It had been hours since Hurricane James rumbled through the northeastern part of Florida. They said it would only come down as a Category 3; it was like overnight a demon had taken control of the storm, making it a Category 5 when it touched. If you’re from Florida, you would know a Cat 5 is the only category of Hurricanes that would make even the most stubborn of us leave. We’re told that we can better prepare for a big storm with all this new technology and take the proper measures days ahead of time. They don’t prepare you for when mother nature takes over with all her power and fiery. We live on the northside of Jacksonville, away from the coast, we are usually the last to evacuate. When the report came out that James was coming in as a Cat 5, we were all asleep. It wasn’t until 5 AM that the wind really started picking up. Our family woke up to the sound of our roof being taken off. The worst part didn’t last long, and the roof and a part of the garage took the worst damage. No radio, no power, no water. We did have our cellphones, but the rest of the city was in chaos, and we had our own stuff to deal with. “Well, what do we do now?” asked my mother, Lydia. Dad answered back, “We have no roof; all we can do is grab the tents we have and set up camp in the back.” We lived on 2 acres of woodland on a dirt road- we would be the last to get power in any situation. Growing up, our dad went camping every other weekend with his parents. It wasn’t until our Grandpa Randy died 5 years ago that he stopped taking us. Camping was a huge event to Grandpa Randy, and our dad hasn’t looked at it the same since his passing. My sister Andrea and I walked through the beaten house to the back closet, where we had 2 tents stashed. “It’s been years since we even touched these things; I hope this doesn’t make dad go into his dark place again.”, The dark place is what we called the phase of life our dad went through after grandpa passed. He was withdrawn from our family for months, it felt like, not even being able to face us at dinner. Here we are now with a broken home, our city full of destruction, and having to live in our backyard because of it.        We walked outside to see our backyard in shreds. Trees that had snapped and flew across the yard in the wind, our entire back patio had also taken a huge hit. Our family house was no longer the same one we went to sleep in the night before. Andrea and I started to set up tents in the corner of our yard where the earth had been spared. Our mom walked out to see how things were going, “Your dad just got off the phone with the power company. It could be weeks”. Andrea looked at me and then back at mom, “Are we supposed to live in our backyard until that happens? What will we do for food? Or for water? Or heck, even a shower!?” “We will figure that part out,” mom said. I continued to set up the tent while they went back and forth. I wasn’t worried about camping out back. I thought it could be a great adventure for us. I was concerned about dad; camping brought up emotions in him that he tries hard to suppress. It took us about 30 minutes to set both tents up. Mom and Andrea walked the property, picking up small limbs so that we could build a fire. The rain from the hurricane subsided and nothing was left of the storm except for the damaged path it left. I walked around the house until I saw dad in what used to be my parent’s room, sitting with his back against the wall. “Gian, why don’t you go back outside and help your mom and ‘Drea?”. My dad looked at me with pain in his eyes. “I just wanted to see how you were holding up. The house will get fixed with insurance, y’ know. Camping out back will be great, don’t you think?”. My dad looked at me with his sad eyes, “I guess you know why I’m in here all depressed, huh? Camping makes me miss Grandpa too much”. We sat and talked for a while about how Grandpa Randy made them catch their own dinner, or how he could always find the best fishing spots on the campsite, so dinner usually wasn’t a problem finding. After what felt like an hour, Andrea came in and asked us to come outside. Mom was standing by the two tents with a small fire, tiki torches left untouched by the storm all around the tents, and dad’s old fishing pole in her hand. The look of sadness in my dad quickly turned to gratitude for what my mom and sister had done. “This looks great, Lydia, where did you even find that fishing pole?” mom replied, “When we were rummaging around in the garage for the torch fluid and saw it sticking out of some debris, Andrea searched under piles of stuff for your tackle box, and we rigged it up for you too.” Dad walked over to my mom and gave her a huge hug and took the pole. “Let’s go, Gian, we have dinner to catch.”        My dad and I walked down and through the woods to find the pond behind our property. I could tell he felt lighter and the burdens that were weighing on him earlier went into the back of his mind. When we reached the pond we walked around until he felt he had the right spot. He cast his lure into the creek, and we sat while waiting for a bite. “Grandpa used to catch fish with a piece of bread, I don’t know how he did it, he was a true angler.” He said that as his line started jerking. He stood up, locked the fish in, and started slowly reeling it in. At the end of the hook was a catfish. My dad was great at handling Catfish. We used to catch them by the pounds for family fish fries. We sat and fished for about two hours. Six Catfish later, we make our way back to the house. Mom still has the fire going while Andrea is walking the yard again for extra wood. Dad gets to work preparing the Catfish while I round up some kitchen utensils from the house. That night we ate catfish dad cooked on the fire, a can of green beans from our emergency stash, and drank some warm beer we also had stashed. We talked all night about dad and grandpa's adventures and how much we all missed him.

The next day dad charged up his phone to see what was going on for storm control. Me, mom, and Andrea were sitting around the tents waiting to see how the rest of their city took the storm. Dad came back after making a few phone calls and told us that James had touched down with 170 mph winds. Tornados roared through the inner city and tore down multiple buildings, houses, and apartment complexes. "We got lucky. The neighbors a few miles up the road lost everything. Grandpa Randy was looking over us".

The next week we spent every morning and every evening catching Catfish, sitting by the fire, and bonded for the first time as a family in a long time. My dad brought up Grandpa Randy with ease and thanked him every day for protecting us in the best way he could. After the worst of the storm damage was cleaned up, we could go into town and get food for different meals. We decided to camp outside for an entire month while waiting for word on how the house would be fixed. Hurricane James changed our lives, but we will never forget the experience.


The lanterns flickered their malevolent flames as Sugar beat the eggs into a foamy sea. The fire in the grate melted her aching muscles enough to continue working for the eleventh hour. Twenty-six years old and she was already exhausted, pink dress twirling between kitchen counters and cupboards. Her petticoats protected her modesty and the pencil holding her savory colored hair protected the food from contamination. She'd baked enough bread, on to the biscuits. 'You work too hard...' Bailey chimed as he grabbed his jacket to leave. '...You'll miss the entire season at this rate.' Sugar shrugged half-heartedly, looking up from her whisking. Bailey's lean and hungry stare, eyeing the mountain of scones, made her heart melt. She stopped to pack some into a hamper with an assortment of jams, freehand waving off his refusal. 'Fruit and nut, cranberry to boot...' She smiled. '...Will soon provide the ultimate lute.' Bailey concluded, having heard the phrase a million times. 'Enjoy the feast. See you bright and early tomorrow morning.' Another smile and the wicker basket exchanged hands. 'You're a marvel, Miss Plum. Thanks to you we'll have a Christmas turkey this year.' Bailey's mind floated back to the many Christmas' his family had spent without even a sprout. Thanks to Miss Sugar Plum's generosity, they'd finally have a decent spread. 'We won't have a crumble next year if we don't defeat Miss Green at the Festival tomorrow.' Sugar muttered, returning to her biscuits. The image of her rival appeared in Sugar's mind's eye. The licorice hair, known by Sugar's memory to lie below Miss Green's hips, was always tied back in an obnoxiously tight bun. Sugar's train of thought jolted to the chocolate chips on the counter. The same color as Miss Green's harsh eyes, she thought. She smacked the dough and rolled her eyes, making similarities between the rolling pin and Miss Green's wooden posture. 'It's a shame, Miss...' Bailey interrupted. Her eyes refocused, 'What is?' '... That we can't team up with Ever Green. Join forces, then there'd be no need for a competition.' Sugar scoffed at the suggestion, not impolitely, but as if to say that the idea was unimaginable. 'I've tried to make her see sense. We used to be such good friends, now she can't even look at me. A civilized conversation would be a miracle.' She sighed, hands falling limp around the dough. 'Some friendships aren't meant to be.' Bailey sympathized, perching on the whittled stool by Sugar's station. He felt a sudden sense of Deja-vu, remembering a similar conversation he'd had with his daughter only a few nights prior. Sadly, he couldn't offer the same warm hugs and hot cocoa to his employer. Lost in thought, she shaped her biscuits into hearts, then mumbled, 'Why? How can friendships end without a reason?' 'Everyone has their reasons.' Sugar softened, 'Yes, well, I wish people would explain their reasons. They may be foolish.' 'They often are.' A thoughtful silence loomed over the bakery for what felt like a lifetime. 'Pop these in the larder before you leave?' She smiled, removing her apron. Bailey began packing away without question until he spotted the tiny Sugar Plum cakes by the window. 'What about these?' He wondered why they'd never sold them, given his employer's name it seemed like a missed opportunity. 'No, no, those are... not for sale.' And he didn't question it further. Sugar took the cakes as she ascended the stairs to her small apartment, cradling them like a child. 'See you tomorrow, Miss Plum.' He called up gently. He didn't expect a reply, one never came, but he closed the door behind him a little softer than he would normally. The cold hit Bailey like a ton of bricks, snow dusting his cheeks as he pulled his jacket tight. The only warmth coming from the lanterns lighting his way as he crossed the cobbled street. He looked back, peering up to see Miss Plum, sat in her bedroom's bay window, reading a book. She looked fine, he concluded, and made the rest of the journey home. ~~ Miss Plum, though she looked okay, didn't feel it. She looked down at the only gift she'd ever been given, a journal of pressed flowers. Sugar flicked through. There were many blank pages to fill towards the back of the book. The full pages were decorated so beautifully. Lilac sprigs with lavender ribbons, roses, and forget-me-nots, wrinkled primrose by her favorite sunflowers. Each page held a different memory. When she reached the last full-page, she huffed. And as if on cue, the knock at the door downstairs came. Sugar ran as fast as her tiny feet would allow, almost tripping over the last step. Her toe would surely bruise by morning, she thought. Hastily, she pulled the door open, hearing the bell chime above the frame. As always, there was no-one there. The streets were empty, except for the sprinkle of snow and a whistle of the wind. 'Fudge!' Sugar cursed. She'd run faster than she had in previous years. She'd have to stay downstairs next year to hopefully greet the mystery gift giver. And speaking of gifts, Sugar looked down at her feet to see the unsurprising box, staring up at her. Wrapped in gold paper and tied with a black satin ribbon. The package, as usual, was immaculately done. She felt bad pulling it apart. Inside the box sat a new addition to her journal. 'Dahlias?' Sugar felt a chord strike her heart, a shiver run up her spine that wasn't from the cold, as she'd shut the door. 'A fond farewell or forever yours?' she mused. Sugar took the present to her room, placing it amongst the other dried flowers. With a heavy heart, she ate her Sugar Plum cakes and drifted into a deep sleep. Her imagination conjuring up happier days, spent in sunny meadows, running through flowery fields. ~~ The ceremonial trumpets signaled the coming morning and Sugar shot out of bed. Her alarm hadn't gone off. She smoothed the pages of the journal that had somehow managed to get squashed in her sleep and in haste, threw it into her bag. It took only a moment for her to chuck on her usual pink dress and twizzle up her hair, a few strands escaping to frame her face as they normally did later in the day. The biscuits still needed baking, she stressed, bustling down the stairs to the kitchen, wary of the final step and her bruised toe. To her surprise, Sugar instantly inhaled the familiar aroma of baked goods. The biscuits were already in the oven. Bailey, true to his word, had arrived bright and early. 'Thank the stars!' ~~ The wooden huts glistened in the Town Square, shining with warm lights and twinkling glitters. The same stalls of assorted produce, ready for customers to scour and for judges to judge. It had all been the same for as long as anyone could remember. Sugar arrived a little later than intended and instantly noticed something was different. Opposite Sugar Plum's soft pink hut would normally be Mr. Chestnuts Toy Emporium, a sunny yellow stand with touches of pastel blue. But Mr. Chestnut was nowhere to be seen and his stall had been replaced by an elegant black and gold design. It didn't take Sugar too long to figure out who it belonged to. 'Miss?' Bailey, holding armfuls of bread, came to stand beside her, wondering what could have stopped the woman in her tracks. 'Miss Green's stand is opposite ours, Bailey.' Sugar stared. 'What?' He turned, 'That doesn't make any sense! We're normally on opposite sides of the square.' She looked equally as puzzled. 'I'll go speak to Marsh, surely there's been a misunderstanding. Would you mind taking care of things here?' 'Of course.' ~~ Marsh was easy to find. Center stage in the heart of the Town Square was his domain. Sugar smiled up at her friend as he tested the microphones. He was on and off faster than the flick of a switch. He too looked like he'd missed his alarm that morning. As she was about to approach him, someone came from the opposite direction and intercepted him first. Someone she'd hoped not to run into yet. Sugar hid back, clutching her bag and checking her journal was still in there. She edged closer to listen. 'Mr. Mallow! Might I speak with you?' Ever Green in her high-neck black dress and tight bun marched up to the plump rosy man with fury in her eyes. 'Miss Green, how lovely to see you. You look so... smart.' When Ever didn't respond to the reluctant complement, Marsh continued, 'What is the problem this year?' He hoped to keep the exchange short and sweet. The festival was supposed to be a happy day. 'You know darn well what the problem is. You've put my stand opposite Pips.' Sugar's heart clenched at the name. She'd not heard it in so long. 'I'm not in charge of any of that this year, Miss Green. You'll need to take it up with my supervisor.' Marsh caught eyes with the Reindeer Dance Troupe. 'Must dash, much to organize.' And he was gone. Ever glared furiously, her hands balled, and her eyes squinted after the man. She could burn a city to the ground with that scowl, Sugar thought, just as the woman in question turned and almost bumped into her. 'Ever! What a surprise!' She stammered, unable to look away from the strong eye contact she was receiving. 'Miss Plum, it seems that our stands are opposite one and other.' 'Yes... so it does.' Sugar frowned at the use of her surname. She loathed the formality, the cold shoulder, the hardened expression on Ever's face. She looked nothing like the woman Sugar had known all those years ago. Ever used to be so carefree. It was hard to imagine now, seeing her so wrapped in her cocoon of sternness. 'Well... may the best baker win.' Ever eluded, offering her hand. Sugar stared at it dubiously. It felt like a trick, but she took the gloved palm even so and replied, 'May the best baker win.' ~~ Sugar returned to the stall and filled Bailey in on the exchange. 'We'll beat Green easily, Miss.' She smiled, admiring her companion's competitive nature, especially since she felt so unmotivated herself. Ever so easily got under her skin. 'What's happening over there?' Bailey said. She glanced over the street at the rival stand. It was thriving. Curiosity killed the cat, Sugar tried to remind herself, but when regular customers seemed to bypass them in favor of the dark side, she couldn't help being coaxed. Bailey followed, surprised to see the rare mysterious smile on Ever's face as she handed out orders. Sugar looked over the display with intrigue. What could be drawing her customers away? Salted caramel cookies, dark chocolate truffles, lava cakes, and assorted tarts but nothing out of the ordinary. Sugar couldn't fathom what was so special about Ever's stand, until she saw them, sat prettily in the center. Her face drained of all color, her heart dropped, and she felt tears prickling behind her eyes. The anger built in her chest and exploded. 'Ever Green!' The shout caught Bailey by surprise, for he'd never heard Sugar raise her voice above a sweet scolding. The customers around them froze and Ever's eyes did a double-take in her direction. Sugar felt years of suppressed emotions taking over, her next words escaping in the form of a child-like sob. 'How could you?' Fearing the tears that were about to fall, she turned away and retreated to her stand. Bailey followed swiftly behind. 'What's wrong?' He pressed when they were safely in their haven. Sugar's eyes, blinded by unshed tears, managed to grab hold of her bag. She pulled the journal from it, planning to destroy each page, rip them up, scrunch them into balls, burn them in the fire, she didn't care anymore. She managed to open the cover when gloved hands took hold of hers and closed the book once more. Light eyes met dark and Bailey took it as his queue to leave the kitchen. The tears finally spilled over the edge and she repeated, 'How could you?' 'How could I what?' Ever's hands were firm, searching for eye contact as they always did. 'You're selling our Sugar Plum cake!' Sugar blurted. Ever didn't respond, just stared at her blankly, so Sugar continued, 'You stop talking to me, for no reason I might add. No explanation and on the Eve of our first Festival together. We were supposed to be partners, friends, Ever! And you just left! You left and now you're selling the one thing we promised never to share with anyone? Why?' Ever frowned, cheeks burning red, 'Oh, don't come off all high and mighty, you know exactly why I stopped talking to you, Pip!' Sugar's tears suddenly halted. She stared at Ever, her brows knitted, jaw dropped. 'No, Ever, I do not.' Realization suddenly dawned on them; the air thickened. Ever seemed to retreat into herself, eyeing the door. Sugar gripped her hands in a tight vice. 'Please, don't leave... Just talk to me.' Sugar pulled her closer, noticing the way Ever's hardened exterior seemed to give in to the gesture. 'I came to the bakery that night to drop off your present...' She began, glancing down at the book before continuing, 'And I overheard you talking to Mr. Mallow.' Sugar thought back to that night, growing even more confused. Nothing bad had been said, not that she could remember. They'd had one too many glasses of sherry, that's all she recalled. Ever continued, 'Mr. Mallow asked you about me, and you told him I was just your friend as you always do and I suppose, well I thought I meant more to you than that... or I hoped... It was silly...' Ever confessed, trying to fight back her tears of frustration. '... I then overheard Mr. Mallow telling you how he felt about you, how much he cared for you and I realized that night... you and I weren't on the same page. I decided to distance myself. Every time I saw you, it was a reminder of how I felt and how you'd never feel. Being cold with you was far easier than being kind.' Sugar dumbfoundedly exhaled, 'How could you possibly know how I felt if you never thought to ask me?' The expression on Ever's face dropped rather comically to one of complete perplexity and confusion. 'Marsh was never and is never going to be interested in me like that, Ever. He came over that night to thank me for setting him up with my cousin. Sadly, it only lasted the week, but truly he and I are just... friends.' The final word hung heavy in the air. Ever had clung onto every syllable and seemed to drift into another world entirely, overanalyzing her memory to recall exactly what she'd heard that night. Sugar decided to change the subject, 'Why did you decide to open your own bakery?' 'It's the only thing I knew how to do.' 'You couldn't have opened a florist?' She laughed, looking down at the book in their hands. She turned to the most recent page, the Dahlias. 'I kept everything, that should tell you enough.' The knock on the door bursts their bubble. Bailey apologetically stuck his head through the door, 'I'm so sorry, Miss but the Judges are here.' And he left again as quickly as he entered. 'You work too hard.' Ever softened. 'Yes, I have been told.' She smiled. 'Go on, I have some Sugar Plum cakes to remove from the stand. We'll talk afterward.' Sugar glanced at Ever's reassuring smile and noticed the flickers of doubt peeking through. The assertive arch in her brow was returning and Sugar decided that she couldn't let her leave without making sure they were on the same page, quite literally. The Dahlias sat prettily, she looked down at them and mumbled, 'A fond farewell or forever yours...' Ever looked up, feeling a tightness in her chest. Sugar only smiled, squeezing the hand she still held. 'I have loved you for as long as I can remember.' Sugar confessed, resting her forehead against Ever's, she felt her heart hammering in her throat. In the next sentence, she whispered, 'How long will you love me?' There was no pause, no delay, no hesitation. 'For Ever, Sugar.'


Hear ye, hear ye; swearing, violence, battle and death follow, and some nudity if that helps? Sir Danielle Longbow had her hands one hand on Lupita Smith’s cheek, the other groping the witch’s backside. The knight’s teeth nibbled playfully at her lover’s ear as they writhed on their four poster bed. The contrast of Danielle’s snow white skin against Lupita’s was stark in the orange firelight.             The muscles of the knight’s arms were matched only by the witch’s thighs. Both were muscular but Lupita had left her youth of swinging a hammer at her father’s forge behind. Danielle closed her eyes as the sorceress’ head rested on her chest. They dragged a woolen blanket over themselves.             “I can hear your heartbeat,” Lupita smiled with the soldier’s hand in her hair.             “I can’t hear anything but the fire. I like it. This was what the night sounded like when I was a child. Sometimes there was an owl. That was it. Leonor is never quiet.”             “I was used to the city. Voices. Singing. It’s so quiet here I can’t sleep sometimes.” Lupita blew on her lover’s nipple, giggling when the mighty warrior shivered. Her shrieks as revenge tickling caused her body to jerk about reverberated off the stone walls. “Stop. Stop! I surrender.” The fire died with a ghostly whisper. Only moonlight through the window broke through the darkness.             Lupita sat up, legs around Danielle as the witch looked around the room, covering her nudity with her hand. “Did you hear that?”             “What?” The knight sat up, abs heaving as she lifted their weight combined.             “That was magic. I heard a spell as the fire died.”             “I didn’t hear it. Let’s get dressed.” The bells of Leonor rang in the north-west. Throwing on their shifts, the two donned their uniforms. Danielle struggled with the straps of her gambison. When Lupita had tied her green Royal Coven robes, she helped her partner into armour.             They rushed from their room to the landing. Nettle, their adopted daughter, looked at them with concern in her eyes. Heavily pregnant, the former knight had a dagger in her hand.             “The bells,” said Nettle. “Leonor is under attack.” Though it was a long walk to the city, the mighty bells of the capital watch towers could be heard for miles.             “Bar the door to your room, load your crossbow,” Danielle said as her commander, not her mother. “We’ll see to the security of the house.” She pointed from her daughter to the door of the room at the end of the landing. A painting of Danielle by King Consort Carl hung on the wall, watching them.             “Yes, sir,” said the mother-to-be. She retreated through her door, holding her stomach with her free hand. The sound of a bar slamming down over the door echoed off the granite walls.             Lupita was already down the stairs with her sword belted at her waist. Danielle’s feet hammered down the pine stairs. A knight guarding her door outside bowed his head.             “What’s going on?” Sir Longbow asked him.             “I don’t know, sir.” The guard shrugged, pauldrons rising and falling with the gesture.             “Guard this door with your life.”             “Yes, sir.” He unsheathed his sword and raised his shield. The deep green of his tabard had a golden oak tree across it, the symbol of Crann Kingdom.             Nameless Knights ran to Longbow House. Some wore full armour. Others had been caught off guard like Danielle and wore only their thick padded gambesons and swords.             “Pair up. Man the walls and guard the gaps.” Her barked order was obeyed immediately. Fisher’s Gasp had risen from the ruins of a raided fishing village into the home of the Nameless Knights. Longbow House stood at the heart of the new settlement. Without windows at ground level, it was a three story fortress within the walled village.             “You,” said Danielle, pointing to a man she knew. “Walk the perimeter and check the soldiers are spaced evenly, with no gaps in the defense.” He nodded, his black curly locks dancing with the movement. The tabard over his armour flapped in the wind as he ran to his duty.             “Can I get you your bow, sir?” asked her squire, Hamish. At ten, he was a gangly boy with the blue eyes of the north and the brown skin of the incomers from the east. As someone who had advocated for the waves of immigration to the decimated Kingdom of Crann, it was up to her to lead by example.             “Yes, Hamish, thank you.” Her eyes followed the lad as he waved his way past the guard on the door of the house.             “We should have bells on the walls,” said Lupita. “I don’t hear anything. Do you?”             “No,” said Sir Longbow.             Hamish was at her side the next moment with her bow and quiver. Throwing the strap of her quiver over her head and shoulder, she had him run for her horse.             “You should wait and have him put your armour on,” Lupita told her lover.             “I want to be around the village as soon as possible. I need to know what’s happening.” Another squire ran from the tower where the Nameless Knights kept messenger pigeons. Merridah wheezed, catching her breath. “Sir Longbow,” the girl wheezed, wincing. “Word from Leonor. The magic was the work of the Royal Coven. It was a test.”             “A test of what?” Danielle raged. “How much we could shit ourselves while they fucked around without warning us?”             The girl shrank back as if struck. Danielle scolded herself mentally for taking her anger out on the messenger. “Thank you, Merridah.”             “We should tell the knights,” said Lupita.             “Let them run about a little longer. We’ve not had a test of their readiness defending Fisher’s Gasp. It will be good to see how they cope with it.” Sir Longbow’s brown eyes caught those of the runner. “Merridah, run and get my horse. I’m going to shout at some witches.”             Nodding, the pink flushed girl set off, clutching her side.             “She’s a wreck,” said Lupita as the girl disappeared.             “She’ll have to learn to run in full armour, this will be good for her. Hamish, inform Nettle that she doesn’t need to worry. Tell her I’ll be back soon. Don’t tell anyone else.” He nodded, smiling to be the bearer of good news.             On her horse, Danielle toured the perimeter. Nameless Knights stood at the ready, not all in full armour, but all with a weapon in hand. After a full circuit of the walls, she told them the good news. Groans and curses for the witches at Leonor Castle passed between the warriors as they went back to their duties, or to bed. They all knew Lupita was technically one of the coven, but her association with Sir Longbow gave the witch a free pass among the Nameless Knights. A year later, Danielle sat on the same horse, watching a tent city in the distance. A blue moon hung in the black sky. Cold winds blew in off the sea to the east. The canvas tents fluttered in the light of hundreds of fires. The invaders had come from the sea in their thousands. Bobbing on the waves to the east were a hundred ships at anchor.             “Our border is too long now,” Sir Danielle said to Lupita, who wore full armour beneath the uniform of a War Witch. The robes of the coven had been merged with the armour of the Nameless Knights for the new unit of warriors who supported Crann’s warriors with their magic.             “That army won’t know what hit them,” said the witch, pulling the fur collar of her cloak tighter around her.             “Are all of the troops assembled?” Sir Longbow asked Lord Fabian Castel.             The leader of Crann’s elite knights smirked, his handsome features showing his age with every new line on the face Danielle had known since they were children. “Mine are ready. I don’t know about your rabble.”He adjusted his helmet as he spoke, testing the hinges on the visor.             “I hoped we would never have to battle humans again,” Danielle said. Monsters were her speciality and preference. She never felt guilty about putting a beast down. In the middle of Crann’s forces, the coven of War Witches and Warlocks were preparing the same spell that had put out every flame in Crann a year before. Once more the kingdom would be plunged into darkness, this time for its own defense.             “They have cannons set up at the perimeter of the camp,” said a scout.             “Point out the positions to our own cannon teams,” Lord Fabian commanded. “We strike those positions first when the fires go out.” Crystals of snow glided down from the clouds above. “Just what we need, soldiers slipping on fresh snow as they charge into gunfire.”             “They’re here to retake the monopoly on gunpowder.” Danielle voiced the thought aloud. None responded. She had been one of the fellowship sent to buy or steal guns from Quin Shi, across the sea and far to the east. The mission had furnished them with more advanced weapons than those Crann had. Danielle ended up murdering a local governor in the process. When the lights flickered out, cries of shock echoed across the snowy ground from the enemy camp. Explosions from Crann’s cannons signaled the attack.             Musketeers rode at the head of the charge, waiting until they saw the whites in the eyes of the Quin Shi soldiers. Crann had duplicated the cloth armour that the eastern soldiers wore for protection against gunfire. Green jackets marked the specialist cavalry riflemen who rode at the front to break the lines of the enemy. Nameless Knights rode behind the riflemen with their matchlock pistols. Crackling shots along the jagged lines of cavalry were tiny sparks in the night. All of the army had been ready to light their torches the moment the spell left the enemy in the dark. Despite outnumbering the Quin Shi forces and having surprise on their side, Crann’s warriors fell to the gunners in the camp. A rifleman by Danielle’s side fell from his horse. The thundering steed charged on, caught up in the charge.             The match of Sir Longbow’s pistol flickered orange in the blue-black of the night. A shape moved between the tents before her. Trying to find the rhythm of her horse’s hooves, she fired. With no idea whether her shot had done anything, she holstered the gun and drew her sword.             Crann’s cavalry crashing into the camp were waves washing over the hull of a ship in a storm. Danielle swung her sword, hitting leather helmets studded with steel. Some fell, others would live to take another blade or be shot. Riflemen in their gunner’s jackets turned back, giving themselves time to reload before they charged back in. Nameless Knights and Sir Castel’s elites carried on, switching to swords or bows and arrows.             A row of spears stopped Danielle dead, along with other riders. The invaders in their brown cloth armour had regrouped. The beautiful horse beneath Sir Longbow reared up as a blast hit it in the chest. Thrown down into the sharp grass of the dunes, she landed hard, tumbling.             Thick headed cavaliers charged into the spears, lost in the adrenaline rush of the moment. They were lost forever as spears pierced their armour or they were stabbed to death.             Guns fired another volley from behind the line of spears. Scattered shots answered from Crann’s soldiers who had not had time to form up against the invaders. Tripping over the corpse of a knight in armour, she fell upon the body of an invader. His weak moans as he bled to death brought the taste of vomit to her tongue. She finished him with her sword and crawled through snow on sand, red with streaks of blood.             Knights of Crann regrouped at the edge of the camp as she crawled through the no man’s land of corpses. Men and women writhed in their dying moments or pleaded for mercy in their native tongues.             Crann’s magic was not done with the invaders. The greatest weapon of the kingdom were its red arrows. Danielle wished she had them instead of the puny guns that fired once and took too long to reload. Black shadows whistled through the sky above her, arcing down into the foreigners who had come to kill.             Screams answered the arrows that struck home. A familiar horror followed. Campfires relit since the spell of the War Witches made the nightmare a silhouette. Trees sprung from the corpses of those pierced by the red arrows. Curaduile trees fed on blood to grow at supernatural speeds. Once more the lines of the enemy were broken as they fled from the monsters growing all around them.             Defenders of the kingdom closed in. Infantry with long guns closed in, firing volleys in perfect bursts. As one line ducked to reload, the next stepped forward, aimed and fired. A few steps at a time, the noose around the invaders closed. Another round of arrows rained down upon men fleeing for their ships.             The mercenary vessels anchored out at sea would never take those warriors home. Flames danced on the boats that had carried the men from Quin Shi, twenty at a time. Some waded out into the water, dropping their weapons to swim away.             Many had no choice but to fight as corpses piled up around them. Commanders in red or purple armour fought with more skill than the pawns send out as cannon fodder. With gunmen and archers moving past her, Danielle watched in horror. Her kingdom had been on the wrong end of the same kind of slaughter. Crann had promised itself that it would never face such a massacre again. It hadn’t stopped them from committing their own.             As a last surprise, a handful of Quin Shi warriors dressed in blue lit powder kegs as swords were raised to kill them them. Using their own magic, they guided the blast at head height. A ring of fiery death spread out, flattening anyone a ship’s length from the blast. All cheer from the decisive victory was taken from the defenders in a moment. Sacrificing themselves, seven mages of Quin Shi had taken two hundred souls with them.             Looking for survivors among the bodies of the camp, she found soldiers clinging to their wounds as blood fled from their veins and arteries. Some she could save by cauterising the holes. For others, all she could do was hold their hand as they faded away.             Though it was the battles that gave her nightmares, it was the aftermath that made her sick. Bodies of the enemy were stripped and burnt in pyramids taller than her. Crann’s dead were taken away on carts that would carry them to their graves. Weapons and armour of the enemy were sorted.             Black mounds smoked as snow fell on red ground. The sea bashed and caressed the shore. Salty air nipped at Danielle’s ruddy cheeks. All of the ships had fled in the night. Their captains would live to tell the tale.             No matter the loot, nothing was ever worth the loss of battle. Assembled to ride and march home, the Nameless Knights were short of a hundred warriors. It hadn’t been their worst battle, nor their best.             On a horse offered by one of her knights, Sir Longbow rode back to Fisher’s Gasp with tears in her eyes. Sunrise shed unwelcome light on the scene of the slaughter. Darkness would have been a mercy. Curaduile trees had grown into a new grove at the heart of the destroyed camp. Just as they marked the inland borders of the kingdom, the magical trees would stand guard over that patch of ground for generations to come.             Lupita rode to Danielle’s side, leaving the War Witches behind her. “At least those soldiers wont be preying upon unarmed famers, pillaging their way south to Leonor.” Lupita’s voice was soothing.             Sir Longbow nodded, deep in her usual guilt and disgust for humanity. “I just want to get back to Fisher’s Gasp to see Nettle and Fergus.”             “I love you,” Lupita whispered so that only they could hear.             The slightest flicker of a smile crossed Danielle’s lips. She mouthed

I love you too . They rode down the coast towards grey mountains.


Chapter 10 Maurice approached the Holy Cathedral cautiously; he’d never been this close to the royalty of The Authority before. He ascended the grand steps that led up to the doorway into the cathedral, slowly and carefully. When he got to the door he stopped for a moment, and then entered. Standing in the middle of the room was a tall, lanky figure shrouded in a black cloak.

“Hello, Hepburn,” the figure said. Maurice moved slowly, unsure of himself. The hood of the cloak fell just below the figure’s eye-line, showing his long, crooked nose and and a thin smile. “So, you’ve lost a starpod?” The figure spat.

Maurice gulped. “Yes…I’m afraid so,” he replied.

The figure wrung his bony hands together and the smile faded. “And how do you suppose you’ll get it back?” Maurice gulped, and then shuffled his feet. “Starpods give off a unique energy signature, as you know,” he said. “All we need to do is look out for that signature.” “So! You’re going to scour the entire galaxy?” Maurice found himself nodding. “Yes, sir—eh, Your Excellency, that is the plan, but—” “But what?” The figure mocked.

“—but it may take some time.” “I should think so. But time is slippery, it can escape your grasp in an instant if you’re not careful to grip it tightly.” “I won’t fail you,” Maurice exclaimed, his voice cracking. “Find the unit, Hepburn, and find it soon.” And at that, the figure waved Maurice away, and he found himself walking backwards out the door of the church, unwilling to turn his back to such a bony, death-like creature. Chapter 11 Josiah and Daniel stepped onto the rickety, metal elevator, and began their descent deep into one of Manoor’s many quarries. It’s in these quarries that they once hoped to mine feria , a substance that prolongs the human lifespan. But, much to the dismay of Manoor’s ancestors, none had been found on this planet.

“So, you have yet to find any feria at all?” Jo asked inquisitively.

Prime Minister Edein responded: “No, none at all. Which is good, for it’s kept The Authority far away from our little sanctuary.” “Because of the energy signature?” Daniel asked. “That’s right. Without the signature radiation from feria, our planet has snuck under their radar. Once, we hinged our entire economic system on finding the elusive element; now, the mines stand empty and barren.” “So, what do you hope to show us down there, then?” Daniel asked.

“You’ll see.” And down and down they went, deeper into the quarry until the sun hid behind one of the edges of the great crater. And the closer they got, the more they could swear that there was a buzzz coming from deep within.

“What’s that noise?” Jo asked.

The prime minister was silent.

Finally, they reached the bottom, and the three men, accompanied by four guardsmen, stepped out onto a crimson-red floor. The buzzz was even louder now, but still subtle, as if hidden within something. As they walked down the path, the prime minister said: “We found it thirty years ago, looking for feria.” They turned a corner, and there it was: a ripple in spacetime. Daniel’s jaw dropped, and Josiah stood steady, looking stoically at the slim tear within the fabric of reality itself. “We have no idea what kind of radiation it’s emitting,” Edein began, “but it’s like nothing we’ve ever observed before.” “And The Authority—” began Jo.

“—they have no idea about it, as far as we know. This type of radiation isn’t what they’re looking for.” “And the keyblade?” Asked Daniel. Prime minister Edein smiled. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?” “No, but—” “—something cut through,” Edein said. “A blade that serves as a key. A key into another world.” Chapter 12 Maurice’s ship barrelled through space, hurriedly, towards the headquarters of Baxtar Industries. He would scour the entire galaxy, no, the entire universe , to get back the stolen starpod. Maurice’s temper flared, and he angrily slammed his fist on the arm of the seat he was in.

His android across from him looked concerned. “Mr. Hepburn,” the robot began, “perhaps you should take ferryar .” “I don’t need any damn feria,” he exclaimed. “I need the starpod back.” “It is a most troubling scenario,” the droid, named AX-7675, continued, “but I have faith that something will turn up.” “You’re an android, you don’t have faith.” Maurice mumbled angrily.

“You programmed faith into me, sir.” “So your opinion is a product of my imagination.” AX-7675 went silent for a few moments, then: “Your imagination is a product of your own genetic make-up, your own programming, if you will, and is really no different from mine.” Maurice stared out the window, and thought to himself: “The starpod is out there…somewhere, deep within the galaxy, maybe…and without it this whole operation falls apart.” Chapter 13 Catherine awoke suddenly. The two moons shone dazzling light through her window and onto her bed; she stared out the window at those moons, and sighed heavily. She’d been on Taleyedos for four days as her arm healed; Sonya had been very pleasant and helpful to her, but still the blade remained a mystery. “All in due time,” Pietro had promised, but that time still hadn’t come yet. Sonya told her what she could (which wasn’t much), but her friendly demeanour and genuine sense of empathy helped Catherine get through those early days in Scienca and grow accustomed to her new life.

Now, she was growing restless, and needed answers. So on the morning of the fifth day, she walked down the lightly paved road towards the emerald spire and climbed the steps back up to the circular room she’d been brought to when she first arrived, and barged in. The assembly was deliberating about something, and all turned their heads towards Catherine as she made her bombastic entrance.

“It’s time you told me who you are, it’s time you told me about the blade that saved my life, and it’s time you told me what you know about The Authority and how we can defeat them,” she proclaimed loudly as the doors swung behind her.

Pietro stayed calm, and smiled. “We were discussing yesterday as to whether we should tell you or not. Some of the assembly here does not think so. But, in your favour, enough of us do, so we will answer your questions. But, fetch Sonya. We will not start without her. Let us meet in the courtyard behind the spire in three hours?”

Catherine, who’d been given a brilliant, silver watch from Sonya, looked at her wrist and nodded.

“Let it be so,” she said, and strutted off.

Chapter 14 Catherine walked down the lightly paved road back to her house where there was a kind of telephone she could use to reach Sonya should she need her. She stopped in front of her house, and stared up at the blue-grey sky, speckled with clouds. She smiled to herself. Although the past week had been trying, Catherine was glad to finally be somewhat at peace with herself.

Suddenly, however, the sky grew dark; a massive hypership appeared in orbit around the planet, blocking out the sun. Catherine frowned, and looked confused as the bombs started falling.

First, they hit the emerald spire, knocking it to the ground in a tremendous bang , then they started dropping on the village hidden within the chrome walls. Boom, boom, boom they went, and Catherine screamed, and ran into her house and into the basement. She covered her head with her arms, and all she could hear was the deafening roar of the explosives flattening the town.

Far above her, in the hypership, Sonya stood there, watching.

“You’ve made a deal with the devil,” said Maurice, standing beside her. “You’re certain you know the location of the starpod?” “Like I already told you, Catherine told me everything.” She smiled, and Maurice looked on out the window, satisfied.

“Goodbye, Catherine E. Ness,” he said, chillingly.


Desperate Remedies By Erika Sams After a week on a meditation retreat in the middle of nowhere Josephine had decided the Zen life was bullshit. Behind the smiles and high-pitched whispers of welcome was a rage barely contained with deep breathing and overdosing on lavender tea. Fuck, that tea was delicious though. Either way, she knew all these lost souls were one misfortune away from snapping. How was she so sure? Because the yoga instructor was dead in her trunk. In Josephine’s defense, she was feeling much better! The smell of lavender from the tea she drowned her instructor in was giving her a wonderful calm. An anxious person would have hurried to dump the body somewhere, but Josephine found herself pulling into the Home Depot parking lot. She didn’t even lock her car when she went into the store. Only an anxious person would worry about that. She knew no one would think to look into the trunk of a 2006 Ford Focus in the middle of a Home Depot parking lot on a Tuesday afternoon. Grabbing one of their long-bedded carts Josephine wandered to the garden center in search of that purple flower that was the answer to all her problems. Spotting what she needed, she buried her face into her new favorite flower and inhaled deeply like a crackhead taking their first line of cocaine. One by one she put every single lavender plant they had onto her cart and realized it would not be enough. For the first time since murdering her instructor Josephine grew desperate; she needed more! She made her way to the check out and before she could say anything the associate said, “Someone is getting their lavender on this year.” The rounded woman in an apron had a lighthearted attitude, but Josephine was not feeling lighthearted. “Well, I am trying to, but this is all I’m seeing. Do you have some more in the back?” she was unaware of how her eyes were bulging from her head as she said this. The associate began to fidget anxiously, “Sorry miss, everything we have is now on your cart.” “This isn’t enough, I need more!” “I—uh—” the associate stuttered, “I can order more for you. Set it up for delivery if you like! Let me see how fast I can get them to you, how many would you like?” Josephine thought for a minute, “Lets start with 500.” The associate looked at her for a moment thinking she was joking, “Uh…” typing into the computer she continued, “I hear this stuff is a miracle worker for stress.” “It is, now where are we on the 500?” Realizing Josephine was not calm, the associate went quickly to work, quoted her the price, and to her surprise Josephine paid for that order and the lavender on her cart without hesitation. “The 500 you ordered will get to you on Thursday. Our driver will give you a call when they are on the way.” Feeling calm again, Josephine thanked the associate, loaded the lavender she found in her car, cranked her music, rolled down her windows, and was finally headed home. Josephine lived in a gorgeous Victorian home on 24 acres of land she had inherited from her grandmother who died last year. It was a beautiful home, but empty and lonely. The same week her grandmother died she walked in on her boyfriend of two years fucking her best friend since kindergarten. Josephine fell into a deep depression, but her inheritance supported her newfound alcoholism. Locked away in self-isolation with only the ghosts that came out when she was drunk to haunt her. Eventually the cycle of alcohol and cake delivered to her front door by a delivery service while she sat in her pajamas having not showered in weeks, no longer served her. She was ready to move on. That is how she found herself at the retreat and is now driving home with a car full of lavender and a yoga instructor in her trunk. An anxious person would go as far away from their house as they could to bury the body, but someone who just found the magic of lavender, or perhaps just lost all their fucks, grabs a shovel, and starts to dig right behind the house. Six feed down is deep, they use machines to do that. Josephine digs about three feet down and is able to drag her instructor into the hole. Thankfully yoga instructors are always so tiny, she looked even smaller laying pale and lifeless in the dirt. As Josephine looked down from outside the makeshift grave, she found herself in a meditative state. Ironic, isn’t it? She thought. When the body was buried, she pulled out her lavender flowers and began to plant them side by side, first over the body, then continuing as far out as she could go until she had used up most of the bulbs. Satisfied for now, she took the lavender she had set aside into the house, some to hang upside down to dry for tea later, and the rest was laid into a bath with salts. Lighting candles, she sank beneath the water and coming back up breathed in the beautiful smell. For the first time in a year, she found quiet, and calm without alcohol, and all the demons that haunted her were silenced. An ick hit her nostrils and suddenly she needed lavender candles. She found what she needed on amazon which would arrive first thing in the morning. As desperate as she was, she was also tired and satisfied for now. Closing her eyes, she let herself fall to sleep in the lavender waters. Over the next few days Josephine’s garden grew 10 times the size it was the first day. Hundreds of lavender candles were delivered, and candlesticks she pressed lavender to before placing them all over her home. Lavender hung from her kitchen ceiling in bulks and was pressed between pages of books. The smell gave Josephine a calm, moving gracefully throughout the house taking in the flower and adding more. On Saturday she sat at the table sipping lavender tea when the sound of tires on gravel caught her attention. Moving to the window, she sees a black SUV pulling up to her front door. A man wearing a black suit with blackout shades exits the vehicle and buttons his suit in the front. He looks just like a detective out of one of those crime shows, she thought. The man came to the front door and knocked. Josephine was anxious as she set her tea down with a trembling hand, took a deep breath, and opened the front door with a welcoming smile, “Can I help you?” “Josephine Phillips?” the detective asked, revealing a badge. “That’s me.” “My name is Detective Branton, I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions?” “Absolutely,” Josephine said opening the door and gesturing the detective in, “I was just enjoying a cup of tea, would you like any?” “That’s very kind of you miss,” he accepted following her to the kitchen. The smell of lavender was overwhelming as he looked around seeing the candles and dried plant hanging all over the ceiling. Josephine heated up a bit of water dropping her lavender into the water and in the same motion she also poured a few drops of cyanide. She returned to the table with a sweet smile, offering the tea to the detective. He thanked her and took a sip, “Wow, that is delicious!” “You’re too kind,” Josephine feigned a blush, “now, what can I do for you, detective?” Detective Branton took another sip of his tea, “One of the instructors from a yoga retreat you just went to has been reported missing. No one has heard from her in five days. We are interviewing everyone who attended the retreat to make sure she is okay. Her family states this is unlike her.” The detective pauses to clear his throat looking rather pale. “Are you alright detective?” she asked with the gentleness of a saint on Sunday. “May I use your restroom?” the detective asked. “Yes, of course—” she gestured towards the bathroom and the detective slowly rose, then began to fall sideways into the floor. Josephine took another sip of her tea, enjoying the peace and quiet of the room. After a moment her eye caught the detective’s hand which had fallen to the floor beside him and a panic button, she was sure had already been pushed. Sighing, she brought her teacup back up to her lips, “Well that’s inconvenient,” she said aloud and took a sip. Once she was done with her cup of tea she washed it in the sink along with the detective’s cup. Shame he hadn’t been able to finish it, she thought. She felt some anxiety begin to creep into her, so she pulled out her phone and ordered some lavender soaps, more flowers, and candles to be delivered the next morning. Josephine drug the detective’s body into the middle of her large living room, laying him out on his back and folding his arms across his chest. Going outside, she picked some lavender from her garden and placed the bouquet in his hands. How peaceful he looked to her. With no hurry she walked throughout every room lighting her lavender candles which had already been placed. Once every room had candles going, she removed all the dried lavender from her kitchen and placed it into a circle like a ritual. Every spare candle she had was placed throughout the living room, on every piece of furniture, around the detective’s body, around the circle of dried lavender. It felt like a scene from one of those vampire movies which made her feel dangerous and powerful. Perhaps she was about to elevate. By the time she was satisfied the sun had set and the candles provided her only light. Sitting in the middle of the lavender circle, she entered a meditation pose, inhaling the lavender deeply, the detective’s body lay in front of her. The low rumble of helicopters could be heard in the distance, and gravel began to crack under the tires of countless vehicles pulling into her driveway. “They are coming for you, detective,” she said, “but don’t worry, they won’t be able to reach us.” Inhaling deeply, Josephine took one of the candlesticks and lit the dried lavender that surrounded her. Fire spread around her quickly engulfing the dry lavender. Fire began to escape the precariously laid candles around her and within moments the entire room was on fire, the flames spreading quickly throughout the entire house. Before the S.W.A.T. team could even break through the door, the entire mansion was engulfed in flames. Josephine’s circle enclosed around her, and her clothes caught fire, spreading quickly to her hair and skin. As though waking from a trance Josephine began to panic and scream in painful anguish. Jumping from where she had surrendered herself, she ran through the house covered in flames, her skin crumbling to black like a burned marshmallow. She ran out her back door and through her lavender garden, the flames that encapsulated her spreading to her garden of lavender. Falling to the ground in her garden Josephine gasped for air but only inhaled smoke. As officers called for fire trucks and tried to contain what they could, Josephine took her last breath in her garden of lavender.


Of course, I love my mother. I have to admit that she’s always tried to be there for me, in spite of our less-than-perfect family. Mom supported me through all my ups and downs. She got me through braces, gymnastics, broken friendships, an absent father, going away to camps or college, career struggles, and my many moves. She was even surprisingly empathetic over bad boyfriends (if I told her about them). But my mother is so annoying when it comes to her religious stuff. She has her views, and never misses a chance to share. It makes me feel like I am 15 again, arguing with her over why I really don’t need to go to a service every week to hear another boring talk.

Take my birthday box that my mother sent me yesterday. It was chockfull of darling stuff. There were some Lululemon clothes she knows I can’t afford, and a little heart-shaped designer purse that I instantly see myself casually flaunting at work. But Mom had to ruin all the great presents, and add in one of those devotional plaques she loves. It had some scripture quote from the book of Proverbs that says “Trust in the Lord with all your heart blahblahblahsomething …and He will make straight your paths.” Now I’m stuck with this religious tchotchke from her. I’ll have to make a note-to-self and remember to put this thing up whenever my mother comes to visit.

Mom’s birthday box represents our relationship- pretty good, but always having some strings attached. Or maybe not strings exactly- her input just always brings up old issues. I got some great birthday presents, but now I also have this “Lord making straight your path” stuff swimming in my head. God and my mother, they’ve got this thing going. But it’s just not for me. I don’t have that religious trust like her. She’s told me her faith has helped her through cancer and other stuff, but I don’t care.

This morning, I swear there’s almost a literal spotlight shining down on that flower-decorated plaque poking out of her box on my table. (Does the morning light through my window always look like that?) “Trust, trust, trust… ” preaches mom’s plaque, and wait for those “straight paths.” That plaque can preach to me all it wants, but I’m finding no straight paths this morning. At all. The complications start even before breakfast. It’s my fault, I guess, but I had big trouble finding anything to wear for work- anything clean anyway. The laundry basket in my closet had been needing attention for some days. Yesterday was the absolute tipping point for having any clean work clothes for today. I knew I should spend some time on a trek to the apartment laundry room last night. I even had my bowl of quarters out on the kitchen counter, to remind me that I was doing laundry after work. However, it only took one phone call from my friend last night. Instead of practical domesticity, I opted to go out to Bobo’s for my birthday. I had lots of fun, but my dirty clothes did not. So my heavy perfume trick is going to have to suffice on clothes dredged out of the laundry basket for today’s work outfit. Maybe the cute new purse will distract from my wrinkled blouse or any possible aromas.

My mom’s “Straight Path syndrome” continues to zigzag me everywhere but straight. In the kitchen, I’m finally almost out of the door. But while getting my travel mug ready for the car, I spill hot coffee everywhere. (At least I did not spill coffee on myself, though it likely would have blended with my already messy look). I throw some kitchen towels on the drippy mess on the floor for later clean-up- and hurry for my car.

Why are the smallest most trivial things sometimes the most vital? How many battles have been lost because a bugler did not show up, or the mailroom guy didn’t deliver an updated map to the general in time? A huge ship is aimless without a little rudder, and a car - in particular my car this morning- is going nowhere. Yes, I am going to be late for work, because of one small problem.

“My keys- where are my keys?” I still have my old purse with me since I did not have time to change everything to the cute new one. The keys of course are not in there, even after I frantically dump everything out on the car hood. Frustrated, I abandon the contents of my old purse on the hood, along with that troublesome travel mug full of steadily cooling coffee. Exiting the parking garage, I bolt back up the stairs, back to my apartment. I finally spot the car keys innocently sitting on the kitchen counter, as big as life, next to the bowl of quarters. I swear that the keys were not there before- I know I would have seen them. “Trust in the Lord,” whispers mom’s plaque from the sunbeam as I storm out.

When I finally make it to the freeway, the radio news is blaring on about some traffic pileup. “Wonderful! More delay!” I mutter at the car clock showing how late for work I am now. I am grousing out loud about my mother and her God NOT making straight my path, when I suddenly realize the traffic news is going on way past its normal reporting time. It seeps into my frazzled brain that there is some big deal going on.

Laurie’s worried phone call from work confirms it. “Ellen, are you okay?” It seems that my freeway delay isn’t just a mundane traffic jam. It turns out that it is the largest multi-car accident in U.S. history. Something like 250 vehicles are involved, and there are lots of injured people, although thankfully no casualties. Some tractor-trailer truck struck a concrete divider, which started a massive chain reaction. Multiple cars kept crashing, and they end up having to close two miles of my freeway for most of the day. I’m able to reroute around the mess, and arrive very very late for work, but with a bonafide excuse. It turns out I’m not the only late one. My boss is a total no-show- his was one of the many cars rear-ended in the chain reaction.

Of course I quickly realize that if I had been on time for work as I planned, I would have been right in the middle of the accidents. It all took place exactly on my daily route, going northbound, right when I would have been there. There was a high probability that I’d have gotten major damage to my car, or to me, or both. That “making straight your path” stuff from my mom was looking a bit different now. Maybe I was feeling thankful, with a little respect for what I did not quite understand mixed in with it. So when I got home after work, even before I cleaned up that coffee spill, I did something totally out of character. I found a clear spot on my living room wall, next to my theater posters- and that’s where I hung up that little plaque. It’s not really my decorating style, but Mom will get a kick out of seeing it there on her next visit.

And maybe it’s a good reminder for me to start working on my trust issues- with my mother, and maybe her God.


When I was seventeen I went to go live with my uncle down in New Orleans. My parents couldn't stand the sight of each other and I felt like it was my fault because they both thought of me as a failior. There were many times when they would fight that they actually started to wail on each other and when I would try to stop them, they would look at me with disgust so eventually i couldn't take it anymore so I called my uncle and told him what was happening. Within the next two weeks he came and took me away from it and I couldn't have been happier. One thing I know is that nobody likes to feel like a failior. When we got to my uncle's it was like I stepped in to whole other world. There were portraits of people all over his house of people I have never seen before so I asked him if they were pictures of family members and he replied no, these are all pictures of everyone who have come to his house within the past 30 years that stayed here for the soul purpose to gaze into his mirror. Naturally my first thought was what was so special about this mirror that so many people had to come from all over just to look at themselves. But then he said something that struck me vas very odd and even to this day I still can't forget the events that followed. He told me whatever you do, you must never go near the mirror up the stairs and down the left hallway at the end of the corridor. The look in his eyes suggested that he was very serious so for a long time I made sure not to even go down that hallway anywhere near the corridor. But eventually like most people curiosity got the better of me so one night while he slept, I found the courage to enter the corridor which held the mirror. The mirror itself was something I have never seen before. It was about eight feet in height and five feet in width but the style of it was something that I can only describe as being not of this world. On the top of the mirror there was a symbol which resembled a cube but had multiple other symbols edged inside of it that looked like some sort of ancient writing I have never seen before. After looking at the symbol I noticed a word inscribed in the middle that said METATRON. After I read the word out loud I noticed a brilliant light that surrounded the entire mirror and lit up the room. What I saw next I will never forget and the memory will be buried with me. I saw people moving around in what I can only describe as a palace with a golden throan in the middle. Each person wore a robe which was the color of gold fastened together by a belt that was woven in strands of gold colored silk with the same symbol at the top of the mirror where the buckle would be but they emitted an Erie light that seemed to transfix me to the point where I could not look away. Then all of the sudden everyone stopped moving around instantly and started looking directly at me. Upon seeing there faces I realised that these were the same people that were in all the portraits hanging on the walls in my uncle's home. Upon the throan itself sat a man who looked as ancient as time itself who was also staring at me. The old man said step forward young one and I shall tell you who you really are for we have been waiting for you for a very very long time. Not believing what I was seeing I stepped forward and the light intensified until I had to close my eyes to shield them from the brilliance of it. When I opened them I was no longer in the corridor of my uncle's home but instead inside the palace from which I was just seeing in the mirror itself. The floors were literally paved with gold throughout the whole palace and I was in such awe that I didn't even notice that my clothes that I was wearing before had also changed but my robe was a brilliant red and blue with gems and emeralds embedded into the stitching. The belt I wore was a bright orange with what appeared to be flames that wrapped around my waist but it did not burn me. The buckle that held it in place consisted of a star with a circle around it. Growing up with a Christian family I recognised this symbol as being a pentagram. When I looked back up I noticed everyone bowing down before me except the old man sitting on the great throan. I walked up to him and as I got closer I noticed his eyes were emitting a brilliant blue light like the color of a blue flame but there was no center. As I gazed into his eyes I began to see visions of great wars from ancient times fought with chariots of gold surrounded by fire. The old man then spoke to me again and instantly the visions were gone. He told me that what I was seeing was events in the past that I myself was a part of but I couldn't understand what it all meant. My name is METATRON he said, and I am the scribe of the Lord God who created you and who created everything else that I have ever seen. I am the one who has wrote the book of life and the keeper of all knowledge that lies within its pages. But you my young friend are the only one whose name is in the book that will lead the world into an age of both great war and great prosperity. You are both the bringer of death and the bringer of life into a world that has been so corrupted by man that God himself has chosen you to lead his armies of angels into the final battle of all of mankind. Your name is Michael . The time has finally come for you to inherit the fate that your God has set before you. There is only one who is higher then you and his name is Jesus Christ. He will give the command and you shall lead his armies and purge the evil and darkness from the earth once and for all. The dead shall rise in his name and follow you into battle. When he finished speaking, he then raised his hand and the brilliant light that I saw when I first entered the mirror intensified once again to the point I had to close my eyes. When I opened them I was back in my uncle's corridor gazing at the mirror but I could only see my reflection. I was dressed once again in the same clothes I had came here with. As I turned to walk back down the corridor I saw my uncle waiting for me at the top of the stairs with the look of disgust in his eyes. I told you not to look in the mirror he said. I tried to hide you from the truth of what it shows you because nobody will ever believe you. If you speak of what you saw they will just lock you away in some Looney bin to live out the rest of your days because the world cannot accept the truth of what God has to offer them. Instead they live there lives trying to block out everything they dont understand. Nobody except you has ever returned from the other side of the mirror in the whole time I have been guarding the passage so now I give you a choice. You can go out into the world and speak about what you saw, or you can stay here and live with me and carry on my work in guarding the mirror. But remember this one thing. The path you choose may have severe consequences no matter which way you walk it but in the end, the road always takes you to the same destination. The mirror itself never lies. What you seen or heard will come to pass but it could happen in a different lifetime. While you are here you must learn to accept who you really are which is why I urge you to stay here. You are not a failior or a mistake. Your life has been written already but it may take several lifetimes for it to come to pass. Your parents are blind to who they really are so they see you as there own failior. When he finished speaking my uncle turned and went down stairs to partake whatnot am assuming to be his usual routine. I followed him down and sat next to him and asked him the one question that came to mind. I asked him if he ever looked into the mirror and he told me no because his father told him the same thing he told me when he said not to look into it. My uncle spent his life scared of the truth because he believes life is what you make it yourself. But personally I can honestly say that I am not afraid anymore because I know I am not a failior like I once thought I was. Death is but a doorway into another life but in the end it all leads to the same resolution. The End


For as long as Sheila could remember, there has always been just a coffee shop in her little town. It was lone, isolated like it was in a world of its own. Other shops had developed over the years, most had modern interiors, decorations and Wi-Fi but the only thing that ever changed at the shop from her memory was when Mrs Huffleberry changed the windows after some boys broke it by accident. Mrs Huffleberry owned the shop. She once told Sheila it was an heirloom passed down in the Huffleberry generations.

As small as it was in the middle of the town, the coffee shop had an immense significance them. Everyone has once drank a cup or two of coffee there; that also included the delicious buns that came with it. To everyone, Mrs Huffleberry made the damnest sweet buns ever, for an old woman her age. Sheila first visited the shop when she was six. It was on a Saturday and like always, the day when the women of the town met at the shop and had a gossip session. There were rounds of coffee, buns, cakes and even sausage rolls. She was surprised when she saw that virtually every mother and wife was present. The butcher's wife, the doctor's wife, the baker's wife, the grocery's women and even the pastor's wife who lived on the other side of the town. As a child, she hadn't seen that many women in a place at the same time, not even in church. "Mama, has the men gone to heaven?" She turned to her mother and asked. "No, Sheila. It is a party for women only." **** Just as the women had theirs on Saturdays, the men had Sunday mornings to themselves. They took delight in reading news about the world miles from their town while sipping hot chocolate coffee and buns. They also chatted about latest news and happenings too and unlike the women, children were never allowed in. However, Sheila was fond of sneaking into the book section where they kept many children books because she has always loved to read. Which was how she learnt of the latest gossips in town.

From Saturdays, she found out the baker's wife was fighting with the baker. The butcher's wife was no longer sleeping in the same room as the butcher. Even the grocery's women were thinking of splitting.

Sheila hated the latter. No one ever left the town. And if the women were to split, then how would she get her favorite chocolate?

From Sundays with the men, she heard about xenophobia, racial segregation and riots. Lots and lots of riots. They were big words she didn't even know their meaning. She just loved being in the shop. Like the other inhabitants of the town. They were happy because it gave them a purpose. Moreover, Mrs Huffleberry was the nicest person ever. Everyone loved her. **** Mrs Huffleberry lived only few houses away from Sheila's home. She was an old woman who didn't look her age and had a beautiful face that forever held a smile for everyone she ran into. Sheila's mom had told her once that Mrs Huffleberry had lived in the town all her life. She grew up in the cottage she lived in but took over the coffee business when her mother died.

"Well dear, a fresh cup of coffee is what truly you need." She would always say. The coffee shop opened at six in the morning, way before other shops did and closed by eight; Sheila knew this because she worked there. Her job was to clean the floors, set up the furniture, dust the books and newspapers in the racks and restock them with new ones when they came. But since Mrs Huffleberry usually started her day by five so she did most of the tasks herself. In the mornings, she usually walked the small metres from her cottage to the shop and on her way, said a nice hello to the morning joggers, mail man and milk boys.

“Good morning, Henry." She would say when she ran into the butcher going for his morning beef. “Pray say Linda, what a nice weather we have today. Why don't you come in for a nice cup of coffee?" She would call out to Ms. Linda, the new music teacher in the town's elementary school, on her way to school.

“Morning, Mrs Huffleberry. Thank you for the offer. Maybe later." She would always reply but she never came in.

Ms. Linda was new in town but Sheila's mother who knew everything had told her that she was also from their town. She had three kids with her and worked part time at the grocery shop after school. Sheila had heard from the women that her husband had divorced her for cheating but from the men, she had heard the opposite. No one knew exactly why the single mother of three had returned to her childhood home from the city; there were just made up stories. Only Mrs Huffleberry was nice to her but that didn't count because she was nice to everyone. Even a criminal would seem a saint to her. *** Making coffee is easy. However, making an amazing cup of fresh hot coffee is a gift only bestowed upon rare angels like Mrs Huffleberry and her ancestors. To her, making just a cup of coffee whether it was Latte, café lemoni or a simple espresso was like lovemaking. One had to treat the beans with delicateness and finesse.

Sheila however didn't understand a thing about that so she never let her. In the past, Mrs Huffleberry used to make her coffee with her hands but by pure luck, Sheila was able to convince her to buy a coffee grinder for pulverizing the beans and a maker for making espresso. It took more nerves and energy to finally convince her to buy a steaming machine for the milk.

She said every step of the process meant something to her.

When making coffee, Mrs Huffleberry ensured the dosing of the powder was accurate and the packing into the porter filter was precise. For the leveling, she used her finger to smoothen the powder with such finesse it sometimes looked like she was either parting the red sea or soothing a baby to sleep. Tamping needed body weight and strength but she made it look so easy and flawless to Sheila.

After inserting the porter filter into the brew head, she would wait and watch the brownish liquid flow through the tap like a mother watching her child dance ballet. Finally, she would add in the steamed milk and sometimes drew heart shapes.

A latte with her sweet buns and cakes were enough to melt even the coldest heart. As all good heroes do, Mrs Huffleberry made her coffee especially for each customer. His taste or her mood determined what type of coffee she offered them. If she saw the Baker in a foul mood, she would offer him a Rosy Latte. If the town's only lawyer barged in late, looking sad and melancholic because he had an hectic day, she would serve him a cup of creamy latte and buns. She always knew what each person really desired and needed. Then one day, it happened. *** The pandemic shook the world and made life boring. The town became dull like its soul had been stolen. No one met on the streets again. Just simple hellos and waves. Everyone had to stay indoors and obeyed the social distance. They heard the death tolls increase on the news and knew people were dying off in matters of hours. Mrs Huffleberry had three children: Jane, Cherry and Sam. Jane, the oldest daughter lived in Washington with her family, Cherry lived in Oregon while Sam the youngest lived in Florida. They rarely came home. One day, she received a call that Jane had died due to health complications. Poor Mrs Huffleberry suffered a heart attack and never recovered. The day she was buried, the clouds poured for hours, it was as if the heavens were bitter at her death and weeping too. The town grieved over her for it was a tragedy no one could have foreseen. **** Sam came home for the funeral but Cherry didn't; she couldn't make it due to the restrictions. He took care of the cottage for a while but he was no Mrs Huffleberry. No one could ever be. The town lost its colours and without the coffee shop, they had no reason to jog past it at seven, stop in for a coffee break or meet up for weekly gossips. It was like a part of them had died with her. The shop that had once being filled with laughter, happiness, colour and immense joy became cloudy, lifeless and inanimate. And as if that wasn't enough, Sam decided to sell the shop to the new developers from the city. He wanted to return to the city because he felt unwelcome and lost in the town. **** "Good morning, Sheila." A lively voice called out and she stopped. She was passing by the coffee shop on her way home from the clinic where she now worked when she heard the voice. The voice sounded a lot like Mrs Huffleberry's, whenever she was in a good mood. Was it Mrs Huffleberry? She asked herself. Then chided herself the next minute. It definitely couldn't be her; she had been dead for weeks now. "Sheila! What're you thinking about?" It asked, in a scolding tone. I'm either just imaging this or I must have really suffered a great shock like Dr. Mark said, she mumbled.

Without thinking, she moved closer to the shop when she saw movement and her eyes nearly popped out in shock. She couldn't believe what she was staring at was real. It was impossible. What magic had happened to the shop overnight, she managed to ask her in head and the 'magic' turned the door knob; opening the door and offering her a chance to come in. "Sam...I thought you were leaving?" She asked, after getting off the nostalgic feeling of being back in her favourite place. "Yeah. But...I changed my mind," he replied. “Does that mean you're keeping the shop then?" “Yes." The glint in his eyes and sparkle convinced Sheila a miracle must have happened. He looked different and happy unlike when he had arrived weeks ago. For some reason she didn't know, Sheila felt elated at the news.

Both news actually.

The fact he was reopening the coffee shop and he wasn't leaving. She couldn't decide of the two, which one gladdened her more. “But why? You told me you were leaving on Sunday. You said you couldn't live in a small town like this. What changed?" "Mom. I saw her in my dreams last night, Sheila. I was lost in a cold mountain and was blue to death. Then she appeared with her smile and warmth. She told me a cup of coffee was what I needed then made me a cup. It felt so good, it reminded me of my childhood. Of the days, I spent playing in the shop and watching her. She told me she wanted me to return the same warmth to the town." “Oh, Mrs Huffleberry must be an angel! She care so much about us all," Sheila exclaimed at first. "But, can you run the shop on your own?" "I would need your help. She said that... not me." He teased lightly. “I will most certainly be glad to. Anything for Mrs Huffleberry." She sounded excited and full of life. She hated her job at the hospital anyways. As much as she wanted to do it for Mrs Huffleberry, Sheila also wanted to do it for herself. Her life had no meaning without the shop in it. “What coffee do you think will be just right for a reopening free sample, cappuccino and say, sweet cakes and buns?" “Definitely not. It's autumn and it's kind of cold. Let's make sometime to warm their hearts with. A reminder of the feeling of love, coziness and magic." She laughed for a while then replied. “Great! I have an idea. Thank you Sheila, you're an angel." At that moment, they shared a silent look that held ten thousand silent words that were never said out but they understood regardless. While Sam made the coffee and snacks in the kitchen just as his mother used to do, she returned to her usual job of cleaning. When he was through, he called her over. The buns looked so good she couldn't resist them. She took a bite and her eyes watered with tears. She was instantly flooded with memories of her childhood. She took a sip of the strange coffee next, rolled it in her mouth and felt the smoothness and taste of it. The aftertaste made her felt warm and loved. “What type of coffee is this? I haven't tasted anything like it before." She quickly asked. “Autume fire. It's a secret recipe. Just for the Huffleberrys alone." He said and winked at her. Sheila smiled.

She could almost imagine her friends, family and everyone back in the warm walls of the shop. She could picture the women back in their chairs around the table, smiling, laughing and gossiping while eating cakes. The men reading the papers while debating on the latest trade news with cups of coffees in front of them. The children at the books section listening to her read them stories of the world far and beyond. She had been apprehensive about the change in season and faded colours of fallen leaves but now she was positive, that autumn would bring in warmth and happiness.

Sheila and Sam shared a smile at the doors. Together, they opened the doors to the shop then flipped the closed sign.

The coffee shop was finally open for business. The news would go around the town and everyone would know about the new coffee called Autumn fire.

They would flood the shop in crowds because their favorite coffee shop had returned to them.