“Mama wrote me, dear!” Isabella’s mother, a not-so-young woman anymore, celebrated as a young child. “She is coming to visit us!” She continued yelling from the kitchen. “What?!” The old alchemist exclaimed in disbelief and biting his teeth. He made a very discontent face although was able to hide it from Isabella’s mother. “I thought you liked her and missed her.” The young man, son of a friend of a friend, replied in a lower voice. “Yeah, I do.” Isabella’s father answered in a lower voice too. “And I do like her better when she is far away, very far away.” He sighed heavily and gesticulated with his hand as if trying to send the old woman away before she arrive. “We can say” He continued “I like her letters. Full of histories from all around where she goes. True or not it is always very entertaining.” “What did you say, Dear?” Isabella’s mother asked from the kitchen where she was finishing to hit the soup. “That is great news, my love!” He yelled. “When did she arrive?” He asked contracting his teeth again and, saying in a very low voice. “I need to prepare myself emotionally.” “You know mom…” She entered the living room smiling and carrying the soup that smelled great. “Anytime. It might even be tonight. Those letters took so long sometimes…” “That is the problem here; maybe all of us should move to the future with Isabella where the letters came faster.” He said lowly when Isabella’s mother was back in the kitchen. Isabella entered the living room laughing and saying. “It is good to be home again.” “Be welcome, dear, did you wash your hands?” Her father asked. “Yes, Father. I’ve been surviving well by myself traveling the whole world all around time and I have already 27 years old. Washing hands is the basics.” “Since when?” He said. “You know here in Alexandria it is not so common yet.” “Well, that is because now is still a couple of centuries after Christ was born… I don’t know when exactly people begin to worry about washing hands…” “Anyway, it is good to know that in the future people will be cleaner.” “I’m so happy you are here, my dear.” Isabella’s mother said with her eyes emotionally melted in tears. “Me too, Mom.” “Since your father gave you that time-traveling necklace…” “Oh, not again, please.” The father said. “Let’s not start that discussion again. It has been more than six years now!” “Yeah! Exactly! MORE than six years that I go to bed without knowing where, when or how my baby is! She can be dead like in 2020, and we will never know!” “But she is happy! Can’t you admit that?” He said louder and louder. “And we all will be dead in 2020.” He groused. Isabella laughed again. Her parents could never agree about her 21 years old birthday gift. A time-traveling necklace her father made especially for her. The kind of gift only an alchemist's father is able to do for you and she loved that. Trying to change the subject and to gain Isabella’s trust, the young alchemist, son of a friend of a friend, said: “And how it is, Isabella? To be able to travel the whole world and in time like that.” “What is this new acquisition in the family, again? Can someone explain it to me better? Couldn’t we have a dog instead?” “We already have a dog. A couple of ones, dear.” The father said. “One more?” “All right, I explain.” Her mother said. “He is a friend of a friend of mine, and he is here to learn with your father. He is a young alchemist too, as his father. But he wanted to learn a few things with your father.” “Father never had any students, not even me…” She looked with suspicion at the man at the table with them. “That is not true, I will explain…” Isabella’s father was about to say when the doorbell ranged. “Are we expecting someone?” Isabella asked. “Your grandmother!”. Isabella’s mother shouted jumping off the chair and going to open the front door. “Wauhhh! Already?” Isabella’s father screamed losing his voice to a high tone. The young alchemist tried to hide his smile. “Mama!!!” Everyone looked really happy on that warm evening with the arrival of the old lady, Isabella’s grandmother. Everyone was happy in that dining room enchanted by the light of the flames from the fireplace. Except for Gordon, Isabella’s father, of course, who was a little cranky. He kept hearing in his mind the first words that the old woman said to him that night ‘You look older than before!’. Of course, he thought, it has been almost over a decade. She could just wait another decade before came and he might be lucky enough to be already dead. After the initial compliments, they all sit around the table to have dinner, as they was about to do before the ringing of the doorbell. “Isabella has just arrived too, Mom.” “I know” She answered to her daughter smiling while arranging Isabella’s pink strands in her hair. “I knew it would look great at you, lovely dear.” Isabella’s grandmother always called her like that, ‘lovely dear’. “She always knows everything.” Her father whispered to himself. Yes, that is Isabella’s grandmother. She seems to always know everything. Then the old woman stared at the young man in the diner room, looking at him directly in his eyes. He felt uncomfortable. Usually, he was very confident, although the old woman's gaze made him tremble inside. He gasped. “And about you?” She finally said. “I am the son of…” He was about to introduce himself. “I know.” “Be careful, my dear mother-in-law, he is new here and he doesn’t know…” Isabella’s father was trying to protect the young alchemist. “I know.” The old woman interrupted. “You don’t need to protect him. He will do good by himself.” “Yes, but he doesn’t know about you and…” “Don’t you worry” She interrupted him again making a no balancing of her pointer finger. ‘Old bastard’ Gordon thought, but silenced even his thoughts when Isabella’s grandmother looked at him with a mad face. ‘I’m sorry’ was his last thought that night. “What I suppose to do with you, young boy?” She finally asked him something, breaking the scare staring with an even more scary thing. He stammered “Well, technically I am not a young boy, anymore, I’m more than 30 already and…” “I know.” The old woman said. “I am 83 years old and I have been 83 years old for three centuries now. I think you are a young boy for me.” “He is suspicious, isn’t he, Grandma?” “Of course he is.” The old woman affirmed severely. “I am still in the living room.” He said trying to recover some dignity and, trying to recover some confidence: “And why do you need ‘to do’ anything about me?” He gazed at her strongly. “You are going to give me worries!” The old lady said. “Don’t you start, Grandma, please?” That was Gordon. When he wants to melt her, he just calls her Grandma. Like if he was saying: Isabella’s grandma, please… Most of the time, that works pretty well. “What, Gordon?” “He is not used to that, don’t you do that, please. He is just beginning his life.” “And he needs to begin it well!” The young alchemist became worried. Since both Isabella’s parents were alchemists, what could the old woman, Isabella’s grandmother, be or do? Curse him terribly with something really bad? Transform him into a frog? The possibilities were endless in his imagination at that moment. “You are stronger than I thought.” She paused. “That is a good or a terrible thing, I don’t know yet.” “Oh… you are actually doing it… okay, I say nothing anymore.” Isabella’s grandmother tells the future. Does she predict it or does she create it? We wonder… She is a rare kind of alchemist. An alchemist of the words, like Isabella is, but this is not about young Isabella. By the way, Isabella’s grandmother also is called Isabella. She named her granddaughter after her with a blessing by the fire on the beach on the day little Isabella was born. Her entire life she was called to bless the newborns. To give them nice and warm futures. Futures where they could be happy and make others happy too. The old lady faced again the young man that trembled again even though he was sitting at the table. “You are going to be either the beginning of it all or either be the ending of it all. You are going either to build an entirely new world or either destroy it completely.” The young one gasped not knowing what he was supposed to think or fell about that.

“What is that?” Gordon asked. “You said so much and nothing at the same time. You never said anything so vaguely like that.” The son-in-law was concerned, had the old woman gone senile now? It would be his worst nightmare, to have to deal with this crazy old woman in the craziest mode. “I can’t tell about him.” She answered calmly. “He was born under the moon of the ambiguous archetype. We can never know about the ambiguous ones until very close to the end…” She said with concern in her voice. Everyone went in shock and were in silence. That had never happened before. That Isabella’s mother to be unable to predict any future at all. Then Isabella’s mother, Rose, asked; “And that is all that you can know about his future?” “Ohh, no.” The grandma answered. “That is what I can deduce from the gossip I heard on my way here… about his family” “What the old woman doesn’t know by seeing the future, she knows by gossip. Always like that.” Gordon said to himself. “Better than you that never knows anything about anything anyway…” The old mother-in-law answered with an acid smile. Then she looked at the young alchemist again. “Either way, you will be part of it. You will be important, and it lies completely in your hands the choices of your future and the future of many others too…” The young alchemist felt nervous, but he was not sure why. Then the old woman smiled and said reliving the tension in the air. “I will trust you for now, young boy.” She stirred the soup on her plate. “Continue to eat, everyone!” she said looking around the table, because everyone had stopped eating. “The soup is great and it is better to eat it warm than cold.” “And we will meet again, young boy.” She smiled to him. “I will help you in the future.” She took a spoonful of the soup. “Or else I will destroy you.” And she gave a nice, warm, cozy smile.


Tiny Tim Crachit couldn’t have had it worse than Jasper Quincy Vaugn. The icy winter rain was pounding on his head as he climbed out of his 1965 Ford Mustang that had been passed down to him by his father who was now in eternal rest. He slammed the door on the broken down vehicle, which was the only legacy his father had left him. In truth, he hadn’t left it to him, but had made him purchase it from him. In fact, if Jasper had ever driven the car while his father was alive and had crashed it his father would have been more worried about the car than him, and furthermore if Jasper was dead he would have paid the price of the car even in death. As Jasper stood in the pouring rain, his soaked clothes clung to his shivering body, mirroring the weight of his sorrow. The icy droplets mixed with the tears that streamed down his face, blurring his vision. Each raindrop felt like a sharp needle piercing his skin, a physical reminder of his overwhelming despair. The relentless downpour seemed to mirror his own internal storm, a tempest of resentment and longing. It was as if the heavens themselves wept for him, sharing in his anguish. The deafening sound of the rain hitting the roof of the Mustang echoed in his ears, drowning out any other thoughts or distractions. Jasper’s trembling hands reached out to touch the dented metal of the car, his fingers tracing the scars left by countless accidents and neglect. The once proud Mustang, now a rusty testament to his father’s indifference, served as a constant reminder of his own insignificance. The weight of his father’s disregard pressed heavily upon him, like a physical burden that he couldn’t escape. With every breath, he could feel the weight of the car, the weight of the expectations that had been unfairly placed upon him. It was as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, an unending cycle of guilt and disappointment. But even in the midst of his despair, there was a flicker of defiance in Jasper’s eyes. He refused to let his circumstances define him. He would not be shackled by the legacy of a broken-down car or the burden of his father’s indifference. With a determined resolve, he vowed to rise above it all, to forge his own path and rewrite his own story. As the rain continued to pour, Jasper took a deep breath, letting the frigid air fill his lungs. The storm raged on around him, but deep within, he found a glimmer of hope. Despite the hardships and the unfairness of his situation, he would persevere. And in that moment, he knew that he held the power to change his own destiny, to rise above the shadow of his father’s legacy, and to create something truly meaningful from the broken pieces of his past. As he continued walking to work, the weight of disappointment and loneliness settled heavily on his shoulders. Each step felt like a burden, his weary feet pounding the pavement with aching persistence. The pain intensified with every passing hour, as if the very act of walking was a reminder of his unfortunate circumstances. The bitterness of his situation was magnified by the holiday season. Christmas lights twinkled cheerfully on nearby houses, mocking his own lack of joy. The air carried the scent of festive meals being prepared, teasing his empty stomach and intensifying his hunger. But amidst the gloom, a glimmer of hope appeared in the form of a tree adorned with a single orange. It hung tantalizingly over a weathered fence, a symbol of sustenance in his barren world. With a desperate hunger gnawing at his insides, he reached out and plucked the fruit, its vibrant color standing out against the stark backdrop of his existence. Without hesitation, he devoured the orange with a ravenous hunger. Its tangy sweetness brought a fleeting moment of satisfaction, a respite from the relentless ache of hunger. Though meager, it became his solitary dinner, a reminder of the resilience that kept him going despite the hardships. The taste of that simple orange carried a bittersweet flavor, reflecting the stark contrast between his reality and the joyous celebrations happening around him. Yet, in that moment, he found solace in the small triumph of fulfilling his most basic need. It was a reminder of his determination to persevere, even when faced with the worst Christmas he had ever experienced. Suddenly, a trance overtook him and he found himself back inside his car with the engine still running. His heart raced as the remnants of the trance faded away, leaving him with a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. The disorientation slowly gave way to a newfound clarity, and he focused his attention on the familiar surroundings of his car. The steady hum of the engine reminded him of the potential that lay before him. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he marveled at the possibility of having a functioning vehicle once more. It had been hours since he last experienced the thrill of the open road, the freedom that came with a reliable mode of transportation. The thought of being able to go wherever he pleased, without relying on others or public transportation, ignited a spark of hope within him. As he took in the sight of the familiar dashboard, he couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. The worn-out seats, the scent of aged leather, and the faint sound of his favorite radio station playing in the background all reminded him of the countless memories he had made within these four wheels. Memories of road trips, late-night drives, and spontaneous adventures flooded his mind, fueling his determination to bring his beloved car back to life. With a deep breath, he reached for the keys and turned off the engine, momentarily breaking the spell of anticipation. The silence that followed was both deafening and invigorating. He knew that reviving his vehicle wouldn’t be an easy task, but the prospect of restoring its former glory filled him with a sense of purpose. Leaning back in his seat, he closed his eyes for a moment, envisioning the possibilities that awaited him. The freedom to explore new places, the convenience of running errands without the constraints of public transportation, and the simple joy of cruising down the open road – all these dreams felt within reach once more. With renewed determination, he opened his eyes and set about planning his next steps. Whether it meant seeking professional help or dedicating countless hours to tinkering under the hood himself, he was willing to do whatever it took to bring his car back to life. The trance may have been fleeting, but the hope it ignited within him was here to stay. As he shifted into gear and drove away, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude for this second chance. The road ahead was uncertain, but he knew that as long as he had his running vehicle, he possessed the means to overcome any obstacle. Why did the car bring an umbrella on its road trip? Because it wanted to be prepared for any uncertain weather ahead!


“Lizzy?”

The familiar voice that still haunted her in her sleep jabbed into the side of Liz’s face. A ripple of excited tingling tickled her spine as her eyes widened in alarm. The guests she was chatting with looked equally stricken. All eyes turned to the all too familiar voice.

“Aden?!” Liz could not believe it.

“After all these years..” he mumbled.

Something was still not making sense. The realization struck Liz hard; he was a guest at her daughter’s wedding.

“But..who..how?” She was not making any sense.  “Come on Liz. Get a hold of yourself!”

Her friends along with Aden were waiting to see what she had to say. Swallowing, she tried again.  “How are you here? I mean, who invited you?” Aden smiled.

Liz could not help but cringe at the butterflies in her stomach. Why was she still having all these stupid feelings after nearly thirty years? And, who still looked hot at their age? Apparently, Aden did. One of her answers was revealed; she already knew the reasons behind the other too.

“I’m Phil’s uncle.”

Now the butterflies turned into butter balls. Liz was convinced she was going to get sick.

“Phil..as in the groom ?” She choked.

“Yeah. Does that come as a surprise to you?” His amused expression wavered.

Why was she being this way? Even back in high school, Liz was always so confident; so sure of herself. Had time really changed her that much?

Gulping back tears, Liz whispered, “do you know who the bride is?” Now Aden looked genuinely perplexed.  “Um...I don’t know her personally. I’ve heard some about her but-” Liz’s hand flicked into the air halting in a “no need to say more,” gesture.

She realized the day she had feared for twenty-six years had finally landed at its destination. Squaring her shoulders, she scratched at a tear sneaking down her cheek.  “We need to talk.” With a flourish, she made her way to a private corner in the back of the room aware Aden was at her heels.

Laura could not help but notice her mom’s alertness. Every few moments she chewed down on her bottom lip, her eyes darting around the room. Usually, she was so calm; unnerved.

“Mom!” Laura’s voice came out a bit louder than she intended-some of the nearby guests shot her quizzical looks. The uneasiness her mother was showing was rubbing off on her.

“Mom,” Laura repeated- this time making sure her voice was less jarring. Liz whom all her friends referred to as Lizzy darted her eyes to meet her daughter’s worried ones.

“What’s the matter, dear?” Her voice was distant and she broke eye contact only to briskly scan the room once more.

“You ok?” Laura placed her hand on Liz’s arm. Jumping with a start, her mother’s attention finally focused on her.

“Honey, what’s the matter? You look worried. Are you regretting this decision?” Frustrated Laura let out a sigh. Why was her mother throwing the question back at her? She was obviously hiding something.

“I’m fine mom. And no, I do not regret getting married to Phil twenty minutes ago.”

Studying her mom’s face, Laura desperately tried to read what was being hidden behind the worried frown. An image she could not place before suddenly hit her. Mascara. Smudged under the eye and streaked down the cheek. As if Liz had been crying before hurriedly trying to wipe the stain off her face with a napkin.

“Mom? Were you crying? I can still see smeared mascara on your cheeks so, there is no need in denying it.”

Perhaps Laura was being harsh towards her mom. She was a bit stressed out from all the wedding commotion and bridal responsibilities herself. Her mom had always served as the anchor holding everybody grounded and at ease. Her capability in keeping her head in stressful situations had really helped with all the pre-wedding and day of commotion. What could have all of a sudden knocked the confidence out of her? There was definitely something Laura was missing out on and she was not about to let it slide during her wedding. Liz drew in a breath.

“Honey, nothing is wrong. It’s just all the excitement and commotion-I mean, what can I say: my baby girl is getting married! It’s a bit overwhelming that’s all. Are you having a good time?”

Lies. Digging her manicured nails into her palms, Laura let in a deep breath. What had happened? A little wedding itself could not faze Liz. She had become a single mom at the age of eighteen after having just graduated from high school, was broke at the time with no family to turn to for help, had a newborn baby to feed, and nothing but the high school transcript to show the world. Averting her gaze, Liz began picking at her bracelet; she knew her daughter was not buying the sappy nonsense as much as she knew the truth would be revealed sooner than later. Laura was a stubborn girl, a quality she took after her mother and would investigate further into the secret until she figured it out. Something Liz herself had too always struggled with.

Sighing, Liz began “have you ever met Phil’s uncle Aiden?”

Frowning Laura shook her head “no. I have heard some about him..I did see his name on the guest list but, I never questioned which family member’s he invited and didn’t. It’s his personal life, not mine.”

“Not anymore.” Thought Liz focusing her gaze on the wedding ring sitting daintily on Laura’s finger.

Noticing her mom eyeing the ring, Laura bit the inside of her cheek. She was not getting good vibes from the story so far.  “Mom. Is there something about this man I should know?”

Slowly, Liz lifted her gaze to look at her expectant and naive daughter’s worried face.  “He’s your father.”

What?!?!

An invisible hand grasped Laura’s throat blocking the airway, her heart punching at her chest. She did not know whether to laugh, cry, scream, or even believe her mother for that matter. Remaining silent and noiselessly demanding an explanation was what she settled with. Liz continued.

“Remember the story of how you came to be?”

Of course, she did. Her mom went crazy while drunk and did not remember who the guy was she smashed with since by the time she woke up in the morning he was long gone. Gasping, Laura realized the “story” she had grown up believing to be true was anything but that. Not having the strength to say anything, she nodded in response.

“Well, your father, aka Phil’s uncle, aka my high school sweetheart ended not being a great guy.

“He did not?” Laura managed.

Suddenly looking as if she were about to cry, Liz bowed her head.

“He was a player. Always was. I just never noticed. He was all the girls’ best friend, so flirty; I thought nothing of it at the time...the day after he made me pregnant, I was supposed to go the movies with him. I ended up arriving early only to witness him making out with another girl right by the entrance! I felt so angry I stormed up to the cashier and asked if they had bought a ticket. He shrugged stating that Aiden, your father, was a “usual” always showing up with some other girl. When I had asked him how long this had been happening, he said about four years! I was enraged! And you know what’s the worst of it? That girl he was making out with was my sister.” Before Laura had a chance to fully take the information in, Liz pointed at someone behind her.

“That’s him.” she plainly stated.


I hadn’t been to work in weeks. I yawned as I pressed the start button on the coffee pot. As the familiar aroma met the air, my mind wandered to my daily commute and the monumental

to-do list that awaited me. My co-worker Bill's last day was Friday. So not only will I be catching up on work that I missed while I was away but also committing to the work of two people until Bill’s replacement can start in one more week.

My other co-worker and close friend Mandi asked me if I could pitch in for the goodbye party for Bill. They got him a cake, a card, and a bird watching book. I pitched in a few bucks, just hoping it was enough to look like I cared but not too much for the occasion. I can’t really say I will whole-heartedly miss Bill. His musky cologne often preceded his presence and his incessant throat-clearing afforded me the luxury of wearing headphones all day to drown out the awkward interruptions. I often wore the headphones just to avoid small talk with Bill. Without the headphones, it seemed to notify Bill that my ears were simply available to be filled with the sound of his nasally voice. Without any inquiries from me, I knew about his kids going off to college, his wood-working hobby, and some of his marital issues with his wife of 40 years. I knew a little too much about Bill, really. He honestly just seemed a little lonely, like he needed a friend.

I shrugged the thoughts away as I blindly reached inside the cabinet for a coffee cup. Deliciously anticipating the first few sips of this powerful elixir known as coffee. I marveled at how I went weeks in the mountains without caffeine, simply happy to awake with the sun and be invigorated by the idea of trails to be discovered. The minute I find myself having to put on my suit and tie and head into a large, municipal brown building with an office divided into cubicles for the masses; I find that I need rocket fuel to propel me forward. Yes, I’m instantly re-thinking all of my life decisions. But not this one. The coffee seems like the best decision I’ve made today. After rushing through traffic and scrambling from my spot on the 10th floor of the parking garage, I finally slump into my desk chair at half past eight. Thinking that likely no one will notice that I’ve even been gone. I turn on my desk lamp as I remove my bag strap over my head and place my work bag next to me. It’s full of work I told myself I might do while I was out. Although nothing in that bag had been touched since I walked out the door of the office. I power on my desktop and my mind wanders to the coffee machine nearby. It’s not the best coffee, but it may be an alternative form of rocket fuel as I wait for the operating system to load.

Soon enough, my desktop screen flashes awake and the light from the screen is almost as jarring as the light from my desk lamp. Just like riding a bike, I log into our database and fire up my email. I’m alarmed to see that I have 200 unread emails. I blink a few times and decide I will make my way to the break room first for that coffee. I grab my headphones to plug into my ears, in case anyone wants to welcome me back from my trip or ask me if I miss BIll.

Oddly enough, the office seems eerily quiet and I haven’t noticed anyone at their desks. I look at the calendar on the wall while I maneuver a paper cup under the one-cup coffee dispenser. I find today’s date quickly at the bottom of the grid, Monday August 25th. Nothing stands out to me, not around a major holiday. Maybe it’s just a Monday, if only there were enough rocket fuel for us all I think. I turn on some tunes through my phone and blow on my hot coffee as I saunter back to my desk.

200 emails, here we go. My left hand is positioned on the keyboard and my right hand is clutching my coffee cup as I decide to start from the bottom and work my way up. Lots of emails about Bill’s last day. Delegating who will get the cake, who will bring the utensils, can someone get the balloons, also don’t tell Bill, it’s a surprise. My fingers fly quickly through these emails and the junk ads I receive for menswear and hiking gear. It’s tempting to browse through the sales but I’m 50 emails down. The coffee seems to be kicking in because I am suddenly committed to this cause of making it to the last email.

I must make it to the last week that I was out, there are a few emails from my boss asking Bill to update him on the status of his projects and to include me on these emails so that I can pick up where Bill leaves off. Always making sure that the work goes on, no matter what. No matter that Bill has pretty much built his life around this company’s motto of “Building a better future for tomorrow” by always thinking several steps ahead. Bill usually got to many of our projects before me, oftentimes tackling the more challenging spreadsheets and staying late to be ahead of deadlines. I wondered how much of that was related to Bill not wanting to be home alone with his wife. I knew he was looking forward to having more time to visit with his kids, they both went to the west coast for college. Bill said he wanted to make a cross country trip to visit them, he always wanted to do that when he was younger but he was busy raising a family. “It’s just the American way”, he always said, “there’s plenty to be done here at work and the home needs to be watched after.”

I look over at Bill’s empty chair in the cubicle across from mine and take a sip of my coffee. I nod to him like he’s there. I hope he gets to witness some of the wonderful monuments and trails that I got to lay my eyes on the last few weeks. He certainly deserves this time away. I wish my Dad had ever thought to take that time to visit me in college. We would have had way more fun on a hiking trail than we ever did on our trips out of town for my away varsity baseball games in high school. Often, the rides home were filled with languishing disappointment about the team's performance and how I could be a better leader.

I finally make it to the emails from Friday, Bill’s last day. “Cake in the break room in 15 minutes!” read one of the emails as the title of the email with the body of the email blank. This was everyone's notice to be there before Bill. I chuckle when I notice that Bill was accidentally included in that email. Something about best laid plans come to mind as I smile.

The final email in my inbox was actually from Bill. It’s from last Friday at 5:35 pm.

Dear Matt,

I wish you could have been here today for my last day, but I am excited for your adventure. I hope it’s your breath of fresh air. I will miss our office chats. Thank you for reminding me that our days on this planet are numbered. While you are one of the most efficient partners I’ve ever worked with, you were always planning the next adventure for your life outside of here. I am looking forward to filling my final days outside of these walls too, enjoying time with family but also exploring the great outdoors. Hey, maybe I’ll finally get to meet that John Muir guy on the trails you talk about so much! Better yet, maybe I’ll see you out there one day too, kid. Take care of yourself, don’t work too hard at this place. I appreciate you entertaining me with your music and listening to my stories. It helped me make the decision to retire when I needed to and I appreciate you.

Your friend,

Bill

P.S. I left you something in the top drawer of your desk. My going away gift to you.

As I reach towards the top drawer, I think I see someone pass my cubicle. I look up but don’t see anyone nearby. I look back at the email and feel guilty about the measly monetary contribution I made towards Bill’s going away party. I look down at my empty coffee cup. Something about Bill’s email does make me miss him and also feel ashamed at not listening to more of his stories. I had no idea he wanted to go hiking, sounds like something we definitely could have done together one day. I shake my head and laugh a little to myself at the thought of old man Bill on the trails. Well, maybe we wouldn’t go together but I definitely could have given him some tips.

I’m opening the top drawer of my desk when I notice someone standing behind me. It’s my boss. He startles me a little. The look on his face is more tired than usual.

“Hey Matt, what are you doing here today?” He says in a gruff voice.

“Hey Nate, today is my first day back from vacation. Anything fall apart while I was gone? Looks like Bill really had it under control!” I say as I motion towards his empty seat.

Nate’s brow furls. “Matt, did you get the memo while you were out? I asked Mandi to text you since I know you’re usually not checking emails while you’re away.”

“Oh,” I look down at my phone. “Maybe, but I didn’t have any service until I got to the airport yesterday. What’s up?” I’m a little concerned now that I’m not sure what would have been so important that he needed someone to send me a text memo to my personal phone.

He sighs. “Matt, you shouldn’t be here today. Bill passed away unexpectedly on Saturday. His funeral is this afternoon. I gave most of our team the day off. You should go, Bill would have wanted you there.” He says as he slowly turns to walk away with his shoulders slumped over and a hand rubbing back and forth against his forehead.

It takes me a few minutes to process his words. I’m stunned. He’s gone? I mean he’s gone but he’s also...gone. Almost robotically, I look inside the drawer of my desk and find a box wrapped in newspaper. My hands are trembling as I unwrap the package. Under the paper is a brown cardboard box. I open the lid and pull out a tissue wrapped object. It’s a wooden figurine. I set it on my desk to get a better look at it. It’s two men, standing side by side with canes. One of the men is visibly older with a walking cane and the other is younger with a walking stick instead of a cane. I slide my thumb over the smooth wood and inspect the figure. Underneath is an etching that states “Into the forest I go” with Bill's initials and the date of his last day of work.

I set the figure down. I stand up from my desk. I text Mandi for the address to the funeral. I leave my work bag at work and I toss my empty coffee cup in the waste bin near the exit.


THE TRUTH Raphael was busy arranging the documents required for the raid that he was to conduct the following day. An undercover agent working with the police department, Raphael had been deputed to carry on this raid on a gang that apparently was selling unauthorized stuff. The leader of the gang however was a very well known figure in the social circuit, making the accomplishment very difficult. It was on a tipoff received through an anonymous call that this raid was arranged in a jiffy. No officer would have had the guts to accept this challenge, knowing very well about the high influence of the main accused. However Raphael was a man who had the chutzpah to even enter the den of a lion unarmed. He was renowned as one of the most courageous officer, whose moral records were unblemished. Accompanying him would be his wife Nancy, who worked as his subordinate and Joseph; yet another subordinate. Only the four of them, Raphael, Nancy, Joseph and their senior Mr. Richard were aware of this operation it was a closely guarded operation as it involved a renowned personality. As Raphael finished arranging the sheets, he suddenly got one of those bouts of headache that had been troubling him of late. The doctor had prescribed some medicine as temporary relief till a detailed CT scan report was to be received. ‘Ooops!’ Raphael realized that the reports were supposed to be collected the previous day. He had been so preoccupied with two back to back assignments in office that it had slipped his mind. Then this raid had cropped up all of a sudden leaving him little time to even reverberate on his ailment. It must have slipped Nancy’s mind too. She was away attending a friend’s wedding and had said that she would be joining him for the raid the following day. Presently he stretched his hand to take the pill from his drawer. Thanks to Nancy everything was available at arm’s length. She was very particular about keeping things in their respective place and would often get cross with Raphael for his callousness. Putting the pill in to his mouth Raphael again stretched his hand for the water bottle. Nancy’s absence became conspicuous from the quantity of water in the bottle. There was hardly one sip. She would never keep a bottle even half filled. If there was any difference of opinion within the couple, it was only because of trivial matters like these that upset Nancy. Half filled bottles, strewn clothes, scattered things. Raphael had the sip of water but it felt like the pill had just passed his throat. He was about to get up and fetch some more water when nauseating fumes emerged from downstairs and engulfed his room. ‘Oh God, this guy has started his experiments again. I need to confront him now before going to the gym,’ so saying Raphael changed into his gym tracks and wearing his shoes, quickly ran down the steps to the ground floor apartment. A self proclaimed scientist, Mr. Alden, had just moved in a few weeks ago and in the name of carrying out experiments was creating much of a nuisance to Raphael and his wife. They lived in the upper portion of the villa. A few calls made to the landlord hadn’t changed anything because the landlord had expressed his inability to sort out the issue right away. He was out of the city and assured that he would look into the matter once he returned and that would take a good three months time. “Is someone there?” Raphael asked as he slightly pushed the door that was ajar. “Oh is that Mr. Raphael, I will be there in a minute.” Raphael could hear Alden calling out from inside the house. The pungent odor of the smoke that was s till lingering in the room triggered Raphael’s cough and he felt like the pill which he had gobbled with scanty water was wedged somewhere in his esophagus. “Help yourself to some water. It is on the table,” Alden instructed from wherever he was. Raphael tried opening the water bottle but its lid was sort of jammed and refused to open. There was a glass of water kept beside the bottle, covered with a coaster. Raphael drank it in a jiffy and felt much better. He waited for a good ten minutes with no sigh of the scientist who kept assuring him from inside that he would be there in a minute. Bugged with this, Raphael left. It was time for his gym session now and he couldn’t just stand there at the threshold of Alden’s house till eternity. In a few minutes he was down at the track running towards the gym. He happened to bump into a hefty guy accidentally and tried to apologize, but the guy was looking at nowhere, astounded. “Who is it?” he said in a coarse voice. “What happened?” a passerby asked. “I felt like someone bumped into me now.” Raphael was astonished. He was standing right there apologizing but the man did not seem to hear him or see him. Raphael tried touching the man by his shoulder as a gesture of apologizing again. “Who is that?’ he screamed, much to the awe of others there. They thought he had gone insane, but Raphael was shocked. Does this mean he had become invisible? He had bumped into a gentleman and the man has felt his bump, but Raphael’s apologies seem to be falling into deaf ears. He ran towards his house to check if he could see his reflection in a mirror. However on reaching the premises, Raphael overheard the scientist vehemently clarifying something on the phone. “No I did not ask him to drink the concoction in the glass. He was coughing and I asked him to drink some water that was kept in a bottle alongside. How on earth would I know he would consume that liquid in the glass?  I was getting my guinea pig ready, in the meanwhile he came and I am sure he had come to fight over the smoke that got spread as I was finishing the experiment. Now I do not know if he has become invisible and is here around. I have shouted in the air requesting him to nudge me so that I can realize he is around, but he is not responding. How am I going to be sure if he has turned invisible and also how am I going to assure him that he would be visible in another 12 hours?” Someone on the other side seemed pretty cross with Alden. Raphael could hear him shout, “Go to his apartment and find out if he is there.” After a short sermon by the other person on some dos and don’ts the phone was snapped. Raphael was initially bewildered to know that he had actually become invisible but was happy to note that this was a transient phase and that he would be visible in another 12 hours that would be around 6 in the morning. However he decided to give a jolt to the scientist by remaining evasive. ‘For all the trouble he caused to me and Nancy, let him brood over it for the next twelve hours,’ he smirked. An excellent idea struck him all of a sudden. What if he would sneak into the premises where he was to conduct the raid the following day? No one will be able to see him and he would easily be able to find out where they have hidden the smuggled goods. He can stun his wife and Joseph by directly pointing out where to look in for the hidden goods the following day and then he would become a stalwart. Of course he would unravel everything to them later. Raphael went to the premises in his invisible form.  However he was surprised to see fervent activities going on there. Goods were being hurriedly moved and the immediate right hand of the man behind this whole smuggling was frantically giving instructions to people. “Move all the materials quickly. Put them in the truck. We will shift them to our guest house. Mr. Raphael would not even get a whiff of it.” ‘What was going on here?’ Raphael was thoroughly baffled. They had somehow learnt about the impending raid, but then who might have informed them? Other than himself, Nancy and Joseph and of course Mr. Richard, no one was aware of it. Lost in the situation, Raphael moved ahead hearing some noises. He was taken completely by surprise to see his wife Nancy and Joseph sitting across the table and chatting with the main suspect. Then he saw wads of currency in a briefcase that was handed over to Nancy.  “Thanks for giving us the information. Tomorrow when you husband comes he will find nothing here.” The man laughed and shook hands with Joseph and Nancy. The duo walked out with the money and hurriedly got inside Joseph’s car. Raphael had a good mind to follow them, but right now getting inside the truck carrying the smuggled good was more important. He could find out where they are being hidden and the following day he would surprise all of them by conducting the raid in that premises. With a heavy heart he got inside the truck without anyone noticing obviously. So Nancy and Joseph are together; how he could never even find out that they had a crush on each other. He had been so naïve. He chided himself. They would take this currency notes and probably set up a home elsewhere. Nancy had lied to him that she was going for a friend’s wedding, but the truth was she was coming here with Joseph to unleash the raid plan and get awarded. How unscrupulous of them! Raphael returned home in the wee hours of morning and in a while he realized that he had become visible. He profusely thanked the scientist, who was surprised to be showered with a volley of praises. “You have helped me crack too many puzzles, thanks for helping me become invisible. My work will be recognized soon, and my life will have a new perspective all because of you,” he said shaking hands with the scientist. The guy looked confused, but enjoyed every bit of this adulation. The raid was to be conducted in another six hours. Nancy and Joseph would reach there together as if they had met by accident on the way. Raphael could not bear to envisage the night they might have spent together after getting shit loads of money. Who knows this may not even be the first time they are together. It is just that Raphael happened to spot them this time. Gathering his composure, Raphael dialed a number. “Hi Raphael, how come you are calling so early in the morning? I thought you are coming to office before the raid. Is there something important?” Mr. Richard sounded a bit vexed. “Sorry to trouble you, but I need orders to pull back the timing of the raid and change of venue too.” “And may I know why?” “Can I come to the office and explain everything in detail, please? I will meet you in another couple of hours.” Raphael got ready in a jiffy. The unpardonable treachery by Nancy and Joseph was unveiled in front of his senior. Mr. Richard was not able to concede and wouldn’t believe that the duo would do such a thing. However, soon the rescheduled successful raid with only Mr. Richard and Raphael cleared his doubts. In his capacity as the head of the department, Mr. Richard wasted no time in preparing legal notice against the two. “When both, Nancy and Joseph will go to the originally scheduled premises in a while, they would be astounded to see the premises sealed by us. Obviously they will come here. Then they shall be served this notice and hand cuffed. Thanks for bringing this immoral deed of the duo to my notice, but wonder how you were able to do it. Anyway it has been proved beyond doubt that they are the culprits.” Mr. Richard was all praises for Raphael. Around the same time, in one of the most famous hospitals, Nancy and Joseph were sitting across the table talking to the chief Doctor. “Doctor, is this money enough to save my Raphael from that deadly tumor?” Nancy was trying hard to fight back her tears. “Raphael is an unassuming person and a very good and professional officer to work with. Our department can never find anyone more sincere than him. He has to survive to wipe off trouble mongers from the society and for that this tumor has to be permanently removed. Can you assure us that with this amount the operation can be conducted by your panel of doctors?” Joseph was literally pleading.


By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. Everything was vibrant and alive. She followed me out, fumbled her jacket and umbrella. Shereached for my hand, but the gesture felt forced and I quickly snatched my hand away and shoved it in my pocket. I tried to take a James Dean posture or at least look like the cover of a Dylan album, but at my age and this face it just made me look like an old hunchback or like Gollum. The conversation inside didn't go as she planned. I know she was only trying to make me feel better, but as usual it was on her terms and on her playing field. I hate these places and I could care less that the tea was a new pumpkin spiced brown sugar squirrel in a sweater whatever. She looked beautiful in her mask. I almost prefer her this way. I like the mystery of her face. She steeped her tea and unfortunately began to speak. " Why don't you just call the front desk and ask them what the rules are? " " I'd rather just call my Aunt and get the information that way " " But why not just call th. ..." " Because I don't really want to know. I don't really want to visit. If I call the desk then it's .... I don't want any of this " I turned away and looked out the window. The weather fit my mood. Everyone looked like cotton Ninjas in their hoodies and masks as they jumped from their cars and ran towards various doors trying not to get wet. I could feel my eyes welling up. Sadness and anger were grappling for top position. I was glad that anger won. She's ex-military. That combined with a Hiroshima divorce and custody battle has shaped the way she deals with feelings and situations. I admire it at times. This isn't one of those times. I adjust my legs and the table shakes. Her tea stays in the cup. I flick the lid towards her. " Amy didn't deserve any of this. It should have been someone else ... and why can't you keep your gaddam lid on? " I'd like nothing more than to turn this into a fight and the lid seemed like a golden opportunity. She unlooped the strap from one ear, raised the cup, blew on it and our fight, then took a sip. " I know how you feel about Amy. I'm going through something similar with my dad and .... " Perfect. She got sidetracked into her own issues and I encouragingly listened. This would go on for a while. I hoped it would continue until the weather changed so I could go outside and get out of here. It continued, then it took the inevitable turn towards me. "... and what happens if this happens you? You don't have health insu ... " " I have health insura.... " " I'm not going to take care of you. I'm all done taking care of ... ." " Whoa. I'm not asking you to take.... " ". ..cuz I'm not doing it. And you don't make enough money to... " We always wind up here. I could come home and tell her that the doctor said I had an inoperable brain tumor made up of super cancer. The kind of cancer that cancer gets and somehow it would come back to the fact that I don't make a lot of money. ". ..I know you love it, but seriously, would anyone in your family live this way? Do you think your mother or aunt would? I don't think so! Do you think for a minute that ... " Our eyes meet when we got to the chorus about how Amy would never live this way. It got quiet. I looked out the window and noticed a line forming at the Urgent Care next door. Everyone standing under the awning shuffling uncomfortably and trying not to get dripped on. No one is 6 feet apart. There's always one hippy girl that decides to start dancing in puddles. Trying to be free. Normally I find them really cute even if their full of crap. This one I disliked immediately. This one is twirling and splashing and her fake happiness and ' look-at-me ' independence is muzzled by her stupid tie-dyed mask. The mist. The air. Everything and everyone (even the hippy chick) are just grey. The talking continued. The tone was becoming more compassionate which I'm sure would be short lived. I watched as the hippy chick attempted to wave her arms seductively at her boyfriend. His eyes are glued to his phone. The crowd is indifferent with her dancing. Their attention is on their own screens. She is slowing down and seems beaten. Defeated. She sees me looking at her and for a moment there's a glimmer of hope that she has meaning. That her freedom of expressive movement matters. I wipe my nose and look away. "Wasn't this supposed to be you cheering me up or something? " " I know. I know. I'm sorry, but

..." It's always 'but', like that excuses all the bile and resentment meant for so many others. I laugh at how I don't make enough money yet I've been picking up the tab of others for years. " What's so funny? " I contort my mouth and eyebrows as if I'm trying to explain myself with interpretive face dancing. I turned towards the window again. I was done and I wanted to go. Umbrellas were closedand hoods were dangling on the backs of necks. No more running from cars to stores. The hippy's boyfriend finally looked up and his eyes relayed his annoyance that once again his girlfriend was standing in a puddle. The sun was finally out. " I'm all done " I said and just got up. " Wait. Please! " There's something about a woman's pleading eyes that just owns you in the most welcoming way. I sat back down. My leg hit the table and this time some tea spilled. I took at as a sign that the tea was on my side. I took it as a sign of victory. " There's nothing you can say here. I don't want to move on from THIS. I don't want to feel better. I WANT to be angry. I'm tired of everyone trying to help me feel better. Move on. I don't want to feel better! I don't want to MOVE ON! And I know that's messed up, and I don't care! I'm embracing that and right now I love how it makes me feel. I'm bitter. I'm angry and EVERYTHING is vibrant and alive! " " Wait. Please stop. Don't go... " By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire.


They train you how to amble about on these rocks, but they don’t train you to run for goddamn life. One third gravity, hell one twentieth of Earth gravity, you can learn how to hop in your jump suit, pack and all, without falling on your bubble like a damned terra firmer , fresh in the float. But it all goes out the air lock when you suddenly have to run for your last. That lizard brain of yours doesn’t care a milliliter about the tech that brought you out here. It remembers. Remembers you scurrying from one rock to another knowing the sunlight meant death. The memory persists even in one twentieth the gravity, pushing your legs and pumping your lungs until you look like a spaz in your bag, fall over onto your bubble, and pop your top, wide open to the cold, dark suck. Out you go, eyeballs first. But you ain’t supposed to be running out here. There’s no horseplay in the cold, dark suck. There are no busses to catch, no races to run. And there damn sure ain’t supposed to be anyone—or anything—chasing you. But there it was, that perfectly smooth rock. Out of place like the first pearl anyone ever found, a perfect dome clasped into the asteroid’s strata, mostly buried, like a bullet embedded in wood. It clearly didn’t belong there and Dirkins had to go and tap it. “What’s this?” his question clicked with static through the comms. It startled everyone in the silence. It’s bad protocol. “What’s what?” The Boatswain’s crackle just as present as Dirkins’s, even though he was a thousand kilometers away in the bucket. Captain was in her bunk, sleeping off her boredom from the last shift. The Boatswain, a man too old to don a bag and bubble, still had a milliliter of that prospector’s juice in him. “What you got?” I stayed hush. It’s bad form to cram the comms. We were all panning for gold out here, being on a crew didn’t mean we were incorporated, but no need to be a squeaker. The team might leave you on some asteroid. “This ain’t part of the strata,” Dirkins poked at the dun pebbles and sand around the limb of this smooth sphere, tracing the path of ejecta. “This fell here.” “What are you seeing?” the Boatswain sounded twenties years younger in the comms. “Fig, switch your eyes on. Give me the landscape.” I slowly reached up and tapped the comms box on my bubble until the camera started transmitting. “Anyone in the zone can read this,” I reminded the Boatswain. I was being kind of a heel about it. First of all, it’s true that any monkey in the float would see that this thing was something special--even if it was some random geode. And secondly, I just didn’t care for the Boatswain. Old men, stuck in a chair, get cranky and lordly as they soar well and above the color. That hunger that drew them away from Terra Firma into the dark loses its taste when they are demoted to support positions in the bucket. “We’re the only monkeys in range,” he sent back, a little testily, and correct in his own right. Even if a mad rush came on, the nearest bucket was a week away. But the testiness between them evaporated like water on the moon as my telemetry played over the sphere sticking out of the strata. The more they stared at it, the less it seemed like anything they’d seen before. The asteroid they were on was too small for the geologic friction needed to make round geodes. Liquid stone might form a sphere in the float, but it couldn’t get hot enough out here to melt wax. And this thing was smooth . “What is it?” Dirkins ran his pick lightly across its surface. Something about that tickling move made me uneasy. “Fig, step back a bit so I can see how big that thing is.” I complied. But you don’t just back up wearing a bag and a bubble in fractional gravity. You turn around. So around I went. “Fig!” came a cry through the comms, peaking and clipping with panic. “]I can’t see it anymore.” “Gimme a minute to do this right,” I calmly gave him back. It was ugly enough his greed was coming through the comms for anyone on that channel to hear, but you can’t throw caution to the solar wind. If anything went wrong, one kilometer might as well be a light year. “There is a lot of rubble on this ball.” I picked my way around a pile of rough stones, from sand to table size. Anyone of them a hazard to a monkey in a bag. Once a good five meters away, I slowly turned around to put the object in frame. “Here you go.” But Dirkins was gone. “Where’s Dirkins?” The Boatswain barked impatiently. I swung back and forth, looking for Dirkins. I was getting irked. He’s gone, dummy! “I don’t know,” was my politic response. “Wait,” the Boatswain piped, but I saw it too, the once smooth and hemispherical dome was a jagged crater. A red cloud descended around where Dirkins had been, like a macabre fog. For a minute, the only sound was the rising cadence of my breathing. You learn from birth, if you’re unlucky enough to be born in the float, to breath slowly and deliberately. By the time a baby floater is an adult, it’s been nothing but buckets, bags, and bubbles. Slow, deliberate breaths are just as natural as blinking. But fear can still dig its lizard claws into you. You can start to raggedly grasp for breath like you won’t ever again. And just like that, it clicked that I was looking at the frozen lower half of Dirkins, standing fast, boiling and spewing more red mist into the cloud above. And out of the broken hemisphere, a shape was recoiling, covered in drabs of frozen red and shreds of white from Dirkins’s jump suit. “Fig,” The Boatswain chattered. “Fig, what the hell is going on? Where is Dirkins?” It was as if the pixels rendered by my bubble cam were less comprehensible than what I was actually seeing. Of course, running was the only thing to do. “You gotta wake Captain,” was all I could explain as I turned and began bumble hopping away . They train you to amble safely on these rocks. But me, the great spacefaring Fig, my lizard brain said RUN. I pushed my foot into the ground and launched myself dangerously forward. Immediately, my arms and legs, fat in my bag, started flailing. I knew I was doing it wrong, but the fear that coursed through my veins pumped my body to spasm and sprawl. The bric-a-brac came up to meet me, my arms catching most of the impact. But my momentum carried me forward, this time by the legs. Now, instead of moving in anyway like a human being, I was flipping over. For an arc segment, as I spun head over thruster, I saw the broken hemisphere. Dirkins legs and torso were gone. The mass around them, the quivering shape, an organic color against the grey pallor of the strata, was moving. Not quickly, but deliberately and shakily, point to point. “Fig,” came the commanding sound of my name through the comm. “Fig, what is your status?” It was Captain. Finally. Either that bastard of a Boatswain had come around to the good move of informing Captain that shit has gone sideways, or I have been out here long enough for the shift to change. “Fig, where is Dirkins?” I spun through the microgravity, the stars now filling my bubble, the jealous glare of Sol stretching out to cast day in the dark night. Life in the float had trained me to hear the sounds my jump suit. My bag sang to me. Increased heart rate? Check. Inefficient gas exchange? Check. Piddle pack filling? Check. I flailed about, feather-like, rolling forward with maddening slowness. With luck, I landed on my hands and knees in a patch that was more sandy than rocky. Alien horrors aside, smashing my bubble would have made a bad situation worse. The firm ground which gave my limbs purpose allowed me space to push the fear backwards. Instead of pumping my legs to run, this time I shimmy hopped from my knees to my feet and crouch-jumped into an upright position. “Dirkins is gone,” I replied through my breath. “He is a red mist sucked into the dark by something that ain’t us.” I allowed myself to turn at the waist to see if my nightmare friend had made any progress. He had. I could see him full now. He was like a couple coat hangers stuffed in a brown leather bag, each corner reaching out for a solid purchase. It was comfortable, as far as I could tell, exposed to the void. But maybe like me, it wasn’t used to the meager gravity. It quivered and hesitated with every move. But each move was in my direction. I could see bits of Dirkins frozen red and tatters of his bag stuck to this thing as it eked out its next step. But how fast could it move? It seemed to be feeling its way over the strata, a big rock in between us might slow it down. “Captain, do you read me?” I asked, stiffening at the ray of hope. I turned back away from the alien and took in the mare of smoother strata that stretched away from me, a few meters through some variable bric-a-brac. If I could amble around these few rocks, I could hit the mare and gain some speed. Put some distance while that thing was still clambering, finding its way. Buy some time for Captain to scoop me up. “Captain?” “Go ahead, Fig. I read you.” There was a pause. Her voice was tense. She was always a professional. “I think I can make you out in the scope below the limb. What the hell is that? It’s moving…” “No time, Captain,” I replied, taking a ginger hop around a knee-high protrusion of strata. I had to be careful not to land on any wonky bric-a-brac. A fall here would let it close the gap on me and I’d be red mist myself. “Ah, no time, Captain.” I repeated. “Funny story, though. Can’t wait to share.” There was a static chuff from the other end, more of a cough than a laugh. But I was calming myself down, not Captain. “Um, Captain, do you see that stretch of mare just ahead of my position?” There was a short pause. “Roger that,” Captain replied. “In about ten seconds, I am going to run like hell across that mare.” I put my hand down on a larger rock that threatened to trip me up and pivoted smoothly around it. The turn put my bubble around enough for me to see that bag of hangers on my trail, a wake of red mist billowing lightly showed its steady progress. My breathing was back to spacer calm again, heart rate high, but steady. I was thinking like a human, not reacting like a lizard. I suddenly remembered that the cam on my bubble could project a feed from my aft. Handy for working the hulks in dry dock around Triton. I flipped it on and made the final hop onto the mare. My friend was clearly visible in the feed which was projected in a corner of my bubble. He was making better time, navigating the bric-brac easily with whatever his limbs were. “Roger that,” Captain replied again. “ETA, two minutes.” “Let’s hope that’s not too long,” I added, knowing there was no point in arguing. All that was left was to run. “I need a dust off upon arrival, I will jump to you. Do not land. Repeat, do NOT land.” “Fig—” “Please, Captain, just be there to catch me.” It sounded futile, but there would be no time. The trick to ambulation in microgravity is timing and momentum. Microgravity walking is more like a slow gallop. For each push, you will have an arc of motion, up and then down. If the strata is right, you don’t need to worry about slipping or tripping, you just need to get your feet below you by the time you come back down. You only gain speed from contact to the strata. Once you are in your arc, anything you do short of getting your feet ready for the next landing could throw you off your timing. I pushed off. I had to be cautious. Any fumble now was my end. Floating a bit, I found the feel of the asteroid’s pull, landed on one foot with my other leg slightly ahead so that I could roll onto it and push off again. Too much and I would float gracefully up and away, but not enough to fly away. The asteroid had enough girth to drag me back down. But if I hedged my push too much, I mis-time it and stumble. Alien food. So I had to dance to run. Next foot down, roll onto the other. Too much “Shit,” I jetted up at least three meters. I did not want to move up, I wanted to move forward. I could do nothing until I came back down. Losing time. “Fig,” it was Captain. “Fig, I see you clear on the mare. That thing is closing about ten meters behind, slow going on those rocks. But it is definitely coming for you.” “Thanks for the update, Captain,” I touched down and absorbed the landing in my knee to dissipate excess energy. I needed to get control of my pace. Now push. Better, more forward than up, but low enough to keep the wheel spinning. Down again, rock onto my front leg, up again. Rhythm. Timing. This was working. “Fig,” came Captain’s staccato call. “It’s on the goddamn mare.” Fear coursed into me again like a solar flare. The lizard part of me twitched my attention to the rear display in my bubble and sure enough it was making its way onto the mare. I timed my next push wrong and launched myself horizontally. But you don’t just belly flop in microgravity, you have momentum. And the attitude my body took into its blunder would have me bouncing awkwardly forward with my legs where my head should be and my feet uselessly skyward. All I could do was use my arms to lessen the damage and try not to crack open my bubble. I skidded to a stop on my elbows and knees, kicking up clouds of strata dust around me. “Fig!” “Captain,” I sputtered through my teeth. “You have got to stop that.” “Fig, it’s flying at you now.” I stood up and looked over my shoulder with a tilt at my waist. Sure enough, my nemesis was about a meter above the mare, its protrusions spazzing and twitching in all directions. But it wasn’t flying. It was flailing! The course it took above the strata gave me the impression that it had tried to give chase with too much vigor. Once again, I got the impression that, while it could suffer the cold suck of the void, it was just as lost as me in microgravity. I straitened and set myself back to running the hell away. In my rear display I could see it was starting the to fall back, so I wasted no time. Short ambling hops to gain momentum, then strides. Jump, catch the fall on the front foot with bent knee, push off, repeat. With each cycle, push more forward, time it right to catch and shove again. I was gaining speed. “Thirty seconds,” Captain reported. I hazarded a glance above the round horizon of the mare, a glittering star was moving in an unnatural arc in what I hoped was a vector towards me. Fall, rock, push, fall rock push. I could not help myself but to look again at my rear display. The creature was finding its own rhythm. But his was more of a roll, one protuberance rolling underneath, and one or two swinging around from above to catch the next descent. I could see the strata kicked up behind him, deeper than mine. Stronger. He was catching up. Fall, rock, push, fall rock push. Fall, rock, push, fall rock push. “Ten seconds,” blared Captain’s voice in my bubble. I gave my attention back to my front and there was the bucket. Concentrate! Fall, rock, push, fall rock push. A light snapped on in the side of the bucket, the sally port, wide and inviting, hanging about three meters above the strata. Fall, rock, push, fall rock push. At the last ten meters, I timed the fall to land on both feet and pushed myself at the sally port with all my strength. I flew like a rocket into the bucket and immediately was thrown to the deck as Captain fired the boosters, so happy to feel solid Gs. I felt the Boatswain clip me into the rigging and pat my back as a way to say, “We got you, mate.” The bucket pulled away from the asteroid in an arc that gave me one final view of the mare falling away below. And there he was, brown and alive against the dull strata of the mare. It was framed in a slow cloud of dust as he fell back to the asteroid. “They don’t train you how to run on these rocks,” I said to the Boatswain. “But I learned to run today.”


It ended in silence, as most things do.

It all ended in the brutal, stifling nothingness, with no one there to bear witness. Not even the wind dared to howl, for it knew that there would be nothing left to hear it. Before, though, there was a gunshot. Ringing out in the cold stale air, the last thing that anyone ever heard.

The cries of that girl. A single girl, laying on the unknown remains of her childhood home, as she realized that she had lost everything she knew. The cries of the last girl on a dying world, her cries, knowing that there was no other option.

There were very few sounds, though, as that very same girl woke up in an abandoned world full of ash and endless shades of gray. She looked around and wondered how she would get back home.

But the events leading up to this were loud.

There was shouting and wailing up to the very moment before the girl came to. In the moments before her death, she would think that they were part of a dream. A vivid nightmare, far better, though, than the scene that was real. The world that was actually around her. If only she had remembered what had happened minutes earlier, maybe the end could’ve been different.

So prior to the sudden waking of the young women, there was a raging war around the sleeping girl, not much older than a child. Not a war between men, though the men were the ones who fought it. It was a war inside all of them, as they fought to accept their fate. The people said their last goodbyes. They cried their last tears, and breathed their last breaths of fresh, mortal air. They wondered what it would be like after they were gone; they wondered where they would go. As all the people came to terms with their inevitable fate, hundreds of eyes peered down and stared at the fair skinned girl, who they knew was the only one that would survive longer than them. Silently, they all wondered if her fate would truly be any better than theirs.

But of course, the event preliminary to the waking of a girl must be the falling asleep of one. So she, at the bright and youthful age of 16, was chosen. Chosen she was, and she became the people’s modern Sleeping Beauty. She was a symbol of hope, someone that they thought could handle the weight of simply existing on their fragile yet determined shoulders. And even earlier than that, all the people, including that girl before she slept, sat without words as they realized that the words of a madman weren’t as mad as the man who spoke them. They began to prepare, mentally and physically, for the things they now knew would come.

They didn’t believe the man who had figured it out. They didn’t think that he knew what he was talking about. After all, he sounded insane, standing up there in the middle of Times Square. No one wanted to believe that their end would be so sudden, so seemingly pointless. Soon, though, every resident of the famed concrete jungle would learn that his insanity was contagious, if insanity is what you can call the knowledge of a massive extinction.

In the beginning, before the chaos, everything was normal. People went about their mundane days; walking to work and driving their children to school, groaning in frustration at the endless line of cars, piling up to create traffic. They had no idea what was coming, because no one knew. No one could have warned them.  And that’s really all there is to tell. We start at the end so you can understand the beginning. You are given the conclusion so you can understand why it could have been changed. Why it could’ve been different. See, before the silence, the kind of silence that presses in on your ears. Before the gunshot, the final ringing through the head of someone’s young daughter and the sick thump as her body hit the dusty earth. Before she woke from her sleep and cried for the city; a now dead, leveled sandpit of ash, and for her family, buried under the crumbled buildings.

And before the shouting, before the wars within the people. When the people’s only hope for this girl was that she could survive and live on, whether it was tourture for her or not.

And finally, before she was chosen, along with eleven others.

She had no idea before she died, but she was not alone on that earth. She, regrettably, forgot. Tragically wiped from her memory was the knowledge that just 250 miles away was the next one. A boy of 18 with dark skin and eyes, ‘ saved’ just like she was.

There were two more on that continent, and three just across the ocean. Five more in the countries beyond, and they were all saved so that the world could have another chance. They were last symbols of hope, children that others thought could handle the weight of simply existing on their fragile yet determined shoulders.

How could they have known that they would forget? How could all the people know that every last one of those twelve children would be consumed by the grief and pick up those guns?

The guns. The simple shotguns, the only things left behind. Not one of them stopped to think how the sleek metal weapons got there. They only decided to die. Every one of them within eight minutes of waking up.

Within eight minutes, all twelve of the children took their own lives.

They were simply numbers to be recorded. Notes were taken on times of death, vitals right before the trigger was pulled, and even what their last words were, wailed to no one but themselves.

All twelve of those children, the youngest at 10 years old, were minor casualties, sacrificed so that the next test could be run with more accurate results. To add maybe two more minutes to the time between consciousness and the decision to end their own life.

I saw them die, and I’ve come to one conclusion.

It ended in vain, like they all do.


The night was awash in shades of different colors. Blue, red, white, green and yellow lights illuminate the family compound. Thrown all over the walls of the fence which wrapped itself around the parsonage were shadows of different forms, appearing and disappearing and morphing into one another. The compound was teeming with people. The gate was thrown wide open and from where I sat, perched on a low stool like a bird, I could see people walking in groups into the compound. Little boys were running all over the lawn, while the older ones engaged themselves in shooting fireworks, the type we called Moses Rod, into the sky. Older women sat or stood in groups discussing their preparations for tomorrow’s festivity while the men moved around bellowing greetings to one another while decorating the walls with broad placards which read “HAPPY CHRISTMAS”. The moon was bright and the breeze had a chilling effect. Everybody was in a festive mood. At the other end of the compound, beside the small store which housed father’s aged and damaged motorcycle and other bits and pieces of useless metals, women stood round a huge pot simmering on the fire with and already, I could perceive the aroma of tomorrow’s jollof rice. It was Christmas Eve. Despite the excitement hanging in the atmosphere, my mood was somber and I felt completely joyless like a mother hen whose only chick got carried away by a hawk. I watched Holy Joel (as people called my father) as he strutted into the main house with Minister, his bosom friend. They were chatting and the man seemed to be smiling at something Holy Joel was saying. I looked at them until they disappeared into the interior of the house and for the first time, I doubted whether Holy Joel was really a man of God, as many people believed he was. I doubted whether he truly possessed a wealth of wisdom as members of church believed, almost to a fault. If truly, he was a man of God, if truly, he was sagacious, he would consider my heart desire, he would consider how his decisions might affect other people’s plans. I knew almost every verse in the and I could wager there was no place in it where permission was given to men to marry off their daughters against her own will. But Holy Joel was obdurate. His decision to give my hands in marriage to Jeremiah, Minister’s son, was cast in stone. Unchangeable. Irreversible. Jeremiah was not only detestable, He was pompous and spoilt and he had a bloated sense of his own self-importance, simply because his father was made the most donations to the church. Even now, I could see him standing beside the pen, arms akimbo, his balding head shining under the gleam of a white bulb which flicked on and off on a wooden pole above him, his neck stretched like a giraffe's. I watched as he scanned the compound, clearly looking for something, or someone. Perhaps, me. I shifted my stool closer to the avocado tree under which I was sitting and glanced at the entrance to the compound. No sign of Akeju. My frown deepened and I felt a surge of anger rise up within me. If I was a volcano, I would be spitting up lava. I had waited for many hours, constantly looking out at the entrance, to catch the first glimpse of Akeju when he arrived. I was sure it must be nearing 11 o’clock. However, everything pointed to the fact that I was bound to be disappointed. Why did he heighten my expectations? Why did he allow me to plunge into this river of curiosity? Why did he promise to give me a surprise? Why? When he knew he was not coming. In frustration, I gave up the hope I had been painstakingly nursing and stood up, scanned the environment to see where Jeremiah was. He was nowhere in sight and I marched towards the house. I would sneak into my room, bury my face into the pillow on my bed and cry and cry until my eyes popped out. Perhaps, sleep would come to my rescue and relieve me of this excruciating heart ache. I had barely taken ten steps when I heard my name and turned around. It was Eniitan, my friend. She was rushing towards me and a man followed calmly behind her. It was Odu, the son of a wealthy cocoa merchant, who had just returned from the city. Unlike others, he was dressed in a befitting black suit and trousers. He wore a broad smile as he marched towards me.

“Modupe, where have you been all this while? Odu wants to see you”. Enitan said and flew away, leaving me and Odu. “Odu”. I muttered, tongue-tied and looked around to make sure Holy Joel and Minister had not come out. The latter stood before me, stared at me for a while, smiled and then spoke. “I have come to make my final move”. He said. “Modupe, I have made my intention known to you and as you know, I do not have much time to spend here and I have to speed things up. But, you have been silent all this while. So, I am here to tell you once again that I love you and to ask if you will marry me. Modupe, will you?” I watched him in surprise, no, shock, as he gradually went down on his knees and thrust his right hand into his pocket, I didn’t wait to see whatever he was bringing out. I covered my eyes, shook my head vigorously and whirled around. I heard him shout my name multiple times as I rounded corner leading to the backyard. I slipped into the house through the backdoor, sneaked into my room and bolted the door from behind.

“My daughter will not marry that he-goat!” I heard Mama’s (my mother) voice. I strained my ears and caught some of Holy Joel’s words; “understand”, “The Lord”, “trust” and so on. His words were spoken in hushed tones and I guessed that must be because Minister was in the sitting room. I knew my Mama's resistance would not last. She would soften as soon as Holy Joel finished preaching and quoting the Bible to her. She always did. In anger, I threw myself on the bed and cried.

“ Modupe! Module! Modupe!”

My mother was banging on the door so hard I bounced off the bed and hurried to unbolt the door. I must have fallen asleep.

“ What is wrong with you? Sleepy-head! Your mates are helping the women with cooking and you are here sleeping. Your father wants you in the sitting room”. She said and skidded away. I knew why Holy Joel was calling me and I stiffened my mind, preparing to be rebellious. I dawdled across the passage into the sitting room and there, on plastics chairs arranged in a semicircle were Holy Joel, Minister and well_ you can imagine, Jeremiah, grinning from ear to ear. I was seething. “ Sit”. Holy Joel said. I obeyed.

After his usual introductory speech which often contained proverbs and Bible verses interspersed with prayers, he opened the lid off the pot. “I have decided to honor the agreement between me and Minister”. He gestured towards the beaming Jeremiah stood up, straightened his Danshiki and marched towards me, taking one step at a time. I looked around and Mama was not present. That signified her disapproval of Holy Joel’s stupid arrangement and I felt emboldened. Jeremiah stopped before me and like Odu, he thrust his hand into his pocket but unlike Odu, he did not kneel. That typified his arrogance.

“Modupe, I love you and I’d love you to consent to my proposal. Do you agree to be my wife?” He said and brought out a ring, bent over and took my hands. I did not react. All this while, Minister was beaming with smiles. Holy Joel, however, wore a blank and unreadable expression, staring at me. I felt a cold ring slipping into the fourth finger on my left hand and I yanked my hand off. The ring dropped and rolled away. I stood up. Holy Joel stood up too, stunned. I had never defied him before and he seemed overly stupefied.

“Touch me again and it will be a chair smashing into your face. You despicable human. I am not going to marry you. Never! Not on anyone’s arrangement!” I blurted out, stared Holy Joel in the face and on my way out, I met Mama at the entrance. She stared at me with pity and shock in her eyes. I ran past her out of the house into the teeming and lively compound, a stark contrast to my state of mind. I was livid and I needed to clear my mind. A song of praise was playing softly from a large speaker. The excitement was at its peak and no one noticed when I ran past, cutting through the crowd, cutting through rows of benches and plastic chairs into the Bible College, a block of classrooms built in a U-shape, situated at the extreme of the compound. The classes were dark and I sat on the corridor behind the bed of flowers which lined the front part of the building and wished Akeju was with me.

“ My Belle, my belle”. Wannabe's voice sounded behind me. I didn’t bother to turn around because there was nothing new about him. He would be wearing his worn-out black gown, the one he always told people he wore on his graduation day at Oxford in 1950, fifteen years ago. I was a ten year old girl then . Certainly, he would be with one of his large books which he called “mind nourishments”. He must have been studying in one of the classes with his small torch (that was very typical of him) and having seen me, he must have thought he had found a willing listener to one of his stupid “ I wanna be an academician” talks which earned him his nickname in the Community Grammar School where he taught History. “My belle, my belle”. He said again and sat down shoulder to shoulder with me. I didn’t protest neither did I respond as I would have done on a good day. “ You see ….”, he started. “ … I’d say that your materialization at this particular place tonight is not by happenstance but by coincidence. That is because I have been cogitating about the modus operandi with which I would bring a very personal and emotional matter to your cognizance. Do you understand me?” I didn’t answer and he went on. “ I believe that we are, by divine ordainment, intertwined. This knowledge, I have kept in the hallway of my esophagus. But because I have had strong perceptions of wolves preying on you, especially Minister’s son, I have decided to strike the iron when it is hot. I am convinced of your love for me and if we must solidify and concretize our relationship, there must be consensus ad idem between us. That is why I am expressing my genuine and undiluted intention to take you as my Juliet. Do you agree to accept me as your Romeo?” He finished and moved closer to me and placed his hand on mine. I grew irate. “ Mr. Julius!” I called him by his real name. “ Stand up, stand up!”, he stood up, taken aback. “ if I’ve been playing a silly husband -and-wife game with you before, it has stopped from today. You hear me? And I don’t want to hear your stupid grammars again, they make me sick! Agbaya! ” I spat out and stormed off. Why was this Christmas Eve full of undesirable happenings. First, Akeju's breach of promise, then Odu's proposal, then Jeremiah and Holy Joel, and now, Wannabe. My Christmas was ruined already. There was no hiding place again, I couldn’t go back to the house, lest, I’ll be harangued by both Mama and Holy Joel. Wannabe was still at the Bible College, probably licking his wounds. Even if I hid somewhere else, he would spot me and I was not sure I could tolerate another sentence from him. I would strangle him to death. As I dilly-dallied amidst the crowd, I glanced at the gate and closed, it was. My heart broke. Akeju was not coming. I felt a tap on my shoulder, turned and there was Odu again, looking at me pleadingly. In his hand was a flower. His silly flower. For once, I wondered whether that was what he was going to bring out the other time. No, he must have changed his mind. He was moving closer and people had started staring at us. I felt uncomfortable.

“Modupe please, just say something, yes or no, I’ll accept anything you say. Just say something.” He pleaded, held my hand with one hand and offered the red flower with the other.

I flustered, felt people’s eyes on me and reddened with embarrassment. “ Odu, not here please. People are watching”. I whispered to him. “ No, I want everyone to witness this. Your father controls this place and I must not be like the legendary hawk which carried a duckling away before it’s mother’s very eyes and ended up regretting its action”. His voice was deep and loud. A woman caught his words and shouted “ O káre, mode yii” and started clapping. Others joined in and within the twinkle of an eye, we were surrounded by a cheering crowd. Seeing an opportunity, Odu leaned in.

“ Modupe, be my wife, let’s mark this Christmas with love”. He said. Everybody’s eyes were on me, the Vicar’s daughter and I became tongue-tied. I had never experienced this before and I just didn’t know how to control the situation. Many people, because of my body language, misinterpreted my silence as acquiescence. I looked around and there was Jeremiah, obviously furious. He might have been staring at excrement. He gave me a deadly look and then disappeared, to call his backer, I suppose.

Just as I was about to disappoint all of them, there was a loud bang and everyone turned towards the direction it came from, the gate. The person banging the gate must really be an impatient person as the banging continued and the whole compound was filled with the sound. “ Someone, open that gate!”. Holy Joel barked from nowhere and three young men ran to the gate at once. They unbolted the smaller one and in marched the love of my life. He donned an hand-woven red cap and a lovely pair of sandals. His Danshiki looked stiff and pointed sideways. He had his favorite talking drum which he beat at church services draped on his shoulder and he held the drumstick with his free hand. Before anyone could berate him for disrupting an entertaining view, he started beating his drum and everyone listened, He was passing messages across to me. I understood the beats and the messages he was passing. The men understood, some of the women did and of course, Holy Joel too understood.

“ Modupe, answer me”. Odu, whose hand was still intertwined with mine prodded me again and I shouted a loud “Nooooo”, loud enough for everyone to hear. I yanked his hand off me and ran towards Akeju. Everyone stared in amazement but I didn’t care. Holy Joel could disown me, Mama may call me a stupid child, as she did all the time. Jeremiah and his dad could demand all their donations to the Church’s purse, Wannabe could throw his worn out graduation gown and books away. I did not care. Everything felt right in the world as I melted into Akeju's arms and shouted “Yes! Yes!! Yes!!! I will marry you!”. The latter had dropped both his talking drum and the stick a second before I jumped on him and he wrapped me up in his arms. The crowd cheered and everyone clapped. I cried as I said “You kept me waiting for too long”. “ I’m sorry my love, I couldn’t find my drum stick on time, that’s why I’m late.”

I freed myself, turned around and we both walks towards the crowd. Jeremiah looked irate, Minister was no different, Odu wore a sour look and his flower hung loosely in his hand. Having proposed two times in one night, he seemed not to believe he was defeated by a man who only had to beat a drum. Wannabe’s expression screamed hurt and disappointment. Mama was smiling and Holy Joel was shaking his head gently with a look that said “you silly girl, come and give daddy a hug!”. I smiled and walked towards my parents, Akeju following closely behind me. Holy Joel opened his arms and I wrapped mine around his waist. I felt a gentle pat on my back and there was Mama. “ Father, Mama, I’m sorry it had to be this way”. I muttered. “ You are forgiven my child. I support your choice”. Holy Blue said and I went down on my knees, not believing my ears. “ Thank you father, thank you thank you ….”. Suddenly, as if stung by a scorpion, someone yelled “Happy Christmas”. The crowd erupted into a deafening shout of joy. The time had clocked twelve. It was Christmas day.


TW: Swearing, brief references to the beast with two backs. I woke up with a headache that could crack a god’s skull. It panged for the pure blackness of deep space. Dusty floorboards kissed my cheek as I grumbled to my feet. Dancing in the air, particles of dust were keeping the party going. Throbbing agony pulsed with the beat of my heart. The ache extended far beyond the confines of my head into the air beyond.             Curtains that didn’t deserve the name were letting in most of the sun from outside despite being drawn. I gave them a middle finger to let the bastards know what I thought of them.             It wasn’t my home. I was sure of little, but I was sure of that. The familiar scent of grass was absent.             I’d been drinking the night before. And presumably some of the morning. A look at my phone might answer some questions. I patted my pockets. They were closer to the rest of me than usual. I’d clearly had too many wheatgrass shots. No phone.

Glasses?  Where had I put my glasses? The living room where I’d woken was minimalist. Posters of mountain ranges and the moon clung feebly to tape that had become emotionally attached to the wall. Someone was going to lose their deposit when that didn’t come off.             Where had I been? The bar called Ram Ewe? A vague memory of two guys headbutting each other flickered with the indecision of a streetlight in a dodgy neighbourhood.             Jessie lay in his own drool in the hallway. A sheet shrunk away from me as he turned. Only a collar and a sheet? I didn’t need to see that. Tail wagging as his lip curved with a smile. I guessed that someone in his dream was scratching behind his ear.             A bathroom towel pouring from the tiles of its home onto the carpet of the hall assured me I didn’t have to worry about making a mess.             My stomach grumbled as I staggered. I didn’t know what my tummy was saying and for that reason it kept talking, nagging at me. Running water made me think of the stream at the bottom of the garden.             Scents of cooking meat tickled my nose. It should have turned my stomach, not turned it on.

That’s what you need , it said.

Eat that .             I splashed the running water on my face and let it drip down my snout. Instead of dripping down my overbite into my mouth it fell with a splash into the sink. I felt my face. My hoof was too dextrous. My eyes confirmed it wasn’t cloven or hoofish. It was a paw. I had an underbite.             “What the fuck?” I murmured.             An image in the mirror looked up just as I did.             A reflection of a wolf.             I fell back, slipping on toilet roll and banging into the toilet. The seat slapped the porcelain with a clang.             Jessie barked in the hallway. Scrabbling sounds said he was disgracing the poor bedsheet further to cover himself.             “You alright in there?” The voice was female, vulpine and warm. Warm the way a predator’s heart is warm as it chases down prey through the fields. Warm like the trickle of sweat down your back as you run for your life.             “I’m fine,” I growled through teeth that were triangular instead of rectangular. It was wrong. It was all wrong.             “I’m making breakfast,” said the voice from the kitchen. “You must be ravenous after last night. I know I am.”             My paw, that should have been a hoof, opened the bathroom door. She tilted her head. Grey ears twitched. A wet black nose twitched.             “You smell like grass. Did you roll out of my bed through a field?” Her unnaturally round pupils focused on me. My heart began to beat a drumroll. “Never had it like that before. Was it your first time?” A smile that would have been reassuring if it wasn’t attached to the animals who eat my kind showed the bottom of a few teeth.             “First time yeah,” I nodded. I was trying hard not to wet myself.             “Aww. You’re a changed man now. There’s nothing like the first time.”

I’ve definitely changed.             “Where am I?” Asked Jessie, rubbing his head.             “Shouldn’t a sheepdog know that?” Asked the she wolf.             “I’d like to know where I am as well,” I said, sheepishly. “And what I did last night.”             “The answer to question two is not what, but who, me.” She pointed to herself, looking hurt. Perhaps insulted was a better word. I felt like I was about to be the only one who was hurting. “You’re in Lunaburg.”             “I went drinking with my buddy Barry,” said Jessie. “Then I was with you. Now I’m here.” He winced. “I’m sure I was wearing clothes for most of it.” He stood with a long protrusion from the sheet at the back.             “It’s me, Jessie,” I said to my friend. He was one of those friends who was a friend to everyone but not close friends with anyone. He went to all the parties. He knew sheep, foxes and apparently wolves. He got in trouble and had wild stories, corroborated by wildly blurry photos on his beleaguered phone. “I’m still Barry, despite whatever happened last night.”             “Barry,” snorted the she wolf. “Sounds like a sheep’s name to me.”             “I get told that a lot,” I said.

Mostly by sheep who think it’s an excellent name.              “Barry?” Jessie asked. “Barry Ra-”             “Ready to go, yeah.” I cut him off before he could tell her my name was Ramstein. It was a sheep’s name without a doubt. “Thank you for the offer of breakfast,” I hesitated, not knowing her name.             “Blevine,” she said. Her hackles were up. Every impulse I had was telling me to run. Another opposing set of impulses were telling me to bite and rut with her.             “Wonderful to lose my virginity to you, and know you, in that order, I guess. I need to go. I’ve lost my phone.”

And my body.  “I really think me, and Jessie, need to find our things and work out what happened last night.”             “I don’t suppose you have any clothes?” Jessie asked. He used his friendly voice. It was the voice that had people calling him a good boy and rubbing his belly.             “No,” said Blevine. Her steely eyes sent a signal to my legs to shake. My feet sent a signal to my bladder that it was time to relax a bit. My bladder agreed, sending an ambassador downhill.             “Did you just piss yourself?” Blevine asked, throwing up her paws.             “A little bit,” I winced.             “This isn’t your territory, get out.” She pointed to the door. “Urgh, boys.”             “Clothes?” Jessie asked, his puppy dog eyes pleaded. His unwilling toga begged for mercy.             “Out!” We were shuffled out into a hallway that stank of urine. In my new body I knew too much from the smell of those markings. I knew what the neighbours had been eating, drinking. Too much.

I’m a sheep .             “I’m naked,” moaned Jessie.             “You’re wearing a sheet,” I said.             “But it’s just a sheet and I’ve lost my phone and my wallet.”             I grabbed him by the scruff and growled in his face. “Who cares? You can get all of that back. I’m a sheep. At least I was. I’ve lost my body Jessie. What do I do about that? I’ve lost my body and my memory.” We padded down the staircase from Blevine’s flat.             “And your virginity.” He gave me a thumbs up. “And your phone, and clothes,” said the party animal. “And you’re covered in piss.” He opened a door into the street.             “That’s not helpful.”             “It was a night to remember though,” he smiled.             “BUT I DON’T REMEMBER,” I yelled. My voice was a growl that would have scared my whole flock to death. I scared myself.             “Memory’s a bit woolly, is it?” He smiled the same smile everyone has when they’ve just told a shit pun.             I punched him. It felt good. I had a newborn lust for violence. “What do I do? I just had sex with a wolf. What if she gets pregnant? Would the kid be half wolf, half sheep? What would you even call that?”             “A weep?” Jessie rubbed his chest where I’d thumped him. His tail had sagged between his legs. “Maybe you’re just dreaming.” He shrugged. “Have you tried pinching yourself.”             “When I dream, I count family members,” I said. “This isn’t a dream or a nightmare.”             “How can you be sure?” Asked the sheepdog.             “Because I would have woken up by now in a cold sweat.”             “I usually wake up in cold drool,” he scratched behind his ears, tongue lolling. “Come on. You can come to my place until we get this sorted out.”             “Really?”             “Sure. Come-bye.”             “Thank you.”             “Ewe are welcome,” he said.             “Good boy.” I patted his head. The tail emerged from the back of the toga, wagging.