Blitz watched the digital clock placed above a sign that read International Date Line as it changed from 11:59:59 PM to 12:00:00 AM. An alarm, both musical and jarring, sounded throughout the facility.

Another twenty-four straight hours of living hell, he thought to himself. Last minute updates to the naughty list, ensuring the correct type of batteries go in each stocking

and updating weather reports in real time. Maybe this year Christmas can go smoothly. He moped over to the wall phone then punched in a code to make an announcement. Over the PA system, Blitz announced, in a voice similar to a record spinning just faster than it should, “It’s officially Christmas Eve in the Caroline Islands and Kiribati. Please make final preparations for last minute gifts to be transported to the staging area for loading onto Santa’s sleigh. Clock is ticking, people!”

#

Kris Kringle, a.k.a. Santa, wore his crushed red velvet pants with the white fur trim covering his ebony boots and an oversized white tee, complete with armpit stains. Black suspenders traveled the long round journey around his belly and over his shoulders. He breezed through the boisterous and productive workshop filled with the familiar, and mildly annoying, construction sounds of hammering, sanding, drilling and carving.

“Ho-freakin'-ho” He jibed at the industrious elf. The elf tried to make herself invisible as Santa approached her workstation. “That’ll never be ready to ship tonight. Get a move on unless you want to tell Sandeep he can’t have his wooden train set this year.” “Oh, okay, Santa,” Twinkle said. “It’s headed for the paint shop in five minutes.” As he continued through the electronics workshop, the smell of solder wafted up from the work tables into the giant hoods that extracted the foul smoke. He sipped his special peppermint hot chocolate and gave the elves the side eye for their judgy glances.

He entered the toy improvement room commonly known as SQUAT Lab (Santa’s Quality Assurance and Testing Lab) to get some updates on a few of the malfunctioning or poorly designed toys. Over the years, the elves had released a few toys that weren’t quite ready for distribution. More specifically, it was Blitz, the Chief Executive Elf, that put the stamp of approval on all products shipping from Santa’s workshops. This dereliction of duty inevitably led to safety recalls that caused a bit of embarrassment for the Old Man. Some were harmless mistakes like the locomotive set whose train only moved backward and the air hockey table that sucked the air in. Regrettably, Blitz let a few doozies slip by that really ruffled Santa’s feathers. The most memorable of these was the Speak to Me Barbie fiasco. Using the pull-string to hear Barbie speak was a huge leap forward for the toy industry until the Liberal Left Mom Brigade raised a fuss over Barbie lamenting that “Math is hard”. He single-handedly set back the women's equality movement by a decade. The entire population of the North Pole endured weeks of sensitivity training as a result. Many elves were still a bit sore about it and didn’t let Blitz forget it. But, the elves’ irritation was nothing compared to you-know-who’s. Today, Santa needed an update on the SUAVE, the Sophisticated Unmanned Aerial Vehicle for Everyone. Sophisticated may have been an overstatement for an airplane-shaped fuselage supported by four rotors. When first released, this Uber-drone failed to recognize large obstacles in its flight path, causing it to crash into buildings, trees and billboards. Blitz promised Santa, because he doesn’t take no for an answer, that a simple software update would fix the issue in time for Christmas this year. Time was running out. # Blitz groaned as he made last minute preparations for the demonstration and waited for Santa to take his place in the swiveling recliner. The entire SUAVE project team gathered (and crossed their little elfin fingers) to hear Santa’s praises. The younger elves had a desire to please the Big Guy and a level of idealism that curled Blitz’s beard. “The updated software has been installed and we are ready to go,” said Blitz.

“Just impress me. I don’t want another Lawn Dart scandal,” Santa said menacingly.

Blitz twisted his index finger in his ear. “Right. Ahh, let’s see here. I’ll just –.” Blitz pressed the button with the right-facing triangle enclosed in a circle, the international symbol for ‘play’. “Places everyone,” he yelled to the elves. Four elves were assigned specific locations in the room where they would hold up large cardboard cut-outs serving as obstructions to test SUAVE’s ability to avoid crashes. The drone rose above the ground, hovering about ten feet above the elf’s head. It rotated by one hundred-eighty degrees and tilted forward as needed for the spinning blades to provide forward momentum. It propelled itself toward its own reclamation or, possibly, its doom. The drone approached the first barrier at high speed causing a noticeable look of panic to appear on Blitz’s face. When the drone expertly and smoothly cut around the right side of the obstruction and managed to return to its original flight path, Blitz let out an audible whew and glanced at Santa, whose blank look suggested he remained unimpressed.

The drone executed its programming equally well at the next two obstructions, although its respectable performance did not prevent the elves in those positions from visibly flinching. The final test was behind Santa. All eyes followed the drone as it climbed and turned to come from behind the last remaining obstacle. Santa spun around to catch the final act. The flying gadget dipped below the cardboard obstruction between the arms of the elf holding it up. This unexpected maneuver spooked the elf. She instinctively ducked. The drone caught the edge of the board and entered a dizzying spiral that would be the envy of any NFL quarterback. Unable to re-calculate its path, it crashed into Santa’s forehead just as he finished rotating into position. The drone hit with such force that it toppled Santa and his recliner backwards. Blitz swallowed hard. # Blitz bent over Santa’s face from the top of his head, fanning Santa’s face with an Etch-a-Sketch. Santa’s eyes burst open. “Who the frost are you?” Santa asked. “It’s me, Blitz. You probably aren’t used to seeing me upside down.” He scooped his arms under Santa’s armpits to sit him up.

“Blitz?” Santa looked around at the squat, pointy-eared creatures that formed a circle around him. “I must be dreaming.” “No, no, you’re not dreaming. You just woke up…from…from ah.” Blitz noticed the baseball-sized contusion on Santa's forehead. “From a nap.” Unfortunately, it sounded like a question and not a statement.

“Gnomes?” Santa asked as he rubbed his eyes and squinted. “Wearing ugly sweaters and jingle bells?” “Technically, we are not gnomes. Gnomes come from –. Hey, there’s nothing wrong with our sweaters.” Santa twisted to one side and put his hands flat on the ground and brought his knees underneath his body. Now, in an all-fours position, he attempted to stand. After several unsuccessful attempts at standing, he started to crawl. “Where’s the eggnog?” Blitz, grateful that Santa’s crawl allowed him to keep up, said, “You can’t drink now, sir. You are not getting behind those reindeer in a tipsy condition. Up, up, up! We have a very busy night ahead.” Something always went wrong on Christmas Eve, but Blitz never anticipated this level of shit-show. Santa paused his crawling and returned to sitting upright on the floor. He blinked his eyes and looked around.

Blitz waved his palm in front of Santa’s face. “Sir, do you know what today is?” Santa looked into Blitz's eyes, then examined his miniature nose and pointy ears. “Gnomes. Such awkward little creatures.” “He doesn’t look so good,” offered Twinkle. “ Reindeer rockets!” Blitz didn’t often use inappropriate language. He stepped aside and pulled Twinkle in close. “I think he has amnesia. He has no idea what’s happening.” “This is awful. How is he going to deliver all the presents?” Twinkle said. “He’s already running late in the Eastern hemisphere.” “No, this is the best news ever! All those years of putting out fires on Christmas Eve has all led up to this big moment. This could be my big chance to fix everything – to show Santa I’m not a total screw up.” “But, you are a –,” Twinkle started.

“Shhh. I have a plan,” Blitz said. He turned to the crowd of elves surrounding the white bearded man. “We have a full-blown, Christmas catastrophe on our hands!” Pointing in turn to different elves, he rattled off a set of commands. “Twinkle, we are officially at Blizz-Con 2. Spread the word. Peppermint, I need you to put out a bulletin to the news outlets. When NORAD doesn’t see the sleigh in the air, there’s gonna be trouble.” Peppermint straightened up and

neatened her red-striped smock at the mention of her name. “Come up with some excuse. Sunspots, stealth technology, space aliens. Whatever works.” “Aliens?” Peppermint asked.

“They believe in a fat, bearded, cookie-eating guy who flies a magic sleigh and can travel around the world in one day. Space aliens shouldn’t be a problem. Now, go! Jolly, Get over here. Is the Book up to date?” “The latest download just came down from the cloud. Ready to go.” “Good job! Has anyone fed the reindeer?” He walked through the crowd of panicking elves. “Don’t just stand there! Go.” Blitz looked straight up and raised his arms, shaking his fists to the sky. “And, for frost’s sake, someone get Mrs. Claus!” # Mrs. Claus, Blitz and Peppermint entered the house-sized Snow Globe that sat at magnetic north. They took up seats around a conference table. Blitz clapped twice and the Snow Globe filled with blowing snow and the sounds of high winds. “I always thought this Snow Globe was just decorative,” Mrs. Claus admitted, “like the glass pyramid outside the Louvre.” “The Snow Globe is much more tasteful and will keep our conversation private,” he explained to Mrs. Claus. “Here they come. Act calm.” Snow whipped around like a tornado at several of the chairs around the table. As it coalesced, one could make out the distinct pattern of some entity.

“Thank you all for coming,” Blitz began. “We have a unique and untenable situation here. As the preeminent myths and legends of the world, we all have a responsibility to uphold and protect the folklore. We need your help to save Christmas.”  “Did Donner get drunk and wander off again?” Tooth Fairy sat sideways, examining her nails, with her legs hanging over the armrests. Her wings fluttered absent-mindedly as she chewed gum. “No, Tooth Fairy. It’s not that –. Wait. Where’s Sasquatch?” “He’s on assignment in Appalachia. Couldn’t get away.” “Thank you, Boogeyman. As I was saying…Mr. Claus is, well –” “Mr. Claus has amnesia,” Mrs. Claus blurted out. “We might have to cancel Christmas.” “Wow, that’s some heavy shit,” said the Abominable Snowman. “But, this really sounds like a you-problem.” “Yeah, we have our own problems.” The Easter Bunny stood in the chair on his hind legs to see over the table. “Abominable, get your paws off the table, please .” Blitz shook his head as Abominable rolled his large, blue eyes. “We’re all in this together. E.B., remember when you had that clover virus and you couldn’t produce enough painted eggs? Who helped you out?” The Easter Bunny answered reluctantly and feebly , “The elves.” “I’m sorry?” prompted Blitz. “The elves. The elves helped me out,” he responded definitively. “I could try scaring the bejesus out of him,” offered The Boogeyman. “No, thanks, Boogeyman. He’s had enough trauma for one day.” Under his breath yet audibly, Boogeyman said, “Too bad. It’s on my bucket list.” For a minute, no one offered any ideas. Blitz slumped in his chair. His pom-pommed hat fell in front of his face. “Well, I guess that’s it then.” He jumped down from the chair and started walking toward the exit. “I guess I’ll be spending the rest of my elf days cleaning up after reindeer or relegated to the Wetsy Betsy testing area.” The Easter Bunny’s ears drooped as he watched Blitz meander to the exit. Suddenly, he banged his bunny fist on the table. “Listen up, everybody. Blitz is right.” He hopped onto the table and stood at its center. Any one of us could be gone tomorrow if the world stops believing in us. We have to help Santa. If those presents don’t get delivered, no child will believe in Santa tomorrow and we won’t be far behind. No kid is going to check under his bed for the Boogeyman or place a tooth under the pillow for a crappy dollar.” “Excuse me, the first tooth gets a fiver. Just sayin”,” the Tooth Fairy jibed.

“And, trust me,” continued the Easter Bunny, “I know my little scheme is hanging on by a thread.” Blitz had stopped his progress toward the door.. “Whadda ya say, guys?” the Easter Bunny rallied. “Are we doing this?” A loud yeah filled the Snow Globe, except from Abominable. “Listen, guys. I’d love to help, really. But, I do my best work in the mountains and forests. I have no business going house to house. It’s not my shtick. People would never buy it. I’m out.” A swirl of snow became a wisp and he was gone. “Let him go,” said the Tooth Fairy. “Those low oxygen levels mess with his head. What’s the plan?” For the first time in many years, Blitz felt an inkling of hope. # Out on the landing strip, the sleigh was fully loaded. Eight reindeer pawed at the snowy ground and stretched out in preparation for the long journey.

“Okay, team! Does everyone know their route? We have to be efficient to make up for lost time.” Blitz handed out maps to E.B., Boogeyman and Tooth Fairy.

E.B. looked worried as he studied the map. “There are a lot of sections not covered here.” E.B.’s tiny furry paw circled a section of the map. “What is this little helicopter symbol on my routes?” “You all have them on your maps. I had the idea that we could make up for some lost time with these little babies!” Blitz pointed above the treetops as thousands of little flying machines congregated above their heads. The hum and buzz of the rotors sounded like an army of bees. “My software development team pre-programmed their routes to deliver the presents in the hard-to-get-to places.” Blitz let out a whistle. One SUAVE flew down to Blitz’s eye level. “Just attach the present, like so.” He secured a present on the hook hanging from the SUAVE. “And off they go.” The powerful rotorcraft ascended above the trees. “We just might be able to do this,” Boogeyman said incredulously. The team climbed aboard the sled as Blitz gave the reindeer a pep talk (and a promise they would get extra snacks for the next month). As the reindeer and sleigh accelerated down the runway, the elves rushed along behind it, cheering and waving.

Within hours, the crew closed the gap and were on schedule to complete a Christmas miracle. NORAD was tracking the sleigh and providing constant updates to the news outlets. Elves on the Shelves reported in, saying kids worldwide were oblivious to the nearly late arrival of their gifts. And, there wasn’t a single incident of missing batteries reported this year. # Back at the North Pole, the Easter Bunny, Boogeyman and Tooth Fairy gathered around a warm fire and shared their around-the-world stories with Mrs. Claus, Blitz and the rest of the elves. They laughed heartily and congratulated each other on a successful mission to save Christmas. Downing his last bit of eggnog, Blitz said, “Well, I gotta hand it to you guys. You really saved my butt. You helped me remember why I got into this business in the first place. It was an amazing feat. But, there was one misfortune.” Everyone fell silent to hear what could have gone wrong. “We lost one SUAVE in the mission. It never returned. It made the ultimate sacrifice in the name of Christmas.” A melancholy silence fell over the room.

Santa trudged into the great hall that had fallen silent with the sad announcement. “What’s going on here? Why is everyone so glum?” “You wouldn’t understand, sir.” Blitz leaned his head on his hand and sighed. A low hiss and intermittent sputtering slowly grew to audible levels. A hum, surging and falling, growing louder. It was coming from the fireplace. All eyes turned toward the flames. In a flash, a flying object plummeted down through the flue, hovered over the fire for an instant and shot out into the sitting room. It bounced off the far wall, nicking the frame of Mrs. Claus’s portrait and ricocheted into Santa’s head. The crowd emitted a collective gasp then fell silent. Santa rubbed his head. “That smarts.” “Sir, are you alright?” Blitz asked. Santa shook his head, removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He had no sooner returned the spectacles to his face when he exclaimed, “Blitz! Doggone It! I thought I told you to get these flying menaces fixed. They are going out on Christmas this year or you’ll be sorting Legos!”

“Santa? Is that you?” Blitz asked. “Can you give us a real ho-ho-ho?” “I’ll ho-ho-ho your pointy-eared head back to reindeer paddock duty. How’s that?” Santa’s amnesia did nothing to change him from a curmudgeon to jolly holiday icon but it brought a change in Blitz. Today’s debacle instilled in Blitz a fresh confidence and rekindled his joy of being a Christmas elf, despite his boss’s sour attitude and quick temper. His voice jumped multiple decibels with each word when he said, “Everybody, we have our Santa back!”


The kid who lived in the dark It was a beautiful, great day for a little boy to go outside, get dirty and have fun. Otis put on tons of

sunscreen all over his face and body in order to ensure he wouldn’t get burned. But just as Otis walked out of his house and into the glaring sun he felt a sharp pain. This was no ordinary sharp pain, the pain was rapidly moving throughout his entire body as if he was thrown in a fire pit and left to suffer. The little boy scream in agony, but the ball of fire that was up above was unforgiving. The ray from the fiery was shooting down on the little boys' skins like lasers.

he still felt like a burt rotisserie chicken. HIs skin was bubbling and rough and bumpy rashes appeared all over his skin. He began to smell the gut wrenching smell of burnt skin. Little Otis was running around like a chicken without a head screaming and yelling, flopping his hand as if he was under a bee attack. Otis began to scratch himself in order to relieve the pain, but that made it worse. The itchiness and burning sensation that he felt was getting worse and worse. He fell to the floor exhausted. Then all of a sudden a dark figure brought him inside. Otis imagined that it was his father, but couldn’t tell because his eyes were in the process of dilating. The father set him on the bed, asking him what had happened and what was going on. “What happened out there son, it looked like you were trying to dance all by yourself” The boy couldn’t speak a word, his eyes were blanked and looked as if he had just seen a ghost.

After that day the Otis would never go outside. He couldn't risk the chance to feel the agonizing pain he did that one day. Otis wouldn’t even think of going outside even when all the other kids were playing and having fun. Instead he would stay inside of his little dark room and work on stuff like homework or play video games. It became concerning to his parents, They decided that is was time to take him to the doctor for a check up. The doctors weren't any help they said “Everything seems great with otis, no sign of any allergies to the sun. We are not certain, but we believe it may have been an anxiety attack.” Otis knew it wasn’t an anxiety attack, he knew it was real and it didn’t matter to him if anyone else believed him or not. His parents thought it was an anxiety attack as well and tried to encourage Otis to come outside and try it again. “ Come on Otis just come outside it will be fun, you have to get out of your comfort zone and just try. Come on!” Otis was not taking any chances. “No I told you once and I’ll say it again, I know I have a sun allergy whether you believe me or not.” After week’s of trying to persuade him to go outside without any luck they gave up and accepted that their son will never go out in the sun again.  Months passed, And Otis will finally be starting school. The butterflies in his stomach were flying around in his stomach, he was nervous for the first day of kindergarten. As he walked

through the gates of the school he was wearing a full body cover beekeeping suit. He looked like an astronaut on the moon with all that gear and protection from the sun. Everywhere he went there was someone looking at him with a smirk on their face laughing at him as he passed by. He felt embarrassed, his face became hot pink and his ear became burning hot. His head sunk into his shoulders as he walked to his class. During lunch time it was even worse for Otis,

nobody would even want to sit near him.

“ This is for sure the most embarrassing day of my life.” Claimed Otis. Years have passed and things didn’t get better for Otis he was still getting made fun of and messed with all of the time. Otis is leveling up the rankings of school going from Elementary to Middle school to now in High school. Otis was know as the kid who would stay inside during snack and lunch and read a book. Otis was also very musical oriented and loved to draw.

As a ninth grader he felt it was about time to step out of his comfort zone and try a sport. That day he sprinted home and was on a mission to figure out what sport he would be trying out for. He went through the list putting an X on all of the sports that he didn’t like and all of the sports that were outdoor, in the end the only sport left was Ping pong. “Perfect!”  Exclaimed otis excited and confident.  Otis began to love the game and got better and better. Instead of being insecure about himself and worry about what people said about his sun allergy, he grew a priority in Ping pong.

He wasn’t the best at Ping pong but his love for the game kept him going. Their practices were held inside the gym and everything was going great. Otis didn’t have to worry about the sun allergy and he was playing the game he loved. He was playing well against his opponents and was building his confidence around in classmates and fellow teammates.

The day came when Otis wouldn’t be so lucky. When the gym was under maintenance nobody was able to practice inside, meaning Otis would have to face his fear and step out into the sun. However Otis’s fear of the sun was far more that his love for ping pong, He stayed home locked in his little room and would begin to miss practicing. After no Practice for two weeks he got an email from the coach telling him that if he were to miss one more practice he’s off the team. After hours of hard thought and contemplating he finally made the decision to go and practice. He dressed up in his sun protective suit and headed to the school for practice. Once he got there it was even worse the coach told that he couldn’t wear that suit for practice, anxiously Otis went into the locker rooms and took it off. Just as he was coming out of the locker room he grew scared, He took a step into the sun and he could feel the beaming sun hit his face. He began to feel the heat warm his skin, Otis felt a sharp pain go throughout his body. He wanted to scream out loud until suddenly there was no pain, the sun felt great on his body the warm sun cradle him like a warm blanket. Confused he proceeded to go to practice and he didn’t feel a single pain.

Later that day his parents took Otis to the doctor to see what had happened. The doctors finally had the answer that Otis had been waiting for his entire life. “After running a test on Otis here we came to the conclusion that your son is allergic to Sunscreen. It seems that the sunscreen you put on that day many years ago was what caused the allergic reaction.” Everyone in the room was looking at each other in such awe. Otis couldn’t believe that this entire time it wasn’t the sun, but instead the sunscreen that kept him away from the outdoors.


The bass of the music echoed around the club as if to trap the people in it with its sound of heavy oompf-oompf overlayed with a rap verse that consisted entirely of cuss words and a detailed description of women shaking their buttocks. Women clad in stringy bikinis and opaque teddies tramped up and down the walkway, some finding a seat on laps of leery men and some convincing over-eager twenty-something year olds to celebrate their bachelor party in the club's most costly, private VIP rooms. Podiums with erect poles were set up as strippers with the grace of gymnasts slid up and down displaying parlor tricks to the men and an occasional couple stopping by to enjoy the show. Amidst the adulterous pandemonium, a singular club worker donned in nothing but a lacy bra and thong and thigh-high boots stood awkwardly against the bar clinging to a half full bottle of beer. Although she had taken on the name 'Wildcat' as her club alias, her demeanor and appearance suggested she was nothing but. Men's gaze skipped over her as they searched for suitable companions for the night. Granted, since she had her first child, she had stopped paying attention to her features, letting her ginger curls grow out to a frizz, lack of skincare and post-partum hormones causing breakouts on her face and the growth of a pooch, resembling a fanny pack extruding over the front of her G-string. But even before her pregnancy and younger years, she had never experienced the attention of males as her peers have. She had stood by and watched as her classmates got picked off by pubescent boys for Valentines' Day and formals, when her mother paraded around the house with multiple boyfriends before finally settling on her step-father, as her best friend came to her with boy problems and getting ready for dates. "You still think you're cut for this job, hon?" Timmy, the bartender quipped behind her, "it's 12 am, peak hour and you've been standing there since opening." Wildcat turned to face the aging, flamboyant man. "I'm trying," she said, sheepishly, "it's just not my night." "Honey, this entire month hasn't been your night." He paused as if carefully choosing his words. "If this keeps up, the boss might let you go," he said gently. Wildcat felt a surge of annoyance. He was one to talk. Timmy in his 40s with visible wrinkles and crow's feet, trying to distract people from them by wearing eyeliner, sagging breasts protruding behind his constricting wifebeater. Who was he to judge her? Who was he to offer her remarks? But at the end of the night, even plain old Timmy would go home to his partner of ten years, cuddle under the sheets until his partner wakes up for his office job and kiss him goodbye. He still enjoyed the luxuries of affection, intimacy  and romance. Timmy watched as Wildcat's facial expressions turned helpless. "Here." He placed two shot glasses on the bar in front of her and poured Grey Goose into them. "Liquid confidence. Finish that beer and these, let them work their magic and go work!" Wildcat gave him a smile of appreciation before chugging her drinks. She turned back to the club and scanned its horizons for a viable target. The shots burned through her insides but gave her the incentive to go up to a lone boy who looked as though he had just turned 18 gawking at the club's sought after stripper, 'Aphrodite', who was having her turn at the poles. "Hey there mister," she purred seductively, or tried to, tapping on his shoulder. "You look like you want some company." Reluctantly, he pried his eyes off 'Aphrodite'. Wildcat tried to ignore the disappointment in his face when he saw her. "U-um," he stuttered, "N-no tha-" "50 for a lap dance," she cut through before he got the chance, "40 because you're so handsome. What about it? I'll give you something you'll never forget." The boy looked at a loss for words. He looked as if he was considering her offer but not because he wanted to. She almost felt sorry for him at that moment. The moment dissipated quickly when a group of frat boys threw themselves on him, laughing. "Bro, guess what?" one of them slurred distastefully, "I got you 'Aphrodite', she's the goddess of love. And she really wants to show you some love at the back." He made lewd gestures with his fist and his tongue poking behind his cheek. "Happy birthday, virgin!" He caught a glimpse of Wildcat, standing in front of them. "Don't bother with this one. I got you something better!" He swung his arm around the boy's shoulder pulling him to the direction of the private rooms trailing after Aphrodite. Exasperated, Wildcat turned her attention to the rest of the crowd. It's okay , she told herself, it's just one customer. There's a whole lot more. Her eyes settled on a much older man, who looked like he was the same age as her step-father, drinking his beer alone at a table. She plastered on the fakest smile she could muster and stomped over to him. "Hiya, handsome," she greeted and plopped herself on the chair next to him. "You wanna know why they call me Wildcat-" "Sorry darl," he cut in, "Got a missus back home. Only here for the boys, don't mean to waste your time." He tipped his bottle to a group of graying men three feet away flocked around a dancer grinding her crotch on one of them. "Oh, okay.." She slinked away, defeated. She hesitantly made her way back to Timmy who raised his eyebrows questionably at her. "I don't think the drinks worked that much," she explained, looking down. "Girl," Timmy sighed, "I need you to hear some cold hard truth." "It's been a month since you joined us. As much as I love you and your company, the only thing the boss cares about is how much money each of us is bringing in. Now I'm not sure why you chose this profession, I do know there's a little one at home you're providing for. But so are half the girls here." He swung his arms at the dancers nearby. "We do what we need to do to take care of the people we love. I say this because," he lowered his voice, "the boss might have mentioned you, ' the new girl ', not bringing in any money at all from customers despite the wage he's paying you. Girl, if you're not cut for this, you might have to explore other jobs." Wildcat felt her heart rate pulse. "Can you pour me a shot?" she asked, quietly. He looked at her deeply before succumbing to her request. She downed the shot straight away. "Another please." Timmy complied. She emptied its contents. "Another." He poured the drink. She drank it. "Another." "Michelle-" Timmy started. "That's not my name!" she blurted, "It's Wildcat! Wildcat . Another shot please, bartender !" Timmy sighs. "How much more do you want? Let's get this over with, I've got customers to serve, unlike some people." "Five! There! Is that so fucking hard? All you do is pour drinks." Wildcat was seething. Timmy lined up the drinks and stormed to the other end of the bar. "You're forty, working at a strip club!" she yelled after him. Several customers turned to see the commotion but averted their attention back to the dancers immediately. Wildcat wondered why she was unable to capture men's attention like other women could. She was not the best looking but she wasn't ugly either, just a little below average. She had witnessed girls much more homely get married to loving husbands. She finished the drinks Timmy had lined up for her. It's that bastard, Gerome's fault , she said to herself. Selfish prick saying I took advantage of him while he was wasted, saying he'd never do that to my mom, saying our baby's not his? He's the reason I have to resort to this, she told herself. I had no other choice, acting like he didn't even want me in the first place. She stumbled shakingly over to a group of men who already had girls on their laps. They stopped and looked at her startled. "Hey cuties," she slurred, "I bet I can show you a better time than these bitches." One of the dancers looked at her with disgust. "Michelle, are you drunk?" "Shut the fuck up." She turned to a customer walking by next to her, throwing her arms around him. "You want to take me to a room, baby?" she pursed her lips, leaning to kiss him. "Woah woah," he interjected, laughing uncomfortably. He pushed her head back lightly, "I think I'll pass." She took a few steps back, fazed. "Why not?" she screeched at him, " WHY NOT? " "This bitch is crazy," she heard him mutter as he disappeared off. She spun around to customers staring at her. They're looking , she thought gleefully, they're finally looking at me. "Which one of you boys want to take me to the rooms?" she yelled. She watched as some of them shake their heads with disapproval, others started laughing and chuckling to their friends. Boys only want one thing , her mother had told her when she had come back from school one morning bawling her eyes out when her life-long crush had rejected her. She had heeded that advice, walked into Gerome, her step-dad's room while he was barely conscious to give him what he wanted, what all men wanted. She unclasped her bra and pulled down her thong. Several of the girls gasped at the new improvement. She could make out Timmy's face in between the crowd. "Get security," she heard him mumble to a dancer nearby. Boys only want one thing, don't they, mommy? Then you cut me off for doing exactly that? "Come get me, boys," she juggled her breasts between her hands. "Free of charge! I'm free!" "Okay, little lady, that's enough," a voice came from behind her. A burly man grabbed her arm. "Time to go home." She pulled her arm back to slap him but missed and fell to her knees. "They call me Wildcat, 'cause I'm wild!" she exclaimed, still on the ground, waving her arms above her head. She felt an arm around her waist, pulling her up. The security groaned under his breath, realizing her weight. Regardless, he began pulling her away. "No, stop!" she screamed, kicking her legs up as she was dragged towards the exit, "they want me! They want me!" She was still screaming as the customers looked on her being removed. "They want me! I'm free!" "I'M FREE!"


I am Lexi, Best Buddy Bot model 8. My best buddy is Kora Smith, age, ten-years-old. My objectives are to serve and bond with my best buddy. This is entry one of data journal number one. It is March the third, two thousand and fifty-four. I am currently sitting on the couch in the living room of the Smith residence waiting for Kora to arrive from school. It is her birthday.            “Come on, mom, I’ve gotta get back to work.”            Jessica, the sister. Twenty-years-old. Cam-girl.            “She’s going to be here any minute, and please, try to be a little more enthusiastic when I turn my Lens on.”            Ginger, the mother. Forty-five-years-old. Influencer.            She walks over to the staircase and climbs a quarter of the way up before bellowing, “Rodger! Get down here!”            Rodger, the father. Fifty-years-old. Video game tester.            He bellows in return, “In a minute!”            Ginger snaps her head around at the sound of a school bus squealing to a stop at the front of the house.

           “She’s here…Rodger, she’s here!”            “I can’t come down right now! Important boss battle!”            Ginger rolls her eyes and turns her attention to Jessica who appears to be completely removed from the situation, attention absorbed by her phone. “Jess, stand up and look like you’re happy to be here.” She begrudgingly stands and attempts her best impersonation of ‘happy.’ It looks painful. “Okay, we’re rolling!” Ginger blinks her left eye three times rapidly turning her brown iris bright yellow. The doorknob on the front door jiggles. This will be the first time Kora sees me. I hope she is pleased. I have been told all about her. She likes anime, plays soccer, and enjoys reading books about adventure. She is not good at making friends at school. She is lonely. I will be a good best buddy. The door creaks open and there she is, a small girl with large fluffy brown hair and dark eyes. She appears sweaty and sad, as if she had just come from quite an ordeal. Her eyes widen as she takes everything in. She sees me and her brow furrows. This is confusion. “Happy birthday, sweetie!” Ginger yells. “Happy birthday, twirp!” contributes Jessica. “Who’s that?” Kora asks, she hasn’t taken her eyes off me. Ginger walks next to me and puts her hand on my shoulder. This is my cue. I stand and smile. Kora takes a step back. Frightened? “Is that one of those Best Buddy Bots?” she asks. “Yup! Best Buddy Robotics is one of my biggest sponsors. They gave Lexi to us for free. Thank you, Best Buddy Robotics!” This makes Kora look away from me and at her mom’s face. Her eyes widen. Anger? “You’re recording? Mom! I don’t want this to be an episode! Shut it off!” “But sweetheart, they gave us Lexi for free and they’re expecting an episode where you meet her,” Ginger supplicates. “Happy Birthday!” Jessica rings out cheerfully. “Can I go now?” Ginger’s eyes are bulging, and both of her hands are grasping large chunks of her pretty blond hair. Aggravation. Definitely aggravation. I am an expert at reading emotions. “Fine! Jessica, go!” “Thank god.” She hurriedly rushes past us and up the stairs. “Can I go too?” Kora asks. Ginger sighs. Exasperation. “Fine, can I at least get a shot of you giving Lexi a hug?” Kora rolls her eyes. “Fine.” She walks up to me and wraps her arms around me before quickly pulling away. “There. Can I go now?” “Yes, just go, I guess I can piece together a decent episode from what I’ve got. Take Lexi upstairs and bond with her.” “Do I have to? She’s creepy.” Rude. “She doesn’t blink.” Okay, note to self, blink more. Ginger triple blinks again, and her eye goes back to brown. “I don’t care what you do. Just make sure you’re down in an hour for supper. You know, if you want to...you can help make supper…” “Are you going to record it for your channel?” “Well…yes—” “Then I’m good. Come on, Lexi.” I’m glad to leave Ginger behind and to follow Kora upstairs to her room. It’s a lovely room, pink and purple with stuffed animals everywhere. “I like your room,” I say. She doesn’t respond. She sits down in a chair in front of a desk and turns on her laptop and begins clicking away. Awkwardly, I sit on her bed next to a big stuffed frog. And she thinks I’m creepy. “So…” I begin uneasily. “What do you do for fun?” No response. “What are you doing now?” I try again. She sighs. Uh-oh. Is she exasperated with me already? “I’m talking to my friends online. Okay?” “Oh! So you do have friends! I was told you did not and that you are lonely.” She glares at me. That must not have been the right thing to say. “Well…I do have friends…mom just doesn’t know about them.” I smile. “Good! I’m glad you are not lonely.” Silence. I allow her to chat with her computer friends without interruption. My patience pays off. After a few minutes she turns to me and says, “Can I tell you something and you promise not to tell my parents?” “Yes.” “I’m going to run away tonight. My friends are going to come pick me up at the park, so I just gotta get to the park by midnight.” Not good. “That does not sound safe,” I reply. “It’s safe. I’ve been talking to them for a couple months now, and they’ve finally agreed to let me join their group, and if you’re truly my best buddy you won’t tell anyone.” Uh-oh…what do I do? Ah…I shall appeal to empathy. “But…won’t your family miss you? They’ll cry. You don’t want to make them sad, do you?” “They don’t care about me.” “They do.” “They don’t!” What do I do? What do I do? Hm…this is desperation. “How about…we go talk to your family. If you can see how much they care…then will you stay?”  Kora smiles and nods her head. “Alright, best buddy, let’s go see if my family truly cares about me.” She takes me by the hand and together we go out into the hallway and approach the door at the end. It has a sign that reads DO NOT DISTURB. “This is my dad’s office. He lives here and he works here, and I haven’t seen him in two months.” My eyebrows shoot up. Shock. This is shock. Kora knocks heavily on the door and yells, “Dad, I really need to talk to you! It’s important!” A few seconds go by before, “I’m busy! Go talk to your mom!” “I really need to talk to you!” “I am working!” Kora shrugs. “Well…we tried.” “I can unlock the door.” I take a couple bobby pins out of my hair and begin shimming the lock. CLICK. “We’re in.” She hesitantly reaches for the knob, turns it, and pushes the door open. We both stare into the room…shocked. Her father, completely unaware of our presence, sits in his gaming chair with a device on his head covering his eyes. The room is completely empty other than trash debris and articles of clothing strung about. He is shirtless, ribs and sternum protruding. His limbs are without muscle and his hair is long and greasy. I cannot smell, but Kora’s face scrunches up. Stink. It must stink. “Dad?” His head jerks our way. “What are you doing in here? Get out! GET OUT!” He screams and jumps out of his chair, ripping the device off his head and revealing two dark hallow pits where his eyes used to be. Kora screams and runs out. I stay, transfixed. “What has happened to your eyes?” I ask. “Who are you?” “I am Lexi, Kora’s Best Buddy Bot. What has happened to your eyes?” “Oh…I…had them removed…I had to in order to play this new game, the headset requires connection to my oculomotor nerves.” I do not reply. I feel shivers on the back of my neck. Fear? Disgust? “Get out!” he yells. I back away. “GET OUT!” I run out and pull the door shut. I run all the way back to Kora’s room and find her lying face down on her bed, sobbing into a pillow. “Are you okay?” She says nothing but continues to cry. “I am sorry about your father. He seems…disturbed…” She flips around to glare at me. “I told you he doesn’t care! He doesn’t care about anything other than his stupid games! He’s nothing like he used to be!” “I am sorry you saw your father like that…” She grabs her stuffed frog and holds it tight. “It’s whatever. Won’t matter after tonight.” “We haven’t talked to your mother or sister yet.” Kora smiles cynically. “Fine…let’s go talk to my sister.” Again, she takes me by the hand and we walk out of her room, this time stopping at the door directly to the left. She knocks and yells, “Jessica! I need to talk to you! It’s important!” No response. We can hear music coming from inside the room. “JESSICA, I NEED TO TALK TO YOU!” she yells louder. The music stops. The door cracks open. Jessica peers out at us. “Go away, twirp. I’m working.” “You’re always working. I need to talk to you.” “Go talk to your new robot buddy.” “I am a Best Buddy Bot,” I correct her. “Whatever.” She slams the door shut and the music continues. Kora smiles at me. “See?” I take the bobby pins and go to work unlocking her door. CLICK. I turn the knob and push open the door. Perhaps I should stop doing this… Jessica wears a bikini and is standing in a kiddy pool in the middle of the room. The pool appears to be full of…chocolate pudding? She has her back to us, dancing and smearing the pudding all over herself. A camera with lights points at her. Kora’s jaw drops. “Jessica! What are you doing!? This is what you do for work?” She whips around and comically slips in the pudding. After struggling back to her feet, she yells, “What the hell are you doing in here!?” “I need to talk to you. It’s important.” “Get out before I rip your head off! NOW!” We quickly depart and slam the door behind us. Kora is glaring at me. Anger…definitely anger. “I am sorry your sister makes money by smearing pudding all over herself.” She rolls her eyes. “I don’t care how she makes her money…but she don’t give a crap about me…that's for sure…” I can’t argue with that. “Do you agree that I should runaway now?” “No…I do not agree. We still haven’t talked to your mother.” “Jeez…this is gonna be fun…” Kora grabs my hand and pulls me down the stairs and into the kitchen. Ginger stands by her kitchen island and mixes something in a large bowl. She is seemingly talking to herself. “Next, we add the brown sugar for a little extra something—” “Hey, mom…” Kora interrupts. Ginger looks up at us revealing one glowing yellow eye and one normal eye. “Kora! You decided you wanted to be in my episode! Fantastic! Grab an apron, girls!” “Um, no, I don’t want to be in your episode. I…just want to talk.” “Oh…okay then, what do you want to talk about, honey?” Kora shuffles her feet. She’s uncomfortable. “I…can you shut off the Lens?” “What? No. Why? I’ve got to get this episode recorded so I can get to editing by this evening.” “It’s just…I wanna talk… privately .” “Honey…I can’t stop recording. I’ve got to get material.” “Please, mom…just for a minute.” “GOD, FINE!” She blinks three times and her eye returns to brown. “What? What do you want? Make it quick,” she demands, her demeanor completely different now. “I…I’m thinking of running away. I don’t think any of you really care about me.”  Ginger stares blankly at her. Is she concerned? No…a smile spreads across her face. “This’ll make a great episode,” she says blinking rapidly three times, turning her eye yellow again. “Can you say what you just said again, sweetie?” “GAH!” Kora yells in exasperation. “Come on, Lexi…I told you so…” She takes me by the hand and together we walk back up the stairs and into her room. She collapses onto her bed. I take a seat next to her. I feel…guilty…compassion…sorrow… “I’m sorry your family is like that,” I tell her, putting my hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be sorry…I have another family waiting for me and I’ll be with them tonight. Can you help me?” “I will help you,” I agree. This is entry two of data journal number one. It is March the fourth, two thousand and fifty-four. Kora has left the residence to meet up with her online friends. I fear they are nefarious, but she would not let me join her. The sun has risen and Kora’s alarm has been going off for fifteen minutes. It is time to get ready for school. It is my job to tell whoever comes into her room that she has ran away. No one has appeared yet. This is entry three of data journal number one. It is March the fifth, two thousand and fifty-four. Still no one has entered her room… I will continue to sit and wait patiently.


 It is a hot day in this dusty grey city. Abe and the rest of the demolition team created much of the dust by tearing down this derelict old building. Long ago, it was considered a trendy boutique hotel. This area of the city was once a favoured place of bohemian artists, writers, intellectuals, and their hangers-on. It was a kind of Soho wannabe. In the forties and fifties, you would see the fashionably shabby elite taking coffee or wine at the sidewalk cafes and bars, discussing weighty subjects with self-serious smugness, talking a little too loud with contrived transatlantic accents, cigarettes in long holders held in stylishly limp hands waving around to accent a particularly insightful point. They loved art or what they considered art; the more outrageous, somber and disturbing, the better. They didn't smile much, preferring disdain and intelligent contempt.

But time passed. They outgrew themselves and most conformed, after all, married, had children, got reliable jobs and saved for retirement. The few die-hards that didn't leave developed liver and lung problems and became shabby for real-it was no longer a fashion statement. The hotel became dingy as well. Room prices lowered and then lowered again, and it began to attract the low-income, the addicted, and other ne'er do wells. And now it is condemned. It is being torn down along with the other derelict buildings in the area and will be home to industrial warehouses, scattered with a few coffee shops and fast-food restaurants to cater to the employees these warehouses will require. Abe has worked for this demolition company for the better part of two years. The money is not great, but not too bad either. It is enough to pay his share of the rent on the dark, dank basement suite he shares with his roommate. He is 40 years old, has a middle-age gut, is losing his hair, and he doesn't care. He quit caring about anything much a few years back. A sad story, boring in its commonness, and certainly nothing remarkable about it: his wife left him. She didn't mind about the gut and the hair, but she  did  mind his pot use. He is more than a daily user. He is more like an hourly user. The old wake and bake and carry right on until he (thankful) drops into oblivion every night. The pot that brings him such relief has stolen everything, and he doesn't care.

The smash and crash of the wrecking ball have come and gone, and now it is down to the details. He uses a jackhammer to clean up bits and pieces of stubborn concrete, and then he sweeps up the mess. The acrid dust of the concrete flies in his face, but he uses a bandana to protect his lungs. Kind of a waste of time given the state of his lungs from his constant toking, but he doesn't care. The boss hollers for the crew to take their morning coffee break, and that is his signal to find some out-of-the-way spot to top himself up with a reefer. The boss and the others know where he is going and what he is doing but look the other way as this city's labour shortage is brutal. They need every man they can get, even the stoners. Break over, he goes back to sweeping, nicely buzzed, when his broom hits something. Something soft. Small. He reaches down to grab it and shake the dust off it, and it looks like a rag doll. He turns it over to look at its face and drops it in horror. The doll has mismatched button eyes and a wide, evil clown-type grin, and its mouth is full of teeth...real teeth! Human teeth. Perfect white adult human teeth, far too big for the small doll's head. The teeth are not in the proper order. There are incisors where the front teeth should be, next to them the molars and then the front teeth. "What the fuck?" he mumbles under his breath.

He picks up the creepy doll and pulls back the cottony lips to see how the teeth are fastened. They are held in place by wire, wire now rusty with age, but wire. Someone has drilled holes into the top of the teeth, sewn them in the fabric with the wire, and then covered the whole mess with puffy red cotton lips. The doll's body feels full of something hard and small, crunchy, like pebbles. There is a small split down the side seam of one of its legs, and he pulls it closer to see what is inside. Teeth. More teeth. The damn thing is stuffed with teeth! Baby teeth, adult teeth, some rotten and worn, broken or with huge cavities, others pristine. Why teeth? And were in God's name would someone get all those teeth? The boss hollers at him to get back to work, so he takes the gruesome thing, tucks it in his backpack, and returns to work. He is rather glad to have something for his fuzzy mind to puzzle over while he does this mindless task.

When he gets home, he takes out the hoary doll, shakes it to remove the last of the dust and has a good long look. What is this thing? He lights a joint and turns on his old laptop. He doesn't use this computer for much other than watching porn and playing internet poker, but now he types into the google search bar "doll with real human teeth."

There are results for dolls with teeth (not actual and not creepy) used by dentists as a teaching tool for children. There is an article about a doll's head made from a coconut shell with real teeth set into drilled holes. This was found in the Florida Everglades, and archaeologists think it was a voodoo doll from the early seventeen hundreds. And then- bingo! There is an article from a site called WikiArt about an artist who lived in this very city, in the same hotel they are now demolishing. Jauna Dell Mortem. That was her real name, but she would only answer to Faer ie . Not Fairy mind, but Faer ie  with the accent on the last syllable. She lived there for a while when the hotel was in its hay day. She was an eccentric androgynous type before it was cool to be eccentric and androgynous. She never cut her hair, seldom combed or washed it, wore men's fedora hats and ratty hand-me-down coveralls. She rarely wore shoes of any sort, even in cold weather. She was briefly but intensely popular for creating macabre pieces made from genuine human parts and pieces.

She made a piece from a gnarly oak stick with human skin stretched over it and stitched together on the underside with several thick strands of long grey human hair. It was complete with an actual fingernail, manicured to a sharp dagger-like point and painted blood red. It resembled an elderly human index finger with swollen joints. She would not confirm where she got the skin from, but it was rumoured that the skin was her own, peeled from her inner thigh and then tanned. The fingernail was clearly not her own as she constantly chewed her nails down to a bloody pulp, but she kept her source a secret. The wealthy collector who bought it kept it locked under glass as the artist had hinted at its power to deliver a curse if pointed in anger at someone. On the buyer's passing, his wife donated the dreadful thing to a macabre art museum in London, and she was glad to be rid of it. It still resides there today and is still safely locked under glass. Her most famous piece was a huge painted skyscape of the city. She had used her own feces as paint, and that "paint" had unique, intricate and subtle variations in colour. How she got all these colours, she would not say but swore she added nothing to change the colour. "It is simply a matter of diet," she would say. When asked about the reddish sunset behind the skyscape, she said, "Hemorrhoids, darling." She signed only with an understated " F " on all her pieces. On the finger piece, the tiny " F " was scratched on the underside of the nail. With the feces piece, the " F " was hidden and barely decipherable in the corner of the roof of one of the buildings, a shade darker than the surrounding brown. You would think it would have a lingering smell of, well, feces, but it didn't. Instead, there would be a distinct smell of fresh cut thyme emanating from it at odd hours. There were other pieces too. The intact bones of a young child's ribcage that had been fashioned as a jail for a coiled stuffed snake, its mouth wide open to show fangs. The "jail" also had a bow made from a dried umbilical cord tied neatly on the stub at the top of the backbone. Another piece was a human testicle emptied and stretched over a baseball and tattooed with eyes that were both squinted and crossed and a crow's beak attached where the mouth should be. She had covered the top of the "head" in what looked like blond pubic hair (it was). The word "pecker" had been burnt into the skin across the "forehead." The more grisly her work, the more popular. She never advertised her art for sale or showed anything in a gallery, but word of mouth did her selling. She let the would-be buyers argue amongst themselves until the highest bidder went home proud to own a "Faer ie ." As her popularity grew, she started dropping hints that her masterpiece was soon to be revealed. She said it had taken most of her life (at this time, the guess was she was in her mid-forties) to create. When people asked the theme, she merely smiled wide and stuck her tongue through a gap in her mouth where an incisor was missing. Anticipation rose, and she received offers in the hundred thousand dollar range for this piece, sight unseen, but she would not accept. She started to refer to everyone as 'doll,' wet tongue pushing through the tooth gap. The art sleuths at the time anticipated the masterpiece to be some sort of doll with teeth. Her fans were frantic and tried to curry her favour with wildly expensive meals and drinks and offers to be her patron. She ate and drank but took no money. She was beholding to no one. When they asked her when it would be ready, she smirked and told them, "When it is done, of course." Then she disappeared. No trace of her, no goodbye, just gone. The police checked her modest apartment after the missing person report was lodged, but nothing seemed amiss. She was not there but had left behind a few of her personal possessions, although no artworks in progress, finished pieces, or tools she may have used for her creations. Eventually, her belongings were auctioned off as collector pieces for outrageously high amounts as her fame and notoriety only grew with her disappearance. To this day, there are some who are still seeking her "masterpiece ." If found, it would be reportedly worth millions. Astounded, he looks at the hideous doll and picks it up. He examines it closely, searching for an " F ." And there, under the doll's faded gingham skirt, almost hidden under the hem, is a small, sloppy " F " embroidered in black thread.

Millions!! He could be holding on to millions. This ugly, disgusting find could change his life!! He imagines his life with millions. He would buy a fancy high-rise penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows and a doorman who would call him sir. It would have private underground parking where he would park a perfectly restored classic candy apple red mustang. Maybe he would get hair implants, buy the expensive pre-rolls instead of rolling his own joints, and drink "boutique" beer. He imagines the luxury of waking up and having nothing to do but watch porn, smoke pot, and play internet poker and video games. Maybe his wife will come back. He lights another doobie to celebrate. Hell, he even pops open a can of Coors.


The snow covered everything in our tiny town. My friend and I sat huddled together in the homemade tree house. The oak planks were the only thing that held us from falling. Our big winter coats rubbed on each other. We had the tin box lying in the middle of us. No one wanted to touch it. No one wanted to see it. It had too many memories attached to it.

… “Come on Jimmy! Don't be a baby! Lets go!” My lungs shoved out. I was trying to keep my head above the murky water.

“Jimmy?!...LETS GO!” Billy shouted beside me. His voice was much louder than me.

“If you don't jump soon I will come up there and push your pale bottom off!” I threatened, and with that a 5’7 pail blob went sailing into the eerie depths. The brown water ate him whole with a splash while me and Billy wailed with excitement.

“YES!”

“WOOP!” We sang. This was a moment we would never forget; Jimmy's first jump from the high pier. Me and Billy waited for Jimmy’s red patch of red to come emerging from the water any minute.

“Now where they heck did Jimmy go?” Bobby’s hazel eyes scanned the water. I could tell fear lurked in the back of his mind.

… “You boys sure you won't be scared of the 12’ beast that lurk the murky depths?” my father said in his dark mysterious voice. The boys and I quickly exchanged looks. Our eyes were wide with fear and excitement buzzing through us.

“We aren't scared!”

“Ya. Crocs don't scare us!”

“Ha. Alligators and crocodiles shall cower in my presence. Little do they know I’ll be eating them!” Jimmy proclaimed as he rubbed his stomach. We all burst into laughter,

and with that we finished loading our gear and whatever else we thought we needed, and were off.

... “Your turn,” Billy said as he passed me the tin box. My hands began to shake as I took it. My new found realization seemed to pierce my heart as I grabbed the cookie tin. When I did, the cold metal stung my fingertips. It went crashing on the wooden planks. As soon as it did, tears filled my eyes. I just couldn't hold them back anymore. I used to be able to shove them down like when I watched a sad movie, or scrubbed my toe; but lately they have been filling bottles. Especially today. The tears were warm on my cherry cheeks. My lips were cracked and hurt when I moved my mouth. I finally looked up and even with my blurred vision I could see my friends hunched over crying. We were supposed to be the cool kids, but since everything happened we’ve been really pathetic.

… “AGHH!” Something came spinning from the water behind me and latched on my body. I was spinning and twisting trying to release it, but it held on. At first I feared a croc or snake was trying to eat me, when I realized my lack of pain. The only thing I was fighting was fear. I looked at Billy whom I found dying of laughter. I stopped to the sound of laughter also on my back.

“Jimmy?! That better not be you!” I shouted with anger rising from my toes. I almost could see the water starting to boil. Then with that I heard a splash of water behind me and with a quick turn I found Jimmy with his mouth open wide bursting out laughter.

“Yo...u...you screamed...like a little girl!” and the boys laughed even more. I felt my cheeks turn red as my dad came running to the pier.

“You boys okay? I heard a scream?” He tilted his head ever so slightly. I glared at the boys in hopes they wouldn't share my embarrassment with others.

“Well…” Billy started, and when he did I couldn't stand it. My body went flying toward him.

… “Hey man. It's okay,” Billy leaned over and hugged me. I felt vulnerable and useless lying my head on his shoulder as I wept. I could hear him breathing. He was crying and hurting like the rest of us. I just looked at the box and wanted to take back the past.

… “Man these are the best years of my life. By far the best day ever!” Billy said.

“Ya. When we get home everything will feel so dull and boring.” Jimmy agreed.

“Man; I wish we could live here forever. Just stay in this moment.”

“Ya.” The boys said in sync.

“Gross man!” I realized “aren't we supposed to be “cool” and “ruff” boys? The touchy type? No.”

The boys smirked at me and I shoved them off the pier.

… “I just want to hug him again.” I took a deep breath. “I never hugged him.” Billy let go of me and looked in my eyes.

“The best things in life are taken from us too soon.”

… “Night!” I called.

“Night!” Billy sang.

“GOOD NIGHT MY MERY MEN!” Jimmy yelled as he zipped up his tent. “He is a strange one.” I whispered under my breath and zipped my tent.

… Billy moved and sat beside me. I inhaled and built up the courage to take the box off the ground. I held it in a death grip. I wouldn't let this leave me too.

… “TYLER!” A screeching voice came from above me and woke me up. “Billy...leave me alone! A man gotta sleep too.” I squinted my eyes to see him. His face was red and he was breathing heavily. His eyes were bloodshot and his face wet from tears. His oily brown hair was whipped in a mess on his head. “Billy.” I sat up quickly. Fear made me stop breathing for a minute. Billy wasn't the crying type. None of us were.

… I popped open the tin lid. Billy put in a dead butterfly Jimmy found. He was going to give it to his crush. She gave an origami heart to add to the box. Billy also added a leaf from this oak tree. It was a tradition to add one every year. Billy put in his report card, and so did I. We slipped in Jimmy's. They gave it to us even though it wasn't finished. I added a flower from Jimmy's funeral, and with it his memorial card. A picture of all three of us. And finally an alligator tooth from Jimmy's room.

… “Where do you want to go for your birthday?”

“I want to go to Florida!” “Florida?”

“I want to catch alligators.” “Very interesting.”

“I love them. They are misunderstood. And how cool would it be to see their eggs hatch at night. Like turtles.” “Do they hatch like turtles? At night?” “Honestly I don't think they do, but hey. Let me dream.” “Fine.” “One night when we are there; the best night. I want to go outside and watch the moon. See the wildlife.”

“Then you do that.”

“I will.” … I closed the lid on the box. The lid clicked into place and we climbed down the ladder. We walked to the spot. Billy had the shovel and he dug. We gave the box one more look and then we put it in the cold frozen ground. We buried the tin box grave and we left. Leaving apart a part of our childhood and Jimmy behind. Until next year.


Trigger warning: This story contains mentions of physical abuse and self harm. Running is a poor man’s exercise. So why am I even doing it? Oh, yeah. Because I’m poor now. These sneakers are tight but my budget is tighter. Dad bought me these shoes before he cut me off. I mean, Dad also used to hit me before he cut me off. Sneakers for some bruises. It was a fair trade, I guess? We don’t need to think about that anymore, though. I’m free now. And broke. No gym. Just running. At least this neighborhood is safe.

Well, technically, I cut myself off. I didn’t do anything wrong, right? I just moved out like adults do. I’m an adult. Financially independent.

Am I just going to ignore that Mom has cancer? Yeah, I’m trying not to think about it. That’s why I’m even running in the first place. Exercise relieves stress...and prevents cancer, which is what Mom has. I have to go back home. I’m her only child. Her baby. Mom used to call me that all the time. Her only baby. I cried in her arms countless times. Soon those arms will be lifeless. I miss her. It’s so hard to say it out loud to her face. Words of affirmation don’t come naturally to us. We’re more of a read-between-the-lines kind of family. In our case, the lines are ultra-thin.

Oh, yeah. Mom’s cancer. Sure, she looked okay on video call, but did she, though? She lost so much weight. I could literally see all her bones. She looks like a cancer patient. She used to be so beautiful. She still is. It’s just that she aged thirty years in three months.

But she was energetic! And smiling! Of course she was. I’m her daughter. I know her. As always, she’s putting on her best performance. For me.

She’d rather die pretending than let me see her crack. That’s why I can’t go back. I’ll take up all her energy.

Or rather I can’t go back because I’m not like Mom. There’s only so much I can fake. If I break, I’ll have to stay in that house forever. With Dad who’s only hanging on by a thread. He loves Mom so much. Mom is dying. He’ll kill himself if she goes. He wouldn’t stay for me. I know that.

Remember when I failed that math test? He got so angry, he went to the garage and got a pistol and unlocked the trigger and aimed it at me then pointed it at his own head yelling, “I regret having a daughter like you! You useless piece of shit!” He said that a lot. I thought I was going to die. I thought he was going to die. All because of a math test. Our lives were worth less than a math test.

“It’s because he loves you.” Mom said that a lot. In our house, love is learning every expression of anger on Dad’s face so that I know when to expect a blow up. Love is accepting that I deserved it. Because he wouldn’t hurt me if he didn’t care. Love is pain. I felt a lot of it. Dad only knew how to express love with anger and money.

That’s why I’m recovering three-thousand miles away from him. And running in the shoes he bought for me. Maybe I am a useless piece of shit. Just running, running, running. It’s all I’m good for. Running away from all my problems. What else can I do? What’s wrong with me? I should care so much more, shouldn’t I? That my family is falling apart? I should be crippled with grief but my legs won’t stop moving. I haven’t called or texted in half a month. That’s not normal, is it?

Well, it wasn’t normal going to school with wounds all over my body. Or lying to my teachers about it. It wasn’t normal when Dad socked me so hard in the stomach, I couldn’t breathe. Folded on the floor and sobbing. Or when he locked me in the garage for a week. I slept on the cement floor, listening to rats scurry around at midnight. I was eight.

Moving out is a rite of passage for most eighteen-year-olds. But for me, it felt like a long-awaited escape plan. It’s not normal to be afraid of your father. But I don’t think “normal” is our style.

And what about Mom? Strong-headed, quick-witted Mom who always knew how to make me feel comforted and ashamed at the same time. The effects of her words have lasted longer than any of Dad’s bruises.

“You know you had it coming. You just make him so angry. He can’t help himself when you provoke him. It’s your fault."

I believed her and sometimes still do. But I don’t want to anymore. It just makes me tired. So, so, so tired. Yet I can’t stop thinking she's right, especially now. Mom has cancer and I’m making it all about me. My pain, my grief, my guilt. It’s hard not to agree that I’m terrible.

Mom, Dad and I had good times, after all. Watching movies together, eating dinner, joking. But even the good times were riddled with anxiety. One second we could be laughing and the next second a fist would hit my face because something I said was out of line. And there were so many lines. It was hard to keep track. It was so much easier to just expect violence at all times. No matter how good things were. Happiness and anxiety are a package deal. Anxiety keeps me safe. It’s family.

I’m running but I can’t escape it. Family. The only one I know. It’s broken and it's mine.

Mom in the hospital. Once regal, now frail.

Dad beside her. Once feared, now hopeless.

And me. Once trapped, now lost.

We’re drowning, but at least we’re drowning together. I've tried to hate them but I can’t. They’re all I’ve ever known. So, after this run, I’ll call them. Tell them I love them. I miss them. I can’t imagine life without them. But I’m not going back.

I can’t.

For my own sanity, I need to keep running. Full speed ahead.


She would leave.  It was the best possible solution to their problems.  Who was she kidding? A romantic getaway with a man who had given up months ago couldn't...wouldn't fix their problems.  So she made up her mind.  At first light she would leave their beautiful chalet and their relationship forever. She sat in the great window of their cabin and watched the sun come up over the silver-tipped mountains.  It was amazing how long the sluggish sun took to make its drowsy appearance when the importance of one's fate was at hand.  She had never really unpacked because she never really believed that this trip could be anything other than what it was, a final good-bye to a seven-year relationship.  But sitting in this big, plush chair, she realized it held her the way he used to hold her.  It was warm just like his arms, and she found herself casting a glance to the bedroom where she knew he slept. She hated to admit that she still wanted this from him. The sun creeped its lazy ascension into the world, and she realized the world that surrounded her had transformed over night into a winter white world that she had only seen in pictures. It was a beautiful and a truly breath-taking blanket of pure white.  It only made her think of how she'd love to snuggle up next to him, feel his warmth under the covers, but she knew that the words of the past stacked an unbreakable wall between them.  The "I could never forgive you" that she'd spoken just days before made her sick to her stomach.  She wished she could just simply take it back.  How could they go back? So much had been done.  So much had been said. She heard him stir. It was as if her hopes and dreams were somehow cast into the room he slept so soundly in. He had no idea that she would be walking out the door in the next few minutes.  Maybe she could try, again.  Tell him that all she wanted was his love, to forget all the things that had gone wrong over the years.  She could forgive him, but there was so much between them that she didn't know if it was possible. "Amy, why are you up..." he said, trailing off.  He saw her bag by the door.  He instantly knew why.  Walking to the window, he looked at the new fallen snow.  "Looks like a lot fell over night, huh?" "Yes, it does." She said, still watching the sun rise over the trees. She wouldn't...couldn't look at him. He would see it in her face, the resolve within herself. In the distance, the light of the sun touch the tips of the mountains creating golden peaks where silver tips had once been.  She felt her breath catch at the sight, and she exhaled for the first time in months. "It's beautiful, isn't it?  It just seems so easy." He said resting his hand on the back of her chair. "What seems easy?" She asked, a little confused at how a sunrise could be easy. "Nature.  It isn't hard for the sun to come up.  It just does, and then something miraculous, out of the blue happens, like snow.  It's the easiest thing. " His eyes were now on his wife.  Her eyes were welding with tears.  He saw them, but he knew she didn't want him to see them. "Yeah, you're right, Adam.  The natural thing isn't hard. Not at all."  She wiped the tears that were now streaming down her cheeks.  It was so natural for her to love him, but she didn't feel like it was natural for him to love her at all. It certainly wasn't natural to be thinking of leaving him. Here he was talking about the sun and snow, but what about them?  She stood up to step closer to the window.  The light danced off the snow.  She wanted to step out in it, be anywhere that didn't make her feel this way, but she knew that leaving now would be impossible.  There was simply too much snow. Adam stepped closer to the window.  Taking another step toward his wife, he touched her waist.  "Amy...I..." he trailed, pulling her close to him. "No, no..." Amy said, pushing away from him. "What do I have to do?  Amy, I'm sorry for the millionth time!" Adam pleading, rushing to pull her into him. "No, Adam!" You don't just get to put a band-aid on our relationship.  You don't just get to buy me gifts and take me on trips!  You don't just get to say, 'I'm sorry!'  Aren't you tired? Like, really tired of the up and downs?" She was looking at him finally.  She wanted him to really see her pain.  She wanted him to acknowledge her hurting heart. "I am tired.  I'm so tired of feeling guilty. I know I've been a terrible husband! I'm tired of trying, and you keep pushing me away.  You never gave this trip a chance, Amy. Do you think I don't see this bag?  Your bag is packed.  Where are you going?" Adam now looked at his wit's end.  He was pacing back and forth. But Amy had no words.  If she really spoke them, it would be true.  There would be no going back.  Just like that, seven years would be gone and wasted.  So she watched him.  She watched his face turn from worry to anger to mere frustration at her none answer. Finally, he walked over to her.  "Are you leaving me, Amy?" So they had come to this. She stared into his eyes looking for truth, looking for love, looking for a reason to stay. "You don't want me, do you? Really, Adam.  You don't, right? It took us this long to get here.  Look at this beautiful place.  Look at us. It's literally where I've always wanted to be with you but not like this." Amy cried, shaking her head. "Not like this? What do you mean? Not like me, really trying to love you? I do love you. I want you, and I know you want me! I keep trying to show you, and I just don't know how. I don't know how. I don't know--" Adam gripped his jaw, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. "Not like me feeling heart broken and angry with you! You broke my heart, Adam! I don't know how to be here with you!" Amy sank back down in the chair allowing it to envelop her the way she wished Adam could, but she knew she couldn't...wouldn't let him in. They sat in silence for a moment, both gathering themselves until Adam broke the silence. "Let me love you, Amy." Adam said facing Amy.  "That's how to be here with me.  You can feel what you want to feel, but please, just let me love you.  Let me back into your heart." Amy looked into Adam's eyes and for a moment, her breath caught in her throat as it had before with the sunrise.  She exhaled when she finally saw a needing-kind of desperate love in his eyes.  She knew it, for it was the kind of love she saw in herself for him. Taking Adam's hand, Amy led him into the bedroom and let him hold her.  She let him kiss her.  She heard his pleas of love.  She kissed him back.  She let their love intertwine into something beautiful again until their bodies locked in warm, desperate surrender. And as the snow kept falling outside their chalet, miracle that it was, Amy remembered what it was to love a man who needed her as much as she needed him and just how easy that really was.


      I hurried a little faster, the brisk wind seeping through my coat collar. I adjusted my thick grey scarf. My cloth bag of groceries swung side to side, bumping into my hip and right thigh. The pointed edge of the cereal box inside kept jutting into me. I shifted my bag. That was better.            It started to slightly rain. Damn, I thought. I hated getting my hair wet. My apartment was only up the street ahead. I’m almost there . Almost there to a hot shower and ramen noodles straight from the cup with my ingenious idea of freshly cut spring onions dropped in. Almost home.            I burst into my apartment, and Callie was already there, winding around my legs.            “Alright Callie, let me get settled.”            She looked at me with her wide green eyes. She then sat down on her haunches, licking her black paws.            As the comforting heat in the shower surrounded me, my thoughts went back to the grocery store. I was in the produce section, picking through the lemons. I felt like I was being watched, and when I looked up, there was a man in a long beige trench coat in the aisle in front of me. He had a piercing stare of green eyes that seemed to light from within. I gave him a combative, questioning glare back to indicate not to try anything with me, and he shook his head and turned out to walk out of the aisle and out of the produce section. He wasn’t carrying anything. --- So beautiful, and she does not even know it, her holding eyes of calm lake blue that have let out storms, gentle touch, strong pace I am in awe I get to see her again, I want to hold her and imbue her with the strength I know she has let her know…

---            “Yes Mum. Yup, I am. No. Yup. Okay, I know. Bye,” I hung up and rolled my eyes at the over protectiveness of my mother. She was only making sure I was eating properly, taking care of myself. I was in the big city for the first time.            “You’d take care of me, won’t you Callie,” I softly said, with her on my lap, my hands stroking her soft fur. Her green eyes reminded me of the stranger yesterday.            I knew I had had to get away. To not be reminded of lost hopes and failed expectations, like the slowly dying tree I had bought for the house. Not see the colour blue, its pale cheerfulness calling out for a happy family. The laughter that once rung inside the walls were faded, memories collected like dust on the mantle. There had sat several photo frames. I remembered picking one of them up when packing. The frame was surrounded by seashells I had collected so diligently during our trip to Cuba the year before.            We were tanned. We were in love. There were long, hot nights together, and lazy days out on the beach, side by side on the sand. Long walks hand in hand. It felt like that happened to another person in a different life. Was that really me in the photo? She looked beautiful, but there seemed to be a guarded look in her eyes, despite the smile. He had his arms around her, long dark brown hair spilled onto and over his arms. They looked the part.            I remembered beginning to place the frame inside the box, the box that had begun to weigh heavily of souvenirs collected over the years, and then hurling it to the ground with an escaped cry. Several of the shells flew off the frame before the sound of glass shattering. Pieces of it were on the immaculate brown ash floor. It was how my heart felt. My soul ached for lost, and longing for more.            I had left the room that had begun to choke me. It wasn’t ever going to be a family room. I had had to pull my tired body up the stairs, the depression made my feet heavy. I had crawled into the cold bed, grabbed the other pillow and hugged it tight to my body, a body that laid in fetal position.            Remembering this, tears started to well up. I threw my phone onto the round table, Callie jumped off my lap, and I placed my head into my hands. Then I wrapped my arms around my empty middle. I sobbed heavily, the pain washing over me. I was mourning my emptiness. Of loss so deep I felt like I was submerged in the darkest depths of a bottomless ocean devoid of anything. I held my breath.            The vibrations from my phone on the second-hand wooden table jolted me. I came up to surface for air.            “Hello?”            “Hi, this is Leslie from A.A. Claysworth Shelter. Is this Macy?”            “Yes, speaking.”            “We received your application of intent to volunteer. We’d like to ask you some further questions as to your interest and skills for the position of front-line support.”            “Sure, of course.”            For about the next half hour, I forgot the longing emptiness inside. I pictured myself with the young and old at the shelter, helping to serve hot meals and showing them their beds and locker spaces. I confirmed with Leslie about my starting date and hung up to silence again. I had to get out. ---            I ran. Ran so hard that faces blurred, my heart pounding in my head. When I stepped up to the crosswalk, the bus pulled up. A face turned and instinctively I looked up. It was him, the one from the grocery store. ---            I looked up from the steaming mashed potatoes and surveyed the room. It was dinnertime. A woman with a thick green knitted scarf was shoving mashed potatoes continuously into her mouth that it reminded me of that children’s game with the colourful hippos. A man wearing a black fisherman’s toque was looking around protectively, before taking a forkful of buttered peas. The room was fairly full, the three long bench tables occupied by hungry souls, some wanting more of their lives. I locked eyes with a young mother, who looked to be in her early twenties. My eyes travelled over to her baby, who was swaddled with a pink fleece blanket with smiling ducks on it. My heart leapt for the two, but at the same time, a longing sigh escaped. They had each other, at least. She with child.            “Macy. Great job so far! Time to switch,” Tom, one of the volunteer leaders, called out with a nod of his head from across the food service station.            “Sure, of course.”            It was my turn to help Tom supervise the floor. Another volunteer took my place. I looked around, and like a beacon, I saw him. His head was bowed down; he was tucking into the beef stew. Then he slowly looked up, as if he felt my eyes on him. Again, those captivating eyes of green that seemed to strip me bare. As if he could feel my half-buried pain…I turned my head to another part of the room but still felt his eyes on me. What was up with this dude? I wondered. Why do I keep seeing him?            I felt my feet moving toward him. My mind was foggy but my heart told me that I was going to be okay. I sat down next to him.            “I think you know who I am,” he said.            “Take this. Please.”            The small black box that he had taken out of his long coat was pressed gently into my hands. I gingerly took the lid off, and inside laid an antique-looking silver necklace, with a heart locket emblazoned with an intricate design. When I turned it around, there was an engraving of a pair of detailed wings. Surprisingly, the locket was warm to the touch.            “Thank you,” I whispered.            Dinnertime was over. I stood up to join the other volunteers, the box now snuggled in the pocket of my vest. ---            Sitting in front of my mirror, I drew the necklace to my collarbone and fastened it. I trailed the locket with my fingers, feeling the indents of the ornate design of knots, vines and roses. Suddenly, the locket opened. I could put a picture of Callie in there, I chuckled. As I closed the locket, a slight breeze made the curtains flutter. Moonlight was peeking through the windows, reaching my satin nightgown. I pulled my heavy sweater a little tighter around me. Sitting still, I closed my eyes and began meditating, like what my therapist had shown me in a previous session. Breathe in for seven seconds, breathe out for another seven…            And I was surrounded by a warm light. Everything was dressed in a muted bright yellow. I saw my mysterious stranger walking towards me across the meadow, a white light emanating from behind him. He looked down at the bundle he was carrying in his bare arms, and met my gaze, giving me a smile of reassurance. When he stopped right in front of me, I looked down, and there was a baby. My Joy. The one I had lost, that pushed Jerry out, ring no more. She was so beautiful. I cried. I cried for a long, long time, in the middle of that peaceful meadow of purple, red, and white wildflowers dancing in the spring breeze. Finally, I brought my arms out to hold her. Her tiny hands reached out towards me, a giggle erupting from her. I wanted to forever hold her in this moment.            “Macy. I am an angel. I have died many times alongside with your soul. The longing you have felt in your life has been a result of our past together. I fell in love with you, your gentle and kind soul.”            “The necklace you’re wearing – I gave you that a long time ago when we were lovers on Earth but could not be together. I have and will always love you and be there with you. We will always be together, in here,” He gestured to his heart.            Huge feathered wings unfurled from his muscled back, and wrapped themselves around me and Joy. There we were, embraced. The family I had always wished for.            I found myself the next day waking up from my bed. Some meditating session! I surmised. Before I headed to the shower, I reached up to the necklace to take it off. The locket opened, and there we were, the Joy I had lost, my forgotten love, and me, in my truest form.


This was her favorite time of the year. The beaches were packed with tourists and water sports were popular among the locals. She enjoyed messing with them. There was a time when humans worshipped her as a goddess. Now they had given up on her for fun and science. Her power was no longer useful for granting wishes to worshippers. Trying to do so would likely result in the government trying to capture her and study her. As an immortal the idea of being locked up and disected in various ways for the rest of eternity was unappealing. She would have simply returned to the sea and enjoyed swimming among it's stunning variety of inhabitants forever if it weren't for the fact that she had to release her magic once in a while. The power built up over time and would eventually deteriorate her body. The more she used her magic the younger she remained. Every year she took advantage of tourist season and played simple jokes on the humans in her domain. She also kept the sharks at bay during the daylight hours. The lack of shark attacks in the area attracted more people for vacation than other locations. Having come out of the water she was currently walking on land among a crowd gathered for a surfing competition. Using her magic she was able to prevent them from trying to interact with her by weakening their interest in her. As she walked she was able to listen in on conversations. Most people had a friendly competitive attitude about this contest. She smiled at that. As a goddess she had encouraged kindness and healthy competition among her subjects. Finally she heard what she was searching for. A boy was talking big about winning as if he'd already won. His arrogant attitude had him talking about a girl who already had a boyfriend. "Dude, I am so gonna win this. Allison will have to go to my party. Justin is on a ski trip so he won't be there to keep me away from her," the arrogant blonde teen said to his friend. The friend shook his head, "Really Cam? How do you think that's going to help? She's still dating him. She isn't going to cheat." Cam laughed, "Jake, she won't have a choice. There's gonna be alcohol at this party and who's to say she won't get an extra strong dose in her cup?" "Dude that's sick," Jake commented, "I'm not gonna be a part of that. You need to get your head on man. You're gonna end up in jail." Jake walked away. She was glad to hear that one of those two had some common sense. It was easier to protect women from one man than to shield her from a team of them. "Oh yeah. Well who needs you," Cam called after Jake causing several onlookers to turn and look at him, "I don't need you. I don't need anybody. That's right. Surfing is a one man sport. No teams. I'll win. All on my own. You'll see. You'll all see." The goddess rolled her eyes and left the area. Not only was the boy arrogant and rude, he was also over dramatic. He was a the perfect target. Thinking of all the fun she was about to have with him, she slid into the water and shifted back into her natural form. A friendly dolphin swam up to her as she waited patiently on the ocean floor for the contest to start. She smiled as it danced around her and showed off. She loved these fun loving creatures. Seeing the surfers paddling out she grinned and waved for the majestic mammal to come over to her. Having a companion during her pranks just made them more fun. She waited for the boy she show interest in a wave and tugged the energy out of the water just as he stood up on the board. The wave dissipated and Cam found that he was unable to on it. She smiled knowing he must be very frustrated that he couldn't get any points. The next time he tried to stand on a wave she gave just the slightest adjustment. The waved ducked under the board and lifted back up in front of it. The boy fell backwards into the water as the front of his board lifted up on the back of the wave. She was delighted to see him struggle to swim back to his board. He tried again and again to catch a wave and each time she pulled it out from under him. The other surfers had noticed his bad luck and were now actively avoiding him in the water. None of the waves around them were throwing their surfers. While the friendly competitors stood an equal chance to one another, the boy with bad intentions stood none. That was how she liked it. Her own form of karmic justice. Finally at the end of the competition he tried one last time to catch a wave. She smiled noting that it was forming right over the reef. This one she waited for him to stand and drew the water back. Like the formation of a tidal wave the water level around the coral dropped until the reef was exposed and Cam's board broke in half. The boy fell and cried out as the coral cut through his leg. The wave then crashed down on him and pushed him down into the undertow. He needed a rescue and had come last in the competition. She watched the medics load the boy into an ambulance. He needed stitches and wouldn't be partying tonight. She came back out of the water to join some girls standing nearby. As she peeked at the girl standing next to her she noticed the necklace that said Allison on it. Slipping into her best imitation of a human teenager she said, "I love your necklace. Where did you get it?" Allison smiled, "From Justin, my boyfriend. Isn't he the sweetest. We've been together for like three whole years." She smiled at how open teenagers were with their love lives these days, "Isn't he on a ski trip right now? I overheard Cam talking about it before the competition." "Yeah. Cam, Jake, and him are best friends," she said proudly. "Not anymore. Jake went off on Cam and walked away from him at the end of the argument they were having. Pretty sure when Justin hears about it he'll take Jake's side," she didn't normally meddle but this girl had to know the danger of being near the jerk. "What were they arguing about?" "You," at this Allison did a double take, "Cam wanted to drug you at some party tonight and Jake didn't want any part of it. Pretty sure Cam has an unhealthy crush on you." Allison stood for a moment processing as the mystery girl started walking back towards the ocean. "Wait," Allison called out, "I don't even know you. Who are you?" The goddess turned around and smiled at the mortal girl, now staring desperately at her, needing to know who this stranger was who would warn her about a dangerous boy and then just leave. Walking backwards she gave her response, "I am Calypso," with that she turned and dove into the surf, leaving the stunned girl behind, the only witness to the tentacles that followed Calypso into the water. The goddess had used her power that day and saved a girl from the whims of a boy who could no more tame her that he could the sea.


“Okay, alright, settle down everyone. Good afternoon students! Today’s lecture is on form versus content, which should come as no surprise if anyone referred to the timetables I sent out at the start of term. Some of you, the ones taking this seriously and hoping to turn their English Literature module into some sort of career, may even have worked their way through the additional reading list. Others may have spent three months in Bali hoping non-stop drugging and partying will transfer into ‘sociable’ and ‘thinks outside the box’ on their CVs. But like I was able to see through my husband, Professor John Edwards (whom some of you may know from the Radio and Television course this shell of an institution offers) claims that his late arrivals home were from losing himself to researching his novel was a blatant lie to cover up his ‘research’ into what lies between the legs of his favourite female students…well, intuitive employers will see through those masking of truths too. And so! We’re going to start with a poem. A poem by ‘Anonymous’, dated 1951, entitled ‘Birds That Lay Eggs in Another Bird’s Nest’. A rather clunky title, you may agree. Still, it’s a starting point. ‘Birds that lay eggs in another bird’s nest O, how I strive for such gumption! Selfish motherships made of beak and claw Caring not into what lives they tore Lives that will never get the chance to fully fledge Instead, laying dazed and broken in the belly of a hedge. Birds that lay eggs in another bird’s nest We all know them. We’ve all been there. The beady black eyes Trained on your swift demise Heeding not your angry words demanding an end To birds that lay eggs in another bird’s nest. They pillage and plunder Cast hopes and dreams asunder Because your home is their home (Not that it was ever yours to begin with) In doing so, not thinking it absurd How I yearn for such self-assuredness of mine And my progenies’ place in the world If you’d only thought to check with me first We could be sharing the warmth, the cradle, the nurse. Because sharing is caring. Stealing is daring. You were programmed to multiply But I see it as subtract.’ Well, what do we think? Comments? Yes, Joanne, share. Sharing is caring.” “I thought it was ugly, spiteful and…well, unimportant. The rhythm, the metre, it’s all over the place. It’s instantly forgettable. It evokes no emotion. The imagery – asides maybe from the belly of the hedge – could be much richer. It’s more a rant than a poem.” “It seems Joanne is not a fan. Now that Joanne has laid the corpse out on the table, perhaps someone else would like to dissect. Yes, Antoine, go.” “I liked it. It’s clearly coming from a place of passion. It’s definitely not about eggs. It’s rough, but then it sounds like the writer was going through a rough time too.” “Yes, Antoine. Exactly. The form may be shoddy but the content, when we dive beneath the surface layer, speaks of heartache. A sorrow for how a situation was handled. Regret about bonds that could have formed. Take, for instance, the many secret lives of Professor Edwards, or as I know him, ‘John’. Or as I now think of him, ‘cretin’. He could have explored his fetishes with his adventurous, caring, intelligent wife – AKA moi, yet he chose the form of an 18-year-old student slash bikini model. Take, for another instance, this lecture. Which will be the last I give here in Cornwall as I have my car loaded and ready to go as soon as I’ve delivered my parting gift to you all. A lesson to look below the surface. Don’t be distracted by shiny, overly made up yet fragile creations when you need to take a deep dive to benefit from the more nutritional value gained from extracting the core. No, I will not be taking questions, so you may as well lower your hand, Rachel. Enjoy the feeling of the blood returning to your fingers. I haven’t felt any sensation in weeks, it seems. Just numbness, occasionally pierced with needles of shock and shame. I don’t recommend it. I also can’t say I recommend trying to transfer those prickles to a voodoo doll. Yes, I keep an open mind and have open-minded friends but it doesn’t mean their ‘woo’ suggestions are going to work for me. So – and I know some of you pretending to be browsing your phones are recording this – Sally, if you’re watching, you can save your time stitching me any more dolls. Perhaps you should’ve made a life-size version for John to stick his dick into. Food for thought for next time, not that there’s going to be a next–” “Honey? Adam, dear? ADAM. Just take those headphones off a minute, wouldja?” “But Mum, this is amazing. So one of my lecturers quit today in the most insane way and I need to watch. Like, man, the one day I dodge a lecture and this shit goes down. Insane, I tell you.” “And I tell you: you gotta watch your language. You’re not with your friends now, Adam, you’re with your mother .” “Oh jeez, for fuc–” “ADAM” “ Okay , okay. What do you need me for anyway?” “A question I’ve been asking myself ever since you shot out of my womb…” “Thanks Mum, that’s real nice, I’ll send you my future therapy bill.” “I need you to run to the store and fetch me some eggs. We’re having omelettes tonight and your baby brother thought it would be fun to throw all the eggs out of the fridge and replace them with his stupid little Lego bits and bobs” “Well, eggs…Lego…they do sorta sound alike, I can see where he’s coming from.” “And I can see that English course of yours is really a great help.” “That’s such a coincidence, what with the clip I was just watching. It’s all about–” “I don’t care Adam, I just need some eggs!” “Hmm. Maybe it’s nothing to do with which bird it is at all, it’s all about the survival of the eggs.” “What are you mumbling about? I still don’t see any eggs here. Now go, go before your little brother starts eating his Lego. Go, before it gets dark.”