It was a normal day at Apple Wood High, the football team was practicing, the cheerleaders were cheering, the mean girls were gossiping and Josh was talking away like he always did. “Derek, are you listening to me,” he says. I nod, all I can think of is the long jump team. No one knows that I want to be an olympic long jumper, My parents want me to be some world’s best doctor. They put me in a junior doctors camp until I was in the seventh grade. I secretly wanted to be a long jumper since I was a little boy. I knew if I became a long jumper my parents would be disappointed.  Josh was still talking about his own problems but I had a big problem coming, this year was the year we had to pick our career choice. Josh wants to be a dancer and has set everything to be one but now I am in trouble. We have to figure out where we are headed in less than six months. Im am a very good long jumper, I learned from school, my parents never put me in any sports so this was my only option. My friend Delilah is a long jumper, and is on the jr.long jumping team, and after school I stay and practice with her and her team . It is not like I am on the team or anything it is just so I can see if this is what I want to do.

 The problem here is that I want to be a professional long jumper,

when you run so fast before jumping with that fierce determination and jump like it is life or death. The refreshment you breathe in that fresh skt air for a split second, then you charge full speed towards the other side of the sand pit. The adrenaline running through your body, your feet launching

up, your arms flailing in the wind. After that, the make or break landing at the end, that is what I want to do.

 By this time I somehow managed to get to math class, Mrs.Smith looked mad, but I wasn’t late. I was actually a minute early. I sat down, most of the class was here except for Hanna, the suck up. I barely made it through math, the picking between long jumping or being a doctor was bugging me too much.

 I knew the only way was if I got the best of both worlds. That meant I was going to volunteer at the hospital as a doctor's assistant and see how the doctors worked, and I would sign up for the long jumping team. This is the only way that I could see which one I liked better. My heart beating so fast I was afraid others could hear it, I went to the sign-up sheet for the long jumping

team tryouts. With shaking hands I wrote my name, “Derek Thomas”. Then I went to the hospital to see if they were hiring volunteers. I got lucky because there was one spot available. I took it and this plan was in action. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  Today was my first day at the hospital. My straight blond hair was pulled back and smoothed, my blue eyes sparkled, my slim body looked good in the scrubs. Inside though I was empty, this wasn’t what I wanted to be, right when I was thinking that my mom walks in. “oh you look so handsome, you were meant to be a doctor,” she says. I smile, but inside I want to tell her that I am just doing this for her and that I don't want to do this.  The day goes by awful, being a doctor is busy and stressful and chaotic and a complete mess. I don’t want to come next week but I have to and four more times after that. I force myself to think that it will be fine and maybe it will get better.

Even though I know it won’t be “better”. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   In two minutes I have my first practice with the team. I get ready in the change room, my blond hair is messy, my uniform makes me look a little chubby, my eyes don’t sparkle, they are ready and focused. Inside though I am feeling the best, I feel like I fit in. Josh

walks in. “good luck, you will do great!” he says. I punched him on the arm lightly and said thanks. I told Josh about what I was doing the day before, my terrible day at the hospital. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Four dreadful weeks volunteering at the hospital, I knew I didn't want to become a doctor. It isn’t that easy, I have to tell my mom and dad that their son, who was raised to be a doctor, does not want to be one. My mom is an extraordinary surgeon, she is the sweetest person I know, she believes in me the most and she wanted me to follow in her footsteps but that dream will only be a dream. My dad is a plastic surgeon who is ranked in the “Top 5 extraordinary plastic surgeons.” There is another problem that Josh reminds me of while he rambles on. I have a long jump contest next Saturday and I need parents' consent to go.

When I reach the door of my house, I take a deep breath and open the door. My mom and dad both don’t have work today. I go inside to clean up and sit down in the living room with my parents. I say “ I know you guys want me to be a doctor and you know I

have been

volunteering at the hospital.”

“Yes sweetheart we know this, what is wrong,” my mom says. “I don’t want to be a doctor!” I blurted out. My mom and dad gasp. They look like I told them

 Someone died. They look upset, sad, frustrated, angry, shocked, and disappointed. Oh why did I blurt that out, oh why, I think to myself.

My mom ignores what I say and says “ dinners ready.” We all get up and go to the dinner table. I set the table and we start to eat, it is dead silent. That is when I blurt out, “ I want to be a long jumper, I have been training at school and I have a contest next Saturday. I need you to sign a permission slip.” My dad stared at me and said “okay, after dinner I will sign it.” I smile and say “ Thank you so much. You can come if you want.” I look at my mom who is silently eating, looking down on her plate. I sigh and put my plate in the sink and go up to my room. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  It is saturday morning and I am headed for practice before the competition. Practice was tiring and very long. I got a new uniform for the competition, I put it on, it was fitting, the colours made my eyes stand out.  I got to the competition. I knew Josh was going to come and I also knew my parents wouldn’t show, but that was okay. I got warmed up and got ready to start. I was ready to start running, when I took a glance at the audience and I saw my parents, I smiled and sprinted. I ran so fast that my legs burned, and then I jumped so high that I could almost see the birds eyes. I failed my arms and then landed,I looked up at the scoreboard, while catching my breath and I had won, I had won. I looked at the audience, my mom and dad were cheering for me.

I got home and my parents were waiting for me. They gave me a big hug and said “we are very, very proud of you.” They also said that they are going to support me.

I was so happy, I smiled then said “Thank you.” I was happy and grateful. Now I am a world class long jumper, and I am headed to the Olympics.


This stream of conversation, written by the same person each time, is loosely based on the dynamic of two women in their 50s who are very close to my heart. Both refer to each other as different variations of the word "Clam" and occasionally something worse, which is very true to life. These letters provide multiple examples of their relationship's wacky and somewhat inappropriate humor while also referencing very dark themes such as grief, depression, and isolation. It's not your traditional kind of love or set of thank-you's per se, but each message is pure gratitude in its own Clammy way. Hey Clam,

I broke our noise machine. The one you got me that's just like yours. I slid it off my nightstand when I was reaching for my Invisalign. It was soaking in the cup I got from our campus store, funny enough. It sucks, though, because it was actually doing a pretty decent job of lulling me to sleep with that one-wave audio. There's something about the predictability of the water when it's just about to crash on that artificial shoreline that really puts me at ease. It's much more reliable than the rain ones, where you can never pinpoint the thunder and lightning, and I'd always find myself jolted awake in a pool of sweat. Sorry, I'm babbling on. You know how I is. I just wanted you to know it's lovely what you're doing, all the gifts. It's helping me take my mind off Al, so thank you. Missing our trip to Aruba and when you were over for Keith's farewell dinner. Let me know what books you've been into. Love, Clammy Hey Clamshank, Such a shame what happened with you and that guy, Mark. What a shame that douche had to cut you off, but at least he saved you the trouble of leaving at the altar in the next couple of years or months, I don't know how antsy you were. I guess now we're both stranded, stranded in single-sea once again. Sooner or later, men will realize that we're the only fish left and do something about it, but until then, you can follow behind me in my current till you're ready to latch onto some new hot bait. You can thank me later when you're hitched and happy. Like the time I helped you get acquainted with Harry. You would have never met such a great time if I hadn't dumped him for those ugly sneakers he'd always wear in Sophomore year. I'm so glad it worked out for you guys, but at the same time, I'm a little disappointed you were so content with him in those...monstrosities. Whatever, I'm picky. But honestly, if they all just end up being great times, that's okay, too. More of you for me. I miss you, and I hope you come to visit me this weekend for a little Scrabble and Blue Diamond Pub mix where we can shit on life some more. You bring the Scrabble. Love, Clamberg Hey Rummy,

I'm missing Keith (Lil Clam). I'm worried about what he's getting up to at that school. My mind returns to the absurdity of our days in Albany, and my face turns white; he can't be as bad as we were, right? I guess there is always the possibility that he's just having tame fun and not soiling his dignity with a group of twit friends. Maybe he's even studying? That couldn't be. Something I am grateful for, though, despite how much I worry, is that I ended up being persuaded into all of this paranoia. Having him with Allen. I remember how badly I used to never want children. But once you convinced me of how worth it a child would be, there I was, holding his tiny little head that fit right in the palm of our hands. Well, eventually, I got to hold him after you and Al woke me up with a cool compress after I had passed out with my legs still splayed. You sat through all the blood and the screaming, and the thing is, I'm not even humiliated. It was probably just as bad as us drunkenly heckling people, crinkled clutches in hand, on some ferry dock in our 20s, waiting for the lucky boat to sail us into the sunset of those wild nights in our Suny years. The cerulean in the sky always sunk so quickly, so unknowingly with you. There was always so much more joy on our floor, in our paths, in my life when the two of us were conquering it. Without your encouragement, I wouldn't have had the Platsky that we love and all that we survive to tell these tales back and forth to each other like a broken record. And Keith wouldn't have had the nickname Platsky without you. And I'm sorry you regret never freezing your eggs. But you can love Keith as much as you want because you earned it. Whether you know it or not, you're a very powerful force in my universe. I hope you do. I mean, I was never gonna let you forget. Speaking of Keith, the boy communicates poorly, so I'll make sure he rings your phone today. And expect more of these little notes I've gotten kind of into writing to you. Love, Rummy

Hey Clambake,

I'm not doing so well at work. My hunchback continues to coil inward, and all the summer heat seems to be all packed up in my at-home office. Along with my two massive monitors that take up my entire desk, I have an army of fans surrounding me as if I were rallying them up like a loyal battalion. Is it pathetic that I don't even know what I'm doing anymore? The newer staff radiate stupidity, I'm unmotivated, and my boss manages to be a lard ass and a bonehead at the very same time. The firm just isn't what it used to be, and I'm just so tired, so tired of being remote. Thankfully, I can still write to you, do the crossword, and do Sunday's crossword on my break, two very different things, as we know. And I can do it all within my freshly treated backyard, which is too big for me to afford anymore, where Al's tennis court planning and measurement papers haunt me. Maybe I should get back into playing, but it's tricky. Playing with him in the back of my mind would be hard; I just know his critique will find its way to me from beyond the grave. He never did shut up about my form, that goober. Maybe it would've made sense to listen to it, though. I might've actually won a set or two. And both of us know I could never ask you to play with me. We saw your game in school; you're benched for life. But I guess he is, too, so you got us. One thing I remembered today, pretty randomly, that was able to liven my mood a measly bit was, and you're gonna hate that I'm bringing this up, your relationship with Pete. You know... that one time I first met him? I don't know why, but it just randomly came up today. He was such a bub; he was so damn weird, probably one of the weirder ones in your collection. I'll never forget that crystal clear image of us at his parent's house in the summer; it was practically as hot as it is now, but I remember just wanting to come up with you this one time, just curious about what the two of you would get up to on weekends. When I asked to, I remember you had this ghastly look, just pure dread. I was baffled by it. From the moment you got there, you begged me to wait in the driveway instead; you changed your mind about me going in and said you were just going to say hello to him and his eighty-year-old parents, and it would be best if I just stayed out of it... And I told you, well, "What? So his place is a little scrappy? Sure, it looks like it could have a "Redrum" or two on some of the mirrors, but whatever." I wasn't gonna give you a hard time about it. You see what you see in a guy, and sometimes, it includes overlooking the crime scene in his living room and the corpse in his bathtub or just his parents that have maybe rotted into the seams of a recliner. You like what you like. But that's when the hot-flash heat kicked in, and at that point, I was risking heat stroke if I didn't get inside, so I said screw it and went around the back. That's when I make my way up the stairs to the patio, and I see him twisting those big fat juicy tics off, Ralph, Ralph right? Poor mutt. Then he lined them up on the porch railing and tried to shoot them off with a pump rifle. Plunk, plunk, plunk, they all flew, getting lost in the coarseness of his lawn. In the instance I caught you nibbling away at your nails behind the screen door, I knew exactly why you didn't want me to come in, 'cause I was gonna rip you a new one. At that point, you had already sensed the storm brewing. Out of love, I released fuckery on you. "Clammy, you didn't tell me he was as fine as a frog hair split four ways, gosh darn it!" And that was just the start. For the entire afternoon, I tested out every snarky remark I had in me to remind you of the country bumpkin future that was in store for you. Thankfully, Pete didn't seem to mind. Well, he rarely put much to mind. The vacancy in his piercing blue eyes was made apparent from the jump when I saw him calculating those swollen tics behind the sights of his gun. I'm sorry, Clam, he was a major pig. But aren't you happy you didn't see where it went? Aren't you glad that it didn't progress? There was no severe entanglement you had to constantly pull knots out of or anything so cataclysmic that it would burst into flames without warning. All you had to do was have him dump you a week later, have him propel you out of that mess like an enlarged bug into the vastness of lavish backwoods, and you were free. I'm just so glad there wasn't any more pain beyond that. Who knows how you'd be holding up now if you became his bumpkin bride? Sorry for the info dump. I guess I just got really, really into writing to you. I'll try to kill my enthusiasm next time. Otherwise… nothing's new. My final statement: I miss binge-watching Outlander together and you rubbing my feet on the couch. We should hop to it soon. Love, A Clammy Clam Hey Clam,

Thank you for helping me resolve the debacle I had with Keith. If we're being real, it wasn't his fault. He confided in me. I said the wrong thing. I fucked up. Love, Clam P.S.

I love A Tale for the Time Being. It's such a good read, and I can't put it down. It's an obsession.

Hey Clam,

The house is gone. You know that already, but I don't wanna put out the “sold” sign. It’s too hard to let it go when there is still a remanence of him there, in a literal and figurative sense. I didn't tell you this at brunch, but when I got the last few things out of the basement, I saved "the shelf" to tackle last. The first thing that happens is me dropping the urn right smack on the hardwood. Luckily the base didn't crack, but the lid did (a cheap piece of shit), and some of him kinda… fell out. It was humiliating. I had to use a dustpan to sift the remnants through its open wound because I was too afraid to just take the whole thing off. It's like those stupid sand viles you get for your kid at a resort. Do you think someone could put Al in one of those to give to a kid who would discard it from boredom in a couple of days? Sorry, that's morbid. I just hope I didn't miss any of him, that's all. I know we're not spiritual, but I just get the feeling that he'll never really leave that house because of his unfinished projects, lost time, and lost moments. The world is cruel, but I'm glad to make light of it with you, Clammers. Otherwise, I would have asked Kieth to just fry me up and add me into the spice pantry with his old man, just to get it over with. Kieth would hate that I said that. When we finally made the last round on all our stuff, which overall is way too much for two people to hoard away in one space, on the way to storage unit, I made sure Keith skipped all the songs the three of us used to play during the drive. The ones from the old apartment in Jersey City that Allen would dip us to. The songs we'd belt from the fire escape in the early AMs that miraculously never received a complaint from a neighbor above or below. Strange, maybe they knew. Maybe all those people who dwelled below that sad little brick wall view we had must have thought those moments were precious enough to be left alone. That we wouldn't have them forever. I worry I may never stop asking Keith to skip them. Pray for me, Clam

Hey Clitty,

Yeah, we're both pushing 60, but that doesn't mean we have to be alone while we do it. Come over, please I want you to try the banana bread I made for my neighbor with the screw loose. She invited me to her place about a week back, certainly out of pity since I'm never active in the neighborhood, for this all-keto dinner she prepared that was, believe it or not, some good eats (you probably wouldn't think so). I gotta make it up to her somehow, and since we don't cook or bake, we can both agree that it's good enough, and that alone will motivate me to actually walk over to her place and subject her to it with confidence. I need your like-minded input, so just let me know when your car is approaching, and I'll make sure the dog isn't standing in the driveway's roadkill-zone. I appreciate you. Love,

Clitberg

Hey Clam, Finished your book. Now what?

Love,

Clammy

Hey Clam, I think I figured out the round-trip flights to Puerto Rico, but I totally messed up with the hotel. I booked two by accident, one of which apparently has Michelin-star restaurant status, and the other one is the hotel we decided on from our itinerary… It's too late to make a cancelation on the one we'd shoot wads for, so bring some dressy clothes and get a pedi done because we're bringing our nice show-toes for this girl's trip. Don't worry, I'll still cover both, and before you say I'm dumb, trust me, I know. Thank you for bearing with it. Furthermore, Kieth says he's excited and told me that he's even gonna make sure he wakes up before noon to make the flight. I know you two aren't blood, but he always had your cut-wit. Get excited, Clam!

Love,

Clam

Hey Clam, That trip was fantastic! Keith is showing me our pictures. It's crazy—we're actually looking into the camera concurrently in some of them! I think we're starting to grasp technology. Can you believe it? And thanks for helping me find a dog sitter for the Pheebers. They did her well (which means they were able to cut her nails, something Phoebe will never let me do.) Love,

Clammy Clam,

I'm lonely. Send reinforcements (peanut M&M's). I appreciate you! Love, Clam

Hey Clam, I heard about your mom. I don't even have words; she was so wonderful. I remember when I lost mine. When I first saw her, she was different. Especially at the hospital. She had already lost a lot of her warmth. There was desolation even when I held her hands beside her bed. It was like our bond had been caught in the midst of a dust storm. There we were on opposite sides of a desert separated by whirling sands and thick thrusts of wind, with no way to see each other through the mounds of it that hurled in our paths. Yet, despite how badly I wanted to fight it and push through the pelting pain of airborne salt, I knew it was her time. We had to go our own ways. And just like that, I found beauty in natural disasters. And, just so you know, I would never explain something like this now to anyone in such agonizing detail but you. You always said that if I can empathize with you about something, I better spare no detail when doing it. So there's your proof—that I know how tragic it is. I hope you at least know it's rare for people to live a life as vivacious and as meaningful as your mother's, and you were responsible for all of it. I would love to swing by if you were around, but I know you tend to appreciate some distance in these circumstances. So, I sent you an edible arrangement. It can't aid the loss but it can surely fill you up for about two days' worth of dessert. I hope you enjoy it irresponsibly and do what must be done.

Love, Clam Hey Clam, How do I get my son a job? Actually, scratch that. Let me request something more realistic: How do I get him some vitamin D and the desire to do something fun outside this summer? Thank you for offering up your cats for him to watch, but like his father, he's actually semi-allergic. Too bad you aren't his daddy. He'd be all up in Milo and Ziggy's shedding by now. Love, Clam In response to your concerns,

I just don't know. I haven't lived with someone since Allen, and I don't know if Keith could handle the shrunken space even when he'd only be there on certain days. He'd love hanging with you, but with the dog and everything and all his art supplies and the big bad monitors that follow me around everywhere I go, I don't know if you'd wanna have me. It would be too much to ask you to come with us too. You wouldn't see me for the first 8 hours of the day, and you're always taking calls and stuck in meetings, and after a while, I don't feel like talking. Thank you for the offer, though. I'll have to give it more thought, but I doubt it will change anything. Anyway, don't spoil the end of Ray Donivan; I will still try and tolerate it to the end.

I Love You, Clam

Hey Clammy,

I'd hate to have you see me in shambles, but you already have many times, and Kieth is back in school again, and he took the damn iPad with him. It's gonna take a whole year for me to be able to play a gargantuan round of Farm Heros, or at least until he visits me again, which could be NEVER. In general, I'm pretty bummed. Would it be easier if I came to you this time?

Love,

Clam Clam,

We're both pushing 60. Don't ignore me.

Love,

Clam Hey Ann,

I know the two of us have been pretty MIA these past couple of weeks. Hopefully, just weeks, I can't keep track of time anymore. I've been thinking about taking you up on your offer. I don't want our closeness untethering under our noses. I want to make sure we can still grab hold of it and keep it wrapped up as tightly as possible. It's probably my fault. The ends of the tweeds I'm holding onto are just so thin from all the way in North Jersey. When I think of home now, I see Irvington, New York. I want to live in that condo on the water. I want to grow old with you in that town. I’m always envying the me that was with you in Albany, in Jersey City, and on some plane leaving Newark. After Al, nothing was infinite except you. I don't know why, but you stayed. You stayed when I was neglectful. You survived my outbursts and my mistakes; you held your gaze over my cold shoulder. You're the reason I'm still verbal and how I stay aware of the outside world. I could avoid everyone I love but always find an excuse to sneak you in through the confines of my isolation. You made me a lover, a mother, and a comic all in one go, and you made me feel like one, too. Now, all I see for my future is you sitting with your two cats, your big HD T.V., your overnight oats in the freezer, and a view of the Tappan Zee whenever I want (it's still the Tappan Zee in my ultimate fantasy). I know that lately, I've made you quite angry, I need to "learn how to pick up the phone and answer a message from time to time," I know. I'm always in a slump. But maybe I wouldn't have to keep myself in check if the person that I needed the most was just a few steps away from me. All I know is that I need to get out of the ruins of Al's Kingdom. I thought I'd feel better after the move. Yet, I still live in the old blueprints that'll never leave the drawing board. Living here means being reminded of that from the moment I open my eyes in the morning until I close them again at 3 am after watching Law and Order re-runs while simultaneously playing Candy Crush in the living room (I know, not healthy). I love Platsky, but he reminds me so much of Al, which can leave me solemn. And now that both of them aren't around like they used to be, I feel like I'm the one who's forced to upkeep this dead narrative all on my own. There's nothing to stay loyal here to anymore; I wouldn't even know what it would look like for me if there were. Like a tree, I think I’ve been meaning to extend my branches and grow outward. It's like an itch that needs scratching. So, I finally came to the realization that I'm sick of how empty my room is every night. I'm sick of how long I have to wait to get caught up in a fit of laughter, how long I have to wait for you to hold me again, for you to hold me and simply understand. As a tag team, we've lost many good things, you know that, but we have each other to remember how things used to be. As a tag team, we're just one extensive archive, not just of memories; we hold and preserve all the stupid jokes we make and all the stupid men that accumulated over time. We remember great lyrics, great movies, great stories, and even all the great hairstyles and outfits we put together and ditched, which was for the best, I'd have to assume. Most of them weren't pretty. So, all I'd ask is that you make room for me in your bed and plug in your CPAP. We'll cuddle up like we used to do in our dorm's twin beds, and we can play Wordscapes till our fingers turn purple, and Keith won't mind popping a Benadryl before he sees your cats and taking a different train up to have Jeeves (AKA me) tend to his laundry at the start of September. As long as you can also stand to slide a dog into the mix as well. If you could, I would never stop thanking you. There's so much that's obliged with you if that makes sense. I would like that very much. Maybe you would, too.

Maybe there will be a morning when I'll be sitting at your dining room table with a cup of that Keurig coffee you like. I always preferred a grounded roast, but not to worry; I'd get used to it. Anyway, maybe I'll look down and be face-to-face with all these dumb letters again. And I'll crack a smug smile because I'll know that they weren't the only thing that made it to Irvington. Love,

Steph


Seven o’clock. The morning automation for the downtown Spellnorth building kicked in. The main floor doors unlocked, the common area lights came on, the air conditioner brought the temperature up from the freezing night to a more comfortable twenty-one degrees. There’s an electronic hum throughout the building, transforming the dark, cold skyscraper into a more human-friendly environment. All except the thirteenth floor. The ceiling lights never come on there. The air conditioning only works manually. Even the door to the floor requires a key to open in the morning. An old, notched metal rectangle, inserted in a lock and turned for three full rotations. In fact, all these adjustments are part of Theodore’s job. He arrives at eight every day to open the door, since he’s the only one with a key. “Good morning, Theo.” Theo watched Ben entering the office and turning on his desk lamps. “You’re in a good mood today,” he replied, in an inquiring tone. “I literally just said good morning.” “Okay, no need to get upset. You know I’m the Happiness Manager for the team.” “You’re the happiness manager for the office. Not the manager for everyone’s personal happiness. Will we be having this conversation every day?” “Don’t stress out Ben, we need the happiness points. How about I tell you a joke?” Ben was panicking inside. His body was still not fully awake to deal with this kind of menace, but luckily help was just arriving. “Good morning, guys,” Mason said loudly from the door, followed by a similar greeting from Amelia: “Good morning, team”. “Hi, Mason, Amelia,” Ben replied. “Good morning, boss,” Theo said as he stood up and headed straight for Amelia, ignoring Mason. He followed the Director into the corner office. “Need anything, Theodore?” Amelia asked as she settled behind her desk, trying to pay him as little attention as possible. “Yes. Have you considered my application for Office and Team Happiness Manager? I know I could make something of myself if I only had enough authority. And the team would also improve, of course. I guess productivity would increase. Studies show happiness directly influences productivity. It’s a fact.” “Theo, you know I only added ‘Happiness’ to your title because you wouldn’t agree to open the office in the morning, right? Your job is still just ‘Office Manager’.” “If you could just think about it,” Theo said as he left the room, walking backwards, as he had read a long time ago in the ‘Management Showdown Guide’ to always face your goals head-on. Meanwhile, Sylvia had just arrived and was talking to Mason. “So, today’s the day,” she said. “It is.” “Do you think she'll have it finished before lunch?” “It’s hard to say. But she never has.” “Maybe she’s learning.” “You’re the one who should be there,” Ben added, joining the conversation. “No, I can’t. I’m not certified to work in the cloud,” Sylvia replied. “I’m pretty sure online Excel works much the same as the desktop one, Sylvia.” “Of course you would think that, Ben. You’re not a certified IT expert, like me.” “I just don’t understand why everyone else is able to work with the cloud, but our IT expert isn’t.” “Oh, I’m perfectly able,” Sylvia assured. “In fact, if anything, I’m too able. I’m a cloudy master. It’s like a Karate Sensei. Any one of us can peacefully enter a bar fight, but a Karate Sensei can’t. That’s how deadly my cloudy competencies are. Sensei level. That’s why I need a special certification to touch the cloud in the office, but they never sent me one.” “They never sent it, or you never checked your email?” Ben insisted. “I can’t. Gmail is in the cloud.” “She just seems to be pressing random keys,” Mason said, looking over at Amelia’s office. “Does she understand we get paid from that spreadsheet?” Harper asked, joining the conversation straight from the doorway. “Oh, hi Harper!” Ben said, approaching her for a hug and a passionate kiss. “Yes, I reminded her again yesterday. Although I’m not sure she understands the concept of wages. She commented on how weird this lottery is, where everyone gets a prize,” Mason said, turning his back to Ben and Harper who were already half lying down on his desk. “We should really go in there and explain,” Harper said, getting out from under Ben’s embrace and standing up to join the group staring at Amelia, who was typing oddly at the keyboard, with her index finger pointing up and then down to press the keys. “We tried. Remember when we took her to the supermarket, to show how we used our money to buy food?” Ben said. “Yeah. She was so confused to have to looks for things herself, and not being allowed to open anything until after paying,” Mason added. Amelia suddenly raised her head and they all scattered to their desks. Mid-morning, Amelia came out of her office, looking for Mason, and as she didn’t find him, she decided to go into the kitchen, to make herself some tea. “Oh!” she gasped as she entered and saw Ben’s shirt up and Harper kissing her boyfriend's chest with her hands below his clothes. “Oh, don’t mind me, carry on as you were,” Amelia said, blushing and pretending to cover her eyes with her hand, although her fingers were too far apart to hide the scene she was only too eager to observe. She picked up the kettle and took it with her, empty and cold. “Hi, Amelia, were you looking for me?” Mason asked, stepping in front of Amelia and almost getting knocked down by her. “Oh! Yes! I need some tea! But announce yourself before going in the kitchen. Ben's in there pretending to be in love. He just can’t get over me, the poor man. He’s making a fool of himself, with all that Mexican- novela kissing when it’s perfectly obvious he’s only trying to get to me and make me jealous. I wish he would just accept our time together has ended.” “O.K.,” Mason said, pronouncing each letter carefully and smirking. “Anybody in here?” he asked before entering the kitchen, allowing Ben and Harper to quickly straighten up their clothes. “Oh, hi Mason,” Ben said as he finished tucking his shirt in. “Amelia warned me you were trying to make her jealous.” Harper laughed. “Seems she can’t get over you, Ben…” “There’s nothing to get over. It was a single date. It wasn’t even a date; it was late and we went to grab a bite at the Kebab place around the corner.” “Well, something happened,” Harper insisted, ironically. “Yes, I heard a mention of flowers,” Mason added. “Flowers? There were no flowers! Oh, wait… maybe there were flowers on the table, but just those plastic ones. Every table had those.” “And that you offered to pay…” Mason continued. “She said she’d forgotten her wallet! Wait, how do you know all of this?” “Well, the next day she couldn’t stop talking about the amazing date she’d had with this amazing man.” “It wasn’t a date!” “Maybe you’re just too irresistible for your own good,” Harper said and reached out to rest her hand on Ben's shoulder. “I’m still here,” Mason noted, but the hot couple weren’t hearing him anymore. So he just finished making Amelia’s tea, no sugar, and went to deliver it. A little later, when Ben was able to leave the kitchen, he asked for everyone’s attention. “I have big news, people! I have a meeting here with a lead this afternoon! If it all works out, I’ll make a huge sale!” “I don’t understand,” said Mason. “What is there to understand?” “I don’t understand either. Why is a client coming here?” Theo asked. “Exactly. In all the years we worked together, I never once saw you bring a client here. You just call and ask if they want our services. They say no, you hang up. End of story,” Mason said. “Well, it’s this new thing I’m trying out. It’s called ‘making my first sale’! Guys, you should be happy! This is a potential client!” Ben was excited for all of them, so he just continued: “Mason, I need your help since you’re the oldest on the team.” “Well, I should also be in this meeting too. I have to manage the entire office, and that includes all the meetings that take place in the office,” Theo said. “I can help if you need me, Ben,” Harper offered. “Yes!... I mean maybe. I mean. please come, but stay behind me, so I don’t get distracted when I’m talking to the lead,” Ben said. Sylvia tried to excuse herself. “Well, you certainly don’t need me, so–” “Yes, I do! Emily, the lead, specifically asked to have our IT personnel in the meeting.” “She did? Why?” “I didn’t ask. I thought it was something I should know. Don’t you know?” “No,” Sylvia said. “Just be there.” “Okay.” “Any news on the spreadsheet?” Ben asked, turning to Mason. “She’s still typing,” he answered. They all went out to lunch, so that Theo could lock the door and open it again for them when they returned. Emily arrived shortly after. “Why is everything so dark?” “Sorry about that,” Ben replied. “We had a small technical issue with the ceiling lights. The conference room is this way.” “Well, we've had an issue for years, ever since we moved to this floor,” Theo said, getting a glaring look from Ben in return. “What? Honesty is the best policy when dealing with clients,” Theo whispered. And then added only to himself “And I’ll be adding that to the new Client Office Rules Manual.” “Yes, this thirteenth floor is also peculiar,” Emily carried on. “Luckily, you gave me good directions or I would’ve been stuck in the elevator looking for the button.” “There’s no button,” Theo said. “We have to get out on the twel–” “Yes, I know,” Emily interrupted him. “I just went up to fourteen and came down.” Theo and Ben froze. Going up and then down? They’d been climbing that last flight of stairs for years. They shared a look and Theo said, in a low-pitched voice, just for Ben: “It’s different for us. We come to work. It’s better to go up to a job than to go down to a job.” Ben nodded. He wasn’t going to be that dumb. Ben introduced Harper, Sylvia and Mason to Emily, and she began the meeting: “I like to get straight to the point. How many copiers do you need? I see you brought your whole IT team, so I guess this is a big investment for you.” “Copiers? We already have a copier…” Ben said, hesitantly. “And how many more do you want?” Ben shrugged and looked at the rest of his team. “What do you mean?” “I thought you set up this meeting to decide on how many copiers you want to buy?” “No,” Ben replied, his forehead starting to sweat and all his muscles twitching as his anxiety broke loose. “This meeting was to fool you… I mean to sell you customer support services for the Spellnorth products.” “What products?” “Well… all of them. We support all Spellnorth products.” “I never heard of that.” They all stared silently at each other, in the dim light provided by the floor lamps, and finally, Emily stood up, said her goodbyes, and left. “Are you alright Ben?” Harper asked after Emily had left. “Yes, of course. I just need a moment alone.” As everyone else left, Theo asked Mason if there was any news about the spreadsheet. “It’s almost five o’clock. The banks are closing and we’re going to get our paycheck late. Again.” “You should go and ask if she needs help, Mason,” Harper added. “She said she needed to practice, otherwise she’d forget everything she learned on the course. So, she forbade me to help her.” “We can all go!” Harper replied. “Like good employees, to check if the boss needs anything.” “That’s a great idea,” Theo agreed. And so they all gathered outside Amelia’s corner office, looking in, until finally Theo knocked on the glass door, turned the handle, and asked in his sweetest voice: “Hi Amelia, we were just wondering if you needed anything. Like tea, a sandwich, another lamp, someone to send the payment spreadsheet to HR?...” “Ah, funny you should ask. I’m having some problems with this Excel.” They took the opportunity and rushed behind her desk, but all they saw on the computer screen was an empty spreadsheet. “The cell is locked,” Amelia said. “What?” Mason asked, confused. “We talked about this during my course. Excel just locks a cell and you need a special key to get out.” “A cell, like in jail?” Theo asked. “No. Each square in a spreadsheet is called a cell,” Sylvia explained. “I think I’ve heard of this. It’s a Prison Cell. It locks the entire Spreadsheet.” “It’s all finished and ready to send. You just don’t see the values, because it’s locked,” Amelia assured them. “But I’ve been trying every key on the keyboard since this morning and I can’t remember how to unlock it.” Ben had snuck up behind them. “So, you’re telling me that my life… I mean our livelihood is locked in that spreadsheet?” he asked, startling them. “Sylvia, can’t you fix it?” “Well, I could, of course. But she’s using Excel online. I don’t have credentials–” “To work in the cloud, we know. Can’t we just press all the keys?” Ben insisted. “I did that a couple of times in my class, and my teacher was very upset, he said–” While Amelia spoke, Ben just reached out and pressed the Escape key, in the upper left corner of the keyboard. The central cell on the screen blinked a few times. “Oh no, Ben! What have you done?!” Theo asked in an accusatory tone. “Look! It’s alive!” Suddenly the screen started filling up with random letters and gibberish. And then the letters moved, filling several cells. It was as if all the keys Amelia had been pressing all day long were waiting there, hidden, and had just been released, bursting onto the screen. After a couple of seconds, it all stopped and at the end, there was a cursor blinking. Amelia clicked around with the mouse. “You fixed it, Ben! Nice work! Let me just click here… Sent. All done.” She looked at all of them and just concluded. “Well, that’s it for me today. See you tomorrow.” They started leaving the room, heading for their desks, but before Ben could sit down, Mason called him: there was a phone call from Emily. “Maybe she wants to buy something, after all,” Theo suggested madly. “Hi, Ben. Sorry for the misunderstanding this afternoon. I’m calling because I’ve misplaced my phone. Maybe I left it there?” “Hang on. I’ll take a look,” Ben asked Harper to check the conference room. “Sorry, Emily. My colleague from Marketing just went and checked. No phone.” “Oh. I was hoping it would be there. Wait, Marketing? I thought you were a customer support department. Why do you need Marketing? Oh, never mind. I’ll have to buy a new phone. Thanks, anyway.” Ben hung up and went to sit down in the kitchen. It didn’t take long for Harper to join him and start kissing him, but he sat her down on the chair next to him. “Something wrong?” she asked. “Nothing. It’s just … we never talk about your work.” “What’s there to talk about? It’s work.” “Yes, but everybody knows what I do. I call potential clients, try to sell them our services… What about you? What do you do?” “You know. Marketing stuff.” “Like what?” “Like stuff… What is this, an audit?” “Oh! She was right!” “Who was right?” “Emily. She asked me why we had a Marketing person on our team. And we shouldn’t have. We’re a customer support team. You don’t have any work! You just sit there all day…” Harper tried to kiss Ben, but he avoided her. “No. No. You don’t work. Why do you come here every day?” “You’re upset about this? Really?” “Of course. You… you don’t work.” “Do any of us work?” “I do! Mason does!” “Do you? Really?” “Yes!” Ben answered, starting to sound desperate. “How many clients do we have?” “I … I don’t know.” “You say we’re a customer support team. Have we ever got a call from a client?” “Of course not. Our product works really well.” “Really? Never? Don’t you think it’s weird we don’t have light? That no one ever comes in here from other departments?” Harper was on a rant. “That we don’t know anybody in the elevator although it’s all the same company.” “I mean … I don’t think I ever thought about that. What are you saying?” “We’re on the thirteenth floor. The elevator doesn’t have a button with a thirteen. We weren’t even supposed to be here.” “What do you mean?” “Well, when they told us to move, I took the paper with our new floor to Amelia. I thought it would be more fun to work on the thirteenth than on the eleventh, so I … you know … adjusted the numbers.” “Oh my God! They don’t know we still work here!” “Well, someone knows, because we still get paid.” As Harper said that, she finally embraced Ben again and started kissing him. He soon forgot all about his work dilemmas.


I challenge every person who reads this story to sum up his or her life in just a few words. There are a variety of life lessons that probably took decades to learn and any person who TRULY examines themselves and what they have knowledge of knows that we are not done learning until we are cold in the grave. If you have ever heard a well-told story before you know that it is not simply heard, it is experienced, it is felt, and it is lived. These are a series of stories I have experienced that have taught me so much putting me well beyond my years, and yet, I must admit that I still know nothing. I feel that I am close though. This scares me in a sense. For my belief is that when we know what is necessary it is our time to leave. May be that is another lesson I’ve yet to learn, why not to fear death. I honestly don’t know. My brief story begins this series. I am the main character; the end all be all. All the other stories revolve around me. So please, keep that fact in mind as I go along. They are stories that have personally been told to me and therefore witnessed. I will explain more as I go along, I promise. I was the first to see what others around me couldn’t. It sickens me to see the simple, pathetic, self-destructive path I chose to get to where I am. My life was in ruin. In my late twenties all I did was drink hard liquor and gamble every penny I earned. Every other thought was how I could make more money, faster money, with little effort, almost as if I was entitled to it. The “big win,” would pick me up out of my depression. I would be able to drive that car I dreamed about since I was a boy or buy that house that my now, ex-wife used to want. This illogical sense of vengeance was always first and foremost on my mind. Not to sound conceded but I was an intelligent man in some ways. I was wise enough to have the self-awareness that my day-to-day activities were self-destructive. I knew that no matter what excuse I imagined, me, myself, and nobody else was ultimately the one who put me in the position I was in. I chose to marry the woman who took my children and married another man. I chose to marry a woman who drained me of every penny before she literally threw me to the curb. I also chose to foolishly drink and gamble my money away instead of taking the logical steps necessary to pick up the pieces of my life after she decided to leave everyone, even her kids. Immediately after the divorce my ex-wife would move from apartment to apartment, and I would pay the expenses in order for her to do so. I would stay at a friend’s house and give her almost every penny I made at my meager factory job. I was patient and tolerant of her decisions to this point. When she left our kids though, I put an end to it. From now on the money, I made would be mine. I would spend it how I deemed necessary and take care of our kids myself. Until this “big win” I would try to sustain life by getting an odd job every other month that didn’t require any sort of skill, or test for alcohol. I would do this until I was fired, or my co-workers would run me off. Most of my nights were spent in abandoned buildings. My meals were gotten at whatever cheap burger place was closest, or the cleanest food I could find in the garbage. That was just a short description of me of what kind of characteristics I used to possess. You will get to know me better as we go along. We can say a bunch of adjectives to describe a person but until we see how they lived their life we will never truly understand. (For example, I can be a loving and caring guy, but I can either love sex care about no one but myself and be a male, or, I can love mankind, care for those who need, and be a man. We must carefully observe in order to try to understand. Miscommunication is one of the greatest causes of turmoil.) I was spending my time at the Lake of the Ozarks and found some condominiums that needed a maintenance worker. I applied and got the job. It was easy enough to get hired on if you smudge a resume. The work wasn’t too complicated. Mowing grass, trimming hedges, and cleaning the docks was what I did the majority of the time. I kept the same sort of company no matter where I was employed. The sort that enabled me to continue down my self-destructive path. The last week out of the two I had worked at the condominiums I spent every night playing five-card stud with three of my “fellow” employees. This specific night was Friday night, payday, and this meant everybody would be playing with more money. I was going to clean them out. After that, I was going to go to the casino and break them. After that, I would have enough to show all of those who doubted me that I could come out on top. Almost like I had access to an entity that nobody else did. The sun began to sink behind the wood-line and the spring peepers were almost deafening. The traffic at the lake was slow but it was welcomed. The past week owners of the condominiums swarmed the lake. On top of a bluff, not far from the lake four men sat around a worn poker table in a little shack drinking and laughing. That was except for me. I sat concentrating and determined to win. There was no laughing, no joking or getting familiar with my “fellow” employees. This game could completely change my life. I kept the best poker face I could muster but my heart was racing. “So, Aaron, you come here every night and we have no idea who the fuck you are. Why don’t you talk?” Larry asked. Larry was a large, bearded man. He almost always wore a white tank top that complimented his arms but wasn’t near as flattering for his popped belly. “I’m just trying to focus on my hand Larry.” I said solemnly. Larry replied, “That doesn’t seem to help your game dipshit.” The other two men joined him in laughter. In my head what Larry said was probably to affect my game. It hit a nerve, but I didn’t react. I merely reached for my bottle of cheap whisky and took another large swig. I drank as randomly as I could, that way I didn’t develop any tells. “You know Derek here says he doesn’t like you.” I looked to his left where Derek was sitting. I figure he was in his early twenties with the libido of a jackrabbit and something to prove to every swinging dick that existed. (Except the dick that he stroked to make friends so to speak.) I honestly wasn’t interested in a fight though. More time fighting meant less time gambling. “That’s ok. I don’t really like myself that much most of the time.” I forced a grin as if my honesty was a joke. “Derek also says to need to take a FUCKING shower, you smell like shit.” Larry laid down his cards. It was a royal flush. I looked at my hand. All I had were three tens. That was the rest of my money. How could someone so vain have such good luck? Now I would go hungry the rest of the week unless I dug through the trash. Frustrated and without thought I retorted. “Then Derek needs to learn to speak for himself instead of having a retarted, cousin-fucking redneck speak for him.” Larry didn’t give me a chance to even blink. I barely got a grin in when I felt his fist hit me from across the little table, knocking me out of my seat. It was all a haze for me from there. The only thing I was certain of was that all three men were kicking and stepping on me at once. There was at least minute of this until I was rolled out of the door. I struggled to get up. I had never been knocked down and not gotten back up. I crawled a few feet until I was finally able to pull myself together and pick myself up. I wobbled, dizzy and disoriented trying to make my way to anywhere but the little shack. I had lost this fight. To go back would be suicide. “Hey bitch, you forgot something.” It was Larry yelling at me. I turned around and put my hands up to fight. Just as I did, I felt my fifth of whisky hit me in the side of the head knocking me down once again. I lay there for a moment… Hoping he had killed me. Tears began to well up in my eyes as I heard the three men laugh and make their way back inside. I fought the tears back in case they decided to come back and ridicule me some more. My mind raced with what I should do. Not only did I lose my money but also, I lost my pride. It didn’t take long though for me to come to the conclusion there was nothing more I could do that night unless I took my money from the three men, the three men that just beat me half to death. There was no winning this fight. I would just have to chalk it up to a loss, a three-hundred-dollar loss. When I was sure my co-workers were back inside the building jerking each other off I lifted myself up, picked up my whisky bottle and headed towards the docks. Staggering and drinking the entire way I figured this would be as good as place as any to sleep. At least I would have a roof over my head. I crossed the walkway and stepped onto the dock. I could feel the dock gently sway in the water. As I laid down this was comforting at first until it started to make me feel nauseous. I wasn’t about to throw up, so I stood up and started pacing. As I paced, I started to scheme on how I would make my money next time. Poker, lottery, or maybe next time I would go straight to the casino. I could put bigger bets down on the roulette table with the three to one odds, or put down moderate bets on thirty five to one odds and end up making more money… potentially. Suddenly the schemes stopped. I reached the end of the dock. The sun had completely disappeared for the day and the moon had come out. I admired the way it danced on the water. It was beautiful, awe-inspiring… Inviting. I wanted a closer look, so I walked to the very edge of the dock. I stood there and stared. As I stared with bottle in hand, I had an epiphany. I thought of my past and the path I had taken. May be if I had been a little different, said the right things, broken instead of bend when it came to my ex-wife things would be different. I would still be able to tuck my babies in at night, tell them stories and wake them up every morning with a smile and a hug like I used to.               I would wake her up in the morning with a kiss. First, I’d kiss her gently on the cheek, then on the lips. She was always so self-conscious about her breath, but I never cared. There was nothing about that woman that could detour me. This put a metaphorical blade in the middle of my stomach that felt literal. “No.” I told myself. A man who breaks isn’t a man at all. I decided there was nothing else I could have done. I decided there was nothing else I could do. I was destined to feel this pain for the rest of my life. I inched my way closer to the edge of the dock. The toes of my shoes were now hanging over… The decision was quick. I inhaled, took one final swig out of my fifth and exhaled as I jumped into the water. I sank quickly. I knew by the time I hit the bottom it would be too late to make it out alive. I would need to inhale before I made it back to the surface. The water was a good six feet above my head. I felt the mud and rocks on the lake floor as my feet hit the bottom. For whatever reason, it came to my mind to open my eyes. I guess I wanted to know what the last thing I would see was before I died. When I opened them I saw nothing. Utter and complete darkness. I panicked. This wasn’t right. What was I doing? Suicide was not the way to end things. There are other ways to deal with this. This cannot be the end. Why did I make such a rash decision? Since I had no more breath, I cried to God to help me, to pick me up from the water. I began to swim to the surface. I rose even faster than I sank. I was able to reach my hand above the water and feel the cool night air on my fingertips. I was going to make it! I thanked God profusely… This was until I felt hands grab me around my ankles and begin to drag me down. I began to sink deeper and deeper and the further I dropped the more hands began to grasp onto my body. This was certain death for me. So, I accepted. I was drug down with my back flat against the bottom of the lake. There was a moment of pause while all I did was notice hands gripped over every part of my body giving me no chance of ascension. Suddenly I could feel my body pulled through the bottom of the lake. The water was so cold at that point it felt like shards of ice grazing over my skin. A haze of images flickered before my eyes. I saw a dark forest, the earth on fire, fear and anguish began to take physical form until I was thrown onto my knees in a black room in front of a window that seemed to connect to what had to be another dimension. I stood up and walked slowly towards the window to peer inside. I saw a trial taking place. I saw a well-dressed man pacing in front of the judge. The whole court room nodded their heads like they were part of a congregation at a church. I then saw a security guard pull out his gun and point it at the judge. I ran to the window to stop him but as I got to the window a mighty force took me by the shoulders and told me to sit. I watched and I wept because I knew there was no way of communicating to this man. Soon though, the tears stopped, and all five senses engaged as the whole world unraveled right in front of me. A thousand voices harmonizing as one whispered to me. “This is the world you left them in.” My eyes and ears were opened like they had never been before. I could feel what other people felt, see what other people saw, in a world I left behind.


Maron Makes his Escape. Battle at the Swindle. Breakfast. Rounding from the back, Maron tightened a rope and secured it to an anchor in the wagon. Huddled in Taika Maru’s cage, Elina Hogsbreath cradled Benzie’s limp, unconscious body and contemptuously glared at Maron. “You should get used to that cat shelter ,” Maron smiled slyly, lifting a trunk from the ground and sliding it onto the wagon. Resting against it, he gestured to the inn. “Think of it as your home away from home.” Elina scowled, “This ain’t over, scoundrel .” “ Scoundrel ,” Pip repeated with a whistle and ruffled her feathers in her cage above them. She cawed, adding, “ Maron Maloney. ” “Quiet your beak ,” Maron hissed, pointing a dangerous finger at the cockatoo. Lifting the side-load gate, Maron locked it in place, and said, “We’re leaving now, well before dawn, before anyone can ask too many questions.”  Bending over, Maron arrested Taika by her arm and gruffly lifted her from the ground. Weak, unable to resist, Taika groaned from the pain. Maron had dressed her in one of his nightshirts and shackled her wrists. Taking her by her shoulders, Maron led her around the front of the cart; Kimchi followed obediently at his feet. “Come now, my dear,” he said malevolently. “You’ve served me so faithfully, for how many years? Five? You can ride with me , up front, and we’ll, er, talk about your future .” Elina wrapped her arms around Benzie. She tearfully glanced at the inn, her home for nearly fifty years, and her heart sank. As Maron Maloney helped Taika into the pilot chair, Kimchi growled at his feet. “Nah, I shoulda listened to myself,” a voice behind him admitted. “Somethin’ wasn’t right. I knew it. But that’s on me.” Stepping off the pilot’s stoop, Maron turned to find a halfling walking up from the road. As he neared, he planted his arrows tip-first into the grassy yard, spaced out around him. “Master Muckwalker,” Maron Maloney acknowledged, reaching into his cape to withdraw his silvery Elvish longsword. When hearing the exchange, Elina was about to spin around just as a freckled, smiling halfling appeared at her cage. Standing on the wagon wheel, she was dressed in an emerald-colored blouse, leggings, and brown leather bracers, and her hair was bundled into a single afro-puff ponytail atop her head. “Merry Evenin’!” “Ginny!” Elina breathed. “Here,” Ginny Greenhill said, handing Elina a flower bulb with droopy orange leaves. “Crown Imperial.” The flower reeked like a potent dead skunk, and when Elina brought it under his nose, Benzie stirred awake. “Benzie, shush , you’re safe!” whispered Elina, calming him down. As Ginny worked the lock with a pair of steel picks, Barty issued a low, threatening growl at her from his cage. Momentarily turning her head, Ginny gasped and said, “Why, aren’t you the cutest ?!” His sword at the ready, Maron Maloney’s attention was fully on Kindle. Kimchi sheltered behind Maron’s legs, arching her back and hissing at Kindle’s approach. Maron asked, hesitantly, “So what can I do you for, ranger?” “You’re gonna surrender,” Kindle said, sticking another arrow into the earth. “Your prisoners, your animals, you .” Maron chuckled, standing squarely and clasping his sword arm’s wrist. “And if I don’t?” Kindle emptied his quiver and removed it from his shoulders to throw it to the ground. “Seems we’re at an impasse,” Maron sneered. Kindle shrugged and said, “I’m done talkin’,” and bit down on a single arrow he placed between his teeth. Maron yelled, lifted his weapon, and charged. Rushing forward, Kindle Muckwalker raised his shortbow to make it seem he was preparing to fire. Maron, assuming Kindle’s firing arc, kept his sword high, anticipating where to swing. Suddenly, Kindle surprised Maron by not using his bow. Instead, Kindle threw himself on the ground to slide on his thigh across the damp grass and passed between Maron’s legs. Maron twisted to wildly backhand his blade while Kindle, far below Maron’s arc, took the arrow out of his mouth and plunged it into the meat of Maron’s calf. “Arghk!” Maron screamed. Instinctively, he leaned forward to reach the bolt lodged in his leg. Taking advantage of Maron’s unguarded lean, Kindle gripped the end of his bow and swung it like a bat, slapping Maron across the jaw. A trail of blood was drawn from Maron’s mouth as he stumbled backward. “You-” Maron raged just as Kindle swung again to belt him in the gut. Furious, Maron righted himself and dual-gripped the pommel, sending his sword careening down on Kindle. But before he could complete his swing, Maron’s weapon was parried at the sword’s ricasso , the unsharpened portion of the blade above the hilt. “Hey!” Ginny grinned in greeting, blocking Maron’s attack with her quarterstaff. Seething, Maron brought his sword around for another strike as Ginny deftly positioned herself between Maron and Kindle. She expertly blunted his second swing, deflecting the sword to her left. “To my back!” Kindle yelled, thrusting his back against hers. Mirroring each other’s steps, Ginny and Kindle circled around Maron, and as Maron would swing, Ginny would block and used the sword’s momentum to push it away. Behind her and matching her pace, Kindle busily yanked two arrows out of the lawn as they went by. “Damned smallfoot !” Maron railed and furiously brought his sword down to cleave her. Bracing, Ginny threw her leg back and repelled his blow by once again blunting the ricasso. Nocking both arrows into his drawstring, Kindle shouted, “ Down! ” Ginny took to all fours, and Kindle, launching against her back, leaped into the air. Shocked, Maron pulled back while Kindle, suspended at the apex of his flight, loosed both arrows to pierce Maron in his right and left shoulders. Kindle landed and rolled, positioning himself to flank Maron. Maron gasped, wobbled, and limped. He glanced down at the blood-soaked nightshirt and soiled cape. With the halfling-sized arrows sticking out of his shoulders, he couldn’t physically lift his weapon, so he lunged his sword at Ginny, who lay prone on the ground. “ Déntra implicare detineo ,” Ginny barked, calling nature to her aid. Roots from the Swindle’s old oak tree erupted from the earth under Maron’s feet, crawled up his body, bound his legs, and wrapped his torso to squeeze his arms. Released from Maron’s grip, Ithandril fell to his feet, defeated. Struggling, fighting to breathe, Maron tore away the roots strangling his neck and gasped, “ Gaseous Forma! ” And instantly, his body dissolved into a roiling green cloud of noxious gas. The three arrows and roots fell harmlessly to the ground. “Wait here!” “Elina, wait!” Benzie shouted as she climbed off the wagon. “Ginny said to stay put!” “I have to help these people !” Elina cried, wrapping her hair back behind her head. Rushing out from behind the wagon, Elina sprinted for the Swindle’s back porch and bounded up the stairs. Dashing into her kitchen, she grasped the bowl on the floor and filled it with the counter reagent from her cauldron. Taking the bowl to her cutting board, she concentrated to force her will into the magic circle, and breathlessly whispered, “ For the benefit of one forcibly changed! ” Meanwhile, outside, Maron’s body reconstituted from the green gas near the road. He rolled his cape around his wounded shoulders and cried, “ Fools !” Orienting himself to Maron’s new position, Kindle dragged himself to his feet and ran across the yard to pull two more of his arrows out of the ground. Extracting the jade peryton figurine from his cape, Maron tossed it into the air and commanded, “ Animatus Figura! ” Roaring into existence, the monstrous jade peryton screeched, flapped, and extended its talons at Kindle. Fanned by the peryton’s wings, it kicked up a cloud of debris that pelted Kindle as he aimed his bow. “Ginny!” Kindle urgently cried, releasing an arrow at the peryton. Connecting, it smashed into pieces. Kindle nervously glanced behind him while nocking another arrow. “Benzie, throw me the cage, now!” Ginny cried alongside the wagon. “Got it!” Benzie cried, shoving Barty’s cage from the wagon to land on the grass. The honey badger whirled and hissed, righting itself onto its feet. Closing her eyes to imagine the impossible , she placed two fingers on her temple, focused on Barty, and shouted, “ Dilata Obiectum! ” Suddenly, Barty shimmered and enlarged into a giant honey badger; the metal cage exploded around him. Barty was as big as Maron’s wagon, and the honey badger snarled, crouched, and dug at the ground to lumber thunderously forward, its legs pounding against the grass before launching itself over Kindle to throw its body into the jade peryton. Snarling, Barty met the peryton’s antlers and pushed the creature back. The bird’s talons dragged across the earth, and the force of their conflict ripped the ground. The honey badger frantically clawed at the jade peryton as it howled and screeched, flapped, and bellowed. “Gods,” Maron breathed, releasing control of the wondrous figurine to dive out of the raging behemoth's path. Fighting in the street, Barty lunged for the peryton’s throat and struck it so hard the peryton was forced onto its back. Climbing on top of it, the honey badger frenzied, and chipped away at its jade skin with its gargantuan claws. Elina arrived back at the wagon with a bowl of her reagent and a handful of blankets; red soupy hot liquid slopped over the edges of the bowl and her hands. “Benzie!” she yelled, setting everything on the ground. “Did you see that?!” Benzie exclaimed, one hand on his head and the other pointing to the road. “Not now!” she cried. “The critters. Take ‘em out of their cages, one by one. Hand’em to me!” With the battling colossuses raging behind him, Maron Maloney struggled to his feet. Bleeding from his shoulders and limping from the gaping wound in his calf, Maron outstretched his right fist to manifest four green-glowing, mystical arrows; they hovered at his knees, two on either side. Flailing his outstretched palm, he growled, “ Solutam! ” The magicked arrows darted out from his legs - two struck Kindle, and the other two hit Ginny - their impacts blowing Ginny clean to the ground and sending Kindle sprawling to his back. Sized for Man, Maron’s arrows appeared as fletched javelins jutting out of their small bodies until their energy dissipated and the missiles disappeared. Kindle lay stunned on his back, and Ginny groaned and stirred on her belly near the wagon. “You think I’m going to kill you,” Maron menaced, ripping off his cape and hobbling toward Kindle. “But I’m not .” Stumbling, he fiercely scooped up his silver sword from the grass and balanced it in his hand. Reeling from his wounds, Kindle desperately inched to his shortbow. Grasping it, he threw it to his feet, balanced its grip against his toes, and pulled back the drawstring. “First, I’m going to turn you and your friend into something smaller than a halfling,” Maron promised, “a mouse, perhaps, or maybe a helpless finch, and then I’m going to feed you both to my cat .” Grunting, Kindle nocked an arrow, rolled on his back, aimed the bow with his feet, and released the bowstring, firing the weapon like a ballista. Thwap! The arrow sunk deep into Maron’s left leg. “Arraghh!” Maron screamed, collapsing to his right knee before Kindle. Sneering, Maron extended his arm with crazed, bloodshot eyes, and shouted, “ Ignitus Ful- ” Suddenly, the business end of a garden shovel crashed into the back of Maron’s skull, wielded by an elderly, naked woman. “You … ate … my … husband !” she shrieked, lording over Maron as he fell to the grass. * * * Dawn broke, and all gathered around the warm fire. All, that is, except for Maron Maloney, who remained seated against a pine tree with his hands tied behind his back and a gag in his mouth. Elina prepared citrusy sweet bread called a barmbrack . Baked in bundt pans, the cakes were round with a hole in the middle. Sliced, they were piping hot to the touch, smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg, had chunks of dried orange and raisins, and were drizzled with a sugary syrup - Elina’s special touch. With it, she served a black Ceylon tea richly infused with chestnut and hazelnuts. Ginny Greenwood was a skilled naturalist healer. Using clean water and dressings, natural oils, common forest plants, and herbs, she tended to Benzie’s and Kindle’s wounds. She even applied compresses to Maron’s while he was unconscious for, regardless of his actions, ignoring suffering wasn’t how halflings treated anyone. Covered in a blanket, Mrs. Featherby remained quiet and solemn, shaking from her trauma, hunched near the fire, but she’d occasionally return a friendly glance or a happened-upon smile. Pan and Sid were two teenage friends who ate more than their fair share of the barmbrack and playfully told jokes to lighten the mood and recounted what they remembered of their ordeal to Kindle, Ginny, and Elina. The two-headed death dog, Pica and Pika, ended up being twins, aged eight. They didn’t recall their experience in Maron’s captivity, and last remembered playing near their home. They were troubled and missed their parents very much. Ginny sat between them to distract them both with kindness. Ammon was a tall, well-built, muscular man, bald, with a bristling beard, who said he was tricked by Maron to engage in a drinking game. Next he knew, he was pulling his wagon as a horse. It’d been two years since his change, and he was still weak and unable to walk. Barty was a young man in his early twenties with premature-greying black hair. He was feisty and animated, bantering back and forth with the teenagers. Months ago, he was walking alone one night in the rain. Maron’s cart rolled by on the road, and Maron offered him a lift to the nearest town. Apparently, he never made it. The cockatoo, Pip, was a charming old man with a gregarious personality and soothing, grandfatherly voice. He sat beside Mrs. Featherby to keep her company. Jacob Barkfoot shivered under his blanket, and Elina would spend a few minutes with him, reassuring him that he was alright. He recounted his ordeal of becoming the platypus by the wagon, but couldn’t remember anything else from the experience. Jacob was so glad to be who he was, and where he was, that he swore to curb his excess to Elina, and promised he’d spend less time at her tavern and more time with his wife and kids.

Unshackled, Taika sat beside Benzie, still dressed in Maron’s nightshirt. She was relaxed, no longer in pain, and could somewhat walk with assistance. A native to the plains of Shae Tahrane to the south, her skin was smooth, black, and flawless, and her eyes were bright orange. “I am sorry you were hurt,” Taika said in a thickly-accented Common to Benzie. A dressing of cotton gauze circled his forehead, and he grinned at her. “When we met, you listened ; your eye open to possibility . This is why.” Benzie shrugged, grinning gleefully. “Nope! Nobody’s ever told me that I lack imagination.” “Take it from me,” Elina smiled at him from across the fire. “I work hard to make this old house hum, an’ I don’t know how I did it without ya, but you’ve reminded me that there’s more t’life than work. I reckon the mind needs t’play a bit, dream, imagine . Thank you, Benzie, for showin’ me what I shouldn’t ‘a ever forgotten in the first place.” “Aww,” Benzie blushed, sitting up straighter. “Where is Kimchi?” Taika asked, and everyone glanced around the back of the Swindle. There was no sign of the orange cat anywhere. Eventually, the rangers rose and announced they would take Maron to Gaelwyn authorities at Mossyrock. No doubt Maron had a price on his head in Mumling or Nodderton. They’d also find assistance to help relocate everyone to their respective homes if, in the meantime, Elina could so graciously keep them housed at the inn. They’d return in a week. “It would be my pleasure,” Elina said comfortingly, refilling everyone’s breakfast tea. “Everyone can stay for as long as y’ like.” Saying their farewells, Ginny and Kindle walked from the fire and back around Maron’s wagon to head toward the pine tree they left him at. “Shoulda listened to myself,” Kindle whispered, shaking his head and staring at the ground. “All coulda gone real bad.” Ginny rested her arm on his shoulder. “You did alright. You also had the wherewithal to find me first and not just react on your own. The Council will be impressed.” Kindle grunted. “Probably with you more than me, I-” Cutting himself off, Kindle stopped in mid-sentence and held Ginny back with a restraining arm. In front of them, Kindle saw Maron released from his bonds and standing motionless near the pine tree, whereas sitting atop his head was the flumph , its blue tendrils wrapped around Maron’s neck. Its body was a red-toned color, and its eye stalks writhed in elation as it consumed Maron Maloney’s psyche. As Maron’s body was controlled by the flumph , it slowly turned, took a haggard step forward, then turned again, and then another shambling step forward, leading Maron away into the dark and deep forest behind the Swindle so that the flumph might explore the countryside.


I looked into the blurry eyes of my reflection and loathed the person I had become. But it was more so towards the snakes who made me this way. The wide and murky sea stretched itself towards the horizon, peering over the edge for an end that didn’t exist. Within it, I also searched for something unknown with a lidded stare. But there were no thoughts that came to me as I gazed upon the starless night sky.

I found out the hard way how the world was revolted by the idea of change. Even if I felt as though I was loved by my fans, I guess I shouldn’t have been so surprised how those fakes rejected me with little hesitation. The helping hands I trusted so much blew down my walls and tore away my eyes as if I were nothing and would forever be nothing.

My life was practically over in a matter of minutes and I could do nothing to stop it. I realised then how truly cruel society is. Living was not so easy and I was foolish to have thought that way. As if I were a bird trapped in a cage, the key to my success was stolen and thrown into dark waters with no regret. Unable to escape the glares upon its tiny figure, the bird’s exhausted wings of passion were now clipped with snares called failure by the very same people who taught it to fly.

Like so many others in this industry, I couldn’t get enough of being in front of the camera. It was my dream and main purpose in my now miserable life. To have the opportunity to be on the big screen; it was more than I could have ever wished for. But there were those who pretended to love me and my work. They were only deceitful snakes, wanting nothing but the fame I gained. Tying me down with unbreakable chains, they stole the riches I worked hard for. Or perhaps the naive me turned a blind eye to their trickery.

Touching the distorted face of my reflection, it rippled and floated away with the waves - even the mirrored version of myself has abandoned me. I once longingly reached out my hand for someone who would hold it. Now there is no one there to grip onto it anymore. It’s pitiful. I guess there is nothing left for me now that I finally know no one ever really cared about me.

Those hands that used to guide my wings of freedom now cover the unreachable sky I called hope. Their hateful words weighed my mind down and the shadows of the past now haunt the realm beneath my eyelids. It was like waking up from a dream I never wanted to end, for in the living world, there was nowhere to turn - no one to hold.

The movies I starred in, the laughs I had produced and all those I have kissed. It was all for naught, it didn’t matter. The beast I knew as time hunted me down with a hunger in his cunning eyes because its treasure I tried to steal, the hourglass full of sand, taunted me everywhere I went. I should've never loved it - should’ve never tried to.

A flash. Then the shutter of a camera. Another and another. Faster this time. Until all I could see and hear were very things that led to my downfall. A flash and a click. “Isn’t that person a famous actor?” One of them whispered. “Don’t you know?” Another said back, “It’s the actor that went coo-coo in the head a few months back. No one knows why but there’s rumours.” “What kind of rumours?” The first asked. A third one responded, voice all too familiar, “Drugs.” It was within the glass jar of lies that the flower grew with prideful petals, only for it to wither and disappear as it was soon despised. Wanting only to bloom, it did no wrong. But the world would not accept an imperfect being in the spotlight.

No one wanted a potential druggie in their film. It would only get bad reviews from the general public and the media would never give it a break. My life as an actor was over. No movies to an actor meant no work. And no work meant no money. The things I had thought were mine are now lost. Never to get it back, I could only accept this fate of mine. My teacher once said to me, “What’s the point of Valentine’s Day? If you are going to love someone, why not love them everyday?” I saw her point and I found it sad how my peers didn’t understand my teacher’s point of view. I was angry and sad and confused. And, when time passed, I grew to not mind this life as I was now used to it. How pitiful this state of mine is. No one to love and no one who loved. The love was not there, it was fake, and I was sick of it. The lights, the cameras and the sound of the director’s “action!” was something I missed. But now I can’t remember how it felt to act, to be filmed and to be loved. It was foolish, it really was. But as those shutters clicked and clicked, lights blinking on and off as it was night, I loathed myself more than those people. And I loathed those flashing lights more than myself. Oh, how I hate this disgusting idea of love.


The site was serene. A field of bright green fescue, corralled by stately white and red oak trees, waved in ripples, like spectators at a large live music event. The late summer evening sun jabbed daggers through the forest canopy, slicing away the minutes as the gentle breeze pushed sparrows from their perches, seeking their nightly roost. One sparrow looked down at the newly dug hole, just past the edge of the pasture, concealed in the wood line. What a fine addition our new resident will make. To call it an addition was a bit of a stretch. It was more like a subtraction. The edge of the hole was broken, like its creator. Crumbles of tan soil and ochre clumps rolled gleefully to its depths as the sharp metal edge of the shovel struck forcefully, again, and again, and again. The sound became a melancholy chant, an ode to what had been accomplished. Then the digging tool was laid down, a stained brown leather glove wrapped around its weathered and polished wooden handle. It was used to this treatment, its master donated some splashed beads of sweat to its open pores. Such is the lot of useful things, needed then not. Thrown recklessly into truck beds, never bathed or oiled, serving silently. Oh, the silence! It was being overtaken by the hordes of hungry insects. Grinding and gnashing mandibles were aching for a bite. Yet, they must wait. Oh, the barriers we create! Sometimes they need to be hacked down, chopped to bits, like walls hiding something, concealing the truth. Some truths should never be uncovered, lest they rupture the fabric of the lives of all involved. Down in the bottom of the pit, man-made barriers wound in circles, wrapped like a gift. Slightly opaque, one could still discern its contents. It is now we go back in time, back to when this infested wound of vitriol gave birth to revenge. The faded black Chevrolet sat at an odd angle, its engine now cold from rest. There were short skid marks in the gravel behind each tire. Middle-aged sedans like it never drew much attention. Just over the hill, down the gravel road that ended in a sturdy steel gate with a no trespassing sign, it wasn't visible from the hard road. The large trunk lid was open like a grotesque mouth, yawning in boredom, waiting to be fed again. Smears of fluid streaked the bumper. The blacktop two-lane stretched back through the foothills, weaving like a swimming pit viper. On it stretched, near the lake, ignoring the brilliant blue waves reflecting the setting sun in flashes like sparkles from gemstones. Occasional dips and rivets in the scales of the serpentine ribbon of concrete betrayed a blighted area of the rural sleepy portion of the Midwestern United States. The road snaked, winding around clapboard shotgun bungalows that had not seen a paintbrush in years. Their weathered roof lines were married nicely with rusted-out pickup trucks, sporting peeling flag stickers, sitting with almost empty gas tanks in the driveways. The town was awake that day, not lulled to sleep by the chugging of giant diesel motors pounding the interstate with commerce. Loaded train cars boomed and creaked, pulling 30,000 tons of sulphur-heavy coal, the steel wheels of the locomotive spun out, spitting sparks onto the dangerously desiccated grass that summer's heat had dried like tinder. Cars waited at the gates of the tracks, their occupants idly spinning the dial on their radios, fidgety remnants of a bygone era, now gradually becoming obsolete. SHUUUUMP! SHUMP! The engine belched two giant plumes of black smoke into the afternoon air. A tired, empty house sat off by itself. Lonely and sad at the dead end of a street, its door was an odd blue color, its exterior modest yet well maintained. The aluminum siding was a dingy khaki color, dotted with spider webs, of which a few had captured the first dried brown and yellow leaves of fall. A Siamese cat gently curled up on the stone entryway steps, wanting to snooze in the gentle breeze. The backyard was surrounded by a tall wooden privacy fence, its boards weathered and battered like its owner. The yard was empty save a rusted charcoal grill, a lawn chair, and a tool shed, locked tight. Whoever lived there did not want their neighbors to see them sear raw flesh with flames, or anything else. The grass was neatly cropped and unblemished save a smattering of rusty splatters, crusted on innocent blades of grass. The two stared eye to eye. Quivering faces were locked in a deadly stalemate, and the time for debate was over. One was lured. One was cunning. Vacant stares betrayed the ocean of bad blood between them. Was it the derisive laugh? Was it the neverending insults? Neither one was sure of anything. Injured animals are the most dangerous. One, the wounded child, had carried the heavy weight of incestual sexual abuse all the way into their adult life. Like an albatross rotting off their neck, its fetid smell was a constant reminder of the evil they endured. It was the implement again, pounding viciously, a staccato thudding of metal cutting meat. A foot-long survival knife is no toy. The damage is immediate and permanent. The other's look was frozen. Eyes were peeled open, mouth hanging wide. It was not the look of surprise, no, something much more satisfying. The arms were angled up as if trying to block the view of some hideous monster. Toes were pointed up, feet rocking back on heels. Their torso was erect, and the shirt pulled up from the violent recoil. Yes! The look! They savored the mental picture with both hands wrapped around the handle of the knife. A memory would suffice. Blazing like a torch, the image would be burned into their mind's eye. *** They tapped an ash off a cigarette. It shattered on the plastic at the bottom of the hole. Blowing smoke out of their nostrils like a dragon, they pulled another drag off the smoke and smiled. Wiping sweat off with a shirt sleeve, they dropped stuff into the hole and stopped. They had covered it. The plastic was lightly wrapped, so they could still see it. Reaching for the handle, they were tempted to move it. There was just enough trailing sunlight for one last glance. Oh the memory, oh the silence, oh the look, oh the revenge!


It was cold and sharp, and it took her breath as she entered the room. Winds created from potent magic that rushed over her no different than the winds themself. Wind magic eluded Hellena, it was so close to light in terms of technique and ability and yet a wholly different beast. The cutting winds that had just rushed over her were nothing more than the practice of Edwin, probably the best in their year at wind magic. It wasn't a matter of pure power or talent either; he was very skilled at the technique involved, evident from the intensity of something he called practice. Walking further into the room she saw half the class ready for the rounds of sparring. Some like Edwin practising swings of his sword, others stretching, and others still chatting or generally strewn about the room. Hellena personally took these moments entirely for herself, she went and sat on the floor next to the full length windows just breathing as she lazily twirled and refracted the midday sunlight through her hand, like a coin through her knuckles. Sunlight and moonlight had always recharged and relaxed her; it was as though she was less a user of light magic and more its vessel. It always felt so complicated to explain to other magic users, seemingly not a feature of interacting with their magics source. Hellena wasn't too sure about that though, more she leaned on the side of it being a resonance one had with magic, a resonance that most people never held, one reserved for those of high skill or talent. The only thing that led her to this conclusion was that Edwin would refuse to come inside until the last possible minute whenever heavy winds were deemed hazardous. She had seen him once right before, or rather during one of these wind storms. He seemed somewhere in between resigned and meditative, maybe content was the right word. Either way she was pretty sure he felt then as she did now, how she was permitted to feel most days and nights of good weather. A far more frequent occurrence than his perhaps required harsh winds. Her sunlit reprieve from the day's classes so far ended swiftly and with no notice as their instructor entered the room and blacked out the windows without even uttering a spell.

“Today spar’s will be conducted to simulate night.” He announced, much to the class's dismay. Not only did this make it harder to fight, it also made it harder to observe. What was the point of watching spars that you could barely see? It just didn’t make sense in a room like this where only one match could go on at a time. “Yes, you will have to pay closer inspection, and yes it will be difficult on both sides of the class, however it is important you know how to fight and how to observe in the darkness.” He explained as the students not in seats, such as herself, made their way over. “We are also going to start off easy, Hellena you're up first and your opponent is…” He let his words draw out as he scanned the sheet in front of him, “Edwin, both of you to the front.” He said with a clap. Hellena course corrected away from the desks and towards the mat. She unsheathed her sword, a blade of impeccably carved crystal as to best refract her light magic in a fight. Her sword skills were not great but her magic was incredible and it had been enough to win every fight she’s had in the year and half she’s been at the academy. Merely holding her sword ran light through its facets edges creating a ghostly glow around her sword alone in the dark; illuminating not even her hand, for no real magic was in it, just the knowledge that it was wielded by a light mage.

Edwin, on the other hand, had his sword sheathed, in what was more work than it would have been to forgo the sheath as he had yet to put his sword away when the darkness settled, and had all but immediately been called to fight. It felt far too hard to understand both as someone who was not particularly good at sword combat alone, (maybe there was some importance to the sporting nature of it she did not understand.) but also as someone who had made her way through many a fight through trickery. Mighty shows of power were easy. A stoic and cold face, that was easy. Wielding a crystalline glass sword as though it were a pen and she a poet, second nature. All together it depicted her as an overpowered monster, not the chosen by light heroine many tried to make her out to be, all together, and put simply her greatest weapon was not her magic but the fear she could instil. She knew that. She counted on the expressions and actions of her opponent to know what was working and how to hold her deceit.

Her greatest strength nullified and her opponent sending her with his very first action in their bout. She was glad no one could see the tension on her face. “Begin!” The Instructor exclaimed. Her breath was stolen before she had realised what had happened. She felt the wind rage past her as though it had no intention of hitting her but rather splitting the second before.

Edwin had used the moment he had brandished his sword, the motion and the power latent in that motion served to bolster his power. He had sent gale forces at her in the fraction of a moment his sword had touched the air he turned into said wind. There was a beauty in it she hadn’t felt in someone else's magic before. Footsteps brought her back to the fight as she set the light in her sword. Liquid light, a core of pure light flowing like the river over the joins and corners of its glass shell as if they were the rocks that made up the rapids. “Fuck.” She heard as Edwin jumped back from his closer position. She raced towards him, sword across her body ready to strike. It was different to all the other fights she had been in, she wanted this moment to last, this was not a chore of a class she could win with one spell, undermining the point of sword play. Why did she care all of a sudden? Why did she want to feel the rush in the power of his magic again? Why was her heart racing in a way she had never felt before? Their swords clashed with an awful sound of steel grinding on crystal yet it somehow sounded like music to her, and she could have sworn the same about him. In the brief moment her light illuminated his face she saw a smile she hadn’t in spars of his she had cared to watch before. Was she smiling during this too? Was this the first time a fight was fun? Was it supposed to be like this all the time, because if it was she could see the joy others found in a fight, in one like this. She stepped back to get the momentum to swing again. With her step his wind pushed her further back and it was like she was breathing his magic and it made her feel light headed like he had removed the oxygen in the wind he threw at her. He came at her. She moved the light in her sword to refract right into his eyes. He flinched away shielding his eyes with his non dominant arm. A back and forth she had yet to experience, one she had only just realised she had longed for. With every advance one of them made the other quickly pushed back. With every burst of his wind she felt she had less and less breathable air and it felt amazing. It felt like how others had described drunkenness. Her heart was racing with every second, every moment of the spar. She was sure she was smiling and she didn’t even care she had no clue how to end this. She felt his magic race all around her in a rapid spiral swell. Her head rolled with it, it relished in the pure power she was so delighted to feel in his winds. She wasn’t sure she would ever feel anything like this again, anything this beautiful again. Then all of a sudden the darkness of the room became blackness. … Bright lights practically assaulted her vision as she blinked back into reality. “What happened?” She groggily asked, holding her hands to her eyes to stop the light's harshness. “You don’t remember?” Erica asked her. Wait Erica, why was she here she didn’t take this class? “You’re not-” She started. “You collapsed during your sparring class, Hellena, remember?” She prodded. “No, I was, it was, no.” Hellena stumbled over her words trying to figure out what had happened between what she remembered last and now. “I was sparring Edwin, it was…” She trailed off as she sat up properly from the bed she was laying in.

“Come on.” Her friend held out her hand. She took it and they walked off together, Hellena still squinting a little bit. Stepping outside and into the light felt more healing than any rest ever would. She was enjoying the perfectness of the light of the sunset and Erica explained to her all of the reactions, theories and speculation as to what caused her collapse. Some people going as far to believe that she was some kind of inverse vampire, allergic to darkness as they are sunlight. It was sweet and good, the best she could have asked for in the moment. But then she felt what she could only name as power. Her breath caught and her heart raced and she found him in the distance before she even recognised what this was. It was Edwin's magic. It still felt glorious even when not in a fight, yet she had no clue what caused this reaction. She was too far away for his magic to affect the air and yet she felt it right before it stole her breath and her heart racing when he was too far to be a threat.

It was as though merely the thought of him left her lightheaded, let alone the damage his magic could do to her. That his magic was actively committing against her. Yet she couldn’t help but long for the next time he would steal her breath.