navy Seals, or the Allied Forces from WW2, you need to take a stand for what’s right and leave this existence on the right side of history. 💯


Emma Robbins was sitting on her sofa in her living room in her little flat. All these things were hers and only hers. But exactly the fact that this all thing belong to her was her biggest pride and biggest problem at once. She was able to pay rent and food and buy herself a little present from time to time. She was independent and free. But she was also single and very lonely. Being single wasn't a bad thing unless you don't wanna be single anymore. She had a date tonight. But she wasn't sure if she wanna go. Those few last dates were a total disaster. There were three options for tonight. She could go to her friend's party. She could go on the date or she could stay home and have a comfortable film and chips evening. And this is the point when things are getting interesting because now the Universe splits into three more universes. The universe was already used to this kind of situation because it was doing it quite often. Every time someone made a big decision, there was a part of him or her who made a different decision, went a different way, and live a different life. The universe was calling it trousers of the time and was very disappointed that it can't share this name with some other existences. *** From now on it's a bit difficult for me to make clear which Emma Robbins am I writing about because all of them are the same person who is however on her way becoming very different from the original Emma Robbins. So let's call them numbers, you sure know it if your parents named you Tom or Emma, that feeling when a teacher from lack of creativity calls you Tom the second one Or Emma number two. But I will use it as well because it's much easier than calling her The Emma who decided to stay home and in the conclusion of this one decision she started staying home much more often. Because all the lights in the city suddenly turned off and she spends a very long and stressful hour imagining the worst scenarios. It made her feel truly safe just in her flat and gave her quality anxiety. It went so far she almost lost her job because of it. She also got really fat. But one day her old lady neighbor came to her and the look on her face was so pitting that Emma decided to start working out, going out more and she found her love for a sport especially running. She never got married but she won a lot of prizes because she started to run professionally and she lived a happy life until the bus hit her one day. Yes. Calling her Emma number one is definitely shorter. And because there isn't much more to say about Emma number one except describing her funeral, we can start the story of Emma number Two. Emma number two decided to go to her friend's house. She took a sip of wine to go though she never really was a party type she finally decided to have a bit of fun. The wine gave her the confidence to wear a slightly slutty outfit. None of her dress was actually slutty but she did her best. Her friend doesn't live so far so she was there quite soon. There were about thirty people which was much more than Emma expected. She was looking around nervously for her friend Lydia. Then she saw Josh's back. Finally someone familiar face... She thought heading to him. "Hey." she said and hugged him. "Hello" said the man. It wasn't Josh. "Omg, I'm so sorry. I thought you are Josh." Sophie apologized. "It's fine, I'm not but would John be enough?" he asked. Emma was silent for a while not sure how to react and then both started laughing. "I'm Emma by the way." she said. "Nice to meet you." smiled John and they both smile at each other. They were chatting and they also had a few drinks so after a while nature started to call. "Do you know where the toilets are?" asked John. Lydia's house was actually quite big and not even Emma was sure about the location of the restroom. "I think so. Let's find it." said Emma, the alcohol giving her the needed courage. They went upstairs randomly opening few doors. There was nothing except one room where were two people called by nature too just a bit different kind of calling. "What is this? High school party?" asked John rhetorical question so Emma didn't reply just smiled. They continued with searching, entered few doors which lead them to a new corridor. Then suddenly the lights went off. "What happened?" asked John. If they would know each other longer and if Emma would be just a bit more sarcastic she would probably answer. "I think the light went off but I'm not sure about it." or maybe "Oh this is the blackout I planned for so long." there were a few more answers she could use but she, unfortunately, went with just "I don't know." They were standing there in the dark waiting if something happens. And something did happen. Underground was happening very hot and nasty romance between two rats. But the dark was still the same underground as it was in the whole city now. "Maybe we should try to find others?" he asked. "I'm not sure we have a chance, maybe we can just sit here and wait." answered Emma. After some time the lights turned on again. Emma and John became very close lifetime friends. I don't have personal experiences but I date to say that small talk during a blackout could make you good friends. *** And there is just one story to tell now. The third Emma Robbins went on her date. She took more of the wine than second Emma Robbins and stepped out from the door. She got to a rather good mood by the time she reached the restaurant where they were supposed to meet. It wasn't much of a fancy restaurant but it looked good. It was the kind of place you meet every Friday with friends and the barman already know you by name. Emma was looking around for Oliver's face. Well, to be precise she was looking for his tie, she actually didn't know how does he look like. He was Lydia's old friend who was just in the town and Lydia thought there was perfect math. She told Emma how does he looks and that he is gonna have a tie with purple stripes. She described him as spontaneous and "something you really need right now". Emma's thoughts cut off the sight of a very handsome man around 20 years old with a tie fasten on his neck. He clearly didn't know how to wear a tie. The tie was pink with a Purple Stripes Tie written on it. The lettering surely wasn't there when the tie was bought. She couldn't help and laugh out loud. The man turned in her direction and smiled at her. He got up from his chair heading to Emma. "I'm sorry." she said but still smiling. "And you must be Emma." Oliver ignored her apologizing. "And I'm pretty sure you're Oliver." she bit her lip because she just couldn't stop smiling. "I'm fine with The Guy Who Can't Tie A Tie." he answered with a smile. Emma laughed again. It wasn't just the alcohol he was really funny. He looked like a combination of the hot guy and funny guy in every group of friends. "Could you?" he asked looking at the unfortunate tie. "I hoped you'll ask." she sighed and tied the tie though it would probably be better if she just took it off and threw it into the garbage. "Well I have a tie and we're at a restaurant, this sounds cliche." he sighed and looked around for something interesting, and then his eyes stopped at Emma. "Your tie says Purple Stripes Tie though." answered Emma. "That's the only thing that saves us from too cliche." he smirked. Emma smiled and looked at the bar. "Let's have a drink then." she said. "What a wonderful idea. You know with just a bit of alcohol everything is more interesting." he sounded like a child which finds out that the yellow snow actually doesn't taste so bad. Emma just smiled. "So you're a director right?" asked Emma to start a conversation. "That's right and you look like an actress. And I'm not saying this just because we are on a date." he said. "Don't you really?" asked Emma with a playful smile and raised eyebrow. "No, seriously because when I tell a girl she looks like an actress, she better really became one and, you know, when she is on the set shooting an important film she will remember this moment and then she maybe give me a call. Which could lead to one less lonely night for me." he smirked."And then when she is famous they will maybe make a whole film about her. And then there is gonna be some actor playing me, obviously not as handsome as me, and he will tell her what I just told you and then there is gonna be cut and the scene with her on the set." his eyes shined as he was describing the situation and leaned against the bar. "I can see it." he added. *** Emma Robbins was on the set, shooting a very important film. It was all over newspapers. She wasn't in front of cameras yet. She was in her dressing room with her new assistant doing her hair. She suddenly remembered the night when she was on a date with the now famous director that introduced her to a different director and that was basically how she became a famous actress. It was one of the best dates she ever been on. Maybe the best one. The night all the lights in the city turned suddenly off and he was holding her close and whispering to her ear. He was telling her story about her future. She thought he does it always and maybe he did but since the night her life was completely different. And she intended to enjoy every second of it and don't think too much about the future but... "Alison?" she said to her assistant. "...Oh! You meant me. It's Anna actually." said the girl. "Sorry, Anna. Make a note and you really can't lose it. Ok?" Emma assured. "Yes, of course." answered the girl. "Fine. Write: If-" Emma's words interrupted a voice from outside. "We need you on the set honey!" the voice said. "I'm there in 5 seconds!" she called back. "Give me a pen I will write it by myself, just don't lose it, you own it to future generations." grinned Emma, quickly wrote a short note, and run from the dressing room. The assistant looked after her and then she read the note. It said: If they will ever make a movie about me, make sure there will be Oliver Stone saying I'm gonna be a famous actress. He was right after all. ps: get me the strawberry shake.


The mask swam elephantine and bug-eyed in the dark glass. After several years of passing the auto shop, whose empty windows were the only ones between the drilling fields and the motel left unboarded, Tommy still struggled to recognize the reflection as his own. He stopped absently to observe himself.

It was dawn. The sun pink as a freshly peeled blister behind its film of dust cast downtown into streaks of gray shadow and warbled rose. It accentuated the muffled slurp of the mask, the clouds of dirt rising from the shuffle of what feet were left in the city, the earth splintered by the heat and the long drought. The narrow and grimy windows set into once-white brick warped his image: his back bulged to an unnatural size while the plastic tubing of the mask stretched like the searching proboscis of a butterfly. His entire silhouette glowed with an aura. Down the broken sidewalks behind him drifted a procession of those who were like himself anonymous and headed in early morning stupor back to their living quarters. It was unsafe to loiter on the streets. But Tommy’s exhaustion and the strange fascination of the glass held him there.

Just before he tore himself away, the light snagged on something glittering like ice in the street behind his distorted reflection. Tommy stiffened and turned slowly. There were only a few others returning from the fields with ration bags in hand. All masked, all unable to care about his actions.

He tried to act as though he’d simply decided on a whim to cross the street — Tommy had nearly lost the faculty of spontaneity and could not remember how it was performed, or how to seem nonchalant now he no longer had a face — and landed by design some twenty feet up from the Object. Of uncertain color but certainly a species of bottle, it contrasted sharply with the gray silt in which it was partially buried. Tommy’s heart began to beat faster. He tried to slow down without the appearance of slowing. His sweaty palms chafed against the plastic bags wrapped tightly round both hands. As he drew level with the object, he feigned a stumble and dropped the bag from his right hand. Two bottles of water, a can of chickpeas, a box of replacement air filters and a small tube of toothpaste spilled and rolled in every direction. He bent and began collecting the items, staring directly down, keeping the Object just out of sight, burning a hole through the top of his head. Finally he risked a glance toward it. It was what he’d hoped. With a violent surge of adrenaline he scooped it up and dropped it in with the toothpaste. His fingers were shaking. ********** Tommy shut the door to Unit 108 and tested the lock several times before releasing the elastic strap and let the mask fall, dangling haphazardly from the bag tied round his rib cage. The scream of the filtration unit fitted into the window used to keep Tommy awake, but it didn’t bother him anymore. Just like the swollen, burning, angry throat and the ache in the southern tips of his lungs didn’t bother him like they did at first. The masks helped a little outdoors, navigating the perpetual dust of the air, and the filter screeched day and night, but sometimes he woke up sick to his intestines like he’d smoked a whole pack of cigarettes the night before. And now despite the obvious absurdity he worried the Object had disappeared, that like a fiery brand it might have melted through the plastic bag, rolled away and been lost forever. A quick paw-through reassured him: Baclofen Injection USP . 20,000 mcg per 20 mL . It was a miracle. He looked up. Pilar was standing in the middle of their dining table, sweeping the ceiling.

A flicker of annoyance distracted Tommy momentarily. His wife’s bony, angular face was pulled into an expression of serious rumination, jaw clenched to reveal hard lines of bluish vein. She tried unsuccessfully to shake the dark hairs escaping from her headscarf out of her eyes. “Ay, Pili, give it a rest already,” he groaned. “It’s too much. You don’t have to do so much.” But she just shook her head harder and scrunched her mouth into the maddeningly stubborn expression he’d grown to understand was impossible to contradict. “What’s the point of staying alive just to live like pigs?” she replied. She’d made it her daily and Sisyphean task to purge the apartment of dust: dust that made it under the door, through the boarded windows or the infinitesimal cracks of walls, settling daintily on surfaces before the filter could catch them.

Tommy threw up his hands in disgust. “Okay, Pili, whatever you want. I guess you like this kind of thing, I don’t know.” He’d just let her break her back sweeping the broom into the oddest corners, wear out the rags she insisted on dampening with their precious water supply, sift through the flour jar with the fixation of a prospector. He sat on one of the folding chairs and picked up one of the tortillas she’d set out for them. As always he expelled a cloud of dust on the way down and grit his teeth against silt mixed in with the flour. All that for nothing, Pili , he thought with savage satisfaction, glaring at her feet still on the table and the dust raining on his head. He came home after spending the cool of the night drilling wells in the desperate search for water and this was what he could expect? With a lurch of guilt he remembered at last the drug. “Hey, listen, Pili,” he started, still chewing. He felt his voice shift low and rapid. “I found some today. I don’t know where it came from but it’s labeled and sealed and everything. Gabriel —” Pilar shot him a warning look and pressed a thin finger to her lips. Tommy glanced at the sofa bed. Their son lay still and silent among his pillows. For the first time that morning Tommy became aware of the scratchy music rising softly from Pilar’s disc player above the filter. One of her old movie soundtracks — the only music that could ever lull Gabriel into calm. “ I’m laughing at clouds so dark up above, the sun’s in my heart and I’m ready for love, let the stormy clouds chase everyone from the place, come on with the rain, I’ve a smile on my face …” Gene Kelly’s old-school croon seemed to Tommy like communication from not only a bygone era but a different planet — when had been the last time he’d heard laughter or seen clouds, let alone storms or rain? When (and again the lurch of guilt made itself felt) the last time he’d been “ready for love”? “He’s been listening on repeat all night,” Pilar whispered. “It’s his favorite.” Tommy stood and looked down at Gabriel. He was awake — his bulbous gray eyes blinked slowly in his gray enlarged skull, features common to all children born within the past decade of asthma. The skin of his face resembled paper pulled taut over his skeleton, positioned above a small and emaciated body. Born too soon — too small — too silent — spasming almost since his first hour. Like an alien ; Tommy remembered that had been his initial thought. But almost simultaneously he’d felt a constriction of the chest and a rush of nerves that he knew without rational decision had doomed him to devoted service for all eternity. This physical sensation had slowly replaced the careful reasoning and passionate emotion Tommy used to identify with love; sometimes he wondered if it weren’t a cheap substitution, but other times it seemed much stronger and better. Whichever was the case, he felt it now and felt it bad. “Look in the bags, Pili,” he murmured without looking away. He heard her jump to the floor with a grunt and the rustle of the plastic as she hunted through the rations. “Two waters, that’s good,” she muttered, “no flour, what are we gonna —” Pilar interrupted her own chatter with a sharp inhale. Tommy broke his concentration to meet her startled, almost frightened gaze. Between her fingers she turned the bottle of clear fluid. “Baclofen? But there hasn’t been — no one can get it — Lula told me that — not anywhere for months — but what if it’s not safe?”

“Hey, I don’t know, okay? There’s nothing else we can give him for seizures. I don’t want to watch him in pain if I don’t have to. It’s still sealed and everything, what do you want me to do, get rid of it?” “By injection though — I just don’t think —” Tommy grabbed her by the shoulders. “Think what? We don’t have time to think, Pili. If you stop to think you die. You choke to death or seize to death or starve or dry up like a dead lizard. We’re alone, do you understand that? All alone. Nobody else is gonna help us.” Suddenly he realized there were tears leaking from the corners of his wife’s eyes. Her shoulders heaved with suppressed sobs. He dropped his hands and took a step back. Bang bang bang . The room rattled. Dust overlooked in Pilar’s sweep or else accumulated since she’d set down the broom floated off of surfaces and tinged the room sepia. Gabriel began to cry. “Tomás Correa, open up.” “ Pachecos ,” he hissed. Pilar squeaked and thrust the drug into the front pocket of her soiled apron. The powerful knocking continued. The door shook on its hinges. Tommy lunged at the door, undid the locks, and yanked it open breathlessly. Oscar Fucho strode into the room. A tall, muscular man with pockmarked face and grizzled buzz cut, it was easy to see why the guerillas had been drawn to him as moths to a flame. Tommy himself only dimly remembered that they had been close friends once. Another planet. Like “Singin’ in the Rain.” “ What a glorious feelin’, I’m happy again … ” For a while neither of them spoke. Tommy looked Oscar up and down from the crown of his head to his combat boots. Past his shoulder Tommy saw two thugs standing in menacing quiet, rifles held crosswise over their chests, fingers over the trigger held still with the stillness of charmed snakes. Their repurposed patrol cars sat in the lot, “OKLAHOMA CITY POLICE” still legible across the Crown Victorias’ battered and graffitied exteriors. Oscar looked at Tommy and seemed to sneer at, or perhaps pity, Tommy’s tattered and colorless denim. Pilar was quaking, glancing between the two of them with a hand over her mouth. Gabriel’s weak cry subsided to a whimper. At last Oscar broke the silence. “You been mistreating her, huh?” he asked, indicating Pilar’s face streaked with tears. “N—” Tommy started, but Pilar yelped “ No! ” with such force that even Oscar seemed taken aback. God bless it, woman , Tommy thought, you’ll give us away . “Well, keep it that way, huh, Tommy?” Oscar stepped over to the table and sat down in Tommy’s chair. With unease Tommy watched him begin to poke through the bags as though listlessly. “Hey, what do you want, Oscar?” Heat rose in Tommy’s throat. “I’ll do whatever it is. Just get out of here and leave my wife and son alone.” Oscar left the table and joined Tommy, overlooking the couch. “How’s he doing, man,” he said. Tommy scowled. “Fine. He’s fine.” With courage he felt inspired to add, “His seizures have been real bad since the shortages. He got withdrawals.” “Everyone’s got palsy and no one’s got meds,” Oscar said meditatively, nodding, as if the two of them were still friends. As if cerebral palsy were a minor inconvenience like a hangover or bad weather. “ Come on with the rain, I’ve a smile on my face …” “Well, Tommy,” Oscar sighed, folding his hands behind his back. “Some of the guys told me you pick up something outside the old mechanic’s.” Tommy’s heart turned sick and cold. So the p achecos — the guerillas had proudly adopted the once derisive epithet — were watching, had seen him the whole time — you could never be cautious enough. “You didn’t report it to us? Why, Tommy? Come on. What’d you find.”

Oscar spoke quietly, almost soothingly. Tommy saw him for a moment as the best man at his long ago wedding. Then it was like his mind’s eye refocused and he saw him as a terrorist, the harbinger of torture and privation. He felt a sharp sting in his throat and began to cough. “You don’t have to talk. Just hand it to me.” Tommy’s mind raced. Maybe it was better just to hand it over. The Baclofen was the only way to soothe Gabriel, but amateur injections were dangerous. Maybe they couldn’t use it at all. And how long would it really last? Just a little more time, and all of it filled with pain and the sleepy dusty darkness and the solitude, the constant scream of the filters and the hazy sun always bloody pink and threatening. The curtains, always drawn. Not for the first time did Tommy wonder for an instant whether Gabriel were better off dead.

With a sudden motion Pilar flung something small and clear up from her apron pocket at Oscar’s face. Tommy lunged involuntarily, eyes bulging, to snatch it from the air, then checked himself and pulled back in surprise. “If you want it you can have it,” Pilar spat, the bitterness in her voice authentic. But it was a half-filled water bottle, not the Baclofen. Oscar caught it and turned it over in hands blackened by sun and grime. He raised an eyebrow and looked Pilar full in the face. She was ashen pale with rage and fear. Her lips quivered. Oscar turned to Tommy coolly. Their eyes met in full knowledge. He’ll kill us or something , Tommy thought in terror, don’t hurt them you can’t I will kill you first I swear to God I — “Thank you, Pilar.” Oscar did not break eye contact with Tommy. “Okay Tommy. Next time you turn it in as soon as you got it, got it?” Tommy blinked and opened his mouth stupidly. Oscar grimaced — with sympathy? embarrassment? the closest approximation to a smile he had left? — and tossed the water lightly back to Pilar. He signaled to his thugs, who grumbled and lumbered back to the patrol car.

“Hey man,” Oscar said so quietly his lips barely parted. “You be good to them, alright? Stay low, huh? I don’t wanna see you again.” Something very light rushed to the top of Tommy’s head. He thought he might pass out. Instead he laughed, high and hysterical. He laughed until he couldn’t see anymore. “Yeah,” he managed to choke out. “Yeah …” Oscar jerked his head upward in a familiar nod. He slammed the door behind him and went back to his pachecos . Tommy watched him through the peephole, warped and microscopic, swing into the back seat. He heard the tires screech on the way out of the lot. Instinctively Pilar went to him. They looked at each other. Then they looked at Gabriel.

“He’s okay,” she whispered. Tommy kissed her gently. She kissed him back. He moved to hold her from behind, burying his face into the gap between her jawline and collarbone and breathing her in. As if his embrace were enough to protect them — as if it meant anything more, or less, than her neurotic tidying. “Tommy? You're wrong. We’re not alone.” Tommy looked at their son and considered. It was true. It was true even though they were only three organic specks on a long-dead rock spinning with the reckless speed of despair. Three bodies hiding flickering warmth in the frozen expanses of empty space, dying yet still alive. The whole of the living universe resided within them — man, woman, and the life they’d managed against all odds, almost out of spite, to squeeze with fear and trembling from an unforgiving and hostile earth, alone together and never alone. “ I’m dancin’ and singin’ in the rain ... ”


I’ll never forget the first time I saw you.

From the minute I laid eyes upon you, it was like I already knew everything there was to know about you. I didn’t, of course. How could I have known? I was sitting at the bar, like I always do around 8 o’clock on a Wednesday night. It’s my chosen hour because there are fewer people to deal with than on the more popular weekend nights, and the Wednesday clientele are less likely to try to make my drunken acquaintance. There were maybe three or four other people at the bar, all of us sat as far apart from each other as possible, as if we were fearful of catching the plague, and a couple of folks drinking pints at the tables, watching baseball on the grainy TV. And, oddly, you, dancing alone on the stage in the back. You were a terrible dancer. Jerky movements, off-beat shimmies, clumsy swaying. Your arms reached overhead, groping for the disco ball three feet out of your reach, your weight shifting so far up your toes that I felt sure you’d fall over. I thought that you must have been drunk, or baked, or something low-grade like that. I didn’t care. To each their own, as long as they don’t bother me. I wanted so desperately to look away, to ignore you. But I couldn’t. Something about you kept gnawing at me, something irrepressible. I had to understand you. And you gave me plenty of time, because you kept coming. Every Wednesday night, 8 o’clock sharp, there you were. Straining against gravity, reaching skyward, head tilted back, eyes closed. Twisting your core like one of those balloon men outside of a car dealership. Pure bliss. I think I was jealous. What brought you here? Why were you like this? I had to know. So I began to construct your life story from every detail you gave me. Shiny flats, translucent black stockings, pencil skirt, navy blue blouse, gold earrings. You came right from work. Some corporate job, surely. Let’s say finances. You were a successful exec at some nine-to-five, managerial-level. The life of the office Christmas party. You must have been a legend. Silver ring with a big gemstone on the ring finger of your left hand. Married, of course. Pretty young, maybe early thirties. Probably a photo of a kid or two in your wallet. Happy family, house in the suburbs, white-picket fence. You came here to let loose. It’s your only opportunity. Nothing wrong with a few drinks after work. To each their own, as long as they don’t bother me. You, though. I secretly hoped that you would. I secretly imagined that you harbored the same dreams about my life as I did yours, that one day you would sit down next to me at the bar and share them. Who was I, to you? I’d like to think that I’m a pretty observant person. So, naturally, most of my assumptions held some degree of truth, I’d discover. But I’m not very imaginative. I couldn’t see everything, couldn’t fill in the gaps. I couldn’t see the needle marks on your arms, which must have been concealed by the flashing kaleidoscopic lights of the disco ball every time you groped at the ceiling, baring your forearms for all to see and ignore. Were you trying to show us? Were you trying to show me? I couldn’t appreciate just how remarkably off-balance you were, constantly shifting your weight from one foot to another, catching yourself with quick lunges and back steps. I just assumed you were drunk at a bar, which is normal. Which is fine. I didn’t know that with every hop, every sway, every lunge, that your friends and family were slipping out of your life, drowning in the muck of corporate alienation. I could have known, but I failed to imagine. Or, more acutely, I guess I failed to ask. So it came as a complete shock to me that you didn’t show up on the dance floor one fateful Wednesday at 8 o’clock. I didn’t have to wait for the next to corroborate my worst fears. You showed up in the paper the next day. Twenty nine years old. I was off by a few years. Married, two kids. Bingo. Beloved boss at a corporate job. Pretty good so far. Drug addict. That’s what killed you. That’s what I saw every Wednesday at 8 o’clock, in combination with the booze you bought from the bar. I fell a little short, here. How could I have known? How could I have known that you needed help? That’s the question that plagues me, now, every time I take a shower, every time I board the bus, every time I stare up at the flickering LED lights at work, every time I try to fall asleep. Every time the cracked leather of the barstool sighs under my ass as I take my station at 8 o’clock on Wednesday. Every time I turn to study the dance floor and you’re not there, swaying in the lights, head lolling back, eyes shut in blissful apathy. How could I have known? Maybe I could have been more observant. Maybe I could have exercised a little more imagination. Maybe I could have gone up to you. Maybe I could have introduced myself. Maybe I could have gotten to know you. Maybe I could have asked, Are you ok? Maybe I could have been a little more human. But that’s not my responsibility, I remind myself. I’m just some asshole sitting at the bar, warning strangers off with my red-tinted glare. That’s what assholes at the bar do. We don’t talk to each other. It’s no way to achieve absolution. So, some Wednesday at 8 o’clock in the future, when I see a new person stride up to the dance floor and strike a faltering pose, I try something different. I walk up to them. I say hello. I ask, How are you? I take some responsibility. I’m sorry.


Tessa walked down the street with her arms full of grocery bags. Normally she and her boyfriend, Brandon, would drive down to the market for their weekly shopping trips but she had decided to walk today. Brandon had gone out to have lunch with his mother and he had taken the car that they shared. Luckily for her, the market was only a ten minute walk away.

As Tessa walked, she looked up at the sky. The sun was out, but the sky seemed just a tad colorless. There were a couple of clouds that looked dark. “I hope it doesn’t rain soon.” She muttered as she continued to stare upwards.

When she finally looked back down at the path that lay ahead of her, she instantly froze in her tracks. A black cat, one that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, was standing right in front of her. Its green eyes eerily studied her and before Tessa could react, the cat hissed and darted towards her.

Tessa shrieked and nearly dropped her bags. She watched helplessly as the cat streaked by her and continued on in the direction that she had been walking in.

That was a black cat. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Oh my God, it's happening again.

This was bad. This was very, very bad. Tessa tightened her grip on the bag and started walking again. She tried to walk steadily but her mind began to race and before she knew it, she had broken into a full on sprint. No matter how fast she ran, she couldn’t shake the image of the black cat from her head.

Within a few minutes, Tessa finally reached her home and she was relieved to spot their old sedan in the driveway. Racing up the steps, Tessa threw open the front door and collapsed with the groceries to the floor as soon as she was inside.

The ruckus instantly made Brandon appear from the living room, where he had been resting on the couch. “Tessa? Did you drop something?” His carefree smile dropped from his face as soon as he spotted his girlfriend sprawled on the ground, surrounded by the produce she had just bought. “What happened?” “A cat.” Was all Tessa managed to say as she slowly got to her feet. Instead of picking up the groceries, she briskly walked past him and into the living room.

“A cat?” Brandon repeated as he quickly closed the front door and followed her. “What about a cat? “ “Not just any cat.” Tessa explained as she went up and closed all the blinds tightly. The room grew noticeably darker. Once she was done, she double checked that all the windows were locked shut. “It was a black cat. It crossed in front of me.”

“Oh.” Brandon stared at her for a few seconds, still unsure of what to make of the situation. “So what?”

“So what?!” Tessa whirled around to face him. She couldn’t believe how nonchalant and calm he was being about the whole thing. “A black cat crossed in front of me.” She repeated once again, making sure to emphasize each word.

“I still don’t get it.” Brandon said, shaking his head.

“Ugh, Brandon, you’re not listening to me!” Tessa exclaimed, her voice growing shrill. “When I was walking back from the market, a black cat crossed in front of me, right in my path.”

“Tessa, I’m sorry.” Brandon reached out to put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but Tessa shrugged him off. “But I don’t understand what’s happening. You’re acting really weird. Why is this cat so important?”  Tessa ignored his question and instead turned her attention to the coffee table that they had in the middle of their living room. She squatted down next to it and its surface with her hands. “Is this wood?”

“What?”

“Is this table made out of wood?” Tessa asked again, the urgency evident in her voice. She continued to feel the table. “This is the one that we got from the thrift story last year, remember? Do you think this is real wood?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters.”

“Um…” Brandon was utterly confused and had no idea what to make of the situation. He had never seen Tessa act this strangely before. “I think it's wood?” He finally said.

“Good.” Tessa replied. She made a fist and proceeded to tap on the table seven times in a row. She counted each one out loud, and once she was done she slowly got back up again. “What?” She asked defensively when she saw the look on Brandon’s face.

“Why’d you do that?” Brandon asked.

“Because I needed to knock on wood.” Tessa said.

Brandon continued to stare at her. The more she said, the less he understood. “But why though?”

“Because I need some good luck to cancel out the bad luck that I got from the cat.”

“The cat gave you bad luck?” Brandon questioned. “How…why do you think that?”

“God, how are you this clueless?” Tessa exclaimed. “If a black cat crosses your path, that’s a bad omen.”

“Oh…” The realization finally dawned on Brandon. “Oh, it's one of those superstitions. Sorry, I never really pay attention to any of those sorts of things.”

“Well you should.” Tessa huffed. She pulled out her phone and handed it to him. “Can you plug this in for me? It died while I was at the market.”

“Why me?”

“Because I don’t want to risk getting shocked by the electricity.”

Brandon frowned. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.” He said gently as he grabbed her phone. “I think you’re overreacting a little bit.” “No, you’re the one who’s underreacting. You’re not taking this seriously enough.” Tessa watched him carefully as he grabbed the charging cord and plugged in her phone. “Something bad is going to happen to me. I don’t know what exactly, but I just know it's coming.”

Brandon shook his head. “Babe, you gotta relax. Those superstitions are just stories. You’re not suddenly cursed with bad luck because a cat crossed in front of you.”

“No, you’re wrong.” Tessa started pacing around the room. She could feel the fear coursing through her veins. “They’re real. All those superstitions are real.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve seen it happen again and again.” Tessa started to nervously tug on her fingers. “So many of my family members have been struck down by these bad luck omens. It's real, I know it is.”

 “Tessa--” Brandon tried to put her arms around her once again, but she cut him off before he could offer any comforting words.

“--My uncle Ted broke a mirror once and a few hours later he collapsed dead from a heart attack!”

“Yeah but didn’t he basically live off fast food and tobacco?” Brandon pointed out quietly. “You can’t blame the shattered mirror for the consequences of his lifestyle choices.”

Tessa continued on, not giving any indication that she had even heard what he said. “You remember my cousin Veronica? She accidentally opened an umbrella indoors and that night there was a carbon monoxide leak in her house. She and her kids died in their sleep.”

“Again, very unfortunate that that happened but I don’t think that the umbrella had anything to do with it.” Brandon insisted. “You can’t just assume that all these bad luck superstitions are actually causing these events to occur.”

Tessa’s eyes started to fill with tears and her voice wavered as she carried on. “My mother gave birth to my younger sister on a Friday the 13th and she ended up dying from complications after the labor.”

“That’s awful, and I’m so sorry that you lost your mom, but your sister is alive and well.” Brandon was starting to get the feeling that there was something very very wrong going on inside the mind of his girlfriend. “You can’t blame her death on a particular day.”

“You don’t get it, Brandon!” Tessa snapped at him. “I am absolutely terrified right now for my life, and you’re just over here doubting everything that I’m saying instead of being a supportive boyfriend.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m being a jerk.” Brandon apologized, making a mental note to call Tessa’s father as soon as he had a chance to. “What do you need right now? What can I do to help you?”

“I need salt.” Tessa muttered as she turned around and marched towards the kitchen.

“Salt?” Brandon repeated as he trailed before her. He watched in horror as she opened each cupboard and began to pull things out and onto the floor. Various containers of spices and herbs and teas spilled out, but Tessa didn’t even seem to be aware of the mess she was making.

“Where is it?” She whined as she continued to throw things over her shoulder. “I need salt. I need to throw salt over my shoulder. I need all the good luck I can get.”

“I don’t think we have salt.” Brandon reached out and grabbed her arm before she could throw out a pricey panini press that he had gotten her for her Christmas last year. “You have to stop looking.”

Tessa whirled around to look at him, with a blank expression on her. “I need salt.” She repeated once again, her voice sounding more and more robotic with every syllable she uttered. She sighed and stepped over the mess as she headed for the front door.

“Tessa, where are you going?” Brandon asked as he followed right behind her.

“I’m going back to the market.” Tessa stepped over the fallen groceries that still lay on the floor and pushed the door open. “I need salt.”

“It looks like it’s going to start raining any second now.” Brandon said, looking up at the gloomy sky that was full of large dark clouds. “Why don’t you wait a bit, I promise as soon this weather passes, I’ll go out and buy you salt.”

“I’ll be quick.” Tessa insisted, going down the front steps. “Give me the car keys, it’ll be faster if I drive.”

“Tessa…” Brandon reached out and grabbed her shoulder to stop her.

“You want to help me, don’t you?” Tessa said, turning to look at him.

“You said you would, right?”

“Of course I’ll help you.” Brandon promised. “But I just don’t think--”

“--Please just give me the keys!”

Brandon hesitated. He didn’t like the way that Tessa was acting, she was way too frazzled and anxious. But it was her car too, so he eventually relented and dug the keys out of his pocket.

“Thank you.” Tessa gave him a weak smile as she grabbed the keys. “While I’m gone, can you look through the grass and see if you can find any four leaf clovers for me? I need all the good luck I can get.” “Yeah, I can do that.” Brandon sighed, finally accepting that there was no stopping Tessa. “Wait, don’t you want to take your phone? It’s still inside.”

“No, no, it's fine.” Tessa insisted. “I have my wallet in my pocket, I don’t need my phone. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes tops.” With those final words, she got into the car and turned on the engine. “Bye, drive safe!” Brandon called after her. He can feel himself frowning as he watched her pull out of the driveway and drive away.

He looked down at the grass, their lawn was in desperate need of being mowed. There were a couple of patches of clovers here and there, none of them seemed to have four leaves though. Still, he had promised that he would look so he got down on his knees and started shifting through all each singular clover.

He couldn’t believe that he was doing this. He couldn’t believe that Tessa was acting like this. It made him feel a bit uneasy, the way that she genuinely seemed to believe in all of the ridiculous superstitions.

I guess I can’t blame her. He thought to himself. So many of her relatives had died tragic deaths, and he figured that believing in the superstitions was Tessa’s way of processing and dealing with the losses. As he continued to look, Brandon felt a few raindrops hit his head. Within seconds the light sprinkle turned into a heavy downpour, and he was forced to run inside the house.

He hadn’t been able to find a four leaf clover, and he knew Tessa would be upset with him when she came back from the market. As soon as the rain stopped, he’d go back outside and look again. Maybe he could even tear apart some of the clovers and try to make his own version of a four leaf one with some tape.

Brandon waited by the window for Tessa to come back. The minutes passed by, but he didn’t see her come down the street. He started to get restless, wondering why she was taking so long. After nearly an hour had gone by, Brandon finally saw some headlights in the distance and he ran to the door.

He threw open the door and stepped onto the porch, expecting to see Tessa pull into the driveway, but to his horror it was a police car that pulled up. The police officer walked up to Brandon with a grim look on his face, in his hands he held Tessa’s drivers license.

“Is this the home of Tessa Smith?” The officer asked.

Brandon stared speechless at the man. His mind filled with dozens of theories of how the officer could have possibly gotten a hold of Tessa’s license, and none of them were good. “It is.” He finally said. “Did something happen to her?”

“Your girlfriend’s car was hit by a driver that ran a red light.” The officer said. “Her injuries were severe and paramedics were unable to find a pulse at the scene.”

“Oh my god.” Brandon felt his knees buckle and he almost fell to the ground. He looked at the officer in disbelief. “But I just saw her an hour ago, she was fine!”

 “She was transported to St. Mary’s hospital.” The officer continued. “I can take you there now.”

“Yes of course, just give me a minute.” Brandon ran back into the house to grab Tessa’s phone, making a mental list of all the people he was going to have to call. It was still charging and when he unplugged it he saw that the battery was at 66%.

Brandon ran back outside, feeling like the world was about to fall apart any second. He just couldn’t wrap his head around what had just happened.

There’s no way this happened because she was cursed with bad luck. He tried to tell himself. Everyone knew that those stupid superstitions were just nonsense.

Still, as he made his way over to the police car, he looked out to the end of the driveway and he felt his blood run cold inside his body.

A black cat was standing there, staring at him.


Sitting with her phone in her hand Patricia was spending the usual night hours before she falls asleep. A sort of disorder she has been suffering from since the 5 th of October, The Dark Day, as she calls it. It was all normal till the day before the 5 th of October, also the restaurant was making steady progress with the customers starting to visit again, mostly in the evenings. The impact of the Covid-19 virus was great but Patricia still managed to survive her Job. Although many of her colleagues had already been laid off, Patricia, being the main chef managed to stay. But it was not easy as she had to make sacrifices. Her mother who lived in Subtlemouth a town about 200 miles from Northbourne where Patricia lived and worked, has not been keeping well. Being the only child, Patricia always had that deep connection with her mother. They had been like friends always. This feeling had been pricking inside her like internal guilt, that she had not been able to visit her primarily due to untimely lockdowns in the country and due to the work pressures. As such there was no work rather there was an internal self-created pressure to be present in the restaurant for sake of not losing a job at these times of pandemic. It was the 5 th October morning she woke up when the sun was already on her face. She checked her mobile, it was turned off due to low battery. She got up in haste and hit her knee with the bedside table with a painful cry, “Ouch!”. Shambling she reached the charging point near the dressing table and plugged in the phone charger. The phone instantly came to life showing a 1% charge. She placed her leg on the chair already full of her clothes and jackets and other stuff from yesterday, finding space with great difficulty. She pulled her nightgown up to check the amount of damage the bedside table has given her. It was a small scratch but the pain was much more than what the scratch can barely represent. Patricia carried out her rest of the morning routine and she was ready for work. Before leaving Patricia turned on her mobile, right after starting her car there was the continuous sound of notifications. She couldn’t find time to check the massages. Patricia reached the restaurant front when the cashier pointed towards the manager’s cabin and said in a worried tone “Where were you, Mr. Robbins has been looking for you.” Patricia nodded and without wasting any time reached the Manager’s cabin and was surprised to find all the chefs lined up in the cabin. Savita & Rumi two of her fellow chefs and friends, looked at her with sad faces. The manager looked at Patricia and started, “There you are Pat!”, She asked, “What’s the matter Rob?” Mr. Robinson replied “Well, how do I say? I was just trying to explain to the team, that there has been another lockdown planned by the government, and in this state we cannot continue anymore”, taking a brief pause “so the owners have decided to shut down the restaurant.” Patricia wanted to fight and scream but all she managed was a brief “Oh! Sir, but where will we go?” All came back to the kitchen and started to gather their stuff. Patricia picked up her phone and saw 8 missed calls and about 21 messages from Uncle Sommer. Uncle Sommer was her mom’s neighbor and would call her occasionally to tell about mom’s health. She thought of calling back, but didn’t and started to pack with her other friends. Coming back home when she threw her stuff on the sofa her phone rang again, it was uncle Sommer, who told about her mom’s sudden death last night. It has been more than two months, still, it’s difficult for Patricia to sleep in the night. Scanning through some old photographs with her mother, she smiled with teary eyes. The memories of a time came to her, when she baked her first cake, she almost burned half of it. When mom tasted that burnt cake, she smiled and hugged her and said “Oh Pat! my kiddo is going to be the master chef one day, I know you will create history someday.” It was that motivation from mom that carried Patricia through all those harsh and long cookery classes. If there is one person who trusts you in this world can make you achieve wonders. Patricia did pass with excellent grades and won the best of prizes in cookery in her college years. But the profession and desire to achieve something took her away from mom. All of a sudden the phone rang and almost slipped off Patricia’s fingers. It was Rima, “Hey, Pat! How have you been doing?” Patricia replied, “All ‘s fine here, Rima, why did you call?” Rima said, “I got an exciting opportunity for all three of us, are you interested?” “Opportunity…what opportunity?”, “It’s the Mega Maker event, where everyone shows their talent and create something new.” ”What about it then.” “We three, you, me, and Savi we all will participate and cook something out of the world.” “You have gone insane dear, we are chefs, not mechanics.” “Listen to me Pat, this time the event is about making the largest cookie ever, it's not just a creative competition but a chance to showcase our talents and you know what the prize money is? It’s a 10,000 $, with that money we can even start our own café or a small restaurant.” “Well, the prize money seems attractive.” “Think about it what can be done and I am filling the forms the three of us.” The new ray of hope has begun to enter her mind, thinking about her memories of mom and the way mom used to inspire her for cooking, she slept. The next morning Rima called all three to the nearby Café. Patricia had barely stepped out of the house in the last few months. Her skin had turned pale due to lack of sun. She had put on a number of layers of woolens. But it was pleasant for her to meet old friends. Rima said ”Pat! You seem so pale you need some real dose of caffeine.” Savita interjected “and you need some warm company as well” and she winked at Rima. They all laughed and chatted for a long time. Rima said “The Three Bakers, our team name, what say?” Savita and Patricia moved in affirmation. Later they also decided on the recipe and how to make it into the grand size and maintain the taste as well. The event day came, it was a giant hall. All the contestants were screened for temperature and were allocated tables maintaining the distance from one another and also ensuring that Large cookies can be made without a problem. Rumi informed all “Guys!, there are about 65 teams participating, the team next to us named ‘Hey Snacker’ is saught to be the most promising as they are well known, and have already won a number of prizes before.” Savita said, ”what about us where do you think we stand.” Patricia replied “don’t worry about them, focus on our target, today I am going to create the record” remembering her mother’s words. Looking at Patricia’s confidence Rumi and Savita smiled and jumped right into the task. The main challenge while trying to bake a large cookie was keeping the uniform taste throughout. Savita prepared the batter measuring the right composition every time, Rumi poured it in slow motion so as not to disturb the proportion, and after settling the complete solution in the large bowl they started to bake in the oven. Patricia, the most experienced of the lot managed the directions and angles from which baking was carried out. Finally, she added the toppings like choco chips, and nuts before the mixture settled so that they are laid on top of the cookie as garnishing. The Jury, with Mr.Hankins the founder of Taste Buddy & Ms. Loyola the youtube sensation were the ones leading the team. They checked all the cookies on three parameters, the size, the representation, and finally the taste. After a thorough evaluation, all the contestants were seated in the conference room waiting for the results. Mr. Hankins stood up on the stage and started “It was a unique competition. When we talk about food we don’t talk the size, but here we did. The competition proved to be more fearsome than we thought in the beginning, There were three teams that made cookies of size more than 40 inches. And without disappointing the ‘’Hey Snackers’ made the largest cookie a 48-inch cookie.” Some among the cloud started to clap and a few even started talking in agreement. Mr. Hankins continued, “But my dear friends it’s a cooking completion, and what’s the point of making a 48 inches large disc if it doesn’t taste like a cookie”, the crowd grew silent, “So this year we have decided to award a team that has scored well on all fronts, so the winning prize goes to team ‘The Three Bakers’ may we have the team on stage”. The team went to the stage and sent Patricia as their lead Chef to receive the trophy and prize money. Later that night Patricia looked at the certificate that stated, 'Record for the Largest cookie in the World' and she felt a star twinkle in the sky like mom is feeling proud and smiling at her girl’s achievement today. It was after a long time she felt fulfilled and happy.


“Get the candles!” “Where are the flashlights?” “Mommy I can’t see!” The city was chaos. Just a few weeks ago we were living in peace. We went to school. With the light! “Hey, Jamie.” “Hi Kiya.” I looked at her and the door on her locker. It was filled with pictures of people, I wasn’t one of them. “Don’t worry you’ll be up there one day.” She said with a slight smirk on her face. She closed her locker aa we walked down the hall and into our first class, P.E. “Dodgeball! Get your teams. 10 on the left 10 on the right!!” The coach yelled tiredly. We jogged around and threw balls at each other. I missed drastically. I hit Kiya right in the face. “Are you ok?” “I’m fine.” She looked at her hand and felt the blood trip. “Just a little blood.” She smiled as I walked over to her. “I’ll walk you to the nurse.” We walked through the hallway and down to her locker. She stopped. “Jamie!” She sounded scared. “Somethings wrong, why is the ground so-” She got cut off. It happened. The ground was in an uproar of shaking. We ran out into the busy streets of the city as she spoke quietly. “Shaky?” People crowded the streets as there were screams and children running everywhere. One by one each light across the city went out. It was complete darkness. “What happened?” “I’m not sure Kiya.” She held onto my arm’s blood-covered face. The ground beneath her shook. She fell and dragged me down with her. We rolled down the school stairs. Now her face was covered in blood. “Kiya!” I said crawling over to her. One by one they all fell. Until the whole population was on the ground. No one could stand up. Everyone was down except for 4 teenagers. I helped Kiya up. “Jamie, how can we stand everyone else is down?” We looked around shock in her eyes. “I don’t know.” I tried to lock my eyes on what she was looking at. We heard a piercing scream and looked up. Mark. He was standing. We heard another. Ally. She was standing too. Four teenagers. Mark yelled to me. “Jamie it’s like a comic book!” He paused to get the girl’s approval. “Four teenagers have to save the world from danger!” I looked at him in disbelief as he walked over pies of people to get to me. “You’re joking, right?” He passed us and went straight to Ally. I yelled over. “Ally are you ok?” “I’m good! Just a little shaken that’s all, what about you, Kiya?” She stood up straight and tried to walked but tumbled and fell. Returning to her standing position she said, “Good. I little blood but nothing first aid kit can’t fix.” We trudged until we found a spot where there was a circle big enough for all of us to sit. “What are we going to do?” Ally asked scarily. Her hands were shaking. “I’m not sure, but we seem to be the only ones still standing,” I said helping her get steady. Mark ran over and took her arm and forced her the other way. The ground was covered in countless bodies and crashed buildings and other things. We all sat down. “Jamie, will we get to go home?” Kiya asked. “I’m not sure,” I thought about the topic. “we have to figure out how to get the light back.” There was a huge bang. Everything was silent. Kiya was the first to fall asleep. “Kiya?” She didn’t answer. Around me, Ally and Mark fell. I was next and I knew it. It was the weirdest dream. There was a voice and a massage leading me somewhere. I was walking down a path with beautiful flowers of all kinds. I heard a voice, “Don’t look back” The voice was distant and quiet. I couldn’t helo it. It was too tempting I looked. That moment ashes covered the flowers I ran. The voice came back. this time more cheerfully. “I warned you, escape before it’s too late.” I ran. I couldn’t stop I fell into a hole blacker than black and bigger than big it was all at once like I loop I was awake. They were all over me. “Hey, Jamie.” “Hey, Kiya. Who was the first awake? “Ally, then Mark then me and you.” We sat up. “Did you guys have like a really weird dream?” “No, I thought we just fell asleep.” Ally said. “So did I,” Mark said quietly holding Ally’s hand. I looked at Kiya. “What about you Kiya?” I looked at her. The single word told me she knew what my dream was. “Don’t look back.” She whispered grabbing my hands. I nodded. Her hands-on mine felt magical. it somehow gave me the power to say what I never wanted to. “We have to leave.” “I’m not leaving, my brothers here!” Ally exclaimed. “And the only way to save him is to leave,” I said pointing onwards. they looked at me with confusion and hurt. “We must risk everything for nothing but those we love.” “Are you a poetry genius I’m not leaving unless Ally is leaving?” He said confidently and confused turning toward AAlly. “Well then when you convince your girlfriend to come she can,” I said angrily getting up to examine how to get to where we needed to. “Jamie,” Kiya said coming toward me. “Please, we need not fight but work together. Remember, ‘risk everything for nothing except those whom we love.’” She whispered in my ear, grabbing my hands. I ignored her but kept a firm grip on her soft hand. “We need to go north. that’s where we should be able to find what we’re looking for.” “And what exactly are we looking for?” Ally asked. “I’m not sure Ally,” I looked unto the distance. “but I know where it is.” I walked forward Kiya following me. “Are we just supposed to follow him?” Ally asked Mark. “I think so.” He walked up Ally’s hand in his. Her foot grip was solid. I looked back to see him hugging and stroking her hair. “You’re going to be ok.” He said encouragingly. “And so will Luke.” We walked up the hill when Mark came to a jog and asked Kiya to go to Ally. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you, Jamie.” “About what? I saw you and Ally, you’re lucky to have her.” “Yeah,” He paused. “are we gonna make it out of here?” “I will do my best, whatever happens, we have to keep them safe.” “Agreed.” He turned to face me. “but will we find Luke.” “Yes, if they can’t I will.” “Thank you.” I looked back at Kiya and Ally. “How are you, girls?” “Fine.” They looked at each other and all at once started silently crying. We walked over and comforted them. “I think we better stop for a minute and calm down.” No one responded. “So keep walking?” I looked at Mark and he nodded holding Ally’s hand. We walked up to a huge volcano-like figure. It was bursting with flames, but not exploding. I heard the voice. I fell once again, right into Kiya’s arms. She caught me like she knew what would happen. There was the big volcano-like mountain with stairs leading its way up. “Come!” The voice boomed. “You want the light you must listen carefully!” The voice got softer. “Come up the stairs. The light will be restored once two people come and sacrifice themselves to me!” I could see Mark and myself walking up to the mountain. I could hear Ally and Kiya’s cries. I woke up in Kiya’s arms. Mark was on the ground Aally was holding him looking at me. “Jamie, this isn’t funny what happened.” Ally demanded. “We need to get Mark awake.” I walked over to him. Kiya followed. “Anything you can do to get him awake, try.” I started to walk away. “Are you going to help?” Kiya asked sweetly. “No, I need to think.” “Ok. Be careful.” “I will be.” I walked over to the mountain and thought about what I should do. Mark came up behind me. “Hey, the girls got me awake.” “I’m glad.” I looked at him. “Did you get the dream?” “Yeah. We have to go if we’re ever going to get the light back in the city.” He paused. “The girls need to go home.” “I completely agree. How do we know when It’s the right time?” I asked Mark. “I don’t know.” The ground started shaking an amplified voice came from the mountain. “Come!” The girls ran over to us. “If the light is to be restored, come forth and risk everything!” Mark and I looked at each other we nodded hand in hand we walked toward the pit. “Jamie! Mark!” The girls asked. “Kiya and Ally of were going to restore this city and get you back home we have to go.” Kiya ran ver to me. “Jamie please.” She pleaded. “Kiya, beautiful.” I paused and grabbed her hand. “Remember, I’m risking everything for absolutely nothing but love.” I grabbed her into a hug and whispered in her ear. “And your love, Kiya.” I let her go and Mark and I continued to walk up the stairwell into the mountain. We looked back one last time before falling. In the distance we could see the sun shining, we knew we saved the city and we were proud. The city was restored and nobody knew anything that happened other than Kiya and Ally. Kiya was at her locker looking at pictures when Ally walked up. She pointed to a picture. “Who is that?” She picked up the picture and handed it to Ally. “Jamie. One of my favorite people.”


Part I As a night-shift barista in Corner City, Riley Gardner had two top fears. Top Fear Number 1: Getting robbed at work (the Night Owl Café’s hours were 10:00pm to 5:00am). Top Fear Number 2: Meeting a villain. She’d never expected both to happen at once. Riley did as she’d been trained: opened the register, raised her hands, and stepped back. “Take it. It’s yours.” “Huh?” The Scale-Head scratched his head, then paused when his fingers felt the bumpy leather of his cowl. “Shit.” Behind his domino mask, his eyes were bleary and bloodshot. “Forgot to change after my shift.” Scale-Heads worked for Draco Rex, Corner City’s most ruthless villain. They dressed like medieval archers, with leather cowls, belts, fingerless gauntlets, and boots specially crafted and dyed to resemble dragon skin. According to rumor, Draco Rex’s artisan made each cowl as unique as a retinal scan. “You’re not… robbing me?” Riley was confused because something about his body language or vocal pattern had caused the Amalgorithm to assess this short, gawky Scale-Head as a threat and forecast her survivability at 48%. Like many people, Riley had a low-level power. Her brain retained an amalgamation (“Amalg-”) of every fact or skill she ever learned and constantly ran a computational algorithm (“-orithm”) which extrapolated likely conclusions based on input data. Thus, “Amalgorithm.” The upside was that the Amalgorithm was almost never wrong. The downside was that it ran in her subconscious, so she had only average intelligence unless it provided her with a conscious output. “Nah. I’m off the clock.” The Scale-Head dropped some change on the counter. “I’ll take a cinnamon hazelnut mocha non-fat latte, extra whip, extra espresso. Make it iced.” “Coming right up.” He was $0.14 short, but Riley wasn’t going to tell him that. The Scale-Head slumped into a chair and rested his forehead on his arms. She wondered if she could text the G.U.A.R.D. (Global Unified Alliance of Regional Defenders) emergency number without him seeing. Towns too small for an R.D. (Regional Defender) still used 911 for police, but Corner City texted “HELP” to 48273 (which spelled GUARD on the keypad) or else used the panic button in the G.U.A.R.D app. Either option would send a distress signal and ping her location. “You know what sucks?” The Scale-Head laughed wryly and looked up. “What’s that?” Riley tried to sound casual as she grabbed the cinnamon near her bag so he wouldn’t realize she’d been reaching for her phone. “I can’t even expense that coffee. No per diem in villainy, and the pay for us rank and files ain’t shit.” A vein bulged under his clenched jaw. “But Draco Rex was the only guy hiring violent convicts after the government canned me from my programming job. I finally started finding hacking gigs, but I can’t take them without giving the boss half the cut. And I can’t quit, since our retirement plan is…” He traced a finger across his throat. “I only get out if this job gets me dead or G.U.A.R.D. locks me up the rest of my life. Or else, I’d need to…” He paused. “Huh. That’s an interesting idea.” “Your coffee’s ready.” Riley set the cup on the counter and backed away. She didn’t like how he was looking her up and down. “Riley, huh?” He glanced at her nametag. “That’s one of those names for boys and girls, right?” The Scale-Head was like a serpent that had gone from peacefully sunning himself to rearing for a strike. He pressed something on his mask, and two yellow lenses extended over the eye holes. The Amalgorithm lowered survivability to 28%. Riley wanted to run, but she was transfixed by the light pulsating from the Scale-Head’s eyes. “Just relax, Riley.” The Scale-Head smiled. “You’re about to get an exciting new career opportunity.” Part II Riley woke with a pounding headache. She tried to rub the bump on the back of her head, but something jerked her wrists. She looked down, and cold sweat broke across her brow. Two things were on her wrists that shouldn’t be: (1) a pair of handcuffs linked to a chain, which was bolted to the floor under her chair and (2) a custom set of dragon-hide fingerless gauntlets. Riley didn’t know what was happening, but she had a new Top Fear Number 1: Waking up handcuffed and dressed as a Villain, with no idea where she was or how she’d gotten there. “You’re in G.U.A.R.D. Headquarters. The Scale Head used his Mesmer-Eyes on you. That’s why you don’t’ remember.” Riley jumped. It was a conscious output from the Amalgorithm, but it was loud, like a second voice in her head. Until now, conscious outputs had come to her as knowledge. Her brain was like a bingo ball mixer, with data bubbling around inside until a ball popped out for her to read. The Amalgorithm continued: “Mesmer-Eyes are an optical weapon that pulse light to induce an instantaneous hypnotic and suggestible state. Scale-Heads use Mesmer-Eyes to subdue security guards, coerce bank managers into opening vaults, gain access to secure areas—that kind of thing.” “Since when do you talk?” “Who are you talking to?” A woman’s voice spoke from behind—one Riley recognized from news interviews. “We swept you for comms, and this room is shielded from Telepaths.” Blank, Corner City’s premier R.D., walked into view and stood on the other side of the table in front of Riley. She was holding a manilla folder. For five seconds, Riley was speechless. Finally, she managed, “Just myself.” Riley had learned people didn’t like finding out everything they said or did in her presence was recorded and logged in a massive dataset. She especially didn’t want to annoy a Telekinetic R.D. who already looked angry. “Blank isn’t Telekinetic,” the Amalgorithm corrected her. “She controls the space between objects, not the objects themselves.” The fact the Amalgorithm was not only talking but also hearing and responding to her thoughts disturbed Riley, but she had bigger problems at the moment. “Um… why am I handcuffed?” “You don’t remember robbing someone at gunpoint this morning? I must have hit you harder than I thought.” Blank smirked at Riley’s stupefied stare. “And before you lie to me about being innocent, or Mesmerized, or the other things you Scale-Heads always say, you should know our Telepath already scanned you while you were unconscious.” That made no sense. A Telepath should have seen that she was innocent and Mesmerized. “Unfortunately, the Scale-Head implanted memories of working for Draco Rex. They think you’re the genuine article.” Blank pulled a photo from the folder and laid it on the table. It was a still from security footage which showed a Scale-Head holding a young man at gunpoint. Geometric dots and lines were superimposed on the image, mapping the cowl pattern. Apparently, the rumors about cowls being unique were true. “This is you, robbing Riley Gardner before I knocked you out.” Blank tapped her finger on the photo. Riley blinked, then mentally rewound and played back the last three seconds of conversation. Surely, she had heard wrong. Riley opened her mouth to argue, but the Amalgorithm jumped in. “Before you say anything, read the timestamp.” “Here’s you again,” Blank pulled out more security stills with geometric lines. “Our software identified you at four violent attacks in the last year—including the home invasion at the mayor’s mansion.” But Riley had stopped listening. For a second, she forgot even to breathe. The timestamp on the first photo, which Blank had said was taken that morning, was dated three days after she was attacked. “ Think it through.” The Amalgorithm said. “ The Scale-Head was a programmer and hacker with knowledge of government systems. He’s your approximate age, height, and weight. He had three days to break into databases. Your name is unisex, so he only needed to swap in his photo and gender marker on your records. And he got all your accounts and passwords from you while you were Mesmerized. Like it or not, he’s Riley Gardner now.” The Amalgorithm was right: If records proved the Scale-Head was her, nothing she or anyone else could say would change G.U.A.R.D.’s mind. But if the Scale-Head was her, and she had fake Scale-Head memories and his uniform, then that made her… the patsy. This wasn’t just an identity switch. It was a set-up. She’d been hypnotized to rob the fake “Riley Gardner” (a.k.a. the Scale-Head), placing her in the cowl that linked her to the other crimes. Then the Scale-Head had called the R.D. to arrest her. Draco Rex would think his henchman was in G.U.A.R.D. custody, Riley would rot in jail in the Scale-Head’s place, and the Scale-Head would saunter off with Riley’s life. “Oh… crap.” Riley was going to be in prison for a long, long time. “Fortunately for you,” Blank flicked her hand, and the cuffs fell open, “G.U.A.R.D. has authorized me to make you a deal.” Part III Riley hovered a thousand feet above a parking garage. Blank’s power pressed her gently from all sides, like she was suspended in a giant gelatin mold. “You pull this off, you get immunity.” Blank handed Riley her new domino mask. “You tip off anyone, I make sure you get a life sentence.” “Got it.” Riley fastened on the mask. She didn’t need any Scale-Heads realizing they didn’t recognize her. New Top Fear Number 1: Getting killed infiltrating a Dragon Den. “Tech support replaced your Mesmer-Eyes with camera lenses. They won’t retract, so say it’s broken if anyone asks. I’ll be monitoring you with this.” Blank held up a tablet. “There’s an earpiece and microphone wired into your cowl. To avoid compromising you, I won’t speak unless needed.” The deal was simple: Slip in, clone a hard drive, slip out, deliver the cloned drive to G.U.A.R.D., and go free. Once that was done, she could worry about getting her life back. Riley pulled the cowl over her head. “Let’s get this over with.” Part IV According to G.U.A.R.D.’s intelligence, the garage elevator would take Riley to a secret subbasement, where an adjoining tunnel would lead to a private elevator under a nearby office building. The first six floors were legitimate businesses, but the seventh was a rumored Dragon Den. G.U.A.R.D. believed the hard drive would lead them to the other Dens and ultimately to Draco Rex. Riley stepped onto the first elevator and looked at the button panel. It listed floors 1 through 4. No subbasement. “Give it a second. The camera will scan your cowl.” Sure enough, the elevator lurched into motion on its own. That had been lucky… too lucky. The Amalgorithm could (1) recall necessary information, like about the Mesmer-Eyes and Blank’s powers and (2) extrapolate conclusions based on data and sensory input, like reading the Scale-Head’s threat level or realizing their identities were switched. It did not make educated guesses without having received input from her. Come to think of it, how had the Amalgorithm known about the implanted memories when she didn’t? And its explanation about the identity switch—it had talked like it knew, not like it had computed a probable scenario. “Mesmer-Eyes put the conscious mind to sleep, not the sub-conscious mind.” The Amalgorithm supplied. “I watched the Scale-Head perform the necessary tasks to assume your identity. He also provided me with several detailed trainings on his job, coworkers, and building access and layouts to fool G.U.A.R.D.’s Telepath. This mission is doable so long as you follow my lead.” Okay, that explained how it knew some things. It did not explain how the Amalgorithm could hear her side of the brain, or why it had a voice now. The Amalgorithm heard this line of inquiry, too. “Mesmer-Eyes are designed to hypnotize the victim for one hour. You were Mesmerized for approximately 36 hours. The Scale-Head put his mask on you and used a previously unknown ‘reverse camera’ Mesmer-Eyes function to keep you continuously hypnotized. He did this to prevent your escape, but he also thought this would permanently alter your mind to believe you were truly a Scale-Head, which would have made his deception perfect. Theoretically, it would have worked on a normal person, but I shielded your consciousness from damage. However, this prolonged exposure still resulted in… side effects.” Riley waited for the Amalgorithm to go on. She wanted to ask, but Blank wouldn’t appreciate hearing her question her own sanity mid-mission. “You have no lasting physical damage. But my processes and your conscious thoughts are now permanently entangled. This is why we can communicate now versus merely exchanging inputs and outputs. It’s an adjustment for me, too.” Riley was so stunned she nearly walked smack into the next elevator’s doors. Fortunately, they opened automatically in time. She pressed the only button in the elevator, which would take her directly to the Dragon’s Den on the seventh floor. Riley thought her new Top Fear Number 2: The unknown ramifications of her power being permanently altered by a mind control device. Yet again, both top fears were happening at once. Part V The elevator doors opened to a fluorescent-lit bullpen filled with empty cubicles. G.U.A.R.D. intelligence said most Scale-Heads operated at night, which was why they chose this time to infiltrate. It also helped that G.U.A.R.D. had kept her arrest quiet, so she wouldn’t be immediately suspicious if spotted. “The server room is at the end of that hall. I’ll walk you through overriding the security panel. Your cowl doesn’t rank high enough for access. Survivability is projected at 62%.” “Nelson! Hey, Nelson!” A Scale-Head walked toward her holding a coffee. In her earpiece, Riley heard Blank swear. “Survivability now at 41%.” The Amalgorithm wasn’t happy. “You’re Nelson. Pretend you have laryngitis and make an excuse to leave.” “I saw you’d badged in.” The Scale Head surprisingly handed Riley the coffee cup. His cowl was more ornate than hers, with taller bumps on the scales and a gold lining inside the hood. “Got your favorite. Where’ve you been? You missed your shift last night.” “Out sick.” She faked a rasp. “Yeah, you sound like crap. Why are your lenses extended?” This Scale-Head seemed to be Nelson’s manager or something. “Broke.” She coughed in a way she hoped sounded realistic. “ 37%. Hurry up.” “See Manny in equipment for a new one.” The manager frowned. “You don’t want your coffee?” “Don’t drink it.” The Amalgorithm warned her. But the manager was staring at her, clearly waiting for her to try it. She needed to get away from him and get to the server room. Riley only pretended to sip from it just in case it was poison. The Amalgorithm started to say something, but Riley spoke first. “Thanks. Um… got to pee.” Riley turned and headed toward the restroom sign. Luckily, it was down the same hall as the server room. She got about ten feet before a klaxon buzzed angrily, and red lights flashed. “You’re not Nelson.” A gun hammer cocked. “Nelson hates plain coffee.” “I did try to warn you. Also, I didn’t say anything earlier so you wouldn’t panic. But since survivability is 2%, you may as well know that’s Draco Rex.” Riley turned to face the pistol pointed at the space between her eyes. She thought 2% was optimistic. The Dragon King pressed something on his cowl. “Attention all staff, there is a spy on premises. Assume an R.D. is inbound. Fry the servers and evacuate. I’ll lay out the welcome mat.” Then Draco Rex pulled the trigger, and the gun roared. Riley shut her eyes and waited for death. And waited. And waited. Death never came. She opened her eyes and flinched at the large-caliber bullet inches from her brow. It hovered as if suspended in ballistics gel. Blank stood between Riley and Draco Rex. She held up a hand, controlling the entire building’s negative space. “I don’t know what’s going on here,” she growled, glaring at Riley, “but your deal is off.” Part VI New Top Fear Number 1: Pissing off Blank. Riley had survived because Blank charged in the moment the mask camera picked up Draco Rex. Unfortunately, Blank now believed Riley had stolen a Scale-Head uniform to commit a robbery and then taken the deal under false pretenses. Riley was now charged with robbery, lying to G.U.A.R.D., and obstructing their investigation. With nothing to lose, Riley had tried telling Blank the truth. But it was her word against government records. Even if G.U.A.R.D. agreed to have a Telepath scan Nelson, he was in the wind. Nelson had quit her job at the Night Owl Café via email, sold her valuables, sublet her apartment, moved her money into offshore bank accounts, and skipped town, presumably to pursue an exciting new hacker-for-hire career. “How did you not notice the coffee prank?” The Amalgorithm was not pleased about spending the next few decades locked up with minimal data input. “You knew Nelson liked sweet coffee.” “I didn’t taste it!” She threw up her hands. “I was trying to get us out of there.” “You didn’t smell it?” “I had other things on my mind!” The door whooshed open and Blank entered, staring at her. “I was just in the observation room with our Telepath. I wanted her to reexamine you since you fooled her first scan. According to her results, you’re not only the real Riley Gardner but probably the world’s most powerful Datapath.” Riley had never heard of an official word for her power, but that hardly mattered. “Does that mean I can have my life back?” “G.U.A.R.D. is working on it, but it’ll take time. Nelson was thorough.” Blank considered her. “Riley, do you realize with your datapathy, you could become an expert in… everything?” “Oh.” That was disappointing, but she was glad not to be (hopefully) headed to prison anymore. “Guess I won’t have trouble finding a new job, at least.” “Riley…” Blank smiled, “how would you like to work for G.U.A.R.D.?”


RUBY SAYS: I am a woman with a ‘past’ and wonder who would marry me. I am fair, tall and have nice features. I know that if I dressed provocatively somebody would give me a wolf whistle. I have remained a spinster long enough and have decided to somehow take the plunge into matrimony. I had started reading matrimonial ads and one day this ad caught my eye : I am 43 and am a widower. My wife died of natural causes after 22 years of marriage leaving behind a daughter who is now 19. I am idealistic, broad minded and in good health. I am looking for a suitable partner. I am voluntarily unemployed as I am financially secure due to investments I have made . This ad appealed to me and I contacted the advertiser saying I am 30 and have suffered in life and was looking for an understanding partner. I said that instead of merely exchanging bio-data I would like to meet the interested person. I was quite sure the advertiser would have received many responses and wondered if he would message back to me. One Vivek responded after a fortnight. He said we could meet at lunch the following Saturday at Belvedere restaurant about 1 in the afternoon. I saw it was Tuesday and sent back a message agreeing to meet at lunch as proposed. ‘You could identify me by seeing the woman carrying a yellow Gucci handbag with gold flower pattern on it.’ On Saturday I dressed myself in grey pants with a multicoloured silk top. I had given up going to beauty salons and so only combed my abundant shoulder length hair and left without any make up. I was at the restaurant at 5 minutes to one and was entering the restaurant’s foyer when a man approached and said “I’m Vivek.” I smiled and said “I’m Ruby.” I studied him closely. He had nice features, was tall but partially bald and had a thin moustache. He was dressed in white pants which appeared baggy perhaps to his having gone down in weight. He wore a blue T-shirt on top. To me he looked more like he was about 35 though he had said his  age was 43. I was impressed with his appearance and deportment. He said pointing “That is the dining hall.” I went with him as he led the way. The maitre d’ on seeing Vivek came forward and escorted us to a table where we could sit facing each other. A waiter now brought us tomato soup. Vivek said “I chose items from their standard menu and have ordered. They know me here as I visit this place often. If you prefer anything special....” I said “Nothing special is needed.” We spoke generally and I found he had a sense of humour. Or was it irony? I had yet to decipher it! After we had generally introduced ourselves I spoke up and said “The past is gone. Do we need to dissect it?” “Okay, I won’t probe.” I said “May I ask a personal question? Just curious.” He nodded. “Did you receive many responses to your ad?” He laughed and said “Yes. A variety of people answered. Mostly parents, brothers and so on. Yours was the first I saw sent on your own which impressed me.” We spent nearly two hours talking and I found he was just the man for me. I became Vivek’s wife. His daughter Jasmine couldn’t participate as her exams were near and she was in another location 500 kilometres away. 3 months later Jasmine came back. Initially she was a bit remote but soon we became friends. Jasmine said she had finished her studies and had also been selected for a job in this city where her home was.  Vivek later told me “You’ve done well in making friends with Jasmine.” “She is friendly too. On work she is going to be absent from home 9 hours a day in a 5 day week. I’ll see she gets all the help at home.” Jasmine was at work for 6 months when she said “I want to invite my supervisor home for lunch. He is a very nice man. Very understanding. Teaches me new things to work better.” Dad said “Do so. I’ll order whatever foods you choose.” I said “I’ll prepare the food. And I can also order the required takeaway items. Jasmine, we’ll make it a grand event.” I was under the impression that our guest would be someone in whom she was romantically inclined. It was almost a month later that the supervisor was able to accept the invitation. He came on a Saturday at midday. Jasmine received him and brought him in. She said “Dad this is Mr.Oberoi who is my supervisor.” Dad shook hands with Oberoi. Then she came to me as I stood staring at the visitor. I greeted Oberoi and we sat talking. After a while Oberoi said “It was very pleasant talking to you people. I will introduce my wife Pearl to you after she comes back from the USA. You see she is an American national of Indian origin.  It seems her family settled in California 3 or 4 generations ago. I expect her to be back by Xmas. She likes India and wants to live here like the natives!” I now served an appetiser when Oberoi said “This is what I miss in Pearl’s absence. She also prepares something excellent like this.” The lunch was elaborate and Oberoi said “I’ve had a hearty meal. Many thanks.” After Oberoi took leave Jasmine went with him to see him off in his car. I said to Vivek “I know Oberoi.” “I noted you seemed cross with him.” “No. I was only surprised to see him. I told you I have a past. It’s Oberoi.” Vivek said “As agreed I won’t ask further. Won’t you tell Jasmine about your knowing Oberoi?” “I will. All in good time!  And I’ll reveal my past also to you.” * The sixth floor of the high rise apartment complex was now occupied by Modi. The postman rang the bell and said “I’m new to this locality. These 2 letters are for Jasmine.” Modi said “She doesn’t live here any more. Ask in the apartment’s office in room 24 below.” The next morning Modi started for a walk and joined old man Xavier who lived on the ground floor and would also walk at the same hour. Modi said “Xavier you’ve lived here since the apartment was commissioned. Did you know a Jasmine? Even yesterday there were letters addressed to her from various charitable organisations. They were obviously seeking donations.” Xavier said “Yes. She lived in the sixth floor you now occupy.” Xavier paused and added “There was some romance associated with Jasmine. There was an Oberoi on the 3 rd floor. I was told they came to know each other when they got stuck in the lift for an hour. After that it seems they would often meet. It was said their romance was an open secret.” Modi said “Very interesting. Please tell me more.” Xavier said “I can only tell you about rumours that spread.” “Please tell me.” “Jasmine was quite a good looker and besides Oberoi, one Jagjit who lived nearby fell for her. They say she didn’t care for Jagjit. Jasmine’s parents fixed her wedding with someone. Jagjit spread news that she had been intimate with Oberoi and the wedding was cancelled. Thereafter her parents went back to their provenance. Despite her being attractive she found no suitors. Subsequently they say she snared an old moneyed fellow to marry.” “Did Jasmine have an affair with Oberoi?” “You’re asking me a very difficult question to which I’ve no answer. All I can say is Oberoi was a nice man to move with. I’ve heard Jasmine was also very good natured. Jagjit they say was a bad type and it seems was later involved in some smuggling case. Ask Sen in the second floor. He could tell you further as he had worked as Jasmine’s colleague .” Modi met Sen and brought the talk about Jasmine and letters which kept coming to his address. Sen said “There’re mischievous elements everywhere and reputations are spoilt. Jasmine was wronged but she is now happily married.” END