“Ariana, please listen to me.” I shoved past her, grabbing the neat pile of shirts from my desk before shoving them in my bag. It was quickly getting full and I eyed the neon suitcase that sat on the top shelf of my closet.

My mother was quick to follow my gaze. “Absolutely not,” She said with a strict finality in her tone, stepping in front of the closet to block my access to the suitcase. “The fact that you still think this is happening is insane. So, sit your ass down and start unpacking.” I paused, considering. Clearly, the idea that she would just give up on stopping me from going away was not true. I sat down and watched as relief flooded her features. She clearly thought she had won this battle.

“This is not worth it. I know you think you want it. I get it. You’re eighteen and you think you’re an adult now and you think you know what you want. But you don’t. Attending a school in the middle of nowhere is not the great idea you think it is.” Kulu Dyheu University. A private university on a tiny, tropical island in the middle of the Arctic Ocean between Iceland and Norway. A university that I knew logically I had found by complete accident, and yet it seemed like fate. The university had a broad range of majors that appealed to me as well as a beautiful campus. I may not have been there yet, but the pictures that were displayed on the webpage for the school boasted large, gorgeous plants and a close-knit campus to make the journeys between classes easy.

I had applied immediately and despite the huge scholarship I received, Mom remained unconvinced. She begged me to stay in state. Told me that Minnesota had many wonderful institutions to attend.

I remained uninterested, however. Even as other acceptance letters flooded my mailbox, nothing grabbed my attention or excited me like my acceptance letter to Kulu Dyheu University.

So, I submitted my fee to the university and made the official decision to attend there. Did my mother know that? No. Not at the time. But now she did know, and she was not handling it well.

“This is where I want to go. It’s a great school. And I can call you everyday. I’ll be fine.” Perhaps, an appeal to the technology of today would sway her.

Her frown deepened. “You are not going to school there.” She walked out of my room, casting one last glare at my half-packed bag.

I thought that this would pass. That she would grow used to the idea of me leaving. Weeks of summer flew by and the start of a new school year dawned. But as I brought up my need for a passport and buying clothes for the warm island I would be staying, she brushed my words aside. I realized, with a start, that she truly meant what she had said at the beginning of my summer. She had no intention of letting me go there.

This was going to be harder than I thought. But I was nothing if not resilient, so I got myself a passport to start.

This, although a scary experience, was not difficult to do. I had all my forms prepared and various pieces of identification to prove I was who I said I was. After six weeks, I received my passport, shiny and new, with the smell of freedom. It was so strong it intoxicated me.

My bags remained mostly packed for a month. And when the time to leave grew near, I finished packing, placing my toothbrush and deodorant in last.

Everything was in place. The house was silent as the clock ticked towards midnight. Adam, my best friend and apparently my getaway driver, was on his way. I was nearly bouncing on my bed from the excitement of it all.

My phone lit up with a text from Adam announcing his presence in my driveway. I glanced out the window and could see the headlights from his car facing the garage door.

Shouldering my many bags, I slid into the hallway, doing my best to avoid the creaky floorboards. Before creeping down the stairs, I paused outside the pink painted door. Gently, I pushed it open and peered inside. My sister lay curled atop her covers, hand still wrapped around her phone. I muttered a goodbye she would never hear.

After exiting the front door, I made as fast of a dash as I could with many bags. I shoved them into the back seat, before sliding into the passenger seat and grinning at Adam. He rolled his eyes and he backed out of the driveway.

The airport we were driving to was a few hours away. I insisted on choosing the one that was not the closest to my house, in case anything went wrong.

“They’ll check the closest airport, if they realize I left,” I had explained to Adam over a bowl of mint ice cream. “So, we’ll go to some random one a few cities away.” Blasting music to keep the both of us awake, Adam’s hands were glued tightly to the steering wheel. His nerves about this whole operation were unrelenting, and I could practically see him working himself into a panic attack.

“It’s going to be fine,” I reminded him, carefully placing one of my hands over one of his. His eyes never left the road, but he did appear to release a breath neither of us had realized he had been holding.

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one being left behind to clean up your mess,” he retorted after a minute. I gave an apologizing smile, and he rolled his eyes. I knew I was forgiven. “But seriously, is it worth it? Ditching your mom and sister, leaving in the middle of the night, going behind everyone’s back, facing the unknown, all for a college? Is it really worth it?” My eyes fixated on the exit sign for the airport. One mile.

“It is. It’s what I want. Don’t I deserve to do what I want to do? To go where I want to go?” “Of course,” he said, hurriedly. “I just wish where you wanted to go wasn’t so far away.” “I’ll come back. For Christmas and things like that.” “It won’t be the same.” Adam was attending an in-state school for elementary education. I was going thousands of miles away to study aerospace engineering, graphic design, and gender studies. To say, we would be leading different lives was the understatement of the century.

He pulled into the airport, parking close to the entrance. As we both unbuckled, Adam reached for the cooler of homemade sandwiches. Feasting on peanut butter and jellies, chips, and capri suns, we were once again reminded of the fast coming future. We were no longer children. As excited as I was, fear gripped me for the first time as I fully realized what I was doing. Moving so far away that I could never just drive home for the weekend, or have my mom come visit if I needed her.

Adam squeezed my hand, sensing my anxieties. “You’re going to be amazing.” “You sure?” “Absolutely.” I had never been on a plane before. They were bumpy and crowded and smelly, and yet I could not stop myself from smiling. This was my beginning.

The plane landed in Iceland, which was surprisingly green to me. I suddenly felt very silly in my coat and jeans as a slight gust of wind provided me and my fellow passengers with a breath of relief from the humidity.

I stayed the night in a hotel, flopping on the creaking bed with exhaustion. My many bags lay abandoned by the door and for the first time since leaving, I checked my phone. I had thirty missed phone calls from my mom and over 100 messages. Adam had sent me five texts, asking me if I was okay and then telling me that my mom was freaking out. Finally, Annie, my little sister, had texted me. Unlike the upset tone to my mom’s messages or the concerned tone of Adam’s, Annie’s were curious.

I took a moment of consideration, before sending her a message informing her that I was okay. Then, I let the exhaustion overtake me.

I was up bright and early the following morning to board the boat. My bags overwhelmed me as I stumbled toward the dock from the taxi, yet no one moved to help me. I managed to make it onto the boat, handing the crumpled ticket to the person who appeared to be in charge. He looked at it in distaste before letting me board.

The tiny boat was small and shaky. I threw up four times. My head pounded the entire time and I nearly regretted it all, as I buried my head in between my knees, begging for the headache to loosen the terrible grip it had on me. But, this was still what I wanted. My classes, the new friends I would make, living on a tropical island away from my family- it was everything I was excited about.

After quite a few hours, we docked on the island. I had just barely stepped out onto the deck when the boat and its crew took off away from the island.

I began walking on a dirt road. I passed by a café and waved at two girls who sat outside, side by side, eating ice cream.

Soon enough, the large sign of Kulu Dyheu University came into view, brightly colored and intricately designed. A smile took over my face.

Finally.


“It’s my first time” Ashton muttered with a wounded look towards Ace. He picked himself up from the cold asphalt nervously. Ace sneered and shoved him towards the front of the alleyway.

“This job ain’t for scaredy-cats, kid.” He spat. “If you can’t do it then I guess we’ll just have to go through with Plan B.” He already knew what the kid was going to say, but he sensed he needed a little bit more motivation.

“N-no, it’s fine. I’m no scaredy-cat.” Ashton replied nervously. He took a deep breath and rubbed his cold sweaty hands together, trying to steady his breathing. It didn’t work.

Plan B. Ashton didn’t know much about Plan B. All he knew was that it was bad enough to threaten kids with, and that was enough for him.

“Then move it.” Ace glared at the kid. He was tired of getting all the newbies. Why doesn’t Jefferson give them to someone else, he thought bitterly, taking a cigarette out of his pocket. They’re slow and jittery and don’t know what they’re doing. Ah, what the heck, just get it over with.

Ace scowled.

“I said move it!” He yelled as quietly as he could, but quickly got control of himself. He didn’t want to risk them getting caught, but really, this kid was getting on his nerves.

He knew if they were late with their haul, Jefferson would be furious, but he knew even more how much he would boil over if they got caught. That would be the second group this month.

Ace gave up and roughly grabbed the kid’s arm and dragged him to the front of the alley.

“You see that house over there?” He asked gruffly.

“Uh, n-no. Errr, wait, yeah. Yeah, I see it.” Ashton stuttered. He bowed his head timidly, he knew how quickly Ace’s temper could flair.

Ace rolled his eyes in disgust and continued. “When the second batch of kids enters the house you’ll follow them in with a couple other of our young recruits, and go through the haunted house. A couple other guys and I will be scattered around, about a block in each direction,” He paused darkly, “just in case anyone escapes or something goes wrong, which shouldn’t happen,” he said, eyeing Ashton, “ but it’s pretty much smooth sailing from there. Got it?” He added the last part looking down upon the kid. Ashton nodded shakily and sat down, knees up, head in hands. He thought he would cry but evidently, he was too shocked and scared too.

They had been sitting in silence for a few minutes when Ace began to speak.

“I was just a kid when I was recruited too.” Ace said in a softer tone, putting the lit cigarette in his mouth. Then fell silent again. Ashton didn’t know what to say. He supposed this was Ace’s way of having pity on him, but he didn’t care that he was trying to have pity, so he stayed quiet. Apparently Ace didn’t care. They both sat in silence.

Ashton slowly, trying not to be noticeable, reached his hand up and pinched himself, hoping beyond hope that it was a Halloween nightmare. He sighed and let his hand slump down to his side again. Nope. It was worth a try though.

Ashton wasn’t normally into all that pinch-yourself-and-hope-you-were-dreaming type of stuff, but this didn’t seem like a time where that mattered. He folded his arms around his legs.

Ashton couldn’t believe that a group of people would actually carry out something like this. Kidnapping a bunch of kids and then training them so that they can kidnap other kids for their business. Unbelievable. Cruel. Why couldn’t they just do it themselves if they really wanted to? He guessed that a bunch of kids entering a haunted house wouldn’t be as suspicious as a bunch of sketchy guys. Time seemed like it was passing like a slug. Ace grunted. The first group of kids had entered the haunted house. Ashton’s mind drifted.

Why the second group? Was it more suspicious if the first group disappeared? What makes the difference!? What makes the second group have to be kidnapped instead of the first!? How could they get away with this!?

Ashton could feel his heart beating faster the more he sat there in his flaming anger.

“Simmer down kid.” Ace said, between puffs of his cigarette. “No point in getting riled up. Believe me.”

Ashton blinked, coming back to Earth from out of his head. He turned his head away.

“I wasn’t getting riled up.” He said resentfully, anger still present.

Ace snorted and shrugged. “You're actually doing fairly well compared to the other kids I’ve had.” He said in amusement. “Normally they’ve tried to run away by now. Stubborn... a little admirable... but stupid.” He said thoughtfully.

Ashton stood up angrily. He couldn’t take it anymore. Ace’s eyebrows rose.

“What do you know about what’s admirable!?” He said, voice full of anger.

“Fine. Stubborn... and stupid .” Ace replied coolly, standing up.

“No! Not-” He was cut off from a hard stinging slap in the face.

“Shut up, you're too loud.” Ace said without a trace of emotion. He knew exactly what this was. He had a quick temper too, but over the years of being in business, he had learned that at some points, it was better to stuff it down.

“Sit down and shut up.” He said, shoving the kid down to the ground. “You’re going to have to learn sooner or later that tempers aren’t beneficial to you. Better you stuff it down now than have Jefferson teach you how.”

Ashton was stubborn and angry, but not stupid. He knew when he had to stop...and it was now. He already regretted his outburst. Jefferson would definitely hear about this. Ashton felt helpless and miserable and terrified. At this point, he could definitely cry. But he wouldn’t. Not now. Not in front of Ace. He couldn’t show any sign of weakness. He had to let it go. He had to stuff it down. He had no choice but to listen to Ace if he knew what was best for him.

------

“Stand up.” Ace commanded mercilessly. “You need to go.”

Ashton stood up. He hated having to take orders from someone so unrespectable.

“Where’s your costume?” Ace asked eyebrows furrowing. “Put it on.”

Ashton pulled his vampire costume over his head and picked up the candy bucket.

“Go to the corner of that sidewalk and meet the other kids there. Then you will all go to the house together. Act like you're a group of normal teenagers out to have a fun, scary Halloween night. Follow the plan.” He said gruffly. Ashton nodded nervously.

“Go. Don’t mess this up.” Ace said and pushed him out of the dark alleyway.

Ashton walked slowly to the corner of the sidewalk where he was supposed to be meeting the other young recruits. By now his anger had been snuffed out and it was all fear gnawing at him from the inside.

After about five minutes, more than ten kids had gathered on the street corner. Ashton looked behind him towards Ace. He could see the small light of his cigarette burning in the alley. Ace took a step into the light so Ashton could see his face. It was set in a hard glare sending a dark message to keep going.

“First time?” A tall kid dressed in an alien outfit asked.

“Noticeable?” Ashton replied, trembling.

“Definitely." He said back. “Best if you figured out how to hide that.”

Ashton swallowed. “I know.” He tried to say but all that came out was a dry whisper.

The kid raised his eyebrows and stepped off the sidewalk onto the street. Ashton followed.

They drew up to the house just behind the second group of other kids. The house was ominous. How could they do this? How could he do this? How could he do this to other kids like him?

 “Hey. Move.” A girl behind Ashton commanded in a whisper, shoving him closer to the house. She spoke gently, but urgently. “We can’t hold it up.” She shoved him again towards the house. Towards the kids.

“I know. It’s just my first time” Ashton trailed off. As if it being his first time was worth anything. He rolled his eyes at himself. Great, now he was embarrassed too. He stared at the haunted house and then at the group of laughing kids in front of them. Ashton started to move but it was barely a slow shuffle. Just my first time . He thought. How many more times would he have to do this? How many times has Ace done this? Or the other kids around him? Would it always be this horrifying or would it get better? Did he want it to get better? He made himself stop thinking about it and stepped up into the stairs to enter the haunted house. My first time-and hopefully my last.


Hannah O Connor looked at the invitation on the iPhone screen which lay on the solid industrial style wooden kitchen table. She could sense the bumps of the joins without even touching the table, old habit of rubbing the tips of her fingers left to right while she pondered what to do. “Class of 95!” It screamed. Dear lord had it been so long? Everyone must have changed so much, with the freedoms of youth left beind and the ravages of having children played on the lined faces and stretched bodies of her old classmates. Although sneaky looks through Facebook showed a number of them cheating for sure! Lip fillers and Botox. Seems to Hannah the harder you have to try the older you seem anyway. Stacey, Hannah’s younger sister came into the kitchen grabbed her phone whilst shouting at her two beautiful devil children “Max! Liam! Say goodbye to grandad we have to pop to the shops to get something for dinner before Daddy gets home!” Stacey whirled out, armed with her phone, car keys and armload of bags with kid paraphernalia. Her sister singing “Bye I’ll see you tomorrow” then the beep of the automatic boot opening of the car as Stacey made the bustling noises of a busy working mum who never had enough hours in the day. Sounds of Jim kissing his grandchildren goodbye echoed through the hall, it was a sight to behold. Hannah could feel the love in the air just from hearing the squeal from his only two precious grandchildren. Hannah always felt a tinge of sadness that she herself was never able to have children, she knew her father loved nothing more at Christmas time and other celebrations as a house full of families especially children and the noisy clatter of fun they bring. James. He had been in Hannah’s mind ever since she saw the invitation on the phone. She had seen him a number of times over the years, had seen him grow into the strong capable man she knew he would become. Not classically handsome and with some scaring along his right cheek from the car accident all those years ago, oh but when he smiled! It would melt the hardest of hearts! The corner of his mouth seem to touch his eyes, such a genuine sweet guy. His wife was a lucky lady! Four children seemed to keep him fit, he was such an active dad. His wife Marie was forever putting pictures of their happy family on social media. Hannah was happy for him, even though he was the only person to make her feel truly alive, their happy ever after wasn’t to be. She’d go to the reunion. Hopefully Marie would be there. Hannah’s old best friend from school being there would prevent Hannah doing anything she’d regret! Two days before the high school reunion, Jim O Connor came into his room to look for his reading glasses to read ‘You and me little bear’ to young Liam and Max when he saw Stacey on all fours rummaging through his wife side of the wardrobe. “Honey.. you Ok? You loose something?“ ”Hi Dad, no, sorry, I didn’t loose anything, I was hoping to borrow the dress mum wore to my wedding for the school reunion on Friday night.” “I thought you said that invite was for Hannahs school year?” ”Well yes it is, I know but I was invited too, as I had a lot of the same friends as Hannah from then that I haven’t seen in years and I’d love to catch up, anyway I had no luck at the shops for an outfit“ Stacey moaned. Jim smirked, “you hardly need to buy more!“ “Dad I want to look classy, not like so many women my age in their 40’s trying to pass for being in their 20’s! When I was looking for a dress like mums and I thought maybe I could just borrow her one, it was beautiful and she spent a small fortune on it!” Jim looked forlorn for a second and said “Stace you’re right, it was a beautiful dress, she would want to to have it, Lord knows she would.“ “You sure Dad?” ”Sweetie yes it would bring back lovely memories of happier times“ A yell from downstairs let Jim know his grandsons patience was running out, he picked up his glasses, winked at Stacey “Maybe leave the fancy hat behind though” then hollered “Boys I’m coming go sit by grandads armchair, It’s story time!” Hannah smiled at the exchange she heard upstairs between her dad and sister. Since their mum moved into the care home six months ago after a stroke, it left an emptiness in the family homes atmosphere which sometimes could be hard to bear but it was a lovely nod to the style her mother enjoyed. Even though Stacey was a couple of inches taller than their mother, she would look very elegant in that dress. Hannah actually felt a little pang if envy! She moved from the fireplace where she was keeping an eye on her nephews to make space for her father to perch in his favorite spot to read to ‘his special boys’. “Ah hem, once there were two bears, big bear and little bear...” Jim began as his two grandsons, looking up, eyes wide, smiled, rooted to the spot on the fluffy mat in front of the armchair to hear their favorite story. James looked at himself in tall mirror in the bedroom as he did up his tie. “Marie, are you ready - the babysitters here?” Marie hopped on one foot coming out of the bathroom trying to squeeze her right foot into her black high heel shoe. “Yep nearly ready, God I think even my feet are gaining weight!” Marie complained. She always got quiet stressed about old school reunions. “You look beautiful as ever, you’ll knock ‘em dead! I bet you’ll even have the honorable Judge Sean Sullivan groveling all over you again” ”Stop teasing! He’s not a judge he’s a barrister” James pulled his wife close and smiles but before he could roam his coarse mechanics firm hands on her new dress Marie broke away, “the babysitter...I’ll let her in!” Later that evening as his wife Marie danced and gaggled with old friends, the band played Blurs “Park life” and James stopped in his tracks as he saw Hannah come in the door, it couldn’t be he thought. Stacey smiled at him and held her arms open “James I’m so glad you’re here!” “Stacey! Stacey. It’s great to see you! You look beautiful!” “ You look great too! A bit pale? Anyway I know I was the class of ‘96 and technically I’m gate crashing but I just wanted to see how all of Hannah’s old pals were going, you know, besides I haven’t seen many in years and there’s so many people I never had the opportunity to thank properly after- you know...’ James did know, unconsciously he touched his right cheek forever scarred physically and mentally from a car crash that cost him the love of his life back in ‘95. ”I know I bet people still think I was drinking that night and that the shock of the crash sobered me up“ James said, almost to himself. Stacey stood right in front of James “James that’s enough, you need to let that guilt go, I was there- I saw you leave with Hannah, she had a couple of Bacardi Breezers but you said you weren‘t drinking as your mother told you she’d have your ‘guts for garters’ if anything happened her car” James smiled her lobsided smile and thanked Stacey. “I appreciate that Stacey, I know you‘re right but every now and then I guess I need to hear it out load, hey is your Dylan here?” Stacey laughter, “Are you nuts? My husband miss the golf open to socialize with us- not a chance! When I mentioned it he said he would be feeling sick this Friday night! Cheeky sod! He did say to tell you guys he said hello” ”Tell him he’s a lucky man! A couple of beers on the coach watching sport on a Friday night is definitely more my scene too” James conceded. Hannah stood next to both people in this world whom she treasured the most. it was lovely to hear the easy banter between them. Hannah had long ago accepted just being able to be here and see them was as good as she could hope for. “God it’s good to see you Stacey, you bring so many good memories of Hannah, I feel like she’s here with us“ “You too James, I know she would have loved to see you so happy, oh is that Marie? She is stunning, oh wait that’s not Sean oh what’s his name again...?” James followed Stacey’s gaze over his right shoulder and sure enough Sean Sullivan was trying his charms on James’ wife, whilst she was far too polite to rebuff the overweight bespectacled balding redhead directly, Marie was slowly inching away. “Ha ha some things never change! Sean still has a soft spot for your Marie! I’ll go rescue her, I haven’t seen her since she was pregnant on your first baby!” James as still laughing as Stacey walked over to hold out an olive branch to Marie and for a moment there, somehow it was like the good old days, before that crash and his world changed, it felt like summer 1995 as if time had stood still.


To everyone at the bakeries, the man wrote, I am hosting a cookie exchange at my house at six o'clock, on December 3rd. It will be a holiday party. Bring your best cookies! There will be judging and tasting, so make sure to bring about two or three. He paused for a moment and thought. Please come on time, or up to ten minutes early. He went down a few lines and wrote down the address, the time once again, and the number for RSVP-ing. He looked at the clock above him on the red wall. One o'clock. He then walked over to his special printer and made about seventy copies. It was a lot, but he needed as much people there as possible. You see, the cookie exchange was just a hoax, a cover-up for the truly nasty thing he was planning. He needed as many victims as possible, especially Gary, the man who knew a little about who he really was. He walked through his dimly-lit, spacious house. He headed for the red front door, and then walked through it. It was cold outside, but only cold enough to require a sweater. He walked out onto his driveway and got into his blue Toyota Sienna. When he arrived at the post office, he gave the letters and addresses to the lady at the oak desk. When he came back to his house, he immediately sat down on his black leather couch and started to think. His plan was to pick the "guests" off one by one, so he needed to be strategic. He had a special remote that turned off all the lights for secrecy. He also put tunnels in between certain parts of his house, able to be accessed by moving the large paintings. His plan almost reminded him of a video game... whatever. The only point was to kill. He didn't have a certain reason, it just seemed fun. Especially killing Gary. He'd need to go for him first since he might catch on to other murders. Then came the hard part. If all these killings happened and he, we'll just call the killer man X, wasn't there with the others and is the host, people will start suspecting. He thought of ways to be with the people while still killing others. The idea came to X. His light remote! He could stand along with the others, and then secretly turn off the lights, kill the person, and then pop back into his place! Easy! DECEMBER 3rd, 5:00. X proudly stepped back and dusted off his hands. The last cover was finished. Now it was nearly impossible to tell that there was an intricate series of passageways through his one-story house. People would soon be arriving at his brownish, peaceful-looking house on the end of Pearl Street. An innocent-sounding street for a not-so-innocent house. He checked the clock. 5:45. He'd better get prepared. He had already made some cookies so it would actually look like a cookie exchange. If people showed up to a cookie exchange and he had nothing, people would at the very least be confused. Gary, however, would immediately be suspicious. But no matter. Nobody would suspect a thing. As X was finishing going over the whole system in his mind, the first knock came. He opened the door, a big, and, as you probably suspected, fake smile. He jovially greeted the baker and invited him inside. "You are the first one here," X said. "Go ahead and set up your area wherever you want. I'm sure the others will be arriving soon, and then we can start! I regret to say that the poor baker wasn't aware of exactly what they were going to start. And, I'll let you know, it is advised not to get too attached to any of the bakers, because... well, you probably know. More people that X had invited were trickling in. You might be thinking, "Wait. How is he going to fit all seventy people in his house for a cookie exchange?" Well, the first reason is that a cookie exchange doesn't require that much space for each person. Also, his house was pretty big. Although one-story, it was massive. It literally looks like a giant pancake. Okay, back to the story. So, the last person had just entered the house when X asked for everyone's attention. "Okay, people. We will now start the cookie exchange!" The guests immediately pulled out their cookies and started walking around the vast room. X, however, broke away. He was a bit nervous, as anyone would if their planning mass murder. The hard part was seeming as if he wasn't anywhere near the killing happened. I'm going to interrupt here. Another question you might have is, "Even if he manages to kill one person, how will the others just go back to the cookie exchange? I mean, wouldn't they just run in terror?" Well, yes, that makes sense, but this man, X, was a strange and clever person. He is capable of more than plotting murders like this. This is going to seem unbelievable, but then again, this is a story. So X had managed to take the rules of a game and input it, making it so when someone was killed, everyone just reverted back to normality after a bit. It's weird, I know, but it makes the story exciting. Of course, most of the villains in movies or shows were pretty stupid in their planning, giving the hero a big chance to save the day. But X was smart. It was clear to him to go for Gary first, since killing someone else would seriously alert him. So that's just what X did. He walked back into the main room. People were still moving about, talking and laughing and eating the cookies. X immediately spotted Gary. He headed in the opposite direction of him, but not too far. He then grabbed a big knife from the table, and gingerly held it like he was simply going over to cut a cookie. But what people didn't see was his other hand in his back pocket. Click. The lights immediately shut off. And since it was late, no sunlight was coming through, either. I suppose I should tell you now that he had taken the liberty of buying some night vision goggles. This guy was prepared. He scanned the room, still grasping the knife. He had to act quick before people pulled out their phones and used the flashlights on them. He spotted Gary. Cackling evilly, he clamped a hand over Gary's mouth and plunged the knife through his back. Mission accomplished. Now, you might be pretty shocked right now, but let me say that the knife, even though it killed him, did Gary no actual harm. If it did, how could X have fun with it? It would be hard to keep killing people if they didn't know who you were. Disposing of the knife into a special spot so no one could see the blood, he slipped back into his spot, put his goggles into his pocket, and commenced to act scared and surprised by the blackout. After turning the lights back on, he immediately looked over at Gary's lifeless body and mimicked shock. I'm going to skip some details here, since if I kept it going, it might get long and repetitive. Wait. Something's wrong. You see, I've retold this story many times, but something isn't right. I'm looking at the scene, and there's a strange ticking. There was never ticking. Do you hear it? Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Ooh, apprehensive. Whatever. Anyways, we're focusing on the dead Gary. So everyone is looking around. Josh, Blake, Hannah, Riley, Gunner, Gary, Abbi... Waaaaiiit. Gary?! He's not supposed to be alive! This is bad, really really bad! Somehow he came back in and probably knows everything about X's plan! He could ruin it! Wait a second. Gary... possible revenge...ticking? Time bomb?! No, no, no. Gary would never. He's the victim. Even though he's somehow back in the scene, there's no way he could cheat the system. Figuratively speaking. Oh, well. If Gary knows how to do whatever he did, he should know that he can't interfere without creating a rip in the time stream. I mean, it's obvious. Hold on, what's that remote?


You look out the window and, not for the first time, thought about how wrong the weather forecast had been. You have to rub your eyes and pinch yourself to make sure that you’re not dreaming and that this is in fact real. To be honest, you didn’t even realize the weather forecast could be this wrong. Sure, there was the occasional sunny day when the forecast predicted rain, but nothing could have prepared you for the purple clouds gathered overhead and the sizzling rain splashing on the sidewalk.

It had been three days since you had seen normal weather, if snow in August could even be considered normal. You typically wouldn’t consider that normal, but compared to the weather this week, you’d give anything to see a gray cloudy sky instead of the mauve gathered overhead.

Donning your raincoat (like that would help anyway), you step outside. By this time, the sizzling rain has thankfully ceased, leaving the sidewalks peppered with small holes, but strangely damp. You shake your head, letting out a sigh before freezing in your tracks. Even the weather forecast could not have predicted the large mako shark that lands not even a meter in front of you. You jump back, startled as the shark stares back at you, apparently as confused as you were, before it flopped over, rolling down the hill, tail over fins. You hear the loud honking and squealing of tires on the road as you shook your head, wondering what other sea wildlife has fallen from the sky.

As you head into work, you walk by an angry-looking porpoise and a sea lion who scampered toward you, whiskers twitching. You eye them cautiously as you skirt around them.

“Don’t look at me,” you mutter. “I don’t know anything either.”

The porpoise snorts. It would have rolled its eyes and cursed, you swear, if it could. The sea lion sniffs you again before waddling off, flippers smacking on the sidewalk that should be soaked with water. Then again, you admit. It’s decidedly not the strangest thing you’ve seen all week. With the strange weather this week, you admit that you should have seen it coming. Yesterday, it was the nor'easter of tiny elephant figurines that swept through town. You barely got a wink of sleep that night, with the pitter-patter of what should have been snow on the roof. The day before, you shake your head as you recall the nightmare cleaning up had been, it was a torrent of fluorescent green slime, cold and slippery, that poured from the sky, the clouds a glowing turquoise above it. It had taken hours for you to scrape up the sticky goo off the windows, and even then, you hadn’t even made a dent in the green goo still plastered over your roof. Hopefully, you huff, the sizzling rain from this morning will have washed the remnants of the goo away. The rest of the journey is mildly uneventful. You give silent thanks that a great white shark doesn’t land on your head, chomping you in two, or a giant squid does not careen into you, tentacles wrapping around you. When you near your building, you do notice several tuna fish flopping on the sidewalk, flippers tangled in sticky green goo, probably residue from yesterday’s storm.

“Strange weather we’re having,” Bob remarks as you hold the door for him. You nod, following him in, shutting the door in the face of a curious narwhal.

“What’s going to be next?” You ponder aloud. “A tornado of furniture? A hurricane of toys?” Bob chuckles. “That would be a nightmare,” he comments, staring pointedly at an orca whale rolling down the street. “Very bizarre,” you snort as you watched the orca’s tail hit a car, smashing the windshield in on the belligerent driver. The elevator dings and you and Bob head separate ways. You to your office, Bob to the front desk. If not for the odd purple-tinted lighting, you could almost imagine it is a normal day. Just an ordinary summer, blue skies, mosquito bites, grills in the backyards. Not any of this nonsense, with squids coming from the sky or sweeping figurines off the sidewalks. If you were a child, you would have been amused and in wonder of the strangeness of what was going on. Certainly, you remarked as you watched two children run by on the street below, chased by a fur seal, you would have had much fun.

You have to admit, you’re mostly adjusted to this strange weather. The day goes by without much thought to the weather. You’re too busy with phone call after phone call and meeting after meeting to be preoccupied with the sight of leatherback sea turtles lying on the roads or the walrus sleeping in the fountain, unbothered by the flashing of cameras around it. In fact, it’s almost three by the time someone raps on the door and you look up to see Bob’s smiling face. “Weather’s on soon,” he says. "I'll be there," you answer, following Bob into the common area where you joined your co-workers watching the large screen.

“Welcome to the weather forecast. Tomorrow’s forecast,” the weather reporter sounded flustered. “Temperatures should be around 10 degrees Celsius and cloudy. Well, folks, as you are probably certain, we’re not quite sure what we’re dealing with. All over the country, strange weather phenomena are being reported. With a bean storm in Manchester, yes you heard us right, a bean storm, and it’s literally raining cats and dogs in London. We have Dr. Johnson, a famous meteorologist here to tell us more.” “Thanks, Josh,” the voice switched to a smoother and deeper one. “We’re not quite certain what we’re dealing with, with the aquatic sea life coming from the skies or the elephant figurines.” It sounded as if Dr. Johnson is trying not to laugh. “The strangeness of it all is perplexing, we have to admit, but we think that the weather has been caused by a change in the jet-” You sighed, turning away from the screen, letting the report drop into the background as you stare out the window, watching a few seagulls tussle with a giant squid. With the strange weather patterns, you only knew one thing for certain. It was going to be a long, and very bizarre, week.


Calvin The Comic A bead of sweat dripped from Calvin Hoopers brow. He was filled with the exhilaration of the audience on the other side of the door. Soon it would be his turn, he could hear the people laugh at the comic that was on stage now. Open Mike at the “Trollies Tavern”, always the highlight of Calvins dull week. Not much excitement as a gas attendant. Mundane was the existence of the gas jockey. , It was when he discovered the comedy open mike at “Trollies”, that a spark was once again lit in him.

To laugh, free and simple to do, but to truly Calvin had taken the job as a bridge to something better, that bridge seemed to go nowhere.

 Now five years later still pumping gas making little enough to rent his little room to laugh from the belly free from the strife of life. He was free, observing the comedy acts at first. The bravery it took he felt to get up on a stage in front of strangers, and with only your wits make them laugh.

Days were spent designing jokes in his head. Lost in a comedic fog Calvin tried to see the humor in everything. But to tell someone a joke of his. To cross the line of sharing the comedy that was brimming within. As the truth be told Calvin was a very shy individual, always had been. His mother would say he was so timid that even the mice were not wary of him. Timid one-line jokes came across lame with no comedic emphasis put into it. Still every open mike he was there studying the comics. Later he would go home mimic them to himself in the mirror. Alone in his room he was not timid, he would tell funny stories to himself about various aspects of life. He would make funny faces to accompany punchlines and practiced the art of body language.

This went on for months Calvin was a student of humor yet could not find his voice. It was a cool autumn day, Calvin was sitting in his booth thinking of a good ending to a joke about an Eskimo and chopsticks when a red Audi convertible pulled up to the pump. Calvin walked over to the car and was taken back by how beautiful the driver was. She looked at him with her olive-green eyes and with just a hint of sultriness said, “Fill me up, premium.” Calvin quickly set about the task of fueling the car when he heard her say,” You go to Trollies on open mike nights don’t you?” A little surprised Calvin turned to look at her and with all the will he had muttered the reply, “Ah, Ah yeah, I like to laugh.” Feeling like an idiot knowing he could have said something better, he was surprised when she gave him a big smile and said “Yeah, I like it when you laugh at my jokes.” Just then Calvin recognized her as one of the regulars on comedy night. She was one of the funnier women, her humor matched her beauty. Shyly Calvin asks “How do you do it? Get up on the stage I mean.” She studied him for a moment then replied “Life is hard, Laughter heals people if I can make a few people laugh, make them happier well then it’s my duty.”

The pump clicked off and Calvin took the nozzle and closed up her gas cap. As she handed him the money she said “Sign-ups are at 7, I hope to see you on the other side of the stage this week. All you have to do is make one person laugh and you’ve done something.” The engine roared to life and with a wave and a smile, she was gone. Calvin went back to his booth and thought about it. If he could make one person laugh he had done something.

On his way home that night he stopped at the local thrift store. In the back they had men’s suits, selecting a brown tweed suit with smokers cuffs. If he was going to perform before the people he had to establish a look. When he went home and looked at himself in the mirror, it was a different Calvin looking back, was that a hint of confidence in his eyes. For hours he practiced in the mirror. “If I can make one person laugh I have done something.”

The day arrived and Calvin could feel a tightness in his chest that only grew stronger the closer it got to performance time. All day at work he went over material, mentally picturing himself presenting the jokes to a crowd of strangers. Would they laugh? Or would they boo him off stage the duality of the situations that could occur terrified Calvin.

When he got home he put his suit on and looked at himself. “I will make someone laugh tonight.” He went over his routine one last time to himself. Over and over in his head, as he walked to the club, “I will make someone laugh.” It seemed as if this mantra not only calmed his inner fear of people but fed a larger need to interact with them, make them laugh. He entered the bar and walked over to the sign-in table. A fat bald man was collecting the registration fee, it cost ten dollars to get on the stage, Ten dollars seemed like a small sum to the years of introversion Calvin had endured. He paid the man and was directed to a door in the back if any preparations for your act needed to be made.

The din of the crowd sent an electric tingle down Calvin’s back. He went to the door in the back and entered the stage room. There were about fifteen people milling about. Off to the left was the sexy Audi driver. Calvin made his way over to her and her mesmerizing smile encompassed her face when she saw him.

“Glad to see you on this side of the stage,” she said with genuine enthusiasm. “I’m here to make someone laugh tonight,” Calvin said with triumph in his voice. She burst out in laughter and said “Honey you and that suite already did.” A smile crept across Calvin’s face. “Maybe after the show, you and I could have a drink and talk shop,” he didn’t know where this courage was coming from.

She looked at him intently with her exotic green eyes and said “Sure, I would like that but what do I call you?” “Calvin the comic”, he said with a chuckle. “Calvin the comic,

I like that.” A gruff voice yelled “Sally, your next.”

“That’s me,” she said getting up. “Good Luck tonight Calvin, cant wait to hear your material.” Leaving a hint of her perfume in her absence, Calvin couldn’t believe the turn his life had taken.

He listened to the laughter it fed something inside him he never felt before. The tightness was still in his chest but so to was excitement, no more was the fear of the crowd there, replaced now by a yearning to entertain the people. “Calvin, your on in five.” Taking a deep breath and looking at himself in the mirror he was not Calvin anymore, he was “Calvin the Comic”. THE END


UNREQUITED LOVE I can recall the first time we met as if it was yesterday. It was at the Drummond’s on the occasion of their daughter’s birthday; Edwina, the younger, if possible, even more obnoxious of the two Drummond girls. What I can’t remember is how old I was exactly. Thirteen? Fourteen? My mother, already, though we did not know it, evincing early signs of the dementia that would gradually reveal itself in all its horror, convinced herself that, as the Drummond family hailed from Scotland, I should do homage by attending the party dressed as the bonny Prince Charlie of historic note. Can you imagine? A house full of young girls, all dressed in their prettiest party frocks and I get deposited at the front door dressed in a tartan kilt, sporran and tam ‘o shanter! Before the door had even been opened by Mrs. Drummond, I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me as I watched my crazy parent speeding off down the gravel driveway like a bat out of hell in her Triumph Herald. Mrs. Drummond did not disappoint, breaking into hysterical laughter as the party girls gathered around her, taking their lead from that awful woman, forgetting their game of pinning a donkey with a tail and, instead, pinning their brutal scorn on my costume fail. How maliciously cruel children can be. Why is that, I wonder? Through my tears, I saw this ethereal figure; a fairy queen, complete with wand and gossamer wings, push her way through the mocking crowd, their sadistic laughter growing ever hysterically wilder, and taking me by the hand, lead me away from that house, down the driveway and into the house next door; her house I soon discovered. I’ll never forget, as I glanced back, just the once, through misty eyes, the stupefied look of the Drummond matriarch as she saw the object of her derision disappear from view. As soon as we turned into the adjoining driveway, my saviour, Emma, took me by my arms and looked me in the eyes. “They are horrid, horrid people. Take no notice of them. Until you arrived, it was my fairy outfit that was being made fun off. Come on, we can play in my room. It’ll be much more fun”. I had seen Emma around the town occasionally, a couple of times at the library that I could think of, but we had never met. I knew, from the uniform that she had been wearing on those occasions, that she attended the fee paying, private school, Rutherfords, while I, of course, went to the local public school, St. Sebastian’s. If it hadn’t been for my mother’s chance encounter with that dragon, Mrs Drummond, at the only hairdresser in the high street, I would never have found myself invited to a party at this end of town; the posh end. Yet, from the moment that Emma had rescued me, we two became the closest of friends. Emma lived with her father, Henry, just the two of them, her mother having died when Emma had been too young to really understand the pain of losing a parent. I never quite understood what it was that Henry did, something mysterious for the government but, in contrast to my own father, he seemed to treat Emma as an equal and there were no rules or restrictions in their house; they simply co-habited. Emma never referred to her father as anything other than Henry which, at first, I found disconcerting but I soon fell into this same easy rhythmic style. For his part, Henry seemed to be pleased that his daughter had found a real friend in myself and he left us to ourselves whenever I visited, which was often, after school and, at weekends, often staying overnight. That’s not to say that she did not visit me, also; she did. What I loved about her was that she never, ever, passed any comment on the difference in our living arrangements. Not that we lived in squalor but our house, although detached, was situated in a much less salubrious area and was a far cry from the splendour of the almost mansion in which she and Henry resided. My own father was a tax inspector; a fastidious, bookish man, constantly switching off lights that had been left on, straightening rugs, curtains etc; you get the picture. He was a good man, I have no doubt, but he struggled to cope with the dual burden of a daughter and a wayward wife. I don’t believe he had the slightest idea of how to raise a girl, being the youngest of five boys himself. Which, unfortunately, left me entirely in the hands of my mother. She, God bless her, still only in her thirties, had her own struggles: disappointment at how staid her marriage had become, a longing for something more... exciting... and a slow descent into madness. Somehow, Emma slotted straight in and, while unintentionally charming the pants off my father, also represented, to my poor afflicted mother, a glimpse of the life she, herself, had always longed for. For myself, Emma became the friend that I had thought I would never find. She was, though not conventionally beautiful, attractive enough to warrant the attention of boys as we wandered around town. I noticed this, of course, for it was not an asset that I possessed; my red hair and freckled skin, not to mention my poor eyesight, necessitating glasses, having the opposite effect. But, more than looks, Emma was a genuine friend. She never lied, detested patronisation, was intensely loyal and inspired in me a desire to be better. My school work improved dramatically as a result and my father was quite startled by my reports as I rose in the ranks from being an average student to the top of my class. All through our school years, though at different schools, we shared things that we had respectively learned, only serving to enhance our education. Literature, especially, was a lynchpin. We both adored reading and would pass books back and forth, spending hours discussing various plot lines, dramas, tragedies and romances. For both of us, the outside world simply didn’t exist. We needed no other companions, content, solely, in each other’s environments. Obsessive? Possibly. Possessive? Definitely not. At least, I don’t believe so; the question of having to share Emma with somebody else simply never occurred so it was not something that I had to deal with and, I assume...would like to believe... that she felt the same way about me. Even when it came to vacations, It just seemed to evolve naturally into Henry expecting me to be a part of their holiday plans. In this way, I discovered new countries, languages, customs, food. I remember, after returning from one magical trip to Italy, when I first introduced pasta to our household and my father thought it had to be eaten in its solid form; our usual meals, up until that time, emanating mainly from cans. It was a wonderful time of discovery for me and, I can honestly say, for Emma, too. Though quite different to the type of holiday that she had become accustomed to, she absolutely loved being a part of my family trips to the seaside, the British fare of fish and chips, jellied eels, cockles, candy floss and funfairs, staying at cheap boarding houses, my father’s perverse habit of placing a knotted handkerchief upon his balding head as protection from the sun, my mother’s ever more daring bathing costumes. It was a world hitherto unknown to her and she revelled in it and we became ever closer. Then, of course, talk of university threatened to interrupt our idyllic world. For the first time, it appeared that our single path would start to veer in separate directions. As this realisation began to take hold of me, I felt quite calm, reassuring myself that we would still have our vacations to look forward to and, perhaps, could visit each other occasionally during term time although my ambitions were geared towards a lesser university town somewhere in the north of England while Emma, as per Henry’s wishes, was destined for the more auspicious, hallowed halls of Oxford. To my surprise, it was Emma who seemed to be the one upset at our forced parting. Why, she pleaded, could I not apply to attend the same colleges as she? The thought had never occurred to me; nobody from St. Sebastian’s had ever aspired to Oxford. It simply did not happen; we knew our place in the hierarchy of 1950’s English life. Yet, after Emma had begged me to, at least, try, the thought grew within me and I asked myself: why shouldn’t I have the same opportunity? There really was no difference between Emma and myself. In fact, because we had shared so much of each other’s education, our trips abroad, the countless books that we had jointly read, intellectually , we were exactly on par with each other. My joy at opening my acceptance letter from Balliol was as nothing to Emma’s when I broke the news. She had been accepted at Magdalen but it meant that, for the next three years, our lives would remain entwined and we began to speak of sharing lodgings in Oxford. My father’s reaction to my acceptance surprised me greatly as he burst into tears. He had never before shown such emotion. As for mother, she celebrated by purchasing a bottle of “plonk”, the cheapest kind, imbibing the entire contents herself and, then, running half-naked down our road proclaiming to all and sundry that her daughter had been accepted for Oxford. Unfortunately, at the time, father was at work and I was at Emma’s and there was nobody to stop her. A policeman discovered her, comatose, on a park bench in broad daylight, surrounded by gawping onlookers and, thankfully, covered her exposed parts, before another passerby recognised her and she was returned home, oblivious to her actions. Sadly, this compulsion at public exposure was to become more and more prevalent. Oxford brought about a great deal of changes to my life. For the first time ever, I found myself sharing a flat with, not just Emma, but two other girls. The reality of “digs” had come as a harsh surprise to both of us as we discovered that two girls, alone, could not afford the exorbitant cost of a flat in a university town. We were forced to take in two lodgers and both girls seemed to be good choices, one from London and one from Surrey. They were not party girls and, like ourselves, were intent on making the most of their university education and achieving good careers once they had graduated. At that time, it was not quite the norm that it is today and men ruled the roost in business. As well, of course, I, especially, had to adapt to this new way of living. At first, I was intimidated, I freely admit, by the intellects of those other students around me and it took me some time to really find my feet and come to terms with the fact that, actually, I was just as intelligent, if not more so but, gradually, I found my tempo and began to embrace my new existence. But another far greater change was happening; one that I found totally unexpected. It was the age old tale of the ugly duckling evolving into a swan as I found my body changing alarmingly. I had, of course, experienced menstruation pre-university but no noticeable differences in my bodily structure had accompanied my periods. Yet, now, it was as if I was possessed by a living organism; something inside of me was altering. Each morning, as I stared into the bathroom mirror, I noticed another change. My facial structure began to adjust; my cheekbones becoming sharper, my lips more pronounced. Suddenly, I found the face staring back at me to be, dare I say it, attractive. My flat chest began to sprout; at first, slowly but, gradually, developing into full blown breasts. For the first time in my life, I had to purchase bras. It is hard to explain fully what this meant for me, the perennial wallflower; a person who had never thought herself to be attractive in any way. Now, it was I who attracted admiring glances from fellow students and I liked it. This feeling was enhanced when, on a trip back home, I persuaded my father to pay for the cost of contact lenses. Back then, they were what was known as the “hard” kind. Not only were they made of hard plexiglass but they were, also, hard, as in difficult, to become accustomed to and, many times, I almost abandoned my efforts but I persevered and, upon my return to Oxford, the effect was startling. Emma, of course, had noticed all of these alterations, not just in my looks and my bodily shape but, also, in my newfound confidence as a result of my late development. She embraced it, encouraged me, loaned me a bra until I could purchase a new one. She it was who gave me advice on new clothing, designed to enhance my looks. But another change had begun to take hold of me. As if all of this was not enough, I also began to develop feelings...feelings of desire. To my consternation, I found myself having secret thoughts; thoughts of nakedness, sensuality, a longing to kiss and embrace. Despite all of the admirers who now surrounded me, only one person was the object of my fantasies, the person I had loved platonically for all these years: Emma! It is difficult to express my torment; the agonies I endured each night as I lay in my bed thinking of her, so close yet so far way in an adjoining room. So many times I thought of rising and tiptoeing into her room, laying beside her but I could never find the courage. My studies suffered as a result of this all consuming lust. I felt exhausted, depleted, such was my passion. Throughout it all, her devotion to me never wavered. She was the same lovely girl who had rescued me that day, taken me under her wing, welcomed me into her family home, learnt to love me, share with me, encourage me. She it was who had pleaded with me to apply for Oxford. Could it be... possible... that she might harbour similar thoughts for myself? Oh, not the bookish, skinny thing that I was but this new, feminine form that I had become. Was there even a chance that our special relationship could develop into something more passionate? How many times I asked myself this question, searching, ever searching, for clues; in her eyes, the way she spoke, the hugs she gave me. How many different interpretations I came up with. She did, she didn’t. She did, she didn’t. On the last evening of our first full term, several students from Balliol were gathering to celebrate at Marlborough and we were each assigned specific foods or drinks that we had to bring with us. I invited Emma and she, of course, accepted. I had been tasked with supplying a bottle of champagne and, to compensate for my Magdalen intruder, I brought two bottles along. Having never before visited Marlborough, both Emma and I were entranced by the beauty of our surroundings on this warm, early, summer evening. In particular, we were both fascinated and mesmerised by the incredible design and shape of the maze that took up a huge part of the grounds. Having consumed one bottle between us, we wandered through the maze, the tall, dark hedges towering above us, determined to find our way to the centre. Round and round we went, in and out of verdant channels leading to dead ends and forcing us, giggling hysterically, to retrace our steps and start again. At some stage, I popped the cork on the second bottle and we took sips, froth running over and down our dresses. As I looked at Emma in the moonlight, the bubbles of champagne dribbling from her mouth as, intoxicated, she chortled with joy, I felt an overwhelming urge to take her in my arms and kiss her wet lips. Impulsively, I moved closer and locked eyes with her. It was now or never. For one bittersweet moment, I closed my eyes and experienced such ecstasy, such a sense of achievement as our lips locked. Emma; my Emma. As I opened my eyes, I was appalled to see the look of revulsion on her face, the sheer incredulity, a look of... betrayal. As she pushed me away and staggered back, still staring at me as if I was some monstrous thing, I tried to reach out, stammered my remorse, attempted to explain my feelings but she turned and ran from me. The greatest friendship I had ever known, over , disappearing from sight, never to be revived. Half drunk, I tried to gather my thoughts, my head spinning. She mustn’t speak of this; my perversion. I lunged disjointedly after her, realising that, inadvertently, she had taken a path to a dead end, one we had only just returned from. I came upon her crouched on the grass, her back against a hedge, sobbing mightily. “Emma...” “Stay away from me”, she screamed. “How could you? After all these years. I trusted you...” I don’t exactly know what came over me at that point. A sense of enormous loss, of course. But, more than anything, the realisation that the one thing I wanted, the only thing, would never be mine and nothing could fill that void. If I couldn’t have her, I would make damned sure that nobody else would. I raised that heavy bottle and brought it crashing down upon her unprotected head...again...and again...and again.


CW: blood, gore, murder, cannibalism --- The taste of it haunts his dreams. It sits there, taunting him, waiting for him to break. It screams at him with blood-red lips, claret-tinted spit landing on his face, in his mouth. He can feel it slipping down his face in thick tendrils of warmth, a metallic wetness flooding his mouth. He opens his eyes and licks his lips, tasting the skin. He bites down, lightly, then harder, and harder, and harder.

He stops when he tastes blood. Stops, because if he doesn't do it now, he will most certainly continue. He can feel it now, the blood on his tongue, the flesh in his mouth, the feast that his body is. He shudders, stops. Wipes the blood from his lips, wincing at the sting. Gets up to begin his day. His days are always the same. Gray-toned, slated with the same dull taste. His bed is gray, and so are the walls, triumphant against him, laughing at him with a deep pearl glint. God, he despises gray. He bypasses the bathroom, the mirror, the sight of blood on his face. He doesn’t bother caring for the wound on his mouth, and it will join a multitude of other scars, jagged and animalesque, all across his body. They stand out, the pale pink of past hurts contrasting the endless stony mass of his skin. His suit is gray, too. An ugly color, gray is. Much too bland and sallow to be anything of interest. The smell of it makes his eyes water. The taste of it leaves his mouth dry. Walking outside, all he sees is gray. Even the sky, deep ribbons of indigo interspersed with periwinkle clouds, is all one shade of disgustingly pale gray.

The roads are gray too. The buildings, the walls, the sky. Gray, gray, gray. He walks down the street, weaving between each person as they clumsily bump into him, a mindless horde. Each contact of cloth-to-cloth, skin-to-cloth, sends sparks through his spine, rattling his teeth. His canines are sharp-edged, jagged from where he’s spent weeks scraping rocks and metal against them, just light enough to not be noticeable. They sit in his mouth, caged like tigers, gnashing together with the want– the need– to hurt. To tear apart. To gut. To devour. To feel happiness, to see red. His lip tingles, blood clotted but still present. Still there, dried to an ugly brown (at least it isn't gray). It takes him exactly fifteen minutes and forty-five seconds for him to get to work, briefcase sitting limp in his hand as he enters the revolving doors. "Oh, good morning, Mr. Miller," the secretary sitting at the front desk says. She smiles as she says his name. Her skin is supple, cream and flesh and strawberry and alive. He smiles back, hiding the cringe that threatens to break his facade. He wants to kill her. Wants to scream until her head falls off, until her eyes pop out, until– "Aw, come on, Stels, you know you don't gotta say the whole thing. We're friends, yeah?" –is what he says instead, tossing a wink and quick smile her way. She chuckles (he's never really seen her as a giggler, chuckling is much more accurate to her character), and spit floods his mouth at the sight of a blush on her cheeks. He walks away before he can do anything as stupid as mauling her in the office lobby. His nose wrinkles at the thought of the mess, spattered across the marble walls and polished floor. No, if he's going to kill her, he's going to do it right. And if that entails waiting for the right time to rip her throat out, so be it. He walks to the elevator, a bead of sweat trickling down his neck. The elevator doors are gray. Silver, if he's being technical, but still gray. Plain, boring gray. The doors open. His mouth waters. Someone is in the elevator, a person. A man. He doesn’t really know this man, has met him only in passing, but he knows that they work on the same floor. He gets in the elevator, smiling at the man who smiles at him. It's a beautiful smile. Much nicer than Stella's, if he's being honest. He's been trying to do that more lately, be honest. The elevator doors close, and all the sudden they're both enclosed in the endless gray. His reflection shines back at him, dim and poised stiffly next to the loose figure beside him. He blinks to stave off the heavy want that sits in his stomach, the pure hunger that lies in wait. The man next to him doesn't say a word. He just stands there, thick and warm and alive, practically waiting to be ripped apart. The gray, ever-present, sticking to the back of his eyelids like glue, starts to dissipate. The elevator hums, in sync with his breath. He tries to stay quiet, straining his ears to hear the sweet sound of a heartbeat in the midst of the silence. Everything is dripping in amber, staining the grayish walls a soft yellow ochre. His hands twitch. The doors open. The color that had overwhelmed him a second ago, stuck deep in his gut like double-edged blades, retreats with a heavy sting. The man beside him becomes the man in front of him, exiting the elevator with a long stride and mauve draped across his shoulders. He follows along, trying to keep up with the tantalizing scent of freedom and blood. He tries not to trip over his own feet, veins rushing right just to catch one last glimpse of that person , even while his body veers left. He can feel it, the separation, the rush of it as he walks away while his bones and his blood scream at him to turn around. His office is at the end of the hall. His teeth grind together as he opens the door, watching with an apathetic distaste as the world fades to gray again. The rest of the day is a blur, sidewalk-slate against the memory of that red, the absolute temptation that Sam Egot is. That’s the man’s name, Sam Egot. It tastes thick and blue in comparison to his heavy rose figure, but it suits him all the same. It swirls around in his mind, scarlett teal splotches painted in front of his eyes. 5:00pm is perhaps the most gray time of the day, the most gray of the day, the most gray of everything. It may have taken him years to determine that the words five-o-clock are what leave his tongue ashen and his vision dulled, but he has nevertheless found it out. Ignorance is bliss, but knowledge is power. And the knowledge of his own emotions, his own fears, his own hungers, is something important to him. For example: He walks to the elevator feeling sad. He enters the lobby feeling upset. And he looks at Stella-the-secretary and feels hungry. Oh, oh so hungry. For example: He understands that Stella is a drop in a crimson sea. He understands that Sam Egot, azure and cerise and tasteful in all his businessman glory, is much more appealing to his sea-sunk vision. For example: He knows that Mr. Egot– Sam, his mind whispers– has already left the building. He knows that makes him mad. He can feel it under his skin, writhing, waiting to jump out and coat everything a deep dark red (the color of blood). He also knows that Stella stays late to lock up the building. He knows that even though her scent isn’t as intensely visceral as Sam’s, she still has blood in her veins. Still has skin on her bones. Still has a smile, still has a blush. Still has a heart that pulses and bleeds, still has a life. His teeth feel too big for his mouth, threatening to unhinge his jaw and tear his lips to shreds, just so they can taste blood. Stella is dull. Stella is uninteresting. Stella is sitting at her desk. Stella is right there, and she’s alive. He walks up to her, footsteps ringing out against the floor as he approaches. She looks up at him, grinning a little, and the pit in his stomach– the rot in his brain– grows larger, begging to be fed. “Would you like to have dinner with me?” The question is simple, harsh words cobbled together yet spoken like wine, and she falls for it. Poor, innocent Stella. “Of course!” She replies, much too chipper for someone to be five o’clock on a Tuesday. Just the reminder of that wretched time sends shivers down his spine and lays a heavy gray fog in front of his face. The only thing he can see through it is Stella, pale and raspberry-red and standing up from her chair, bag and coat in hand. His nose wrinkles as she pulls it on, gray wool covering most of the dim light she provides. It’s dark outside when they exit the building. New York at 5pm in the dead of winter, of course it’s dark. He knew it was going to be dark. Dark and gray and dull, a thick paste of concrete mesh smeared across his vision while the soft light of a warm body pulses beside him. “Here?” He asks, arm looped in hers as they stop in front of a restaurant. Neon lights waver in front of him. He hates the smell, the taste they bring. “Of course,” she says. He’s starting to hate the sound of her voice, yet another thing to add in the list of things that he hates, right alongside neon lights and the color gray. They eat dinner. His stomach growls, even as he consumes salads, breads, meats, eating it all in the hope that it will stave off the lingering want in his gut. It doesn’t work, and he finds his eyes tracing her body as she eats, graceful as a woman is yet clumsy as a New Yorker tends to be. He finds that the hunger only grows as he keeps eating, and eventually stops to listen to the red-tinged atmosphere around them. His mind sings with the thrums of coal and slushy ice, humming parallel to the crimson tendrils that sit before him. He skips dessert. Stella does not. He watches her eat that, too, stuffing her face with an expensive french cake he doesn’t remember the name of. It has some sort of red filling, but he’s not quite sure what it is. The curiosity sits in the corner of his mind as he gazes upon her lips, stained with the mysterious red filling he needs to know the flavor of. When she’s done, he pays. She smiles shyly at that, a bit of red still stuck to the side of her mouth. He doesn’t say anything. Her hand intertwines with his, and his teeth clench. He tightens his jaw so hard it hurts, stabbing pinpricks of a bright yellow pain, but he doesn’t dare stop. Even New York at twilight in the middle of winter would notice her screams, her body. So he walks with her, knocking against her a little bit more with every step, whispering seductively and guiding them towards an alley (she would be scared of his house, the color of blood). There is no one in the alley he chooses. There never is, even if a lonely figure sits huddled against the brick walls, because those figures are people, and those people are dead. Sometimes, when the hunger gets to be a bit too hungry for him to control, he kills, even if they sit in his stomach like the word gray. Those meals are never satisfying, but everyone stays away (the color of blood is scary to some). For the best, truly. He isn’t quite sure how often he can resist those lowly figures, even if their skin is gray and tastes like trash. Stella, sweet Stella, chuckles a bit and follows him. As a secretary, she’s always been sharp, but outside of the office he’s found that she lacks certain skills; such as the basic survival instinct of self-preservation. Tragic for her, truly, but all the better for him. As soon as they enter the alley, barely hidden from prying eyes that always seem to be lurking, he pushes her against the wall. It’s cold, and she gasps at him, though he isn’t sure if she’s gasping out of pleasure or pain. He doesn’t care, anyway. Now that he’s trapped her, the fog in his mind is clearing, replaced with a bright light and the sweetly sour scent of blood. He wastes no time in pressing forward to kiss her, licking her face as soon as he makes contact. Strawberry filling. How interesting. Curiosity now sated, he pulls back and grins as she flounders at him. Such red lips, she has (the color of blood). They’re pressed up right against a dumpster, one that almost never gets emptied or moved, and he feels to his right, smiles as he grasps onto a blade, frosted and frozen from the cold. Stella is about to say something, perhaps about the cold, perhaps wanting to move somewhere else to continue this. Her face switches to shock, to horror, to pain, as he brings the knife up swiftly to her neck. The blade is gray, and he snarls at it– at her–, striking the sharp side across the supple flesh of her neck. The fog dissipates completely as he sees the red gushing from her neck. It flows freely, fast and irregular before settling into a steady pulse, the warmth of it coating his hands. He pulls the knife away and smiles at it, at the blood covering the awful silver metal. Red has always been much more appealing than gray to him, after all. Her gagging body falls against him, the blood drizzling across his coat and staining it a lovely shade of vermilion. He pushes her back as she chokes, watching the blood as it spatters across the snow, arcs of red spilling against the gray sludge and turning it a dull shade of carmine (the color of blood). Stella is still alive as he places the wet knife against her clothed shoulder, cutting the fabric off and then even deeper, carving the skin. A thick chunk of flesh falls into his waiting hands, and he licks the knife before trying it. Her blood is sweet, saccharine, and the thickness of it coats his tongue and throat, a perfect prelude to tasting her body. He cradles the food in his hands, watching as it stains his hands red, as the flesh sinks into his waiting grip. His mouth floods with spit, watering down the blood that already lines his throat. He lifts the gift up to his mouth, almost reverently, before placing it on his lips. Salt and metal make their way inside his mouth, cardinal red on his taste buds. Cherry-sweet, wine-bitter as he bites down on it, over and over again to feel the taste of it flood his senses. The scent of blood is thick and heavy in the air, and he should be awfully cold right now, but he isn’t. The warmth of the blood is keeping him comfortable and cozy, wrapping him in a cocoon of syrupy liquid. He swallows the meat, smiles a bloody grin at the corpse that used to be Stella, and leans down to begin the true feast. His head buries against her neck, biting deep into her skin, feeling the blood almost choke him while he tries to eat. She tastes good, he will admit. Probably not as good as Sam Egot, but good enough– for tonight, at least. He feasts on her until the sun starts to rise, shining over the world in shades of ruby and wine (the color of blood).


It was a sunny and beautiful weekend morning. The kind of weather that suits this kind of lovely towns where things and traditions remain the same. Everything in the right place! The house’s walls were salmon-colored and decorated exquisitely. The front garden plants were selected carefully to always paint the home’s atmosphere with endless colors. You were also able to see the backyard fruit flowering trees from the 4 points of the compass, what a view! All neighbors envied how the garden was built, perfectly balanced. Outside, some kids were playing hide and seek, some others were riding their bicycles. Some women were chatting about their house expenses and criticizing the Government for their bad economic and social policies… and how corrupted the Government members were, astute politicians but not real rulers nor good leaders. Some of them were preparing lunch. Some others were doing household chores. Some men were mowing the lawn. Some of them were helping their wives. Some others were just keeping the home maintenance. Inside the salmon-colored house, an intimate conversation was taking place. “Oh honey, I love you deeply.” “Yes, darling. I’m sure of that, I’ve never doubted your love. And you know I do love you, too, right?!” “You’re my sweetheart, I know… Always have. Since we were kids.” “Yeah! We were 2 of the kind!” “Come on, honey, don’t you start, please!” “I know, I know… I’m sorry, so sorry!” “What I meant was that we’ve been together for always!” “Yes, you’re right. How many people can say that, right?” “Our love can overcome everything. You’ll see…” “I have always counted on you, and you only!” “We were regular neighborhood kids going to school, swimming in the lake, fighting others when the ball game was not fair…” “Do you remember Kimberly used to take her baseball when she was mad because her team was losing? Ha, ha. She was just funny!” “And she’s not changed at all!” Both laughed for a while. Childhood memories are always sweet and funny, aren’t they? “What I remember the most is THE LOOK!” “Oh yeah, honey, it was our beginning! How sweet!” “You were always my crush. However, you never paid attention to me! You were…” “An idiot! I know… I was just too young. I didn’t know how to feel, what to feel. Love was confusing at that time! And I wasn’t exactly a love expert…” “I was teasing you… our first look, the look! I remember it was a day when we all (neighborhood kids) were riding our bikes all the way to the lake, and you fell off your bike. Poor darling! Your knee was bleeding lots.” “But there he was… my knight in shining armor came to rescue me and then I knew! I realized I was in love… with… you!!! How romantic it was!” Both of them were in love, sincerely in love. A love that just a few people have ever gained. A love that surpassed the limits. A love to remember… For a moment, there was silence, only silence… endless silence. Matt was terrified outside the bathroom. Suddenly, the wail of the Fire Engine's siren riveted Matt’s attention. He reacted. “Honey, are you still with me?”, Matt asked. “Sure, sweetheart; here I am… the rest of me, what’s left!” “Please don’t say so”, Matt begged. “You still don’t get it, darling?!” “How can I?” Matt reflected. “It’s time to put an end to this relationship.” “I don’t understand, we were so happy together, we are…”, Matt cried out. “Yeah, I know that, for sure. But I already told you, that’s not enough for them… is it?” One door separating two worlds of the same love. One door that was shut between them. Some more seconds without hearing anything from inside the bathroom. What an agony! Police patrols’ and fire engines’ sirens were loudly heard in front of the salmon-colored house at this point. Some neighbors have approached, too. They wondered, maliciously, what was going on. Matt rapidly ran into the front door, he opened it. Two police officers and 3 firefighters were standing there. “Is this Mr. Matthew O’Brian’s house?” A police officer interrogated.  “Yes, it is. I’m Matt. Come in. He is in the bathroom! He doesn’t want to open the door. I’ve tried but…” The firefighters were already breaking the bathroom door down. “We came as soon as we could.” The other police officer explained. “I know…”, Matt told him as an automatic response, almost a reflex reaction since his mind was somewhere else. Matt was paying close attention to the firefighters’ rescuing fight. He was praying to God they could make it to save his loved one. After a couple of minutes of being in the rescue mission, one of the firefighters explained: “it was too late, I’m sorry to say…” “Your friend bled out completely”, another firefighter added. Matt wasn’t able to stand, his legs just couldn’t keep him on his feet. He kneeled. He began sobbing. “Listen, I know it’s a bad time. But, before we can take the man´s body to the hospital, may I ask you some questions?” A police officer asked gently. Matt didn’t answer back this time. Both police officers looked at each other, then, they helped Matt up to have him sitting on the sofa. They walked him slowly back to the living room. Some neighbors, who never talked to Matt and Joe, were trying to find out any detail about what was going on inside the salmon-colored house, as they all called it to differentiate it from theirs. A couple of them even walked all the way to the front door to get a better look, not to help. Strangers in the same neighborhood, even though Matt and Joe were born and raised there. “Sir, may I have the name of the suicide victim?” The other police officer stared at the first one in disapproval and added: “I’m sorry for your loss, I can see you were close… but may I have the victim’s name please? We need to know some personal information of his… as you may understand.” Matt had so many things in his mind… so many! After considering his situation, all of the sudden, Matt’s mind was clear. My husband’s name is… was Joseph Harrison…” “I see…”, the police officers continued interrogating. The firefighters were back to their station and the ambulance EMTs took Joe’s corpse to the local hospital’s morgue.


She ‑‑ my sister, Peggy -- had been to every carnival for every year that they held them in our town since she was 7 years old. She knew exactly where all the rides would be placed, all the games, and knew all of the faces that would come each and every year for the past 10 years. The carnival would only last for three solid days -- Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. The carnival workers would pack up on Sunday night and be gone by morning leaving debris all over the area where they had set up. Me and my sister loved going through after they were gone to find treasure that might've been left behind. We found money, jewelry, cigarettes, and much more. This year, however, on Saturday night, Peggy didn't come home after the carnival shut down at 10:00 p.m. She usually came home by 10:15, but it was now nearly almost midnight and there was no sign of her. I packed my backpack up and told my mom I was going to look for her -- it was only just down the street from our apartment. When I got to the location, the only visible movement of any living person was within the campers on the sides of the rides and games. There were TVs playing, a few people standing outside smoking cigarettes or whatever, and a few drunks leaving the park. There was nobody that I could ask where she had gone or if they had seen her except one man. I had brought a picture with me just in case and walked up to him as he took a deep drag from his smoke. As I approached him, he blew it directly into my face as I attempted to speak, which cut me off vocally as I tried to utter out my first sentence while holding the picture of Peggy. "What?" He said as he looked down at me from the steps to his travel trailer. "You need somethin', boy?" "Yes, sir." I coughed. "My sister didn't come home and I was wondering if you had seen her." I held the picture up to him and he swiped it from my hand. "Ah." He paused a moment and looked down at the picture for what seemed like ages. "Yeah, I seen her tonight. Pretty little thang, ain't she?" "Did you see her leave with anyone?" "Nope. Left like she does every year -- headed that a-way by herself hours ago." He pointed in the direction of my apartment. "Well… thank you." I took the picture from his hand as he flicked his cigarette over my head and turned back and went inside his trailer without another word. I stood there a minute as I looked in the direction of our apartment. Where could she have gone, then? Did somebody grab her? I was so confused and was starting to get even more worried than I already was. Just as I was beginning to walk slowly in the direction toward our apartment, I heard a faint laughing coming from one of the rides -- the Zipper. It was a giant ride that stood out from all of the rest and even though we rode it every year, it still gave me terrifying butterflies before I rode it again. As I got closer to the ride, I heard the laugh again -- this time louder. It sounded just like Peggy's laugh. When I got to where the area of the ride where the man would let you on, I heard the laugh again and was certain now that it was her. Everything looked the same except there was something out of ordinary protruding from the ground -- a door of sorts that looked like it opened up to a stairway that went underground. I opened the door and sure enough, there was a set of stairs that seemed to go on to the center of the earth. I called out Peggy's name into the darkness and waited for a reply. "Yeah, Charlie? I'm down here! Come down here, it's fantastic!" I started down the long stairway toward her voice. I lit my lighter to see where I was going and noticed these were concrete steps. How on earth hadn't we known about this door leading down into the earth long ago? Surely after 10 years we would've seen something like this poking out of the ground. "Hurry, Charlie. It's almost over!" Peggy called. "I'm trying!" I picked up my pace a little, but all while trying to be as careful as possible as I had no clue what could be at the bottom of these stairs or even if that was really my sister calling to me. I finally saw the landing at the bottom of the stairs and turned to look back up at the door I came through at the top of the stairs. "Where are you, Peggy?" "Down here. Just come a little closer, Charlie." It was dark and dank inside this place, smelled of dirt and -- and popcorn? At that point with the smell of the popcorn, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to look who was grabbing me to see no one. "I'm right over here, Charlie." I could hear her starting to get farther away each time she spoke and there was an echo that made it seem like she was in different areas of the underground structure. After a few minutes, I finally saw a torch lit in the distance and what seemed to be another doorway. "Just beyond the door, Charlie." I stood there at that door and started to become very nervous of what might be behind it. Was it really Peggy? I put my hand on the knob and turned it slowly, then pushed it open. I was shocked to see my apartment with my mom sitting on the couch watching TV, and Peggy telling my mother something I couldn't hear. I walked in and tried to get their attention, but they acted as if they didn't see me at all. "Mom! Peggy! Don't you see me?" I finally could start to pick up sound from their voices as I tried to gain their attention. "Mom, just let me go look for him. It's getting really late and I'm worried something has happened to him." "No, you stay here. He'll be back, he's a big boy. Probably out with his friends and lost track of time. If he's not back by morning, I'll call his friends' parents." "Mom, I just feel like something is totally wrong. When has Charlie ever not called home to say he was going to be late?" "Fine. You come right back after a walkthrough of that carnival. Don't talk to anyone, I don't trust those carnies." "I won't, mom. I'll be careful." "I'm right here, guys!" I knew it was useless trying to talk with them, I was invisible. I watched as my sister went to our front door and opened it and looked back over her shoulder before walking out. Her face changed as she now was looking directly at me. My mom took her attention from the TV and looked over at me, too. They both changed and I stood there horrified. The room started to change, too… we were no longer in my apartment and my mother and sister were no longer themselves, but fat carnival workers from this carnival. "Now you get to be one of us, Charlie. I think you'll be a great ride conductor. Don't you think so, boss?" The man looked down at the other tiny man that was once my mother. "Yep. I knew we'd get a good one this time!" He pulled down some curtains and all of a sudden we were back outside of the Zipper ride. "Don't bother trying to leave, you were chosen, buddy. We don't choose -- they choose for us. We all had to do it just like this." I looked around and noticed that nobody was close enough to stop me and I began to run as fast as I could. I got to the edge of the park where the rides began and came to a dead stop as I hit some sort of barrier. I couldn't get through and the men appeared at my side once again. "We've tried, Charlie. It sucks, I know. We can't leave either." The little man said. "Just go with it, it's not that bad after a while. I turned and sighed, then went with the men to another set of stairs. I could hear Peggy off in the distance calling for me, but I knew she couldn't see me. The next year, we came back to my town. I let people on and off of the Zipper ride for over 12 months now and finally, we were back home -- my home. I had changed in that year -- my gut got large, I grew a beard, and my voice became deep and heavy. My attitude changed, too. I was no longer the fun-loving Charlie I once was. Then there she was -- Peggy. She stood in line for the ride I was controlling and my heart started pounding. Would she recognize me? She got to the front of the line and stood and stared at me as I held the gate open for her to enter the car of the ride. "Are you -- are you Charlie?" "Yes. I'm stuck here now." We both knew at that moment that that was how carnivals got their workers. They were chosen by the carnival itself. The end.


Marie had decided the day before that she would go and water the fruit trees because it was spring she knew there would be lots of flowers around the neighbourhood. Marie enjoyed spring and there were a lot of different flowers to admire.

Marie woke up early, had her breakfast and decided that she would water the fruit trees in the afternoon around 1pm before she went to get some groceries. When it was time to get ready before she went to water the fruit trees, she made a list of what groceries she would get and what she wasn’t sure whether to buy a coffee and have some time just enjoying the time being herself and doing something she had not done in a while.Marie had made some egg tea and let it mature for a couple of days, and now it was ready. She thought about what she would do after watering the fruit trees. As she went along the pathway, she passed one of her friend's houses. Marie looked at the yellow, rose bush in front of her friends' house. She smiled. She really enjoyed looking at the different flowers around the neighbourhood. Marie walked along checking to see what other flowers she may see on the way to water the fruit trees. Marie came to the end of the road and crossed the road to get to the other side. Marie noticed 2 apple trees and a pear tree in the backyard of one of the neighbours. Marie looked across the road and she remembered seeing some sunflowers standing strong and growing tall at the beginning of spring. They were now gone, perhaps the person who grew them decided to give them as a gift to somebody else. Marie smiled when she thought of the yellow sunflowers, she had not had a good day and the yellow sunflowers cheered her up. As Marie walked along the pathway she saw other flowers, to water the fruit trees.

Marie arrived at the playground, she looked around the playground to see if everything was looking okay. Marie saw an empty soda can and a piece of driftwood, she picked up the soda can and put it in the rubbish bin nearby, she decided to let the driftwood stay where it was.

Marie looked by the slide and saw a couple of weeds and decided to clean it up one day during the week. Marie proceeded to the fruit trees and put egg tea around the trees. When she was finished she took the egg tea container and put it away safely. Marie was about to walk down an alleyway leaving the playground when she spotted some yellow daisies.

"Wow I'm going to pick some of those yellow daisies," she said to herself.

Marie picked about half a dozen and put them in her bag carefully, she went down one of the alleyways at the playground and walked to the grocery shop. Marie couldn't wait to get home to put the flowers in the water.

Marie then got a splendid idea that she would go and have a chocolate drink at one of her favourite cafe’s.

She headed to the Mall and went into one of the entrances, she looked at one of the beautician shops as she went in to see whether they had any specials on, there were a few but not that much for her to feel like she was getting a bargain. She walked to the escalator and saw the florist on one side and just looked at the pretty arrangements the florists had made. She wanted to have a look because she wanted to buy some to put on her desk, then she remembered the daisies in her bag. She went to the cafe and ordered a choco and had a look at what sort of chocolates there were, she saw one called triple chocolate and ordered one plus a club sandwich and went to sit down at one of the tables while waiting for her order. She took out a book she was reading and started to read it. The title was called American Duchess which Marie was finding really enjoyable as she had her Choco drink. After she had something to eat she left to go and do her groceries. When Marie got to the grocery store she went through the front entrance and saw the arrangements of flowers. There were a lot of small arrangements and some bigger arrangements.

Marie did her shopping and caught a Taxi home, when she got home she put away her groceries, she then remembered the daisies. Marie became really happy and took the daisies and took them out of the bag they were in, she looked into a cupboard and found an empty Jamjar. Marie cleaned the Jamjar with hot boiling water, and took the Jam labels of the jar and decided to put stickers on the sides of the jar. Because Marie was into recycling, she knew this was a good opportunity she would use to show to those who also believed in recycling who lived in the house that she was for recycling too. Marie went to the draw with all the art equipment in it and took out some bird stickers, and put them around the jar she had chosen. When finished she looked at the jar and was really pleased with the bird pictures. Marie put some water into the jar and placed the Yellow Daisies in it, she put the flower arrangement on the table near the lounge door. The flowers looked so nice, every time Marie went to work at her table in the lounge on her other crafts she would look up and see the Daisies which boosted her happiness. because Marie was into flowers, she took photos with her smartphone, she had quite a selection of flower photos. Pink and white, Purple and yellow, white, yellow and purple. White and yellow and so on and so on and so on. by Writehand