As I lay in my bed, in my little box room, amongst the dust and clutter; I find my eyes unable to close, not for the dull stench of mould pervading the plastered walls or the stony mattress beneath me which pokes and prods my back with errant springs – nor the pitter-patter of winter rains against the windowpanes or the shadows of naked branches which dance against the walls like shadow puppets from spindled fingers. These distractions were not the thing that kept my mind gasping feverishly above the waves of sleep. In truth, I wished for nothing more than sink beneath the swell into that deep and dark void of sleep, where realities entangled themselves with the desires of the unconscious mind. Oh, how I longed for that sweet nothingness, but instead, there I lay; eyes bared wide against the darkness, transfixed upon the mirror. It had taunted me since the first time I laid eyes on it, tall and heavy, propped up in the corner of my room. Its frame boasted its decadence, ornately carved with baroque patterns of endless floral spirals which dizzied your eyes with maddening repetition, the golden paint which once served to extenuate the wealth of the craftsmanship; now cracked and flaking, serving only as a reminder of its age. The glassy visage which was once preened and polished so as to only reflect the truest image of the richness before it was now mired by a fine layer of dust, the corners chipped and splintered, a fissure running down its centre – warping the reflections of anything which stood before it mockingly, as if in revenge for its abandonment. I had spent many an hour standing before it, staring blankly into the reflection of myself, split down the middle by that ugly fracture. It was like looking at a stranger, a broken man, torn apart amongst the shattered pieces and clumsily rearranged into some foreign imitation of what once was. It frustrated me to no end, I would stare and stare, move an inch or two, observe closely and retreat to the fullest image possible and yet… there was no trace of

me . This reflection, this other, which stared back. I could see no sense of self within it. I could raise my hand above my head, contort my face as strangely as a ghoul, kick out my feet and dance like a madman – it would copy my every move – instantaneous, dutifully, even mockingly. Yet it was not

me . It was a malformed copy-cat. A demon disguised behind my face, my clothes and skin. The more I stared at it, the more it stared back at me, the stronger my hatred for the imposter grew; and with it, my terror. The worst of it came when I realised that this stranger in the mirror had begun to escape the confines of my little box room. When everywhere I went, no matter how far and wide, I could not seem to escape it. The first time I noticed it following me was out on the streets, as I idled mindlessly on the edge of the pavement, waiting for a gap in the thoroughfare and simply enjoying my time away from that little room and terrible mirror. Through my absent mind and vague daydreaming, I found my gaze wandering to the ground before me. How I wish I hadn’t. My blood ran cold when I saw it, my back arched like a cat and the air froze in my lungs. That face, staring back at me, distorted and muddled against the rippling surface of a puddle. Mimicking even the timing of my blinking eyes so as to ensure that however hard I tried, there was no escaping. The only reprieve came by way of the intervention of bicycle wheels, slicing the visage of the beast in half as it passed by, only then was I freed from the prison of its gaze and there was no telling how much time had elapsed. Ever since it follows me everywhere I go. It hides in shop windows, lurks in the water, my shined leather shoes and the watch-face on my wrist. It stalks me through reflections. Bending its shape formlessly into every facet of my life. Haunting me. Now as I lay here, in my little box room, consumed by the darkness of a winters night; I stare against the blackness, at the mirror, lurking in the corner. Grand and tall and decaying. I see it there, in the glass, lay in a bed like mine – in a room like mine – dressed in the same clothes, sheltering from the cold beneath the same frayed blanket. I wander if it too can smell the damp and rot? if it can hear the rain pelting the window? if it can feel the springs of the mattress prodding against its back? Perhaps its blind, deaf and dumb? Does it simply exist there, within its shattered realm, senseless… maybe it looks back at me wandering the same things? Why must in punish me with its distortion? This malformation I have come to hate, this other me in the mirror which isn’t

me  at all, this ugly imitation; bastardised and ungodly and evil and broken. I must kill it. Slaughter the beast I see looking back at me, return my own reflection to myself – completed, whole, unbroken. I find myself standing against it, nose to nose, its hollow eyes met with mine. The bookend in my hand feels heavy, cold, metallic. I see it has one of its own and know that I must strike first, I rear it back above my head and see the rage in its eyes before thrusting it forward with all my might. Cautiously, my eyes open, the stagnant air feels heavy in my lungs as I breathe fear laden breaths. I feel the sting of shattered glass beneath my feet, I’m bleeding. The victory of seeing nothing but the bared, wooden backing of the mirror dulls the pain. The bookend falls to the floor with a clunk as the satisfaction of freedom washes over me. I look to my bleeding feet, a menagerie of glass shards surround them, long as knives and just as sharp and… It’s face lives within each and every one of them. A thousand distorted reflections looking back at me, only this time, each and every one is smiling at me.


Tradition had always been extremely important in the family. You were born into it. You have no choice. The children were not asked at any age if, they want to do it. It was just expected. Sky knew from an early age she had the family talent. This did not mean she wanted to stay in the family business. Her brothers and sisters had all joined in the show the same as she had. Problem was, Sky wanted more. She studied hard in lessons to prove to herself that she could be more. University called to her. She wanted to be amongst likeminded people who studied for pleasure, not because they had to. She sat at her small desk reading the essay she had written on the victorian household. She liked the Victorian era. The fashion, The Royal Family, Jack the ripper it all fascinated her. She absentmindedly played with the clear contact balls in her hands. They looked like they glided and moved on their own through her skilled hands. If there was the time before a show she would go out and entertain the bored children who were sitting ringside with them. She was trained in most of the circus acts. Trapeze, juggling, throwing knives, so many she couldn’t list them all. She never knew what she would be doing before the show. She would walk up to the list her parents printed out each day and see what part of the show she would be performing in that night or if she had a night off. Her parents did this to try and avoid the boredom of doing the same thing every day. They made the list to try and inspire excitement of who would be performing what each night. They were a static circus, set inside a year-long holiday park. They had regulars who came every year to see them, they even knew some by name. Every school holiday period her parents along with herself and her siblings would put on clown school to teach the kids and adults how to spin plates, ride unicycles or dress up as clowns and play with the different props. She enjoyed the clown school. She enjoyed seeing the looks of amazement on peoples faces when they had mastered whichever trick they had tried their hand at. Maybe she could teach? She just knew that she didn’t want to be a part of the circus her whole life, she wanted more. She had known for years but still hadn’t found the words or the confidence to tell her parents. She worried it would break their hearts. Now that the time for further education was coming up. She knew she would have to tell them soon instead of hiding all of the brochures underneath her underwear in her draw like a child with contraband. She had already applied to several universities for early acceptance. That way she would have time to plan what to say to her parents. They were proud to be performers, neither of them had ever thought of doing anything else with their lives. She heard the study door open and listened to her fathers’ footsteps walk to the message board to post tonights show. It was time to rehearse her act for the night. It only took an hour as everyone knew what to do, they just needed to practice timing and which opening they would go out to. It differed slightly every night like the Simpsons couch gag. She closed down her laptop and walked over to the list. Knife throwing, her favourite. She went down the hall to her sister’s room to tell her she would be getting stabbed that night. She was joking, of course, her aim and the tricks of the trade made it extremely difficult to stab whoever stood in front of the comically large target board. She went to the study and knocked on the door, then went in. “Hi dad, I’m just here for my knives, please,” She said to his back as he bent over his desk, probably working on a new routine. She went to his side and looked at the paper he was drawing on absorbed in his work of the presumed new routine he had probably dreamt up. He always said he drank, ate, lived and dreamed in a big top. She waited patiently while he finished his thought. He was a kind man but god forbid anyone ever dared to interrupt him when he had an idea. It seemed to fly away as soon as he stopped working on it if, he was stopped before his initial idea had been jotted down on whatever he had at hand at the time of the idea. It looked like an interesting new trampoline act with the trapeze. The act would probably go to her eldest brother and sister as they were the most confidant with those acts. Finally, when the initial idea was drawn up he looked at her confused for a second then reached into his pocket for ‘The forbidden cupboard’ keys. It held all the props for the dangerous acts. Such as knives, swords and paraffin among other things that could be stolen. Everyone had their own set of knives. Sky’s knives had a blood-red blade which turned into a flame design at the handle. They were designed to look as if she was throwing fire. Sky was mainly a dangerous act participant. Her main skills were Knife throwing, sword swallowing and fire dancing. Her image was a fire goddess as she had bright red hair, a red costume and a phoenix tattoo on her arm. They all had some sort of themed persona at work. Her father was the ring leader with his tall top hat and tails. Her mother was always the gorgeous assistant. She was still stunning even after five children who were all mainly grown-up. She took her knives, returned the keys to her father’s desk as he was back working again, then went out to the target. Her sister was already there waiting to get things thrown at her. She was looking at the props. “I’m feeling brave tonight so I’m thinking balloons to start then I’ll hold a fan near my heart and you can pop the hidden balloon by my side.” Her sister suggested. They had an unwritten rule that, with knife throwing the target person chose which version of the act they wanted to do. “If that’s what you want to do, we can do that” Sky agreed “Then we can William tell it with the apple on the head at the end, do you want to grab the crossbow?” Sky worried that her sister might be feeling too hyper and daredevil for the show. “The crossbow trigger is still broken, but I can use a blindfold if you want?” “Double it! I’ll be blindfolded too, you should miss the first time. Get the hearts of the audience racing” Sky rolled her eyes, she hated it when her sister was this confidant but also proud that her sister trusted her so much. She was her favourite, she would miss her the most if she went away. XXXX “Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the Angel’s triumph circus!” Sky’s dad yelled at the crowd. The sign that it was showtime. The night’s performance was a great hit. The double blindfold with the bluff miss throw made the audience ooh and ahh. Sky had smiled at her sister when they took their bow. She loved it when the audience really got into the acts. After the final bows of the family and their circus friends who also performed with them. Sky’s dad stayed dead centre of the ring. Her mother ran out the back with a flourish. Feathers from her tail littering the floor. When she came back she stood beside her husband with a microphone. “We here at the Angel’s triumph circus would like to say we are parent’s who respect our children’s privacy, mums out there am I right?” the crowd murmured in agreement. “We have been a family-run circus on this spot for three proud generations. Now I am pleased to announce that one of our chicks has broken all that tradition and has been accepted into university.” Sky’s mum’s eyes met hers. Sky could see the proud tears in her parents’ eyes. “You did it, baby. We knew you would be the one to fly the coop” Sky ran up to her mother and the envelope with her acceptance letter in it. She should have known that she would have their support. Sometimes a break in tradition can be a good thing.


“I quit!” That was all that Louisa said, all those years of sacrifice were gone, and all because of Amber. Louisa had a hard childhood, however, when she was nine years old she found something she was passionate about. Riding horses, she couldn't love a single thing more than she loved horses. Horseback riding was her escape, the only thing that enabled her to escape her problems. While riding, Louisa felt a connection with the horse as well as with nature. The breeze on her face, that adrenaline that made her heart race, she loved everything about riding.

If you dare to ask her she would say her favorite horse was Luck, well she did not own him, however, she treated him as if she was his owner. Louisa lived not too close to the city, it was a rural zone where there were so many farms. One day when walking back home from school she saw an advertisement. Some farmers were looking for a strong and helpful employer who could work at the farm.

Louisa considered herself a strong and helpful woman, even though she was only nine. When she entered the farm and asked to apply for the job the farmers both laughed at her. “We are looking for a man, not even a boy and you are a tiny and weak girl”. Louisa didn't care, she kept insisting to them “I am strong enough for this job,” she said. A middle-aged farmer who owned a farm close to there was on that farm picking up some merchandise when he heard the girl. When the other farmers kicked her out, that one farmer talked to her “My name is Dave, and I also own a farm. Let me tell you, you are a very enthusiastic young lady”. Louisa liked that Dave didn't refer to her as a girl, he called her young lady. Then the farmer asked Louisa.“Would you like to work on my farm? I need some help”. Of course, Louisa accepted. The next day when Louisa entered the farm the first thing that caught her attention was seeing Dave riding a horse. Then Dave gave her a tour of the farm, it was clear what Louisa liked the most were the horses, which were kept in a stable. There was one horse in particular, it was as white as a cloud, but it had a dark spot on its back which characterized it. “What is his name?” She asked.

Dave answered, “More than a name, it is a meaning”. Louisa insisted so Dave told her the story behind his name. “This horse was a miracle,” Dave said while looking at Luck. “I was there when he was born, as well as the vet. When the vet took her out of the womb, he immediately die”. Louisa's heart stopped beating then, she wanted to know more about Luck's story. “What happened then?” she asked. “Well the vet gave up, she looked at me with that kind of face that tells you, there is nothing right. I didn't give up so easily, I put my hands on the horse's chest doing a CPR technique. The horse came back to life before I could tell”.

Dave trusted Louisa from that moment on, he had lost his daughter and Louisa had lost his father, it seemed that they were both meant to know each other.

After school every day Louisa went to the farm, she got used to all of the tasks and chores she had. Once she was done Dave taught her how to ride Luck, he started by teaching her how to saddle the horse. It took a few days for Louisa to get used to it, however, she seemed to be a natural. She was riding Luck as if she had done it for a long time, but speeding up was not one of her problems. The faster the better, that's what she used to say. After a couple of months Dave began to teach her how to jump through obstacles, he was surprised by how good Louisa was getting. One afternoon Dave gave Louisa a gift, it was wrapped in blue wrapping paper, Louisa had told him it was her favorite color. “What is this?” Louisa asked.

“Open it and you will see,” Dave told her. Louisa broke the wrapping paper, she opened the box and inside there was a riding suit. Louisa seemed to be confused, she thought farmers wear ranch boats, as well as hats. “There is this riding competition, I would like you to attend”. Louisa immediately smiled, no one had ever done something like that for her, she felt that Dave truly knew her. Louisa hugged Dave, and she whispered into his ear “Thank you! It means a lot”. Again, she accepted Daves's offer and would join the competition.

Louisa was ready for the competition a month later, it was a horseback riding club where people were taking lessons, and there were some girls older than Louisa. She was not nervous, Louisa was not like that. When Louisa did something she always felt confident about, this time was no different. She put on her helmet, then she kissed Dave on the cheek, and then went to the stable where Luck was.

“I am sure we are going to win,” she told Luck while smiling.

A blonde girl and two other girls were staring at Louisa, she looked at them waiting for them to say something. “Hi?” Louisa told them once she felt uncomfortable.

“What club are you representing?” The blonde girl said, another girl who seemed to be older said “You don't have a club uniform?” Louisa kindly told them “I came here with… with my dad who owns a farm”.

The three girls laughed at her, the blond girl told her “Good luck! You will need it”. Louisa was still confident, she would not let anyone destroy the confidence she had and she mostly feel loved, Dave was acting as if he was her father. Louisa's mom was an alcoholic woman, after Louisa's dad passed away when she was four her mother didn't have the strength to smile again. Since then Louisa was by herself until Dave found her.

The competition started, the horses and their riders were all at the starting point, and the first round would only be running. The first horse to reach the final goal would be the winner.

“Ready…. Set….Go!” The whistle sounded, and everyone was running as fast as possible, including Louisa. You could tell how focused she was, she didn't even realize she was the fastest until she reached the goal. The first thing she saw was Dave, he was shaking his hands while saying “That's my Louisa! Good job!” Louisa was proud, she patted Luck.

Louisa had won first place in the first round, and the blonde girl Luisa had talked to earlier was Amber, who won second place. When the other competitors reached the finish line they were surprised that Amber hadn't won, no one could believe it. “It was my horse, he stumbled,” Amber told them, she again stared at Louisa with an angry face. Louisa understood what kind of person she was dealing with.

The second round included jumps, again the whistle sounded and they were all running fast, this time Amber was beating Louisa. She did not seem to be enjoying the ride, she had a frustrated face and you could also see that she was suffering because she was giving much more than she should. This time Amber won, Louisa won second place, and she was still glad about it. Dave had never been happier, he was proud and excited since he trained Louisa, he had seen her turn into an amazing rider.

The competition was done, Louisa got a big golden trophy with a horse on the top, and she got a medal for winning second place. “Dave! Look what I got!” She said excitingly while running to Dave's arms. “Thank you!” She whispered.

After a long day, Louisa was exhausted, Dave took her home since it was eight o'clock Louisa thought her mother would be out, drinking. Dave hugged Louisa “Have a good night, little speedster”. Louisa laughed then she walked inside her house.

Her mother was sitting on the couch looking through the window, she had seen how an old man who she did not know hugged her nine-year-old daughter. She was not a role model mother, but she didn't want Louisa to end up like her.

“Who was that man?” Danielle screamed as soon as Louisa walked into the house. Louisa had no idea what to answer, so she stayed in silence.

“I am talking to you!” Danielle screamed again, and this time she punch the table with her fist, she made Louisa scared, it was not the first time Danielle acted violently.

Danielle started telling mean things to Louisa, she was about to hit her when Louisa raise her voice. “You have never been there for me, never since papa passed away. Why do you care who that man is?” Louisa took a deep breath, she was not scared anymore.

“That man has been like a father to me, and I want to live with him”.

Danielle let a tear out of her eye, she didn't scream or say anything. She went to her room, took a big blue suitcase out of the closet, and she started packing, putting all of the clothes unfolded from one side to another on the suitcase. Louisa ran to her mother's room, she was scared “Mom! Mom! What are you doing?” She said over and over again, but there was no answer.

When Danielle finished packing, Louisa kept crying thinking about what her mother was doing. Her mother finally said something “I'm leaving, I have not been a good mother because I don't feel like being one”.

“What do you mean?” Louisa asked her, her mother answered shortly “You did nothing wrong, now that you find someone who can take care of you is better for both of us”. Danielle left, and Louisa ran to her mother's room and used a chair to look in the highest part of the closet. Her papa's ashes were supposed to be there in an ash chest, she knew her mother was not ever coming back. If her mother took the ashes, her biggest treasure, she was forever gone. Louisa had a weird sensation, she had lost both of her parents now. She wanted to keep all of the good memories, some of them were blurry since she was so young when her family was complete. She first started tearing up until fear invaded her mind, she was no longer sure if Dave would accept her as her daughter. Louisa started crying, she got out of the house and then she ran to Dave's farm. The farm's fence was open so she went inside, it was ten already so Dave would be inside his house. She ran to the house and she started ringing the bell over and over again while screaming. Dave opened the door, and she saw how heartbroken Louisa was. “What 's wrong?” Dave asked her, Louisa hugged him with all her might.

“My mother left me, she is gone!” Louisa screamed, Dave was not catching what Louisa was saying, she was just screaming and he could barely catch some words she was saying. Dave understood one sentence Louisa said which melted Dave's heart. “Are you going to send me away from you? You don't want me as a daughter?” Dave grabbed Louisa in his arms, let a tear out of his eyes and he said “I will never let you go, you are my daughter now”.

For both of them life changed that night, Dave turned into Louisa's father and Louisa turned into Dave's daughter. Time passed, and Louisa grew into a sixteen-year-old girl. She and Dave never parted ways, she learned from him everything a girl could learn from a father, and even more. Dave continued to train her, and Louisa continued to participate in horse competitions she was in love with horses, especially Luck. Her main rival was still Amber, she seemed to haven't changed, Amber was still mean to Louisa. Soon there would be an important national competition that would define who would represent the United States in the 2022 world equestrian championship.

Two weeks before the big national competition Louisa came back from school, Dave promised her that they would go horseback riding up a mountain that had a nice view of the valley. “Dad! Where are you?” Louisa asked while walking through the house. “Louisa, come here,” Dave told her from the basement, he was only there when he was working on the computer, and Louisa wondered why. “I need to talk to you,” he said. Louisa knew there was something wrong going on, then Dave kept talking. “I need to sell Luck,” Dave said shortly, without any other explanation. Louisa had different emotions all mixed,

He knew that Dave did not own the horses, if someone offered to buy one, the owner would decide. Then Louisa calmly replied, "I don't understand. Why would you sell it?" Dave continued saying "Well, apparently there is a client that offers double the value of what a horse like Luck costs, my boss decided it and I tried to convince him but he refused". Then the tears began to come out of Louisa's eyes, and she ran to her room, Dave was behind her while saying "I'm sorry sweetie, I'm sorry. You know I love Luck too". Louisa wasn't mad at Dave; she understood it wasn't her fault but was still very sad. Luck had been the most faithful and supportive horse she had ever known. He didn't have the same confidence with horses other than Luck. The next morning they both had breakfast together, as usual, it was Saturday so Dave thought it would be a good idea to ride, Louisa could ride Luck one last time. Returning from the top of the mountain, Dave and Louisa could see that Thomas, Dave's boss, was talking to Amber and Zara, Amber's mother. "What is she doing here?" Louisa asked, Amber, said in a cold and rude tone "Mother, why is this cowgirl riding my horse?" Louisa understood Amber would buy the horse to make her lose at nationals. "You're not taking Luck! You're crazy, crazy!" Louisa yelled at him as she walked towards Amber. Thomas calmed Louisa down, even yelling at Dave to control his daughter. "Amber will buy the horse!" Thomas yelled, he had always been an understanding boss talking about his horses, which were kept on Dave's farm but when it came to money Thomas was unrecognizable. “I quit!” Louisa screamed, she let out an uncontrollable cry and ran to her favorite corner of the farm, she was sitting in the shade of the big trees next to Luck, but now he would be no more. Dave came running up to her and hugged her as he listened to what Louisa was saying. "It's not fair! She just wants to make me lose! I've lost so much in my life." Dave immediately got upset. "That's not true! If you have lost a lot, but life has given you in return, you don't see it, there are orphans out there who never had someone who loved them as I did with you." Louisa yelled again "I quit!" She was angry with Dave now, she didn't like what he had told her, so she ran away. The days passed, and Louisa said goodbye to Luck and had given up the competition and riding because she didn't want to do it if it wasn't with Luck. Dave knew that Louisa wasn't really mad at him, she was hurt. Dave made a decision, he sold a gold watch which had been a gift from his grandmother since he was a teenager. Dave's boss agreed to sell the horse, so He went to Louisa's room without telling her that he had retrieved it. When Louisa saw Luck in the stable she didn't understand. "I bought it, it's yours." Louisa looked carefully at Dave "How?" I ask him, and he replied, "I love you more than anything my daughter". They both hugged each other and Dave whispered: "Now you must win, you must be the fastest Equestria in the world". When the national competition arrived in Ohio, Amber was there, her plan had failed. Everyone got ready and ran but there was a competitor who stood out among all. It was Louisa, she and Luck were about to reach the finish line first as usual. The second place did not go to Amber, she had been in sixth place which meant that she would not go to the world championships. Louisa couldn't believe it, she was going to compete against the best horsemen in the world. She had finally achieved what for many years she had worked so hard for, she achieved it together with her father, and everything she had lost had been for a special reason, something that had led her to be Louisa Anne Horton, the world champion. riding.


"By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire", I read aloud four times over before I closed my notebook.  "I need a break, Chance", I told my Pit Bull pup.  "Let's go for a walk." He jumped up from his bed and spun circles as I got up to grab his leash.  Chance was very well trained already and sat down at the door while I hooked his leash to his collar.  He stayed sitting until I told him to come on after I opened the door.  Chance stayed by my side the whole walk to the park, stopping when I did, and never strayed too far away. Once at the park, we stopped in front of the sign that read, "park name", and I unhooked his leash.  He stayed sitting right beside me until I told him to go play.  I laughed as he ran straight for the mud puddle and jumped in.  I shook my head as I walked over to a bench and pulled out my phone before I sat down. Chance barked excitedly as another pup came barreling over to the mud puddle.  She was a beautiful brindle Great Dane, about a year and a half old.  Her tail was wagging as she greeted Chance, then she ran over to me, sniffed my hand I held out to her, and ran back to Chance.  A young girl came running over, laughing, and jumped into the mud puddle with the pups. "Cindy," a man exclaimed, snickering, "what are you doing?" The little girl laughed as she rolled over and said, "Look Daddy, I'm a puppy, too!" Chance had come back over and layed down in front of me.  Cindy looked over at him and tried to get him to go back into the puddle to play, but wouldn't leave my side.  Her dad told her to play with Lilly and that he might come back to play in a bit.  The man looked at me and nodded, making Chance growl a little bit, and Lilly stand still.  I nodded in return and told Chance down to make him stop growling.  Cindy laughed and grabbed at Lilly to play and missed, landing in the puddle and splashing her father. "Be careful, Cindy," her father told her, "this is an expensive shirt your mother bought me. "She is not my mother", she shot back at him firmly.  "You made my Mommy leave me", she whispered as she started to cry. Lilly came over, licked her face making Cindy smile again, and continued to play in the mud once her tiny human was no longer sad.  Chance still stayed by my side as I sat there a bit longer before getting up to go down to the lake's beach. Once Chance set paw on the sand, he put his nose to the ground and was on the hunt, for what I thought, would be a stick.  About seven feet away from me, he started to wine and dig into the ground.  Just a little over two feet down into the hole he was digging, his tail started to wag as he pulled up a bone.  He proudly presents me with his tiny bone and I quickly realize it's a human's finger. Chance went back to the hole to dig some more and pulled out a small portion of a hand with two fingers still attached to it.  I pulled him away, hooked his leash back to his collar, and called the police.  They asked me to stay by the hole so they can easily find it, and so I can keep everyone else away from it until they arrive. The first officer that approached me was five feet and three inches tall, about one hundred and forty pounds, jet black hair cut just above her shoulders, with green eyes, and light freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose.  Her partner was a taller man, with bland features, and stayed farther behind her, scowling. "I'm Officer Willow," she said pointing behind her, "and this is my partner, Officer Davis.  He's staying farther behind because this is a test for me.  It's still my first week in the field." "I'm Billy and this is Chance", I responded.  "He's the one that found the bone and the partial, unattached hand." Officer Willow asked me a few questions and then asked for my information, so she could contact me if she had further questions.  Officer Davis nodded before turning to follow Officer Willow back to the car to call in the forensics team.  Officer Davis came back with stakes and Police:  Do Not Cross tape to tape off the hole first.  They would expand it later on as they uncovered more body parts if they needed to. I took Chance home, carrying him inside to the bathroom to clean him up, so he didn't track mud all over the apartment.  After his bath, and my shower, I fed him before making dinner for myself.  By the time I had dinner cooked and ate, it was eleven thirty-seven at night.  I took Chance out to go potty before curling up in my bed for the night. My alarm goes off in the morning and I roll over, slamming my hand down on the snooze button to shut it up.  Chance jumps up on the bed and pulls at my hair whining.  I look up at him and he licks my face.  I shove him to the side and sit up, groaning.  He curled up in my lap as I gave him his good morning loves.  I smiled down at him as he playfully nipped at my hands, his tail wagging. After a bit, I patted the bed beside me and he jumped over so I could get up.  I got dressed and went into the kitchen after grabbing my phone off of the charger.  I held the power button to turn it on as I placed it on the kitchen table so I could feed Chance his breakfast and give him fresh water.  He went running into the kitchen and out the back doggie door to do his business as my phone rang.  I laughed as I answered without looking at the caller ID. "Mr. Young," a gruff voice said on the other side, "It's Officer Davis.  I need you to come to the police station so we can get your fingerprints for elimination, as well as your dog's DNA." "Of course, I'll be there with Chance as soon as I'm able to." "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Young." "It's not a problem", I responded.  We hung up and I got Chance ready to leave. Once at the station, I asked for Officer Willow or Officer Davis, and I was asked to have a seat, that one of them would be with me shortly.  The receptionist saw that I had Chance with me and asked if she could pet and give him a treat.  I smiled and told her yeah.  I told Chance to behave and he sat still.  She held out her hand that didn't have the treat in it for him to sniff.  He licked her and she gave him the treat while scratching his head. "Mr. Young, thank you for coming in so soon with Chance." I nodded in response.  He led the way into the main conference room where Officer Willow had everything ready to get Chance's DNA and my fingerprints.  I sat across from Officer Willow and she asked for my right hand first.  Once she was done collecting her elimination evidence from us, Officer Davis walked us back out to the lobby and gave Change some water before we left. "Thank you again, for coming in, Mr. Young", he said as I led Chance out the door. I smiled and nodded and continued to walk to my truck.  I stopped about three feet away from the door to the police station and turned around.  Officer Davis was still standing there and his head inclined, as if to ask me what was on my mind.  I told him how Chance had acted around the man at the park the previous day, and that he'd never acted that way around anyone before.  He then asked me if I'd sit down with a sketch artist to describe him. "When would be a good time for me to come and do that?" "You can come back in right now and do it if you want to.  I'll watch Chance for you", he said smiling. "Alright, I'm okay with that", I replied as I walked back in. Officer Davis took Chance's leash as he held open the door to Mr. Brinks' office.  He introduced me and told him what I was there for.  Mr. Brinks gave a small nod, waved me on in, and told me to have a seat after shaking my hand in greeting.  He grabbed his pencils and drawing pad, then turned to me and had me describe in as much detail as I could remember of the man. "He was shorter than I am, about five and a half feet tall, a little on the chunky side with about a four inch beer-gut, dirty blonde hair, buzzed three inches short all the way around his head, and hazel eyes.  He had a tat on his upper left arm of an anchor, freckles up and down both arms, and a good sized birthmark on his right calf that looked like a witch's hat." He flipped the pad over for me to look once he was done and I nodded, telling him that's the guy.  He nodded in response and asked if there was a little girl with him.  I nodded as confusion spread across my face.  He looked at me and explained that he personally knew the little girl because she tries to run away a lot. "Why does she do that", I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me. "She blames her father for her mother leaving", he explained.  "Her mother left two years ago and hasn't tried to get into contact with her since.  But, between you and I, it's better that way.  She wasn't a very good woman or mother, though, rumor has it that she left to get better for her daughter." A knock on the door halted our conversation as Officer Davis opened the door to tell us that the body has been identified as Mrs. Katie Hilliard, Cindy's mother.  Mr. Brink shook his head, sighed, and said a small prayer for his small friend, Cindy.  Officer Davis asked me if I knew any of them personally and I told him I did not.  He nodded, handed me Chance's leash back, and walked me back out to the lobby. He once again thanked me for my help and I nodded.  I helped Chance get into the truck and as I was getting in myself, I felt a sharp pain enter my back, I heard Chance bark, and Officer Davis yell freeze.  I looked down and all I could see was blackness as I fell to the ground, never to see the light of day again. A week later, the murderer of Mrs. Katie Hilliard and myself, was caught and arrested.  It was Mr. George Hilliard, Mrs. Katie Hilliard's husband, and Cindy Hilliard's father.  Cindy Hilliard was placed in foster care until she was adopted by a couple of the name, Vance.


All around her, the city was grey, bland, and muddied as the rain fell into tiny puddles, too small to be fun, and too big to be pretty. Storefronts and buildings were closed and quiet; her mother’s car was silent (as was her mother) but for the engine and the little tapping of droplets against the metal. Anise wondered how unremarkable this world could be, sometimes, until, just beyond glass panes of Anderson’s Antiques , she glimpsed a warm light. It came from a lamp, its lampshade made up of a thousand colors of brilliant stained glass,

and though the store looked small, it didn’t look like a store at all. It looked like a home, with its pictures, sculptures, and oak brown bookshelves, even through the rain-splattered car window. Anise knew somehow, in a way that could never be explained, not even with the wisest of words, that she must go in there one day. She did not have to say it out loud to know it or even to rationalize it to herself. It was a simple urge; an instinct, that she knew was right, right in the way that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. It simply was.

And so, when her mother asked her what she wanted for her ninth birthday a week later, Anise got her wish. Her mother had looked at her with a funny little tilt of her head, the look usually reserved for Felix, Anise’s older brother when he came home late after school, smelling strange and spouting vapid excuses.

“Why would you want to visit the antique store?” Her mother had asked. Anise smiled. What could she say and how could she say it? She shrugged. The explanation hardly mattered at any rate, as they were already on their way to the store and Anise had worried she might never get to be ‘on her way’ to that warm-looking place.

“Because I want to,” she had said, and her mother had sighed.

“You kids,” she grumbled, but Anise could tell that her mother seemed happy, even if it was just a little bit happier than her ordinary weariness with the world.

Inside the store, there was a smiling woman with white hair and an old wrinkled face, who welcomed them through the door into the warmth. Immediately, Anise was awed by the sheer amount of dazzling things, that seemed to cover every single inch of space. What a place, she thought. She saw shimmering beads, old faded toys, shining bright old clocks, worn but pretty clothes, and paintings of every sort (oils, watercolors, inks, pastels, and more unidentified materials). They captured portraits of ancient dignified people, the imperious and the joyous, the uptight and the humourous, all the various spectrums of the human condition, captured in portraits. This was a place full of treasure.

While it was not big, the room was designed in such a way that there seemed thousands of things hidden in little nooks and crannies. Behind a mirror, there would be old toy soldiers, motioning and commanding themselves in what could only have been an invisible war of sorts. Inside a chest, Anise found clothing, and under that, scrapbooks with faded photographs of big families and smiling babies. Surrounding it all were towering shelves of books, who knows how old, each decaying to the touch, spines trembling under her fingers, and pages tearing at the slightest provocation.

There were also two cats, one thin and tan, wizened with age, and the other black, with shimmering fur and iridescent green eyes. Anise was fond of the second one, and she was sure that that it liked her back. Animals, she had always thought, were not like humans. They were quiet and observant, and they never missed a single thing.

“You can buy one nice thing, or a few small things,” her mother had told her, in her usual strictness. Anise had nodded dutifully. Surrounded by shelves and boxes and colors, what was she to choose? What she wanted was one day to live in a place like this. If every year she came here and bought just one thing, one nice thing, one precious thing, then she could do it. In twenty years, she could have a room like this one, if on a smaller scale, and she would only be thirty-one. And still, if thirty-one could be counted as an adult, which she was fairly sure it did, and if what her mother had said was true- that adults lived in different ways than children, and the future is unpredictable, no matter how many charts and calendars you use- then she just might have more than twenty things by then anyway.

Anise had considered the jewelry, which was mysterious and shiny, attractive and promising, but it reminded her too much of her mother, who kept glancing at rubies behind glass panes, and the look in her eyes was making Anise sad. She had thought of the toys, too: there was a beautiful porcelain doll with starry blue eyes and velvet soft blond hair. But in a sense, even though they were strange and old, they were ordinary. They seemed too much like the plastic barbie dolls she had played with at school, or the Happy Meal trinkets her mother got her on occasion. The comic books reminded her of Felix and a little wood-carved dog of her labrador Calypso. She had even asked the woman if the shimmering black cat might be bought- but no, Harriet was not for sale. In the end, what stopped her in her tracks what the painting.

It was small, no bigger than her two hands, but in it was the prettiest, most vibrant red rose -painted or actual- that Anise had ever known. It was found buried under old books, in the deepest corner of the store, and she had wiped the dust off of the glass with her fingers, not caring if the dust would cling and compress itself under her nails. In the center of the picture was the rose, as rich as a single drop of blood or the cherries on an ice cream Sunday. The rose was surrounded by a dark and shady bush, and perched on the edge of the rose was a white butterfly. It was speckled with grey and black and rendered in such fine detail that she could see its little white spindly legs; it was a kind of butterfly Anise had never seen.

And nothing else mattered after that, not the dull, rusty metal frame or the look her mother gave her at the price tag, or even the smallness of the birthday cake that she suspected was really just a large muffin, because she had found beauty, and it made the world remarkable again.


February 14th. It was just another day on the calendar for Tom Jensen. Just another day in the office, making sales calls to customers. However, everything and everyone he encountered today was trying to convince him otherwise. Vicky, the secretary by the front door, had pink balloons and candy in abundance. Flowers abounded in every lady’s cubicle. Three giant heart-shaped cakes were in the breakroom at lunch. Everybody took a slice as they made the same joke, “Better not spoil my dinner!” This was followed by excited discussion of evening plans. The expensive restaurants drew the most admiration and awe. Sentimentality and clever romantic ideas were tied for second place.

Tom Jensen, age 28, sat there at lunch, not touching the cake. Trying to not even look at the cake, really. As everybody else finished sharing their plans, he started to go back to his desk. He would do anything to avoid The Question. Too late, Rick from accounting noticed him and shouted, “Where is the young stud going to dinner tonight? What is the hottest ticket in town?”

Everybody gave their good-natured chuckle and stared for ten minutes. Maybe it was only three seconds, but close enough. Tom then, as he had so many times before, delivered The Response: “I don’t have any plans tonight.” Vicky said, “Oh, why not? You could have anyone you want!”

Jerry from engineering said, “Nobody can lock down a player like you!” Dale from HR said, “Nothing wrong with that, you have plenty of time! Enjoy that single life!” All of these responses came at once, in a jumbled flurry of fake, empty encouragement. Tom forced a smile and went back to his desk. A fog began to set in, one where his emotions were clouded. Where his feelings could not escape out, or into him. This was a protective fog to get him through the day. Part of it always stuck around, and it had deepened over time, but Tom did not mind. He really had no other choice.

 Three coworkers had left valentines and candy on his desk. Amanda, in the cube across from him, had three bouquets of roses sitting on her desk. As Tom stared, she sat down with a fourth. “Your boyfriend must have bought the whole shop,” Tom joked. “Oh, I don’t have a boyfriend. These are just from some of the guys I’ve been dating. Aren’t they beautiful?” Amanda replied. She was genuinely giddy. Tom wanted to puke. “I have another date tonight. Another guy I met online. We are going to a really nice restaurant, so how could I say no?” Tom didn’t reply. He started making calls, trying to close his nose to the smell of flowers. That did not work, just like it had failed that morning. All of his clients also hit him with The Question. And he hit them with The Response. As the afternoon slowly continued, the temptation occasionally hit Tom to be honest. To tell everyone he hated all of this. To tell everyone they were never this excited about their relationships the entire rest of the year.

To tell everyone he was so incredibly lonely.

The fog thickened, and that temptation went away. Tom had no way of getting out of this. Everybody he met was married or not interested. Trying to flirt with strangers at the grocery store was creepy. None of the married people he knew ever bothered to try to set him up with anybody. He spent most days alone in his apartment, where he did not meet girls, and the cycle continued. Clearly there was something deeply wrong with him. Everybody else had it figured out, but not Tom Jensen.

Tom had tried being honest before. Sometimes it was too much to hold in, and some variation of the term “very single” poured out of him. That always led to an avalanche of Helpful Replies.

“If I was your age, I would be partying all the time.” “There are so many fish in the sea, you will meet somebody.” Tom didn’t want a fish, he wanted a woman. “You have time. You are way too young to even worry about that.” “I found my spouse when I wasn’t even looking. Contentment is the key, then you will find somebody.” The most helpful, though, was silence. Complete silence from every last married man who Tom genuinely sought advice from. None of them cared the slightest bit about helping him, they just wanted to discuss any other topic. As soon as any man got married, they chose to forget what it was like to be single, and chose to be completely useless to all the men struggling in the pool they just left.

The awkwardness amused Tom. It was always exciting for people to discuss relationships. They never shut up about their wives, constantly mentioning them in every story, decision and concern they had about anything at all. But as soon as Tom mentioned singleness, the other side of the coin, it was somehow taboo. Nobody cared about that, or those in that. Nobody cared about Tom Jensen.

Tom slogged through his calls, making a few sales. He should have taken the day off, he knew all of this would make him nearly sick. If only he was allergic to flowers. Or the color pink. However, the end of the day was near, and he was rewarding himself with better food than he could ever make. Food to stuff himself with, then fall asleep as soon as possible.

Tom pulled out his phone, and placed an order to get on his way home. It occurred to him that he got dinner with the same ease that Amanda got dates. Everybody said that was the modern way to do it, but Tom refused. He could not just pick from a sea of faces, no matter how much everyone else touted it. He had to meet someone first, somehow, instead of meeting up and hoping for the best. Instead of using them for a couple hours of entertainment. His apparently warped view on all of this had to do that. And that was why he would forever be alone. Tom left for the restaurant, and got there early. Early enough to watch all of the happy couples stream in. Early enough that he had time to think, and dwell on what was so wrong with him. If he knew, maybe he could fix it.

If he could cry, maybe he could at least release everything he had bottled up. But Tom could not cry, he could only feel the emotion. Wear it on his face. Make everybody too concerned to approach. The fog thickened, and no tears arrived.

Tom walked in and sat at the bar. His food would be a couple minutes, so he watched the TV. He tried to not watch the happy couples.

Somebody walked by and said, “Tom?” Tom turned. It was John, an employee in accounting. He got married last summer. “Hey man,” Tom said. He had no more energy for this. He wanted his food and his solitude.

John stared at the TV too, “I’m sorry about lunch today. Rick sucks. And being single really, really sucks. I know that is not helpful, and I wish I had advice for you. But anyway, enjoy your dinner and try not to think about this stupid holiday.” “Yes, it astronomically sucks,” Tom replied.

Rick gave him a hard, quick hug and clapped him on the back as he walked off.

Tom smiled. The fog slightly lifted.


Dear A, I’m writing this letter in the back of our last month’s electricity bill –the one I have yet to pay –on the arm seat of a train to Oran, and by the time it reaches you, there will be many borders, many languages, an ocean and a sky separating me from you. I’ll be a life away from you but right now, I’m still on the M-O12 train, still a few stations away from the place we both called home, holding nothing but my old black leather purse and Ocean Vuong’s On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous to keep me company. It’s what actually sparked in me the urge to write to you, this book. Because you’re gone and I’m here still. Because there’s something strangely liberating about writing a letter you know will never be read.

Here on this train everything is exactly the way you left it. On a Sunday morning, everyone is heading north for work. The carriages seem to only breathe people in and not out, not yet, not until we reach Oran, the city of all possibilities. I remember how much you hated trains. That one time –the only time –together to your mother’s house you couldn’t stop your hands from twitching, disgust and discomfort pouring out of your eyes for having to sit still through what you later referred to as “the three hours in hell”. You really hated it, all of it. But I didn't.

The raised voices of strangers on the phone, the incessant crying of kids when they realize they’re trapped with hardly any space to move, the deafening upbeat music everyone insists on listening to these days, the stray unfinished sentences the wind carries at the opening of doors at each stop, the myriad of smells, the odd mixture of fragrances… For me, who spent half of her existence indoors, me who's only view of the world was through a window with a frozen, static scenery on constant display, it was magic. It was beautiful, it was LIFE and I loved it. And there’s so much more to life than what you showed me A., so much more. Away from our stifling apartment and the balcony that overlooks that ghosted playground you used to stare at every night, away from our dead street and the neighbors with hushed voices and hollow eyes, away from our city where the only variable thing is the weather, away from you, there are colors and flowers I have never seen and thus can’t name, there are fields and playgrounds that are not empty or deserted, there are people who laugh out loud, people with families and homes they can leave whenever they want, people who smile at a stranger in a train seat by the window…there’s a life I never thought existed. I know you did though, see this life I mean, because now I remember the way you looked each time you came back from your work trips and I understand. You had that pained look of an animal being dragged back to its cage after having a taste of freedom, except that, you were the one dragging yourself back and that makes it worse. I was trapped in our cage but you weren’t, so why did you comeback every time A? Still, in the kitchen cooking your favorite meal, in the living room folding your cloths, like a piece of furniture, I would always wait, relieved when I hear the distinct clinking of keys indicating that you’re back. There was no good past our front door, only cold nights and dark cruel alleys -the ones you saved me from when you married me, you'd always repeat until I believed you. Because I had no one else, because I had nowhere else to go I believed you. The way pets surrender to their owners, I was yours and I would wait. I guess it’s why I came to love the kind of covers this book have, where everything seems forever stuck in a colorless life, waiting. Because they remind me of you, of us. The first time I went out of the house without your company was a month after you left, and it was only because I had to. I’ll tell you about the other times in other letters but that one time, I got lost. You never told me that the nearest grocery shop was miles away from us and you never taught me how to drive a car. You never told me that bills don’t pay themselves and that if you don’t do that in time, you wake up one night with no lights to turn on and no water to use; that money is so hard to get and so fast to run out and that there’s only so much the neighbors can help you with. I dreamt of sandcastles when I was a child and the one you built me in the middle of nowhere was all I knew for so long, but it collapsed the moment you died. And I’d like to think the only reason you left me without a map is because you didn’t think you’d one day leave so suddenly, so soon. I didn’t know that after ones death; ones family can come claiming for a share in what little he left behind. I didn’t get anything when mine died long ago. Everything’s gone A, your favorite couch by the window, our black and white TV, the paintings in the hall…all that’s left are the walls, standing so tall, watchful, empty and cold as if they never contained a human soul. Well, there are also the broken promises and sour memories, but those are left for me to take care of as they don’t deal in money, only in feelings, only in pain. I can tell you about the job I had to take to earn my living and how I worked so hard to prevent our apartment from being a reflection of the ghosted playground through our window’s glass. I can tell you about the nights and days I spent taking care of myself and the one night I thought of ending it all. I can tell you about everything you missed, everything that lead me here but that’s all in the past and only the present deserves this letter and owns it. I’m here A. I’m writing to you now from inside a dream, because that’s what it feels like, a dream that I know wouldn’t have come true if you didn’t leave, despite your promises. Can you guess where I am? I don’t know where souls go to after they leave a body but I don’t believe they can see the living. I don’t believe that you can see me now A. Would you believe I’ve come this far if you could? I took a cab here from the train station. The cab driver, an old man with laughing eyes, was so nice he felt like home. You never expect to feel home this far away from it. He told me about the first time he came to this city and how things has changed for him ever since, how welcoming and warm everyone is, how they took him in like one of their own. “There’s magic in this city,” he said in an old nostalgic voice, “it’s so nice to strangers, so generous.” I believed him. He told me about a war he lost his father to, and a daughter that loves reading books. He spoke about politics, economy and justice while I stared at the buzzing life outside the window. The warm people with welcoming arms. The drive was long and I was so lost in thought when I heard it. The majestic sound of the crashing waves and the squawking of the gulls; a steady rhythmic song telling ancient stories for those who listen closely. I closed my eyes and listened. We reached our destination after a few endless minutes. “Les Andalous” the sign read. The Andalusians. I stepped out of the car and crossed the distance to the beach with shaking legs and a heart I could hear beating inside of me. I was alive. I am alive. I stood before the glorious vastness of the sea, stretching so far you would think water is everything the world is made of. I was crying, laughing, lost and then found. I was breathing, and for once in my life, I was breathing an air so pure and fresh I could feel it cleansing my rusty lungs. I don't know how long I stood there before I dared to reach the shore. I felt the solid doused brown sand first then came the waves, gently crawling to my toes and promising more in their slow retreat back to where they’re from, to their greatest form, tempting, calling me to get closer, deeper. So I did. We’re made of water A, all of us. There's so much I want to say, so much you won't read but not now. Right now, I feel so peaceful, so empty that staring out into this endless blue, I can almost forgive you. I wanted for this letter to float its way to you, wherever you are. I wanted to watch the water drench the lines, swallow my words and drown them to the bottom where no one has ever been. But then I built a sandcastle where these waters don't reach and I made of it a home from my letter. Dear A, I read once that the lover's fatal identity is being the one who waits. I'm writing you this because out of the two of us, I was the only one waiting, always, just not anymore. Yours sincerely, The one you left behind, S.


I had been here before, a long time ago. Back then I was just a stupid kid, not really understanding the magnitude of where I was or the opportunity presented before me. Not many people have the chance to travel to another country, to take in a new culture. Fewer people still would abuse that gift and taint it. And that’s just what I did. Stepping foot off the plane, I took my first step into this beautiful oasis. I didn’t know then that I’d meet the person that I thought would be the one. I didn’t know that he would break my heart, shatter it and taking a piece with him. He made sure it would never be whole again. He was charming, handsome, and so easygoing it was contagious. He was to be our small group’s liaison, our tour guide through our short stay on the islands. But like most girls with a crush, I wasn’t satisfied with just that. I needed more, wanted more, and I’d be damned if I didn’t get it. All it took was one late night walk along the beach, toes gently caressed by the water as it cascaded over the shoreline. It wasn’t unusual for me to take midnight strolls in this presumed paradise, but it was the first time that I laid my eyes on him outside of a professional setting. Clearly he had the same idea that I had. But not. Waves broke around his form as he swam leisurely near the shore. Water glittered off his chest in the moonlight, like little diamonds, and I was mesmerized. I knew there was more underneath his plain blue button-ups he seemed to wear every day. Tan skin dipped below the water, and as my eyes tried to follow down into the dark depths, I noticed him looking back at me, a knowing smirk on his lips. “See something you like?” It was so cliche and expected, but it still took me by surprise. My jaw hung open like the fish feet away from me. “I didn’t mean to stare,” I said as I turned to walk away. “Why don’t you join me?” he asked. I turned back and he was slowly making his way toward me and it became clear that this was an offer for more than just a midnight swim. Heat rose to my cheeks as I tried my best to keep my eyes focused on his face. If they ventured any lower and I knew I’d be in trouble. In moments he was standing before me, completely unashamed of his body. And rightfully so. He was perfect in every sense of the word. My voice failed me, and he took my hand, guiding me back into the water. As the waved soaked through my clothes, he shed them one layer at a time until I was like him, naked as the day I was born. I felt enraptured by his gaze, paying no attention to my clothes that were slowly sinking to the sandy ocean floor as the water weighed them down. * * * That is still one of the most magical nights of my life, even though I’ve tried to move on from that time in my young adult life. Those two weeks spent with that man changed me. I used to be so carefree and would wear my heart on my sleeve. I trusted people implicitly, regardless if I had just met them. I didn’t have a rough childhood, and even though I wasn’t spoiled or super wealthy, I was blessed with a stable, loving home life that taught me the value of a dollar and hard work. It took one trip after I graduated from college to strip me of my ability to love easily and aggressively, to believe that you couldn’t have it all, no matter how hard you worked. I knew that it would only be a fling with him, but I had grown to care for him in ways I couldn’t have imagines were possible. As we drove with our group back to the airport, we made a promise to each other, that we would come back two years from then and reconnect. He told me that he’d be faithful to me, that he knew I needed those years to build myself up in the career of my choice. It seemed he wanted me to live my life, to make sure it was what I wanted, but all I wanted was him by my side. Two years to the day, I showed up on the island, on the same beach where we spent our first night together, and when I saw the sun coming up, beautiful shades of orange and pink lighting up the sky, I thought maybe he forgot, that maybe he was just late. I returned every night for a week, and when he didn’t show, I felt myself crumble on the inside. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of my suffering. It was a joke. All of it, our entire short-lived relationship. That was four years ago, and while returning here to this place seems to hurt me more every time, shoving that knife deeper into my abused heart, I can’t seem to give up the hope that maybe one of these times he’ll return to me. I want my life to be like a movie. I want him to show up unexpectedly and sweep me on my feet, but my hope of that happening grows smaller as the years pass before me. I know this is going to be my last trip. This is my last night. I need to move on and find someone who will be there for me, who will keep their promises and cherish the connection that we have. I can conjure up images and thoughts of why he never came. He moved on, found someone else. He passed away from some crazy illness, he thought I’d forget our promise, take it at face value as a summer fling. But I can make this final trip a happy memory. This isn’t a goodbye, it’s a new beginning, a new start. And when the sun peaks up over the horizon tomorrow morning, I’ll use the new day to start a new chapter in my life.


The plane between Ellie’s world and wherever she was now had a fuzzy quality. She could see past it, but immaterial grains buzzed across the surface, reminiscent of television static. A moment ago, she’d slid her hand through it, only to snap it back in shock when it didn’t reappear on the other side. She wriggled her fingers to make sure they still worked. The people directly on the other side of the plane were oblivious to it, so in that sense it reminded her of a two-way mirror. Those people also happened to be her parents. She could see her mum scurrying around their white-tiled kitchen, calling her name. Ellie was relieved she didn’t have to answer, and felt a renewed hot flush of embarrassment at the incident that had caused her to end up here. She wanted to curl up in a ball and cry until there was nothing left of her. At least here she could do that, and no one would disturb her, no one would force her to come downstairs with the pretext of dinner, only to be served with a dollop of excruciating questions. Her mum was running her fingers through her hair, starting to panic as she’d searched everywhere in the house to no avail. Good . Ellie thought that a day or two of distress might cause them to discover a new-found appreciation for her. Maybe they’d stop trying to lecture her, and maybe they’d finally buy her the new iPhone that she’d been asking for for months. That would wipe the smirk off Sandra Benham’s pretty little face. Her brain began to torture her by replaying the incident. She’d been walking home from school and, as usual, trying to avoid any of her classmates on the way back. That was tricky in such a small town where hers was the only secondary school and at least a third of the students lived on the council estate between Granby Road and Hove Street. Hope had bubbled up inside her at the sight of No.52 Hove Street; the ivy growing up its front trellis was soothingly familiar. It was small, but it was home. However, the hope scuttled down her trouser leg, and fled as swiftly as it had arrived, at the sound of a shout. “Oi, Frizzlet!” came the grating drawl of Sandra Benham. “You dropped something.” She hadn’t dropped anything, she hadn’t dropped anything. She was used to the barb directed at her mane of brown hair; if she could ignore them for thirty seconds, she could shut the door on the world. “You dropped your knickers for Freddie Flowers!” A screech of derision arose behind her back. “Don’t ignore us, Frizzlet, we know you did. Everyone knows you did. Did you kiss his spotty face?” “Shut up! I didn’t!” Ellie shrieked over her shoulder. Ahead of her she saw the front door to No.52 opening. No, no, no. Please don’t let her parents see this . Her mum poked her head out from behind the green door.

“Even your mum knows Frizzlet!” Sandra yelled. Her mum frowned as Ellie bundled past, struggling to contain the tears in her eyes. It got worse. Her mum stepped outside and confronted Sandra. Ellie stood in the hallway and wanted to die of shame; she’d never hear the end of this. She caught her reflection in the mirror over the radiator; puffy-eyes peeked out from under her curls and she looked away in disgust. Under her breath she’d muttered to herself, “I wish I could just disappear.”

The next thing she knew she was here, behind this strange film, looking in on the world. She was sure she’d uttered those words in the past, but this had never happened before. Why now? She turned away from the window to her home and examined the place in which she was standing. She hadn’t taken it in at first because it was grey and empty. There was no sense of depth, no horizon, only a foggy feeling of nothing . She took a few steps forward. There was no change in the landscape, but the transparent window showing 52 Hove Street moved alongside her. With nothing better to do she stood and watched her dad flump himself down on the couch, put on the TV and crack open a can of beer. He didn’t appear at all bothered by the apparent absence of his daughter. “Stop fussing, Jackie,” he said to her mum, “she’s probably ran out the back. She’ll come back when she’s hungry or it gets cold. If she doesn’t then it’s one less mouth to feed.” Rage ignited like a wildfire through Ellie’s blood. If that’s what he thought then maybe she’d just stay put. She was in no mood to go back to people who didn’t want her anyway. She heard footsteps, not from the window, but from behind her. She spun around, and saw two figures approaching through the grey. A tall woman in a dark overcoat and top hat was prancing towards her; prancing because she was so spindly that the rise and fall of her legs could be described no other way. Next to her was a boy, who Ellie guessed was a similar age to herself, dressed in a frilly, white frock with a ridiculous pink bow on the top of his short crop of blond hair. “Hey you, fresh girl!” yelled the boy. The thin woman elbowed him. “Don’t call her that Tabby, it’ll scare her off.” Ellie was so startled by the strange appearance of the two newcomers that she forgot her anger. “Who are you? Where am I?” she asked as they stopped before her. The woman gave a deep bow, complete with an extravagant flourish of her top hat and a rotten-toothed grin. “I’m Genevieve, and this is Tabby. We are the forgotten ones. Some call us purgatory travellers or knights of the grey realm-“ “Only you call us that…” The boy interrupted. “-But most here refer to themselves as The Disappeared,” the woman continued. She extracted a long, bony finger and placed it hard on the centre of Ellie’s ribcage. “ You are exactly where you wanted to be.” “I didn’t want to be anywhere!” “And that’s precisely where you are. Nowhere.” Ellie thought that was ludicrous, but she didn’t have a better answer. “So, you wished to disappear as well?” She pointed through her window. “Can you believe my dad is just sitting there, not bothered that I’m missing?” “Questions, questions, so many questions. We’ll have time. Why don’t we sit?” The woman flicked her streaky grey hair off her shoulder and sat cross-legged. Ellie tentatively joined her; sitting down when there was no visible floor was entirely disconcerting. “Of course, we all wished to disappear at one time or another. Some of us more recently, and others long ago. Tabby and I happen to quite like it here, so we stay.” “Nufin’ to go back for anyway,” Tabby piped in, “family’s long gone and that world was full of spiders.” A seed of dread began to grow at the back of Ellie’s mind. Sure, she was irritated at her parents, but she’d want to go back at some point, wouldn’t she? “As for your window,” Genevieve continued, “we can’t see it, just like you can’t see ours.” “I can get back though, right?” “Some end up going back, they figure out redemption, forgiveness, blah, blah blah. But ,” Genevieve gave a mischievous smile, “from here you can do things you never could back there. I think there might be someone who caused you to step into our little world. Have you ever wished an unfortunate accident on that someone?” Ellie’s brow furrowed. “Sandra Benham, yes of course, but-” “Well then, it’s your lucky day! Let me show you how it works.” Genevieve shifted behind Ellie and sent a long, gangly leg either side of Ellie’s hips. “Hold out your arms in front of you,” she commanded. Ellie’s heart was pounding, but she obeyed. Genevieve placed her arms on top of Ellie’s, and interlaced their fingers together. “No one can see or hear you through your window, but you can influence the world by pulling on the fibres of its fabric. Make as if you’re going to pick up an object.” Ellie saw a jar of peanut butter on the kitchen counter, and reached her arm forward with open palm as if to grab it. The tingle of a million microscopic pinpricks jabbed the skin on the back of her hand, where Genevieve was touching her. It was painful, but scintillating. The jar lifted off the surface and promptly dropped as Ellie gasped. “That’s incredible!” she whispered, blue eyes wide and staring. “Yes, isn’t it just?” Genevieve said distantly, as if she were remembering her own first time. “Now, let’s walk. Show me where this Sandra girl lives.” 10 Granby Road was only five minutes from Ellie’s house. As they walked through the grey nothingness, the world through the window moved too. Ellie’s legs felt weak. Countless times she would’ve given anything for revenge on Sandra, but now that the chance had presented itself there was a hard stone in her stomach. It appeared to be night in Ellie’s world, which Genevieve said would make their plan easier. Her hands guided Ellie’s to pick the lock of the front door, and stopped them from trembling. “I’m not sure we should be doing this,” said Ellie, “it feels wrong.” “Remember we aren’t in your world anymore. They can’t see us, so we’re breaking no rules or laws.” Their vision moved up the stairs of the dark, terraced house with no worry of being heard, since they weren’t really there. They did have to be careful when opening the door to Sandra’s bedroom. Genevieve asked Ellie what this girl had done that had made her to want to disappear. “She’s always spreading rumours about me, and she bullies me about my hair,” Ellie replied, picturing Sandra’s bitchy face and smug drawl, and feeling herself swell with ire. “Then why don’t we give her an unexpected haircut?” Ellie smirked. That felt like a brilliant way to punish Sandra, there’s no way she’d show her face in school with all her hair chopped off, and even if she did, she’d surely be humiliated enough to leave Ellie alone. They found some scissors in the bathroom and checked that Sandra was fast asleep, before Genevieve helped Ellie ever so delicately snip the golden locks from Sandra’s scalp.

“There,” Ellie pronounced. She felt like she’d just ingested a helium balloon, light headed and joyous. This new power was a rush. She couldn’t wait to see Sandra’s face in the morning. “She spread rumours about you too, didn’t she?” Genevieve whispered into her ear. “You could always cut out her tongue.” “What!” Ellie cried. She shoved Genevieve off and jumped up, backing away from her slowly. “That’s horrible, why would you say that?” Genevieve shrugged. “Liars should be punished, don’t you think?” “Not like that!” Ellie looked around her. She suddenly realised she had no real idea who these people were, and their odd appearance, which she’d thought was rustic and charming at first, now felt grimy and cloying. Goosebumps ran down her neck, but there was nowhere to run and hide. Genevieve seemed to read her mind. “Not many places to go around here.” Ellie glared at her. “I want to go back,” she murmured. Then, when nothing happened: “I wish to go back home!” she yelled into the grey abyss. “Not as simple as that. I told you it’s about remorse and the like, you aren’t going to get out of here just because you’re scared.” Tabby joined in with a grin. “Stuck ‘ere wiv us aren’t you, Frizzy!” Ellie felt the blood drain from her face. She wasn’t wanted at home. She wasn’t wanted here. She had no choice. She squeezed her eyes shut and shrieked, “I wish I could disappear!” A wall of silence hit her ears. The noise coming through the window had gone. The sound of Genevieve and Tabby’s breath, which she didn’t even realise she could hear, was gone. She opened her eyes. Blackness. The darkest black she’d ever known. She looked down and couldn’t even see her body. Come to think of it, she couldn’t feel her body either. So this was it, the void. Here, there was truly nothing; she had finally, completely disappeared. She should feel terrified, but she didn’t. No one could reach her here, no one could trouble her. She had peace, forever.


"Thanks a lot," I say to the mailman. He hands me a bill. Trekked all the way to the last house on my dead-end street where I live. Trekked all that way to my house at the end of a dead-end street in a snowstorm , may I add. Just to hand me a bill. Can you imagine? I suppose it's his job, but sometimes, they skip my number. It happens a lot, actually. I don't blame them. Today, I wouldn't have complained. It's the last house on a dead-end street. Would you go all the way to the last house on a dead-end street during a blizzard? Just to hand me a bill? I crash the door shut so the mailman knows I'm mad. The last thing I need right now is a bill. Can you imagine? Doesn't he know I'm on my third week alone in this stupid house? I'll remember this, and I'll give him something the next time I see him. Like a "Hey, buddy... what the fuck, huh?" Anything. It's not his fault, though. I know Frank. He couldn't run a goddamn bath, that guy. No, it's not his fault. It's the universe. The universe will go far and wide to get you a bill on the worst day of your life during your third week alone in this stupid house. What the fuck, huh? Anything. Of course, if it were a letter from an old girlfriend or something more pleasing, I'm certain it wouldn't have gotten to me. Some cruel ghost would have dropped out of the sky and driven it from my hands at the very last instant. The world comes down on me like that, and I don't appreciate it. Not by any stretch. I assume the bill is for a debt I owe, and I throw it on the floor. My restaurant went under last year. Thanks a lot, universe. I don't appreciate it. Not one bit. I was worth my salt once as a cook, but it's all shit now. No restaurant, no food, starving. I haven't been able to make anything remotely edible in months.  Everything comes out bland, mild, weak. My wife called me a misery guts about everything. She said I fiddled while Rome burned. She said a lot more, too. Think of any rude thing you could hear, and she said it to me. And at the worst possible time, when I was already saying the same rude things to myself. Don't you hate people who want you to hurt? To hurt like they hurt? I think that's what she was doing. "Thanks a lot," I said to her. She made an ugly laugh. "That's all you have to say? You just lost your company, and that's what you say?" I shrugged. Bland, mild, weak. "What can I say, you bet on the wrong horse!" She really didn't like it when I used phrases like that, but then she'd use phrases like "misery guts" and "fiddled when Rome burned." Hypocrites. Don't you hate people who blame you for their own mistakes? I think you call them hypocrites. Okay, maybe "misery guts" is my phrase. I think perhaps the Rome one is, too. I can't recall. Do you know what I think happened? When everything blew up between us (it was more like a dull Bang Pop crack , really), the memories got mangled. Memories get mangled if you're not careful. What really happened, then? Don't ask me. What the fuck, huh? The marriage counselor said we did a lot of blame-shifting. If you ask me, I didn't do a fucking thing. But we both got pegged for it, of course. What else should a marriage counselor do? Say, "I'm sorry, sir, your wife is crazy. She causes all the fights, runs up your credit cards, gives you endless honey-do lists, refuses to sleep with you. It's all her fucking fault"? No, no marriage counselor would say that. She stopped her ears to me instead. Whenever it was my turn, I could see a mist come over her. Blankless. Total blankness. It would make sense if she hated men. I wouldn't blame her for hating marriage. Maybe she hated both. "She's a lesbian," my wife said. She looked at me in disgust. I was supposed to know? I am a misery guts. Aren't I? You can tell by now, I'm sure. It doesn't take long to know someone. She wanted a divorce already, but that argument about the wrong horse and whatnot finalized it, more so than the papers. The papers were just a formality, like every other damn awful thing we did. I knew when I met her that she wasn't the sort to see things out. No, the day would come. I knew the day would come. If you ask me, the marriage went into crisis mode as soon as the new neighbor moved in. How absolutely stereotypical, I know. Don't get me started on stereotypes. The man is a fucking loser. Rich in his own pile. Do you know he invited her over there once? And didn't bother to invite me? He said, "he wasn't sure I'd be interested." A nice Judas kiss on the ass, that was. I kicked grass onto his law for a few weeks after that. The next time he invited her over, he knew better to invite me, too. Honestly, I wish he hadn't. The whole thing was sickening. I could smell my marriage rotting beneath his perfect fucking floorboards. When did he kill it? When did this happen? They had all of these stupid private jokes. She faced him when he spoke. (The counselor told me that means something.) All bad signs. All signposts. No point investigating. Stupid fucking David. That was his name. David. "Do you want to see my gun collection?" he asked. My wife had already seen it. "I'm all set. I don't like guns," I said. My wife rolled her eyes. Why couldn't I be more like David? Bland. Mild. Weak. "Do you cook?" I asked him. He laughed. "Cook? No, my wife cooks. Good for you that you can do that." Left-handed compliment. What the fuck, huh? "I wish you cooked, honey," I said to my wife. I tried to chuckle. Neither of them moved. Neither breathed. They wanted me to suffocate in that silence. Not funny. I could see it on my wife's face. Not funny. How could I ever compare to their stupid inside jokes? Stupid fucking David. "What does your wife cook?" I asked him. I said it pretty quietly. He didn't answer. I know he heard me. I should have said, "Thanks a lot. Thanks a lot for answering." But I didn't. To be honest, it was a rather awkward moment. I don't like guns, but I would have liked one right then. Maybe he didn't hear me. Later that night, we got drinks with him and his wife, Janice. The poor lady, she had no idea what the hell she was dealing with. She sipped on the same mojito for 50 minutes while my wife dumped her tits out in David's face. Handwriting everywhere. No point investigating. I told him to fuck off with my eyes. I told him he ruined everything. I told him, "Thanks a lot." Maybe he didn't hear me. I tried to catch Janice's attention once in a while with a how did we get stuck with these monsters? look, but she never made eye contact with me. What the fuck, huh? Maybe it's me. Or maybe David hired someone to play wife and get mine jealous. Yeah, that's something he would do. He doesn't have enough furniture to have a real wife. That's just my opinion. He would hire an actress for all of this, just to get my wife. That's what you do to get another man's wife, right? Wife? Wife. Ha. What's in a name? I'll never forget how he asked for the bill that night. Silently, proudly, using only gesticulations. What the fuck, huh? "No, David, allow me," I said. My wife rolled her eyes again. She knew I had no money. I didn't keep track of her comings and goings after that night. I'd totally given up on the marriage. On everything, really. I bruise up easy, I guess. I guess my wife was right. For good or ill, my wife was right. My was-wife. I thought about trying to fuck Janice once or twice. Maybe I still could. She probably feels bad for me. I wonder if she figured out what happened yet. I walk over to the window and see through the blinds. David's in his kitchen with Janice. They're cooking a meal together. It's Valentine's Day, after all. I guess even cheating husbands have wives on Valentine's Day. What do cucks have? You know what? This all has me thinking. Why not make a bad day worse? At this point, maybe more misfortune will actually turn things around. You know, the universe. I pick up the bill I got from Frank. The one that was apparently destined to get to me. All the way down the dead-end street. Turns out it isn't a bill. It's... it's a request? A petition? It looks like a petition from the city. What the fuck, huh? They want to help me reopen my restaurant. I think that's what it says. I can barely read it. I can't think about this now. Is this really something I have to think about now? Now I have to think about reopening my restaurant? About not doing it because everything comes out bland. Mild. Weak. How do I break it to myself? It's never going to happen. That restaurant? The one I opened for her? In her name? With her? We mopped the floors. We had sex in the kitchen. A time ago. All a time ago. Gone. I can't think about this now. I need to think about David. About stupid fucking David. About my wife. About everything going wrong. About the sex in the kitchen no longer. The dead-end street. My third week alone in this stupid house. Cuck the Valentine. Nobody hears me. Why couldn't I be more like David? It's all shit now. Thanks a lot for reminding me it's all shit now. Thanks, a lot.


Altair was trying so hard not to get furious but Kossa was pushing it. Kossa had been flipping the pages of the book Altair was reading back and forth for the past 20 minutes now, exactly around the same time since Kossa found him in the library, and now he wished he'd hidden from him like everyone else does. "Who comes to the library on a Saturday?" Kossa asked clearly mocking Altair yet they were both at the Library on a Saturday. "The pages are making too much noise you'll get us kicked out." Altair hushed in his soft voice. Altair had the most elegant disposition for a 13 year old boy, he was polite and graceful always. Well, almost always, not when Kossa was involved. Kossa rubbed him off the wrong way and he was always trying to get a rise out of Altair, nonetheless, he never gave into Kossa's silly games. Altair and Kossa went to school together, Kossa was a well known bully who liked to pick fights, he was rude and did not like being told what to do. Altair all but ignored his existence and this made Kossa determined to bother him every opportunity he got. Kossa yawned obnoxiously which brought Altair's attention to him once more. "What are those weird symbols on your book anyway?" Kossa asked loudly. The Librarian had long since been glaring at them, that statement was seemingly the last straw because she walked briskly towards the two young boys and Altair panicked afraid of the scolding they were about to get. "If you are not going to obey the rules of the place, you might as well just leave." She whispered roughly. Kossa looked at her and laughed, repeating what she said with animated gestures, and a mocking tone. Altair was mortified he grabbed Kossa by the hand and dragged him out of the library. Kossa making a fuss the whole way out. They got outside and Altair let go of Kossa's hand trying to catch a breath, Kossa on the other hand was nonplussed kicking rocks about the street. When Kossa turned to look at Altair he found the fair brown skinned boy crying, this made Kossa sneer, perplexed by Altair's choice of response. "Why are you crying?" Kossa asked truly not that interested in the answer but still marginally curious. Altair sniffed, trying to glare at the darker skinned boy but couldn't fathom how to make his face appear threatening in this state. Altair was shocked that an adult could look at him in such a way, worse off scold him, he was very scared. To make matters worse, he had unknowingly walked out with the book he was reading which he hadn't checked out properly. The poor boy was brimming with anxious energy. Kossa couldn't be bothered, "If you're going to be a big baby I'm leaving. How are you even a boy? You cry so easily, you dress in girly colours and why is your voice so soft?! Everything about you irritates me!"  Kossa ranted. Altair just sniffed, "But the book." Altair finally said. "What about the book?" "I didn't check it out, isn't it stealing, I need to take it back." Altair replied. "Or, you can keep the dumb thing, who cares?! There are tonnes of books in there who's going to miss it." "The owners Kossa, it's not right to steal." Altair said, and Kossa copied him mockingly like he did the librarian. "It's not right to steal Kossa, I don't have a backbone Kossa, if I saw a dress I'd wear it Kossa." Kossa repeated prancing around Altair, "Fine, since you're scared your precious grown up will think you a thief, I'll take it back for you." Altair's eyes widened in relief and Kossa wondered why he felt happy to receive that look from Altair. "You really will?" Altair asked. "Yeah sure, under one condition of course." "What's that?" "You do what I say for the whole day." "But I have to be home before curfew." "That's fine, just do what I say until then wimp." Altair rubbed the back of his elbow, he looked at the library entrance wondering if he couldn't just do it himself but as he looked at it, he imagined the scornful expression that would be plastered on that woman's face, how much she would dread him for bringing a book he did not check out, he felt nauseous thinking of the bad impression it will likely leave of him. He could hear himself getting short of breath and felt someone grabbing his arm. Kossa whipped Altair around to face him and gave a sharp conk on the head that instantly jerked Altair from his hypoxic thoughts. "I said I'll do it. Give me that dumb book and lets go." Kossa took Altair by the hand and they walked through the street. Past busy adults, working men and women that paid them little to no mind. Some knew Altair and other's knew Kossa, those that knew Altair looked happy to see him and smiled genuinely, those who knew Kossa looked angry, disgruntled or outraged. Most who knew them both worried at seeing them together. Altair was from a well known distinguished family in their town, whereas Kossa came from a line of nobodies, lived with his family of nobodies and was very proud that he'd die a nobody. They walked down a quiet tarred road now leading to their school gates. Their school was a renovated old castle which was brown and covered in mossy green vines, the fence was also old stone bricks and brought together by a barred gate. The gate was locked seeing as it was a Saturday and no one was tending to the grounds. Kossa knew this and decided to use this opportunity well. He usually jumped the fence, it wasn't that high for him but he wondered if Altair could do it. "Hey can you jump a fence?" Kossa asked while he started to climb using the overgrown vines on the fence, hoping he didn't touch a snake like last time. Altair looked so uncomfortable, Kossa took that as a no. "Alright first order, we climb the fence." "But that's trespassing." Altair replied. "But it's our school." Kossa rolled his eyes. Altair clamped his mouth shut with no rebuttal. "Come on, let's go already, I'm almost at the top and I'll just leave you to get caught." Kossa joked. Altair, looking at what Kossa was doing tried to copy and climb the fence. It was hard at first to lift his own body but he quickly got the hang of it. His heart was beating loudly in his chest from the fear of being caught, it was dizzying. But within that nervous energy was something akin to excitement. "Hey you're at the top, careful! it's harder to come down than it is to go up." Kossa shouted already having reached the bottom at the other side. Altair heard him but was trembling while trying to find his footing to start heading down. Kossa could almost see the disaster before it happened. Altair was trembling so much that some of the old branches snapped and he all but squeaked before falling a meter down and landing directly atop Kossa in a painful thud. Altair held onto Kossa still under the illusion that he was still falling and then he slowly raised his eyes, his green innocent eyes glazed over with unshed tears looking at Kossa who had his flaming brown ones on Altair, not at all impressed. "Don't tell me you're going to cry, my body cushioned your fall, now get off." Kossa said pushing Altair aside. Their was an unusual fluttering coming from his chest from the way Altair looked at him, Kossa hated confusing things so he didn't bother with the thought. Kossa led Altair to the best spot in the school, although it took them some time to get there, all with Altair hesitating every step of the way. The roof of the castle overlooked everything, absolutely everything and it was far more quiet here than any library. They sat down on the benches on the roof which had thorny bushes, patches of flowers here and there and rocks that Kossa threw at anyone passing by on the ground before he hid away for fun. Altair sat quietly looking at the most beautiful scene he'd ever laid eyes on. The town was so nice from here, the castle covered in shadows and the town bathing in sunlight. "What do you think, pretty cool huh?" Kossa asked Altair. "Why'd you bring me here?" Altair asked. Kossa thought about it, it wasn't for any reason at all. So he just shrugged. "Hmmm, I've always wondered what your name means?" Altair asked Kossa and Kossa tried to remember. "I know what yours means and you can't figure out mine?" Kossa replied having forgotten what his name meant, his Father told him once. "You've never told me, I'm sorry." Altair replied. "Why are you always apologising, apologising to teachers, apologising to people in a store, even to strangers?" Kossa asked disturbed by it. "How do you know I apologise to people in a store?" "You don't?" "I don't go to the store." replied honestly. Kossa scoffed, "Spoiled." "I was taught to be courteous to everyone, it will earn you more friends." "So where are the many friends you got from being curtain plus?" "It's courteous, and they are probably at home, doing legal things. Like responsible citizens." "Oooooo" Kossa gushed, "That sounds so boring I could die." Kossa laughed. Altair couldn't help laugh as well, compared to this, it was somewhat boring. He did find peace in reading still. "What were you reading anyway?" "It's a book about African astrology. I was reading the myths about soulmates." Kossa looked confused, "What's that?" "A soulmate?" "yeah." "A soulmate is someone whose soul was made from the same stuff your soul is made from and you are meant to find this person and fall in love, or something." "Huh. Sounds weird. Do you have a soulmate?" "No that's silly. But a soulmate sounds nice." Altair said smiling, his smile made Kossa smile beside himself. He caught himself however and then frowned. "You only want one because you're lonely." Kossa mocked, yet Altair didn't dispute it. Kossa felt a bit bad about that. "At least you have your family or whatever, and you're loaded too so that's fine." "Ah, I guess, what of you?" Altair asked. "What of me?" "Your family, who are they?" "My family works for families like yours." "Then how can you afford to come here." "Easy, I only come to this school to carry the books of my Father's boss's kids." Kossa said with a proud smile. Altair had no idea what to say so he just blurted, "What's the meaning, of my name?" "Altair means bird, no wonder you always look like you're about to fly away." Kossa said then he remembered what his name meant. "And mine Kossa, means be strong." They sat in silence for a while, until Altair got hungry and knew it was time for him to go back home. He looked at the book and then handed it to Kossa, "Will you take it back for me?" "Yeah, you dumb dumb, I said I would, so shut up and just go." Altair smiled widely at Kossa and this caused his heart to seize, Kossa really hated not understanding this feeling. Maybe if he asked. "Hey Altair. How do you know if you've met your soulmate?" Altair gave a thoughtful sigh and said, "The book just said you'll just know, and it feels nice." "Okay." Kossa replied. "Why?" Altair asked. "Nothing." "Thank you for bringing me here, I actually liked it." "You don't need to be cardigan with me." "Ah it's, never mind. That's not it either way. Bye Kossa." Altair said waving at him, he gave a simple wave back and smiled to himself. That was the last time Kossa ever heard Altair's voice. When Altair's mother found out what Altair and Kossa had done that day, she opted her son not turn into a heathen and sent him away to boarding school. Kossa returned the book for Altair and said he had taken it instead, he hoped and waited to see Altair again but when he found out Altair was gone, he never thought he'd be so sad about it. He always wondered if Altair, the one who never looked at him scornfully, who treated everyone well but was simultaneously afraid of people, was his soulmate. His feelings around Altair were always, nice.