A FRESH WATER SPRING Ruth had married very young to leave a family where no one had never cared for her, where indeed she was also mistreated. In her family of origin her life had always been hell. Of course, if as a child and as a teenager someone had asked her what plans she had for her life, she couldn’t certainly have answered that she was thinking  of a family of hers, with husband and children. Yet at the age of seventeen she had married, and she had not married for love either, and not even because she wanted to have children and husband. Getting married was the easiest way to get out of her family. Her marriage had been a disaster. Ruth had married to get rid of parents and siblings   who mistreated her and she had ended up with a husband who beat her, who spied on her, who didn’t allow her the slightest freedom. Ruth had run away, bringing her child, of a few months , with her. She had been arrested for child   abduction and locked up in a psychiatric hospital. Her life continued to be hell. Since she was sure that she would never have been released   from the asylum, she had run away. She had taken care not to leave traces, so that no one could find her again. Surely Ruth still   had illusions about her parents, about her brothers, about her husband, since none of them had thought of looking for her. She was gone? But that she also went to hell! None of them   had worried that something bad could have happened to her, that she could even be dead. If anything , it had been the opposite: all of them had wished she had died. Ruth kept wandering for years  from one country to another. She lived as a homeless in Prague, Paris, Berlin. She had never forgotten her child, who had been taken from her, when the baby was a few months old. Ruth could never claim the right to see him, since by law she was no longer the child’s mother . In her wandering and troubled life the thought of her child, Peter, was something  comforting, giving her courage, helping her to live.  For her having him in mind , hoping to be able to see him again , was as thinking of a glass of fresh water for a thirsty person, or rather of a clear, fresh gushing water where to find refreshment. Ruth, obsessed with the hope of finding her son  (child) abducted in Budapest a child in which she thought to have recognized her child Peter. It had been almost funny to…kidnap that little one. Oh, but that she had kidnapped him, they had told so ( it), those who had arrested her. Since when she had brought that child with her, Ruth didn’t think she was kidnapping him at all. Yes, she was convinced that the child was her son Peter. Of course, he had grown up, now he was able to walk…oh, but he had the same face, and same eyes, and same mouth too as Peter. Ah, no doubt that child was her son, who had been unjustly taken ( away) from her and now she was taking him back. She saw that child as he was walking across a large square, held by the hand of a young woman , who dragged that little one, since she seemed to not worry at all the child could not keep up with her, so that he remained behind her. Oh, but why doesn’t she pick the child up? Doesn’t she see that the poor baby can’t keep up with her? This had been the first thought Ruth had had when she saw that child. Then , watching him, within a few minutes she had felt her heart leap.  Oh God! But look…the rounded cheeks, and the chin with dimple of that child, oh, but they were identical to those as her child. Ruth had gone before that child, close to him and the little boy had smiled at her, putting the little finger at the corner of his mouth….That  gesture what a thrill had given to her…. how many times had she seen Peter make a gesture identical to that! It had been easy to pick  the child up. The woman who was holding him by the hand, dragging him behind, she didn’t pay any attention to the little one…It was evident that she did not care of  about him at all. She held him ( the child) , indeed she dragged him by the hand as she would have done with…a suitcase. Ruth took the child in her arms and ran away, being behind the woman who, when she realized that the child was gone, started screaming, asking for help. Perhaps she ( that woman) had pointed to her, Ruth,  as the kidnapper of the child, since she had to have noticed her( Ruth)who was running away, almost folded in two. People there in the square had started running and shouting at her, but now Ruth was far enough , she had come out of the square, and had taken refuge , she and the…kidnapped child, in the first door she had found open along the street. It was a great multi-story building with elevator. Ruth , to escape from people who were chasing her,  she got on the elevator, and pressed the button for the thirteenth floor, that was the last. Meanwhile the child had started to cry, and, crying, he kept  calling : “ Mom! Mom!” Ruth took care to reassure the little one, and, as she cradled him in her arms, she repeated to him that oh, but she was his mom ! Didn’t he recognize her? Wasn’t he Peter, her little son from whom she had been separated years ago? The child was looking at her with wide eyes, at first almost incredulous, even frightened. But then, when he started fiddling with the buttons of her shirt, he began to look at her with trusting eyes, smiling at her. He kept calling : Mom! Mom!, but he stopped crying. She, Ruth, felt so happy! Oh, she had found her child finally! Now no one could take him away from her anymore! They would stay ( be) together forever! But , what strange, the elevator kept going up, never stopping, How long did it take to get to the top floor? Was it possible it took so long? The elevator, after continuing to go up for a time which seemed interminable to Ruth, it stopped just a moment and started to go down. But what was happening? The elevator after going up started to go down again, then it went up again….It had taken to going up and down, almost uninterruptedly. Ruth was more and more worried. Her child was now laughing and stammering words, but indeed pieces of words, which she was not able to understand. Oh, her child seemed to have a lot of fun… The elevator kept on going up and down and then up again. Even if it stopped, for a few moments, before starting to go up or down again, the door never opened. Ruth she felt trapped, she knew she was a prisoner in that elevator, from which it was impossible to get out. They wanted to drive her crazy, like when she had been locked up in an asylum. What could she do ?  Just now that she had found her child, now that she thought she had made it out of the hell that her life had been until then. Ruth looked at the child who to her was Peter, her son. The child in the meantime had fallen asleep in her arms. He was sleeping peacefully, serene, as if he felt safe there, in her arms. Oh, but he wasn’t safe either, if they couldn’t get out of the elevator. Ruth also knew that getting out of that elevator ( it) would have meant for her to be locked up again. They would have locked her in jail or, that would be even worse, in an asylum. The elevator kept going up and down, she couldn’t see a way out. Ruth dropped to the ground, with the sleeping child in her arms, and she fell asleep too. She dreamed that she was walking barefoot in a vast , arid, dried plain, where there was not even a blade of grass. It was a kind of desert. The soil ( ground) burned under her feet. It was furrowed   by deep cracks. Ruth was tired and very thirsty. But she kept walking in the hope of finding , sooner or later, water with which she could quench her thirsty and refresh. Suddenly in the blinding light of the sun, beating grazing on that desolate land she saw something shimmering. Although she was exhausted, she started running  and , as she approached that something shimmering and clear, which appeared and disappeared in the sunlight, it seemed to her that, but yes, it was water, water which gushed from that arid, desolate land. A miracle! That gush of water, falling to the ground, formed a pool, almost a small lake. Only when Ruth arrived very close that water, she realized, if she had time, that it was not a pool of water, gushing from a spring, but it was a sewer. In the rush to get to what she believed (it) was a spring of water Ruth put her feet in the sewer, into which she plunged.


I counted walnuts in my head, the shriveled tan hearts dripping into a bowl, somewhere hidden behind a rock.

This was only a fantasy now. Nothing grew south of the forest, and nobody left out nuts in the desert. Each piece of food was treasured by all creatures, and I was a small and unimportant one. We continued toward the sun, which blinded me enough to mask the change of color from evergreen to dusty brown on the surface below. The people moved around like slow crickets, headed the same way as us. They pointed in the air, so we did a few circles and formed the shape of a dolphin. I imagined each of them smiling.

I saw a girl smile once when I was as young as she. I landed on a bench beside her while she munched on some kind of mashed up peanuts. My feathers quivered at the scent. I inched closer, her tiny, buttery limbs and translucent hair inviting me in. She called out to me “Bird!”

Her mother swung her autumn hair off her neck and gave the girls belly an approving squeeze. Her baby blue shorts rode up near her diaper. She kicked her scabbed shins up off the bench.

I thought about my mother, who came back to me at the close of the sun each night. She asked me what I did during the day, and I told her about the girl and her mother in the park.

She reminded me that people are dangerous, and the woman in the park was trying to protect her child from me. She said they would hurt birds if they could only catch us.

I couldn’t imagine the girl hurting anything. She trembled with laughter and cried before bed. I watched through her window, where a small lamp, shaped like a mermaid, let off a gold light and blocked most of my view. Her mother nested different size pillows around her head while she dug her nails into a crocheted blanket with rows of pink fish. They both read words from a red and orange story book, as if the mother was also struggling with her R’s. I visited the window more often, searching for something although I didn’t know what. I had to scoot away from the ledge when she climbed out one night, a boy below with his arms out, ready to break her fall. They tucked themselves away behind a tree to hold hands and kiss.

He laughed out loud and she shoved her baggg sleeve into his mouth. “You’ll wake up my mother!”

This confused me; I saw her mother watching the two children from her bedroom window, where she normally slept with the TV turned on. Now she stood still, focused like a hawk on the back of the girls head. Her earrings twinkled in harmony with the night. Still, they were well disguised in the dark so I hopped closer. I was invisible against the Earth. For a moment, I craved the substance of those people, all the space they took up, like something more profound occurred within their bodies. They spread out their arms like angels, and didn’t look over their shoulder all the time. They seemed safe, free to wonder about things like their clothing or the decorations on their walls.

My mother whispered to me while I slept that night. Her course feathers smelled like Juniper berries. She told me we would return north the next morning. We’d leave at sunrise, with just a few minutes to find where the others landed. The rusty markings below her eyes shined like teardrops. She checked around us every couple seconds, rotating her beak back and forth.

I wanted to see the girl again before I left. After my mother tucked her head into her wing, I hopped down from our branch quietly and took off toward the house.

The girl rested her head against her mother’s frail hand. Her grey and brown braid laid long down her back. A curtain blurred the rest of the room, except for a vase of sunflowers on the nightstand. Her mother mumbled something I couldn’t understand and she giggled.

Then her mother sat up, her hoarse cough audible from the distant tree I watched from. She held the girls shoulders as she stabilized her walk into the bathroom. I noticed the girls hips were almost as wide now. Humans grew into so many interesting shapes.

I watched through the window long enough for the sun to peak over the roof. I jolted back and flew toward our nest. I arrived, cooing for my mother. She wasn’t in the nest or any of the surrounding trees.

I hopped from branch to branch, chirping for the other birds. The trees shook in the still silence, their bareness leaving me exposed to the sky above.

I returned to the house, wondering if I could make it north on my own. I didn’t know the way, and if I went in the wrong direction I might risk being washed away by unfamiliar winds.

After several hours I pressed my body against the trunk and rested my eyes. The middle day shined hard and long. The smell of walnuts captured me, so I started to count each nut in my head, imagining the soft center between my beak. I followed the smell on the off chance it wasn’t just a weary dream.

The scent took me back to the house. I peaked into the window, where room was empty and the furniture removed. The lamp and curtaime were gone from my view, and I clearly made out fresh repainted walls and a new matte carpet. I hopped around to the front of the house, where a woman stood on a chair near the railing. She rubbed water off her face.

Her black clothing stuck to her back. She lifted a tiny house, the same shape as her own, with a rope attached to the roof. she hung it near the front door. A man, also dressed in black, handed her a bag of walnuts.

“Your mom loved birds.”

She filled the house with nuts, through a hole cut out above the painted red door. She wiped the water from her face and her nose with the white towel she used to dust off little house.

I chirped to her.

“Oh, look!”

Both the people froze, and stared at me. I fluttered back.

“John, you’re scaring her. Get inside.”

They went into the house, their house, and slowly closed the door. I waited a moment, but the smell of nuts was overwhelming, and I hadn’t eaten since the last time my mother brought back her juniper berries. I landed on the railing, then spread my wings and elevated up to the bird feeder. The taste of the walnuts was real, and inflated my heart. The women behind the glass dug her head into the mans chest. He whispered into her ear, pointing at me and waving.


Everything is random, until it isn’t. Chantey knows this all too well. That’s why she’s sitting alone in a diner with her brown eyes glued to the front door. Every minute she’s checking the time on her phone, and nervously tapping her feet. As she looked over her shoulder for the fourth time, she ran her fingers through her permed dark hair. Her nerves were so on edge, Chantey nearly jumped out her skin when the waitress said, hello.            “Can I get you anything?” A young black waitress asked with her hands on her hips.            Chantey’s eyes darted back and forth between the waitress and the front door. She cracked a partial simile and replied, “I’m just waiting on somebody.”            “My boss said that rent has to be paid on these booths. So, you have to order something, or wait outside,” the waitress said pulling out a pen and flipping open a pad.            Chantey sighed as she looked around the greasy spoon restaurant and noticed that every booth was filled. Customers licking fingers and smacking lips as they enjoyed Herb’s Louisiana Catfish. She had picked this place because it was way out in Brooklyn. Far from her college campus in Queens, so that no one would recognize her or her protégé. Chantey picked up the sticky menu and said, “Just give me some fries and a coke.”             The bell chime at the front door went off and in walked a tall, lanky, man, wearing blue jeans, a white t-shirt, Converse All-stars, and fedora hat. His white skinned looked like he was in desperate need of a tan. When Chantey saw him, she stood up and waived to get his attention. He quickly made his way over to the table and slid into the booth across from her.            “What’s up Tey?” Corey said locking eyes with her.            “It’s about time,” she said sitting on the edge of her seat. Chantey eagerly asked, “Did you get it?”            Corey’s face curled into a smile, “My word is bond. If I tell you there’s cheese on the moon, go get your crackers.”            “Whatever boy,” Chantey replied with a chuckle and dismissive waive. Then she reached out with an open left hand and said, “Come on with it.”            Corey reached into the small of his back and pulled out a folded manila envelope. And just as he was about to place it in her hand, he pulled it back and asked, “What you got for me?”            Chantey shook her head. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a freshly typed paper that was neatly stapled. As she slid the paper across the table she said, “I almost forgot. One lit term-paper breaking down, The Catcher in the Rye and its significance on 20 th century literature.”            Corey took the paper and thumbed through it with a smile. He nodded while saying, “Cool, cool.” Then he handed the enveloped to Chantey. “Here you go. I hope you know what I had to go through to get this for you. If the administration found out, I’d be expelled.”            “You have any idea how long it took me to write that paper. We even.”            “It’s not that. I’m just saying. Since you’re an aspiring journalist and all, I hope my name stays out of this.”            “You’re a source. I would go jail before I would reveal a source. Your secret is safe with me.”

           “Cool. Just let me know if there’s anything I could do for you in the future,” he said gently touching her smooth dark-skinned hands, “And I do mean anything.”            Chantey glanced up with a smirk, “I like my men tall, dark, muscular, and handsome. You only got one out of four. Sorry honey.”            Chantey took the envelope and went straight to the editor of her school newspaper, Justin Copeland. Justin was a graduate assistant, and was the one who gave out the assignments. She rushed to his office and pounded on the door before letting herself in.            “Justin, you won’t believe what I got,” Chantey announced, barely able to contain her excitement.            Justin stopped typing and turned around from his small desk that faced the wall. He adjusted his black rim glassed and hooked his long blonde hair behind his ears. Offering Chantey a seat next to him, he gave her his undivided attention.

           “I was able to get my hands on these reports,” she stated as she handed him the envelope. “Three woman who went to coach Franklin and reported they were sexually assaulted by a member of the football team.” While Justin read through the pages, he asked, “How did you get these?” “A true reporter never reveals her source,” she answered with a smile. Justin finished reading and exhaled loudly. Shaking his head, he handed Chantey back the paper. “Chantey, you were supposed to be writing an article on the life of coach Jim Franklin. Highlighting his accomplishments for his twenty years at the university. Not digging up unfounded dirt on him.” “But Justin, he knew what happened to these girls and he buried it. We have to follow up. Report it,” she pleaded with her words and her eyes. “You have a redacted report. So you don’t have the names of the alleged victims or the accused. The details of the alleged act are generic. Do you have any other sources, other than the person that gave you these reports?” “No,” Chantey replied with her head hanging down. “You have to have at least three confirmed sources for us to publish anything. Look, I applaud your effort. But Chantey, this is a small school newspaper. Not the Washington post. You’re not Bob Woodward, and this isn’t Watergate. Coach Franklin is the most powerful man on campus. He’s beloved. He’s well respected and connected. And he could kill this article before it’s even printed. And, he could have both of us kicked out of school for even suggesting he had anything to do with this. My suggestion to you, forget about this,” Justin said holding up the files. “And get back to writing your original article.” Chantey sat there with her legs crossed, dejected. She had on a cute pair of black legging that accentuated her curvy body. This caught Justin’s attention. He licked his lips before casually placing his hand on her knee. “I’ll be more than happy to help you get back on track. I’m free this evening. Maybe you can come by my place later and we can work on it together,” Justin smoothly offered with a sly grin as his hand inched up her thigh. Chantey grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand back as she rose to her feet, “I think I got it. But thanks.”

           Chantey quickly exited his office and went back to the dorm. She was use to men coming on to her, but not to having her ideas dismissed. Determined, Chantey pushed Justin’s words and actions out of her head. She walked in her tiny room, and was relieved that her nosey roommate was out. She took a seat at the small desk and placed the reports side by side to look for any clues. There wasn’t much to go by. The reports were generic. Just a date, time, the accusation, and the name of the Amanda Lewis. The secretary who logged the report. She racked her brain on where to start. Then it hit her. She grabbed her things and went to the athletic department. One the way, she stopped by the cafeteria and grabbed a hand full of onions from the salad bar. She messed up her hair a little, and rubbed the onions on her eyes. Pulling a hood over her head, she went through the lobby and to the desk of Amanda Lewis.

           Amanda sat up straight, flashed her pearly whites, and asked, “Hello. How can I help you?”            Chantey pretended to look nervous. She leaned in close and whispered, “Excuse me, but is it possible for me to speak with coach Franklin. There was an incident with one of the players I’d like to discuss with him.”            Amanda looked her up and down and shook her head. She reached into her draw and handed her one of those same report sheets. Leaning forward, she whispered back, “These boys are out of control. Do me favor and fill out this form. The coach typically takes meetings on Wednesday morning during the football season.”             Chantey filled out the form and handed it back to her. Then Amanda handed her a sign in sheet. Chantey noticed that the old sign in sheets were still on there. She needed a second. Thinking quickly, she coughed and acted like she was choked up, and asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have any water, would you?”            “Sure dear.” Amanda hopped up to fetch some water.            Chantey franticly searched through the pages until she found a date that match one from the last report dated, October 2 nd . She snapped a picture with her phone right before Amanda came back with a bottle of water. Chantey took the water, gave her the form, and thanked her immensely.            There were five names that signed in that day, but only one belonging to a female, Heather Tyson. Chantey went to the massive student center in the middle of the campus. There were kids everywhere. Some in the lounge area studying, other in the recreation center playing pool or bowling. Chantey made her way through the crowds and into the bookstore. There she saw her roommate, Caroline. Caroline was in the stacks putting up a fresh shipment of books. Caroline looked like she was still waiting for puberty to end with a face full of acne, and glasses thicker than coke bottles.            “Caroline, what’s up?” Chantey said strutting in with a big smile and leaning against the bookshelves. “I need your help with something.”            “I don’t know, Tey,” Caroline said with a shrug. “I don’t want to get into any type of trouble. I know how you are.”            Chantey wrapped her arm around Caroline’s shoulder and said, “Now would I let anything happen to my girl? I just need a little info. Help me out, and I’ll get you into the party that the Delta’s are throwing Saturday.”            Caroline smiled, showing braces that look like railroad tracks. “What you need girl?” “I just need you to pull up the ID to a Heather Tyson. I want to talk to her about a story I’m doing. That’s all.” Caroline went into the office and pulled up the info on Heather. Chantey studied the photo of the short hair brunette with green eyes for a minute. I know this girl , she thought to herself, but she couldn’t remember from where. Chantey scribbled down the dorm number and went to her place. She was knocking on her door thirty minutes later. “Hello,” Heather said wearing a large sweatshirt with a textbook under her arms. She looked at Chantey like she knew her. “Hi, my name is Chantey. I’m with the school paper. You have a minute?” “School paper,” Heather mumbled, “That’s where I remember you. From Journalism 101.” “Yeah, that’s it. I thought I recognized you too. You mind if I come in for minute.” Heather opened the door all the way and invited her in. She sat on one twin bed while Chantey sat on the other, “So what’s up?” Chantey was silent for a minute, as she was choosing her words carefully, “I ah…I was doing a story on coach Franklin. And I came across a report that you filed with his office.” Heather’s eyes were as wide as silver dollars. “Oh my god! How did you find out?” “It’s a long story. But I know that you went to him and he buried it,” Chantey said leaning forward and grabbing her hand, “You’re not the only one.” Heather withdrew. Her eyes began to water. She stood up and paced back and forth, “You should leave.” Chantey stood up and blocked her path. “I know how difficult this is for you. But you can’t let whoever did this to you get away with it. This happened to two other women. And unless we expose him, it’ll keep happening. Please tell me your story. Maybe I can help you,” Chantey said softly with compassion in her voice. Heather closed her eyes and breathed heavily for a few minutes. She mumbled to herself. Chantey placed a hand on her shoulders, trying to comfort her. Heather grabbed a piece of tissue and dabbed her red eyes. She sat back down on the bed. Collecting herself, her voice cracked as she said, “He invited me back to his place to work on a paper. He was very nice and mannerable. He fixed me a drink. I took a couple of sips and felt woozy. Next thing I know, I wake up hours later on his couch with my shoes off, and panties pulled halfway down. And I couldn’t remember anything. I went to coach Franklin and told him what happened. And he said I probably had too much to drink and forgot what I did. But there’s no way I would’ve forgot drinking that much or sleeping with that guy. Anyway, he said it would be my word against his. And he was from a prominent family. So he convinced me to drop it.” “That’s awful. Who did this to you?” Chantey asked on the edge of the bed. “Justin Copeland.” Chantey nearly feel on her face. She was stunned. Then she remembered that Justin played football last year as a senior. Incredible. And he just tried to lure her to his place. Chantey stayed the evening with Heather. And they both cried and hugged and talked some more until curfew. Later that evening, Chantey sat at her desk, typing away. She had written a magnificent story. But there was no way this story would never get printed with the coach and now Justin in the way. He needed to be exposed. Then it her. She had a plan. Chantey showed up at Justin’s office two days later. She had some tight shorts that hugged every curve she had. And she had on a low-cut blouse that barely contained her cleavage. She took a seat in front of him. Chantey was so hot that when she crossed her legs, she could’ve started a fire. She handed him her paper. “You were right. That report was bullshit. I’m back focus. Trying to get this finished. What do you think?” Justin damn near went cross-eyed from looking at her thighs and her paper at the same time, “It looks good. But you still need to clean it up a little. My offer still stands. I’m free in the evening if you want to come by. We can knock this out tonight.” Chantey smiled and cut her eyes at him. “You know what, I’m going to take you up on your offer.” “Cool. Here, let me write down my address. And you can come by tonight around seven,” he suggested.                                                * Justin was excited when saw that Chantey showed up at seven on the dot wearing the same outfit. Justin eagerly invited her in. He showed her around, then she followed him into his kitchen area. “Make yourself home,” Justin said as he pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. Chantey lips curled into a smile. “Can you do me a favor?” “Anything.” Chantey was rubbing her hands together. “I left my purse at my place. And my hands feel real dry. Could I trouble you for some lotion?” “Sure,” Justin went into his bedroom and grabbed a bottle of lotion from his dresser. He looked at his teeth to make sure nothing was in them, then he grabbed some tic-tacs and popped a few in his mouth. Excited, he skipped into the kitchen and handed Chantey the lotion. Then he offered, “I was going to have some wine. You care for some?” “Yeah. By the way. Do you mind if I use your restroom?” “Of course, It’s the second door on the left.” Chantey went to the bathroom and Justin pulled out a bottle of wine. He poured them both a glass. Peeping around the corner to see if she was coming, he reached into his pocket and grabbed a pill, rufilin. He dropped it into her drink, and it quickly disintegrated. Just as he finished, she came strolling back to the kitchen. He handed her the spiked drink while taking a sip of his own. Going into the living room, Justin turned on his record player and put on some smooth jazz. He went back in the kitchen. “This wine tastes good. What kind is it?” Chantey asked licking her lips. “Pinot noir,” Justin answered with a devilish grin. Chantey started blinking feverishly. She stood up and staggered, “I feel a little woozy.” Justin grabbed her arms and steered her toward the couch. “Why don’t you take a seat in here.” A few minutes later Chantey was out. Justin was rubbing his hands together as he stood over her. He ran into the bedroom and got a bottle of KY jelly. He slipped off his pants and applied the lubricant. Then he twisted her body around and began to unbutton her shorts. Just as he was about to pull them down, there was a knock at the door. Yanking his pants up, he stumbled over to the door and cracked it open. “Yes.” The campus police busted through the door and pushed him against the wall, “Justin Copeland, you are under arrest for attempted rape!” Confused, Justin yelled out, “What are you talking about!” “We talking about this you sick bastard!” Chantey said hopping to her feet and handing the police the spiked drink. Then she pointed to her phone that was propped up by the cookie jar recording everything. Justin bowed his head and shouted, “Fuck!”

                                                       The End


Boxes and more boxes were everywhere. Roma sat in the middle of room on the floor contemplating her next move. Pen and paper in hand she had just started this task. What was her task, more likely could she complete it. This was Romas first official job as a curator/caretaker of collections. Roma knew since she was eight years old that she wanted to be in charge of a museum a curator just like her father. Her father was Walter Hames the famous curator of the Boston museum collection. Her father often took her to work with him on the weekends he showed her the delights and hidden gems in the museum how best display these items so people could see and understand what he was looking for in his pieces. Roma loved the artwork and the anthology section, and the priceless pieces of artefacts that adorned the halls and rooms of the museum. Roma learned how precious each piece was and how to catalogue and value each item. Once Roma had finished secondary studies she automatically enrolled in and was accepted at Boston University undergraduate curator program obtaining a bachelor degree with a major in a relevant area, such as classics, fine arts,  history, cultural studies or anthropology, as well as a relevant postgraduate qualification. It had been a tiring 4 years but Roma had managed to be an exceptional student. She flourished at University and made her mother and father exceptionally proud by graduating with honours. Now she was ready to explore the world. Her father had offered her a job at the Boston Museum as a Junior curator but Roma wanted to make it under her own steam and not after her fathers name. She had recently come across an advertisement in the Boston Times newspaper requesting a deceased property evaluator. The position was a live in for approximately six months. Reading the article Roma knew she was more than qualified maybe this could be her start. You have to start at the bottom and work your way up isn’t that true, she thought to herself so she had made the call to the Lawyers firm who placed the advertisement and gained a interview. Roma felt a little bit nervous she didn’t know why she felt on edge, it was a run of the mill interview which she had completed plenty of them, university had  encouraged students to participate in mock interviews. She had her list of questions to ask. Arriving promptly at 9am at Tesslers and Tesslers Law firm Roma was shown into the interview room. Seated at the large half moon table were three important individuals of the Law firm. Each introduced themselves to Roma who was seated directly in front of them. Trying not to feel awkward or pressured Roma exhaled a few short breaths before relaxing and answering their questions. Once the interview had been concluded Roma was advised that this position is top priority and the successful applicant will be advised by the end of the week. By Friday morning Roma was a bunch of nerves she realised she really wanted this job. It would be new and exciting making her forge her own career path. From her room Roma could hear the phone ringing downstairs, she raced almost sliding down the banister. Stopping in her tracks she picked up the phone and introduced herself to the caller. Standing in the middle of the hallway, her face seemed pained maybe she wasn’t listening or comprehending what was being said. Did Mr Tesslers just say the job was hers and he will be sending over the legal paperwork for her to sign later that afternoon. She will commence her appointment with the firm Monday. Her mother and father congratulated her on her success and her father offered her his assistance should she require it. Monday morning Roma drove out to the address she had been given. She was to meet Mr Tesslers at the home at 9am. She had packed enough clothes and toiletries to last awhile. I’m sure the house will have a washing machine, that was the least of Romas problems. Approaching the home, Roma checked the address again. Yep 2011 Ralley Drive. It wasn’t just a home but a sprawling mansion, with sweeping lawns, gardens that would rival Bucharest gardens the place was gorgeous. Waiting while Mr Tesslers arrived Roma walked around the house. Surely Roma though one person didn’t live here alone, Mr Tesslers had arrived and taken Roma around the house before they continued inside. Insisting Roma called him George they both sat down in the drawing room while George advised Roma on her role, duties, responsibilities. She was allocated a bedroom on the second floor which had its own bathroom and a luscious view of the gardens. Roma had been provided an expense account card and was to use it for any necessities . Meals could be ordered in or if she liked Roma could utilise the large kitchen. George advised Roma that she could explore the mansion today and commence her duties tomorrow. Packing away her belongings Roma set off to explore, crossing the expansive lawns Roma located a tennis court, an indoor swimming pool and a pagoda that was shimmering with the sun. The complete mansion was breathtaking. Spending her first night at the mansion was a little daunting, but she settled down and slept like a baby. After a breakfast of toast and coffee which Roma had brought with her, she set herself a target each day she would try and complete one room’s inventory and value register. George had also given her a dozier of the Duke whose home it had been. Apparently he had been a widower without any children to inherit this beautiful property not to mention the artefacts and gems that will be discovered. The Duke had left strict instructions on his personal charities and fundraising activities that will be recipients of his estate. Roma was searching through a number of boxes in the anti chamber, noting each item and a value she had almost filled up her A4 notepad once this note pad was full she will transfer all of the information to her computer database. It was easier to work like this. After a few weeks George came out to check on how things were running, Roma knew he just wanted to get out of the office he loved the outdoors and they conversed via telephone every day. Visiting the local store Roma grabbed a few essentials and a jam and cream cake for morning tea. George was thrilled to see that Roma had been able to make headway with the inventory. they sat in the drawing room and went over their prospective plans and evaluations. George had advised Roma that a Mr Michael Low will be joining her in the home, his job will be to do the inventory and evaluation of the library. He will be arriving tomorrow morning around 9 am. He will be set up in the same way Roma has, with an expense account, his room will be on the first floor closest to the library. George stated that Michael was a comely gentleman who really was dedicated to his work and they should get on rather well. The next morning Michael arrived at promptly at 9 am. Roma showed him to his room and they did a quick tour of the home. Michael went to explore the library advising Roma that he will meet up with her at lunch time. Time flew bye it was 1:30 pm when Roma and Michael managed to grab a cup of tea and make a sandwich. Roma asked Michael what he would like to eat for dinner she said she was going to order Italian food from the local restaurant, her favourite dish was chicken parmigiana with vegetables and she will splurge on a bottle of red wine if he would like to join her. So they made a time to meet in the drawing room for dinner, Roma had ordered the meal, set the low table with napkins, silverware and wine glasses. The meal arrived at 7pm. They both sat down to dine, chatting between bites there conversations flowed easily. Roma spoke about her life as did Michael. They were of similar backgrounds and age. Roma felt that a friendship could be forged. Week after week Roma and Michael became more ingrained in their work. Meeting up for meals and cups of tea. Passing on tidbits about what they had found in the library, attic and other rooms. The valuation collection was becoming quite substantial. Michael commented on day on how lucky the recipients of the Dukes estate are going to be. Roma walked into the library to find that Michael had removed all the books from the shelves. They were laying on the table in little piles picking one up Roma asked Michael if the Dukes library collection was extensive. Michael responded there are some great books here but unfortunately no first editions. That doesn’t mean that they have no value. People perceive books in their own way. What is of value to one person may not be valuable to another. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Michael and Roma were firm friends by now more like brother and sister they were very comfortable being in the same house. Early one morning Roma heard Michael yelling from the library Roma, Roma come quick Roma ran to the library standing at the door she looked at Michael what’s going on, I thought you had hurt yourself Roma responded. No just come closer and look at this, Roma moved closer to Michael ok what am I looking at. See that slot there next to the shelf, can you put you fingers into the slot and press down on the shelf. I think there is a hidden shelf behind this one. Roma slipped her fingers into the groove and pressed down. The shelf moved and swung open. Looking inside between the shelves they both could see an array of other books in glass cases. Michael opened up the shelving wider it was like a mini room. There were three books each encased it it’s own glass pyramid. Grabbing the torch from the table Michael shone the glow of its light over each glass casing. No way, no way Michael was rumbling to himself, what is it Michael Roma asked. Michael was still muttering No way. His torch lit up the first book Shakespeare’s First Folio bending lower to see what he was seeing was correct Michael’s voice squeaked, it’s worth about 5.2 million dollars, it’s in mint condition tracing the torch over the second pyramid the book illuminated by its light  the first edition book of

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland  Michael commented to no one in particular this book is precious, but even more so due to its rarity. Only 2,000 copies were initially printed but were quickly recalled due to the illustrator’s unhappiness with the original drawings. There are only 22 known first-edition copies of

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland , with one copy being auctioned in 2016 for an estimated price of between $2 and $3 million. Turning the light towards the third pyramid Michael looked ashen he wobbled on his legs what is it Michael Roma asked, Michael she repeated his name again. Ugh umm The most expensive book ever sold is the Codex Leicester, purchased by Bill Gates in 1994 for $30.8 million. But here it is here. Michael I think we better phone George and let him come and see for himself. I’m going to phone Daddy and ask him to come and take a look. Michael I think we’re going to have our 10 minutes of fame.


“Be ready in 10” he said. I liked him from the beginning. He was a loudmouth. You always knew where he was because he was the loudest, sometimes the most obnoxious, one in the room. He was also charming, in a weird, chaotic way but he was. My quietness went well with his loudness, my jokes made his over the top ones even funnier and through differences, we found compatibility and eventually love. It’s funny how a stranger becomes family. At this point, I know his scent just as well as I know my mothers. It is great to love someone, but it is even better when you are loved back. Now, six years in, I think I am still my best self around him. I have become kinder, not afraid to think for my own or to get mad when something is not right. He always jokes about how “I bloomed” throughout these six years. Because of all that love, I try to be my best self. But I never succeed. I get angry, I cry, I become annoyed far more often than I should and, most of all, I am selfish. He’s seen it all and experienced it all with me. We’ve grown together. You would think he knows it all at this point, right? But no one ever knows it all. Because, underneath all the fights, the laughs, the tender moments and the not so well managed conversations, there is that small part that only I know. That small part that grows the older I get. He always asks what I think about when I stare out the window while he drives. When I get sucked into my thoughts and start making funny faces that reflect my inability to cope.

“What are you thinking about?” he says, grabbing my chin playfully. “Nothing” I smile Nothing he needs to know. My secrets being kept inside of me. I’ve managed myself well throughout the years. Pushing those feelings deeper and deeper…except for that one time. The time I could not get out of bed. When I just laid there, staring at the wall for hours with not a single thought in my head. That’s when I knew what it was. I was older by that time, so I understood it better.

The darkness came out. I failed multiple classes at school because I simply did not or could not care anymore. I stopped showing up to work for no real reason and talking to people…talking to people was the hardest part. I told him it was just a phase, just stress. I was working like crazy and going to school full time during that period, so it made sense. After some time, I managed to gather myself, piece by piece, until everything returned to normal.

I smiled, carried out with my responsibilities and mocked his awful jokes. Things were alright. But it's back. Some days are fine, I just carry through the motions. Other days feel like I can’t breathe. But the world doesn’t give you a break just because a little darkness sipped through your soul. On the contrary, the days seem to go faster, harder, throwing you down, making sure you hit your face on the ground as you fall. Not a graceful fall either but the type of fall that happens so fast, you can’t even put your hands out to lessen the impact.

It’s ugly. I quietly move through the days, but this time, I cannot just lay in bed. I have to work, I have to pay bills, attend to the needs of elderly parents, etc. And so everything feels a little heavier and harder to keep inside. Now a days, I say I am just annoyed. But how annoying can things really be? “Five minutes left!!!” He yells from the kitchen. He always gives me a count down before leaving, but I am always ready before him…he’s a pretty boy, he likes to take his time. Life goes on like this. He is the little bright light that keeps me from succumbing to it all. I thought I was protecting him from stress, from disappointment and sadness. I thought I did it because I am strong and I can deal with it, have been for years now. But I am older now. The darkness is still there, even after all these years, creeping through every open crack. Making sure my breathing is a little harder and my body a bit heavier. I am tired, I could use a little more sleep. “Two minutes and we’re out” He yells again, I giggle. I thought I was doing it for him. Wouldn’t it be ugly to taint his bright little world with a cloud full of rain? It is a hard thing to deal with. A lot for a person, your person, to deal with. To have to wake up with someone else’s darkness is the heaviest burden of them all. You can’t do anything but be there, I didn’t think that was fair to him.

That’s frustrating. How many times I wished there was a magical bandage to take care of it all. But bandages don’t cure problems, it just prevents major ones from happening.

You see, the bandage I chose to use throughout all these years had not been changed in a while. The blood zipped through it, and instead of changing it for a new one, I just added more and more bandages, until the cut became infected.

So now, sitting in darkness, with a rare glimpse of reality, I realize I love him too much to put him through that. But I love myself even more. To open myself up and utter those words, doesn’t mean he will have to be there for me. It means I have to admit and embrace my reality. If I say it, then it is real. “Ready!” He pops his head from behind the wall. I smile. “Let’s go have dinner, I am starving” I say Another day passes by…but I am still not ready.


Sabrina walked the Hall of Zillard University with Cheng and Kia by her side, her childhood best friends as they butchered her ears about the popular relationship goals couples that turned into relationship don'ts, in the midst of it all they happened to scorn her because of her choice of singleness. “ Bri stop looking so unapproachable, you are scaring the men away,” Cheng said and Kia responded, “Ever since Jay she's been the walking dead”. Sabrina took off running hoping to disappear before their sight. Kia and Cheng finally catching up to her latched their hands on her and all fell to the ground in an eruption of laughter. “ Keep at it and I'll run away without a trace” Sabrina added, nudging them because of their annoyance. “ we know you and are your best friends in the world so we've found the perfect solution for your condition, there's this new dating site out, by plugging in your email and answering selected questions you are then paired with another person and either he or you will email each other but the kick is you guys remain anonymous unless you choose the option during conversation to reveal yourselves.” Cheng uttered dramatically and enthusiastically. “ That sounds risky,” Sabrina said in concern. “ And stupid, how will you know if the person is hideous?” Kia jumped in. “ Well clearly the site pondered upon all this and placed identity security authentication in place along with other safety principles that are written in the terms and conditions no one reads,” Cheng said, letting out a sigh. “Will you join” kia and cheng said in sync and in just a moment their hope was deferred when sabrina said “ ugh, i don’t have the time, exams are here”. Rolling their eyes they all agreed to meet later in Sabrina’s dorm for their Friday wind-downs. Sabrina entered the now-filled lecture room, finding her seat in the 3rd row closest to the professor to prevent distractions as she prepared herself for the most dull and bland hour of her day.

Meeting at Sabrina's dorm later that night, Cheng entered with their favorite snacks and Kia with their favorite drinks. Tonight was movie night and Cheng's turn to pick the movie.” Don't worry guys, this one? You will love it!” Cheng said confidently. Sabrina and Kia looked at each other remaining silent and in expectation of disappointment because Cheng constantly chooses romance and it has become draining, “a little action would be pleasant as well, after this hectic week of class” Sabrina's thoughts murmured. '' da-doom” waved through the room following red block letters reading Netflix. Cheng said in between laughs ``everyone close your eyes, it's a surprise”. They instantly obeyed and while selecting the movie suspense filled the air and their ears were ready to detect the movie, these few words playing through the TV ruined everything. “You once asked who I loved most in this world, it's you” Sabrina and Kia began denouncing Cheng’s movie choices “Is there nothing else? Do you love sorrow? Haven’t exams made you cry enough? Sabrina said curiously while standing up. Everyone became silent.

In an attempt to save the night Kia suggested for Sabrina to try the email dating site they conversed about earlier. Not waiting for an answer, Kia grabbed the laptop from Sabrina's desk and slid down to the ground as Sabrina's twin-size bed supported her back. Kia found her way to the site “ I already told you I have no time for this creepy dating site” Sabrina wined, knowing there was no excuse to get out of this. “We do,” Kia and Cheng said in sync as Cheng joined Kia on the ground. “ I’ll just make it for you, start a conversation with whomever you are paired with, and decide if you’ll continue?!” Kia tried to make light of the situation and Cheng chimed in “No pressure, no rush”.  On the dating site called “ Mystery Mate” there was an envelope that filled the middle of the screen and clicking on the middle flap that meets the other half of the envelope to seal it, opened into a letter giving an overview of the site, scrolling to the bottom was the option of signing up with an email or signing in with an already made account. “ Whoever designed this hit the target, omg the details. Y2k Myspace, aim, kick just refreshed, modern, and flattering” Cheng blurted. “ What's your email, and not your school email please, remember to be anonymous!” Kia asked Sabrina. “Sabjen05@yahoo.com” Sabrina responded, joining the other two “ Oh, this is cool, nostalgic, and aesthetically pleasing” Sabrina realized and agreed with Cheng. After verifying her identity the fun began.

“Describe yourself in 3 words” they all read in sync. “intelligent, energetic, and thoughtful” Kia typed. “She is not energetic,” Cheng said in laughter. The next question read Top 3 character traits for your mystery mate, “ honest” said Kia, “loyal”, Cheng added, “Since we only have the limit of 3 words let integrity be the first since honesty, loyalty, mindfulness, etc. is involved in bringing many traits into one. For number two add a sense of humor, and for the third add adventurous” Sabrina insisted, taking control. Kia and Cheng gave each other a look speaking with their eyes and tilting their head sideways signifying “ that's their girl”. The last question read “ describe your ideal date”, “ make it realistic, something that someone can plan.” Kia said “ ugh I’m not sure, I don't know, just would like for it to be fun and less stressful like traditional dates” Sabrina responded, “ okay so no dinner, maybe an activity?” kia responded, “yes,” Sabrina said. “ aquarium, museum, arcade, etc? Cheng added. “ Just add those there so we can finally be done,” Sabrina responded hastily.

  Profile loading filled the screen and transitioned into what looked like an email inbox titled “ potential mates” where the private email threads are held. As Sabrina's profile was being matched with another, they placed the laptop on the desk awaiting an email, in which they fell asleep.

The next morning, Sabrina was the first to wake, moving Cheng's foot away from her face. She climbed off her bed and into her slippers going straight for the laptop out of curiosity. And there it was

AndIdrew08@aol.com: Hey, our profiles matched and aquariums are boring, arcade? Great choice😭! Sabrina whispered to herself

“Who asked his opinion, should I respond? That was a little funny and agreeable, I'm anonymous, which makes it easier to respond! Ok I’ll do it”

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: hey & I agree 😭.

AndIdrew08@aol.com: and she responds, what brings you to this site?

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: best friends! it was against my will!

AndIdrew08@aol.com: okay, another thing in common😭.

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: what's the first thing?

AndIdrew08@aol.com: I’ll save that for later if there is one.

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: ok so this is the part where we ask each other questions in an attempt to get to know each other.. I’ll start, are you a liar?

AndIdrew08@aol.com: Get straight to the point then! & liar? Nah. I have matured past that point from a relationship perspective and my actions will speak for itself. how long was your longest relationship? Sabjen05@yahoo.com: hmm.. 2 years. Yours?

AndIdrew08@aol.com: 3years..

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: how old are you? AndIdrew08@aol.com: definitely should’ve asked this from the beginning! 27 and you?

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: I know, the dating scene is becoming weirder and weirder & I'm 25. AndIdrew08@aol.com: Agreed, oh so you are interested in dating? This anonymous thing isn’t helpful, imagine falling in love with a stranger! Through words? I mean the option to decide whether or not to reveal ourselves earlier on is there but more suspense to wait 😭🤯

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: these are my thoughts exactly but I'm here now 🤷🏽♀😭.

As they continued to get to know each other asking all the questions available Sabrina became shocked realizing all this time went by and her class began in 5 minutes. She quietly jolted out of her dorm in a rush to get to class as Kia and Cheng were still soundly asleep. In class, Sabrina couldn't help to think about the conversation she had earlier with a mystery mate, not delusionally but the idea of speaking to someone was refreshing, and as weird as it sounded in her head she felt there was an instant connection and instantly sobered up at that thought reminding herself that essentially this could go nowhere. Class ended and she returned to her empty dorm and decided to continue the conversation she had earlier, opening the laptop screen she read AndIdrew08@aol.com: The Great Gatsby, perks of being a wallflower, or 13 reasons why?

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: Perks of being a Wallflower👀. You?

AndIdrew08@aol.com: neither, just trying to peek into your mind😂. Books or movies? Sabjen05@yahoo.com: 🙄movies, visual type of girl. Although I do read books but prefer movies

3 Months went by like this as they unwinded through conversation forgetting they were strangers, until AndIdrew08@aol.com shone the light on his affections. Sabrina in her own world keeping all this to herself combated with what consumed her thoughts daily and was ready to release when she, for the first time emailed

first

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: I need to talk to you about something

AndIdrew08@aol.com: that first date? I would like to take you.

Both emailed at the same time.

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: we’ve been emailing 😭😭 for months now and our conversations only grow deeper and more humorous. Talking to you has been the relief I didn’t know I needed. We have truly become friends! But my heart wants more.

AndIdrew08@aol.com: I’m proud that you are expressing yourself (concerning the conversations we’ve had). I already told you, that journeying through and with you is my new quest. I was ready to reveal myself but you insisted on waiting.

Sabjen05@yahoo.com: I’m ready to say it back now… AndIdrew08@aol.com: nope! Wait until our date! Want to see how brave you are and how well you handle pressure😭🫢.

To be continued.


When the sun set began to set, the shells always shimmered. Orange streams of light from far above filtered through the water and danced upon the smooth and curling structures like prisms. It gave Ursula such joy to watch the light bounce off of her beautiful collection. She felt the soft pouch around her neck and poured the contents of the treasure into her hands. The pearls in her palm shone iridescent against her lovely brown skin. Dusk was always bittersweet. Soon she would see her lover, but just as reliably as sunset came the sun would also rise once again. That’s when her father would be waiting, when she would be bathed in darkness once more. Would she ever feel a morning’s sun upon her skin? But she mustn't think of that now. She couldn’t. She must instead think of Phillipe. He was the one who had found her that night. Her tail entangled in a net she had become buoyed upon the sand in bathes of moonlight like a whale.

At first, Phillipe had been mesmerised by his discovery. His insomnia often led him to envision many strange things at night. But then the epiphany came as he looked upon the sheer perfection of the seabeing’s face and realised how real the experience was. He had pulled out a knife. She had clawed at the sand, desperate to return to the waters, sure she would die. And then the net had been cut away in one careful swoop.

He thought she would flee to the waters. She knew that she should. But those eyes… Love gripped them before they had even shared their first words. She had returned to the same spot every night ever since.

Ursula returned the pearls to the pouch and glided towards the shore. Phillipe was waiting for her on the cut of rock long lapped by the waves. Moonlight bounced off of the ripples of the water she left in her wake, her wet hair like long dark strands of seaweed. She swam slowly, moving closer and closer to him. Her eyes were a storm. She took his breath away every time. Beautiful.

They had tried to talk to one another in an attempt to communicate but it had never worked. His tongue was too dextrous and vibrant for the coarse and throaty language her kind spoke beneath the waves. But somehow that didn’t matter. Somehow whatever they had between them worked. Ursula knew what Phillipe meant when he pressed one warm finger against her damp lips, and he knew what it meant when she did it back in return. I love you.

Time pressed on, and the dark sky soon began to grow pink again. She looked at her Phillipe’s face lovingly, stroked at the dark circles and wrinkles that lined his face with concern. She rubbed her palm across the grating stubble on his face. He laid his forehead against hers gently. They both knew what this meant. Tomorrow.

All too soon dawn’s rosy fingers began to swirl the currents. They parted with a brief kiss and a sigh before Ursula plunged into the waters and began to make her descent into the darkness. It didn’t matter that the sun was out. No light penetrated the waters this far deep.

Her sharp and agile eyes saw every trace of the depths, every sinewy slick thing and crusted old crab. The darkness invaded and crawled beneath her skin. She shivered. Deeper and deeper she dove until all was black and muddy and there was no sign of life. The cavern revealed itself like a screaming open mouth, ready to swallow her whole as she struggled into its depth. “Daughter?” her father called. “Yes father, it’s me.” A tentacle licked around her waist, smothering and impenetrable. She repressed a shudder as her father pulled her close. He was bulging and ancient. Two black holes where his eyes once were stared emptily into the black space. Barnacles crusted his face. Sometimes, Ursula could not quite fathom that this nightmarish beast was her father. The dark was his cold and smothering blanket from which he had never left. His empty sockets studied her closely. “Hmm,” he said approvingly. His slithering hold on her never relinquished. His tentacles slid and churned with a sickening squelch. “You are home late, but I am pleased you are here. We have much to talk about.” “Oh?” Ursula breathed fearfully. He couldn’t know… surely he couldn’t know.

How could he? She reassured herself. She never told him about her outings and her father never left. They just sat in each other’s company, wallowing in the darkness whilst Ursula eagerly anticipated the night. She was not allowed to go out in the day, that was her father’s one strict rule. To him, light was sorcery, an evil that played tricks. Perhaps that’s why he had gouged out his eyes.

“Ursula,” Her father continued. “Tonight is your eighteenth year beneath the moon. You were born in darkness and we will celebrate in darkness. I wish to give you a gift.”

“Oh father, that is kind of you - but I want nothing.” The old creature processed this information carefully. “Nothing? But how can that be? All seabeings want something. For the crab, it is the perfect shell. For the clownfish, the largest anemone. For the merman, a merwoman,” the old creature paused. “You want none of these things?” “No, father,” Ursula replied. “I am content to be here with you.” “Hmm,” he rustled in his place. His tentacles slithered against the sands like snakes. “Give me your pearls,” he said.

Ursula jumped in surprise at the request. How had he known? She tugged at the pouch around her neck and passed them to him curiously. His tentacles flicked busily for a moment before they stopped to display the finished project - her pearls beautifully clasped to a chain of small shells to form a necklace. “Oh father,” she hushed. “It’s so beautiful I can’t accept it.” “This is no simple pretty trinket,” the being boomed. “It will give you what your heart most desires. When this moment of realisation comes, simply fasten this trifle around your neck and your wish will come true. Be sure to use it wisely.” A tentacle delicately placed the necklace back into her hand “I will.” Her mind was already racing to that moment. Racing to tonight on the shore, when she would embrace Phillipe with her arms wide open - not with a tail - but with two long, human legs. She would never have to return to this dark chasm again. “I will, father. I promise you I will.” The day crept by more slowly than ever in that colossal darkness. Finally, night fell, and she was released from her duties with a flick of a tentacle and escaped from the black. This was what it was probably like to be born, to swim upwards towards a light that was both welcoming and warm as you moved further and further away from the dark.

Phillipe was on the crag again. He was as constant as the waves; receding, leaving, but always always to return once more. They welcomed each other with an embrace. She wondered when it would be best to place the pearls around her neck. She wanted to start her new life as soon as possible, but it was strangely difficult to leave the one she knew so well behind. What if Phillipe didn’t like her with legs? It was decided - she would spend one more night with him in this way. She would change with the sunrise. Soon the sky changed from black, to blue, to pink. Phillipe looked tired and solemn as he bent his forehead to hers to bid goodbye once again but she quickly moved away and gestured with her hands frantically. His face contorted with confusion. This night went against the routine of all other nights they had shared before. From her pocket she protruded the pearls. She watched Phillipe’s continuing confusion as she delicately moved to unclasp the necklace, to carefully place it around her neck, to feel the burn of a transformation… ...and burn she did. It was agony. The pearls scorched her skin like acid, choked her like a noose as she tried to prise it from her skin. Phillipe cried out as she thrashed amongst the waves like a fish caught in a shark's jaws. She was aware of Phillipe jumping into the water beside her, of his boots splashing through wet sand as he moved to wrap his arms around her body just as a huge dark mass slowly moved up from the depths… Everything happened in moments. There went the flash of Phillipe’s knife as he desperately tried to anchor the blade beneath the binds of the pearls as the breath choked shorter and shorter from Ursula’s chest. And there the knife fell uselessly as her tail swatted it away - no, not her tail - a tentacle. And there Phillipe shuddered in horror as two empty sockets well-known to Ursula fell upon his as tentacles dragged him beneath the surface of the water… ...and his body turned to seafoam. A scream writhed from Ursula’s body as her hands clasped hold of the fallen knife, as it cut through the binds of those poisonous pearls around her neck as they spilled into the ocean. There went the knife as she descended furiously, ferociously upon the bulbous tentacled mass that was dragging her back into the darkness. She plunged the knife deep. She thought her father would scream. She thought her father would choke. He did neither.

A loud bellowing laugh flooded from his bulbous body as a black essence swallowed Ursula whole. It delved deeply down her throat, penetrating to the very depths of her body. She was aware of being split into halves, quarters, eighths. She imagined that this was how being struck by lightning would feel, as if you were being cut again and again. No longer did a tail glide before her, but tentacles, tentacles that slid and tangled and collided with one another in this gross and egregious change. She could feel herself sinking deeper and deeper, crashing against rocks, against coral and creatures as the darkness enveloped her and grew blacker and blacker before her body folded with a final crash against the seabed. She retreated back into that blind cavern just as her father had once done. She did not emerge for many months at a time. She did not want to see herself in the light. She was a bulging beast . A monster. Ugly . Phillipe’s face stayed with her in her dreams for many nights before it started to fade. She would look upon a shell, or look up towards the orange glow of the sunset upon the ocean and question why it was so familiar. Then only Phillipe’s eyes remained as a memory. Months went past. They became forgotten altogether. Her heart turned harder and harder like a cankerous barnacle before it was completely turned into stone.

The sea witch was born. Many years later a couple walked along the beach, hand in hand. There they spied it.

A single pearl washed ashore, half buried in the sand and resting beside a shell.


My throbbing feet tell me I’ve been standing still, staring at the Departures screen too long. It’s decision time. Savannah or San Francisco? That’s the question. I should join the girls, but the City by the Bay keeps flashing at me—each blinding letter a lightsaber piercing my heart. I could go to the ticket counter, pay the change penalty and show up on his doorstep, ending this story -telling nonsense for good. If necessary, I could tolerate the pain of rejection.

I stall instead, scour the gate area for a seat, open my laptop, and read. # Chapter 22—ORION and SONG. I prefer letters over numbers, but lately, my life can be summed up by the latter—one hundred eighty absent school days, twenty-two hockey games missed, seven nights in the Pine Grove Psych ward, and ninety-six days at Robin’s Nest Memorial. Finally, I’m home, but little has changed. I’m the same miserable kid I’ve been since the bathroom incident a year and a half ago, and my parents are still desperate for a cure. They’ll never find one because I’m not really sick. I feel fine. As long as I don’t have to go anywhere, see, or talk to anyone, I’m absolutely, perfectly fine. # According to Ms. Rhona Spiegelman, overpriced education consultant extraordinaire, The Red Earth Therapeutic Boarding School in Nowhereville , Utah, has a spot for me. I considered it, imagined a hell so much worse than the one I'm living in, and refused to go. I'd rather die, and I made this clear in the garage last night. I sat in the front seat of Mom's minivan with the engine running, and although I was afraid, I was also filled with anticipation for the end. Now I'm just afraid. Two testosterone-saturated silhouettes are standing in my bedroom. "Good morning, Orion," says the first shadow.

"We're here to help you," says the second, and I piss myself. "Orion." It's Dad. He’s there in the darkness. "These men are going to escort you to your new school. They'll keep you safe." I've heard about this. It's called Transport . Before the break of day, hired thugs come into homes and take kids away. I never thought they'd come for me.

Thugs One and Two let me change out of my pajamas, but the smell of urine remains on my skin. They each take hold of an elbow, one on my right and the other on my left. Then they walk me, prisoner style, out of our house. Mom and Dad say goodbye to my back. Eazy and Nance don't.

Sandwiched in the backseat between my captors, I feel numb. They look straight ahead as a uniformed driver accelerates out of our driveway and onto the street. Thug One slips me a blue pill at the first intersection.

"To help you relax," he says. It's a command, not a suggestion. So I take it, but it has no effect. # The air is thick with gray fog when the car stops in front of a woman. She’s dressed in a military uniform and a stern expression. The driver opens the door, and we get out.

“Another one with no gear?” she grunts. Then she throws camouflage print clothing and combat boots in my direction.

“Wear these,” she says, “it’s hunting season.”

The thugs fade into the background, and twenty teenagers arrive at the scene. They are covered from head to toe in camo, and each has a shotgun. All I have is a bow and arrow. The woman, a sergeant of sorts, starts yelling.

“Y’all are good for nothing! It’s time you learned to take care of yourselves. Today, you’re gonna learn to hunt for your food. If you FAIL, then you’ll STARVE. Do not shoot each other or yourselves. That would be a waste of bullets. Now go! And don’t come back till your carcass is butchered and prepared for roasting.” The kids are running in every direction. I hear gunshots. I run into the woods with my bow and arrow flopping noisily against my butt. I hide, frozen and barely breathing among the trees until I hear the click of a trigger engaging. Someone is aiming at me. I fumble for my bow and arrow, position my weapon, and take a shot in the direction of the sound. Instantly, I am in agony, my ear ablaze with fire. The arrow clipped my right lobe, leaving a throbbing bloody pulp behind. The car jerks to a stop, waking me from my nightmare, but my ear still burns with pain. The seatbelt has pinched it into a folded crease. I rub, gently kneading the hurt away, while my sense of doom lingers. # At the airport, the thugs resume their vice-like grip on my elbows as we inch closer to the security checkpoint. I scan the terminal for someone to help me, but the situation looks grim. Behind us, there's a family immersed in cyberspace and a man in a business suit who's invading his colleague's personal space. In front of us, a couple bickers. The woman wins the argument, and the man stares at his feet in silent surrender. He shuffles along the switchbacking cue, and our threesome follows him.

Suddenly, the reality that I'm being brought to a school for psycho kids gets stuck in my windpipe, and I can't breathe. I'm choking on my immediate future, and the lack of oxygen makes me dizzy. Streams of sweat run down my temples, and my whole body trembles. I'm about to collapse in a heap when another option comes to me—I won’t go. I'll make a run for it. I tug against One's hold, and he tightens his grasp without even a glance in my direction. Then I yank against Two's grip with all my strength, and my arm slips free. He doesn't flinch. To my surprise, neither of them react at all. I see why. A ghostly version of my right elbow remains clutched in Two's hand. I stare at it, then blink, expecting it to disappear, but it doesn't. I look at the businessman, the cyber junkies, and the couple. They don't notice me. Nobody around me sees the magic. I twist and turn, claiming my left arm and wrenching my body free. Then I lunge forward and run. I duck under five security line dividers to get out of the scanning cue and make it to a waiting area before I stop to look back. What I see is incredible—I see, Me . A transparent version of myself is trapped in the line and transitioning to opaque.

"Orion!" I whisper-shout.

He looks straight ahead.

"Orion!" I call him again, but he doesn't acknowledge me at all. I can't leave him. I backtrack as fast as I can until the sight of his changing body slows me down. He's fading as I approach him. I stop short when I can see through him and start to retreat. Me taking three steps in reverse causes his density to increase. I back up to the waiting area, and he's almost solid again.

If I go to him, he'll disappear, and I will be in his place. If I don't, I will be free. I pause in confusion. He passes through the scanner and materializes on the other side, as real as me. # “Eeew! Naked boy!” A tween-age girl is shrieking in my direction. Shit! I assumed that my clothes were duplicating too, but they weren’t. Now I’m not only visible, but I’m also totally exposed. I cover what’s important with my hands and run for it. I take the down escalator three steps at a time. I spot the baggage carousel and dive for the conveyor belt just before it disappears into the hidden baggage handling space. Clothes, I need clothes fast! I tear open a suitcase—baby rattles, diapers, onesies, and a mobile with rainbow-colored ladybugs on it. The next two luggage bags are locked. I rip the zipper on a soft, brown plaid bag straight off—toilet paper, medications, and an abundance of toothpaste. I pray the next one, a large valise with a perfectly placed leather identification tag, will contain what I want. Inside are six pairs of high-heeled sandals, a cosmetics case, three bikinis, a shorty wetsuit with a fluorescent pink zipper down the front, and women’s, size nine, bedazzled flip flops. The contents are not exactly what I hoped for, but they’ll do. # Around me, throngs of travelers and airport employees make a commotion. The clamor of traffic wafts in through the sliding doors. Noise is everywhere, competing for attention with the sound of my heart beating in my ears. The chaos conforms to my right, where people are funneling down a hallway. The organized flow draws me in, and I follow the masses onto an AirTrain. I regret my decision immediately. The crowd is dense, aggressive, and agitated. A horrible boy with a tennis racket case slung around his shoulder glances, first at my feet and then at my face. The smoke from his vape makes me sweat. I turn toward a man in a tracksuit. Earbuds peep out from under his white cap. He leers, and a gold tooth that matches the emblem on his hat tries to snatch me. I tighten my white knuckle grip around the handhold. The train stops, the doors open, and a smell enters. It’s a stroller, and people are backing away from it. A rounded woman wearing pink lipstick holds its handle. She spreads her feet wide, taking advantage of the space that has freed up around her. I ride near the stench to the end of the line and follow it toward a turnstile. Hoards of people line up to rotate through the spokes, but I have nothing; no phone, money, or MetroCard. The stroller bypasses the turnstile and goes through a buzzing door. I slither through behind it, and we get on another train together.

There’s not enough room for me. Hair and shoulders are filling my personal space. A purse shoves me against a coat. The coat shrugs, and I brace myself for ridicule, but there is none. There are only smartphone-hugging busy people who have no interest in me. I am safe until the masses unload into a dark tunnel that exits under the starry sky of Grand Central Station. Groups of kids everywhere want to drag me under and bury me in insults. The grand staircase invites me to escape them, and I’m up the steps and out the door in seconds. The noise in my head explodes on the streets of New York. I hear sirens and horns. I hear a whistle blow and a car’s sudden screech. I start to run, and the sound of my flip-flops slapping along the sidewalk is a constant that cuts through the mayhem of the city until a geyser of coffee sprays the woman I crash into and me. I didn’t see her coming out of the shop I was passing, and now her leopard pattern faux fur is dripping in latte. “God dammit, child,” she hisses, ignoring her coat and looking down at her splashed stilettos. I wipe my face and hold back the tears inside me. I dodge her giant shopping bags and forge onward toward the safety of my room. I don’t stop until I get to the trees.

When the leafy branches give way to the water, the swans in the boat pond let me know where I am, and the familiarity slows me down. I’ve been here before with Eazy and Nance. I collapse onto a bench and suck The Rambles into my heaving lungs. When I catch my breath, I turn my attention to my throbbing feet where red, puffy skin is bubbling up at the flip-flop’s rhinestone margins. The constrictive neoprene edges of the wetsuit are ringing my thighs like sausages, and the pink zipper is digging into my chest. I want to be sitting on my bed in my clothes at home. Despondent, I drop my head into my hands and squeeze. When I raise it, I see two identical-looking swans waddle their way out of the water and think of my double. He will have to endure worse, and this realization makes me gather my strength. I stand up, point my gaudy feet West and head toward the Hudson River. Then I turn right and go North for hours. # I slam my laptop closed, then freeze, attempting to absorb the agony of defeat without attracting the attention of my fellow passengers. They don't know I spent three years writing a novel I can't bring to fruition, and they shouldn't have to tolerate my blubbering. It's not their fault I'm an unknown debut author—an imposter in the truest sense of the word.

The crushing sensation in my chest leaves me breathless before I feel the burn. Then heat races through my veins, raising my blood to a boil. My neck, face, and ears simmer until rage lights a fire under my ass, making me jump to a stand. What a waste of time! Sweat, tears, and stupid carpel tunnel syndrome. For what? I'm a mad fool. No. I AM FURIOUS. I grab my purse, planning to go to San Francisco. Only I can't because my pocketbook is stuck, clenched in the hand of my materializing double.

I recoil at the image of my faded fingers wrapped around the leather and becoming opaque fast. The irony is almost more than I can bear. Instead of finishing Orion's story, I've written mine, and now I'm the one who has to run.


Guilt is good, I think. Feeling guilty means you have empathy and are not a careless monster. Bad people don’t feel guilty. On the other hand, would a good person have something to feel guilty about? I suppose it’s not black and white but it feels like an unnecessary burden—a weight hung around the necks of good people for irrational reasons. Will, my boyfriend sitting next to me, driving, is the cause of my guilt. We’re on our way to his deceased grandparent’s house to help his family clean out the place. I’ve decided to break up with Will. Actually, I decided about a month ago. As I was about to end it, Will’s grandmother died of a stroke. Not even two weeks later, his grandfather passed as well. It was only days after the funeral that Will’s grandfather’s heart stopped. A tragic, but an undeniably romantic story. After nearly sixty years of marriage, they couldn’t live apart for more than a couple of days. Heartbreaking and beautiful. I’d only met Will’s grandparents once, at Thanksgiving last year. We’d been dating for about five months at that point and it was my first time meeting his family. Now, we’ve been dating for sixteen months and this will likely be the last time I see Will’s family. It’s October and the holidays are coming up again. I can’t do it. I can’t sit down at Thanksgiving and give vague and noncommittal answers to questions about our future. I can’t have Will and his family buy me presents and pretend like everything is okay. I can’t kiss him at midnight on New Year’s Eve with this truth stuck in my head. It wouldn’t be fair to Will anyway. No, better a clean break. The sooner the better. This week. The guilt will only grow the longer I put it off. Breaking up is the rational choice. Still, I feel guilty. It pangs my chest and makes my eyes dart away from his. It sneaks up on me in the quiet moments I’m with him. I would’ve dumped you by now if it weren’t for your grandmother’s death. I’m calculating the right amount of time after your grandfather’s funeral to officially break things off. This guilt—this truth only I know—hovers over me and never leaves. Should I feel guilty? Relationships end, people grow apart, it’s entirely understandable and expected. We’re only a couple of years out of college and both have time for new and better relationships. I don’t know if Will loves me. That’s not true, I’m positive he does. He says it all the time. A small part of me hopes he only says it because that’s what’s expected of a relationship that’s lasted for a year—love. That’s why I say I love him when I don’t. Maybe the first time I said it I meant it but not anymore. No, that’s not true either. If I meant it the first time I’d mean it now. It was about two months ago when I realized I didn’t love Will. I only really liked him. If I didn’t love him then staying in the relationship wouldn’t be fair to either of us. I repeated this to myself to build the courage to dump him. I’d never dumped anyone before. Will deserves a girlfriend who loves him but that can’t be me. So, really, I’m doing Will a favor. Will is a good boyfriend. He’s one of my best friends and a great roommate. But none of those things are love. I love Will’s family, but not in that way. They were extremely welcoming and nice to me—especially his mom Maddy and older sister Breanna. Breanna and I text all the time and even hangout without Will occasionally. She’s introduced me to her friends and I’ve done the same for her. I think of Maddy as a friend, too. We talk and text and joke around on Instagram all the time. I hope some part of those friendships will survive the breakup, but I know that’s more reckless hope. What mother and sister would stay friends with an ex-girlfriend? I’ll miss Will’s family. They’re a close family, which is very unlike mine. I barely speak to my brother and see my parents once a year during the holidays. Will’s family—the Greene’s—made me one of their own almost immediately. It was nice, being part of one of those close families. “You okay?” Will says in his baritone voice. It’s always funny to me that Will is a tall, lanky kid with a boyish face and only the wisps of facial hair yet he has the voice of a mountain man. I lift my head off the cold passenger-seat window.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” “You just haven’t said anything in a while.” “Sorry, tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.” “It’s okay. Thanks again for helping with this. My parents will appreciate the extra set of hands.” “It’s no problem. Anything I can do to help.” “They’ve been putting this off. Going inside that house and sorting through sixty years of crap. They’ll love seeing you, though, they always do. It’s gotten to the point if I visit them without you they’re disappointed.” “What’s your grandparent’s house like?” “It’s an old house. My mom would talk about how impressive it was when she was little but they didn’t take very good care of it as they got older. The second floor hasn’t been touched in years—my mom and her sister’s old rooms look practically the same since they moved out. That’s mostly what we’ll be doing. Clearing out the rooms.” “What will you do with all the stuff?” “I don’t know. Probably throw out most of it. Maybe we’ll find a few things worth a buck on eBay.” I do my best to attempt a smile. The icy windshield feels good against my forehead, so I rest it there. Outside, the wind sweeps brown, yellow, and red leaves onto the road and muscular gray clouds cover the skies overhead. As we pull in, I understand Will’s description of the house. It’s not a mansion, but it isn’t small either. It’s an old house that seems dignified. Its brick is faded and its white paint is chipped, but it’s easy to see it had once been elegant and one of the most expensive houses on the block. Will’s dad sees us and puts down the box he’s carrying. “Ha-ho! There they are!” he yells, which is his standard greeting. He is an adorable old man with his white beard, red cheeks, and portly belly. His whiskers brush my cheek as he hugs me. “Thanks for coming, darling.” “Happy to, Vincent.” His heavy hand slaps Will on the shoulder. “Head on inside, Madeline’s got jobs for each of you in there, she’s already bossing your sister and brother around.” Vincent always calls Will’s mom Madeline even though everyone else calls her Maddy, which is very cute to me. We step through the open front door and into a small entryway with a hall leading to the living room. Maddy apparently hears us come in because as soon as we step inside she pops her head in from around the corner. “Hey guys!” she says with a smile. She hugs and thanks me like Vincent did and the rush of guilt turns my stomach. I say hello to Breanna who is packing boxes in the kitchen and Drew, Will’s brother, who walks past with a box full of tools from the garage. “Will, take those boxes and start in the basement, would you?” Will does as he’s asked and I’m left waiting for instructions from Maddy. “Nicole, sweetheart, could you do me a favor?” She insists on calling me Nicole even though I’ve repeatedly told her Nicky is fine. The family seems to have a connection with formality and love I don’t understand but find charming. “Of course, I’m here to help.” “Could you take these boxes upstairs to the second bedroom on the right and start boxing up the books in there? There’s a wall of shelves and books. Don’t worry about bringing them down because they’ll be heavy but just start boxing them up.” “No problem, Maddy.” “Thank you, sweetie.” She brings her right hand to my cheek. Her right hand is incomplete, with a nub where her ring finger should be. The story goes it’s the product of a cooking accident from years ago.

“You’ve been such a help for us and Will these past few weeks. Know that we really appreciate it,” she says, grazing my cheek with her thumb. Guilt again. I shove a smile to my face and grab the boxes and head down the hallway towards the staircase. I pass Drew on the way and as I ascend the steps I can hear Maddy mumbling to Drew. “Why can’t you find a nice girl like Nicole?” “Mom, don’t start,” he groans. When I reach the top of the stairs I can see for myself that Will was right about it never being used. Dust clings to the banister and half of the lights are burned out. There’s a noticeable draft and the wooden floor moans underneath my feet. I enter the second bedroom on the right and find a modest bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side that look out over the backyard. I hadn’t noticed that the house was on a small hill with a green lawn encompassed by tall trees. The lawn is covered in colorful dead leaves that casually flutter in the autumn breeze.

There’s little else in the bedroom except for a twin bed and a wall of bookshelves filled with dusty volumes of text. They all look like thick, important, leather-bound books that are more than twice my age. I carefully start taking them off the shelves and placing them in the cardboard boxes with only cursory glances at their titles. Most seem to be history books—specifically European history with a focus on the Scandinavian region. Some look to be about the Vikings and their Norse gods, while some are more modern and about wars and politics. One catches my eye though. It’s wrapped in fine brown leather and the title is engraved in a different language, perhaps Norwegian. When I open it, the entire book is in the language but it still pulls me in. Rune drawings frame the words typed in a Norse-like font. There are plenty of illustrations, one almost every other page.

The pictures are gorgeous and graphic. They’re full of animals and mythical creatures—wolves, ravens, warrior-men, elves, dwarves, and dozens of others I have no name for. They’re all twisted and intertwined with one another in war or in love. “How’s it going in here?”

Maddy’s sudden voice startles me so much I nearly drop the book. I realize I’d been looking at the book for longer than I thought. She chuckles as she enters the room, a steaming mug in her hand.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. It gets chilly up here so I thought you might want some hot tea,” she says, handing me the hug. “What’re you looking at?” “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been snooping,” I say, slightly embarrassed. “Nonsense, it’s just a book. Which one is that?” “I don’t know, it’s in a different language. I was just looking at the pictures.” I hand the book to Maddy and she fans through its pages. A grin spreads over her face. “Oh, I know this one. This was one of my father’s grandfather’s books. He brought it with him when they came to America from Norway. It’s all about the Norse gods and the Vikings and all the stories about them, really fascinating. I loved looking at the pictures when I was a kid.” I pick up the tea and sip it slowly, it’s hot contents warm my belly. Cold wind whistles by the windows. “The art inside is beautiful. This must be really old if it was your great-grandfather’s.” “Honey, this was old when my grandfather’s father had it. It’s been passed down the family for generations. “That’s incredible. Something you want to keep, right?” Maddy smiles and briskly turns through the pages. “My grandfather could still speak and read Norweigian and he would read us parts of this book. There are some really scary stories here.” “Scary stories?” “Well, to a child. But, to be fair, the Vikings weren’t exactly Quakers. There’d be some really graphic tales here about warriors and gods. There’d even be some rituals and ceremony instructions that would creep us out.” “Rituals?” “Oh, you know, how they’d properly sacrifice a goat or an ox or whatever to appease one of the gods. They were a warrior-culture, you know? Everything was about spilling blood.” “That’s so cool that you have this history. I didn’t even know your family was Norwegian.” “Well, only my side is. And, my great-grandfather changed his last name when he came to America from Jacobsen to Jacobs. I’m not sure why, though. Maybe to fit in a little better.” I sip the tea again and it’s strong and filling. “Good in here?” Will’s strong voice sounds from the entryway.

He sounds like a Viking descendent , I muse within my head. “Yeah, honey,” Maddy answers. “We were just looking over some of these old books. This one was your great-great-grandfather’s. Isn’t that something? He brought it on his trip from Norway.” “Huh.” Will looks over Maddy’s shoulder at the book. He looks cold and a little pale, with his hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie. He didn’t seem like that when we came here. I must’ve been too caught up in my own head to notice. “Actually, I know there’s another one like this—here it is!” Maddy puts the book down and grabs another ancient text from the shelf.

“You’ll love this one, Nicole, it’s all about the god Freya, who was Odin’s wife and goddess of love and fertility. But, she was also a warrior goddess. She was always my favorite as a kid.” I giggle as I sip my tea and look over Maddy’s shoulder as she opens it.

“There are all kinds of stories and myths about her here. There are even some rituals they would perform to ask for Freya’s blessings.” “What would they ask of her?” “Oh, all kinds of things. Some were ceremonies to help get pregnant or to bless a marriage. Some were even rituals to get someone to fall in love with you.” “Really? A love spell? What would they do?” Maddy places the book down and points at an illustration. “Like, this one for instance.” The picture shows a plain woman kneeling before a levitating goddess in a forest. The normal woman holds her hand up to Freya, with blood coming from it. “One would make a small sacrifice to Freya and then have the other person—the one you wanted to fall in love with—ingest something of theirs, like, say, blood. They make a concoction with their blood, the other person drinks it, they say a few words, yadda yadda yadda, and poof , the person loves you for life.” “Crazy,” I say. “Drinking blood. What would the sacrifice be?” “Nothing big, but something to show your devotion. Usually, a finger does the trick.” I stop sipping my tea. I look at Will, who is staring at the book, avoiding my gaze. My eyes press to the book, where Maddy’s hand lays on the page, her nub of a ring finger rubbing the text. I clear my throat and put down my tea. “Strange.” “Not so strange, sweetie,” Maddy tells me. Her voice is flat and unnerving. “We’d all make sacrifices to be loved by the one you love most in this world, wouldn’t we?”  I don’t say anything. “I know I would.” She straightens her posture and looks at me as I step back. Her eyes penetrate me. I look to Will, but his eyes are glued to the floor out of shame or fear. “Wouldn’t you, Will?” Will slowly nods his head and takes his hand out of his pocket. A heavy bandage is wrapped around his hand, specifically the ring finger, which is noticeably shorter. “Jesus, what did you do?” I yell as I feel my heart punch against my chest. “I know you were planning on dumping him,” Maddy accuses me. “I could see it in your eyes at the funeral. I know that look because my husband once had that look. But, then, I made a small sacrifice and made him some tea. Now, look how happy we are.” She steps toward me. I step back. I can feel the freezing window pressing against my shoulders and head. My focus begins to blur and my head starts to vibrate. “Maddy, you’re scaring me.” “It’s alright, sweetie. It’ll all be over soon, and then you’ll be in love for the rest of your life. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? Don't you want to be in love for the rest of your life?” My throat feels raw and harsh. I try to rub the blur out of my eyes but it only makes it worse. “You drugged me,” I mumble, the words slurring out of my mouth. “You’re insane. Will, please.” “Deep breathes sweetheart.” I fall to the floor. My fingers feel numb and my tongue sizzles in my mouth. It feels like death is slowly gripping me and squeezing myself out of my own body. The last thing I hear is their chanting. It starts slow and melodic but then grows louder and I think other voices join in. They’re harsh, cruel chants in a foreign language with wicked tongues and vengeful rasps. They chant and chant as I writhe on the floor and my very eyes feel like they’re about to scream out of my skull and my eardrums will explode. Then, darkness came. When I awake, I am in love.