By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. I could have missed it. I could have kept my tongue in the back of my throat when a knock came at my door the night before, then an older cousin who came carrying dishes of chicken and rice up to my bedroom, wouldn't have shifted my drapes open. They took a peep out my curtains, and I'd regretted even calling out that they could come in so much, I had hoped staying quiet throughout their visit would give a hint. But they're open, and this morning, they bother me. I think about getting up and closing the curtains. I'd only noticed he left the curtains parted when upon my waking a gold ribbon draped across my carpet and crawled up onto my bed. Looking out the window, the sky was bruised and battered, but it's skin was purer the farther it stretched down to dawn. I was so tired, I'd let the weight of the world lay into me the night before, all my limbs had been ground and I woke up feeling like melting butter, my eyes were as puffy as buttermilk pancakes. I melted into the bed. I contemplated for what I think was hours on walking over to that window, and closing the blinds. Each time I thought about it, I should shut the curtains, I considered the progression of the little ribbon, snaking it's way further and further till it was climbing on my lap. Slowly it was making it's way back to the sun, from the inside of my room to jump out my window. My window which was, brighter now, almost radiating, illuminated something in front of my house, and I should shut the curtains, when I get the will to get up. That something was my Maple tree. while I peeked through my window out to the soft sky and vast plains of clouds, it peeked right back at me, into my tiny room watching me look out from under my covers. I'd never seen the sun so intense, it yawned across my neighborhood, heard by everyone around, it's beams that flooded through open air joined with my little ribbon and paraded in the sky with such resplendent joy. And it was enough, to get me up from my bed and to my curtains, for the first time in months. My legs creaked, my back ached, my shoulders were numb, but when I was up, I naturally swam to the window like the little ribbon. I held a drape in my hand, looking out at my maple, playing in the yard with all of the other trees and Loniceras, chattering in the wind. whistling across my window was a samara, twirling so close to my window, but too fast for me to see it's wings. I was reminded of something I once did one summer, In grade school. At age eight I used to get up at six in the morning to go to my neighbors house and ask if their kids could play. I was up by five  squirming in onesies at a breakfast table and I eagerly awaited the time I could go outside. we swept up all of our samaras into one pile, with a broom and grubby fingers, putting them all together. we'd dig our hands into it like a pile of candy from the trick or treating soon to come, and counted down from four. Tossing them up as high as we could in the air, watching them fall was the best part. they had oars attached to seeds, and while they drifted down to sweep our faces I dreamed about building a sail to glide through the mountains with shaped just like a samara, coffee bean wings leather whipping in the sky. It was what I would want to be when I was all grown, and I'd plan it all day. Taking flight across the oceans, getting medals, navigating storms, and I built a whole life for myself to live in, and take flight with. The next day it would be an entirely new dream. For these past months I've been so well grounded into the earth, barely getting my heels to lift off the ground. but I wish I could, and I wish I could have played with samaras more often, instead of just dreaming about what I'd make them. And I wish I could of done a lot more things when it was warmer. I felt sad. It's been so cold for so long, I've missed out on so much. Birthdays, swimming, sleep overs, holiday crafts. I wish I got up yesterday morning, to see the sun. I wish I got up a month ago, and started getting up every morning. I wish I never laid in bed at all. How come I stayed in bed another day? How could I have known this was waiting outside? There was a reason, there was a point to all of this, But I could forget it now, because there was no reason to not get myself up, and to not make something of the day. When I used to try, that day always fell short, and I always fell short of what was expected. Somewhere along the line I forgot I was traveling a road, and thought I was on a sinking boat. I let myself sink deeper and deeper, and now I have a canyon to climb out of, the fault is only mine. Breaking from my idleness, I left the beautiful bath of light in my room, soaking the autumn maple leaves in it's syrup. I went through my dresser, picked a nice fitted sweater, and pants, then went downstairs and pass my shoes to the door. By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. Their sails were luminescent, veins seeping through like the boldest paint strokes of a stained glass, and they all glittered and shook. Some shimmied free and flew like kites across the yard, but the samaras spun down, showering like rain. Of everywhere else I could have been, all the places I could have seen, I was never happier to wake up here, and get up from my bed to go outside, and not miss the flights of the samaras, the chorus of the leaves, today. Though, this sunrise happens every day, just as it always promises. I might get up earlier to see it again, tomorrow.


Dear Dr M Cavannagh As the head of a small archaeological team assigned to the Stratford-Upon-Avon site, I am writing to ask for your assistance in verifying the contents of a manuscript my team has unearthed in the recent excavations. The manuscript was discovered within a refuse site and I have sent the original to the laboratory for analysis and dating. Attached to this email is a transcription, maintaining the original spelling and punctuation, along with my own translation. It is my belief that this is a draft for a deleted scene in the play, Romeo and Juliet, and may offer proof that there were indeed several authors contributing to the works attributed to Shakespeare. I would appreciate your professional opinion on the original transcript and the translation provided.

Sincerely Dr K Marlowe ——————————————————————— Friar Lawrence (for ease of reading each second stanza is the translation, ye olde English is italicised and uncapitalised.) ***

a warning h’re f’r those who is’t wilt p’rsist. poor iambic pentamet’r and rhyming couplets abound this prose beyond these ast’risks. thou art f’rewarn’d, readeth at thine own risketh! A warning here for those who must persist.

Bad Iambic pentameter and rhyming couplets Abound this prose beyond these asterisks. You have been warned so read at your own risk! *** aye me! f’rsooth mine heart beest full with woe the teen and burden weighs me with s’rrow and all mine own weary soul doth caterwaul valorous within wilt beest responsible. Aye me! In truth my heart is filled with woe The pain and burden weighs me with sorrow And all my weary soul does cry with shame The good within me must to bare the blame. i be friar first and f’remost, toes to tonsure these vestments shalt protecteth from censure. bethink me blameless, free from all disgrace this somb’r aspect hideth anoth’r visage. I’m friar first and foremost, toes to tonsure These vestments shall protect from all censure. All think me blameless, free from all disgrace

This somber aspect hides another face. f’rgive me mine own fault, f’r i has’t sinn’d. absolve me from rem’rse yond lies within a pitt’d dull reflection, unf’rgiving deny this last requesteth of the living. Forgive me for my fault, for I have sinned. Absolve me from remorse that lies within A pitted dull reflection, unforgiving

Denies this last request from me, the living. reflection, from this coile, wouldst thou absolveth the guilt and shame yond daily press resolveth? F’r doth thee knoweth the secret, mine own sooth yond mine own handeth wast culpable f’r sineth? Reflection, from this coil, would you absolve The guilt and shame that daily test resolve? For do you know the truth that must be hid Whereby my hand was culpable for sin? the haunt’d eyes, mine own, pe’r in t’rment. ill-s’rt’d choice madeth valorous intent pray, striketh mine own evil from this handeth wash’d crisp, as only god’s f’rgiveness can. The haunted eyes, my own, peer back in torment.

Ill-sorted choices made with good intent Pray, strike my evil doing from this hand Washed clean, as only God’s forgiveness can. the fault is mine and mine high-lone to beare Mine own guilt be great, yet still nay guilt to share. f’r i hast did play a fooleth in tragedy, the flight of cupid’s bowe with agony. The fault is mine and mine alone to bear

My guilt is great, but still no guilt to share. For I am played a fool in tragedy,

The flight of Cupid’s bow with agony. mine own sin most wondrous, i weareth the sin of pride, f’r mine own sins, two star-cross’d lov’rs died. e’en though mine own heart is shatt’r’d by the deeds, the endeth, it seemeth, doth justify the means. My sin is great, I wear the sin of pride,

And for my sins, two star-crossed lovers died. E’en though my heart is shattered by the deeds, The end, it seems, has justified the means. unit’d anon in lamentations deep, the montegues and capulets shall weepeth, to seeth desire and lighteth extinguished thine children thou has’t did love, anon lay dead. United now in lamentations deep, The Montegues and Capulets will weep, To see their hope and light extinguished

Their children they had loved, are now laid dead. on pedestal of justice proclaim to thee self righteous mine own eff’rts, pray pardon me. upon themselves, this tragedy wast hath brought with feudal foes, the families hadst fought. On pedestal of justice I proclaim Self righteous in my efforts to explain, Upon themselves, this tragedy was brought With feudal foes, the families had fought. the fing’r of censure is did point home and noticeth not the shaking of mine own. one fing’r pointing out accusingly, three fing’rs rightly did point backeth to me. The finger of the blame is pointed home And notice not the shaking of my own. One finger pointing out accusingly,

Three fingers rightly pointed back to me. first mov’d wast i, in wanteth of m’re to read, to mine own doth’r, romeo cameth to pleade, and i, po’r fooleth, didst heareth the w’rds of love from lips didst springeth, as if ‘t be true to prove. First moved was I, in want of more to read, When to my door, Romeo came to plead, And I, poor fool, did hear the words of love That from his lips did spring, as if to prove. “good friar, heareth, mine own heart is wonneth, mine own loveth is like a light yond is the sun.” “oh? hast the fair rosaline succumb’d to thee?” “nay, fath’r, doth not speaketh h’r nameth to me!” “Good Friar, hear me, sir my heart is won, My love is like a light that is the sun.” “Oh? Has the fair Rosaline succumbed to thee?” “Nay, Father, do not speak her name to me!” and liketh the knave yond still that wast within did glow and did praise the nameth of one f’rbid. t’was juliet, h’r house a capulet, and begg’d of me to did wed h’r to his name. And like the boy that still he was within He glowed and praised the name of one forbid. T’was Juliet, her house a Capulet, He begged of me to wed her to his name. i quell’d mine own doubts and fain acquiesc’d a secret marriage bed, willing i did bless and on their way to wedd’d bliss, i hath sent them. the first transgression b’rn of valorous intention. I quelled my doubts and gladly acquiesced

Their secret marriage, willingly I blessed And on their way to wedded bliss, I sent them. The first transgression born of good intention. then beastly blooding bubbl’d from the hilt the blood of tybalt accidentally did spilleth. through feather-bed secretly cousins beest, such cousinly loveth, tybalt wast not to seeth. Then beastly blooding bubbled from the hilt The blood of Tybalt accidentally spilt. Through marriage secretly they cousins be, This cousinly love, Tybalt was not to see. from fair v’rona romeo wast hath sent his life I did save from sentences of death. but love can not existeth without it’s heart in living, loving, lusting far apart. From fair Verona Romeo was sent His life was saved from sentences of death. But man can not exist without his heart In living, loving, lusting far apart. and h’re is wh’re i wilt in sooth digress. ‘tis f’r mine own soul yond duly i confesseth mine own knowledge of the plants and h’rbs i owneth is such yond all the prop’rties i knoweth. And here is where I must in truth digress. ‘Tis for my soul that duly I confess My knowledge of the plants and herbs I own Is such that all the properties I know. f’r some healeth and some  harmeth ‘tis said yond some can faken both, and mimic death. the learning of this f’rbidden beldams’ry is knowledge not did obtain commonly. For some can heal and some can harm ‘tis said That some can fake them both, and mimic death. The study of this forbidden witchery Is knowledge not obtained quite commonly. f’r with this knowledge, secretly did acquire, the solution cameth to me, as such did inspire to feign a death liketh slumb’r, so to removeth a bride from wedlock wh’re th’re wast nay loveth. For with this knowledge, secretly acquired, The solution came to me, as such inspired To feign a death like slumber, so to remove A bride from wedlock where there was no love. success involv’d a complex strategy, a lett’r to beest hath sent without peize alloweth romeo returneth, his bride arouses then neith’r to returneth unto their houses. Success involved a complex strategy,

A letter to be sent without delay Let Romeo return, his bride arouses Then neither to return unto their houses. a planeth so neat, so crisp t wouldst not vexeth. but v’rily f’rsooth, what hath happened next? a beshrew did delay most unexpectedly and w’rd wast hath heard yond death cameth suddenly. A plan so neat, so clean it would not vex. But verily in truth, what happened next? A plague delayed most unexpectedly

And word was heard that death came suddenly. though juliet f’rsooth sleeps feigning death so slow’d down wast h’r heart within h’r breast, and thus planeth, po’r romeo unknowing, f’r such a lett’r hath lost, yond wouldst beest showing. Though Juliet in truth sleeps feigning death So slowed down was her heart within her breast, And thus a plan, poor Romeo unknowing, For such a letter lost, that would be showing. po’r romeo, so fraught, so w’rn, despairing, to fair v’rona that gent hath returned, uncaring, to witness of the death with his owneth eye and by his v’ry handeth wast liketh to die. Poor Romeo, so fraught, so worn, despairing, To fair Verona he returned, uncaring, To witness of the death with his own eye And by his very hand was like to die. the tomb doest gape young h’ro hast hath returned, ill-met within didst findeth a husband spurn’d. engaged, enrag’d, exsufflicate, eyeless eyes oh heateth and blood hast slain- paris dies! The tomb does gape young hero has returned, Ill-met within did find a husband spurned. Engaged, enraged with empty, eyeless eyes Oh heat and blood has slain- Paris dies! the vilest substances f’r evil doing art oft times apothecary brewing the smallest tincture touches lips intent then death is the destroyeth’r and lament. The vilest substances for evil doing Are often times apothecary brewing The smallest tincture touches lips intent Then death is the destroyer and lament. i gage unto the l’rd i hath tried to halt the vileness of death within the vault but i, lamenting, curs’d am cometh too late f’r romeo, sweet knave, hadst hath met his fate. I swear unto the Lord I tried to halt The vileness of death within the vault

But I, lamenting, cursed am come too late For Romeo, sweet boy, had met his fate. and curs’d wast i to waken juliet with w’rds nay lov’r ev’r shalt f’rget the young mistress shalt not f’rgive this sir tardy wast that gent with message from h’r And cursed was I to waken Juliet

With words no lover ever shall forget. The young mistress shall not forgive this sir Tardy was he with messages from her. afraid f’r mine own life, i didst away, the madness of h’r grief, i couldst not sway. and death cometh to gentle breast at lasteth! so heavy sits the guilt ’pon this po’r heart. Afraid for my life, I ran away, The madness of her grief, I could not sway. And death came to your gentle breast at last! So heavy sits the guilt on this poor heart. So, f’r mine own sins of trying to assisteth love’s path, to smooth a way of least intermit, valorous deeds aplenty, to death belongeth prayeth, nev’r tryeth to right a wrong with wrong. So, for my sins of trying to assist Love’s path, to smooth a way of least resist, Good deeds aplenty, now to death belong Pray, never try to right a wrong with wrong.


Concessions, or something similar. That was how it began between them. Avoiding conflict, not wanting war. Bridging all the gaps. Until they couldn't. Now it was different. She had crossed a bridge to reach him and was telling him something. She was telling him now that they had to part. That they just weren’t like they used to be, they weren’t really together anymore, they weren’t really a couple. (If ‘couple’ ever really has a definition.) And they definitely were not in love now. Not that anybody had ever told them that or even tried to suggest it.

Love is something very personal. That goes without saying. Still. It was something - their lack of love - that she had known for some time. Her eyes, her mouth, her everything knew it. She didn’t know how to argue it out loud, so she just said it, point-blank, like a person will fire a gun into the body of another without making a fuss. Not loudly, though, she aimed softly, perhaps at his heart, because she didn’t want to argue. And she detested loud noises, deep within what she knew was her spectrum. Colors in every shade imaginable. When she said it, her voice caressed no anger, pressed no sadness beneath the surface of the sounds, found no pain in what she was giving him. It was just a need, she explained - or tried to say - to not be together the way they had always been. She simply knew it was so - she explained - had been so for awhile, and so she had said it in the way it had needed to be said: simply, lightly, almost airily. It was all there was to say. It was the only way she knew how to do it. She was by no means a cruel person. However, there were things she knew, things she felt she was sure about, was certain were true, probably. That was why she told him what she did, the way she did. Do not think it didn't make her feel very sad, because it did.

The truth was, the years had not been few, their letters and phone calls had been often and most of all, their intentions had been good, had been honest. It had not been a waste of time, all that time. It just wasn’t, not any longer. Not honest and so not good. It needed to be over, she had told herself before telling him. It was done now, in any event. She had finally set them free. Her thoughts, and them, the couple they had been. "We aren't, anymore." He heard her first, then he listened with all the amazement he had inside him to the words that had come out of her mouth like serpents or baby eels, tiny worms. He looked at each of them, there in the air, and he saw their sharpness, the edges she had by no means intended. Edges that were there despite their curling forms. Like moving swords. Not to be ignored.

Then he really felt them, the words or worms, and asked why and cried. He cried dully, with no sharp edges of his own, even if he were craving to argue, to win the game, because it had to be that, it could not be an argument, just a ‘no more, adiós, see you somewhere.’ There could be no game between the air she spoke and the one he was hearing. "How did this happen to us?"

It was all he could manage to say, from the depths where he was. The pool of dismay got deeper, but he made no effort to escape. He could not do battle. "I wish I knew." (Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. Have that wish. Or maybe she didn't care at all. It was hard to tell.) She had answered that way, her eyes dripping in the same way his were. She was calm, as if she had not severed their artery. She was not happy, nor were her words, which were tightly shrouded in silence. There were no swords. Only those words that refused to argue, only speaking to him as if he understood.

"I don't understand." His words rang true, perhaps. He thought so, though. He hoped so, He did not, he could never, understand. He did not, however, doubt what she was saying, gently drizzling the words over him. He was drowning. She said then was she should have said before: there was someone else. Was saying that, not whispering, not (yet) crying. She appeared to be tearless, not needing to cry, her salt dried up and blown far away. There was nothing left in her words, maybe nothing left in her. Not for him, at least. "I don't understand." He hated himself (and her, a little) for repeating the words. Saying the same thing twice was changing nothing. He looked so sad as she watched, but neither was able to give birth to any other response. Then he drooped, like a flower bends forward in a vase after a week without roots. She nearly sucked her words back into her mouth, behind her teeth, swallowing them whole, but she didn't. He was looking down, to a place somewhere below his hands. He sensed she was looking away, knowing he would eventually look up, trying to find her eyes, her gaze, her lashes. He knew what color guilt had then: it was transparent. She had found her guilt, he thought, because she had shifted her shoulders and her head was turned toward the window. She now seemed to be talking to the blades of grass in the back yard. She would no longer walk there with him, because the glass split them off. Shattered glass. She had split them in half. Maybe that's the meaning of 'couple': when two halves happen, are born out of one. He knew she was right, however, and he knew something that was a hundred times worse: he knew that everything they had loved was over. If it weren't, she never would have said so.

She was wishing now that she hadn’t been forced to say anything, not even the tiniest sound, but she had. The words were necessary. Silence would have been a lie, and lying would have killed her, eventually. It would have killed him before that. She owed it to him. There was something else, though. Despite what he'd said, his few words that were not a war, he had acted as if he’d known all along. He'd acted as if it were natural to hear all that sound - that minute - and yet remain as silent as a tomb, despite being split open by three words he was never supposed to hear:

"There’s somebody else." Somebody else she was not supposed to know, or meet. Somebody else he knew, however. Somebody who had no right, but had taken it, and her. He did not know everything, though. She did not know everything, either. She only could say what she knew, which was simple and nonviolent: They were not, not any more. Which meant she was leaving.

Yes, she would give him a chance to cry, to resist, to ply her with questions. She had thought he might do that, and said no more. She had said what she knew and she also knew she must be going. It was his turn to speak. He did not try to stop her. He did not give her permission to leave. He did not ask for explanations of any kind, because he knew all the answers. When he thought about it, he realized he knew who was on the other side of her words. It was a name he didn't want to hear and did not have to. He was now on the other side of her, and would stay there. She would leave, and he would think no more. To clarify: He would think no more about them, about the couple. That had died in battle, in a war of very few words. He would think of her, and avoid the bridge of the years they had spent as one. He needed her in his life; he just wouldn't have them as one, together. He didn't know everything. He didn't think she had made it all up. That the somebody else was somebody she had created and presented to him. He thought he would know who it was if that had been the case. He was certain he was not wrong. His tears, in a way, had been for nothing. If, in fact, they had been tears. They might have been simply the splashing of the pool and without salt, for all he knew. Or cared. He also wondered if any of it really mattered, if the words or swords had done any damage. He felt rather relieved when he waded out and knew they had not. He was still there and she was gone now. She was not needed. He was satisfied. He had not needed her. He had not understood when she told him, cut them in two, but he didn't care now. There was somebody else for her, or would be somebody else. He realized, relieved, that he had in fact gotten free. He felt no guilt about that.

The truth was, he had somebody else, like she did (or had said she did). He felt nothing for her, for the one who had released them from their bondage. It was as if, exactly if, she had been able to read his mind. After all, they had spent so long together, she might have learned to do that. He had not. Learned to read her mind. She had lied, but he didn't know that. He had done a marvelous job of playing his part, of crying and then lying. He had lied, definitely. And he was pleased with himself. He, along with his Somebody, could now turn toward their life together, be a couple. It was time, because he had waited so long for this new moment. Too long. She, on the other hand, cried. Until she had nothing left to cry but a pool of salt. The one she had given him to set him free. Because she wouldn't have it, or him, any other way.


I sat panting on the cold, damp wooden bench underneath the street light. I had been looking for hours with no luck. I looked at my watch. “Three hours left.” I read outloud to myself. I tried to stand back up, but quickly sat back down due to dizziness. I was drained out of energy. These games of hide and seek were just getting more intense every week, and I couldn’t stand the consequences any longer. It was killing me. The thought of the consequences. What if it would be more intense this time? What if I wouldn’t last this time? I rested a little longer waiting for my strength to come back to me. I stood back up slowly off the cold bench. It was drizzling now, colder than it had been before, and starting to get dark. I wanted to go home, but I knew I wouldn’t be welcome. Especially with what happened last round. Just one spot away from first place. My mother reads a lot of magazines. She once read to me the quote of the day. “Coming in second place just means you were the first person to lose.” That’s when I decided to play this round. I wasn’t going to let them down.

I walked along the gravel road. They had to have hid it somewhere in the boundaries. It would be cheating if they didn’t. But, there were two problems. I didn’t exactly know what I was looking for. It could be a person, an animal. A strawberry for all I know…which wasn’t much. Second, I didn’t know where I was. I got blindfolded and the next thing I knew, I was here. But from the few hours I’ve been searching, I could predict that I was in a zoo. An abandoned zoo. An abandoned zoo with…animals? That’s the only thing it could be.

I walked along until I was back where I had got dropped off at. The main area I think. I could see the old ticket stand and the concession stands. Also, a rusty sign that said, “Seals, giraffes and tigers this way.” Tigers. How long has this zoo been here? Someone had to be feeding the animals, or else they would be…well, dead.

I followed the sign, and walked along the dark path. By now it was pitch black outside and the only source of the light were the few street lamps. Usually there would be clues where they hid the object. That was my goal right now. I had to hurry before the other contestants got here. I was the first one to get dropped off. I heard someone say that they picked me to go first because I had come in second last time. And so they felt bad. In this game, even coming in last would be better than coming in second.

The thoughts of last week's consequences kept crawling into the back of my head. I knew this week it would be worse if I came in second. I had no choice, I was either getting first place or nothing. I knew the other contestants would be harder on me though. I was the youngest, the smallest, yet I was beating all of them. But at the same time losing.

Along the path I kept seeing these little purple flowers, and they were pretty tall. Maybe a clue? But it could also be a false clue. Last round there were many of those. I soon approached a few cages. But they were silent. A little bit ago all I could hear was the animals. But now all I could hear was my own heavy breathing, and leaves crunching? I turned around to face the woods, and as I didn’t something grabbed me from behind. They grabbed my shirt and the next thing I knew, I could hear the giant cage shutting. And I was in it.

The being let go of my shirt. I backed up so my back was up against the cold metal bars. I looked into the darkness and saw nothing. I turned around and tried to pull the big, heavy cage door open. No luck. I turned back around the face the darkness not wanting to test my luck with the being that was lurking around. Something was going on.

I heard something crack behind me in the woods. I was about to turn around but then I didn’t, and realized that I wasn’t going to fall for that trick again. Was that part of the game? All a part of the plan? If it was, I didn’t like it.

All I did was stare at the darkness. What else was I supposed to do? This wasn’t like one of these hide and seek games that you would play in kindergarten at recess. When the seeker would find me they would run after me and I would jump on the monkey bars, the monkey bars being the only way to get to the safe zone. I always won. That’s what I wish this was, even though it isn't, and it’ll never be. THIS game was a life or death situation. A game where if I made one wrong move, I would be done for. And I think I just made that wrong move.

Now there was more than one thing I could hear. I could hear my heart beating, and I could feel it even more. I could also hear my own heavy breathing, but also the heavy breathing of something else. Someone else? I couldn’t stand there forever. There was one thing I had to do.

I started to walk forward into the darkness, my heart beating faster and faster with every step. The heavy breathing that was not mine got louder, and it smelled fruity, and nutty. I was disgusted. But that wasn’t the worst problem I was facing right now.

It seemed like I had been walking for at least a minute now. How big could this cage be? And what giant animal needed a cage this big? “Hello?” I called as I continued into the darkness. No answer. Then, I heard a big bang. Like the animal had just jumped off of a tree or something. Then I heard loud thumping sounds. And they were getting louder and closer. A started to back up slowly. Then the thumping sounds got closer. I turned around and ran. I was risking it this time. No doubt about it.

I ran until I got to the end of the giant cage door. A pulled and pleaded and pulled so more for the door to open. But it just wouldn't. What had I done wrong? The sounds got closer, and I knew this was the end for me.

And then I saw it. The reason why I had been dragged into this cage. Hanging on the top of the cage, from a silver rope was a gold key. “That’s it.” I whispered to myself. I looked around for a boost, a lift that would help me get up there. Nothing. I had to use my resources.

I looked around the cage, and studied the metal bars that it was made out of. And well, I started to climb. I was in a zoo. I was a monkey! I put one foot on top of one bar and the other foot on top of the other until I reached the ceiling. The thumping sounds continued. The golden key was in the middle of the ceiling. I wasn’t Spider-man. I couldn;t just crawl on the ceiling no problem.

So, I did the only thing I could. I jumped onto one of the bars with my hands. Just like monkey bars. I put one hand in front of the other, swinging my way through, until I got to the key. I let go with one hand, and reached for the key with my one hand. I yanked on the key but it wouldn’t budge from the string. I yanked again. I let go of the key and put both my hands back on the metal bars. My hands were starting to get sweaty and soon I wouldn’t be able to hold on any longer.

I had to do something. So I did. I did something without even thinking. I started swaying my body back and forth on the bars and then leaped onto the key with both hands. As I did the key came loose from the bar and the key and I both fell to the ground. Luckily, I wasn’t high up enough that when I fell I didn’t break anything, let alone hurt myself. I stood up from my fall with the key in my hand and raced to the cage door that was still shut.

I pleaded with the door to open. I yanked it as hard as I could. The thumping was louder than it had ever been before. I had to hurry. I pulled as hard as I could. My arms hurt. I stuffed the key into my pants pocket. I quickly turned around to see the beast that had been following me, watching me this whole time.

I could see the outline of the beast. It was close. Too close. Getting all personal and all up in my business. They’re the one that dragged me in here. I didn’t choose this. Well, I kind of did. I DON’T CARE THOUGH. I knew this would come. This was the consequence, this is how I was gonna die. I thought I was gonna die when I was older and on life support, and my future kids would unplug my machine to plug in their IPad. I don’t know which one is worse.

I pleaded with the cage door one last time before I finally saw the beast. I quickly turned around to face the beast as it came into the light of the street light. And what I saw surprised me.

A semi-large animal with a long thick tail. Tall ears. A marsupium. It was a…kangaroo? I backed up into the cage, as the animal stopped thumping its foot and came closer. The kangaroo then started to hop in place. I didn’t know what that meant. Did that mean something bad? Was it about to start charging at me or something?

The giant kangaroo swung its tail on the cage. Then the tail started to come for me and I ducked. The tail then came back and started hitting the door. Over and over. The banging of the tail got harder and harder as the kangaroo tried to bust open the door. The kangaroo was starting to get tired. You could see it. There was only one last bang left in it. The kangaroo put all of its strength into it. With one last thump, the cage came bursting open, and I jumped in joy. I was finally free! I began to run out of the cage, when I turned around to the kangaroo and said, “Thank you.” I ran out of the cage, while pulling the key out of my pocket, holding it high up into the air.

I ran all the way back down to where I had been dropped off. What happened now would forever change my life. I saw red and blue flashing lights. Five police cars. People were in handcuffs. I put the key down. And started walking slowly toward the scene. What had happened. I looked at my watch, and it said, one hour left. One hour? That couldn't be right. I had only been in there for about half of an hour. That couldn’t be.

As I started to come into sight of everyone else, a police officer looked up from a clipboard and looked at me.

“There he is!” I shouted, as he pulled out a pistol.

“Put your hands up where I can see them!” Another officer said.

I quickly slipped the key into my pocket and put my hands up. What did I do? I hadn’t done anything wrong. I stood there as an office came over and put me in one of the vehicles with the flashing lights. I was done for.

*To Be Continued*


Don’t leave me or you are going to be sorry. I am warning you. Don’t leave me ! I ran around in circles, barking, then I ran back and forth sliding on the hardwood floors finally stopping face first into the sofa. By the time I got myself together I heard the door to the garage slam shut. They had both left. I made my way to the bay window and lay down. The warm bright sun would soon wash over my body. I was daydreaming about what my humans will serve me for dinner and playing with my tennis ball. Suddenly, I had an overwhelming sensation of being watched. Watch this ! I thought as I sat up, raised my back left leg from sitting and proceeded to clean myself. After I finished, I proceeded to let out a loud sound from my behind. It was gloriously loud and stinky, so much so that I hoped it had knocked the cat, the voyeur, clear across the room. “You are a disgusting pig! That was stinky,” said the cat aka Fat Boy. “Wait! You have not seen disgusting yet. Meet me in the bathroom in an hour, I will be drinking from the toilet and then I will be scooting my privates across the upstairs carpet. This is how I roll. Leave me alone you fat hairy monster.” I replied. He had let himself go. He would not let the humans brush him anymore. He sat around and ate all day. Now he seemed to take pride waddling around the house, dragging his belly on the floor. “So uncouth,” he said as he laid down next to me in the bay window. “If I am so nasty, why do you like to lay next to me?” I asked. “I don’t know. That is what we do. It makes the humans happy,” said Fat Boy. He put his head on my outstretched paw and was out like a light in about five minutes. I think he was getting too fat. His chunky face and body which ranked high on the human scale of cuteness was now affecting his health. I guess I fell asleep too. When I awoke the sun was no longer shining through the bay window.  “Hey! Get up Fat Boy, I need some water. Hello, get up!” I yelled. Poor guy must be going deaf. I pulled my paw from under him. “Meow, I got in a nice nap,” he said as he did a cat stretch with his butt in my face. “Could you not stick your butt in my face?” “So sorry Old Man.” I was twelve, but I looked good for twelve and had the heart and body of a seven-year-old dog. I watched my weight and I exercised. “Who are you calling old? I need some water and then I have got to get my steps in. Which obviously you need to do too,” I said. “Whatever,” he said as he curled up in the bay window. I left to get water from my bowl. My bowl had cat hair in it. “Hey Fat Boy, have you been drinking from my bowl?” “The bowls are communal. I do not see your name on any bowl in this house,” he said. Jerk! He knew which bowls were mine. I was here first. Time for my steps. I bolted up the stairs to the second floor. I sniffed around doing a couple of laps. I was thirsty again. I needed to hit the toilet for a nice cool drink. I went back down the stairs and then back up the stairs. I was feeling good. I saw myself in the bathroom mirror. Damn I look hot for a twelve-year-old dog. One more cold drink I thought. I headed into the bathroom. Once again, I felt a strange sensation, like I was being watched. As I stood up to put my head into the toilet bowl, the toilet seat cover slammed into my face. “Jesus Christ,” I yelled. I was seeing stars. “So sorry Old Man, I did not see you. “Liar. You are such a liar. How could you not see me?” I shook it off and I decided to chase the fat monster. “You had better run Fat Boy,” I said as I got myself together.  I took a drink and then took off after him up and down the hallway. He was still fast considering how fat he was. Then he took off down the stairs. “You can’t catch me!” He said as he lay on his back looking at his nails while writhing around on the landing. “Oh yes I can,” I replied. I admit, I was a bit winded looking down at him from the second floor. “Whenever you catch your breath, Old Man, I will be downstairs,” he said while sauntering down the stairs. He makes me so mad! Fat Boy makes me so angry! I continued to get my steps in on the second floor. Suddenly I noticed a round large object in the bedroom I had never seen before. I sniffed it. It smelled like mommy’s crotch. I knew this smell as I ate some fabric one day and I ended up in the vet emergency hospital. Mommy no longer keeps her crotch smelling fabric on the floor. She puts them in a basket with a lid. It was a big ball. A ginormous ball. Why hadn’t I seen this before? Why have they hidden this from me? I got my nose under the ball, and I was able to get it out of the bedroom into the hallway. I nosed it around and chased it. I needed to let Fat Boy see my new toy. “Fat Boy. Hey Fat Boy! Look what I found!”  I lost my balance and the ball hit the wall and rolled down the stairs. I went running down the stairs after the ball. The ball bounced on every other step, hit the landing hard then bounced to the first floor. As it bounced back into the air it flew into a vase of flowers on the kitchen bar, knocking it over, then it ricocheted and knocked over a display of vintage coffee cans on a kitchen shelf. Water from the vase was pooling under a bar stool. Luckily the vase did not fall to the floor and break. Oh no, I thought. “Hey, Fat Boy where are you?” What am I going to do? I started panting and pacing. Then I howled. I started barking. I was having an anxiety attack. Then I started chasing my tail. Fat boy came strolling into the kitchen. “Yes. What is going on in here? Looks like someone, someone was a very bad boy,” he said with great sarcasm. He jumped up on the bar stool to assess the situation. “It looks like you were surveying the counter Old Man.” “No, it was the giant ball,” I said.  “You know that counter clearing thing that you canines do. You like to stand up like a human and feel around like you are doing the breast stroke. You know, you know exactly what I mean,” he said. He started laughing, while lying on his back, head dangling over the bar stool.

“What are you laughing at? They will think that it was you. You walk on the counters all the time.” “No. I am too weak to knock over a large vase filled with water. This one is all you Old Man!” “No, they will think it is you I cannot reach the center of the bar.” “Details. Details. I need my beauty sleep so I can hunt mice this evening. This is not my problem,” he said as he jumped from the bar stool to the floor. Just then he noticed that the antique coffee cans were knocked over. “That’s right they will think you were high on cat nip when you caused this destruction. Bouncing off the vase in that Kung Fu style you like to attempt and then jumping onto the high shelves knocking over the coffee cans,” I said. “No, mommy will think daddy did it by slamming the door. The vase is all you. Someone is in big trouble. You are a very bad boy,” he said, as he ran into the laundry room.

I was overwhelmed so I lay down in the kitchen looking at the large ball that was now resting in front of the refrigerator. I could hear water from the vase still trickling onto the floor. Soon after, I must have fallen asleep. When I woke, I knew it was close to the time my humans return by the shadows created by the sunlight in the kitchen. There was nothing I could do but wait. I stretched, got up and walked around the house. I peered in the laundry room and there was Fat Boy on top of the dryer seated with his head hidden and leg up in the air. He was cleaning himself. “Who is a disgusting pig now?” I asked. He quickly sat up and put his leg down and did not look back at me. There was a Cardinal at the bird feeder which now had his undivided attention. I headed back upstairs and climbed into a human bed and went back to sleep. I was dreaming about the giant ball and a giant dog biscuit. I woke from a deep sleep to the sound of breaking glass. I ran downstairs and saw dishware on the floor in many little pieces between the kitchen bar and the sofa. Oh God, this is a mess, I thought. “Fat Boy where are you? What did you do?” No response.  I hope he was not somewhere bleeding or dead with gash marks from the glass . “Where are you? You, OK?” He soon crawled out from under the couch looking a bit shaken. “Yes, I think so,” he said as he started to cry. “Oh no not the crying, you know I cannot stand it when you cry.” “Mommy is going to be so mad at us. I don’t want to disappoint her.” “Yeah, whatever, cut the drama. You walk around here like you do not care about anybody or anything. What the heck did you do?” I asked. “I was jumping on the counter. I landed on a saucer that went flying with the cup.” “Just great. Please tell me you aren’t bleeding! mommy will be screaming if there is blood on her white furniture.” Who has white furniture when they have pets? Not a good idea. Mommy must have seen it in a magazine. “I am OK. No blood.” he said, as he pulled himself together. “Calm down. Much better. Now go do some cat things. Chase your imaginary friends. Or even better go meditate in your bathroom.” “It will be an interesting evening when they get home from work and notice the destruction,” he said as he started to cry again. At least I had not broken anything. Schadenfreude had set in . I held my head up high and strutted into the living room and took my favorite spot on the couch. Fat Boy disappeared behind the draperies. I must have dozed off again. I sat up as I heard the garage door open and close. Do I go greet them? Or do I wait for the primal scream? I tried to listen carefully for footsteps. But I heard none. I heard fat boy running around the kitchen, probably high again on catnip. The cat was a big stoner. I got off the couch and heard a key in the door, then the alarm beep and then the door slam. Daddy was home. “Winston, come let’s go potty,” said daddy. So far so good, I walked into the kitchen and got a hug. My daddy was glad to see me. Oh no he was going to put the mail on the bar counter which was probably still wet. I needed to distract him. Luckily, he was thirsty so he placed the mail next to the refrigerator and then kicked the ball into the dining room so he could open the door.

“Why did she leave this stupid thing in the kitchen?” he said. “Where is my chunky kitty?” he said as he closed the refrigerator door. “Meow.” said Rodney as he came to daddy’s feet. Daddy scooped him up and walked towards the patio door. “Let’s go potty Winston,” he said. He let me outside through the patio door. While outside, I felt free and happy. I went potty and then proceeded to roll in something that smelled just ripe enough to annoy Fat Boy. When daddy let me in, he gave me a biscuit and he gave Fat Boy some fishy smelling tidbit. Soon Fat Boy was rubbing against daddy’s leg while giving me the side eye. Daddy looked around overlooking the overturned vase, missing the overturned coffee cans and he was unable to see the broken cup and saucer behind the couch. He looked impressed. “Looks like you guys were good today. You guys are the best. Such good kids. Some people come home from work and their homes are destroyed by their pets. Not our babies,” he said. Daddy filled our food bowls. I ate all my food. Lord knows when Fat Boy will finish his food, probably late at night in between dining on rodents. Daddy went upstairs. Soon we could hear the garage door open and close. Mommy was home.  “Honey I am home! Where are my babies?” Fat Boy and I stood frozen waiting for the primal scream. None came. Daddy came downstairs. He had changed his clothes. “Hello, Helen honey, we have to leave in 30 minutes.” “Oh no. I forgot. OK. Did I get any mail?” “All junk mail,” said daddy. There were other dishes on the counter. Which would soon prove to be a blessing. As mommy turned to walk towards daddy her briefcase swung around and hit several dishes that daddy had left on the counter from the morning. The dishes that were left after Fat Boy’s counter jump failure. Suddenly there was the sound of broken glass. “Andy why did you leave these dishes on the counter? The babies could have knocked these over and got injured while we were at work. Damn it!” she said. “I am sorry honey. I was rushing out of here this morning. I will clean this up. I am so sorry.” They kissed and mommy ran up the stairs to shower and get dressed. Fat Boy and I let out a sigh of relief. So far nothing had been noticed. As daddy, swept up the broken dishes and put them into the trashcan he noticed the overturned vase. Uh oh I thought as we watched in horror.  “Why do we need these dead flowers,” he said aloud, as he picked them up and put them in the trash and put the overturned vase away. Daddy read his mail and had a beverage while standing in the kitchen. “Winston and Rodney come,” he said. “We are going out, so here is another treat.” He gave us each a small piece of deli meat. We were sitting pretty. Soon mommy came down the stairs looking as beautiful as ever. “Ready to go?” asked daddy. “Just need to find the purse I want to use, think it is in the hall closet.” “OK I will let Winston out again, while you get your purse.” I went out and did my business. When I came back in, I did a little performance, acting like I did not want them to leave. The usual, panting and walking around in circles quickly. Mommy found her purse in the hall closet, and they were ready to go. “Be good,” said mommy as she looked at the two of us pets. Daddy opened the door to the garage. Mommy walked out first and then daddy followed her and slammed the door so hard that the walls shook, and the clock fell off the wall. “Andrew why must you slam the door? You know things fall off the wall when you slam the door,” mommy yelled, from the garage. “Sorry,” he said. “Coffee can problem solved,” said Fat Boy. “The housekeeper will find the cup and saucer tomorrow. I think we are in the clear,” I said. We cuddled on the couch waiting for mommy and daddy to return.


"Ten years had passed in a blow", Leslie thought.

It was this day but 10 years back now when she promised her best friend Kim that she will come back for him in this Skyscraper in ten years time to meet him again.

She came first to the place but was a little amazed... Why?                                                 Because the Skyscraper had been broken down to a massive Love tower.... "what!!, cut the crap out of the thing I'm seeing" she said in her thoughts. "It was a big skyscraper from where the whole city could be seen, aww.. the people of this building were quite shy, I guess. Because no other agency would close down this picnic spot", she uttered between her thoughts.

"Wait! This is a love tower but why isn't there any people?..." She went to the reservation counter and asked the old man"Uncle can you say why is the tower closed? It is not even Saturday.." The old man's voice was too harsh, Leslie wanted to run away from that man but she wanted to know the reason behind the tower being closed. The old man replied"Little Girl, if you want to go up on the tower you need to pay a reservation charge, so that no other couple cannot disturb your private time and you need to bring a partner for some discount". "Then uncle where are the couples who reserved this??" Leslie shot back. "See we have our online website and we do bookings online, a young man reserved this online, mailing us that he has an important meeting with his friend and wants to propose her there". "Thank you for the information uncle, see you later" she said this and turned back to find a spot to sit.

 A complete one hour had passed... Leslie felt very disappointed that her best friend didn't come and he had even forgotten her. A lone tear fell from her eye and she stood up, turned back towards the exit and started moving. Suddenly someone with pale and long fingers puled her towards him. BAM... She banged herself on the man's hard build body. She looked throughout his body"hmm, good figure maybe his face is also good looking..." She looked up in his eyes, while he was busy staring at hers. Suddenly a electric shock passed through her body. It was...It was...It was her best friend and her crush Kim. She couldn't believe it was her friend and after ten years he had completely changed. "oh, Gosh!! he's so damn hot", thought Leslie.

She was lost exploring his body when Kim interrupted "Sweety, lets go..."

"Huh! um... Where?", Leslie murmured waking up from her dream. "To the tower... A surprise awaits for you up there",said Kim in a little romantic way. "Are you really kidding??... The tower is reserved for some other couple...", she said laughing."The reservation uncle said me that some one had done the booking online." "Hmm... Its me !!", said Kim. Leslie became a little sad by hearing that because previously she had heard from the uncle that a man had booked the tower for proposing to a friend of him. By seeing Leslie's long and sad face Kim said"Why did you become sad sweetheart? Is anything bothering you?"

"No... um...uh...nothing, I must be bothering you and your special friend. I am leaving first, hope you enjoy your day with her...", Leslie spoke while tears fell down her eyes. "I didn't get you clearly, could you explain me the whole thing?... I want to know what you know that makes you sad", spoke Kim. "The reservation uncle said me that a person booked the tower online, You said that its you, the uncle also said that the person has a meeting with a very special friend of him and he is going to propose her, so if you are the person you have another girl to meet and propose so I should be the one to bother you up... I'm so sorry ", Leslie said while crying. "So why are you crying and I think I can give her my time later", saying this he grabbed Leslie's hand, showed the pass at the counter and pulled her to the tower. The tower was decorated with twinkling lights, roses, Shining hearts and a marvellous centered heart with flower petals. Leslie looked around the tower a candle light dining table was also set up. "He really cares for someone else, see Leslie see its not for you, its for another girl and he really likes her...", Leslie spoke to herself.

The tower was circle with a bigger area and circumference. The round sides were open like a balcony but the tower had a long closed ceiling. Leslie went to a place where she could see the river flow, it was their favourite childhood spot... Oh! Wait not their's but her and Kim's. Seeing her Kim went to her side hold her by her waist and said "This place belongs to us..." he couldn't complete his sentences when Leslie interrupted him"A little grammar mistake, not ours but mine and yours... You like someone else do not make her embarrassed by calling me and you as together like 'ours' ".

"Yes I like someone... but the girl is ... you. I liked you since when we were young but I couldn't reveal it. I swear you, today will be the happiest day in your life". Kim said this and pulled her towards the center... Sat on his knees and said opening a ring box,     "Will you be mine forever?... Will you marry me?... I will never leave you alone, I will walk by your side together through any struggle you or we both face... I will take care of you just like a mother, guide you just like a father, give freedom just like grandparents, help you just like siblings, have fun just like friends and love you just like a perfect lover or soulmate. I promise you to perform my whole responsibility as a husband". Said Kim in a eager and gentle manner. "You did all this for me, why didn't you say this at the first... I also like someone... and that is only you, I will be your forever. Yes! absolutely yes I will marry you, I will care, guide, give freedom, help, have fun and love just the same way you will do. I am sure to do up my duty as a wife should do". She said putting her hand into Kim's accepting the engagement ring.

Kim put the ring on her finger which fit perfectly, it was shining too then he stood up and hugged her tightly, she too put her hands around Kim's waist and hugged him. Kim pulled her back and bent down towards her to kiss her... She also agreed and stood on her toes to kiss him back... As soon as their lips had touched a marvellous firework filled the sky. It was New Year's Eve.

They both when small came to the previous Skyscraper building to see this perfect fireworks on every New Year's Eve. They still remember being together when they were young. A glimpse of the past years flew past their eyes and both of their eyes met each others. Kim bent down to kiss Leslie a last time that day and leslie too kissed him back again. They held their hands together, Leslie said "Today we are again standing at our favourite spot not as a best friend but as a couple...". Then she put her head on Kim's shoulder and enjoyed the firework and as well as Kim's company.


The curtains are drawn this morning, allowing the sun to wake me. Jordan must have known I wanted to sleep in, but also that I would be angry with myself if I did. He usually parts the curtains first thing in the morning for me, before he gets ready for his morning jog. I needed the extra sleep, thankful not to have been brutally awakened by a striking alarm clock. I can still hear the cries from the evening before. Despair has a taste if you didn’t already know, and it never seems to truly dissolve. I carry weight I don’t need, the emotions of other’s greatest losses and misfortunes. Maybe in another life, I wake up to these mornings where my only burden is to perform house-hold tasks and take the children to soccer. This life is too painful for those endeavors, I am not allotted the grace others have. Disco jumps into bed to greet me with his usual good-morning kisses, thankfully blessing me with a respite from my own thoughts. He knows when it’s truly time to get up and moving, so I don’t fight him when he runs to bring me his leash. Jordan won’t be back for a while now, and Disco is too lazy to run with him, he prefers his morning walks to consist of uninterrupted sniffing and people watching. I change, head to the kitchen, and pour myself a to-go cup of coffee before lacing up my tennis shoes and taking Disco on our morning stroll. If I’m moving and getting my daily dose of Vitamin D, my mind can stay on autopilot. I swear by it, movement and sunlight can cure some of my darkest memories—and when they can’t there’s always Zoloft. The café is three blocks from our house, on the corner before entering town, and by far my favorite place in the entire World. Nothing bad happens here I swear, expect for maybe burnt croissants and an occasional ass-hole customer who thinks he can brew a better medium roast (and trust me he can’t, I don’t care if he’s recently traveled to South America, that doesn’t make you a guru on the art of roasted beans). Disco knows where we are heading so I follow his lead. It’s our usual Saturday routine and he is ready to be doused in continuous affection from café goers and Janice the barista who makes a little extra bacon in the morning just for him. When we approach the corner, we can already tell it is just another bustling Saturday Morning at the Grind. Beautiful. Although, I don’t normally care for my outward appearance on my days off, today I am exceptionally drained and cannot imagine how that is manifesting on my face. But, a better reason to refresh with another cup of coffee and Janice’s freshly baked scones. The door chines when we walk in, and Janice is behind the counter taking orders while her little minions, the local High Schoolers who work here over the weekend, fill them as quickly as possible. Janice sees us as we enter the queue, “Welcome Friends! Happy Saturday, the usual?” “Yes, please,” I feel bad shouting over the others in front of me in line, and they seem disgruntled I’ve taken notice before them. The harms of being a loyal customer and an exceptional tipper. “Can I say Hi?” A woman behind me asks, gesturing to Disco, “Oh of course, he’d love it.” Disco is sitting by my side but can’t hide his excitement with his tail thumping against the ground as the woman gives him a couple of pats on the head. “So well behaved,” she coos to him “Only on Saturdays,” I awkwardly jest back. Janice steps away from the counter to bring me my coffee and to-go bag of two scones. She carries with her two pieces of bacon for Disco to devour as I hand her over the cash and tell her to keep the change. Disco and I make our way out of the café, to sit in outdoor patio the Grind has open on days like today.            Content with his walk and bacon treats, Disco lays down under the table and I begin opening my bag of scones. At the table across from us there is a young woman with her two children: a toddler sits in her lap, and an infant beside them in the stroller. She rips off pieces of her muffin to give her little girl as she giggles while bouncing in her lap. They look radiant together, two pieces meant to be. A mother and a child. She kisses her little girl while making sounds to make her laugh and the child is ecstatic, giggling and grabbing onto her mother’s face to return the gesture. My phone buzzes, a text from Jordan “Be home in 15. Cooling down now.” I reply with a thumbs up not to be short, but just to acknowledge him. It’s her tone that makes my stomach instantly drop when the young mother says,            “Macy. Macy…Macy what’s wrong,” she’s lightly shaking her daughter who has now gone silent with her eyes wide open in shock.

Fuck . I knock my coffee over quickly rising from my chair, Disco is alert now, “ Stay Disco.” and he must sense there is something wrong because he listens.            Rushing to them, I tell the mother, “I’m a doctor, I believe she’s choking.” She doesn’t even have to fight me, she relinquishes her baby girl into my hands without a second thought. The situation is gathering more attention, I look through the crowd gathering on the patio, and those stopping on their way out of the café. My eyes lock with an older gentleman in bike wear, I speak directly to him and him only, “Sir, call 911. Tell them there is a child choking,” as I simultaneously turn the girl so I am supporting her upside down by the shoulders and begin to slap her back in hopes of dislodging the piece of food. I have no time to follow up with biker man and hope he has done the task I delegated to him, there is no time to stop what I have already begun.            Janice has run out of the café by now, “Melanie, what can I do?”            “Make sure the police were called by that gentleman, and I need you to start a timer on your phone. I’ll need to know how long her windpipe has been obstructed to report to the paramedics. If I’m reaching 5 minutes, tell me immediately,” Janice nods. Now the mother is starting to panic. Her hysteria overcomes me, but I must remain calm. I turn the child over, so she is still upside down, but now her face is upwards, I place two fingers onto her sternum. She’s blue. I need to provide her with some circulation. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. I say in my head. One count for each compression, then I flip her over again. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Five back slaps to give her diaphragm, praying this time the piece of food will dislodge and we’ll hear her scream and cry. Come on, Macy. Come back to me, Macy. Don’t stop now. Don’t stop now.            One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Flip. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Flip

Where are the paramedics? I need assistance. I can’t do this alone. Come on, Macy.

It is utterly silent, and yet chaotic at the same time. The mother’s screams ring in my hears, but my focus is on Macy. I can’t let her penetrate it.            One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Flip. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Flip.            “Melanie, you’re reaching four minutes,” Janice says calmly but assertively so I hear.

Come on, Macy. God damnit. Come on. The longer you’re without oxygen, the more damage there will be. Come on, baby girl.

The back slaps continue, One. Two. Three.            And then the gasp followed by a scream. This time, not from the mother. Relief washes over me. I cannot even feel my body. My arms lay limp as the mother grabs her now breathing, very alive, screaming child from me. I come up for air as well, realizing the tension left me without taking a deep breath in either. Arms wrap around my neck, thanking me and providing gratitude. I can only lightly smile and nod. I don’t know how to recover myself. The sirens are approaching, paramedics rush to the scene where Janice tells them what happened. They give the little girl their full attention, making sure she’s safe. With all the commotion, I slide back towards Disco. I give him a pat on the head and pick up his leash. Together we make our way home in silence.


Nathan had a conundrum. The glass globe that mapped the entire planet - which he had dropped and shattered - was missing! The last place he recalled having it was while infiltrating the militancy hall in Droon. He'd been in the back alley trying to piece the broken - well pieces - together. What had happened after that? He had no memory of the moments after, which deeply disturbed him. To distract himself he stomped a rock into the soil of his personal floating island.

Displaced dirt was pushed out of the edge in influence from his runes and fell off onto the forest below. “Well, that’s okay.”

Nathan inspected the runes by stroking his finger through the groove in his totem. He traced them all the way to the dirt it was wedged into. “Fine calculations I believe.”

He was a genius. The totem wasn’t even centered and he still kept the chunk of earth level. “Now let’s see, I wonder where the pieces have gone. Someone might have stolen them. Maybe sold them off for a large fortune.” He had no way to track the pieces. They weren’t homing crows. So would he ever find them again? He might have to give up and spend his life on something more meaningful. At least he had the portion that showed most of this continent. The town west of Droon would be good. He recalled visiting there once. He’d been surprised how much news came through there. “Maybe I will find a young lady asking the local glass blower for the remains of a glass globe to be repaired. By which time I will arrive and sit with my drink. After overhearing the young lady I will approach (in a not perverted way) and offer my assistance. Namely my financial backing. I would pay for the repairs. Then with the glass map, we will join on an adventure together and become fast friends before using the globe to end the Terror of the Militancy once and for all.” Nathan was keenly aware of the plot holes and cli·chés in his story.

Once the town was in sight he lowered his personal island into the forest to its south. The mountains and hills in the distances evened out and fell away as he lowered under the tops of trees. He was in the midst of the quiet forest when he crashed to the ground. The island collapsed into a heap of grass and rock and dirt with his totem askew. There was no other way to land. He brushed himself off. His fine coat was dirty now; about right for someone who had traveled on the road. He was grateful for the cover. As for the totem he hoisted it and shuffled a sack under it and sat to rest. He was sweaty thirty ticks later when he was done. Even better, it was summer after all.

When he took a step up to the main road through the town, a woman ran out of a building on his right. “Haha! We usually get the best news by scroll, but this time the news walked itself in!” Nathan froze. Did she know him? “Hah! Well, bring your strange log in and tell us about it!” The woman turned and walked back into the building. Nathan followed her. This would probably be exactly where he’d want to be. Past the door, Nathan looked up at the sky. What did they do when it rained? “Terral! I’ve got him!” Nathan laughed. “You have me. Now…uh… do you have anything for me?” “Hahahah!” “Hehe.” A light and feminine voice laughed. “I’m Arri. Tell me something more interesting than the news out of Droon, and I’ll feed you and rehydrate you.” Nathan took a seat at the long table under a canopy. He shuffled his butt on the well-worn stool. A plate of grains and root vegetables steamed up between him and the women sitting across from him. They all smiled. “Looks good.” He pushed the plate aside.

They all leaned in. Terral had an eager look on her face. “This is definitely going to be juicy.”

Nathan took a sip of the drink they’d served him. “The totem I lugged here? That’s a rune totem I carved myself.” Terral’s eyes were so rapt with attention that Nathan felt the heat of a blush rise to his face.

“What’s the totem do?” Her light and now breathless voice made his heart beat faster. What was this? “Ah…uh, the totem. I use this for transportation.” Nathan took a bite off the plate while they pondered his words. Terral looked at the other woman. “I think this news is fabricated.” “Maybe he’d find comfort among the other fabricated stories.” “Oh you’re right. He’d be all nice and cozy.” Nathan chose to eat his generous meal and ignore the banter. He knew they spoke of the scrolls hung behind him. He’d been bullied enough to know not to react. After finishing the drink he had food remaining. He accepted an offer for a refill. While Arri went to fetch more, He stood and turned around to walk up and read the scrolls that hung on the far wall.

Terral came up next to him while he skimmed the various news reports. She respected his focus by watching silently. After he had skimmed all the news, Arri came up on his other side with a cup. He moved to accept it but she shook her head.

“Yours ‘s on the table.” Then she tossed the contents on the scroll in front of her. As the liquid soaked in, the ink ran. Nathan turned toward her in shock. He heard a giggle behind him.

“It’s water.” “Water…” He looked at the scroll soaking into the fabric. Not parchment as he’d assumed. She jerked the cup up again and more water ran the news away. Nathan watched as some drops fell into a divet in the ground where the bottoms of the scrolls were weighed down.

Someone new suddenly burst in and hurried over.

“The news! Arri! It’s not even raining. what’d you wash it away for?” “This is yesterday's news. Stay a while and enjoy the company of your neighbors. Today’s news will arrive shortly. Do I ever tolerate a late runner?” “No. no, you don't, you can be trusted. I’ll have what he’s having.” While the other man took a seat, Terral replaced him and felt one of the fabrics. “She washes the news away early, so folks come from all over the village and sometimes even Droon and the outlying homes to keep in the know. She’s brought a suspicious community together in a really clever way, I think.” Terral gave him a look. He didn’t know what the look meant, but none of the news would help him. He looked at her, tried to remember her name, but failed. He spoke to the air instead. “I lost a glass map of the planet. I’m looking for the pieces.” “Wow, a globe? Those are so expensive. Who even needs one? Nobody’s going to cross the ocean.” “No, I think they are still on this continent. I dropped it and it shattered. I have a good memory, but not after that moment. Here, I have a piece. He pulled out a concave shard of glass and held it up for her.

“Let’s take that to the table so you don’t drop it again.” At the table Nathan pointed out the geographic etches in the glass. The woman felt the smooth oceans and the rough continents.

So why do you need a globe? Are you trying to learn about the other continents?” “Well I can still learn about this continent with the part I have. Yes, the other parts are necessary if I want to get back to the academy.” “Academy… The University in Droon?” “No, this one is out in the ocean.” “Out there? Ships don’t even leave sight of the shore. How will you get there? Wait back? So you’ve already been there?” Nathan nodded. “Would you like to see how? “ “Arri. a break?” “Sure thing Terral! As long as you tell me all about your date!” Terral. That was her name. He’d remember it now. Nathan guided her out to the forest again. Terral was keeping pace with his long and quick stride. She kept her face turned away from him. Was she blushing too? He picked a flat and empty lot with plenty of healthy grass, where he dragged the totem out of the sack. With a heave of his totem he pegged it into the soil right through the grass.

Terral watched him trace the runes from top to bottom. The runes were carved all around the totem and connected by smaller grooves like elegant veins.

After his finger passed a glow lit up the runes. Once he reached the base of the totem, the ground broke up around them. They rose on the chunk of earth and had to kneel from the sudden movement. Nathan gestured for her to hold onto the totem. Once high enough to see over the rooftops Nathan eased the amount of runic influence on the island. They stood suspended directly above the empty lot.

Terral waved at the people in the open air news hub. They pointed and waved back. This was sure to be news that would get him into trouble again. That was good because he wouldn’t find those globe pieces easily. Terral sat and said, “What if you never find the other pieces?” “Well the naive stories of gathering the parts of a relic and saving the world are very unrealistic. I’d need an anchor linked to this totem to move horizontally. Otherwise I can only levitate a small piece of ground Directly up. The globe has a link to Flor’eliant zherself. That’s how I anchored to the forest nearby.

His “date” looked past him in thought. A smile lit up her face, “You are clearly a genius at using runes. You could try making your own map.” “That wouldn’t be enough. I’d need a deep connection to the elements. The globe isn’t runic magic itself. I have no idea how it was made….” A short woman walked into the the news hub and sat at and empty seat. she dumped a pile of broken junk in front of her and began placing them in an organized arrangement.

Nathan turned to Terral. “Does this town have any maps of the area? “ “Are you going to make your own globe?” “No, I’m going to try a different way to anchor the totem to the land in the ocean. “So giving up on finding the glass parts?” “Not quite, but I think that local maps might even have a better connection to the planet. “Arri!” “What!?” “This Nathan man wants maps!” “I’ve many not very useful ones.” Terral looked at him. “Well mister Nathan. Want to look?” Nathan smiled. “Even old or outdated maps could help.” Nathan and his new companion perused the maps in a room behind the news hub that did have a roof. While they grew excited, the newcomer was placing glass pieces together that represented waves and other images in glass. She tried in vain to solve the mystery of the images. In frustration she slid everything into a pack and left the hub at a brisk walk.

“All right, do you mind helping me home?” A great vine rose out of the soil on the outskirts of the town. The woman was lifted high in the air and carried away across the land. The great vine wove and entered the earth in long-reaching arcs. As one portion descended another rose for the woman to hop onto. In this manner she quickly traveled past the city of Droon to the east, then turned north and with her went the shards of a glass globe. Deeper inland, and north to the city of Amnyl where she would return to her pursuit of the past.

“We’ll find out what you are yet, little artifact.” She patted her pack with optimism. Back at the town, two strangers peered over old and new maps with a fervor of those engaging in novel and intellectual pursuits. Forgotten was Nathan’s dreary voyage across the land. Forgotten was Terral’s lonely yearning for

news abroad. In a cramped room they shared a new journey. A journey much like the one a young mechanist had embarked on at the workshops of his university.

Three journeys that shared a single thread.


The Fall of Corbridge The sun blinded him; he hadn’t seen it in days.

His feet dragged on the ground as the two guards pulled him along between them, ignoring his weak pleas for water. Ignoring, or not hearing, as his dry throat and cracked lips betrayed him into unintentional silence.

A few minutes after hauling him out of the hot box, they stood him in front of her.

He blinked and tried to focus on his queen. “Brude. You survived,” she said, staring at him intently.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” she said harshly. Then, more subdued, “You’ve been bullheaded since we were children. Get him water!” The guards dropped him and he fell to his knees, coughing weakly.

A few minutes later one of them returned with a battered tin cup full of water; he slurped it greedily for a few moments then stood up and looked at her.

“Scathach. Was I right?” He asked.

She paused as the other guard returned with another cup of water for her.

She drank from it and said, “No.” Watching him from the corner of her eye as she sipped, she saw his shoulders slump.

Then continued, “But you weren’t completely wrong.” He looked up.

“The Romans did send men up the Tyne, on the day you thought they would.” She put her cup down and stood up. “But they sent half a legion!!” She shouted at him.

“We thought they would just be scouts! We were lucky to escape with half our warriors!”

Brude looked at the ground. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“No! You didn’t realize! The Vacomagi have been pressing in on us from the north and we took men from those villages to fight the Romans.

And they died! Now we are vulnerable on both sides!”

Brude watched her as she raged at him.

As her shouting subsided, he said, “You had me punished for my failure. Then why am I still alive?”

She paused and collected herself. “Well.

The rest of that half legion destroyed several of the Vaco villages after we scattered.

It seems…” Scathach smoothed her furs and looked away. “It seems they want an alliance with us. Against the Romans. And they are thankful that we did what we did to slow them down. I may have mentioned that our Druid had foretold it.

They want to meet you.”

She stepped forward, crossing the twenty feet or so that separated them and looked him up and down, crinkling her nose.

He stood naked, caked in days of sweat and not a little dried blood. “Clean yourself up.

We are going to meet their emissaries today.

And when their warriors arrive…” she walked slowly around behind him and leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “...we attack... the wall.”

Brude lay under the waterfall and closed his eyes, letting the water tumble over him, cascading the stench from his body.

He relished in the feel of running water: crisp, cold, and refreshing.

Stretching each of his limbs out, he grinned and then laughed out loud.

There was no joy like that of a simple pleasure after so many days (weeks?) of pain, misery, and deprivation.

You take for granted the feeling of standing up, of straightening legs and arms, as if it were nothing.

As if you had never been caged in a box in the darkness with no food or water, no light.

Nothing but visions…

The hum of something vibrating lulled him to sleep.

Strange boxy buildings flew by on either side of the odd carriage he rode in, but they did not disturb him as they should have.

When he awoke, the countryside that slipped by on either side was slightly more recognizable: forest and river, and long stretches of unfamiliar grasslands, scattered livestock, and larger structures that seemed like they must be Roman, but larger than anything he had seen Romans build in his land.

The vehicle around him was pulled by no animal, yet it sped faster than any horse he had ever ridden.

The woman who rode next to him, laughing and chatting in a strange language, had golden hair and fair skin.

Rather than being wrapped around her, her vibrantly colored clothes seemed fitted to her body, and he couldn’t see any indication of where they may be sewn together. He had never seen the like; she entranced him.

Soon they arrived at their destination and he watched his hand open the door next to him as he stepped out on to a hard black road.

He wanted to drop to his knees and examine it, but he had no control and could only ride along as the man he was strode into a large structure.

As time passed he began to understand the conversation around him.

The mind he rode in knew it well and it took a short time to connect with that understanding and listen.

This fey blond woman said to him, “Come on, slow poke! Here’s your ticket.” She handed him a slip of something thin and light and they pushed through a metal bar to enter a large chamber.

He looked up and read the sign over the entrance: “Roman Army Museum.”

She slipped her hand into his and they walked slowly past several scenes of Roman life.

At first he was terrified - Roman soldiers everywhere! But none of them moved, and he quickly calmed down.

The first group he stopped by had a sign describing various pieces of clothing they wore.

This held no interest for him.

Then they moved to another sign and if he could have caught his breath, he would have.

“In 180 C.E. the Picts were taken by surprise when the Romans launched an offensive beyond Hadrian’s Wall. Burning villages up the Tyne River, they won what they thought was a decisive victory.

Just a few weeks later however, they suffered their first defeat at the Wall when the unified northerners breached it and sacked Corbridge…”

Brude opened his eyes.

This was the first time he had made it to the end of that reading in his vision.

Corbridge.

His eyes shone with excitement as he scrambled out the waterfall.

“My clothes! You! Hand them over! Take me to Scathach! Hurry.” He dressed quickly and slipped into his hide boots.

Grabbing his staff he practically ran ahead of his escort back to the village.

They caught up to him as he burst into the enclosure.

She stood chatting with a group of unfamiliar warriors, clearly Vacomagi by the styles they wore.

She saw him and waved.

“Brude. Welcome!

This is Kethern and Wolch, from the north.

And this,” she gestured at Brude, “is our secret weapon.”

The taller of the two, Kethern, held out his hand in greeting. Brude grasped his forearm and inclined his head in acknowledgment.

Wolch stood back, his eyes narrow, examine Brude.

“Your reading played us false, Druid,” the man spat on the ground. “Just because your face has been marked by the gods does not mean they speak through you.” Brude involuntarily reached up to touch the purple stain that spread across his cheek and onto his forehead.

“And where were your Druids,” he countered. “Who else knew they would come by the Tyne river when they did?”

“The Romans are very powerful,” Kethern conceded.

Brude’s eyes shone as he looked at him. “Not powerful enough.” He grinned. “They will fall at Corbridge. Send for your men.”

Scathach and Kethern looked at each other, then at Wolch. The shorter man knelt down and drew a collection of marked bones from his pouch, tossing them on the ground.

As they scattered in the dirt, Brude hissed and kicked them.

“You don’t need false readings! You know nothing! We will take them at Corbridge! Stop wasting our time!”

Deeply insulted, Wolch sprang at Brude, drawing his blade and slicing it toward his ribs.

Brude’s frailty betrayed him, his muscles weak from captivity. He watched the deadly attack as it came for him and his normally sharp reflexes failed to save him. His queen, however, did not.

Her axe flashed out and separated Wolch’s head from his shoulders in an instant.

Then she looked at Kethern.

“You heard him.” She said calmly, wiping the dead man’s gore from the axe head.

Wolch’s body twitched on the ground as his blood sprayed into the dirt, soon subsiding into a steady trickle and he lay still, his head rolling to a stop across the clearing. Kethern never moved as the scene unfolded around him. He looked first at Scathach, then at Brude.

“We disregarded you once. We won’t fail a second time. The Vagomagi will join with the Pecht and the Romans will be swept off that cursed wall.

We attack in three sleeps.” “...Just a few weeks later however, they suffered their first defeat at the Wall when the unified northerners breached it and sacked Corbridge.

Their success was not long lived, however.

The Roman counter attack by Governor Ulpius Marcellus was swift and destructive.

The Picts signed peace agreements soon after and though they successfully kept the Romans from establishing a foothold north of the Wall, for the next 300 years, they lived in a constant state of guerilla warfare against the Roman legions.” Deborah read the display out loud, and leaned her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder, pushing a wisp of blond hair out of her eyes.

“Can you imagine being at war for 300 years?” He said.

She shook her head.

“What a life,” she sighed.

A young boy and his mother walking towards them looked up and suddenly shied away, hiding behind his mother. The mother glanced up at him, winced, and looked away. He grimaced. Deborah rolled her eyes, looked at him, and said in a loud voice, “Gosh Bruce, do you think they have never seen a birthmark before?” She kissed him on the cheek, right where the discoloration began, and turned to glare at the woman as she hurried by. Bruce didn’t respond for a few moments. Deborah shook him. “Hey. B man.

You there? Or you back in Ancient Rome again?” She said, laughing. ”Ha, no.

And it was Ancient Briton, D, c’mon.” He said smiling at her. “That was quite a vivid dream though. Being smushed inside a hot box like that for so long… more like a nightmare…”


Aaryas' palms rushed to his ears as the humongous bus rammed into the jewelry store. It seemed as if diamonds rained from the sky, metal pieces, glass shards, and gold crumbs reflecting sunlight in myriad angles as they flew and fell, skittering across the street. Aarya and Maya looked at each other for a brief second, their postures straightening, and that was all they needed. He clumsily attempted to place the comic he was holding back into its rack and Maya simply dropped the bottle of what he assumed was some botanical chemical. They dashed out the multipurpose store, Aarya wincing as he adjusted his glasses to view the scene clearly. He was fazed. His lips slightly apart he stared at the bus, his mind blocking out the muffled screams of the passengers. Time seemed to slow as he digested the accident. Passerbys walked in meandering paths to avoid the shards, slowly crowding around the scene.

Maya was quick to act. She pushed past the throng of people that had now formed a clumsy semicircle. She shut her almond eyes and lifted her arms, concentrating like never before. Her lush brown locks raised in every direction around her scalp, her pink lips muttering mantras of sorts. The trees that lined the streets twisted and bent at her will, their branches like ripped arms encircled the store's doorframe, peeling them open. Looking at Maya, Aarya came to his senses and ran to her aid. He gritted his teeth, crossed his noticeably long fingers, and directed both his palms towards the back of the bus, tearing its rear enclosure apart. With one swift rotation of his wrists, the gravel, metal, and glass obeyingly formed three neat steps leading to the vehicle's rear end. He hastily climbed up the makeshift stairs into the bus but wasn't prepared for what he saw. A woman was cradling her husband's bleeding head in her arms, too shocked to weep or cry. A boy who probably came up to Aarya's waist was crying loudly, his ankle crushed under a pole. A group of girls, friends, Aarya thought, were frantically looking for who, he didn't know. He adjusted his specs that were riding down the bridge of his nose, wincing, thinking where to act first. His crossed fingers moved in smooth motions as the pole slowly lifted off the boy's ankle, its chipping yellow paint stained red and brown. With a sweep of his palm, all shards of glass cleared the way for him and another gentleman to carry the woman's husband out the bus. The sight of the man's limp, bloody head made Aarya feel queasy. As the gentleman carried the husband's rangy frame away after assuring Aarya he would take care of him, Aarya felt a void appear in the depths of his stomach. He could sense death in the air, and the fact that truly anything can happen anytime hit him like never before, now that he was witnessing himself, the man's skinny arms limply dangling from the gentleman's firm hold. Meanwhile, roots shot up from the road to the surface, braiding and knotting together to form a semicircular fence around the scene. There were now a hundred or so spectators, and Maya had to reinforce her fence every now and then. Shrubs and climbers with their tender leaves and tendrils tended to the store's injured customers and employees that needed the most attention. The store workers that weren't injured ran in all directions, making available all possible supplies from every level in the building. One of them looked skeptically at a branch that lent itself out as if asking the man for the many first aid kits he held. He simply stared at it, hesitating to trust a mere branch with life-saving deeds. The branch now moved towards him more aggressively, and the worker submittingly handed over the kits, throwing his hands in the air after, slightly intimidated. Women wept, children screamed, and life slipped out of men's eyes, gifting them soulless stares as they left. There were no casualties, but the image of the husband never left Aarya's mind one moment. He felt sick and guilty, for what he couldn't point a finger at. After what felt like hours, the bus was empty and clear. Multiple sirens wailed from various angles and distances, their sounds overlapping, weaving into a song of chaos. He looked at Maya, her lips moving fast and lashes beating ferociously, sweat trickling down her temple. He walked up to her and placed his palm on her shoulder. The branches, leaves, and twigs fell lifelessly to the ground.

"It's okay, you can rest, Maya. Our job here is done." Maya looked around, scanning the scene that spilled sorrow and blood. She sighed deeply, nodded, and walked with Aarya to the police. They have questions to answer. -------------------- The scene collapsed as quickly as it appeared, and it took Aarya a second to come back to where he really was. Broken bus, a shower of diamonds, and him standing behind yellow barricades with a hundred other people, dully spectating the accident and the men clad in bright orange vests. Maya stood a couple of people away, pulling her coat closer to herself over and over again. Her eyes, those almond eyes, they were squinted with sheer worry and fright, like many other eyes in the crowd. Aarya's slender fingers pushed up his specs, wincing, feeling as if his fantasy fired him up with love and courage in magnitudes he never knew were possible. Amidst his racing mind, racing with worry and love and courage, a small part of him felt ever so guilty to have thought this way in this godawful circumstance. He was, after all just another bespectacled boy with just another crush, just another comic reader who visited just another multipurpose store weekly and felt ever so ecstatically about just another girl. She was, after all just another almond-eyed girl with just another heart that was oh so soft, just another botanist who visited just another multipurpose store weekly and loved botany ever so passionately like nothing she's ever loved. It could stay that way if he let it. He didn't. The sky was now dark, with grey clouds strewn across the navy blue canvas as if thrown recklessly by a child after playing with them. It drizzled ever so slightly that you could feel it, but couldn't see it. Aarya didn't think twice before he walked up to her, eyes searching for anything but hers to look at, his index pushing up his evidently oversized specs, his left cheek twitching. "Maya, I really like you." It sounded nothing like he intended it to, nothing like the thousand times he said it in his head. Aarya wasn't just another boy. He was a superhero that had the power to confess, to love, and to be loved. After all, his favorite superhero was without a doubt, 'Maya: Mistress of Love' .


“You were doing it for how long?” “You mean, formally?” “With them, I mean.” “A few months.” “And how long since you stopped?” “Three months. Two and a half.” “And why?” “I just couldn’t do it there anymore. I was in agony. I couldn’t make them understand.” “But you want to resume? It was valuable?” “I think so.” “So you came to me. Why me?” “We’ve known each other forever.” “Yes, we have.” “You’re not a stranger. I trust you.” “I said I’d help you, and of course I will, but I need to ask a few questions.” “About what?” “Lots of things. So I can figure out the best way to go about it. With you, I mean.” “You already know a lot about me.” “Not the right things.” “Okay. I guess.” “Do you know specifically what they were having you do before?” “I don’t remember exactly.” “How often did you go there?” “Twice a week. I think. Maybe once, come to think of it.” “And it hurt?” “Torture. They changed it when it hurt me, but it never helped. Oh, wait, I just remembered. I did it twice a week for awhile, and then once a week.” “Whose idea was it to cut back to once a week?” “Theirs. They wanted me to do it at home too after that. To show some progress.” “And did you?” “A little bit, for awhile. No, not really, I guess. No.” “Why not?” “I was busy?” “That sounded like a question mark.” “Well, sometimes I was busy. Sometime I’d have something more important to do. And I didn’t want to do it anyway. I wasn’t up to it. It felt like it hurt even more when I did it on my own.” “Why do you think that is?” “Why it hurt more by myself?” “Yes.” “No.” “Then can you tell me which specific parts of it hurt the most?” “All of it, I think.” “But some more than others?” “It’s hard to say. There must have been. It’s hard to remember. Everything sort of blended together.” “This all seems so vague.” “It was a blur. A nightmare, really.” “Can you try to remember? This will be so much better if I know some things.” “I don’t know what to say.” “Does this hurt?” “Ow! Yes!” “How about this?” “Oh, ouch! Ow! Ow! Ow!” “Do you feel like it ever got any better with them?” “No. They didn’t take my pain seriously.” “What do you mean?” “I’d say it hurt and they’d say it shouldn’t hurt.” “Shouldn’t hurt?” “Like what we were doing shouldn’t hurt. Like I was overreacting and not being compliant enough.” “Are you sure that’s what they said?” “Maybe they said they didn’t know why it should hurt.” “Big difference.” “They still thought I was overreacting.” “Were you?” “Now you don’t believe me either.” “It’s not that at all. Sometimes we exaggerate to make a point. Do you think you ever did that?” “I had to make them understand.” “Understand what?” “That I was … that I am different. More delicate than most people.” “How do you mean ‘delicate’?” “I feel more pain than other people. No one understands that.” “How do you know you feel more pain than other people?” “I just know it. When I’m with someone and they say they’re hurting or sick, I can tell they aren’t suffering as much as I do. I’m very empathetic.” “You’ve said that before. How do you know you’re empathetic?” “I can just feel it. I know it deep inside me. We know what we are.” “Do we?” “Well, I do.” “Do you?” “Some people stifle their inner voice, but I listen to mine. I will not be deaf to myself.” “That sounds like something in a book.” “I have a program. A subscription. I listen to it.” “And it taught you that you’re empathetic?” “It has helped me to see many things about myself.” “Why do you want to try this again, if it was so painful?” “I now know that the pain is important.” “I don’t know if I can help you.” “You said you would.” “It sounds like you welcome the pain, so how can I help you by ending the pain? Why don’t you just go back to them?” “I don’t welcome pain. I welcome the whole journey. Pain is part of it.” “Did you expect the pain when you walked in there the very first time?” “Of course.” “Then I have to ask. Do you think when they asked you to do these things —“ “Forced me to do them.” “Ah. When they forced you to do them, did you really feel physical pain or was it just the expectation of pain that made you think you were feeling it? Because you’re so extremely empathetic.” “I hadn’t thought of that.” “Consider it. It’s one path to a solution for your problem.” “I am very sensitive. I feel emotion as much as physical sensation. I feel it here, in my spirit, in the center of my being.” “The center of your being. I see. Why did you come to me? “You know.” “No. Other than our family connection.” “That’s not it. It’s the other thing.” “What do you mean?” “You know.” “No, I really don’t.” “You don’t have to deny it. Now I actually know too. In a way, I always knew.” “Knew what?” “That you were a powerful healer in a previous life. You are an old soul.” “And that’s why you trust me.” “Yes. I give myself over to you. Inflict terrible pain on me. I will bear it.” “Sorry to laugh, but that’s just silly. I’m not going to inflict pain on you.” “As you will.” “I’m your aunt, but I’m also a licensed physical therapist. I’m not here to cause pain, quite the opposite. And I’m not some kind of mystic healer. My soul isn’t any older than anyone else’s.” “I know you have to say that.” “Believing this about me is why you were willing to come to me, when the other physical therapists couldn’t help?” “You understand me better than they ever could. You are wise and powerful. Far more than just an ordinary physical therapist.” “I see. Then … you know the secret now. What do you feel when I lay my hand on your shoulder, like this?” “I feel warmth.” “Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. As you do, can you feel the pain begin to dissipate?” “Yes!” “You do. Well. In that case… Yes, I can cure your pain. It will take sixty days. And you have to follow my instructions exactly. Do you believe me?” “Of course. What do I need to do?” “Come here twice a week. I will lay my hands on you and you will feel my healing power coursing through your body.” “And my soul, my spiritual being?” “Yes, of course, your soul too. I will also teach you some simple body movements that you can do at home, every day, that will help to move the healing energy throughout your body and then into your spiritual being. If you do this, the pain will recede a little bit every day until the end of the sixtieth day, when you will be healed.” “I knew you could help me.” “You are so empathetic, no one could fool you.” “Sixty days?” “Exactly. Sixty days.”