“Thanks a lot,” I say. I sigh and bend down to pick the crumpled one-dollar bill that landed in front of my feet on the sidewalk. I’m not homeless by the way, I just like to sit on the street corner to play my guitar. The streets are littered with leaves that scrape along the asphalt in the crisp autumn breeze. Sometimes when I play, I watch them float and dance as though they’re moved by the music. On nights like tonight, my breath gets caught in the streetlights when I sing, and people pass by bundled up in their coats walking back from dinner, or a first date, or while phoning home. Most people don’t pay me any mind; some smile, and some, like this lovely gentleman dig in their pockets for wadded up cash or coins to throw at my feet. I’m not out here for the money, though it doesn’t go unappreciated. My apartment is just a block away from here. Nothing fancy, just a nice mattress on the floor and a fridge stocked with Powerade and half-finished iced coffees. It’s starting to get late, but I wait for my cue. When I see Mr. Peterson closing his shop for the night, I know it’s time to head home. Every night at 10 p.m. he locks up the flower shop with a yellow rose in his hand that he’ll take home to his wife.

“Good evening, Roy,” Mr. Peterson says, waving with his yellow-rose hand. I stop packing my guitar and wave back. “Sell lots of flowers today?” I ask. “Getting pretty close to the holidays.” “Oh yeah,” he says, “sold the last of my sunflowers.” “Tell the wife I said hi,” I say. Mr. Peterson nods, I wait to watch him disappear across the street before gathering the rest of my things. All together I think I made about 10 dollars if I counted the coins correctly. I glance over them again before shoving them in my pocket. I wrap my hand in my sweatshirt to avoid the cold metal of the guitar case and start walking. The streets are pretty empty aside from the leaves, most people are home eating dinner with their families by now, which reminds me I should probably call my mom and let her know how I’m doing. On my walk home I let the sidewalk treadmill beneath my feet, my mind is always somewhere else. It has been since I was younger. My last boyfriend broke up with me because I was too focused on the future—as if that was supposed to be a bad thing. Now it’s just me, and I like to take my time on my walk back home, anything to avoid an empty bed. I really should get a dog or something. I nearly bump into a post; my guitar case stops me. “Sorry,” I mutter, not expecting to be met with a “for sale flyer” two inches from my face, but grateful it’s not a person. Someone’s selling a bedframe. I need one of those, but my eyes are drawn to the flyer above it: MUSICIAN WANTED Part-time position for a singer/guitar player at McMillan’s Coffee House. Must audition. 528 Briarwood St. Brockton, MA 02301 Located on the corner of Greystone and Briarwood. Serious Inquiries only. Call (202) 555-0187 “There’s no way,” I say. “What are the chances.” I pull it off and stuff it in my pocket with the coins leaving two bits of paper stuck where it was stapled into the wood. It’s all I can think about as I pass the last few buildings on my route home. Stacy lifts her window when she hears the jingle of my keys. “Hey, Roy,” she says. “You become a rock star yet?” “What do ya mean?” I ask, “I made a whole ten dollars tonight. I’m practically famous.” I shake my sweatshirt so she can hear the coins clink together in my pocket. “Lucky for you I have some left-over mac n cheese on the stove,” she says. “I’ll meet you at your window and bring you some.” “Perfect,” I say. “You’ll have to say hi to mom, I’m supposed to call her tonight.” “I love talking to Patty!” Stacy yells before shutting her window, “now get your ass inside it’s freezing out.” I hear her window click and hurry up the stairs to my apartment. Stacy is the first friend I made here. I’m lucky she shares her food with me every night otherwise I wouldn’t eat much. Her parents help pay for her to get through college which means she gets enough money for food. She’s like my sister, although mom always insists, we’re going to get married—she doesn’t know about the whole being gay thing. To her, my last boyfriend was just my roommate. I can’t get my feet through the door before Stacy knocks on my window, her eyes wide, and breath fogging up the glass. She has a Tupperware container of mac n cheese under her arm. “Hurry up and let me in,” she says. I drop my stuff in the doorway and unlock the windowpane. “It’s fucking freezing out,” she says. “Where’s your coat?” She places the mac n cheese on the counter. “I’m wearing a sweatshirt,” I say, shrugging. She rolls her eyes but lets it go, gesturing to the empty counter space. “Jesus, kid, we’ve really gotta get you a microwave,” she says. “I tried to keep it warm for you.” “Thanks,” I say. She opens the Tupperware and hands it to me with a plastic fork. “Eat,” she says. I follow her order and gulp down the lukewarm noodles. She moves my guitar case to the side and hangs the zip-up sweatshirt I had on, on the back of the door. She fishes her hand around in the pocket for the change and produces the few crumpled bills, coins, and the ad I pulled from the post. She sorts the coins and places them in my jar before unfolding the paper. “What’s this?” she asks, smoothing the sheet out against her leg to read it. “Just an ad I saw on my way home,” I say. “Roy, this is huge,” she says. “You could play your guitar inside and make regular cash. Are you going to audition for it?” “I don’t know,” I say. “I just grabbed it.” “Are you kidding, you have to!” She says. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow, get you a nice interview outfit.” I shrug. “Stacy, you don’t have to do that,” I say. “I owe you a ton of money by now.” “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “You’ll pay me back when you’re all rich and famous. Let me do this.” Her eyes are glued to me, bright and excited, there’s no way I’m getting out of this. “Fine,” I say. “But I’m paying you back when I get the money.” Stacy laughs and jokingly dusts her shoulders “that’s not necessary, on Thanksgiving just tell everyone you’re thankful for me.” “I am,” I say. “Without you, I wouldn’t have a Thanksgiving.” Stacy’s expression changes, she squeezes my hand before clearing her throat. “Alright, that’s enough,” she says, “shut up and eat your noodles before you make me cry.” I pull out another plastic fork and hand it to her. We eat in silence watching the leaves blow through the empty street below, listening to the wind like music, and I picture myself playing in that coffee shop, looking out at the world through the window.


"You're kidding, right?" The second the smile creeps on to his face, I know he thinks I'm joking. Granted, if it was a joke it wouldn't have been very funny. He's probably hoping that it's a joke. Because what is he supposed to do with this information, anyway? Why did I tell him? Oh God, why did I tell him? I could've kept the secret my entire life and eventually died with it. I could've lived with it gnawing at me from the inside every day. But that might've been better than admitting it to another living person. Now that's someone else that has to live with this information. I swallow past the lump that's growing in my throat. "That's not funny," he continues, and man, is he right. I wish I could turn it around and say haha, just kidding, here's my real secret , but unfortunately, I'm not a quick enough thinker to think of something good enough to cover this up and make him not be suspicious of me. He would wonder why I said that as my "joke" secret. Especially when he's now looking at me like he is. What do I say ? "It was an accident," I murmur quietly. Lame, I know, but it's the truth. His face twists and I can see the horror in his eyes. The horror that's paired with disbelief, because after all, I'm his little brother, and how could his little brother be behind the Lake murders? "Noah, c'mon... You wouldn't, you couldn't , you..." He trails off when he sees my unwavering expression, my face set in stone. He knows I'm telling the truth. He knows how I lie; I've been a bad liar my entire life. I just needed to tell someone , because it was gnawing at me, and I trust Blake more than anyone. At least, I did. The way he's looking at me makes me think maybe I shouldn't have trusted him. Maybe this was a mistake. But it's not like I killed anyone because I wanted to - I had to. The first one just sort of happened, and then the second one was because she knew about the first one, and then so on and so on. Y'know? And the lake? It just happened to be the most convenient place to dump the bodies. Next thing you know, my murders were in the papers, on the news, and they even gave me a name - The Lake Murderer - thinking they had me all figured out. Well, they didn't, because they never traced the murders back to me. But that was ten years ago. I was young and stupid. And I thought Blake, of all people, would understand that. "Blake, listen," I say, as gently as possible. He steps back, holding out his hands. "Stay away from me," he cautions. "Blake, I would never hurt you," I try to assure him, "you're my brother. And like I said, none of them were on purpose..." "Noah, you murdered five women . That is not an accident." "You don't know-" "Yes, I do . I've made mistakes. But I've never murdered anyone!" Something starts to burn inside of me: anger. I try to push it down, to keep the flame from growing, and to stay calm, because if I get angry, who knows what Blake will do. I have to stay calm. But the louder he raises his voice and the longer he looks at me with disgust, the harder that gets. "I thought I could trust you" is all I'm able to say. "You could, before you decided to become a murderer," Blake snaps, but then he pauses and takes a deep, slow breath, shutting his eyes while he does so. He reopens them when he speaks next. "I'm sorry, Noah, but I can't sit on this. I can't just go on with life with this information. I have to do something." As I think, I lick my lips, which have become rather dry and cracked. My heart is pounding in all of my anger and now, panic. I can't believe he would do that to me. He wouldn't. Would he? "Blake," I warn. My voice comes out controlled, much to my relief. He purses his lips, taking another step away from me. He's tense, I can tell. It's not like I don't understand; it's tough information to comprehend. I just had hoped he would've taken it a little better and not threatened to turn me in. But really, even if he were to, it's not like he has any proof. And it was ten years ago. I would be okay. I would. Regardless, I can't let him tell anyone. I can't afford to take that chance. It was ten years ago, and they never caught me. I can't get caught now. My life would be ruined. Everything I've worked towards since the murders, me turning my life around, would be for nothing. I feel a little hurt, honestly. I trusted him, and he repays me by threatening to turn me in? My own brother? "You wouldn't really tell anyone, would you?" Blake looks at me evenly, but I can tell he's scared of me. I've seen that look before - never from Blake. But why? There's nothing to be scared of. How many times do I have to explain this to him? They were accidents . I'm not a mean person. I just do what I have to do. It's a little annoying that he just doesn't get it. "Noah, I have to." I tsk and shake my head. He's really edging towards my last nerve, which he doesn't want to do. "You don't. You don't have to do anything you don't want to." "Noah, I have to. I want to. I can't let you walk around a free man while I know what you did." He steps back again, and this time, I step towards him. I can't believe he would betray me like this. I can't have it happen. "Well, Blake, I'm sorry you feel that way," I say, my mind finally coming to a decision. It pains me a little, but it's what's necessary. I watch the fear light up his eyes as I step towards him again. I smile gently at him before I speak: "But I hope you'll understand what I have to do now."


"Fillet of a fenny snake, In the caldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog–" "Are you quoting the Scottish Play?" Lizzie asked, peering over Isabelle’s shoulder into the large pot she was chanting in front of. Isa spun around, surprised. She hadn't heard her friend enter her house.

"You scared me!” said Isa. “What are you even here for anyway?"

"You're hosting Writing Club this week, remember?" Lizzie said, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, yes, Writing Club! I'd totally forgotten–lost track of the time," Isa replied. "Where's Tricia? She's usually the early bird. Now, where-" Isa reached for her chopsticks to stir her makeshift cauldron. Lizzie took her hand out from behind her back to present Isa's chopsticks. Isa took the chopsticks, and kept stirring.

"Tricia's on vacation in the Bahamas. Didn't you see her pictures? Oh, right, you don't use social media except YouTube and Reddit," Lizzie muttered.

Isa suddenly remembered Tricia singing 'Ba-hamas' excitedly during their last meeting, waving around the wine glasses she carried around with her.

Isa looked down at her stew and frowned. "I was planning on finishing this recipe before Writing Club," Isa sighed. "I'm not even close to being done. Oh–Lizzie, you could help me with this! User u/theatreKidMakesGoodFood said this was the perfect recipe for a stew that gives you a spark of creativity!" Isa waved around her chopsticks with her left hand, whipping around to face Lizzie. "It's going to be great!" Lizzie winced and quickly turned off the stove. "The smell of burning hair is going to extinguish that creative spark," she said by way of explanation when Isa turned to her, confused. Lizzie made a face, but rolled up her sleeves and sighed. Isa politely ignored it and used her mittens to pick up the pot.

"User u/i_correct_stupid_stuff_on_reddit98 said the fire had to be going the whole time for it to work," Isa explained. She dumped out the contents of the pot into the sink. She started to gather a few ingredients from her cabinets. "There's a rhyme we have to chant,”

said Isa. “We usually need three people, but we can just alternate the third person's lines." Lizzie nodded, a slight grimace on her face. "What're the ingredients?" she asked. Looking at Isa's counter, Lizzie didn't see anything from the scene in the Scottish Play, like 'tongue of dog' or 'wool of bat'. All she saw were a large variety of ingredients sitting on the counter.

"Normal stuff," Isa replied, waving a hand at her. "Um, I'll do the first person's part, I guess. Come on, let's start!" They focused on the computer screen with the recipe. Lizzie didn’t know what to expect, but was surprised anyway. Isa opened a new tab on the computer and opened YouTube. She clicked on one of her playlists called 'Animal Sounds'. There were eight videos, called 'mew', 'pigggggggg', and 'WHO?!?!?!?', each video being saved a various amount of times. Isa rubbed her hands together and clicked 'play'. 'Mew, mew mew. Oink, oink, oink, oink. Who?" Isa started pouring broth and water in as the playlist played. She turned the stove on low and waited a few minutes, just as the recipe instructed. Lizzie tried to start a conversation a few times, but Isa needed absolute quiet for this recipe, with the exception of the required sounds, so she quickly shushed Lizzie.

As the broth started to boil, Isa placed ground beef in the pot. "Round about the cauldron go; In the poisoned entrails throw. Toad, that under cold stone; Days and nights has thirty-one." With the last two lines were an addition of diced chicken. Well, frog legs are said to taste like chicken , Lizzie reasoned, grimacing at the unrhythmic delivery. Maybe that's where this Redditor got this idea? Isa hurriedly gestured at the chopped-up carrots. Lizzie gave her the carrots, wondering how

"Sweltered venom sleeping got" had anything at all to do with carrots.

Lizzie knew the next line by heart. "Double, double, toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble," they said together.

Lizzie now realized it was her turn to stir and put in ingredients. Isa positioned herself at the counter, having a bowl at the ready. Isa leaned over and adjusted the heat slightly as the recipe instructed. Isa then gave Lizzie a bowl of diced onions and Lizzie started to chant. Lizzie loved theater and cooking, so she was actually having a lot of fun. She continued chanting, delivering her lines with enthusiasm as Isa kept handing her dishes. She noticed the strange combination of ingredients–completely different kinds of food for the ingredients in the play.

Lizzie turned up the heat to medium-high. Isa threw in ingredients from the counter for her lines and gave them to Lizzie when it was Lizzie's turn for the third witch's part. There were a few minor hiccups, but everything seemed to be going great. By the time they got to the third verse, Lizzie was seriously enjoying herself. Then she looked down at the strange mishmash of ingredients and wondered, What the hell have we made? The smell was okay, but it had occurred to Lizzie that you eat the stuff that comes out of recipes, and she didn't want to eat this strange stew.

They were nearly done. Isa turned the fire up to high and they let it sit for a minute or two, one of the very last steps. Once it was done, Lizzie went to go turn off the fire. Isa fetched a few ice cubes and Lizzie tossed them in, double-checking her next line: "Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good." Isa smiled and used her mittens to put the stew on a mat that was on a table. Lizzie opened her mouth to speak, but Isa shushed her again. 'We can't speak until we're finished eating," Isa mouthed. Lizzie nodded to show she understood and fetched two extra bowls for them to eat from. Isa ladled a few generous scoops into each bowl, much to Lizzie's disappointment. As they waited for the stew to cool, Isa and Lizzie played charades. They came close to laughing a few times, but they managed to smother the noise. Finally, it was time to actually eat the stew. Lizzie was mildly intrigued as to how the stew would taste. She was hoping it would be safe to eat–the stew had cooked for an appropriately long time, and none of the ingredients seemed dangerous, but knowing her forgetful friend, maybe a few of them had expired.

Lizzie picked up a spoonful of the stew, gave Isa a grimacing smile, and took a bite. It didn't taste terrible, but the explosion of flavors could use some toning down– THUNK. As soon as Lizzie swallowed, her head hit the table and she was out like a light.

The doctors would call it a dream, but Lizzie awoke in a strange, blurry mindscape. She couldn't see anything past the white fog. She watched as she saw a figure make its way, ever so slowly, toward Lizzie.

"Um. Hello?" Lizzie called out to the figure, uncertain of where she was and hoping she could ask for help. Lizzie couldn't quite see their face past all the fog, but the figure simply emanated power. Hopefully they were feeling benevolent.

"You are here for… a creative spark?" The figure drifted toward Lizzie, and Lizzie wondered for a moment if the figure had actually spoken. Then the figure came closer, and repeated: "Creative spark, is that right, Eliz… Lizzie , is it?" "Uh, yes," Lizzie answered. "And…yes again. So, yes on both counts."

The figure sighed deeply. "People of all eras have asked similar questions, Lizzie. They summon me and ask, 'Where is inspiration?' I am never able to answer this question. I cannot tell you to go to a specific place and you will be able to write a masterpiece. I cannot give you a stew recipe that will magically awaken the creativity in your mind." "So, everything is useless?" Lizzie asked. "Not even you, a god or whoever you are, can tell me where to find inspiration? I can't just sit tight and wait for inspiration to come find me. I'll never finish anything that way."

"I'm not asking you to 'sit tight'. I'm asking you to consider the world around you," the figure replied. As Lizzie opened her mouth, they held up a finger. "'Not nature', you say, 'that's been done a thousand times.' If not nature, consider the things that are unique to you. Maybe the trinkets you've saved

can help you tell your story. Maybe this experience itself will be useful. Inspiration is in everything around us, Lizzie. All you have to do is look." Lizzie thought about the figure's words. She wanted to say there was nothing unique about her, but that wasn't true. She was the only one she knew who could recite Harry Potter front to back. Only she had the unique collection of souvenirs she did. "Where do I find inspiration in that ?" she wondered aloud, noticing she could hardly see anything anymore. She could feel her grasp on the realm slipping away. "Another question I cannot straightforwardly answer," the figure remarked. "I can tell you this: start looking for inspiration today. It will be easier tomorrow." The realm kept fading, and Lizzie could hear footsteps from wherever she was outside.

The moment Lizzie couldn't see the fog and the figure anymore, she woke up on a hospital cot, startled. "It's just food poisoning," a nurse was explaining to Isa, who was clearly worried. "Just don't make the recipe again, I guess." Lizzie snorted, drawing the attention of the nurse. Lizzie was then hurriedly discharged from the hospital, with a promise that 'your bill will be mailed to you later'.

As Isa was dropping Lizzie off at her house, Lizzie thought about her friend that had set this whole adventure in motion. I could even write about Writing Club and Isa and Tricia. They've got their own little quirks too. Oh, and I could write about my house and my backyard… Lizzie found inspiration everywhere, even if the only stories she could produce from them were terrible. "Inspiration really is everywhere," she said out loud as she plopped down in her armchair, computer in hand. "I suppose I should start looking more."


It was Halloween, and everyone was excited in Mayontown. The adults would take their kids to each house hoping for the best for each of the child so they aren’t sad that their child came home crying because they got suckers instead of chocolate. No one wanted their child to come home with less than any other child because they would have to hear it at the annual Mayontown Halloween party every year and everyone knows that the Stevenson family gets their children the most candy. Everyone thinks that they put extra in there, but no one can really tell. That was until they tried this year.

“Okay everyone ready?” The Stevenson’s mom said to the group

“We are.” said the Smith’s mom

“We are.” said the Mason’s mom

“We are.” said the Orlando’s mom

“Wait where’s the Clover’s family?” said the Smith’s mom “Oh, wait I see their van coming now, never mind.”

“Always late to the show.” said the Stevenson’s mom

“Hush, Lisa.” said Sandra (the Mason’s Mom)

“Well, can you blame me?” Lisa asked

“You’ve been late before also to things and we haven’t said anything?” Sandra replied

“Oh, whatever I’m sure you said a thing or two behind my back now let’s all hush and have some fun.” Lisa responded as Rhonda Clover and her family came walking up

“Hey Rhonda how you doing?” Sandra said

“Oh, you know the kids want to wear this and that so they can get their candy. This one lost that so had to go find it and then get it placed right and I told them if they don’t get going then they won’t even get candy so that go them motivated and here we are.” Rhonda replied

“I’m glad I only have two.” Sandra replied

They all giggled and said they better get going before everything is over before they get started.

“Now before we get started remember the rules. No putting extra in the bags. No going back to the same houses after a while. Once, you have went to all the houses you feel you can you come back here and wait for the rest of us to get back here.” Lisa said

“Yeah Lisa, no putting candy in the bags. We know that’s how you been winning every year. We’ve been honest and there’s no way your kids can have double what we have.” Wanda the Orlando’s mom said

“Oh, sure whatever Wanda look in my vehicle right now and see if you see any extra candy in there. Go ahead all of you.” Lisa said

As all the women finally gave in and looked in his van, they gave in that she didn’t have any candy in her van, but somehow, she has some hiding somewhere. The women didn’t say anything, but they knew something was up when her kids' bags were always twice as big as their kids and everyone went to the same houses at least they thought.

You would never think these women could be so jealous over something so jealous, but these women's kids meant everything to them that competition is part of the jealousy issue.

Each of the families headed in a direction where they thought they could get the most candy for their kids. Sandra and Rhonda headed to the houses on the left while Wanda and Rachel headed to the houses on the right. Lisa said that she was going further down to the end of the road and coming back this way. That way when we go to the end of the road she will be at the beginning of the road.

The kids scrambled like crazy to get the best candy possible. They ran from one house to another as fast as possible trying to be the first one there hoping if they were there first, they would get the best candy.

Wanda and Rachel got back to the beginning of the road first and then it was Lisa believe it or not, I guess, she wanted to make sure that we didn’t blame her for cheating again with the candy and then Rhonda and Sandra came following in a few minutes later.

Once every one was at their vehicles they got to their vans and agreed to meet at the town hall to weigh their bags. They warned their kids that they better not munch on any candy or it could be a chance of not winning.

The families met at the town hall and weighed the candy to see who the big winner is for this year. All the other families are hoping that it isn’t the Stevenson’s like every year. Each family went up one at a time.

The announcer called each family up to the stage.

The announcer said, “First, the returning champion for three years in a row the Stevenson’s family that has two children with 20 lbs. 5oz.”

 “Next is the Mason’s family that also had two children and has, oh, 23lbs. 2 oz. “the announcer gasped, “Now just wait there are three more families.”

“The third family is the Clover’s family now this family has four children so watch out! The total is, wow, only 18lbs 5oz. Well, they are small children, but still give them a round of applause. Great try, kids!” the announcer said

“The fourth family is the Orlando’s family they have three kids in the family so they can fight for this too. They have 21lbs. 7oz. Not bad at all so close to being in the lead.” the announcer said

“Well, we have one last family, but either way we will have a new winner it will be either the Mason’s family or the Smith’s family that’s up next. The Smith’s family has two kids and they are not too small so this should be a close call. Okay, is it all on there? Alright, here goes nothing the total is 25lbs. 8oz. The Smith’s family wins the Halloween candy collection trophy for the year!!” the announcer said

We all clapped, but Mrs. Stevenson was not happy at all! Her face could rip you in half! Everyone was congratulating the Smith’s family flipping out the they actually beat the other family. They were saying how they would have to work twice as hard next year.

The moms took their kids to the house to get their costumes off and get to bed for the night because now it was the parents party time. After all the kids were in bed at each house all the parents met at the town hall for the adult version of the Halloween party. The men were in the left corner smoking their cigars and drinking their whiskey and brandy while talking about football and the current scores of the super bowl with what team was sure to win. The ladies lingered over in the right corner drinking their vodka and tequila complementing Mrs. Smith getting the trophy this year. All they heard over the complementing was Mrs. Stevenson complaining that they needed to check Mrs. Smith’s vehicle for bags of empty candy since they accused her all these years.

“Okay, Lisa I apologize for blaming you for cheating. I don’t know how you did it all these years, but you and your kids must have done some hard work because I made mine. We went to every house on the block and they told them they were in a contest and got a couple more pieces not much. Is that how you did it?” Rachel asked

“We did work our butts off you’re right. I’m not sure if they said they were in a contest or not, but we all worked our butts off so congratulations Rachel, I will beat you next year!” Lisa replied

“Well, Lisa, I look forward to it, but are you forgetting we have some other families here that might beat the both of us?” Rachel asked

As everyone laughed at the statement Lisa knew that she would be the winner no matter what!!

Everyone had their fun, said their goodbyes and went their way home.

Lisa couldn’t stand being a loser	!! She hated losing!!! All the way home she thought about that trophy!!!

As Lisa turned left, she saw Rachel’s house. She wanted that trophy so bad. She should have been the star at the party not Rachel. Rachel hasn’t been in the group long enough to win, she thought. All she had to do was crawl in one of the living room windows, grab the trophy, and get out before anyone noticed.

Lisa quietly pulled up to the house and sneaked up to the house. She looked in the window to make sure no one was up and she saw the trophy sitting on the living room table. Easier than she thought, now all she has to do is open this window, grab it, and go.

Lisa lifted up the window and climbed inside she stopped because she thought she heard something. Lisa continued on because nothing seemed to happen. There she was holding the trophy and reveling in the moment when out of nowhere Mrs. Smith’s husband came running down the stairs with a gun. Before she could say anything as she turned around, he shot her right in the chest and she fell.

Bill, Mrs. Smith’s husband ran down to see who broke into the house. He turned on the light and to his surprise it was one of his wife’s friends. He sat there in disbelief as Mrs. Smith came running down wondering what was going on.

As Mrs. Smith came running down, she got halfway down the stairs and started screaming because she saw what had happened.

“Bill what did you do?” Rachel said

“I heard someone breaking in and when I saw them, I just shot before I did anything else. I didn’t know who it was.” Bill replied

When Rachel came all the way down the stairs Bill was calling the cops and Rachel looked over and couldn’t believe what she saw Lisa had died because she wanted that stupid trophy. If she knew she wanted it that bad she would have just given it to her she didn’t have to die for it.

I can’t believe what greed can make you do sometimes even die for it! WOW!!


Inner Voice Rohan opened his eyes slowly to see himself in the mirror maze. He thinks, “How did I end up here”. He looks around and sees him surrounded by his own reflections. He tries to remember how he ended up here. He gets a glimpse of his chemistry class. He mildly remembers that he was in the chemistry lab doing some classwork. He can say by the look it is mirror maze, but this does not belong in the school. He slowly starts to walk forward and tries to find a way out of the maze. As he passes by many set of mirrors, he notices an odd thing. There were three mirrors that did not reflect him; instead, he saw his sixth-grade chemistry teacher “Mr. Rahul”, his crush “Riya” and his best friend “Rohit”. Rohan wonders why these three mirrors are not reflecting him. And why is it reflecting these three person in peculiar while the other mirrors are reflecting him. He moves towards those mirrors. And takes a glance at all three and he decides to first approach his Chemistry teacher’s mirror. So he first approaches to Mr. Rahul’s mirror and touches it. Soon a bright light blinds him. Then it fades away. He could see his sixth-grade chemistry lab and see his own childhood self, trying on some chemical combination. He then realizes that he is in the body of his chemistry teacher Mr. Rahul. Though Rohan was in Rahul’s body, he controlled neither his body nor mind. Rohan was able to hear Rahul’s inner voice. “Every year, I come across many new students. Though they remember me or not but I still remember each one of them” thinks Mr. Rahul. Then he looks at Rohan as the chemical apparatus slips Rohan’s hand and falls down. It shatters into pieces. Rahul approaches Rohan. “I know this part,” Rohan thinks. “This is where I get scolded like never before till now in my life”. Then Rohan hears Mr.Rahul’s inner voice. “Poor child is he ok, I scolded him very much. I feel sorry for that, but he has to be more careful. He reminds me of my son. That is why I had to scold him. I am not sure how he took it. If my son was alive he would be the same age of his.” “I thought him to be the worst teacher in my entire school life. I thought he never had a conscience and the rudest teacher. However, he considered me his son. I never knew he had a softer side. Moreover, I feel sorry for his son. After this my thought on him has changed”, thinks Rohan. The surroundings slowly fade away and he returns to the mirror maze. Next Rohan moves towards Riya’s mirror and touches it. He sees the same chemistry lab from Riya’s perspective. “Should I ask him for a group study? I am so afraid. What if he rejects me? But he studies better than me and has good grades. Only once, he had helped me with the chemistry lessons. I have not spoken to him other than that once. He is the only person that was kind to me.” Rohan listens to Riya’s inner voice. “Everybody thinks me as bad luck. If I am to speak with him, nobody will be his friend ever again. I know how it feels to be alone and would not let it to happen to anyone. Even my mother thinks of me as a curse and my father died because of me”. “I never knew Riya wanted to become my friend. I thought she only like the sportive boys, but never knew she had this bad luck idea in her mind and even her mother believes in it. She thinks me to be the kindest person in the entire world. But I have been mean by not understanding her feelings.” runs in Rohan’s mind. Riya makes up her mind to ask Rohan for a group study. She slowly approaches him. Then she sees Rohan dropping the apparatus and Mr. Rahul approaching him. Riya stands a few feet away from Rohan and watches everything happening. She feels sorry for what happened to Rohan. She thinks she is the reason for the things that happened to him because of her bad luck. She decides not to think of him ever again, for his own safety. Rohan slowly comes out of her inner voice and back to the mirror maze. Finally, he approaches Rohit’s mirror. Again, Rohan is back to the same chemistry lab but now in Rohit’s mind. Rohan sees Rohit applying some kind of lubricant to an apparatus and placing it unnoticed on Rohan’s table. Rohit thinks, “Rohan do you think you are so intelligent because every time I get a lower grade than you, my mother always scolds me when comparing me with you. Everyone wants to be your friend. So I have filled this apparatus with toxic gas, so when it falls down and breaks. Everyone in the class, including you will be affected by the gas. You have to take the entire blame.” Rohan returns to the mirror maze. He thought Rohit to be his best friend in the entire world but he has betrayed him. “Just because I am a bit better than you doesn’t make you worse. Your mother scolds you by comparing me to you, is to make you take the effort I take. But not to take a revenge on me”, thinks Rohan. Rohan finds himself in an ambulance, because of an accident in the chemistry lab. He asks the treating nurse if everyone is ok. She replies, “You are the only one who is most hurt, others are only mildly hurt”. Rohan thinks, “I am not hurt by the wound but I am hurt by the betrayal.” The entire world is seen from our perspective. However, once when we start seeing from other's perspectives, we will be astonished by the secrets that it holds.


It’s that time of year again. The time when everyone suddenly realizes that they’ve put off their holiday shopping a little too long. When everyone decides, on the level of some kind of group consciousness, that they need to get all their gift buying done right now. And it seems like every last one of them decided to come to Bart’s Mega Mart, where I work. I guess I can see the wisdom in their choice. I mean, here at Bart’s you can find everything you might need. I mean, you can buy novelty garden gnomes, big screen 4K TVs, and custom-flavored beef jerky all within a few feet of each other. And you can do it in something closer to a small-store atmosphere than any of those big warehouse outlets. Now, people are doing just that. A lot of people. The aisles are so packed that it looks like a rave at two in the morning, the noise level is through the roof, and the whole place is developing a bad case of barn heat. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my job. I love working with the customers, helping them get what they need. There’s nothing quite like that sense of satisfaction you get when someone’s eyes go all big and they exclaim, “That’s just what I was looking for!” But holiday hours are in full swing, my feet are hurting, and if one more person asks where the baby deer plushies are, I swear I’m gonna scream. To make matters worse, we’re operating off one of those stupid discount pricing catalogs, where each and every sale item has to have a special code and it takes forever to find it and the lines at the register are backing up and every customer has a particular and demanding need and I can see myself totally losing it in the next five minutes. I take a deep breath, step back from the counter under the pretext of glancing beneath it. “No, I’m sorry, ma’am, we don’t have any more of the red bags. Only the green ones. Will that be all right?” Oh, please let that be all right. The woman, a bit older, frizzy red hair escaping from beneath a knit hat and a frown of concentration on her face, purses her lips in indecision, as if weighing the fate of the universe. “I suppose so,” she finally says. “Thank you,” I breathe, before slipping her purchases into the bag and handing it to her. “Thank you for shopping at Bart’s Mega Mart. Have a great day, and happy holidays!” She grunts and moves off, and I wonder if I didn’t put too much forced cheer into my words. My face hurts from holding a smile all day. Before I can greet the next customer in line, a hand claps down on my shoulder, and I glance back to see the front-end supervisor standing there. “Dave,” he says. “I’ll take over here for a bit.” Am I on break? Has it been that long? Oh, please let me be on break. “I need you to take a walkabout, see if any customers on the floor need help.” The words shatter my fleeting hopes, but all I can do is nod. “You got it.” “Be back in fifteen.” “Right.” It’s not perfect, but I as I move off into the crowd of shoppers, I still hold out some optimism. Maybe I can march around purposefully, a harried look on my face, and no one will bother me. That could be almost as good as a break. Yet even that slender desire is cut off as I leave the sight of my supervisor. I’ve barely entered the stacks when a hand touches my elbow. “S’cuse me, buddy, but can you help me out here.” I plaster the biggest phony smile I can on my face and turn toward the customer. “Certainly. How can I…” My voice trails off at the sight of this particular shopper. He’s a big guy, tall and… let’s say “heavy”, so we don’t sound mean even to ourselves. He’s wearing a big coat over a hooded sweatshirt, with the hood pulled up around his face, almost as if he’s afraid of being recognized. In the depths of his cowl, I glimpse a big, bushy beard the color of fresh-fallen snow, a hint of a rosy nose, and eyes that twinkle even in the harsh fluorescent lighting. There’s a hint of stale eggnog on his breath, with maybe something a bit stronger mixed in, and he gives off the air of a man with an impossible task, and a determination to see it through. “…help you,” I finish. I don’t know quite why I’m surprised. We do get our share of department store Santas in here, fresh off their shifts, scrambling to finish their own holiday shopping. But there’s something different about this guy. “Well, I’ve got a list here,” he says, fishing around in a pocket of his big coat. “Well, two lists, actually, but I really need help with the first one.” He pulls a wadded ball of paper out of his coat, smooths it out and peers at it. “Let’s see… carrots, an onion, bell pepper… oh, wait, that’s the wrong one.” He chuckles. “Mrs. Claus had some last-minute requests. You know how it is.” His hand dives back into the folds of cloth. “Ah, here it is.” Now the hand emerges clutching a roll of what I can only call parchment. With a shake of his wrist, he unfurls it… and it keeps on unfurling, dropping to the floor and rolling off, disappearing from sight beneath the tromping feet of other shoppers, none of whom pay it any attention. I stare at the scroll in his hands, a mix of confusion, wonder, and sheer despair washing over me. “Um, sir, maybe I should call a manager…?” “No need, no need,” says the man. “Let’s just go down this. It’s all alphabetical. Knew I should have gotten to this earlier, but, well, sometimes I do let things slide, and it is that time of year.” I can only stand there, in growing desperation, hoping this guy will suddenly start laughing and reveal the prank, point out the hidden cameras. But he doesn’t. He starts rattling off names, listing out gifts wishes, solely focused on his list and oblivious to the look of horror on my face. After about a minute, he pauses and looks up at me. “Following me, sonny? Think you can help a fellow out?” For a few seconds, all I can do is gape like a fish. “Um, sir, that’s a lot of items you want, and it’s so late in the season…” His face seems to fall, that twinkle disappearing from his eyes. “Oh. Oh, I see.” He heaves a great sigh. “You know, maybe I’ve been doing this too long. Maybe it’s time to throw in the towel. I just can’t seem to keep up anymore. Ever since the elves got unionized, I just can’t make them crunch. And PETA’s been all over me about how I treat my reindeer.” His shoulders slump. “I just hate to disappoint all those kids. The ones that still believe in me, still believe in the magic. I know, there are fewer and fewer of them every year, what with the Internet and all that stuff. But there are always some that still hold on; I guess it’s time for them all to just grow up and deal with it.” He sounds so down, so devastated. I really want to help him. But there has to be a couple hundred thousand names on that list. I could work around the clock from here to Christmas and I wouldn’t get it all sorted out. I mean, it’s great to do the shopping and find a special gift for each and every person on your list, but… Then an idea hits me. “Um, sir, have you ever thought about gift cards?” He blinks. “Gift cards?” He says the words like he’s never heard them before. “Yeah. They’re cards that give people a certain amount of money to spend on whatever they want at our store. They can come in any amount you want. Say, twenty dollars each?” He hesitates, scratches his beard, a thoughtful look on his face. “I don’t know. Seems kinda… impersonal. Like I didn’t even bother taking the time to look for what each person wanted. Like I didn’t care enough.” “Not at all, sir,” I say, shaking my head. “A gift card is all about giving the person you’re gifting a choice, leaving it up to them how they want to spend the money. It says you care, not just about the giving, but about their own decision, about letting them control what they want. I mean, imagine if they changed their mind between now and Christmas? They’d be stuck with a gift they no longer want or need. No, a gift card is the ultimate way to say that you’re thinking of them and want them to be happy, without taking away their freedom to choose.” I know I’m laying it on a bit thick, but I’ve never been so desperate to make a sale in my life. Still, he hesitates, a deep frown on his face. Then he smiles, and the twinkle returns. “You know what? I think you’re right.” With a flick of his wrist, he rolls up the scroll with a snap. “We’ll do the gift cards.” I almost wilt with relief. “If you’ll come this way, sir, I’ll get those ordered for you. Would you like us to ship them, or…” “No, no, I’ll handle the deliveries myself,” the guy says. “I should make that effort at least. And, believe me, after all these years, I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” “Perfect,” I say, growing happier by the minute. Man, am I gonna make bank today. This might even net me a raise. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” He pauses again, rubs at his chin. “Well, now that you mention it, I do have this other list… do you guys sell coal, by any chance?”


                                                  The Attack     A warm sunny day though breezy. White clouds fill the sky changing shapes by the minute. The Finding is half what it was yesterday, and while alert, are expecting nothing of any consequence to happen today. Officer Jones is on duty, and his peaceful outlook as well as those of his other officers, are  blown away when Officer Jones receives a call from the Finding sentries hidden in the Southwest outskirts informing him drones are in the area. Their exact number is unknown. Immediately the call for masks is given. All search the skies but see nothing. Officer Jones calls the other quadrants and tells them an unknown number of drones were sighted in the Southwest quadrant. All eyes scan the sky searching, momentarily distracted by the sounds of rustling leaves as flocks of birds burst from the trees into the skies above. Suddenly shouts of “there….there”  sound from each of the quadrants over the open phone lines.  Others point to the sky trying to pinpoint the exact location of the incoming drones. From a distance, yesterday’s drones looked like birds peacefully flying overhead while today those ‘peaceful birds’ are suddenly now diving from the highest of the clouds starting their attack. Officer Jones quickly counts six maybe eight drones before running for cover as suddenly one explosion is followed by another. They appear then disappear in a matter of seconds leaving behind a compound in ruins. With nothing left to burn, only the ashes of a few small fires still smolder. The compound is leveled, and the drones have disappeared back into the clouds.

   Officer Jones watches the sky but is sure no drones will return for there is nothing left, not here. He gives the order to withdraw quickly and quietly to the outskirts keeping intervals, then lay still remaining camouflaged. He calls Monroe, “The compound is destroyed…     Thankfully no one is hurt. The drones surprised us… I don’t know what might happen next. I know they accomplished demolishing the compound and probably believe all of us are dead…  Possibly a second wave might be coming…  Right, we have to figure it out fast. I’m on my way.” Officer Jones puts his phone in his pocket, sighs and looks up at the now peaceful sky. Shakes his head, thinks…’sure didn’t last long.’

    The team, with the exception of Officer Jones and Pamela, gathered at their new location to plan their next step. Rushing out of earshot, Bob calls Pamela. He has the urge to go get her. It wasn’t long ago, Pamela was kidnapped in San Antonio, and Bob is not sure what the culprits had in mind.     Jesse says, “They wasted no time. It seems Neville is expendable to them after all. They wanted him to escape but couldn’t make that happen, and now they’re afraid he’s going to rat them out so in their opinion, Neville’s got to go.”     “I think we need to talk to Neville now to see if he’s willing to make a deal,” Samantha adds.     Pamela answers the phone, and Bob says, “You alright?”     Hearing Bob on the phone, they all turn to look. It’s obvious Pamela is on the line. They listen in, in hopes of learning some new information from her Doctor Randolph visit.     Pamela hears the urgency and fear in Bob’s voice and quickly replies, “I’m fine, What’s wrong?”     Bob takes a deep breath and asks, “Where are you? Are you close?”     “Maybe ten minutes away.” Pamela asks again, “What’s happened?”     “Drones leveled the compound.”     There is shocked silence now on the phone as Pamela shares in Bob’s urgency and fear. Then she asks, “Is everyone all right?  No one was there, right?”     Bob assures her, “No one at all. We’re all fine. No one is following you, are they?”     “Don’t worry, really. I exited I 12, at La Combe, and I was the only one who did. What is happening there?”     “Planning our next step.” Bob notices the others are listening and now relieved Pamela is okay, he asks, “Learn anything on your visit?”

    Pamela tells Bob, “I learned our nurse Harriet Drew and Neville were an item. Neville was her boyfriend, or so we were told by a woman named Sharon in personnel.”     “Really? Interesting… That could change things. I’ll tell Samantha and the rest. Be careful. See you shortly.” Off the phone Bob shares his new found information. “Looks like Neville and our nurse may have been in a relationship.”     Jesse says, “If that’s true, and if our nurse friend is an informant, that’s a double whammy for Neville. Now that his former partners believe Neville will tell all, even his girlfriend wants him dead.”

    Samantha smiles, pauses then states, “I have an idea. Let me question Neville, and you all play along with me.”     The others are not really sure what she has up her sleeve, but she is the lawyer, and they witnessed the ‘light bulb’ light up.

    “Can Officer Jones send pictures of the compound?” Samantha asks Monroe.     “I’ll get him to send them.” Monroe calls Jones to make his request.  A few moments later, his phone beeps, and the pictures are there.

    Samantha asks, “Are we ready?”     They nod and all quickly enter Neville’s room.

    Startled Neville looks at them, “My, aren’t we in a hurry.”     Samantha tells him, “Yes, we are. You should be.”     “Hurry for what?” Neville asks.     “To make a plea bargain,” answers Samantha.     “Why?” Neville replies.     “To stay alive,” Samantha answers. Samantha turns to Monroe, “Do you have the pictures of the compound?”     Monroe hands her his phone containing a video of the compound ruins. Samantha shows Neville and tells him, “This is where you were yesterday at this time. You’re expendable now. Looks like they want you dead.”     Looking worried, Neville takes a deep breath.

    Samantha adds, “We don’t have much time.”     Neville remains silent, but it’s obvious the gears are turning. He’s wondering how to proceed.     Samantha tells him, “It’s up to you. The guy who’s trying to kill you may succeed and get away scot free. You have it in your power to take him down before he gets to you.”

    All of the others look on but say nothing. They feel as though they are the audience in a play.     Samantha continues, “I want to offer a plea deal. You tell us what we need to know to stop these experiments, and I’ll talk to the DA on your behalf. Mr. Dugat, whoever wants you dead, thinks you’re dead, but it’s only a matter of time until they  find out you’re alive. They don’t know where you are, but we can’t hide you forever. They’ll try to finish what they started when they find you. It seems to me you have a choice of receiving a reduced sentence with a chance for a new life when you get out or certain death.”

         Neville protests, “I would make a plea bargain if I had done anything wrong. You’ve got the wrong man.”     “Oh, yes.  You’re Justin Covell.  I remember. You know, whether you’re Neville or Justin or somebody yet to be named, you’ll still be just as dead.”     “What exactly are the charges… against Neville?”     “Oh, that’s up to the DA, but I imagine kidnapping, attempted murder, if not actual murder for starters.”     “Speaking of kidnapping and attempted murder, do you think they knew I wasn’t Neville?”     “I think they knew you WERE Neville.”     “Why do you think I was thanking everyone for saving me? They kidnapped me and were going to kill me.”     “Mr. DUGAT, I think you want to keep your lie alive. That’s what I think. Did you see the video of the compound?”     “I did,” Neville replies.     “Why do you think that happened?” asks Samantha.     “It’s obvious someone wants me dead.”     “Did you put up a struggle when they kidnapped you?”     “Yes, I fought them as hard as I could.”     “Yet, those of us in the other room heard nothing. They pushed you though a window that was hardly big enough for a child, but no glass was broken nor a sound made. We only knew you were gone because Jesse Gunn checked, otherwise we wouldn’t have known you were gone, or as you say abducted. You still say you fought them tooth and nail?”     “Yes, I did what I could.”     “So two aliens, Avantans I believe before the change, each with their two hands, managed to hold your legs and arms together to get you through that tight window. Who was it that held your mouth closed that prevented you from calling for help, while you were screaming and kicking?”     Neville says, “I was afraid they’d kill me.”     Samantha responds, “Of course, that’s why you were so grateful you were saved. You held out hope we’d come to your rescue. But, I’m confused, why wouldn’t you help those in the process of helping you?”     “What are you talking about?”     “I have it on good authority you growled and slashed at those trying to save you. They thought you wanted to get to the bayou.”     “I’d say your ‘so called authority’ doesn’t know what they are talking about.”     “What would you say if I told you I’m an alien, and I was the deer that knocked one of the deer carrying you off his feet causing you to tumble. I am ‘the authority’.”     “I’d say you’re trying to trick me and get me to admit to something that didn’t happen.”     Samantha tells Neville, “It’s no trick. I was that deer, and you were growling just like I said. You came toward me slashing those Draakar claws of yours, and you wanted to kill me, but… you were just too damn slow…”

    Neville is visibly upset, angry, and worried.

    Samantha in contrast, exudes confidence. “Mr. DUGAT, Here are the facts. They tried to save you. They failed. Now they want you dead… It’s that simple. I will go to the DA, and I will be back tomorrow. Perhaps we can reach an agreement. No one knows where you are so you should be safe tonight, but we cannot guarantee your safety should you continue to keep silent. Mr. Cane, is Nurse Drew on her way?”     Monroe looks like a deer in the headlights, an actor who has forgotten his lines. There is a pause then Samantha comes to his rescue with raised eyebrows and the world’s quickest nod.

    Monroe picks up on the cue and answers, “Yes.”  He takes a quick breath and smiles slightly feeling pleased with his successful one line.     Neville looks as though he’s been punched in the stomach.     Samantha decides this is a good time to leave and walks out followed by the others.

    Pamela arrived just moments ago and waits outside the door. Quickly Bob goes to her. Pamela assures him she is fine. The others sit waiting to hear of her visit with Doctor Randolph. Samantha keeps her attention divided between listening to Pamela while hoping to hear Neville call to them asking for a plea deal.     “Any luck with Neville?” Asks Pamela.     “Not sure yet, … trying to scare him into making a plea deal,” Samantha responds.

    Pamela tells them, “I’m sure Doctor Randolph has absolutely nothing to do with the experiments or kidnappings. Before Doctor Randolph was made Chief of Staff, he and Neville talked, even went to lunch a few times. Doctor Randolph felt Neville was picking his brain. They only talked in passing after he became Chief of Staff. Harriet Drew worked there but left six months ago. Doctor Randolph didn’t know her, but a lady from personnel said Neville and she both stopped working close to the same time and... she believed Harriet Drew was his girlfriend.”

    “If she is or was, I believe that romance is dead,” says Jesse.

    “Bob agrees, “Looks like it.”     “Oh, and according to Doctor Randolph, Neville is hostile and resentful toward Osteoans. He feels they are dying out because of their assimilation. They’re bringing their destruction on themselves by hiding who they are. I believe Neville Dugat is not the main leader, but they recruited and used him for  his knowledge.”      Samantha adds, “That’s why Doctor Randolph felt Neville was picking his brain. Neville was trying to learn some of Doctor Randolph’s expertise.”     “Neville’s job must have been developing formulas for the drugs for injections. Perhaps he was in charge of the experiments. That would explain the unidentifiable ingredients in Jesse’s blood and others.” Pamela is silent, but only for a moment then her face goes sour in disgust as if she took a bite of something vile and putrid, and she says, “Neville didn’t care if they lived or died… or how his experiments affected… his guinea pigs.”     Monroe adds, “Well, we need to find the son of a bitch in charge. He’s declared war. This has to end.”     They all look at each another with new hope. Samantha says confidently, “The END starts now.”

                                                                           The End


Bedtime Story “Hey Grandkids! Do you want to hear a bedtime story?” Luke asked. “Of course we do!” exclaimed the children! “Okay! It was a long time ago when your grandmother and I worked at rival bakeries. Molly, your grandma, named her bakery, Molly’s Doughy Delights , and mine was titled Bake My Day . At that time, your grandma was sassy and rude.” he said with a side glance at Molly. She forcefully nodded in agreement. “I guess I was. But unlike me, Grandpa was kind and funny.” Molly said with a quiet giggle. “On the first of December, people flooded in with orders for the Christmas season.” told Luke. “Everyone in town was ordering delicious treats!

Both Molly and I wanted to be the best bakers in town. We tried to bake better treats than the others and earn the most money. When time came for the Annual Christmas Festival, the town held a Bake Off where five bakeries would compete in three rounds to win $1,000,000. The lucky bakeries chosen were Molly’s Doughy Delights , Bake My Day, Downtown Bakery , Sugar and Spice, and Cherry on Top .” “The next week we started the first round of the Bake Off.” Molly stated. “We were assigned to create a cupcake with a Christmas surprise inside. Inside my chocolate cupcake, I put peppermint candy, and in Luke’s banana cupcake was a huge load of chocolate! I can’t remember what everyone else baked, though. Do you know, Luke?” added Molly.

“I am not sure. I am pretty old. My memory is fried up! I don’t even remember my name!” Luke joked. The kids giggled. They could have laughed for a long time!

“Quiet down, kids. I remember what Downtown Bakery made.” Molly recalled. “They made a vanilla cupcake with caramel inside, but that didn’t go well. The caramel was so hot that it melted the bottom, and burned a hole in the bottom of the cupcake. The caramel leaked all over the plate and made a huge mess. Lucky for us, Downtown Bakery was eliminated.” “One week later, marked the start of the second round.” explained Luke. “Little did we know, it would be harder than we thought! We had to work with a partner to make a seven-layered cake and decorate it like a Christmas tree.

Six hours were given to us to create our Christmas cakes.

The judges combined Cherry on Top and Sugar and Spice. Which meant, Molly and I were selected to be paired up. It was hard working with Molly because we were long-time enemies. Molly demanded things to be her way, but I wanted it to be different. We barely got done in six hours, and in that time-”

“What did you make?” asked one of the kids. “Well, I saved a picture in the attic! Let me go get it.” Molly answered. She went to the attic and brought down an old, broken, dusty box. She opened it up, and inside was a painted box, a framed picture, and another box that was more formal than the other. Molly took out the hand-painted box and when she lifted the top off, the box tipped over and hundreds of pictures came flooding out. The kids jumped back hurriedly, but then began to scramble through all the old-fashioned photos. Molly tried not to let them see too many pictures or else it would spoil the story! Luke picked up a photo and showed it to the kids. “This is my bakery, kids! Bake My Day! Oh, and this is Molly’s Doughy Delights ! Ooh! Look at me with my blond hair and my bright blue eyes, and Molly with her beautiful red hair and green eyes. She’s wearing her ‘sassy skirt’ in that picture.” “What’s this picture?” a child asked holding a photo in his hand. “What about this one?” another grandchild asked. Every single kid was grabbing images and asking questions. Soon the room was filled with noise. Everyone was talking at once and nothing could be heard. The grandparents’ ear drums were bleeding! “Quiet everyone. We should clean this up and get you all ready for bed.” Luke spoke. All the children started to put the pictures back into the box, and in a couple minutes, they were done. “Is this it?” announced one of the kids.

 “Oh, yes. That’s it!” Molly replied. The kids settled down, and went into the bedroom, even Luke and Molly, to finish their bedtime story. When all the kids were snuggled up tight in bed, Molly showed them the picture of the yummy cake Luke and she made. “Can everyone see it?” Luke asked. “Yes!” the kids responded.

Molly started the story again. The picture was black and white, but still as vibrant as a photo can get. The image was long and skinny with two people on the sides. Luke and Molly were standing beside their seven-layered Christmas tree cake that was taller than they were. Every layer was a different flavor. Chocolate, vanilla, banana, strawberry, red velvet, lemon, and cheesecake. The cake had green frosting around the whole thing in little piped lines to look like pine needles. There were various ornaments made of little candies, all different shapes and sizes! There were lights and tinsel wrapped around the cake, all of it edible. The little painted almond bulbs on the fondant string looked like they actually lit up! Powdered sugar was sprinkled on the tree to make it look snowy. The cake resembled a Christmas tree exactly! “Woah!” the kids said in awe. “What did the other people make?” asked one of the children. “They made all of their layers vanilla.” Luke explained. “Their green frosting was very neat and it was lime flavored. They used isomalt globes for ornaments. It looked really nice and the judges loved the presentation. Luke and I thought they were going to win, but their lime frosting was so strong it made it very sour, and their cake was underbaked.

“Well, who won?” exclaimed one kid nervously. “ Bake My Day and Molly’s Doughy Delights!” said Molly. “Before we started the third and final round, Molly made an announcement.”

“Here’s what I announced at the Bake Off. ‘We do not want to go any further! We will both drop out and split the money now.’”

“At that time, I was so confused and wanted to win.” Luke recalled. “$1,000,000 was on the line! I couldn’t give it up to split it with Molly. I was so competitive and I still am, so I had to talk with Molly.”  “‘One moment. Let me speak with my fellow contestant.’ is what I stated at the contest.” “Why would you say that, Grandma?” the youngest grandchild added with fear and confusion in her voice. “You will know once I tell you what I told Luke.” Molly assured. “Before Molly said anything to me, I asked her ‘Why would you do that? Don’t you want to win?’” “So I said to him, ‘Yes. I do want to win, but the truth is, I am in love with you. I don’t want to compete with you. I only want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you, Luke.’” “How could you love him, if you were enemies?” mentioned a child. “I don’t know. I just felt it at that time!” Molly exclaimed. “What did you say to that confession, Grandpa? It was so straight-forward!” the eldest child asked in astonishment.

Well I said this. ‘I’ve liked you from the start, too! I used to think you were rude and sassy, but after working with you, things became clear that we are destined for each other.’” “When everyone left the competition, Luke and I were still lingering there. We received our money--$500,000 each. We sat down on a bench together, looking at our cake. Luke got up from the bench and kneeled down on one knee. Holding my hand he said to me, ‘I love you so much, Molly! I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?’ I started crying! I was so happy, I didn’t know what to say to him! The only words able to come out of my mouth were ‘Where’s the ring?’” “I didn’t have a ring at that moment. I didn't know what to do!” Luke declared. “The only other thing I could think of was the cake! I started walking up to the cake and told Molly, ‘About that… I don’t have a ring, but I think this works!’ I scooped some frosting off their Christmas tree cake and shoved it into Molly’s mouth. Molly was so offended that she threw some back at me! We were throwing frosting at each other until there was no more to take from the cake!” “We sat down on the same bench as before, but something felt different.” Molly told. “We both looked up at the same moment and saw mistletoe hanging from a branch on the luscious, pink willow tree above. We looked at each other for a moment and then we kissed each other. The rest is history.”


It was the end of the month. She was tackling a sales report in her bedroom/office, anxiously bouncing in her ergonomic swivel chair and humming a BTS bop erroneously. It was just about lunchtime. The day had flown by. Her morning was a monotonous string of head nods in Zoom meetings she may as well have not attended and passive-aggressive emails with the morons in finance. Her work, as awful as it sounds, validated her. And she was fine with knowing this sensitive truth. Although her recent conduct may suggest a strong lack of self, the events of recent weeks revealed her deeper, darker intuitions. Of which, she was oddly grateful.

An obnoxious alarm blared from her phone, as it did at this time every day. Her attention was so wrapped in the urgent report, she hadn’t checked the time or any messages she’d received for at least thirty minutes. She grabbed her phone to turn off the racket. On the lock screen, a notice displayed a recent message from her husband: “I got out of a meeting early again. On the 23 bus, I should be home in a minute. Gotta be quick, but we should have enough time. Love you! See you soon, beautiful.”

She peered out of her window and sighed. The city bus was resting at the stoplight at the end of the block. Gray clouds were bunching in the sky around the city skyline in the background. The buildings that loomed as a beacon of sorts to all who lived in this marvelously weird place. A city that had broken and mended her heart so many times, it’s DNA was forever stitched into her being.

It’d be only a minute before he was home. She thought about waiting until he left but quickly decided against the notion, for this was a timely task. No chances could be taken. She knelt down to the lowest drawer in her armoire and rummaged through socks and sweatshirts. Underneath the strategically placed clutter was her lockbox, simple and childlike. A box for love letters and sentimental Polaroids. She fiddled through the combination lock in seconds. It’s contents, far from sentimental. No pictures or letters, but a crinkled box of contraceptives. She turned the wheel and popped out the tiny pill. The last one - she was out. The slam of the front door echoed through their tiny row home. He shouted her name and she shouted back, the pill clinging to the tip of her tongue. She swigged it down with iced coffee kept at bay by the laptop, and switched her Slack status to “Away”.

Thumps of his sturdy black work shoes on the creaky wooden staircase exposed his presence. At the last possible moment, she shoved the lockbox back in its place, tossed a sweatshirt over it, and crouched on her bed into a semi-provocative pose.

The door swung open. He barreled in like a zoo animal freshly escaped. His hands were working on the knot in his tie. He’d somehow yanked his shoed feet through his slacks and discarded them somewhere on his mad dash for the bedroom.

“We’re still in our window,” he said, panting. “I, uh, I thought what the heck? Slow day, might as well be productive in some way. Are you ready? Should we maybe do something to get in the mood?” She thought about the sales report she’d yet to send to her boss. She also thought about the leftovers from last night’s Chinese takeout and how excited she was to revisit it. “I’m ready if you are.” Six minutes and eleven seconds later, the deed was done. He was sitting at the edge of the bed redoing the tie he’d just unknotted. She, too, was redressing for work, slipping into her most formal pajamas. Whatever guilt she may have felt in the weeks before was missing from today’s shotgun baby-making attempt. If anything, the Chinese takeout had taken up the majority of real estate in her head. It was that good. Her husband’s face was stoic, but his glassy eyes revealed his frustrations.

“This has to happen for us eventually. We’ve been trying for nearly five months now.” She was well aware of how long they’d been trying . “Doc said this was our ovulation window,” he said. “Maybe we should make another appointment for next Monday, see what the problem is.” “Patience. That’s all he’s going to say. Have patience.” The thought of visiting the doctor again somehow never crossed her mind. She felt incredibly stupid. This was going to blow up in her face.

“I’ll have to send you this article I read about the best positions for conception. We can try one tonight.” “Really, tonight? Don’t you think once a day is enough?” He turned to her.

“What is up with you? I mean, isn’t this what we decided on, together? Please tell me if you have any better ideas for how to conceive, okay. Please. I’d rather hear constructive ideas than criticisms.” She wasn’t being fair to him, and she knew it. It was time to tell the truth. But before she could, he interjected. “I’m sorry. Don’t say anything.” He wrapped his arms around her. “I shouldn’t assume such nonsense. I love you, I trust you. This whole baby thing is so exhausting. I’ve been feeling quite fried lately. You must be feeling this, too.” She pulled him in closer. She’d be a fool to not take advantage of the delay. It was then that her husband reminded her what she was running from. “I can’t wait to finally have a child so we have that push to get out of this city. Get that house in the suburbs on a nice, quiet street. I’ve seen some promising options in our price range near my parents’. I’ll send you the link to those, too.” Her teeth gritted with rage.

“You know,” she started, suddenly chipper. “Noelle and Leon floated this awesome idea by me yesterday. What if, this summer, we backpacked across Southeast Asia? Temples in Thailand, motorbikes in Vietnam. We could eat pho every day if we wanted. Try regional versions we’d never get here.” “Sounds awesome. Damn. Big bummer we can’t go. We’ll be a bit preoccupied this summer, won’t we?” He was gone five minutes later. Back to work. Literally and figuratively stranded, she watched the needles of skyscrapers burst the rainclouds above from her bed. Her phone buzzes. It’s him, the article. Eight Positions You Must Try- Her arm acted on impulse before she could finish the title. She tossed the phone with disgust. It soared across the room into a pile of dirty clothes. She sauntered down to the kitchen. On the box in the fridge, a kind note from the restaurant, personalized specifically for her. Only took eight months of ordering the same thing every Thursday. She flipped the plastic lid of her true desire, cracked open a can of flavored seltzer, and walked all the way back to her room before realizing she’d forgotten to reheat her leftovers. Cold noodles would have to do.

She slurped as she typed, putting the finishing touches on a sales report that was due an hour ago. Her mouse clicked send, and then hovered over to her Slack channel. Her attention drew back to the lockbox. Instead of switching back to Active, she alerted her boss she’d be back in 20 minutes. A seasonal migraine flared up during lunch, she’d be only a few minutes at the drug store.

She slid her arms through the sleeves of her raincoat and cocked her umbrella like a soldier scrambling between trenches. The door to their home opened to an orchestra of chaos. Honking horns, sirens wailing in the distance. She stepped onto the stoop. Her eyes immediately locked on the bus stop directly across the street.

Two teenagers sat alone under the glass awning of the bus stop, passionately tangled in another. Pecking and smooching, giggling amongst the onslaught of nature around them. She stood in the rain, watching the teens for an uncomfortably long beat as her heart stood confused, unsure whether to flutter or sink.

Her convictions were reaffirmed. She didn’t want to watch this love of life grow before her eyes in the form of a child. He would be broken by her actions. The complexity of her ruse would astound and disappoint him. Their relationship would effectively end. The charade would have to continue, at least until she was ready to say goodbye. Stomping through puddles indented in walk-worn sidewalks, she pressed on to the drug store.


It's taken me a long time to think seriously about this former friend and someone who passed away at eighteen years old. He's someone I've never forgotten about, and he haunts my dreams. Joe was a really sensitive, loving kid who was always taller and skinnier than me. When my family built a house in the township of Mendham I started going to the elementary and then the middle school. I was in Mrs Thomas' class and it's likely there I first met Joe. His parents lived in a stone covered ranch house on Woodland Road and Summit Road. The house seemed to go on forever. The garage was the only room that was below floor level and the house looks like it was built into a slight decline to the left. I don't remember exactly how Joe and I met but he had spent some time in the Philadelphia area and he liked the Phillies. Star Wars was huge and enigmatic for us. But I remember standing in front of his house and our classmate Miriam was there with us. Miriam had found a woolly bear caterpillar and it was peacefully walking under a leaf. Joe and I went over to look at it and the woolly bear was dark, which Miriam said portended a very cold winter. I was living in Morris Plains at my grandparents' house for that severe winter of 1977-1978 and this limited my time with Joe to a few visits and time at school. When I finally got to the new house we got together more. There was a sleepover for Joe and his birthday was March 4th. The sleepover was fun and we all slept in the room over the garage. Then Joe’s mom cooked us eggs, bacon and flapjacks for breakfast. Afterwards I was on my way back to Morris Plains. Somehow I was totally enamored with that house. You could go from the room where the sleepover was and into the kitchen and common area with a couch where Joe's hamster went and his dad had to dig into the couch to get it. Joe's dad was pretty kindhearted, and my dad thought he was a scientist. Maybe he was, and I think I remember Joe telling me they'd been to the Philippines; of course, I might be confusing this with Philadelphia. Joe’s dad also had a bunch of Playboys in his garage and we helped ourselves to them at least once. Harmony Brook (hence Brookside) ran by Joe's house and he and I built a dam over a few weeks; Joe lead this project. Joe was also friends with Scott, who was two grades under us. Scott also lived on Woodland Avenue, and we went to his house. I tried playing Scott’s Atari dragster game but I sucked at it and kept blowing the engine. Whether or not this all happened in fourth grade or fifth grade, I don't exactly remember but by the time we were in middle school our friendship really seemed to take off. I remember us playing little league baseball. I was on the Coutts team with my two brothers and Joe was on another team and we had to play against each other. I was on this team for fourth, fifth and sixth grades and it seems like we played all our games at the Brookside community field or at the elementary school field. Joe and I finally were on a team together in seventh grade. It was much different than in sixth grade, and you had to steal bases, which horrified me. Then there were secret signs the coach gave us, such as a swipe across the chest which meant to steal a base. It was more aggressive, the practices seemed unorganized, and to top it off, the coach rarely put Joe or I in to play. During one game, Joe was in center field and the batter from the opposing team hit the ball directly to him. Joe tried catching it, but it stung his hand badly through the glove and he dropped it. Joe flicked his hand violently up and down to relieve the pain. When Joe came back in he and I got on top of the dugout together and spent the rest of the game there. It wasn't long afterwards that he and I quit the team and left baseball forever. I complained to a teacher that I wasn't getting played, but to no avail. Then I bagged up my uniform and gave it to the coach's daughter, who was a grade lower than me, and she gave it back to her dad. After this, Joe showed me his new computer. He had a game on it where you could fly through space with the stars appearing to fly past you, and we played for hours until I had to go home. My parents got Intellivision for me and my two younger brothers, along with several game cartridges, including Battleship, Space Armada, Football and Baseball. Joe came over and we played all the games, but he really liked Battleship, so we had a tournament that lasted from Friday night well into the next day. Joe and I had some of the same friends. One was Randy, whom I'd also met in my move to the township. Randy and I shared an interest in stuffed animals and "Laurel and Hardy". Joe and Randy were also friends, but seemed to fall out somewhat during middle school. Next there was David, who loved movies such as John Carpenter's "Halloween" and of course Star Wars. David was a bit of a prankster and we stole a golf cart from the Roxiticus golf course. I was scared, but Joe was far more relaxed, and that probably helped to chill me out. David had also recruited a cute girl from the sixth grade named Tammy, and I started getting a crush on her. I was also jealous of David for being able to get her to come on this adventure of a lifetime. David, Joe, I and Tammy all walked stealthily up to a row of golf carts. David had gotten a hairpin from Tammy. We all three stopped and David continued up to the carts. Then he jumped into one of them, and seconds later he was speeding towards us. "Get in, goddammit!", he hissed at us. We all jumped in and barreled down the hill together, Joe and I in the back with David and Tammy up front. It was a misty, cloudy early spring day, so we had some cover. Then we took turns driving the cart, doing doughnuts on the thicker fairways and avoiding the greens. We finally left the undamaged cart in a wooded rough area and all four of us skulked off. Then Joe and I had some disagreement and got into a harmless fight, rolling around on the grass and getting soaked while David and Tammy watched us. No punches were thrown, but Joe had some fight in him, yet he wielded it gracefully. I guess David and Joe were two of my closest friends in middle school, but both of them had been friends with George, whereas George and I were merely acquainted. Joe and George had kind of a love-hate relationship, but one day they had such a weighty disagreement that they decided to fight after school in Joe's driveway. Joe told me about the fight and I rode my bike to his house, ostensibly taking his side, but trying to stop him fighting. Joe didn’t heed my protests and down Woodland Avenue came George and one of his friends from school. I was apprehensive and I tried playing music in my head to drown out the coming conflict. Then George and Joe faced off and engaged in the stupidest fight I've ever seen, with both of them taking wide swings at each other's heads, connecting about half the time. I was transfixed, but neither combatant seemed to win. George pulled away first and then backed up. The saddest part was that they parted ways after that and stopped being friends. George trudged away and his friend tagged along, but I stayed, dry mouthed and heart racing. "Joe, are you alright?" I wondered if we'd have to put a piece of steak on his cheek, like Peter from "The Brady Bunch". Joe said he was fine, but I could see red marks under his eyes. Just then his dad pulled up. I looked at my wristwatch and it said it was five in the afternoon, and I wondered how so much time had passed so quickly. Joe's dad listened as his son told him about the fight. "Did you give him any shiners?", his dad asked. I thought it was a strange question, but Joe's dad was obviously proud of him. Joe and I remained friends through all of eighth grade, but it was different because David had moved away and Joe had stopped being friends with George and Randy, so we were pretty much it. But even we started diverging somewhat. Joe never changed much, except for getting somewhat taller, but I started growing thin mustache hair. I also began taking on a somewhat mesomorphic appearance. By high school I was shaving first my mustache and then my entire face. Joe on the other hand kept his boyish voice; he likely could have been in a choir! He also didn't have any facial hair, but maintained his mop of dark brown hair. Even then he probably looked a bit like Justin Bieber. I thought nothing of it, but Joe's appearance definitely caught the attention of other boys in our class. They started calling Joe "gay", and made fun of his voice. There would be call outs in class, like "Joe's gay!", and I can't imagine the teasing in Joe's other classes. Joe and I were in Mr Blasko's history class together, and we had to do presentations about halfway through the year. Mine went off without a hitch. A guy named Marc, who often wore an Atari shirt went next, and he kept the class and Mr Blasko in stitches. Then it was Joe's turn. Poor Joe couldn't even get through his presentation. Some of our male classmates were telling him to make his voice deeper. Joe said aloud, "Oh, come on! I can’t help it!" Then someone said, "Joe's gay!" for about the hundredth time. Mr Blasko didn't do a damn thing, but after all it was the rough-and-tumble early 1980s. I turned around at one point to look at Mr Blasko, but he just shrugged. Then one of the big girls got up and told the boys to shut up. They did, in shock, and Joe finally finished. I couldn't understand why people were so mean to Joe. He was so nice to me, and I loved his laugh. His interest in cars and computers and other technology, as well as his interest in coin collecting got me to see a new world. We didn't start with much in common in fourth grade, but we enjoyed each other's company. But I had my own limits, and one day they were rudely pulled out of me. My cousin, whose name is Dick, and who was also one year behind me, was at my house one day. It was a few days until I was to start freshman year at Mendham High School. I was up in my room, and in came Dick. He asked me why I was still friends with Joe. I felt like he was interrogating me, so I just stared at him and said that Joe was my friend. I wish I could say that I stood my ground, but Dick ground me up. Dick said, "Joe is gay, and if you don't want to be seen as gay too, then stop being friends with him." Then Dick walked out of my room. I thought about how I wanted in high school to be more well known by the ladies. I thought back and realized Joe hadn't been with girls much and hadn't attended the "cotillion" I had been to with most of my class, as well as to dance classes in eighth grade. As the first day of school approached, I came up with a contingency where I simply would not initiate get togethers with Joe anymore. At least if there were any chances, no one would doubt me. But the first day of school would prove me wrong, because Joe and I had the same earth science class. When I walked into the school I started seeing people I hadn't seen since I'd lived in Mendham borough, and it was like I was back. There was Mary, with whom I was friends in kindergarten, and Jay, who would bike over to my house on Mountain Avenue. Then I went to my earth science class, and the room was full of freshmen. As I rounded the corner to my left, I saw Joe and he saw me. Immediately he was begging me to sit with him, the seat to his right being empty. I just strolled right past him and took an empty seat behind him. He looked back at me, crushed. I didn't even look up at him. Then he faced forward as Mr Skala started class. My cousin, Dick, had successfully broken up our friendship. It left me wondering if Dick came to my room specifically that day to tell me to stop being friends just for fun. But as the days went on, Joe started becoming friends with some of the same people I was befriending. Jay was an archer, and another friend, Mark, was in my German class, and he introduced me to "The Dark Side of the Moon". There was also John, with whom you could never be correct on anything, but we hung out a few times. John liked Scandal, and he played his "Goodbye to You" LP for me. Mark recorded Pink Floyd for me, as well as "Moving Pictures" from Rush, and sold me his Walkman. I almost froze to death on my bicycle listening to it while pedaling home from John's house. Jay and I got on the wrestling team and practiced together. But then one chilly and overcast day Mark, Jay and I got a ride to a familiar looking house on Woodland Avenue to look at a Mustang. We stood on Joe's doorstep and Mark knocked. Joe came out and greeted him and Jay, but he didn't say anything to me. Then Joe motioned for us to go to the garage. There was a very used-looking Shelby. Joe had gotten it from Jay, and I found myself wondering why he’d gotten a car without having a driver’s license yet. But I just kept my mouth shut as Joe, Jay and Mark talked about the vehicle’s timing. “Do you know what timing is, Jim?” Mark asked me, giggling. “Oh, Jim has no idea what that is!” said Joe, laughing. Sensing the tension, Mark said “Why don’t we show Dimdy Doo what timing is?” That was a nickname Mark and Jay had coined for me. At this, Joe laughed uproariously. “Dimdy Doo! Is that what you call him?” Joe gleefully locked eyes with me, but it lasted only a second. He then proceeded to pop the hood, bringing the seven liter power plant into view. Mark connected the timing light and pointed it at the harmonic balancer. They performed the adjustments in a few minutes, and even I thought it sounded better. It was getting dark, so afterwards Mark, Jay and I left. I went home feeling totally foolish because Joe had made some really great friends and gotten a car while my mom was making me do wrestling, a sport I knew nothing about! I really didn’t see much of Joe after this encounter at his house. At least he let me stay to see his car. But then high school passed by and I didn’t see Joe again until the last two quarters of senior year when we took an auto mechanics class together. Mr Mineo, our teacher, really taught a great class in which we all but dissected a Chevelle and were introduced to car computers, albeit without the OBD II port. Then we talked about how fossil fuels were formed, and that dinosaur shit was part of it; Joe, sitting next to me, laughed, looking at me, this time with no glee at all. I smiled and laughed too. In August 1986 I went to start my undergraduate studies at Shippensburg University. It was very early in the year, and my mom called me to tell me that Joe Bogdon had passed away. I couldn’t believe it. He had been helping his dad build a wall. Joe was helping to dig a trench, and a wall of bricks fell on top of him, snuffing out his young life. My parents said maybe I should drive to his house, but I haven’t yet. I feel ashamed for unilaterally ending the friendship. But maybe I can still go


“I think there’s lions in these woods,” Ko said.

“Lions, Ko?” Robinson nervously scanned the line of trees. He was sitting on the left tire of their overturned vehicle; desolated in a meadow of tall grass. “What do you mean lions ?”  The sun was beginning to set, darkening Ko’s face.

It was impossible to read his eyes, only Ko’s silhouette stood out against the melting sky. A shotgun was strewn around his shoulders, the barrel pointing towards the horizon. Robinson could barely see the glint of Ko’s blade, he was sharpening a piece of tree branch that had lodged itself into the motor.

“Well it is Africa, John.” Ko continued to rigorously cut.

Twelve days earlier, Ko had sent a letter to Robinson, inquiring about an expedition to South Africa. The two had become well acquainted during their time in Vietnam. Robinson’s regiment had stumbled upon the aftermath of an ambush, twenty-seven casualties. Ko was the only survivor. While they were nursing Ko back to health, all he would talk about were elephants. No one understood why. Ko mentioned how he’d read in a book once that elephants had the ability to remember faces. And, he spoke of how valuable their tusks were. Robinson shifted anxiously, “You said we’d be safe on the reserve.”

“Safe? We’re poachers, John. It’s either the scouts or the wildlife that’ll get us.” Ko finished sharpening the stick. He ripped the branch from the motor, sending splinters of wood flying. “Be a dear and grab the matches, would ya?”

They had been following a herd of elephants for twelve hours now. Their car was equipped with snares and poison dipped darts before it was overturned. Now all they had left were the bullets of Ko’s gun. The men weren’t expecting to kill an adult, but they were keen on attacking the younger bulls. “ The Ivory ,” Ko had told him. That’s all they needed.

“Now is not the time for a smoke,” Robinson said with a ring of skepticism.

“It’s not for cigarettes, it’s for a torch.”

“Won’t the torch just alert the scouts?”

“It’ll help ward off the hyenas.”

“Hyenas!?”

Crack.

The men fell silent. The grass was still, the sound of crickets reverberating throughout the clearing. Robinson could hear the rattled breaths of Ko beside him. The sun dipped out of sight, leaving lingering hues of indigo.

“Get the matches,” Ko said.

Robinson fished around for the burlap sack, which he had placed on the hood of the car. Unfortunately, it was getting much harder for Robinson to see his hands. He prodded the empty space beside him. Robinson felt his neck hair rise. The bag was gone.

“Ko,” Robinson whispered, “Ko the bag is gone.”

“I can see it.”

“What?”

Robinson felt Ko’s hand on his shoulder, guiding his arm towards a shape, ways away from the car. Robinson strained his eyes to see a lumpy mass planted in the sward. Ko unlatched the shotgun from the strap across his back. He cocked the gun and with an affirming click, he hoisted the weapon to his shoulder.

“How’d the bag get over there?” Robinson asked.

“I don’t know. You probably knocked it over by accident.” Ko was perched beside Robinson, scanning the shrubbery.

Robinson felt the head of a cold cylinder prod his back. He turned, facing Ko, who was pointing his gun at him. He nudged him with the barrel, indicating that Robinson should retrieve the bag.

“What about the hyenas?” Robinson argued.

Ko gestured to his gun, “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

With a deep sigh, Robinson turned back towards the bag. He realized that if he sprinted he could probably reach it within seconds. He just needed the matches. He climbed down from the overturned belly of the car and a new layer of fear enclosed him. He felt vulnerable on the ground. Ko’s “security” offered no comfort, seeing as there was no light to track hyenas anyway. Without further contemplation, he began to run. He could see the bag clearly now, the moon had traced the outline with a ghoulish glow. He halted right before it, dropping to his knees and furiously digging for the matches. Robinson felt the outline of a box in his grasp. In triumph, he yanked the matches from the compartment. That’s when he heard the rustling.

“JOHN! RUN!” Robinson heard Ko shout.

Six rounds were fired.

Robinson didn’t hesitate. He could hear the rustling of the tall grass following him, licking at his ankles. He didn’t look to check. Reaching the car, Robinson clawed at the metal door beams in desperation. He could not get a proper foot holding. The weeds tangled around his boots as the rustling drew closer.

 Robinson felt a hand reach down and yank him up. He scrambled up the side door of the jeep and stood tall on the overturned vehicle. He darted his head around. The gun was missing, so were the bullets. All that they had was the stick Ko had sharpened as well as the matches Robinson just retrieved from the bag. That’s when he heard screaming.

Robinson unbuttoned his shirt and hastily swaddled the branch. He pulled the matches from their box, striking a light. The flame; a single firefly in the night. Using the match, he ignited the branch which became a makeshift torch. Robinson could see the grass now. In the thicket of reeds, the pale faces of lions stared at him. Something was wrong.

The eyes were hollow and vacant in the light. Their mouths hung dry and their skin sagged. It was when they moved that Robinson felt his stomach twist. They slithered through the grass like centipedes, without making a sound. When Robinson raised the torch closer, he gasped. They weren’t lions at all, they were people. Thin, translucent people.

Their bodies were masked in the skins of lions. Poised on their toes as dancers would, they hunched over, arms longer than their legs, scraping against the dirt. He saw one of the creatures dragging something through the undergrowth. It was Ko.

Robinson went cold. The hand that had helped him up the car was not his partner. He felt it now, sliding across his back prickling his skin. One by one the fingers pierced into his shoulder.

“You should’ve been faster.” The flame dissipated and the moor went quiet. There are, in fact , lions in these woods.