Tabatha Furlong always went the extra mile for her regular customers. She telephoned everyone when their books arrived and emailed the latest news about forthcoming publications. Despite her best efforts to revitalise the Catworth Library, it remained under threat of closure and the fire didn’t help matters. # When Tabatha arrived from London three years ago, she’d encountered an institution that was struggling to justify its own existence. The local council was keen to save money and claimed the library’s running costs were too high. Miss Chatham, the retiring librarian, was an ex-head-teacher who was stuck in her ways. “Libraries aren’t meeting places for idle gossipers,” she’d say. “They exist to provide the public access to reading matter.”

In her view, clients should choose their books, present their membership card and vacate the premises as soon as possible. She didn’t encourage loitering. The booked-lined reading room offered little in the way of comfort. There was one comfy seat in the entire library. It was out of sight of the reception and often occupied by a gentleman called Jimmy. He was an elderly customer who snoozed away his daylight hours. He’d seen better days and so had the chair. There was also a child-sized rickety table and two matching plastic stools. They didn’t offer much of a perch for contemplation either.

The library was more like a storage facility than a sanctuary for enquiring minds. If it was supposed to be the pulsating heart of a lively community, then it was screaming out for emergency resuscitation and a helping of defibrillation. Miss Chatham was the ruler of her kingdom. A world of potential stunted by archaic rules and warped by a closed mind. Miss Chatham didn’t ignore all her customers’ requests. She made occasional compromises to prove she wasn’t a misanthrope. In the lobby area she had allowed a cork notice board. It bore scrappy cards selling second hand bicycles and washing machines, and she charged a weekly rate for its use. Most local societies had given up displaying the notices here because of the poor footfall. They preferred to alert everyone to their forthcoming events in the nearby supermarket.

Miss Chatham saw the lack of interest as a positive. She didn’t want the public hanging around and asking daft questions. She wasn’t a tourist information service. “If you want to know what’s going on,” she’d say, “consult a newsagent. This is a library, for goodness’ sake.” There were two identical plywood signs hanging above both the entrance and the reception desk. She painted the word ‘Silence’ in bold red letters. When the opportunity presented itself, Miss Chatham enforced the rule with relish. She’d peer over her glasses, raise a finger to her lips and emit a threatening hiss like a venomous serpent. Miss Chatham didn’t look kindly on further transgressions and often revoked customers’ membership cards for a six-month period. # Tabatha arrived from London three years ago to care for her father, who’d become more or less bed-ridden. She needed to be close to her dad and seized the opportunity to work in the local library. The library was a short bicycle ride from her father’s house; what could be more convenient?

It didn’t take long for her to spot areas in the library that needed updating, and she was determined to make an impact. She outlined her plans for improving everything and presented her ideas to Miss Chatham. If Tabatha had been expecting approval, it wasn’t forthcoming. In no uncertain terms, Miss Chatham said ‘no’ to the entire list.

# After the frosty response from the retiring librarian, Tabatha held her council. Miss Chatham intended to leave an orderly establishment and made it clear, “the library is quite happy and works well just the way it is.” Tabatha’s interference wasn’t welcome under Miss Chatham’s regime, and no further discussion took place. The rule about silence in the library became a convenient way to avoid any talk on the matter. During her three-month probation, Tabatha made notes and extended her original ‘to do’ list. # After Miss Chatham left her post, Tabatha saw a chance to utilise all the library’s amenities. There were three decent-sized rooms that were never used, a staff changing room and a kitchen on site. She imagined the building playing a central role in the community. It had potential to be a nurturing environment for learning, meetings, and music events.

The library had a Victorian ethos and ran on ancient principles. There were no computers, and the antiquated records system still relied on a postcard filed in wooden boxes labelled according to subject. Tabatha prepared a convincing proposal and approached the council to help fund the renovations. # Everything took shape with the unofficial help of an elderly gentleman called James McGuigan. Jimmy, as he was known, had been a regular visitor under the previous management and was often discovered dozing in the easy chair at the rear of the antiquarian section.

In his time, he’d been a travelling sales agent for a specialised book company who sought and collected ancient tomes. His claim to fame was locating an original copy of the 1616 Illuminated King James Bible. It was a unique example of Jacobean Art and sold for £218,000 to an undisclosed bidder in the United States. # Tabatha and Jimmy discussed the plans for renovating the library. She had schemes to extend the library’s remit and encourage a wider range of customers. He loved her ideas and saw the exciting potential in her vision. Their relationship transformed his weary demeanour, and he gained a new lease on life.

Jimmy was keen to transform the unused rooms in order to provide a welcoming atmosphere. He suggested installing a shower in the locker room for Tabatha’s use. “You never know when you might get a soaking on your bike,” he’d said. They both researched comfortable furniture for the reading room and even a coffee machine. She joked that he’d never leave if they bought all those out-sized sofas, and they laughed at the idea. Jimmy was a handy fellow and between the two of them they transformed the décor. He was also confident in the kitchen and often made Tabatha a hot snack and drinks during her busy day. # The unfortunate incident with the emergency services was probably just a misunderstanding. Roger Furlong had called the library late one afternoon and announced he’d had a ‘bit of a funny turn’. He wasn’t a man to feign illness, and Tabatha had to leave early. She had no choice; it was urgent. Jimmy was on hand, so that was fine. It wasn’t the first time he’d come to her rescue. It was simple; lock up and post the keys through the letterbox. She could check in the pile of returned books tomorrow. # Mr Furlong had fallen on the hall staircase, but when Tabatha found him he’d crawled into the front room. She invoked her first aid training and secured a splinter to his shattered forearm. The paramedics arrived within an hour which allowed her time to prepare an overnight bag. Tabatha thought it was odd that the lights were on as she passed the library in the ambulance. However, she had more immediate issues to distract her mind.

The A & E at the Catworth Community Hospital was always busy on a Friday evening, and tonight was no exception. The triage nurse examined Roger and complimented Tabatha on her first aid work. “Yes, it’s a fracture,” she said. “Is he allergic to anything? I can offer pain killers.” The nurse was patient and caring however she couldn’t do much about the queue. The end of the week had arrived and the first of the evening’s casualties had arrived from the local bars. By the time Roger saw a doctor, the waiting room was full of bloody noses, bruised fists and boxed ears. They’d have to join wait for an X-ray. It was ten o’clock when Tabatha got the call from Leopard Security Service. “Is that Tabatha Furlong?” “Speaking,” she said. “How can I---?” “We’ve had an intruder alert at the Catworth Library---” “A break in?” She looked at Roger, who shrugged. “I can’t believe, are you sure---?” “You are the key holder?” “Yes,” she swallowed, “Tonight was different, but yes.” “Can you check the premises?” “I’m at the hospital and---”

Roger motioned for her to leave. “I’ll be fine, love.” She grimaced at him. “The police will meet you there.” “I’m on my way.” # The windows were dark when Tabatha arrived at her place of work. However, flashing blue lights illuminated the exterior facade of the sandstone building. Two officers were on a walkie-talkies and the air was full of squawking static and garbled transmissions. “Good evening.” He checks his note pad. “Miss Furlong?” “What seems to be the problem, officer?” He points up to a box above the doorway. The translucent white plastic is flashing orange and bleeping for attention. “I assume you have a key?” Tabatha delves into her handbag. “I have a spare, here, somewhere…” The officer confirmed Tabatha’s arrival with his colleague on the two-way and followed her as she gained entry and approached the security system. She turned a key to take command and silences the unit. A red diode shows an open point of access in zone one. It’s in the large hall that now hosts the learning resource centre. The library is quiet except for the gentle hum of desktop computers in the room beyond the vestibule. Tabatha ventures into the communal space. There is a gentle pulse from twelve animated screen savers. Tropical fish, hot air balloons, and ballerinas drift across the monitors. In the far corner, a chink of light betrays a fire door left ajar. “That’ll be your problem.” The officer points to the exit. Tabatha shuts the offending door and the security box makes a series of three high-frequency pips.

Squawks on the two-way tell of another incident happening in the centre of town. “Gotcha, control.” Splat-squawk-splat. “All sorted here.” He nods at Tabatha.

She mouths a thank you and side-squints a nervous grin.

“We’re on our way.” The patrol car disappears as she searches for her phone.

Tabatha couldn’t help noticing a smell of burned toast. She walked into the kitchen. Was that the source? There’s a mug of tea on the work surface. It’s still warm to her touch; but it couldn’t be.

As Tabatha left the library, she mulled over the evidence and wondered. She calls the hospital. Roger is ready to be discharged. She has to collect her father. It wasn’t until later that night she got a call from the fire service. The End


I am a witness. Yes. I was his only friend. The Prince of Helic, the firstborn. I was his sole companion in all the adventures. We did hunt. We explored the heart of the forest where no man could draw his footstep. We fought monsters, demons, and worse, men. The King, his highness granted me with the title, 'The Royal Companion". Those were days of glory and gold. I was there. Always by the side of my friend. And I was there when he fell. I celebrated and wept with him. He was a free spirit. He lived with his head in the clouds. Carefree, indomitable, invincible. His bright aura was so strong, I could actually see it. I could feel the pull. He was a magnetic art of the Creator, The Greatest Artist. A heart of gold that he had. And a soul made of love, full of love. He was wild when necessity demanded. He was meek as a lamb when he should be. He was a raging lion when he needed to be. I can still remember his golden locks. His fierce green eyes and his tall, graceful figure. We learned to hold swords against the enemies with the same coach. We learned to pull bows and shoot arrows in the hearts of the demons together. We ran through nights and swam the pool of dangerous waters. I was his brother and friend and the knower of all his secrets. "Lacun, A man can not ask for a better friend than you", he used to tell often. And drew a bright smile on his face. That smile could make me cost my very life in the blink of an eye. "It is but my privilege, Your Grace", I always told him in the most grateful voice. "You leave me too flattered, Lacun. Say no more", he would speak while his face would get a blush. Herald, the prince of Helic, the beloved and only child of His Majesty Aeshop and Her Majesty Aereol was the hero to the women of the country. He was good at everything. His charming speaking and movements would leave everyone spellbound and so it did until he turned twenty. One cheerful evening, when we were just done with the Archery, he sat by me in the garden and said, “Lacun, my brother”, he directly looked me in the eye and was silent for a moment and added, “I am not happy. I am not.” My heart skipped a beat and the drums started beating. Whenever there was grave danger, I could hear this drum beating in my heart. Herald’s face was covered with the colour of deep, unspeakable melancholy. I never saw this before. “Perhaps, it's just time for another ADVENTURE”, I tried to sound jolly. “No, Lacun. It's not that”, he stood up and slowly walked away without saying another word. I sat there, not knowing what to say, what to do. The next few days, I did not see Herald for once. I was his companion for all the years and it was the first time I was experiencing this. Her Majesty the Queen called for me. She implored me to talk to Herald and help him to come back to his normal life. I tried. He did not talk to me. For almost ten days I did not see him. His Majesty the King became deeply worried and called for masters. They prescribed herbs and medicines. But nothing seemed to work. The King asked me to talk to Herald and I tried again. This time, he agreed. I sat down beside him and asked him what was going on. He refused to give me a direct answer. His health was broken. His eyes lost the sparkles. He did not smile. I tried to make him speak but he did not talk properly. On the third day, Herald spoke to me. “Lacun. You are the best friend I have. And the only one. This life, this royalty, this palace, this luxury, this title…Vanity, Lacun! It is…”, he stopped. Suddenly I felt that Herald has become older. His eyes were different, his gaze was distant. “How do you mean Your Grace? If you so kindly elaborate, I would be so grateful.” “Being a prince today and a king tomorrow… is not the calling of my life. The rules and the customs, the vanity, and the glitter…So…I am going for sage ritual”, he looked into my eyes and uttered the words of doom. For the next few moments, I felt that the land beneath my feet was crumbling. My ears had a creepy ringing sound and my heart started to beat that drum again. Becoming a sage only meant that a man had to leave everything behind. His titles and creed, identity, and deeds. For the rest of his life, he would have to live in mountains, in the woods, and preach the words of sages if not become a Martyr Sage. To guide the disciples to the light of God. No man can ever come back after the ritual is done. The young sages must fight the deadliest demons and beasts that came from the hell down. Those wars between the demons and sages only ended with the life of a young sage, each year. With the death of a sage, a demon could be killed. “I will be a Martyr Sage, Lacun. That is my desire. This year, I will kill Kalaus. I will be the young sage who saves his people.” I found no word to speak. “I know it will be difficult to earn my parents’ permission. I am relying on you, my friend. Only you can speak to them.” “Your Grace, I…”, I found no word again. I had to speak with His and Her Majesties. The King furiously declared that he would never allow such an act. The Queen wept and asked me how I could utter such words of misfortune to her when she was relying on me for the goodness of her only child. Did she not consider me a child of her own? Did she not bless me with the sweet words of motherly love and affection? Did she not protected me with her shadow after my birth mother passed away? I had no answer. I was grateful to her for life. After another week, Herald called for me in a secret place. He told me that his own father was conspiring to poison him with the water from the River of Oblivion. If Herald was to be a sage, the throne would go to the people of Astroid who were rivals to Helic for generations. As Herald was the only child, there was no pureblood who could be the next king after Aeshop. So, he wanted to destroy Herald’s memory. Though all the cautionary steps were taken to keep it secret, Herald found it all out. He also came to know that his own mother was involved in it. To protect the purity of Royal blood, to protect the throne, the crown, the King and Queen decided that it was a good idea to make their only child a mad man. A king who would be a man without a mind. Just a shell of a man, empty inside. “Death is certainly better”, his remorse touched my very soul. He sighed. I sighed. I could offer my life to help my beloved friend. But only helplessness remained between him and me. I was silent. “There is but one way”, his voice was bold as thunder. “And I need your kind favour, Lacun. For the sake of our brotherhood, Lacun...”, Herald’s voice was clearly desperate. He took one of my hands and placed it on his chest and said, “You can help me and I am relying on you, my brother, my friend. Your loyalty is beyond words. You were my companion in all the troubles I ever encountered. In the seas and mounts and the deepest forests, you stood by my side and lent your hand. The love we share, I ask you in the name of that love…”. His voice became heavier and I found my words suddenly. “Your Grace, I will gladly lay my life down to help you. Name it”, I was unable to breathe. “Well, my friend, you give me your word…You will not say ‘no’’, he pleaded. “You have my word!”, I did not think twice to say the words. “A man cannot be king if he is blind. That is my only escape, Lacun. And I need your help.” “How do you mean, Your Grace?”, my hand on his chest started to tremble. I could sense that something deadly was about to happen. I could feel the racing heart in his chest. “I have to be blind to be free from this morbid affair. You need to make me blind. I need a herb. The Blue Flower from the Mamok Island. We fought there together against the cursed muses. Before my father makes me drink the water from the River of Oblivion, I need that herb…” “No!”, I cried. “NO! NO!! NO!!!” “You are the only man who can help me Lacun. You gave me your words…” “I can not…This is such cruel an act…” Herald placed his logic. If I did not make him a blind man, the king and his people would make him insane and make him sit upon the throne against his will. It was better to be blind by a trusted friend and escape the cruel destiny of being a lifeless and heartless king. He wanted to be a sage. For the first time, a Royal blood was becoming a sage in the history of eight hundred years of Helic Monarchy. “I choose the darkness of eyes instead of the darkness of the mind. I will not live as a heartless body, a tyrannous king like my fathers and their fathers. I will not let my people be the morsels of the demons.” “Your Grace…” “I am not my father, Lacun. My brother, my mate”, his voice was the calmest. “You have to take this responsibility. Once again, lend me your hand. Carry this burden on your shoulders”, he embraced me. “This death is but a death of glory. If I have a thousand lives, I will choose the death of gallantry. Are you not a man of courage too? Will you choose a meaningless life if you were me? Will you really live such an insignificant life? Just to eat, sleep, breed, and pathetic death of aging? Can you really tolerate this cowardice, Lacun?!”, he placed his hands on my shoulder and shook me. Like the awakening of my conscience depended on that. I had to give him words. For the sake of love. Friendship. Brotherhood. If I was to leave him in the hands of his king father and his men, he would be a man without a conscience. After the sip of that water, he would become a puppet. It was better to be a sage and lose his sight. I only had a month to find that herbal flower. Herald was prisoned in the palace and I had to start for the voyage. After a week of a stormy voyage on the ocean, I reached Mamok Island and the Muse Mera greeted me with a warm welcome. She was grateful for we did not kill her after invading her island. She stopped hunting on Merchants that crossed the ocean and cursing them and turning them into whales. She used their soul to preserve her youth. When I looked upon her, I saw an old lady with a kind face. I told her about the herb and reminded her about the promise she made to help us for we spared her life. Muses only could live a hundred years. But Mera and her kins lived more than five hundred years by snatching the soul force out of people from the ships. Now the ritual changed. They accepted natural death. Mera provided me the herb and some precious other gifts. I was in a rush to come back to Herald. Herald’s plotting was triumphant. The King and the Queen were devastated. He willed that it was me who should be the next king. Only a rightful successor of the throne could will the next king if something was to happen to him. After his blindness, his parents did not dare to oppose him. The people of Helic learned that for the first time in history, a prince was going for the sage ritual voluntarily and willed his friend to be the king. The war began between Herald and Kalaus. Herald’s brave sword pierced the monster’s heart. But his poisonous claw pierced Herald’s chest too. He laid down as a hero. But in my heart, he is bright as a star. Alive, Immortal. The truest prince. I will carry his legacy till my last day. The children before closing their eyes will hear his name. His story will live forever.


Yoonki got a call from his friend one late afternoon. It was only a few days till Christmas and Yoonki knew that Jaemin should be busy with his bakery. "Hey. What's up?" Yoonki asked. "I need your help again. It's really important." "Is it about your mom again?" "No. It's about my bakery." "Why do you need a detective for a bakery?" "It's REALLY important. Can you just come over? Right now!" "Alright. Whatever. I was in the middle of watching that new drama "Find Me" so this had better be good." "You watch the Please series?! I love that series!" "It is an amazing series. I just hope that season two comes out before I finish season one." "I heard there are gonna be, like, six to eight seasons so good luck trying not to end up on a cliff hanger." "Whatever. I'm heading over now." Thirty minutes later, Yoonki pulled up to his friends bakery and stepped out of the cab. He thanked the driver and paid him before heading inside the closed shop. He found his friend pacing in the kitchen. "What was so urgent that I had to come over here?" "Someone broke into my shop last night!" "How do you know? I don't see any broken glass or anything else that would indicate that there had been a break in." "Something's missing and it's really important. I can't have my Christmas party without them! It just won't be the same!" "What are you missing?" "It's a secret ingredient. I can't tell you but it's for my Yaksik. I can't make my Yaksik without them!!" "Just get a different kind of nut or buy more or something." "It's not nuts that I'm missing. It's something more important. And, I've tried buying more. Every time I buy more, they're gone by the next day!" "How am I supposed to help you if there's nothing to work with?" "I'm sorry. You're supposed to be the detective. Can't you look around and find fingerprints or something?" "That takes special equipment." "Use your equipment then!" "I would if I had it! You hurried me out the door so I didn't bring anything!" "You're still a detective. Isn't there something you can do?" "I'll take a look at your locks and any opening that people could use to get in but I can't guarantee anything." "Thanks." Yoonki started to look at all of the doors and windows in the bakery. He couldn't find a single scratch or anything else that would signify a break-in. "Did you find anything?" "No. Whoever stole your "secret ingredient" must've stolen it during the day." " How would they be able to do that with all the people around?" "I don't know. I'm sure they would find a way if your "secret ingredient" is as special as you say it is." "What are you gonna do now?" "I don't have anything to do tomorrow so I'll hang out at you're place for the day and see if I can find anything. Tell yours workers to also keep an eye on things." "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow." Yoonki started to walk out but stopped. "And, don't buy any more of your "secret ingredient" for now." "Okay, but, please hurry, then. The Christmas party is in a little more than a week and I can't have the party without my Yaksik!" "Got it." Yoonki headed out. The next day, Yoonki dressed an an outfit that he found comfortable but stylish enough to go out in. He wore black jeans, a white T-shirt that was slightly big on him, a green jacket, black combat boots and a black hat that he put on backwards. The outfit looked pretty Christmas-y if you added his dark red hard into the mixture. Black like the night, green like a Christmas tree, red like the decorations on the house, white like the fallling snow, it all fit perfectly and Yoonki was very satisfied with it. He headed to the bakery with his computer at eight in the morning and he kept an eye on things all day. He never saw single suspicious person or act. No one ever caught his eye. After the day was over, Yoonki headed over to talk to Jaemin about the next plan that he had come up with while sitting there all day. "Did anyone spot anything suspicious?" Yoonki asked. "No. Nothing suspicious." "I have another plan then." "What is it?" "Buy your "secret ingredient" and leave it where you always do tonight. We'll see if anyone comes tomorrow. Maybe they have something that tells them whether or not you've restocked." The next day Yoonki headed back with a new outfit. He still wore black jeans (A different pair of course) but, from there, it changed. He had a red sweater on that had long enough arms that he could have sweater paws if he wanted. He had a black, satin, suit coat over that. He accessorized with a black belt and black converse. It seemed like an unlikely outfit but it looked a lot better than he thought it would. He nodded at himself in the mirror before heading out for another, tiring day at the bakery. Once again, the whole day, he didn't see a single suspicious thing. He was getting annoyed because he had better things to be doing. He came up with one last plan and, at the end of the day, he relayed the plan to Jaemin. "I brought a camera today. We're gonna put it up tonight and find out, once and for all, who's stealing your "secret ingredient." Yoonki set up the camera and Jaemin restocked the shelf once more. They both left the shop in hopes that they would really catch the culprit this time. The next day, Yoonki picked an outfit, hoping it would be his last outfit for the bakery. Yoonki wore black, dress pants with a black and white striped shirt. He put a large, red, suit coat over that and wore black dress shoes too. He looked at himself and then shook his head. The outfit was missing something. After contemplating it for a good while he walked to his closet and pulled out a black fedora. He set it on his head an looked in the mirror. He nodded and lightly smiled before heading out. When he got to the store, Jaemin was already excitedly waiting inside for him. Yoonki went to grab the camera and then went through the footage quietly while Jaemin tried to lean over the table to see. After a few minutes Yoonki's expression changed to a look of shock and then he laughed. "You won't believe this!" Yoonki said. Jaemin stood up and walked around the table to peer at the camera and see what Yoonki was laughing at. The video showed a raccoon climbing through his chimney and opening his fireplace from the inside. The raccoon then went straight to the shelf and grabbed the jar of Persimmons. The raccoon ate all of them, threw the trash away, put the jar back and then climbed back out through the chimney. Jaemin didn't want to laugh but he had to admit that it was a very strange sight. "What am I going to do now?" "I've heard that raccoons don't like strange sounds. Maybe you can play music at night?" "I think that would be a waste of electricity." "You could spray peppermint oil up the chimney and around that room. I've read the raccoons have a great sense of smell and peppermint is a smell that really bothers them." "I don't want my bakery to smell like peppermint!" "Well then ... get a lock for your fireplace or something! I don't know! My work here is done. I'm leaving." "Thanks for your help. I'll just get a lock." "Your welcome. Don't call me again until Christmas is over." And that's how Yoonki saved Christmas and stopped the "Secret Ingredient Thief" (Kind of)


There are four of us in total. Our host is preparing a meal as we wait in emotion-charged silence around a well-decorated, rectangular dining room table. Three candles burn in the middle of a golden tablecloth laid over it, placed in careful alignment with the gaudy chandelier suspended high above. There are three doorways within the dining hall. One leads to the kitchen, the other to the lounge. The third door is closed shut and I find myself puzzling over where it leads. The walls are thickly armored with avid displays of artful paintings. I am particularly struck by the one of a well-dressed, old woman sitting on a red, cushioned sofa, smiling. There is something about her which draws me. Her lovely attire, or perhaps the warmth in her smile. Staring at the paintings reminds me of my mother, who used to paint for a profit in her life. She died in a car accident when I was six years old. I was there. My father, the driver, survived, and so did I. My father did not cope well with her death and turned to drugs for coping. He eventually got arrested for drug-possession and child-neglect when I was nine, and I've been in a foster home since then. My life hasn't been easy, but there has been a consistent pillar which has kept me adrift through all of the experiences it dumped on me. This pillar comes in the form of our host and my personal hero, Amoray. I've known Amoray since I was ten. She funded the foster home that used to be my dwelling and used to visit the kids there several times a week, making sure that all of us received proper treatment and provisions. Her visits brightened up my entire existence, and on the days that she neglected to show up, I would hold my breath and trust that she would return. She always did. As the days and weeks and months and years stretched out, so did her visits. That was until the shelter burned down and took nineteen others with it. There were only three teenage survivors, including myself. I won't lie, that was an experience straight from hell. I was outside when it all began. I remember hearing a loud, booming noise. I hurried inside to a horrid sight of Mario and Viv, now dead, engulfed in combustive flames. The rugs on the floor and the furniture all around were alight, too. My attempts to quench the uncontrollable flames were met with resistant cackles, my desperation to save lives swallowed up by the scorching heat and suffocating smoke. If I persisted upon becoming a hero that night, my body would have also turned into ash among the pile of rubble. The memory of the two screaming teenagers and the stench of burning flesh has stuck with me since that catastrophic night, the night when I witnessed my only real home crumbling to ruins before my very eyes. My train of thought is interrupted by firm footsteps from the kitchen. "Celeste," Our host's hoarse voice calls out from the kitchen entrance. "Will you please come through and give me a hand? The food is ready." My eyes land on the girl on my right. Celeste is pretty, but strange. We're the same age, but she's been in foster care for much longer than I've been. She always keeps to herself and hardly shows any emotion. Truth be told, the only time that I have ever spent any time with the girl was on the day of the fire. She was inside when it erupted and barely escaped with her life. The girl, just seventeen of age, has sustained a pretty nasty burn along the length of her neck, torso, arms and back. It took her two months to recover in hospital, but the tale tell scars are clearly visible underneath the clothes that she tries to use as tools of concealment. The dark girl with the pallid skin and the inky black hair, whose gaze was also lost in one of the framed works of art around us, looks up with a look that suggests that the place she visited was far, far away. I am curious as to where the art took her as she mumbles her consent and follows Amoray into the kitchen. At least the fire did not catch her face and hair. Those are still pretty, at least. Don is sitting at my right. He's big and has a reputation for being aggressive. A deep scar runs across his right cheek. He used to have very long hair which was, unfortunately for him, consumed by the ravenous flames. The damage is not too bad, but he's bald now, and not very happy about it. In my private opinion, he ought to be grateful. Don and I do not get along. We have gotten into many physical fights. His bulky body and uncompromising nature have always intimidated me, but I've never showed it. I usually reacted to his aggressive ways with more aggression. I fought back every single time. I've gotten my nose broken and my shoulder dislocated because of it, but he got a couple of nice, flashy bruises and a few delightful limps from my retorts. I was always strategic in our fights, making sure to consistently target his left shin to get him off my back. There was no way in hell I was going to turn into some bully's punching bag. I've experienced enough of that from my estranged father after my mother's untimely departure. "Whose to say it was untimely?" Amoray once pointed out with a careful, calm voice during one of her visits at the foster home. "There's a time for everything, dear one. We all ultimately have to die one day, in one way or another." If those words had come from anyone else's mouth, I would have been brutally offended, perhaps even violent. However, Amoray's words instilled a sense of fleeting comfort within me. I could understand that the occurrence was not meant to be personal. It was the law of nature for everything to eventually die, or transcend, or morph into something else. Nothing is everlasting, and that includes my mother. We all die in a manner that we are destined to, regardless of what, or who, we leave behind. I get it, but I still hate it. It's unfair. Where does Amoray's so-called God get off bringing us here only to have us suffer like this? Where's my happy childhood, my loving relationships, my mental sanity? Screw life. I don't wanna live it anymore. As though to veer my train of thought off track, the elegantly tall woman walks into the dining room holding two trays. Celeste follows right behind with the same, an impassive expression on her face. She reminds me so much of that one wolf girl in a series whose title I can't recall. Don clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably. I think he's a little threatened by our host. Amoray is kind and understanding, but can be super firm and unflinching in her assertiveness when she needs to be. She's a leader of a church, you see. To be a leader, you need that skill. You need it in order to put people like Don and myself in their place. It works for me because I've never actually gone out to harm anybody, whereas Don has actively sought out to pick on me. I never understood what his problem with me is. Anyway, despite our attempts to conceal our riff, Amoray appears to always pick it up. All she usually gives me is a rebuke which mentions something about refraining from fighting fire with fire. I don't get that. Am I just supposed to be a doormat? Amoray is dressed in modest, casual clothes under a frilly apron. I'm used to seeing her in formal clothes and it feels strange to see her in a simple t-shirt, jeans and sneakers. I guess it makes sense, since this is her home. Her golden face carries a lot of discernment, and the shallow, almost imperceptible creases on her forehead give away her age a bit, otherwise to me, she looks a decade younger than forty, her actual age. Thick eyebrows arch beautifully over her dark brown eyes, always alight with wisdom and insight. When we make eye-contact, I feel like she sees right through me. I feel naked, but in a good way, because there is not the thinnest strand of judgement in her gaze. Just... love and acceptance. The two females sit at their allocated seats once the dishes have been set down. A fresh plate of hot spaghetti bolognaise stares up at me, and my stomach growls audibly. The last time I checked the time, about half an hour past, it was 2:54 pm. I haven't eaten since 6am. I'm famished and I fight the urge to immediately dig in, just to be polite. "I just had to fix a quick meal for you," Amoray begins with a smile on her face. Early in the morning, she gave all three of us a phone call to invite us to her home. After the fire, Amoray kindly arranged that we live in one house of hers which was conveniently unoccupied at the time. A three bedroom house with a kitchen, two bathrooms and a lounging area. It is small enough that the three of us regularly clash, but big enough that we can peacefully keep to our own private spaces if need be. We never really spend time together. We're the same old strangers, only this time, we're occupying a different house. But for the daily chores allocated to me, I usually just binge-watch a shitload of series and read comics. "Thank you for the food," Don speaks for the first time in a while. He and I have a tendency of ignoring each other to the point of not even making eye contact. This time, however, against my default preference, I look at him. To my dismay, my gaze lands straight into his, and before the count of three, I look away. I don't really want to stare long enough to see what lies beneath those dark, beady eyes. Knowing that the boy hates me is enough. Digging up the depth of his hatred is pushing it. So I don't look into his eyes for long. Instead, I fix my gaze on Amoray. "When do we get to dig in?" She's sitting across from me, and I revel at how easy it is to make eye-contact with her instead. "Since you're in such a hurry, why don't you say grace for us, then?" I so badly want to say no, but I don't. Instead, a half-hearted mumble of thanks escapes my lips and a few seconds later, we're all eating. The food tastes amazing. Amoray begins to speak. "I'll get down to why I called you three here," she says after setting her fork down and folding her arms over the edge of the table. She's obviously not as famished as I am. "I have a story that I would like to share with you." She alternates meaningful eye-contact between all three of us. "As a little girl, I used to get beaten a lot. For minor things, for major things, for all things really. I simply could never get it right, no matter how hard I tried. I had two other siblings, but for some reason, I was the only one my mother mistreated. My father saw what was happening and stepped in at times, until he didn't. My two sisters eventually teamed up against me because of that. We all went to school and back home together, but at both places, I was never treated like I belong. We went out as a family sometimes. It was in public that I got a bit of relief, because mama never really showed any preferences then. Under the glare of the eyes of many strangers, I stopped being a scapegoat. "Fast-forward to my late teens, and I was an expect chameleon. I lived to please others and did not know why. I kept to myself a lot. I didn't speak to anyone unless I had to, and I was highly suicidal. I ended up in hospital twice from attempting to take my own life, and despite being notified each time, none of my family members visited me during my hospital stays. When I returned home after my second attempt, receiving no special acknowledgment whatsoever, I packed a few clothes and ran away, never to return again. "The commencement of the second decade of my life was hellish. I bounced from place to place, from one kind stranger to another. Thank God I didn't end up in the streets, but that did not mean I stopped attracting dogmatic authority figures into my care. The kind strangers always revealed darker intentions with time. My mother never reached out. I had no friends. I was alone in the world and no one came through to save me. In my late twenties, I got into prostitution and fell pregnant. But it wasn't a paying customer's child. It was the child of a pimp who got under the roof he granted me for the exchange of my then-defiled body and raped me, the child that he later drowned in dirty bath water because I was making him lose his money. Nevermind that I was healing from a very complicated birth process. My daughter's name was Dayhila and she was only ten days old when her life was taken. At twenty nine years, I was a crackhead and lived for nothing else but crack. I had no one and I had nothing." Amoray stops speaking. The room is dead silent but for a few hesitant sounds of fork against plate. Why the hell is Amoray telling us this story? "I know that you look and me and think that I have a good life filled with great relationships and monetary comfort, but you need to know that I was once where you are. I was in a dark place out of which I never conceived to escape. The only difference between you three and my teenage self is that I didn't have anyone to make sure I was well taken care of. You do. I've always been there, since you were just children." The silence stretches out as Amoray pointedly stares at us. "In the last few months since the fire, I haven't stopped visiting you and being that consistent guideline to how you should treat each other, but I am displeased by how you three have been wasting your opportunities to grow and become better people. I am utterly displeased and I don't think that in the future, I'll be so willing to keep you under my care if you carry on the way that you are. You are not little children anymore. "Your current actions and behaviors make up your future. I'm willing to help you create those futures. I am and have been here as an example to follow. Follow that example starting today. The time has come for you to build your own relationships and stop clinging onto me as though I am the only human being that exists within your midst. You are roommates. You live under one roof. You have been brought together for a reason. Start getting along and while you're at it, consider carefully just how fortunate you are." She pauses, then as if to lighten the heaviness of her previous statements, she adds softly. "Only when you begin doing that will your lives truly begin. Love one another, for God's sake. Just as I've loved you." Suddenly, as if by some realization, I know who the old lady in the painting is. She's the lady who got Amoray out of her pit of hell. Through Amoray, she saved us, too. Celeste, Don and are still silent, totally abashed, by the speech just dished out to us. We give each other wary looks, and say nothing still. Amoray's story has kind of changed my perspective, and as I look at the two roommates on either side of me that I barely even know, deep, deep within the core of me, I begin to feel an openness towards them. An openness which will perhaps one day lead to the things I long for. Opportunities to make long, solid relationships are right in front of me on a daily basis, and yet, here I am, holding on to the bitter past and worrying about all the things I don't have. I realize now what Amoray is trying to say. I think we all do. She's telling us that if we follow her ways, then we're opening ourselves up to opportunities that will enlighten our lives and usher in all the good that is clearly evident in her own life. That we won't be doing anyone else but ourselves a favor by listening to the advice that she has to offer. It really does change my perspective, to know that my life-long suffering was perhaps not in vain, and that I, too, stand a chance to get out of my hole if I choose to listen to my wise host. I'll sure be returning to her for advice, that's a given. As we prepare to leave, Celeste says the closing prayer.


Cold winter’s night; in a “Castle Rock,” known Haunted Castle as Whispering Falls.

All you can hear is the whistling of the trees, and the sounds of the low growling but also the soft betting of drums… I was about to settle down for the night when at that moment, in the living room, there was the sound of a crash, it broke the silence, but before I looked someone was looking down upon me and then it was gone. The lights flicked, well I was walking down the hallway, the halls were little chilly, as soon as I reached my room, I needed to put more wood in the fireplace and rolling down the covers something was chilling through my bones! I knew what that meant “I was not Alone?” trying to ignore it, the phone rang! My voice was shaking as I was trying to find the words to say, {Hello}, listening for a while, there was a crackle and then the phone went dead. Putting that all aside, shutting my eyes, finely falling asleep, was quickly woken by scratching sounds and now sitting straight up piercing into darkness shadows started appearing? Standing right in front of me was a door to another realm! Confused but also interested my mind is very curious... Putting my hand around the doorknob, my heart beats rabidly, to having sweet dripping down and walking through a wave of mysterious hit me hard. Dark figures started appearing, a hush fills the air as I go forward a cloud suddenly appears? Then I was sitting back in little cabin in Transylvanian, adding more wood to the fire, you see I never thought I belonged here, and I never claimed to human! According to this website; https://www.history.com/topics/folklore/vampire-history Vlad Dracul was born in Transylvania, Romania. He ruled Wallachia, Romania, off and on from 1456-1462. Some historians describe him as a just—yet brutally cruel—ruler who valiantly fought off the Ottoman Empire. So, do vampires really exist? Throughout this site, I have tried to explain exactly what the modern vampire is (and what it is not) but remember that there are different descriptions of various "vampiric" or vampire-like creatures throughout mythologies around the world . While we struggle to produce a fixed definition of what a vampire is, we may be leaving out various mysterious and unexplainable creatures around the world that have fed into vampire mythology. At the same time, it is exactly the fact that every culture around the world has independently identified vampire creatures that makes us ask the question - do vampires really exist? Slowly waking up realizing it is morning, that was one weird dream and now I walk down the stairs to the kitchen to start my daily routine with coffee. While I was waiting for the kettle to boil, I started drifting off to sleep, in a foggy state I was seeing shadows of “Creatures” from the forgotten realms! Slowly getting to my feet, I heard the whistle from the kettle and then was shaken when the phone rang. The voice on the other end in a thick accent said {Get Out!} Have you ever had a dream within a dream? That is what is going on here! In Transylvania, I took my coffee, and started walking around the grounds. Transylvania; https://www.britannica.com/summary/Transylvania https://www.transylvaniacounty.org/our-history The history of this place really speaks to me!

I know that I am only a visitor, but I wish this were my home! Okay, back to reality, it started feeling chilly so back to the study and attending to the fireplace. Getting up to see what that nose was, a dark figure appeared out of nowhere! Leading me out of the study room on searching for where that nose came from. Then I was woken up to see that others were looking at in shock to see that I was changed to a “Creature of the Night!” Now I was woken again seeing that I am just as I was when I went to bed. What is going on here? If this a dream, what am I to learn! Surrounded by vampires, flicking lights, walking down a deep damp staircase, surrounded by a coven and the leader of the pack speaking softly {welcome lost Child!} Thunder and lightning made a crash I woke to being in my own home in Spirit Falls. Startled, from a dream or a nightmare, that is the question? Well since it is evening time, checking on the fire, I decided to make a cup of coffee, in doing so it felt like someone or something was around me and a chill came over me. Guess you could it was a premonition, oh right I should share with you little background on myself you see I never said, “I was Human!” I felt that I did not belong on this planet! {I not saying that I am an alien ! Just I was in a word Different .} New Chapter in my life. Archangel Raziel’s name translates into “Secrets of God.” Raziel is known as the angel of mysteries. Raziel reveals holy secrets when God gives him permission to do so. Many believe that Raziel reveals the divine wisdom that is contained in ancient scriptures. People sometimes ask for Raziel’s help to hear God’s guidance more clearly, gain deeper spiritual insights, and understand esoteric information. {Raziel’s name means “Secret of God” because he works so closely with the Creator that he knows all the secrets of the Universe and how it operates. It is said that Raziel can help you understand esoteric material, manifestation principles, sacred geometry, quantum physics, and other forms of high-level information. He can also open you up to higher levels of psychic abilities and increase your ability to see, hear, know, and feel Divine guidance. Raziel is very loving, kind, and intelligent. His presence can seem subtle, but as you invoke him over time, you will become aware of his positive influence in your spiritual practices.} “Raven-Wolf,” I was known to have had long Firey-blue/green hair, porcelain white skin, dark purple eyes, graceful, and to have appeared cold, aloof, and imperious. When outsiders and other non-dark elves first met me for the first time was in a word weird. Whispers, hush words are spoken behind locked doors and now I am considered an outsider or in other words a lone wolf! Leaving the town, just to think I wandered so far into the forest, had to be around 4pm in the evening and the further I went into the forest the creeper it became. Walking the streets alone, I come across a group of individuals, like “a mage {Raistlin}, minitour {Taz}, druid {Gold-Moon}, thief {Tasslehoff} and warrior {Kitiara!} Leaving the town, just to think I wandered so far into the forest, had to be around 4pm in the evening and the further I went into the forest the creeper it became. I only knew their names through working at a little inn off the seashore and just what the rumors that were shared throughout the town! As I arrived at a little creak to take a drink of water, {Raistlin} walked up behind me and said, “Excuse me, but can I ask what you think you're doing here?” I just had to get away from the rubbish that was being exchanged in my name and the false statements about me! Camp was already set up, when I finished getting my fill of water, it was super time and I asked if they could spare a little for someone who is taking the next chapter in my life! Sitting by the campfire, talking about life in general, it was my time to share, I shared enough to turn in for the night and I was the last to fall asleep. In the dream state, I found myself wandering around what looked like a grave site, and then the scenery changed once again. To someone, or something was lurking around the campsite, and it was so foggy on the ground that I was falling. Some would say that if you fall while sleeping and hit the ground you die! Again, the scenery changed once more to me settling down by the firepit, calling out someone's name and then I was woken by “Raistlin” saying are you okay? I found myself “ time traveling ,” to the year 2227–2247: Pluto will be closer to the Sun than Neptune for the first time since the year 1999. It was like the forgotten realms in the darkest wooded area and full of dark elves running wild. I was explaining to “Raistlin” that I am from the {Elves, Bloodline,} and some would say I am running away from the lies!

In conclusion, I am sitting in cabin in “Spirit Falls,” drafting this little novel from an old memory, or a flashback that I was here before and now I end my life story by saying {You can choose to believe me or not ?} It was the summer of 2023, sitting on the beach side, sun blaming upon my skin and a cool breeze an old friend blocked the sun. Saying “hello Raven-Moon,” funny seeing you back in old {KRYNN!} Oh hi, “Raistlin,” how have you been? since we last met you were in {Sorcery School?} Raistlin said, “doing very well, past on the Honer roll ," and how have you been since were banished ! Laughing, guess were rebels!

Catching up on old times, so have you heard from the others? Answering no , we just live our lives heathy and incredibly happy. Something in his voice was not convincing. Well, I must go, {Raistlin} said. Places go, people to see all that good stuff. Parting ways, I went in because it was going on in the evening, and the chill in the air was settling because a storm was brewing.


On the clear virtual screen in front of him, he saw that all of the readings were normal and ready for the first flight. The last technician had been fired, so Mr. Tacketh did all of the last-minute check-ups and reviews ahead of the final press conference. The lab was very quiet with just his thoughts and the soundless loops and swirls on the screen. This would have to work; it simply had to be effective when the moment of launch took place. He had dreamed of this for most of his life and the world wanted to see this come true. It simply had to work. Jason Tacketh, math prodigy, technological entrepreneur and inventor, writer (the ‘How to Do Better’ series, now at thirteen books), dreamer and the first man about to travel into the future. Now, that last thought was one that he did not think of sharing with anyone until he was certain the math and the science would actually make it happen. And it would happen. Early experiments with rats and cats tested the ability of living mammals to head out there and come back. So far, they all made it back, but they were not humans. When these first tests leaked out to the press, some critics warned about sending out test subjects just to see how safe it was for the rest of us. So, he kept the press in the loop as much as possible. But there had to be a real test with a real person. And whom else could it be? He had made so many of his other dreams come true. This was the next big one. * - Are you on schedule for the launch? -Oh, yes. We are going to have this ready for the launch date as planned. No problems appear on the horizon. -And you will be the first one to head into the future? -That is the plan. I refuse to let anyone else take responsibility for my errors. And since there are none, I will be taking the trip. -And how does this work? This was the only part of these conferences that Mr. Taketh, CEO and founder of multiple companies, enjoyed and put his social energies into. He brought the press into the lab, showed them the devices and equipment needed to get things working, and then the teleportation device itself. By design, he wanted it to appear as something completely harmless and dull. A clear panel for the occupant to see where they were heading was a necessity for Mr. Taketh. The view of time passing by in such a machine would be too irresistible to ignore. It would also be filmed, recorded and shared during the trip. But there was always one thing that the reporters mentioned that he would have to explain again and again. -There is no chair. -Ah, I am glad you noticed! We have done some tests with dummies and animals and realized that a seated figure might undergo certain…changes. -Changes? What kind of changes? -Spinal readjustments; lower back damage and even torn ligaments in hips, thighs and shoulders. So, with an inclined and cushioned platform, we have less chance of damage to the body during the trip. -Just a follow-up on that… And so on. It surprised him that the press would be so focussed on this one particular point. No long inquiries about food, power supply, direction tracking or even the possible difficulties with language; only questions about that lack of a seat. Very strange… -Any other questions? * He was not scared. This was a surprise. A moment like this, one that he had prepared himself for since he was a child and won a citywide science competition above his age group, and he was not scared. His staff were keeping a close eye on his vitals as he waited for the trip to commence. There was very little press inside the lab, but the cameras there would record any responses visible through the panel.

And he still was not scared. -Sir, are you ready to proceed? Bancliff was looking over the printed chart and monitors connected to his boss’ vitals. A good man that he once thought he would have to fire once they decided to invest in this journey. He was not scared, either. -Yes. Let us proceed…oh wait… He cleared his throat and looked out through the panel at the assembled staff. Everyone was standing around the dais where he would soon depart. Not a soul was left in their seats. -Everyone here and watching this live at home: I want you to know that this is the fulfillment of a lifelong dream and that I can only say that I hope the future is filled with people as talented and imaginative as the ones here at JT Inc. This machine is stocked with food and water, but I suspect this will not be a great problem for me when the journey ends. I will be heading exactly one hundred years into the future, travelling through time without leaving this particular location, and returning with any possible information and stories I deem important to share. And who knows? Maybe I will meet some of your ancestors and relatives in that unknown brave new world. Good Shakespeare quote, he thought. Finally found a reason to remember his work. -I bid you goodbye. The staff applauded as he leaned back on the cushioned platform. He nodded at Bancliff and the assistant powered up the machine. It would take a few seconds and he would have to press a button to leave. Why was he still thinking about that last press conference? Maybe he should have added… -Ready, sir. -Excellent. He looked at the virtual screen. -No future without friction… He always said that before any of the big launches he steered to completions (had the cameras caught that?). He pressed the button. * It was very cold. He woke up and looked out the panel. Mr. Taketh could not remember much about the actual trip. It was supposed to be filmed as he travelled, but he still wanted to be able to recount the experience. Instead, he had passed out and now, inside the machine built for the journey, he felt a little dazed. And it was very cold. He opened the door and looked around. The room looked the same, apart from the lack of artificial light. He checked the readings and saw that he had done it. He was here, one hundred years into the future. The first man to time travel. He smiled and looked around once again. No one was here. He recognized the machines and the monitors and the design of the place. They at least kept the building so that he could recognize it. But there was no one around. Just silence. And cold. He zipped up his jacket and searched for the thermostat. When he designed the building, he made sure that temperature controls existed in every room. They could be controlled by remotes handed out to the lead operator on each level. But he controlled the main switch; he was still responsible for it, and the running of the building. So, he went to the main control panel. Gone. He stared at the wall for a moment. The machine travelled through time, not space, so there was no chance that he was in a different part of the building. And he recognized this area too well to be surprised by anything, except that missing section.

So, he was still cold.

The hunger and thirst he expected to overwhelm him did not hit him yet. Searching for the rations in the building, he noted that they were also missing. No food or water was in the now quiet cafeteria. No one had brought in extra supplies.

He was now tired. After walking through most of the building, he finally felt how drained he was. That was the main reason why he noticed what he would never have bothered himself  with as an entrepreneur. No chairs. He walked up and down the rooms, through different spaces and closets, in and out of laboratories filled with nothing but empty space. Not a chair to be seen. He thought about it for a moment in the still cold space. If they really changed things that much in the last hundred years, maybe this was a good sign. There was no staff around and the equipment was off, but maybe they had decided to save this space as a reminder of what was; a museum of their accomplishments. To Mr. Taketh, this made perfect sense. He would find an exit and make his way into this new society. The main doors were on the next level and he soon found them.

They were completely sealed. No problem, he thought. He had remembered to carry a master key to open up all the doors to the compound when necessary. By their design, he could see that they had not changed much. It was all electronic detection and cryptographic material that only he had absolute control over. Even after these many years, it should work. He found the panel, this one unchanged, and tried his device. Nothing. He entered it again. There was a slight hum and then another virtual screen appeared. Mr. Taketh had to back up when the image displayed itself across the doorway. And there was a moment when he thought he had imagined the words now clearly in front of him: BANCLIFF INDUSTRIES INC. A sick feeling entered his whole body. He tried to open the doors again and the image flickered, but it did not disappear. Instead, more words began to appear: WELCOME BACK, JASON! He could have felt offended by the lack of a proper address, but Mr. Taketh wanted to see more of the message first. THIS MESSAGE WAS PRERECORDED, PRIOR TO YOUR LAUNCH INTO OUR GREAT AND MAGNIFICENT FUTURE! I MADE A POINT OF INVITING CERTAIN ACTORS AND PRESS WHO WOULD PRETEND TO PLAY ALONG WITH MY LITTLE GAME. YOU MUST UNDERSTAND THAT A LOT CAN HAPPEN IN ONE HUNDRED YEARS: SOCIETIES RISE AND FALL, WARS TAKE PLACE, DISEASES KILL AND THEN ARE A PART OF THE NATURAL ORDER, CERTAIN FAMOUS NAMES NO LONGER REMAIN FAMOUS… WE WERE IN THE PROCESS OF TAKING OVER YOUR COMPANY THE MOMENT YOU DECIDED TO VENTURE INTO THE TIME TRAVEL BUSINESS. AND YES, IT WAS A BUSINESS. WE FOUND THAT IF WE SIMPLY SPECULATED ON WHAT THE WORLD WOULD BE LIKE IN THE NEXT CENTURY, WE COULD KEEP STOCK PRICES HIGH AND INVESTORS CONTENTED WITH OUR ENDEAVOURS. AND NOW, YOU PROBABLY HAVE SOME QUESTIONS ABOUT THE CHAIRS… -Chairs? He said it out loud and the computer responded. YES, CHAIRS. YOU SEE, WE GOT RID OF THEM. -What does that even mean? IT IS SO WONDERFUL THAT I CAN RESPOND TO YOU THIS WAY. YOU SEE, WE NOTICED HOW REPORTERS – THE REAL REPORTERS – RESPONDED TO THE LACK OF A CHAIR IN THE TIME MACHINE (YES, LET’S FINALLY CALL IT THAT). OVER TIME, PEOPLE BEGAN TO EXPERIMENT WITH USING INCLINE DEVICES TO DO WORK, REST, AND EVEN TO AID THE HANDICAPPED (NOT THE WORD WE USE NOW, BUT YOU ARE NEW TO THINGS). AND WE MADE A FORTUNE EXPANDING INTO THIS NEW PIECE OF MODERN FURNITURE: An inclined table with headrest, foot and hand holds appeared on the screen, all done in silver and grey cushioning with a live model entering the image and showing how it worked. PEOPLE WERE BECOMING CONCERNED ABOUT THE AMOUNT OF TIME SPENT STARING AT A SCREEN AS THEY SAT AT THEIR DESKS. CORPORATIONS THANKED US FOR DEVELOPING SUCH A USEFUL PIECE OF EQUIPMENT, PARENTS DEMANDED THEM FOR THEIR CHILDREN AT SCHOOL. AND SOON, PEOPLE GAVE UP ON THE OLD CHAIR MODEL. FOR THAT, THEY STILL THANK YOU AND YOUR EFFORTS. Another image appeared, this one a page from some digital catalogue. It advertised several models of incline devices under the name ‘Taketh Incliners’. He did not look too closely at the prices. A quick flash and the text continued: SO, YOU MADE IT INTO OUR FUTURE. I DO NOT SUGGEST THAT YOU TRY TO GO OUTSIDE. THE LACK OF OZONE WILL JUST BURN YOUR SKIN WITHIN A DAY AND THE WEATHER IS NOW TOO CHAOTIC TO ALLOW ANYONE TO HEAD ON OUT INTO IT WITHOUT A WELL-FORMED PLAN OF ACTION. IT IS COLD ALL THE TIME NOW, ANYWAY. THIS SIGHT HAS BEEN CORDONED OFF FOR THE GENERAL SAFETY OF THE PUBLIC AND WE HAVE ALL DECIDED TO EXPAND INTO TIME AND SPACE TRAVEL. A LITTLE UNFAIR OF US TO LEAVE YOU WITH ONLY THIS MESSAGE, BUT CLEARLY, NO ONE WANTED TO STAY BEHIND. SO, THANK YOU AGAIN, AND…NO HARD FEELINGS. YOUR NAME WILL LIVE ON. A final flash and a chair appeared on the screen, slowly twisting into the shape of an incliner. It was a very long time before he could stop swearing and head back to the machine. Its circuits had already burnt out and when he did begin to open things up inside to try and repair it, he found his final surprise. One last note: If you are reading this, you made the fatal error of opening up the panel and now the machine will self-destruct within the next hour. Don’t try to get away. It will vaporize everything within a country mile. I just hope you got the message at the door first. Signed, Julien Bancliff, CEO Bancliff Industries, Inc. P.S. A little presumptuous, I know, but… P.P.S. You already have your own incliner. Enjoy it!


TW: violence My mom’s last words were, “Every pain that we shared was for you. If you ever want to build a family, find yourself someone that mirrors you. Find someone and love her the way I loved you.” She was all that I have and so upon her death, the world had left nothing for me.

There was no one to care for me anymore. No one to comb my thinning hair. There was no one to help me stitch an open wound once I suffered another. It is hard as well to chop food with this two-fingered left hand.

We had lived in this wooden hut in the filthiest outskirt of town. Black waters of industrial waste ensured that the river cannot support a single sprout of any crop. Our picket fence never did hinder anything from trespassing our grounds. Looters would come and ransack our defenseless house, the equally starving would kneel for a meal’s share, and some people would just come in for our beating just to sate their bloodlust. The only visitors we aren’t bothered with were fat canal rats caught in our traps which would sustain our day. But my mom would hug me and assure me that all that’s happening was a way to toughen myself up. Her smile was the strengthening potion I needed.

From then, everything that reminded me of her uproots a pain I always try to bury. But not this time. I thought I would be alone for eternity until I saw your face.

Your smile was very reminiscent of hers. Do you know you both have thin lips but a deep cupid’s bow? It is uncanny how your nose has the same pointed form. Your dark eyes, I would say, are far more beautiful than hers. Hers I thought were carbonado but yours was the polished one.

I did everything to have you and finally, you were here rested beside me. I would do everything to keep you with me.

I caressed your face with my hand. I removed strands of your silken hair off of your lovely face. I’d love to stare more at its purest state.

I flinched for you woke up. Quickly you sat on the bed with your body tightly adhered to the wall. Your body shrunk and your thin limbs trembled. I might have frightened you out of your rest.

“Wha-what …” your speech stuttered. After your deep breath came a moment of calm. “What are you doing? It is quite early for your nighttime visit don’t you think?”

“Yes, that is so.” I squinted my eye and can’t help but look at your restless hands behind your back. “Are there bed bugs once more? Your hands seem to itch a spot furiously.”

Your shaking voice shifted to an unwavering one. You gulped, “Now tell me why are you this early.”

“I came here for your meal. Look, I prepared something special for you. I want my family to feel that they are loved.” I grabbed the tray with my right hand and tried to help it balance with my left. On top of it is a meal along with a glass of water.

“What is it?”

“It is not a rat this time. I tell you with all honesty. This is chicken!”

“Why?” your eyes pierce.

“What is with all this question?” I raised my voice upon your gratuitous skepticism. “Aren’t you happy I’m giving you a meal that I’ve never eaten more than the count of our fingers? What do you want me to do this time? You are making me mad! It was very thoughtful of me to provide you with something delicious for being a good girl!”

“Calm down! I still am your good girl.”

“Now fucking eat this up before I can’t control myself.” I left the tray above the bed, stood up, and started walking towards the door.

“Wait!” she beckoned. “I would love you to feed me this time.” You know that I cannot refuse such orders from your sweet voice. “Please.”

I went back and offered you a forkful of meat. “Open wide!”

A sudden jolt rushed down my nerves. My eye whirled with rapidity and my vision became the whirs of a defective television. A loud ringing was all I can hear. Blood spurted out of my neck tainting your devilish smile with crimson. Your eyes glare with satisfaction. As if that wasn’t enough, you lifted your knife and swung it without hesitation but I blocked it with my hand.

“You fucking open wide!” You stole the knife I carried on the tray and the next thing I felt was a loose jaw. Air started to inflict pain on my left cheek and the cold felt colder on my exposed gums.

With your limping gait, you scampered out of the room. “Rot in hell, you monster!”

“You will never get away!”

How can you run with a weak leg? You made me laugh. I thought you were the one to stay with me through the years but I guess I’ll just force you once again to doing so. Wasn’t it enough that I severed three of your fingers for you not to be afraid of me? Do I need now to slit your fucking mouth wider the same as what you did to me? What deception! It really seemed you were becoming a good girl. I shouldn’t have released you from your shackles.

Do you think this would kill me? My mother had cut my fingers for me when they started to rot because of an infection. She even plucked an eye of mine out and sold it in the black market. I take a beating every day you fucking moron! My lovely mother does know what’s best for me. She prepared me for this.

I ran outside the house and looked for you in the darkness. The barren fields were wide and it wouldn’t take long for me to find you, especially with all the bear traps dispersed under a thin cover of soil.

I tried sniffing the air just in case I can detect your lovely scent. A muffled groan excited my blood. Like a werewolf, the increasing sound of its prey draws me closer. And so I walked and walked, then ran the moment I saw a dark silhouette of yours. You don’t know how much my heart beats the more you tremble. Cry for me more.

“What happened to you? You inflicted this upon you yourself!” I sat in front of you and once again, I removed the strands of your hair that blocked a beautiful view. “I told you to be a good girl. But what did you do?” I bellowed as I pointed a knife to your face, “What did you fucking do?”

“Pi-please don’t kill me. I assure you that I’ll behave.” Your soft voice touched my heart anew.

“You really are a sweet girl. Do you promise that —”

You slammed a rock onto my face but this time I immediately retaliated with a punch. “You were beyond salvation.” I grabbed your hair and slammed your face onto the cold hard ground. Your eyes turned languid and your nose bled.

I guess there’s no helping it. An eye for an eye. I held the knife firmly and with its tip touched the sclera of your eyes. A drop of blood tells me that your screams weren’t a lie.

“Don’t! Please don’t! We are family right?” Your words echoed like music.

“Let me hear it again?”

“We … are … family …”

I never knew I’ll ever hear those sweetest words again in my lifetime. I don’t want to hurt the person I want to build a family with. I dropped the knife. “Let’s go home. Shall we?”


“What are you looking for?” “A way out.” She says continuing to move forward, stopping now and then at every new door, trying its handle, but as each stays unmoving so she walks on, always on. “You know you won't find one here. Not like this.” She lets out a frustrated sight at the words of her companion, unsure if those are words based on hopeless pessimism or justified realism, but nevertheless unwilling to admit their truth as yet a possibility. Of course there must be a way out, a person can’t find itself in a place with no entrance nor exit. And yet, none of the doors want to open, no matter how hard she pushed or hit agains them. How many locked doors has she already passed? It is hard to tell, they all look the same.

“I would very much appreciate if you would stop these little games of yours.” Lucy finally snaps at her unwanted colleague in the darkness, mad and tiered, her arm hurting from the constant hitting against doors and doors.

“What games? You are the one running in circles.” In circles. Who knows if she were running in circles, there is no real point of orientation. Her feet come upon cold stone pawing the floor now, her eyes noticing a passage leading downwards on narrow stairs, a torch flickering somewhere in the distance down there, giving just enough light to see the steps. There is a cold damp wind greeting her from below. “It is a fools errand, you know.” Again that tone, that lazy un-helping note in it, that frustratingly calm voice which only rattles at her nerves and nibs at her mind just in the way that she nearly has to think of something she rather wouldn’t, simply couldn’t.

“Stop it. Just leave me alone already!” “You know I cannot leave you. Why do you protest me?” A whisper placed right by her ear, its tone sending shivers down her spine, cold in her veins, breath short from stoping.

“Let me be.” She says while taking the stairs downwards, just away, away from it all. Every step she takes echoes back along the moist stone walls, its surface rough and cold upon touch and yet her hands search for hold and support in this dark passage. It is winding stairs she goes down, down and down, impossible to see beyond the next turn how far more there is to go, the distant torch seemingly keeping up the same distance as before, its light casting shadows around her, shadows the only thing following her.

Finally, even ground under her feet, a blinding flash from somewhere in front of her, the air changing into something less oppressive. Her eyes need to adjust, her vision is still blurry from the constant dark she has been in, but these are little concerns to her right now, the prospect of freedom just at her grasp. Away, away, she can get away from here! What joy, what hopes in her! Lucy, you did it, you did it on your own! she thinks. And then her smile fades, her lip trembles, her hopes are crushed yet again. A wild, unwelcoming, unapproachable, and frighteningly overgrown forest stretches itself out in front of of her, the branches of the trees twisting in many ways, its crowns intervening into a near solid roof, sunlight streaming in rare beams, the ground covered in vines and rotten leafs, glowing eyes already looking at her from dark depths and thorny nests. “There must be something I can give you, something I can do.” Subdued panic in her voice, a hint of desperation as her options are running out. No answer from her companion who had until now never left out a moment to add an unhelpful advice. The silence is worse than any remark she was made to listen to until now. “Stop that! I know you can hear me!” No answer. Anger, anger and desperation is all she feels in that moment. At a loss with what to do next she lets herself fall down on the dirty ground, the smell of rotten leaves in her nose, legs drawn close to burry her face away, away from this jungle that wants to swallow her. If she were to stay sitting like that, eyes shut close, would everything else eventually disappear, simply dissolve into thin air? “You cannot go back there. It is all gone. Nothing of what you used to know is left. Who do you expect to find?” The Voice is right, she hates how right, but unwilling to admit it she has to keep trying. What else is there for her to do? It has been hours, no, days maybe that she is searching for a way out, out of this ever changing maze, this twisted labyrinth that seems to have a life of its own, sometimes looking like a hedge and then again taking form of a long hallway, now a forest, never ending, always continuing. How did she even enter? Never mind, there has to be a way out. If only it weren’t so dark! Her eyes have a hard time making out her surroundings, the meagre light always changing position, its source unknown. Oh, Lu! What did you do? it echoes in her mind. She doesn’t know, she is afraid to now. She has to know. “Why do you torture me so? Why do you follow me, why do you hunt me? I just want to go back…” Tears begin to stream down her face, tears of anger, tears of pain. For a moment she just stays on the ground, hugging her knees, hair falling in wild waves over her eyes. There is a pain in her chest she tries to ignore, taking a deep breath, wiping the tears away. “Foolish child, there is no way to go back! And yet you run in circles, reach out for every invisible straw, look at every shadow with empty hope. Give up, you cannot escape it!” “No, no, no! Never!” New anger makes her rise, stomping her feet to the ground, her hands formed into fists ready to strike anyone who might come near. With new determination Lucy adjusts her bag and starts to walk on, pushing branches away, crushing leaves under her feet.

For a while she marched on like that, the sounds of birds and beasts ringing from around all sides, menacing and mesmerising at the same time, the light of the setting sun pulling everything into a red-orange dreamlike hue. Faces flash before her minds eye, memories of days long past, laughter, joy and tears all mixing up together into a mosaic both clear and distant at the same time. Will her memories eventually fail her too? What else can she hold on to? And yet, they seem so dream-like, so un-real, it is hard to hold on to them. It is painful to hold on to them.

Her march leads her to what seems to be the end of the forest, behind the last bushes the scenery very different from where she had been right now. A wide, unending plain stretches itself out in front, small hills covered in the lushest green she had ever seen, skies overcast, that pale light coming through that makes you wonder if it is dawn or dusk or midday. The grass is soft under her shoes, the wind moving over the wide landscape like over the endless sea, if one were to close ones eyes you could even imagine seagulls in the distance. It is so peaceful here.

“Do you not sometimes wonder what might have been?” She asks softly, knowing her companion can hear her. “Never.” “How freeing that must be. Are you never lonely? Do you ever dream?” “You are only avoiding the unavoidable.” “Perhaps. No, you are wrong. You must be.” She is sure he must be, tells herself to be so. The plain truly seems to have no end, all four sides indicating it to be so, even the great forest nowhere to be seen anymore. From which direction did she come? Where should she go, where could she go? She feels tired again, yet restless. Maybe beyond the next hill there will be something or someone to help her out. But there isn’t, and standing on the hill, looking around, she can see no end to this landscape, this ocean of green, void of any other living soul.

“What do you want from me? What could I give for you to let me go?” A whisper from her, a plea. “It is not I who is keeping you. See, there are neither walls nor fences anywhere. And you cannot bargain with the infinite.” “No, I can not. If only I could.” “What help would it be? What would you gain with it? Nothing. A foolish wish it would be gone to waste.” “A fool. Is that what I am? Are fools not allowed to dream as well?” “You know well enough there is a difference between dreams and foolishness.” “Again that word! Fool, fool! Everyone is a fool to you!” How sick she is of those empty, meaningless words, how sick of a travel companion who she cannot get rid of, who has no usefulness except bringing up vague and shallow words.

She wants to walk on, always onward, if it need be to the edge of the world, but eventually her legs simply cannot go any longer, her lips dry, even the ever full water bottle in her bag void of relief. Exhausted she lies down, down on the soft young grass, a welcoming bed, a welcoming pillow, clouds traveling above her, wind singing around her. “Please, just tell me what I should do? What can I give you? What do you want? Please…” Again no answer. She could just stay here, stay here forever. If there is no way back to her ordinary life, why not just ignore everything and simply stay, resign? It is so peaceful out here. A tear slowly forms itself in the corner of her eye and the old familiar weight returns. Lonely, it is so lonely here. She doesn’t wish to be lonely, never wanted to be lonely. “I want to be your friend. I know what you have been through. Why do you push me away…” This time the Voice is soft, a hint of sadness in it, of understanding. “Because it hurts less… it hurts less to not think of it. I don’t want to feel stuck.” “And yet you get lost.” Right again. Lucy thinks of her life before she got here, before there were mazes and hallways and forests and fields of no end, before time lost its meaning, before she was stuck with someone that wouldn’t leave her side. Yet, she couldn’t deny that the presence offered some sort of comfort, some sort of truth she wants to ignore. “I wish- I would like you to be my friend, but I don’t think I could take it. Can you forgive me?” She asks quietly, some remorse in her voice for being always so harsh to someone who genuinely only wants to help. “Of course I can. That is what friends do.”


Samantha was behind the counter, as usual, stocking the counter with coffee take-out containers and straws. The window behind her was slightly open and a sudden gust of wind that came out of nowhere, shut it with a speed that startled Samantha.

“What did you drop this time?” asked her manager from the store room. “Nothing, it was the wind,” said Samantha, in a faint voice, just above a whisper.

“Ok, get done fast. We open in ten.” Her boss disappeared and closed into the warm little room again. Samantha, in her mind, was in that room, looking at all the boxes strewn around the place. The old neon sign stating ‘Cups and Brews’ lay on the ground. Cleaning the now useless sign was her boss. She did not care if it was in use anymore or not, she just wanted it clean, and her boss had to be servile about it. She stood there, mighty and tall, watching her scrub the old sign clean, though it had been replaced with a new one.

The first thing that caught a person’s attention was the new sign.

She clutched a Styrofoam cup tightly in her palm and it was crushed beyond repair. She saw the damaged cup before her boss could see it and find another reason to yell at her. If only she didn’t have to pay for her own gas. Her parents had told her that if she wanted to own a car, she also had to take care of it. She had taken up dog walking until one day she needed a new shot after the smallest of the lot bit her. She had then taken up a job at the library. But the constant sound of her munching crackers at the table had made sure that she was a blacklist at the place. The only other place she could think of was the coffee shop. There were tips involved and after all, how hard could it be to make a cup of coffee?

Apparently, a lot harder than Samantha had imagined. The first day of her job, she had broken a mug, a plate and the coffee container. After a lot of begging, pleading and apologizing, her boss had let her keep her job.

She had broken another mug the following week, but had paid for the broken mug.

On the fourth week, of her job, new autumn drinks were introduced. She now stood behind the counter, dreaming about being her boss’s boss when there was a knock on the glass door. She snapped back to reality to notice a young man pointing at his watch. She turned the sign to open before unlocking the door for the first customer of the day.

The young man, accompanied by a pretty young woman, walked into the store, probably for an early cup of coffee before going on a leisurely weekend hike. They were dressed for it and carried a large enough bag to fit a bonsai.

There were many different types of coffee seeds, bottled and kept on the counter, all for aesthetics. Behind the big jar of arabica seeds, Samantha tightened her pony tail and wished to her stars that they didn’t order the new autumn drinks. She had been tutored and given the recipe for each drink but she was still under confident. She did not want to mess up anything else for herself.

Before she had unlocked the door, she had seen the woman staring at the board that had been set up outside, informing the customers about the new arrivals.

The couple walked up to the counter. “I’ll have a large cappuccino,” said the man. Samantha quickly smiled to herself and typed in the order. She could make that. “And I’ll have the pink punch. The new one that has been advertised outside,” said the woman.

Samantha stared at the woman for a long time then typed in her order. The couple settled on a couch that was set up on one corner of the coffee shop. Who orders punch at a coffee shop, Samantha cursed under her breath. She started to make the cappuccino. She noticed that the two of them would be there till the end of their drinks and would probably tell the manager how bad the punch was. She was certain, she was losing her job that day.

She snatched the ingredients for the punch, from the closet above her head and started to put in the ice cubes into the large glass cup. She pulled out a fine straw and set it next to the glass. She took out a bottle of lemon squash from the refrigerator and poured a little into the glass. She put in all the other ingredients, in the order that the tissue paper, where she had copied the recipe mentioned.

She finally added the pink colouring and set the drinks on the tray for the two of her first customers for the day, to pick up. She noticed that they had been reading the menu and hoped that they didn’t want anything else. Just to tip her and tip her big. She turned to the tissue paper and stopped in her tracks. She saw the slight blue colour, that must have made its way onto the paper during her trial session, stare back at her from the corner of the paper, which was now upside down. She could not believe what she had just done. She had made the blue drink instead of the pink one and had just added the colour pink instead. The pink one was not made of lemon and was certainly not a citrus drink. She knew she had messed up big time, but how will that woman ever know. She had after all, merely mentioned the colour of the drink. She had been given what she wanted, just not exactly. She saw the man taking small sips of the drink while the lady stared at her drink.

Samantha’s heart started to beat fast. She had been reading the new menu and had figured that her drink did not contain what it had promised to. She was certainly going to lose her job. The lady stood up and walked over to the counter. At the same time, the store room door opened and her boss walked out. Samantha wanted to cry. She could not hold a single job.

“Can I have an extra tissue paper?” asked the lady. “What?” asked Samantha, a little too astonished.

“An extra tissue paper,” said the lady, looking at Samantha like she needed to get help soon. “Sure,” said Samantha and turned around, picked two and handed them over to the lady. She sat back down but still drank her drink in slow sips. She offered the drink to the man and he tried it too.

This time she had definitely found out. I know, I messed up, I’m sorry, Samantha wanted to scream out. But they didn’t budge from the seat. Finally, after finishing their drinks, the two of them got up. The man made his way to the door. The lady made her way to the counter and pulled out her purse from the back pack she had on.

She pulled out some notes and handed them over to Samantha. “Keep the change, you deserve it. That drink you prepared for me, really made my morning. Now I am truly energized for my hike. Thanks,” she said. “Thank you,” said Samantha staring at the notes in her hand.

Her boss watched her from a distance. Once the couple left the shop, she walked over to Samantha and said, “Good job kid. You are finally learning the tricks of the game. Keep doing work like that.” She patted her on the back and headed back to the store room. Samantha stared idly at the tissue paper that was flying away from the counter.

She could not believe what had just happened. She didn’t even know if it had been a joke and the lady had been sarcastic. But the notes, she still clutched in her hand, led her to the right conclusion.