So, how did I end up on a sprawling oasis in the middle of the Kalahari Desert?

            It’s a wet story, and it starts with a waterslide.

 A waterslide in a waterpark, to be exact.

            Now, I’m not a bad guy, but that day I somehow ended up a felon. Go figure.

            But probably the youngest, fittest, handsomest felon those small-town cops ever saw. I mean, the way my dark curls must have shimmered in the sun that day!

            Sorry. I’m regressing. I used to be an arrogant son of a bitch. I was young. Testing the waters.

            Anyway, I marched right up those perpetually wet concrete steps to stand in front of the highest, most epic slide in the park. Looked at the bored slide attendant and said, “Do you want to see a

real

waterslide?”             She chewed on her gum and blew a bubble that popped loudly. “Cross your arms in front of your chest and keep your feet together.”             “No, wait. Let me show you.” I stepped up to the slide and grinned at her. “I can turn things into water.”             “Sure, and I’m a debt-free College student. Cross your arms in front of your-”             She stopped as I touched the slide and the entire thing transformed to shimmering water. It was wet under my hand, but still kept its shape.

            Her mouth fell open and her gum dropped unceremoniously from it.

            “See!” I shouted, as the people on the stairs turned to look. “Just figured it out, yesterday!”

            I thought she’d be as enthusiastic as I was, but she just looked at me stupidly. “Can you change it back?”             “What?” I had no idea. Hadn’t tried that, yet.

            “Cause, you know, my boss is gonna kill me if a slide turned to water on my watch.”             “But…” I stuttered. “Don’t you see how

amazing

it is?”             Tiny people far away on the ground were tilting their heads up to look.

            The girl shrugged. “It’s alright. Not as impressive as say, turning things to gold.”             “Water is worth more than gold, miss,” I said. “It is the essence of life!” Without another word, I plunged into the slide. Rocketed down it with the shimmering sides rushing past. It was like shooting through the centre of a roaring tidal wave!             I whooped and shouted, “I’m a superhero!” Then shot out of the tunnel and flew head-over-heels through the air.

            I flew too far and too fast. Right over the tiny pool meant to catch sliders. “Woa! Shit.

Shit!”  I shouted as I plummeted toward pure concrete.

            In a split-second decision, I squeezed my eyes shut and thought of water. Hit the ground with a harsh jar up my arm, before the concrete gave way and I plunged into cool wetness with a

splash.

            People shouted and cheered. Ran over to me and pulled me out of the little pool I’d created. “How did you do that?” they said. “That was amazing!” “Can I try it?”             I puffed out my muscular chest. “Yes. You can all try!” I looked down at the tiny hole of water I’d made, then back up at the slide, and cursed.

            Someone else was already shooting down it, clearly visible in the tube of glittering, aqua-tinged water.             “Shit” I pushed everyone away. “Move. I gotta…” I had to make more water. I surged into a sprint, concrete transforming to water under my bare feet. Water that grew and rippled outward as people quickly backed away.

            I ran in a circle until I had a sizable pool in the concrete.

            At the same moment, the person shot out of the slide and through the air, brown hair flying around her. Landed in the middle of the new pool with a squeal of delight.

            I sighed in relief. “Okay.

Now

everyone can use the slide.”             Some people were glaring at me, but most were racing toward the slide to have a turn.

            The next person shot through the air and hit the pool with a mighty

splash

a second later.

            I ginned as I was soaked by the powerful spray. “Most epic waterslide ever!”

            Then I turned, and a red-faced man with a big belly was an inch from my nose. “ What  did you just do, you little hooligan?”

            Little? I was just as tall as him, although decidedly less thick. And who used the word

hooligan,

anymore? “I just made this the best waterpark in the country.”             “You made my slide

disappear! ” Do you know how much one of those costs?”             I looked to where everyone in the park had gathered round my waterslide. “Are you kidding?”             “You wish.” He jabbed a finger in my chest. “Change it back.”             I shoved his hand away. “I don’t know how. And why would you want me to? Look at your customers.”             “Some cheap trick,” he boomed. “A novelty that will wear off quicker than the heat in this concrete. Change it back, or I’m calling the cops.”             “The cops?” I took a step back. “Really now, sir. That’s hardly…”             He pulled out his phone and dialed 911.

            “…necessary. Shit.” I spun and bolted.             Now, I know what you’re thinking. What a stupid thing to do. But I was young. Reckless. Vain. Along with this new epic power, I was the fastest kid at my college, and here was the perfect opportunity to test out my speed

and

powers.

            So, I ran.             “Hey, get back here!” the owner shouted.

            I glanced back and stuck out my tongue. Immature, I know. I was, back then.

            “Catch that kid!” the man yelled dramatically.

            Kid? I was twenty-two. Hardly a kid. Although, I did have a springy youthfulness that was easy to mistake for a surly teenager.

            I turned back to my front and picked up speed. “The chase begins!”             Ahead of me, security was closing the exit gates.

            Crap!             I darted left and leaped onto the tall fence. Climbed that thing like a lemur until I reached the barbed wire at the top.

            The owner was shouting into his phone. Security was racing to ambush me at the other side of the fence.

            Humm… could my power work on metal?

            I touched the barbed wire, and it instantly turned to shimmering water that my hand could pass right through.

            Yes!             I vaulted over the top and splashed right through the transformed barbed wire. Then dropped down the other side. “Heads up!”             The security guards stood back, then rushed me when I hit the ground in a crouch.

            I turned the ground to water as they raced in, and we all plunged in at the exact same moment.

            I was ready. They weren’t. As they thrashed in their heavy uniforms, I, light in my swim trunks, glided to the edge, vaulted out and ran.

            Sirens blared in the distance.

            I knew, even then, that I was being reckless. Running guaranteed that the cops would chase me down like hunting dogs on the trail of a fox.

            But I was young and stupid and though I was invincible.

            Light in bare feet and trunks, I raced like a cheetah. Swerved onto the road just as a police car skidded into view behind me, siren blaring.

            In the distance, I heard a great splash and screams. Had my waterslide collapsed?

            I didn’t have time to think about it. Too busy sprinting over concrete as the police car raced up behind me, loudspeaker blaring. “Stop! You’re under arrest!”

            Not I’m not, I thought, as I turned the ground at my feet to water. It spread out behind me and transfromed the road to an aqua river,

            On the sidewalk, people stopped to watch and shout. Cars ahead of me pulled up with squealing tires and swerved onto side roads.

            The siren behind me cut off abruptly, and I spun to see the police car pull up at the edge the new, urban river. Ha! Stopped him in his tracks.

            Now everyone was shouting and staring. Mobile phones and freaking news cameras appeared out of nowhere and followed me as I turned back around and kept running. Kept turning the road to a glittering clear river.

            Then a freaking helicopter appeared in the air. The blare of at least six sirens sounded from ahead.

            Crap! I was stuck, now.

            I skidded to a stop as the police cars swerved into view and cops surged out with guns drawn.

            Wind from the helicopter beat over my head.

            “Run, and we’ll shoot!” they shouted in booming unison.

            Could I turn bullets to water before they tore through me? Would turning them to water stop their destructive force and speed?

            I didn’t want to find out.

            Gasping, I raised my hands.

            Now, I don’t want to generalize, but I have a feeling some cops take out their insecurities and repressed aggression on anyone they can nail with a crime. They were unnecessarily rough with me. Rude and belittling. Let me tell you, it was a bruise to the ego.

            But I co-operated. Repressed the urge to turn their handcuffs to water. Or, better yet, their uniforms. I just quietly laughed to myself as I imagined them all wearing see-thought wetsuits.

            But I was afraid of those guns, so I behaved.

            “What elaborate hoax was that?” they shouted.

            “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

            That comment got me a right twist in the arm that made me scream. I still feel the ache in my shoulder to this day.

            “Tell it to the judge,” a cop growled in my ear.

            My eyes were watering, now, but I smiled as they hauled me away. If they thought it was just an elaborate trick, then I still had the upper hand.             They threw me in a cell and stationed a guard outside it. A big, scary-looking guy who stared at me like a giant Rottweiler, ready to pounce if I made a single wrong move. It made me tense, at first. But after a few hours, I got used to his menacing presence. I casually turned on the TV and lounged on my bed to watch.

            I was all over the news, of course. Footage of me running over the road as it transformed to water behind me. “Tahir, last name unknown,” a voiceover commented over the images, “has been charged with mischief, vandalism, destruction of property, and manslaughter.”

            “What?” I sat up straighter.

            The image changed to show the waterpark, and my

waterslide crashing down like a waterfall while someone was clearly inside. It must have collapsed the second I was out of view.

            My stomach dropped as I watched the tiny figure plummet with the water down to pure concrete, below.

            A news reporter appeared and spoke beside the image. “Sixteen-year-old Maya Sands sustained serious injuries and later died in hospital. Other spectators suffered minor…”             The voice became distorted in my ears as I gripped my head. “Died?” I staggered to my feet and slammed the TV off.

            No, that didn’t happen. I didn’t just kill a teenage girl.

            “Yeah,” said the deep voice of the guard, slamming me with a reality I didn’t want to face. “Thought it was all games, didn’t you? Now you’re going away for a long time, motherfucker.”             His voice sounded distorted and far away, like I was listening to it from underwater. I groaned and collapsed onto the hard bed. Closed my eyes and tried to drown out reality. I felt sick. Dizzy. Wished I had the power to turn back time, instead of turn things to water.

            I stayed like that for a long time, in a daze. Barely even noticed when the guard left to do a round of the prison.             How could I ever make up for what I’d just done? I certainly couldn’t do it rotting in a cell for years. I had good intentions, but would never convince a judge and jury of that.

            In the middle of the night, I sat up and decided. I would escape.

            It was quiet right now, only sound, the periodic jangle of keys as a new guard did his rounds.

            When he came my way I quickly covered my head with my thin blanket and lay still, facing the concrete wall on one side of the bed. I heard a squeak of boots as the officer stopped outside my cell. Could feel him glaring at me. I twitched and made to mutter in my sleep, then grew still, again.

            After what seemed an eternity, he walked on and his keys resumed their eerie clatter.

I stayed still as a statue until I was sure he was gone. Then crawled out of the blankets and arranged them back into a shape more or less like they’d been when I was sleeping under them. Climbed out the side of the bed, slid under it on my belly, and touched the concrete wall. Instantly, it turned to water that spread until it was wide enough for me to fit. I pulled myself through the veil of cool water. It separated easily for me. Flowed over my clothes and soaked me. The rest of it seeped into the earth on the other side.

            Wet and muddy, I stood and nearly whopped in triumph, before I shut my mouth. Idiot. I still had to get past the gate.

            It was easy, though. And I’m not saying that to brag. I was beyond arrogance at this point. All I could think about was making amends. But when any barrier can turn to soft water, well, escape from anywhere is pretty easy.

            So, I crept along the wall to the barbed gate, turned it to cool liquid, and slipped past it out into the night.

            From there, I hid in the woods during the day and raided stores at night.

            Yes, it was wrong. No, I didn’t take more than I needed. I left the places as untouched as I could. My face was all over the news. I couldn’t risk being seen by anyone.

            I made my own pools to drink and bathe from (in that order, thank you very much). My water was fresh, clean and uncontaminated. A precious resource we always take for granted.

            Through stealth, and my elusive ability to pass any barrier, I made it to Mexico. Then stowed away on a ship headed for sub-Saharan Africa.

            I won’t bore you with the details. Let’s just say it was a long and painful trip, before I was standing in the middle of the Kalahari Desert, looking out on rippling waves of sand.

            I threw off my sweaty shoes and socks and walked in a wide circle, water rushing from my feet and rippling outward, until I had an oasis of pure, fresh water.

            My first new friend found me while I was at it.

            “Hey!”             I spun in the direction of the voice and saw a dark man in a white robe and colourful hat. “You’re the waterboy from America, right? Tahir?”

            Waterboy? Was that what they were calling me?

            I glared at him. “So, what if I am?”             He laughed. “You showed those coppers who’s boss.”             I stood still and tense as a statue. “Are you going to turn me in?”             “Hey, what you did in America is not my business. “ He nodded at the water. “That drinkable?”

            “Best you’ll ever taste.” I waved him over. “Come on, try some.”             He smiled and strode up to me. “There is a poor village just a few kilometres from here.”             “I know,” I said. “That’s why I chose this spot.”             “You came halfway around the world, to give fresh water to a country you’ve never been to?”             I shrugged. “Just heard this place has limited fresh water.”             “Well you can’t always trust what you hear. Most of us are fine. Some of the poor villages don’t have access to clean water, though.”             “Exactly.”             He raised an eyebrow at me. “There is poverty in every country, including America. Why come here?”

            I knelt and ran my hand through the glittering water. “My country doesn’t want me. I thought my skill would be more useful in a place like this.”             “You weren’t wrong about that. You seem like a good man, Tahir.”

            “Not yet.” I stood and looked at him. “But I start, now.”

            He smiled, and knelt to take a drink.

            It wasn’t long before plants started to grow around my Oasis. I built a series of huts with help from some builders. Put up a watering station and bathing station. People are constantly coming from nearby villages to gather water, and I love to talk to them every day. I created my own little paradise in this hot, unforgiving desert.

            And this is where I sit, now. In a handmade wooden hammock, on a boardwalk that stretches over the blue water of my lake. The plants are so thick and vibrant, you’d never know this was a desert.             Eventually, I’ll get my friend to take over, here, and I’ll go somewhere else. Set up a new oasis outside another village.

            Maybe someday, my work will be enough for me to go home without being arrested and thrown in jail.

            Until then, I’ll use my ability the best way I know how, and spend the rest of my life making up for that one, horrible mistake.

            My first oasis is called Maya Sands. Everything I do now, is for her. It will never be enough, but a lifetime is all I have.

            I’d give it all up to turn back time just once. But we can’t choose our abilities.

            We can only choose how we use them.

            I know I’ll make the most of mine.


You don’t see it, do you? The way you have a tendency to tilt your head towards the sun when you walk outside or how to rest your chin on the palm when you think. You don’t see how your hair hangs just over your eyes and makes you look tough and adorable at the same time. You don’t see how you can light up a room with your smile or how you wrinkle your nose right before you laugh or how your lips form a perfect little O when you mouth I love you from across the room. You never could see the way your eyes and face glow when I walk in or how you would hold my hand when you stretched it made my stomach twist in excitement. I never told you that I loved the way you would steal kisses and hug me tighter than anyone had before. It gives me actual chills when you do. Still till this day. I miss you worse on your bad days when you weren’t yourself than on the days I actually didn’t see you. I never got the chance to tell you that the freckles on your shoulders are a perfect scattered mess or that you could make me smile just by looking at me sideways. And that I needed you to get through the day. I never made you aware of the way you would absentmindedly trace circles around my knuckles when you were thinking. Or that, despite my screams and giggles, I loved when you tickle me to make me smile. I never got the opportunity to tell you that your eyes dazzle when you’re excited about something. I never mentioned how your lips were shaped perfectly to fit mine or that your hand is just the right size for mine so when we lock fingers it felt like a puzzle piece. There’s so much more I wish you knew but it’s too late. So I hope you knew that none of our silences were awkward and I melted when you smiled. The way that you love when we just hang out at the house and watch our favorite show. The way you appreciate the little things I do for you. The way I catch you staring at me and smiling. When I would have panic attacks and you remind me that I was enough. The way you know when I’m upset and you try to help me figure out a solution. The way that I was your only one. When you let me take pictures of us and you even you’re super shy about it because you know how much it means to me to keep those memories alive. We can play games together without getting too competitive and actually enjoy each other’s company. How you care about what I’m insecure about even if it is a little inconvenient for you. How you’re making a house our home and letting us grow together. Letting me learn how to be a good girlfriend without knowing from previous relationships. How patient you are with me when I get insecure with us because of what I’ve been through. How you help me out with food when I’m low on funds because of the bills. How you listen to my problems when I have trouble at home or work. When you want me to ride with you even for the smallest things. How you brag about what we do and how much you have with me to your family and friends. How you are not ashamed to be with me. Love how your family makes me feel like I’ve been a part of y’all’s family for years. How you appreciate every part of my body and make me feel good about myself even if I disagree. How we grew so fast together in under a year. How much we’ve accomplished together in such little time. How you make me feel like we’ve been in love for years. How you don’t get mad when I spill my drinks on your carpet. How you let me play your games without getting mad. The way you look at me when I’m not looking, and my family sees how much you love me. I love when you don’t get annoyed when I ask if you still love me fifty times a day. I love that we can joke around with each other without hurting each other’s feelings. When you offer to help me cook and clean since we both work. How you’ve become my best friend and that I am yours (no matter how much you tell me my brother is) How you don’t get annoyed with my random questions How you don’t get annoyed with all the memes I send you saying how much I miss you I love when you give me a big hug when you see me because it proves you miss me How excited you get when you come home from work to see me in the living room waiting for you I love that you wouldn’t anything come between us even my own brother. I love that you gave me a chance despite who I am. How you remind me how beautiful you think I am when my boss is mean to me How protective you are over me How thoughtful your Christmas gift is (even though I’m not sure what it is when I’m writing this) I love that you don’t get annoyed at how emotional I get I love that I can tell you anything without it being repeated I love that I can trust you with all my heart I love that I can tell how much I am in love with you without having to worry you’re taking it for granted I love how you take care of me when I had too much to drink without any complaints I hope you know that I will love you always and forever. I guess it’s better late than never.


Growing up I was unfortunately the only child. I used to hate not having any siblings to talk to, hang out with, share crazy stories with or just to have a shoulder to cry on. When they would have siblings’ events at school, I would immediately feel sad... Most times I just wouldn't even attend school. My parents used to try and persuade to just go to the events anyway, have fun, meet new friends, (but at that time, I didn’t want to make new friends.) However, I did try numerous of times but once I gotten older I slowly didn't feel the need to attend any of these events. It wasn't until I met my best friend Kara Elizabeth Stanley. I call her Lizzy McGuire (that’s her favorite show) or Kara Bear (stuff bears is her favorite animal) actually I have a lot of nicknames for her. We met the first day of drama class in 10th grade, our connection was instant. Come to find out that she's also the only child in her family. We would always pick each other for partners for improvs skits, hang out after school, have sleepovers etc... She was my piece that I felt was missing. We were together in the same high-school all 3(technically 4) years... I said technically because we didn’t officially meet until the 10 th grade, but she was also in the same high school (Wilboro High School) as me in the 9 th grade. Until she had to move away. Her dad, who I call papa Richard or pops got a new job offer in Los Angeles for his company as an Executive director for a new technical lab he's building. Kara's mom Kandice, Who I also call ma or mama is a customer representative provider for a bank. Burress Bank, it was originally called The Bank for you! But I guess they figured that "The Burress Bank" sounded more professional. So anyway, when Kara told me the news I was absolutely devastating... We both were! Especially since the holidays were coming up and our families would always have a friendsgiving. My mom would cook and Kara and her parents would always bring a few dishes over such as; cranberries, sparking cider and green bean casserole dinner rolls, just to name a few .It was the best of times. It started in high school and we kept it going ever since. She moved around her 2nd year in college, just as I was about to transfer there. I decided that I wanted to go to a university first that's near where I live, I majored in drama arts, but I minored in creative writing... Kara, had a full ride scholarship to Western Virginia University, majoring in Dramatic arts/Creative Language. She's really good at acting, she'll make a phenomenal actress someday.... She also has plans to open up a business that dealing with her creative side of acting; such as the languages that are used and helping others to display their creative language in acting form. Since that day it's been about a year and a half since I have seen her. We talk and face-time daily, however we both have jobs and things we have to take care of... Now since being detached from what I felt safe with, I had to restart all over with finding my tight-knit circle. I have been able to meet some amazing like-minded people, since Kara moved away, I met... Ashley, Leah, and Samantha. We all have join choir in college during some tough times in our lives. Ashley and Leah are sisters, they're dealing with their dad George being deployed. Samantha is dealing with her parents in the process of getting a divorce. And of course there's me... Oh wait sorry guys I never mentioned my name, (which is Alliana, or Allie). I'm dealing with feeling alone not sure when I will see my best friend again, on top of having to start over in a sense with meeting people who would push me and motivate me for greater beyond. I grew a strong bond with these ladies, a solid sisterhood that I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. Fast-forward to today *Ding Dong* Lina: Honey, can you answer that (Aliana’s mom yelling from the kitchen) Alliana: Okay, sure mom! I gave everyone a puzzled look, because everyone was here for friendsgiving  And to my surprise it was my very best friend Kara Bear!! Alliana: Kara, what are you doing here??! (Nearly in tears) Kara: (With the biggest grin on her pleasant face) Surprise!!! (Embraces me with the biggest, tightest hug) I came to spend friendsgiving with my sister, my best friend. We have been though a lot with only having been in each lives for a short time, but it feels like a lifetime. Alliana: Ohhh my goodness!! (Pauses and looks around) where's your mom and dad... (At that very moment, Kara's parents walks in the door yelling.... Richard Kandice: Surprise!!!! Happy Friendsgiving!!! (Immediately goes in for a tight hug) Alliana: Wait, (slowly looks around) so was everyone involved in this surprise?! Everybody: Yes (laughter) Alliana: Wait, have you all met each other? How did all this happen? (Her mind is racing 60 miles per minute) Samantha: Well, I noticed that you are friends on Facebook, and I remember how Allie would mentioned just how she misses you. I messaged her and thought it would be cool to set up a surprise visit. She has such a giving heart, this is the least we could do. Kara: Yes!! You have such a sweet spirit and I immediately agreed on that idea and just had to get my parents on board... Which took absolutely no persuading at all. They were all in. I mentioned that we won't facetime, or if we do it would be close to my face so she would pick up on anything suspicious in the background. Ashley: Leah and I agreed to pick them up from the airport... Leah: And...(Looks around with her arms open) well here we are!! Alliana: (at this point, tears floods her eyes) you guys!! Kara: I would say that this is our first time officially meeting in person!! And I love each and every one of you girls!! This truly something beautiful!! Alliana: I just want to thank each and every one of you, you made this Friendsgiving one to remember; my parents, my other parents, my new found sisterhood… I think I going to change the name from Friendsgiving to Sisterhood Share! We’re more than friends and although were not related, blood couldn’t make us any closer.


Write a story told exclusively through dialogue. "Sarah, your back!" he said "Well, it's been a long time," she replied "Sit here, I was just making tea," said Joe "So, how are ya?" "I'm fine, what about you, where have you been?" he asked. "Where have a been…uh." Joe turned around from the stove to face Sarah and gasped. "What happened to you?" he demanded "Nothing... its" "Your face, your hands! "he blurted "Shh…. keep it down; they're sleeping," Sarah said hastily "Did Warlock sent you somewhere?" Joe asked "I… it's a long story, and you probably don't wanna hear it." "Sarah!" "You know it's top-secret, "she said "What would you say if I turned up in your house, covered in blood and wounds?" he snapped. "Oh…fine," she said in a defeated voice. "Warlock sent Mina and me to recover a gemstone in the mountains of Vietnam." "I knew it was Warlock," Joe said under his breath. "It took us days to reach there, but we had to go through some vampires first." "They did this to you," Joe asked. "No, no, in fact, some of them were nice." "But we had to convince them that Warlock sent us, and we mean no harm; when they finally understood, they told us to watch out for the trolls." "Trolls? I thought those guys died ages ago." "That was the problem; we didn't know about the trolls." "I've heard that there are two paths, the short one has trolls, and the long one doesn't." "We had to take a short way because it had already been ten days. And unfortunately, we found the trolls in the cave we had to stay. We tried our best to escape because trolls have a terrible history with us humans."

"I'm guessing you escaped."

"Hardly," she fretted.

Joe looked at her with a confused expression.

"Mina gave the leader of the trolls a gift." "gift?" "Yeah, she said it would make a good impression." "What did you give? Twenty feet tall candies." Joe jeered "Ha! she gave them the amulet of the god of war." "Wow," said Joe softly. "Mina told them we would come tomorrow with another gift. But that's when it all went wrong." "How what happened?" Joe said quickly "Their leader and another bloke broke into a fight." "Blimey!" "Anyway, the leader got his neck snapped, and the amulet was broken. There was no use, so we decided to take a long way." "I'm guessing that was a mistake." "Yeah, it was a cloud forest." "Ah, short, and crooked." "It was barren in the winter, you know, rotting barks, dried leaves, and worst of all that, it was quiet. Every tiny sound seemed like a threat. We kept moving when out of nowhere, a high tide of quicksand came down on us. Mina got out of the way, but I got completely sucked." "So, I'm talking to your ghost?" said Joe "The thing is that when I got in, it wasn't quicksand at all!" Sarah chortled "What?"

"Yeah, it was water! With all the tiny fish and stuff. Mina was totally freaked out. And guess what I found the gemstone under there!" "Wow!" "But just when I was about to get back, a huge mermaid with tiger teeth and face like a corpse came right at me. Luckily Mina got me out in time, or my face would have ripped off."


"MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN.” “You have been weighed in the balances, and found wanting." The writing on the wall. "Weighed and found wanting…You..." The words echoed round and round in his head.

Why had he gone to that service? Why break the habit of a lifetime? Why invite torment? But perhaps he'd thought it might bring comfort, or maybe some insight. Of course it was because of yesterday. He had heard the bells ringing as he'd sat in his office gazing out of his window at the fading light and the black silhouettes sharpening against the pale winter sunset. Before he had really known what he was doing he was down the stairs, striding across the green with the cold air making his eyes smart and his nose tingle. The beautiful windows were lit up from inside, the whole structure of the cathedral from without. The ancient building looked weightless like a giant paper lantern floating above the river a few hundred feet below. As he entered melodious choral singing warned him the service had already started. He slipped into a pew at the back and sat down. After fumbling with the book of common prayer for a while and not being able to make head nor tail of it he quietly put it down and began to look around. Obviously he'd been in here, or rather through here, many times before, mainly as a shortcut to the cheap parking on the other side of the bridge. But he now was looking at it differently. Did this place really hold any answers? The beauty and sheer size was quite overwhelming, particularly as he looked up to the soaring buttresses overhead. It did realign human preoccupations with a sense of a greater reality, put frivolity in its place, kept the serfs humble he thought cynically to himself.

The lighting and the music and the atmosphere were certainly conducive to a kind of peace. But it felt rather surface deep. The singing began again. It was soothing. He saw or felt nothing though that resonated with his experience yesterday afternoon; that overwhelming peace and cohesion. In fact, on the contrary, the service seemed rather fragmented and incoherent. Beautiful bits of chanting and singing, responses from the congregation that he realised with slight embarrassment he was meant to be participating in, seemingly unconnected bits of scripture reading. And then it happened. He was suddenly hearing those famous words from Belshazzar's feast in some ancient tongue. Of course he was familiar with the cantata, but he'd never really paid any attention to the words or their meaning. Did he even believe words had a fixed meaning? Fluidity was the zeitgeist. But now it was like he was hearing them for the first time, as clearly and as concretely as nails being struck one by one into his consciousness, or a coffin. They were being spoken directly to him and everyone in that service knew he was the condemned man in their midst.

"You! You have been weighed in the balances, and found wanting."

It was utterly devastating. In every balance, by every standard, he was found wanting, lacking, deficient, defective, flawed, faulty, inadequate, insufficient...His command of language, his knowledge of the thesaurus hardly helped him now. The words flowed relentlessly on in a long black list, marching from the white page like an overwhelming tide or invading army. The image of a large and terrifying pointing finger filled his mind, like in Michelangelo's famous painting, but in his nightmare version reaching to accuse and condemn; not to create but to obliterate. "You!" But he found he had nothing to say in his defence. In fact he couldn't speak at all.

Oblivious to those around him he'd stumbled up the aisle and out of the door into the bitter night air of the cloisters. The moonlight shed silver shadows through the Romanesque arches on to the stone floor as he staggered along, retching. He made it outside, to the entrance of the tunnel and was violently sick by the wall. "I must talk to Lucy." That was the one idea in his mind, like the only firm handle in a spinning, disintegrating world. Why couldn't he get her out of his head?

Lucy.

She hovered inexplicably in his consciousness like a beacon of hope, all bright white and gold, like the angels he'd seen in medieval paintings; those fearful visions with their intense, jewel like colours and luminosity...while everything else, all the normal familiar things and people seemed to have faded and retreated, become as flimsy and insubstantial as wraiths, or as smoke twisting from chimneys on winter days. It was as if the whole familiar old world kept rolling in sepia, while he was suddenly aware of a much greater, horrifyingly vivid reality running not only alongside but above and below too, and Lucy seemed to be the only other fully flesh and blood character in the play, full of vibrant colour and life…. bloody hell, he really must be going mad! Lucy. St Lucy!

He'd hardly given her a serious second thought before, other than when the fun of tormenting her had filled the odd half hour of boredom. Or had he? If he was honest with himself, hadn’t she been haunting the fringes of his mind like a harbinger of doom ever since he’d met her, like the half perceived shadow of some monstrous force; the incessant beating of whose dark wings against the edges of his consciousness was a horror to be kept at bay, to be resisted at all costs? And before her, hadn't there always been something or someone else, however small, snagging at the threads of his perception, like a piece of grit in a shoe?

He had always shut his mind to that madness before, and kept the busy bright lights and dazzle of his world determinedly in focus. Now the defences were utterly broken down, everything had turned on its head and his soul was unfurling, helplessly unravelling to himself revealing layer upon layer like an oriental puzzle box. What mystery lay hidden at the centre? Or did he already know? Some long forgotten seed of knowledge that really all men carry but can't recall with their brittle, hardened minds? And Lucy suddenly seemed the key to the lock of the forgotten innermost box. She was the only bright point in a world that had suddenly and brutally gone dark. Must he really let himself go, slip over the edge of his safely constructed reality and fall into that void towards her light? What had before felt like a shadow cast over his identity now seemed the first pin prick of light in that flimsy shroud. Instead of repelling her he now felt compelled to seek her out.

He passed a hand over his clammy forehead. Perhaps he was thinking in this crazy way just because he knew she was into spiritual stuff, he tried to rationalise to himself... but was it even spiritual? It felt so physical too, like for the first time he was properly awake. But to confide in Lucy? After how he'd treated her too... It was awkward to say the least, after all that pitiless teasing and mocking, his cruelty. He'd been vile to her, he could see that now with such clarity that he shuddered inwardly. In fact he'd been vile altogether to everyone. Why hadn't he seen it before?

No wonder Julia had left him. An image of his tanned, half naked wife wrapped in the arms of another man, a younger man, her raven hair falling in damp ringlets around her elegant face, flashed into his mind. Memory of the old life was still savagely vivid, even though the present had strangely retreated. He'd never forget her beautiful dark eyes full of malice, laughing at him over the shoulder of her lover. He pressed his fingernails into the palms of his hands until they bled. But himself? He had lived with all the profligacy of an ancient tyrant, squandering and tossing aside all gifts of beauty and of love. He had neglected and betrayed his nearest and dearest... And been betrayed in his turn. As he walked, the thoughts and memories of his past conduct became an avalanche of shame, each one a knife, shredding pitilessly through his carefully constructed ego; so long in the making, so quickly torn to pieces. By the time he reached the faculty building he was struggling to keep upright. He felt as if he'd been repeatedly punched in the stomach.

He hauled himself up the stairs and hesitated outside Lucy's office. He knocked tentatively. There was no reply but the door, which wasn't properly shut swung open, revealing an empty room. He walked in and crumpled into a chair. He must wait for her. He could do nothing else. He must speak with her. When she entered her office the first thing she saw was him slumped in the chair. She started with surprise. He had his head in his hands. He looked up as she came in. He looked terrible, like she'd never seen him before; great dark circles under his eyes and a haunted look in his eyes.

“What on earth is the matter?” she exclaimed, sitting down next to him and putting her hand on his arm awkwardly. This was so different from the man she knew, was a little afraid of and, if she was honest, disliked intensely. “She’s left me Lucy,” he said, his voice totally flat and expressionless. “My wife, she’s finally done it. Found herself a nice new man.” As he spoke his voice sharpened and he tried, and failed, to laugh sardonically.

"Well, in fact I found them , in my own bloody bed…Not that I'm exactly clear in that department myself, but not in our own bloody bed!" He was shocked by the rawness of his own fury. He realised he was almost shouting, clenching his fists. He could feel the angry tears pricking his eyes. The pain was overwhelming. How could it have gone from zero to a hundred like this in 30 seconds, ripping through the ceiling of his consciousness like a rocket?

And why was he telling her, of all people, these things? Did he want some justification for his own behaviour - he knew immediately that if so it wouldn't stand up, particularly to her. But why was he hedging the main issue? The reason he'd come! It was easier to talk even about this than the other thing. “Oh, I’m so sorry…” she faltered, somewhat confused and very uncomfortable. What was he doing here? She gingerly removed her hand from his arm and stood up awkwardly looking at him. “I’m not,” he said, “I hate her and she hates me. It’s exactly what I deserve. It’s what she deserves too - we both deserve all the bloody mess that’s coming to us. Normally so erudite, even his ability to articulate seemed to be failing him. He lent back in the chair and looked at the ceiling. “I know you don’t have any sympathy for me,” he smiled weakly, “And that’s why I’m here, and not somewhere else I suppose! I don’t want sympathy and I don’t deserve it.” “So what can I do to help you?” she said sitting down opposite looking at him in her old quiet but uncompromising way, the way he used to hate, before he had tried to break her spirit. He used to think it was arrogance. He could see now it was simply honesty. And what greater respect can we afford another human being than to look them honestly in the eye and not flinch or recoil. He looked away.

“I don’t know,” his voice faltered again, fighting back tears. “I just need to know if there is any way, oh I don’t know, but any way back ?” Why were these things coming out of his mouth? She shifted uneasily in her chair. Was this genuine or a trap? “We can never go back" she said slowly. We have no choice but to go forwards, but I guess that can be forwards upwards, rather than downwards, if you know what I mean. You can’t erase the past but you can help untangle it. To state the obvious, you can say sorry!” "I know I need to say sorry to you!" he mumbled. "I've been vile, I'm disgusted with myself when I think of the things I've said, done…" His voice cracked, "I have no right to be here, to even speak, I know!" "It's ok!" She lent across and put her hand on his arm again. This felt so strange, like some alternative reality. He tried to light a cigarette but his hands were shaking too much. After a moment's futile fumbling he dropped cigarette packet and lighter on the table hopelessly and stared down at them. "It's not ok. But what can I do? Lucy, what can I do?" His fingers gripped her hand on his arm until the knuckles turned white. “I want to feel clean again...” he spoke quietly, avoiding her eyes. “And, Oh Lucy, God knows, I've got a lot to answer for but I know you believe... believe in hope and the possibility of forgiveness, cleansing...." He paused and took a deep breath, and then with a rush: "Something strange happened to me yesterday. I haven’t told anyone. It seems crazy but it feels like it was the turning point in my life, a kind of epiphany. I've tried to explain it away in every way I can think of, but I can't. I saw something that spoke into the very depths of my soul. And since then, after that moment of almost complete peace, I feel like I'm being hunted…" He passed his hand over his eyes. He voice dropped almost to a whisper, it seemed to be working ahead of his conscious mind: "It sounds so mad, I know. I can get no rest, day or night. I feel like I'm being pursued to within an inch of my being...Oh Lucy, I’m so afraid, so lost! Lucy, Lucy, be my light…” Before he knew what he was doing he had taken her hand in both of his and pressing it momentarily to his lips he dashed from the room. Lucy sank down on her chair stunned and horribly stirred. She felt the tears starting to run down her cheeks. What was going on? What did he want from her?

Her head told her to keep well clear. But despite everything her heart moved towards him in compassion and somehow deep within her being her soul stirred with recognition; a still small voice urging her on. She didn’t know how long she sat there, gazing blankly out of the window. It was dark by the time she stirred herself and she felt stiff and cold and drained. She got up, put on her coat and turning off the light locked the door. She trudged down the corridor and the stairs and headed through the narrow gap towards the river path. It had begun to drizzle and was very cold. Her heart missed a beat. There he was again, sitting on a bench looking at the water flowing slowly past, completely oblivious to her presence and the rain falling on his bare head. His thick wet hair curled a little around his temples, ears and at the nape of his neck. It needed cutting and with an inexplicable rush of tenderness she noticed it was beginning to grey. She was in a horrible dilemma. Should she try to slip past without him noticing or should she speak to him. He was lit by a lamp post who's beam shimmered through the gently falling rain like silver. This made the shadows outside of its circle denser. She quietly walked to the far side of the path and managed to slip by unnoticed in the dark.

Immediately her heart smote her but the decisive moment had been missed. Somehow she knew she had crossed some invisible line. She had ignored the whispered urging voice. How strange and yet momentous are the small turning points in the dark alleyways of our lives; the tiniest threads that we either follow, hand over hand into the unknown or snap in our fear as we hurtle towards the dull comfort of the familiar. Arriving home to her cheerless bedsit she flopped down on the bed and laid her aching head on the pillow. The next thing she knew the pale dawn light was peeping through the undrawn curtains.

It was still very early. She was cold and stiff. She rolled over and looked at the clock and pulling the covers over herself, closed her eyes again. She was running down a long dark corridor towards a bright light at the far end. It seemed to get further away the more she strained towards it. As she ran she became aware of someone running behind her, calling her name. It was him, he was calling her to wait for him, to help him, or was he laughing, trying to pull her back into the darkness? She half turned and saw him reaching out towards her but she just kept on running as fast as she could. She could see the door now, or was it a window, from which the light was emitting. She was through and she slammed it shut behind her. His cries, or was it laughter, gradually receded, as if he was being pulled back into the darkness. The horrible vividness of that dream faded as the days passed but it's atmosphere stayed with her for the rest of her life returning in many forms, haunting the edges of her mind, whispering incessantly the perennial question, accusation; "What might have unfolded had you not walked by on the other side?"


Rising deliberately from her cross-legged seat, spine uncoiling lazily, the dancer held everyone’s attention. Fully erect, she paused. Then her body began a slow ripple from belly to toe, like a wave caressing a beach. A perfectly poised torso, arms fluttering only to complement the circular movement of her hips, highlighted the stillness of her shoulders. The soft, languid tones of the musicians began to increase pace. The dancer responded, her feet beating out a fast tempo in a call and response to the hollow resonance of the percussion. Stamping down on the parquet floor, she began a steady revolution. As the rhythm grew faster, so did she. Swirling skirts of purple and gold spun in an eddy of delight. The dancer lifted her arms, releasing her delicate hold on the voile veil which rose like mist above a turbulent whirlpool. Graceful arms rose above her head, wrists crossed and rotating against each other as if summoning the forces of the vortex upwards towards the ceiling. Candlelight twinkled, golden beams bouncing off sequins that glittered like stars on the night sea. As if giving a voice to the light the coins on her tightly fitted hip scarf tinkled above the primal boom of the hand drums. Faster and faster she twirled until, with a sudden flurry of staccato beats, the rhythmic drums ceased. The dancer dropped to her knees. Head down, the waterfall of her dark hair hid her face. Her skirts pooled about her. Slowly she lifted her head, one hand on her hip, the other fingertips balanced on the floor, as though she was claiming the earth. Gazing forwards, her caramel-coloured eyes seemed to drill into mine. Her smooth olive skin had a sheen, whether from oil or sweat, that served only to enhance her exoticness. My heart thudded in my chest erratically, as I released my breath. I hadn’t realised I had been holding it. The heat of the evening seemed to portend a tropical storm, humidity rising from all the bodies crammed into the hall. Glasses clinked softly and whispered voices murmured distantly, the sound muffled as though being carried across a great sea. I drew the heavily scented air deeply into my lungs. Revivifying. Resuscitating. Something in me had shifted. It felt like I had stepped into another world; another life. The turbaned musicians seemed to be drumming a message of complicity, the pulses of percussion instruments and the gliding of the cymbals speaking to me on an elemental level. All around me the colours had brightened. Reds popped out energetically against gold fabrics that gleamed like sand and greens spoke of palm trees swaying gently in warm desert breezes. A memory of Arabian tales rose in my mind, long forgotten, but once much cherished with incalculable demands on my mother to re-read them as I snuggled in my childhood bed. I would be transported from the dull cement of London, and the long grey drizzly days, rushing from underpass to underground on the daily walk to school. The surrealness of the moment, an Eastern paradise in an East London working men’s club, made me smile ruefully. I waited at the bar now crammed with the hens all calling for more “Sex on the beach” accompanied by suggestive winks. “As-salaam 'alaykum”, a soft voice spoke beside me. I turned to see the dancer. Her seductive figure draped now in a richly embroidered shawl of reds and purple, streaked through with golden threads, she smiled warmly. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Arabic” I replied, shrugging feebly. I felt embarrassed that I couldn’t respond appropriately, as I always did. “My apologies” she countered, “I thought you were Arabic”. She wasn’t the first to ask me this. I suppose my own complexion was similar to hers, and my hair didn’t carry the afro curl that all my siblings had. It had always been my assumption that I got my hair from my mother’s side more than my Dad’s, whilst all my siblings took after him. “No I’m mixed race, Jamaican and English actually, but I often get asked.” “Oh.” Her response was flat. Unconvinced. She drew her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders as she seemed to consider her next comment, “You seemed really into the show. Have you ever tried it?” “No.” Feeling that my response was a little too brusque I made an attempt to engage in a conversation, intrigued by her whole presence, “But I loved it, yes. You were amazing, and the music was so hypnotic.” “Thank you habibi. You are so kind.” A gracious incline of her head. “Do you do many shows like this?” I asked with genuine curiosity. “No habibi. Normally our group only dances the Raks Sharqi for our family celebrations.” “Oh I see.” I pondered a moment, confused. “Raks Sharqi is what you call ‘belly dance’. In Arabic it means ‘Dance of the East’”, she explained in gentle tones. Looking at me quizzically, as though waiting for a reaction, head cocked to one side. “Oh” I again muttered, feeling even more inadequate than I had at the start of this exchange.  “So you don’t know the music or the dances at all?” she enquired. Again all I could respond was a simple “no”. “Ah, perhaps one day you will want to know more.” The statement, delivered so calmly, seemed undeniable. “I must go now. I hope I will see you again one day habibi.” Bowing her head in a gesture of farewell she pulled her shawl up over her head and turned away, her movements as graceful as on the dancefloor. The encounter stayed with me all night and my dreams were punctuated with fragments of a recurring dream that I hadn’t had for years.

I stood in a vast desert, undulating golden sand dunes hiding the horizon from my view. A compass in my hand spun wildly out of control and every path I took led me to a cavern filled with genie lamps. But I could never touch them. They would slide right out from under my fingertips and begin moving like a kaleidoscope so I could never grasp one, colour intertwining and shifting in a nauseating dance. I woke feeling frustrated and bereft. Recalling that Dad would be visiting Mum later that day I called him at 9 o’clock sharp to catch him before he left for the market. His usual Saturday shopping trip for fresh fruit and vegetables. He was a creature of routine, steady and dependable. Tomorrow he would make curried goat for us for lunch, filling containers to take away so I would have two or three meals through the week. When we had finished our long lunch we would settle down for a fiercely competitive domino match, shouting and laughing as we slammed the tiles on the plank table he had built from left-over timber three decades ago, painted in a faded turquoise that he said reminded him of the Caribbean Sea. Sometimes my brothers and sisters would join us with their children and the flat would echo with laughter and shouting, the banter relentless but always loving. But there was forever a mum shaped hole now. A void in our centre that I had unwittingly started to fill. It would be me calling the family in November to organise the Christmas plans and swap present suggestions. Every Easter I would select the perfect lamb joint and fend off the hopeful, yet unhelpful, suggestions to try something different “ just this once Aunty Gem ”. It was my turn to be my father’s sidekick now, maintaining the balance he and Mum had brought to our little piece of the world, through challenge after challenge. We arranged to meet at the nursing home at 3pm when tea and cake would be served. It was a warm sunny day, despite the showers the night before, and we took Mum to sit outside so she could enjoy the roses that were starting to bloom. Mum was lucid today, patting my knee and calling me Little Gem, like she did when I was very young. A nickname that would always make me smile. We chatted for a while about the past week’s activities which for Mum had included a ‘sound and movement’ class and bingo, which she hadn’t won, to her loud annoyance. Dad and I looked around in concern as she vehemently cussed the other ladies for cheating, though we couldn’t quite get her to explain how they had cheated at bingo. Thinking to divert her attention, Dad gave a loud guffaw and chortled, “So Gem, tell us, what you get up to last night at the Social Club eh?” Leaning over to Mum, he tenderly took her hand and said, “You remember Stacey Wilson, Linda? Gem’s best friend from middle school? She had her hen party last night at the Social Club. Yes, so Gem here had a late night. We’ll get her to tell us all about it!” Thinking that my mum would love to hear about the belly dancer I launched into a full description of the night, leaving out my unease and sense of foreboding. I laughed as I told my parents that the dancer had thought I was Arabic and her suggestion I might want to consider dancing myself. Expecting mum to laugh, as I had been the clumsiest child and never took to dancing, it was a few minutes before I noticed the silence. Both Mum and Dad looked shocked and then Mum’s eyes seemed to glaze over, the familiar shutters being drawn over the rich brown eyes so like my own. Gazing into the distance she seemed to be staring at the rose bushes, merrily waving their buds in the light breeze, but I knew she didn’t see them. “Noor ‘eini.” The whisper was barely audible amongst the cheerful birdsong and distant hum of traffic. “Dad?” I queried as I turned my attention to him, sitting still and taut in the garden chair. “Gem, my little Gem,” he sighed. And with that sigh he seemed to deflate, like a punctured lifeboat. “Noor ‘eini. Light of my eyes.” Mum’s voice was tender yet wistful. Addressing a ghost from the past. “Noor ‘eini? Is that Arabic Mum?” Turning to my Dad, “How does she know Arabic Dad?” My voice rose in mild hysteria. What the hell was going on? “Gem, we were going to tell you, I promise. But everything was so wonderful as it was, and we didn’t want to upset you.” “Upset me how?” I couldn’t process what was happening, or how I felt. All the deep emotions of the evening before came flooding back to me. “You see darling, I’m not actually your biological father. Your mum was pregnant when I met her after a brief relationship with a Sheikh. And he didn’t, couldn’t, want to acknowledge either her or you. He had to go back to Saudi and marry someone there.” My mouth was as dry as the sand dunes from my dreams, yet my brain swirled madly. My eyes welled. I gasped for air. To say something. But there were no words. I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out a crumpled napkin to wipe my eyes. A delicate cursive script caught my attention. I unfolded the napkin, cheap white and unbranded from the social club last night. "Habibi. My number. Please call me. I believe you are my sister.”


Halloween's time!! People dressed up as different creepy creatures, Streets filled up with trick or treats, Oh!! Here comes Alan and Alex, Both looking creepy, Ah, They were Damon and Stefan… Woah!! Am a big fan of Vampire Diaries, being in a crowd of clown, Frankenstein and Pumpkins. Alex noticed something weird, he found one of the old man in a long black beard with a black dress on, Looked like he was stalking them on their every move, He had a creepy smile, Alan approached towards him to talk, In seconds, He vanished into the crowd, That’s crazy, They searched him for a while, then got back to the party, They left the party soon and headed up towards their trailer, walking down the road as a vampire, Alan noticed something at the edge of the road, Board pointing towards the west marking “GRAVEYARD”. The Graveyard has not been used for years was kept abandoned, Alan quickly asked Alex, “Can we spend the night in a graveyard”. Alex replies, Oh, “That’s a perfect plan Alan”. Let’s Go do Something Crazy, Both of them heading towards the yard, “It looked a lot bigger than they have imagined”. Gate of the graveyard is creepy, half open looks like someone is inside, That’s Suspicious, As they moved further, Alan and Alex heard something, moving towards the bush, Suddenly a creature bounced back. Oh, that’s Dooby, Alan, “How come you are here”. Strange!! Alex laughingly, I Guess, “He sniffed us back here”. They took Dooby with them, passing by the gate, they saw the same old man standing who stalked them before, He looked creepy and funny, Not bothering, crossing the old man. He spoke in a low voice, warning them not to go and smiling creepily, But, Alan and Alex followed by Dooby, walking faster. Planned to settle in a comfortable spot, Alex wanted to have a quick trip which was weird at 2am in the middle of the graveyard. Night was getting colder, Cool Breeze touched their cheeks and neck. They sat in one of the bench, talking stuff about ghost and witches, Alan asked Alex, “Do you think they are real”. Alex replied, “I don’t really believe in them as it's just a belief travelled among people”. Dooby starts to frown in a low tone, In a while, Alex saw someone approaching them from an opposite side, looked like a girl in a white gown, Alan dusting his shirt, waiting to have a talk with her. Alex punching him, What if it’s a ghost!! Alan, “She might have come to visit her lost relative and by the way she looks a lot like human”. Come on dude, Let’s go talk. As she came towards them, Alan clearing his voice, “Hi, It's nice to meet you”. Sadly, She didn’t respond. Alex laughing, “That was quite embarrassing”. Alan smirking, Let's see where she goes. That girl was moving in a different direction rather than heading towards the exit, Looks like she has been possessed, After a while, They found the girl fainted in the middle of the way Alan tried to wake her up, But Alex alerted him, They both hid behind the tree not knowing what had happened, Dooby ran behind the bush too, Alex found a crowd approaching her which was quite nasty at the midnight, Alan felt a bit scary, That’s unusual. Alex guessing those people as zombies. There were like six to eight people, as they came closer. Alan guessed them as witch and warlocks. Alan freezing, I can’t believe my own eyes. Why are they acting so weird? That’s what they are, watching them, Alex suddenly in a low voice, Oh My Freaking God!! They all were in a circle of fire, looked a lot like a ritual. They had that girl as a bait, Alex couldn’t watch. Walking out of the tree, As he went near them, He was trapped in a fire circle too. He froze, Alan had no clue to help him back, He waited for a while to see what their intentions were but waiting longer is of no use. Witches and Warlocks chanting, Girl’s body turned blue, She started floating in the air with her white dress flowing all over. Alan couldn’t bare, he didn’t want Alex to suffer in the middle, As it was him who asked Alex spend night in graveyard which was insane. Throwing himself, he tried to make Alex come out of the ring, Dooby barking and frowning at the witches. Alan caught their eyes on him, fear burst out!! Both of them shivering. One of the warlock with his horns came forward frowning at the Alan. Someone screamed, “Stop”. Alan sighing hard, quickly looked back. Oh!! That’s the Stalker, smiling in the same creepy way, The old man came forward to the warlock and said they are not part of our ritual, Warlock frowned and turned back to the girl, As Alan went to thank him, he found the old man chanting, In a blink, He disappeared. At the same time, Alex's ring of fire faded into the thin air, The Warlocks and witches with the girl disappeared leaving no scars, That’s totally insane and creepy, They didn’t want to stay in the yard , Alan, Alex and Dooby ran out of the gate, joined the road and couldn’t believe what just had happened, As they were walking, In half a way, They found Dooby disappearing, Alex said Alan, “I don’t think if I say others, They would believe me “. Alan replying, “Am worried about Dooby, I don’t want him to get hurt “. As they reached the trailer, Insane!! Unbelievable, That’s Dooby shaking his tail harder, Alex ran into Dooby petting him, Alan kissing him badly, Went into the trailer, Moving into the trailer and bumping into one of the bed, Alex found something strange on his bed, It was some kind of note, “Never try to track us, You would end up harmed “. Frozen like an ice, Staring at each other, They couldn’t sleep the entire night, Alan shaking, “I don’t want this to happen again in our life”. Guess this is our worst creepy Halloween, We have ever had. Alex accepting the day, making his heart stronger. Alan took it as advice that they were lucky to have each other back, We should never be on their way, Alex started to laugh loudly, It’s all my fault, we really shouldn’t have followed the girl, Alan, I warned you but I guess we have learned the lesson”. Warning!! To the readers, Everything in this world is a “MYSTERY”. Mystery is better than a misery, If you guys try to stir it up, You would end up in consequences, So, It's better to leave the other side all alone.


It all started with Mr. Banerjee. All Enakshi saw was the gaze – his gaze directed at Mrs. Nirupama Thakkar who was cradling her six-month-old in her arm, her head thrown back in laughter at something her husband said. All it took was a look and Enakshi saw the naked truth. The pain and the longing, mingled with joy, was evident on Mr. Banerjee’s face. He remained silent, his eyes bright with unsaid emotions and sipped his lemonade. But for Enakshi, her farewell party was ruined. Oddly, the idea of a party on the beautiful roof garden of the office belonged to her colleague Nirupama. Irrespective of the fact that it was two in the afternoon, the party was in full swing, the golden sun hovering over them. Laughter and music mingled with the wafting smell of nicely cooked meat and the tangy breath of lemons. Very early in her job, Enakshi realised that unlike most parts of the country, summer was a cherished season in the high mountains of Uttarakhand. Thus, sitting on a chair, nursing her lemonade, she enjoyed the sun until Mr. Banerjee happened. After that single gaze, memories – memories that she kept hidden – rushed back like waves on a beach. It was a party just like this. There was laughter and music with the mouth-watering smell of cooked Hilsa and fried rice. Eleven years ago, Enakshi visited Uncle Sameer with her husband Indrajit and six-month-old baby in tow. Uncle Sameer was no blood relation to her but he was her father’s best friend and guardian to her and her sisters. During her years in boarding, Uncle Sameer became a fixture in her life because he lived only a few kilometers away from them. Over the time, he had become something akin to family, courtesy the absence of their career-driven mother.

The visit was an unplanned one. It was her twin Meenakshi who put it in her head to visit Uncle Sameer and their youngest sister Nikki, who lived nearby with her husband. Once the idea was sowed in her head, there was no changing it. Indrajit didn’t mind it; he was rather excited to meet them because theirs was a court marriage with only Enakshi’s mother as a witness. He had heard enough of Uncle Sameer and wanted to meet the beloved uncle. A day before her arrival, she informed Nikki that she was coming. Nikki had shrieked with elation and the next day when Enakshi arrived, she had been greeted with warm hugs. Enakshi wanted to visit Uncle Sameer the very day but Nikki postponed it for two days. Her husband Meghnad, a man whose eyes always twinkled with mischief, in an odd turn of event, solemnly agreed with his wife. At the time, Enakshi didn’t mind it; She was rather happy to be reunited with her sister. Two days later, on a summer afternoon, she visited the old Zamindar mansion of Uncle Sameer with her family, along with Nikki and Meghnad. The sun was shining high and bright, its golden rays upon the parched lands. Every leaf on the trees stood still and yellow, and stared pleadingly at the sky. The old mansion stood tall and majestic under the assault of fiery rays of the sun. But the residents living in the house were simple folks with warm hearts who were descendants of cold, awe-inspiring men of old. Aunt Poulomi, wife of Uncle Sameer and a short plump woman with a round lovely face, welcomed her with open arms, “My Eenu! How I missed you! Come inside. Oh, is that little Arin? Oh, what a sweet child! Come in.” Aunt Poulomi led them to the living room where Uncle Sameer waited for them. Tall and lean with grey hair, there was only one word to describe him – stalwart. He was one of the respected individuals of the town and was well loved by his family. With open arms, he hugged Enakshi and said with a kiss on the top of her head, “It is so good to see you again.” His soothing voice was husky with emotions but Enakshi didn’t address it. She knew the reason behind his emotions. She looked up, eyes full of knowledge and understanding, “ It is good to be back. ” Uncle Sameer nodded, his eyes full of pain and then glanced over her shoulder. With a gruff to shake off his emotions, he asked with a wide smile, “Won’t you introduce me to the dashing man you have brought, Eenu?” With a laugh, Enakshi had introduced him to Indrajit and the baby boy in his arms. He welcomed Indrajit with open arms and affection and doted on Arin. He was also attentive towards Nikki and Meghnad, and before long, Aunt Poulomi was taking them down the memory lane, narrating past events of childhood innocence to Indrajit. There were excerpts of what a fiend Enakshi used to be in her school days and how Meenakshi had been made a Prefect to rein her in. There were some embarrassing stories of the many boyfriends she had during her teen years, thanks to Nikki. Indrajit, who was never blind to her adventurous streak, heard the stories with interest and told them about Enakshi’s later adventures that had them laughing. Enakshi could see the approval in Uncle Sameer’s eyes, mostly in the moments when Indrajit talked about her.

It was one in the afternoon when Aunt Poulomi announced lunch. Though Nikki and Enakshi tried to get out of it, Aunt Poulomi was strict when it came to feeding her children and honorary children. No child of hers shall ever be allowed to leave her house with an empty stomach, irrespective if they had lunch earlier. She had prepared a lunch that resembled a banquet. Though Enakshi wasn’t hungry, she had a little of everything because she missed Aunt Poulomi’s delicious dishes.

After lunch, they went back to the living room. Aunt Poulomi was on the chaise lounge, cradling young Arin in her arms and cooing at him. It was evident that she had fallen in love with the little imp. Uncle Sameer was talking to Indrajit and Meghnad, discussing about the threat of imminent war, looming over the nation, in one corner of the room and Nikki and Enakshi were talking about their old school mates in the other when they heard the creak of a door, coming from the courtyard that laid across the living room.

Everyone looked at each other with confusion but Aunt Poulomi said, still smiling at Tintin, “Don’t mind it. It’s Shanti. She uses the kitchen door.” The moment of confusion was gone and they had returned to their former selves when a tall, lank figure in blue shirt and black trouser, strode across the courtyard, entered the living room and stopped in front of Enakshi. Enakshi was stunned to see the golden-haired man and in that moment, she knew she had made a mistake by coming to visit. The piercing blue gaze of his eyes fell upon Enakshi as Nikki rose from her seat and addressed the man with wide eyes, “David! What are you doing here?” David grinned at her but there was a cold anger in his eyes and his voice held a faint accusation, “I can ask the same of you, Nikki.” At that moment, Uncle Sameer joined them, his face grim, “David, I didn’t expect you to come back so soon.” David said with a crooked smile, “I wasn’t expecting myself too. But thank the gossiping ladies of our town. I met Mrs. Pal on my way and heard about Enakshi visiting. I came back and went to Nikki’s place. But the nieghbour said that she, along with Enakshi, came here.” He turned to Enakshi who was holding her breath and said, “Well, Eenu! You look beautiful. And I see you are married too. Won’t you introduce me to your husband – the man who slayed the great temptress?” Though he laughed at the end of it, no one was deaf to the sharp edge to his voice. Indrajit and Meghnad were standing a few feet away from them, the former with curiosity and the latter with dread. Aunt Poulomi still cradled Arin but she was biting her lips and tapping her left foot silently against the floor. Enakshi rose from her seat and did what she wanted to do from the first second she saw him – she hugged him. David wasn’t the only one who was stunned. Nikki barely managed to stifle her gasp and Uncle Sameer took a sharp intake of breath. Indrajit watched the episode with an interested smile while Meghnad rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. Enakshi said, her face buried in his chest, the familiar scent of papers bringing back past memories of love, “I have missed you terribly.” A moment later, David’s arms wrapped her and he whispered, “So did I.” She looked up at him and found his blue eyes, shining with unsaid words. But those words had no place in this life – in this world. With a smile that made her chest ache, Enakshi led him to her husband who was waiting for them with enthusiasm, “Indrajit, this is David Phillips, Uncle Sameer’s nephew and one of my oldest friends. Though he is Nikki’s best friend, he and I have been partners in crime when we were young. David, this is my husband, Lieutenant Commander Indrajit Dutta.” Indrajit offered his right arm and said, “I have heard so much about you, David.” David took the proffered arm and said, “I hope it was all good.” The men laughed when David glanced over Indrajit’s shoulder and said with narrowed eyes, “Is that Eenu’s child? Dear god! No one told me that you had a baby!” His eyes sparkled with unshed tears but David smiled and approached his aunt. He took the baby from Aunt Poulomi’s hesitant arms who kept muttering “Mind the head!” and rocked the baby in his lean, strong arms. His eyes were wide with astonishment, joy and pain and he said, his voice breaking a little, “Well! What a fine child! He looks like Indrajit mostly but he has Eenu’s eyes and nose.

I hope he has Indrajit’s temperament – his mother is quick to emotions.” Indrajit agreed with a chuckle, “You are right, David. She is quick to anger but she is a very intelligent woman.” Indrajit beamed at her with all the love and pride in his heart and it made Enakshi smile with joy. The love between them was not lost upon David who grinned at them, his eyes soft, “You are a fortunate man, Indrajit. My Eenu loves true and she loves you. ” Those words twisted Eenu’s heart and she saw David, cradling her baby and talking to him in hushed whispers. The rest of the afternoon was bitter-sweet. Her interactions with Aunt Poulomi and Uncle Sameer were filled with love but the ones with David were fraught with grief and agony. She never understood why David sought the company of her baby and Indrajit. It was evident to her that the presence of Indrajit and her child was shredding his heart.

It was during one of the conversations between them when David suggested a pet name for her son, “You know what, Indrajit? You should call your son Tintin. After his mother’s favourite detective-journalist.” Indrajit had laughed but had warmed to the idea. Once the sun had set, Nikki announced that it was time to go. It was a tearful goodbye because Enakshi was leaving the next day. Aunt Poulomi’s face was laced with tears as she made Enakshi promise to send them letters. Uncle Sameer needed no tears or promises. All he wanted was a warm hug and a reassurance of the next visit. His old dark eyes were filled with memories and loss as he let her go. Finally, the dreaded parting – David gave her a quick hug. But in that embrace, she felt all his pain, longing and joy. When it came to Indrajit, he parted with a smile on his face, cheering Aunt Poulomi, promising Uncle Sameer a visit and a hearty laugh of goodbye for David.

The next day, Enakshi alighted the train to Dehradun, waving goodbye to her little sister, her eyes full of tears. During the train ride, when her baby was sleeping and Enakshi was tugging the blanket around him, she felt her husband’s keen eyes on her. With a smirk, she asked, “What is it?” Indrajit smiled, the left corner of his lips tilted up a little, “It’s David. Something that he said.” Enakshi said with a smile that hid her fears, “What did he say?” “He said that I am fortunate to have found you. To have your love and our baby. It was the way he said it that made an impact on me. There was longingness in him – an emptiness that pains him. It felt like he was unlucky in love.” There was an odd twinkle in Indrajit’s eyes. Though he said the words without a hint of accusation, Enakshi knew what Indrajit was asking her. Asking her to bare her heart. To share her pain even if it meant that their marriage won’t ever be the same. This was the moment for Enakshi. She could tell him the truth, set herself free from the lies that had dragged her down during the entirety of her marriage. Her marriage would break but Indrajit would never abandon her. He would stay with her, the bitter knowledge shredding his heart. Enakshi smiled, “I can’t say I am aware of any such lady in David’s life.” Enakshi was pulled out of her memories by her twelve-year-old son who joined her at the table with a plate of kebabs. Bespectacled with dark hair, Tintin resembled his father closely and was growing taller every year. One day, she would have to look up to speak to her boy. At that moment, her son was hungrily devouring the kebabs. “The party might be lousy but the food is good.”, Tintin said, his undivided attention on the food. Enakshi chuckled, “It is a party for adults! It is natural for you to feel bored. But the party is not for me – it’s for my colleagues who…”

“…suffered you for fifteen years!”, Tintin said with a grin. “Oh, Tintin! I was going to say that they needed a break. You really are a fiend! A sly fiend! ”, Enakshi said with a frown. But it made Tintin laugh, “I’ll tell Aunt Nikki that you called me fiend! She says that you were one too!” Enakshi frowned disapprovingly but her eyes couldn’t hide her humour. Tintin knew that his mother wasn’t truly angry at him and said with bright eyes, “Ma, I spoke to Uncle David and he said that he is coming back from England a day before we reach. He says that he would take me and Marya to the Science Auditorium. Do you think Aunt Nikki will let Marya come with us?” Enakshi said with a grin, “She’ll let Marya visit hell as long as it is David who is taking her there. Don’t worry and enjoy your kebabs.” Tintin saw someone over her shoulder and said with a drawn face, “Ma, Mrs. Pattanaik is here and if she finds me, she is going to take the flesh out of my cheeks. I am hiding with Mrs. Thakkar. Bye!” Enakshi laughed as she saw her son, running to Nirupama and asking her to shield him from Mrs. Pattanaik. Nirupama didn’t fail Tintin and let him hide behind her. Enakshi’s eyes found Mr. Banerjee, talking to his best friend and colleague, Mr. Thakkar. But every now and then, his surreptitious gaze would fall upon Nirupama’s glowing smile and his heart would be once again ablaze with pain. Enakshi knew that there was only pain for Mr. Banerjee. He would never cross the line with Nirupama who was the wife of his childhood best friend. The agony in his heart would be his lifelong companion. She wondered what Nirupama felt. Is there an ache in her heart too or does she live in blissful ignorance?

Enakshi wondered if Indrajit knew the truth. Had he known that she was the cause of David’s misery? Had he known that in their brief marriage, even after bearing his child, she couldn’t be faithful to him? That her heart always belonged to someone else? Was she disrespecting the memory of her husband by going back to the town where she grew up – where her heart lived? No. Indrajit was not an unkind man. He would have never wanted her to live a lonely life. He would have wanted Tintin to be surrounded with his family. Indrajit wouldn’t have begrudged her for wanting to return to the place she loved. Enakshi knew that she would never have the answer to her innumerous questions. But she was certain of one thing – Indrajit wanted her to live her life to the fullest. He knew he wasn’t going to return home and this war would be his end. In his last letter from the trenches, he wrote that all he ever wanted from her was that she keep him alive in her heart and live her life, and that is what Enakshi was going to do. She smiled at Tintin who was laughing with Nirupama.


He was a young boy sent on a missionary work somewhere in West Africa. On getting to the village where he was supposed to start his mission work as a missionary, he met a man who told him with an angry tone, "Do you not know missionaries are killed here? How could you not ask questions? You are too young to die. "The one who sent me said, I am with you even in the ends of the earth and will never leave me or forsake me," He responded." He happily started his mission work, walking through bushes and forest visiting homes and people at farm. He managed to have his cellphone charged one day with a solar panel as there was no electricity and put a call through to a friend who asked where he was. After explaining the nature of the mission ground, his friends mocked hell out of him. Same day, an aunt called to know where he was, on describing the place. The aunt called him a bush man. But, he was never depressed by their words, he was so determined to make a difference and bring a lasting change in that part of Africa. An arrangement was made for a small hall where his convert can gather for fellowships and he was there cleaning and dusting the chairs and floor when a huge big snake came out from where only God knows to attack him. He smiled at the serpent and rushed for a bottle of anointing oil which he pour on the snake with a roar of Holy Ghost fire from his spirit. The serpent took to its heels never to turn back. He continued with his cleaning as he awaits the arrival of his converts. One another occasion right in the fellowship center this time he was not alone. One of his converts was with him arranging the center for a Wednesday fellowship, when they noticed a huge Python sitting at the altar area of the fellowship. The young preacher knowing what to do stood still while his convert was running around the venue looking for weapons to kill the serpent. Coming back with a big stick meant for killing the snake, he was shocked to see the young missionary talking to the serpent in a loud angry voice standing akimbo, “If I ever see you in this arena again, that will be the extinction of you and your kind in this city.” The Python uncoiled and moved away in a speed as that of the speed of light. They continued their fellowship as they celibate victory over the powers stopping the church in that part of West Africa. Little did he know the battle just began! Another day in the night hours while the missionary was about sleeping, he felt like checking out the compound one more time as i felt someone just walked into the compound that has a big fence around it. As he opened his door hold an oil lantern in the other hand as there was no electricity in the city, there was standing with head up, mouth wide open and eyes red blooded ready to strike, a big cobra as black as the devil himself. The young missionary never bulged in fear. A voice came out of him, in a language not English and not his native language. It was the Heavenly Language. "Baaataasha katakata Baaataasha", He tongued as he ran after the Cobra bare hands ready to tear the serpent apart if caught. The Cobra sensing a higher power took to its heels again as the young missionary chased, speaking a language only heaven recognize. This happened repeatedly for several nights. The entire village began to speak against this young missionary as it seems his prayers and doggedness is raking havoc in their kingdom. Often times, he was openly attacked on the account his trying to change their custom and take away traditions passed to them by their fathers. On one occasion while he was dressing up to leave for an outreach, their lies a green snake this time wrapped on his door post with eyes shining in rage. It appears the language the missionary speaks as a weapon to fight these mystical snake comes out automatically as he don’t have to think before he finds himself raining fire and brimstones on any creature or being that attacks him.  Of goes the heavenly language again, this time in Capital letters, “ZAAAPAKATA KUUTA KUTAA KUUTA KUTAA.” The mystical snake coiled around and vanished from the door post.

Another night while he was praying he saw a big snake but this one has four legs yet was a snake. With his eyes closed communing with God, speaking in heavily in the heavenly tongues, he commanded for its death. Getting to the fellowship center that morning for early morning meeting their lies the Leviathan he saw while praying lying dead. The mysterious serpent is killed not with guns and knife but with the knees. A young boy empowered by divinity attempted death engaged the serpent in a fight and recused a city for His God. The creature that kills missionaries in that part of Africa has been killed. Now the church is matching on and the gates of hell never to prevail. The city where missionaries die mysteriously now a save place. Electricity brought to the city. The people living in darkness have seen a great light. The Serpent is dead. It was said, the other missionary’s sent to that part of West Africa with no electricity and a good source of water supply died as a result of attack from mysterious being no one could tell. But the survivor could now tell as he is alive to tell of it. It was a Leviathan killing men sent on a mission to rescue this heathen city. The leviathan happens to be ancestral gods of this city and has kept them in the dark for ages ready to fight and kill anyone who attempts to bring light to that part of West Africa. But it is written, “We overcome by the blood of the Lamb and by the words of our testimonies.”


 ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD  I opened my eyes, it was still dark. I checked my watch. I lay in bed for a few minutes more. Not because I was reluctant to get up before the birds had even begun their morning songs, but because I wanted to plan my route one more time. To see the route in my head, to plan my timing, my pacing. To get my strategies fixed solidly in my head. To calculate the risks, the dangers, the obstacles;

to map out Plan A and Plan B and just because that was the kind of person I was, Plan C as well. I was a cautious person by nature, but the nature of my hobbies and interests mandated that I look at every eventuality, every possible outcome, every contingency, every likelihood of unforeseen events.

I checked my watch.  Once I had my plan firmly fixed in my mind I sprang out of bed and quickly went into the washroom to perform my morning ablutions. Showering for exactly five and a half minutes. Five minutes was not long enough to kill any bacteria that might have settled on me during the night and six minutes would have potentially dried out my skin and caused inflammation or created itchy dry skin or eczema.

After five and a half minutes my shower alarm went off and I turned the alarm off on my watch and got out of the shower. I returned to my bedroom and dressed in my gear. Black track pants and a shirt that fit like a glove, and a black hoodie with multiple pockets. I had packed each pocket carefully the night before and memorized the placement of each object in them. I reached for my socks and running shoes and tied my shoes carefully, ensuring I double-knotted them. Falling down was not an option. Failing was not an option. I checked my watch. Getting everything right was key. I quickly made my bed, adhering to the hospital corner protocol that regimented my life. I carefully folded my night clothes and tucked them neatly under my pillow, then fluffed the pillow again making sure the corners were square with the bed. I checked my watch. I rummaged around the kitchen, restless to accomplish my goal for the day. Realizing my need for calmness, I

closed my eyes and took several calming breaths. I focused sharply on the tasks to come, knowing that my well-laid plan was flawless. Self-confidence surged through my being, quickly followed by power and peace. I was fearless. I was bold. I was brave. I was dauntless. I was intrepid. I was omnipotent.

I repeated this statement two more times. This was my mantra. I often repeated it throughout the day as if it were a sacred text, my shibboleth.

As a very young child, before my diagnosis, I was very impressed by the childhood story of The Little Engine That Could. I read this book three times every night. When faced with difficulties, the little engine uttered the words, ‘I think I can, I think I can.’

and was therefore able to accomplish the goals set. Now that I was grown, I had created my own mantra that I uttered to encourage and believe in myself. I repeated my mantra three times every night before I went to bed and three times every morning before breakfast. The mantra was also helpful during the day when things would go awry. I turned to the cupboard and prepared myself a light breakfast. One to give me energy and stamina for the day but not to weigh me down. After my breakfast, I washed and dried the dishes and put them precisely back in the cupboard in their appointed places. I checked my watch…again. I heard the song of the first bird of the morning and checked my watch, the bird was right on cue. I liked this bird, it lived on a branch of a tree just outside my window and every day it started its song at exactly the same time. I nicknamed the bird Timex. And its mate Rolex.

The previous birds that lived in that nest were not at all cognizant of the importance of the ritual of their morning songs, and therefore they were quickly eliminated. A little arsenic in the bird feeder did wonders to relieve me of their lack of attention to detail and their appalling lack of routine. I checked my watch one more time and saw that the clock had struck the hour … figuratively speaking. The double zeros at the end made it an auspicious time to leave the house. I quickly stepped out and locked the door, turning the handle and checking it five times before I was sure it was properly closed. It had been a windy night and I adjusted the welcome mat outside the door to make sure it was flat and square with the house, and properly centered with the middle of the door. That accomplished, I approached my car and after doing my circle check five times to make sure that all the tires were properly filled with air, and there were no scratches from the tree branches that had blown down during the night, I set off. The distance to my rendezvous was not far, and I was very familiar with the route, having traveled it every morning for the past several weeks. My destination was a track,

it was generally used as a sulky track by the local fairgrounds during either the Fall Fair, Spring Fling, or tractor pulls and demolition derbies in the summer. It was generally abandoned at this time of day except for a few runners who diligently used it rather than running on sidewalks or roads where the chance of being hit by a car in the predawn light was always a distinct possibility. I pulled my van right up beside the track, opened my doors and left the lights on. The morning sun was just starting to cast a glow on the horizon, but it was still too dark to see much of anything. The lights from the van would offer a little light to serve my purposes.  I checked my watch. It appeared that I was the first to arrive, but that too had been planned. I

knew she would arrive any second; that was one of the things that had drawn her to me, her punctuality. She checked her watch precisely the second she started her warm-up laps and the precise second she started her run. She frequently checked throughout her run and adjusted her speed accordingly.  I took a slow lap around the track while I waited. The track was lit by the headlights of my van. I knew her routine because I had studied it for the past month. She was always one of the first to hit the track. The other dedicated runner had taken a tumble a few days before and I had not seen him for the past few days. I was counting on this. The headlights of a car pulled into the driveway as I made to start my second lap. It was her. She parked close to the track, quickly exited the car, and without any preamble, crossed to the track and started off at a slow pace to warm her muscles up. I knew she would do two complete laps at this pace before she would make her move. Once she was warmed up her laps were at the speed of a gazelle so I had to get my timing right. I slowed my pace when we were both in the long stretch and bent down as if to tie my shoe and let her pass me. I raised my head confidently and we nodded to each other as she passed me. I quickly rose and followed her knowing she could hear the pounding of my feet. We had run like this for several days now, so I was a known identity. A fellow runner, someone she was somewhat familiar with. As we came up on the straightaway where the cars were parked I snuck my hand into my pockets and pulled out a cloth and a small canister. Speeding up to right behind her I grabbed her and pinned her against my chest with one arm and with the other arm I snaked it up and planted the cloth over her mouth. She fought like a tiger until the chloroform started to take effect.  I actually used a variant as chloroform usually takes about five minutes to become completely effective and render one’s victim unconscious. Bz 2 on the other hand was a more effective incapacitating agent, being more potent and more effective even than ketamine, which is odorless and tasteless, not that that was a factor in a snatch-and-run situation.  Despite her top physical condition, she was on the petite side and after she collapsed in my arms, I carried her easily to my van. I had left the sliding door open to facilitate the transfer. It had of course bothered me to no end to leave the door open but sometimes the end must justify the means. The overall goal or result had to outweigh an unclosed door. I had wrestled with this part of the plan for several days but felt that my Hero, Niccolo Machiavelli would approve this decision. I was therefore willing to bend my rules for the greater cause. I lay her down on the single mattress that I had put in the van expressly for this purpose. She was worthy of this comfort and I considered her my priceless treasure.

I glanced around the area and found that the track remained empty just as I had surmised.

I

pulled a roll of duct tape from my pocket and bound her hands and feet. Lastly, I tore off a smaller piece of tape and covered her mouth, making sure that she could breathe through her nose.

As soon as this was accomplished I did not linger but headed out of the area at a reasonable pace, it was always best not to draw attention to oneself by unnecessary speed. As I pulled onto the County Road, I noticed that the dawn had finally broken.  The return journey to my home took little time. Living on a twenty-acre rural property with numerous outbuildings offered a plethora of choices for her accommodations but I preferred to keep her close to me so I had renovated and fortified my basement. The windows were barred and boarded up from the outside, with numerous screws. A bathroom and shower had been added to the basement and I had purchased thick fluffy towels and an array of cosmetics and hair accessories. No expense had been spared to make her comfortable. I had even purchased a treadmill and a recumbent bike which were at the far side of the room. Her bed was a beautiful cream colour with a matching dresser and night table. The duvet was a pale lilac colour and I had taken great care to find several accent pillows in coordinating colours. I had purchased many outfits for her and these filled the drawers.

She would learn to love her new home.

I carried her into the basement and lowered her carefully onto the king-size bed, removing the duct tape.

I gently smoothed her long hair off her face and covered her with a light blanket from the end of the bed. I sat in the comfy chair in the corner and waited patiently for her eyes to open.

I checked my watch, but I had all the time in the world.

We had all the time in the world.