Once upon a time, there was a kingdom ruled by a King and his loving and adoring Queen. Together, they birthed two children, the oldest was a Princess and the youngest was a Prince. The young royals were sheltered, having never stepped outside of the castle. Rumors say that the Princess was one of the fairest of them all, while her brother was one of the most well-behaved children in the land. Subjects of the kingdom adored the perfect image of the royal family but failed to realize that the perfect image was simply an image. If there was one thing that was not a rumor, was that Princess Libre was an extremely gorgeous girl. She was slim and tall, with curves that compliment her frame. Her hair was long so she kept it braided out her stunningly gorgeous face. Not only was she physically beautiful, but spiritually. Ever since she was a child, servants of the castle noted her positive and kindred soul. She was a rose in a bed of weeds. When Libre was born, her mother instantly hated her for the simple fact she was a girl. She saw her as competition, not her daughter. The king was indifferent toward her. He wanted his firstborn to be a boy so that he can inherit his throne but instead, he got Libre. During her childhood, she was beaten relentlessly by her mother for little mistakes such as playing with the servant children. When she was 7, a blessing in disguise came. Her brother was born. Cupid Ite Suro the second was born at the break of dawn. The word spread like wildfire. A Prince was finally born into the royal family. The king mandated a celebration in the name of his son being born. The land was filled with joy and happiness. It was the first time Libre ever saw her mother smiling. Ever since then, her parents ignored her and dotted on her brother. Growing up with no discipline and all the power in the world, Cupid became a nasty child. He would beat on the servants and maids when he didn’t get his way, would deliberately tear his clothes up to anger the seamstresses, and rip the flowers in the garden to the dismay of the gardeners. The Queen insisted on keeping Cupid away from Libre, but when the siblings did spend time together, it caused Libre headaches. As she got older, she became bored with her life in the castle. She was tired of having the same conversation with the same maids and servants so she wanted to explore. The king and queen wanted to keep their life private so their children never stepped outside the castle before. With the help of some guardsmen, she planned her first trip outside the castle for her 18th birthday. When the day came, cloaked in a long robe which obscured her face and her body, she took her first steps out of the castle. The air was fresh and clean, the sun was warm on her face, and the color of the trees and grass were vibrant. She never experienced something so beautiful.

Her first trip outside the castle walls was to a little village close to the riverside. Libre was taken aback by the busyness of the village. Children were running around in the streets with muddied clothes. It was strange, even though the kids were dirty they looked so happy. The townsmen and women were in the streets, dancing and singing to the jovial music playing from the bar. The waitresses from the bar were bustling to serve out ice-cold beers and ales. Libre spent her time in the village observing them from the sidelines.

When she got back, her father sat her down to have a conversation. It was the first time she had a real conversation with her father in years. While looking her straight in her eyes he said, “I have arranged a marriage for you. He is a wealthy prince from across the sea who is looking for a princess.” Libre wasn’t surprised. She was hurt, but not surprised. She’s been waiting for this day ever since her brother was born. Her parents finally had their true heir, the only thing left to do was to get rid of the only obstacle in their perfect family. Libre. Since then, she began taking frequent trips outside the castle. She could not bear to stay in the castle, waiting to get whisked away by some stranger. One day as she was walking through the village and spotted a small shop. The energy radiating from the shop was… enticing, irresistible. She found herself knocking at the door, wanting to know more about The door opened up a crack and there stood a woman. She was middle-aged, short, and stout. Her hair was long and stringy nearly touching her buttocks. Libre knew exactly what this place was when she looked into the woman’s eyes, it was the place that the guardsmen warned her against. It was a witch shop. And the woman standing in front of her was a witch. Her bright violet stared at her, assessing her. She then swung the door open and beckoned Libre in. The shop was small and welcoming. The floors were covered in rigs made from exotic animals There were shelves filled with crystals and bubbling potions. Libre followed the witch to a small table in the back of the shop and sat down. "What do you seek?" The witch asked, her voice croaky and dry. "I was just passing along town and was drawn to your shop-." "People do not come to my store without a purpose. What do you seek?" Libre sat there thinking about the question. What did she want? After a while, Libre spoke in a whisper, "I want to be free ." Free of her life in the castle, free of her impending marriage, free of her family. Just free. The witch smiled. Not a pleasant one, but a twisted, evil smile.

"Nothing is free in my shop. Everything comes at a cost." "I have riches and jewels that I can give-." "I'm well aware of your wealth, Princess. You can take off the cloak, you must be sweltering." Libre did as she was told, uncloaking herself. It felt refreshing to take off her cloak and show her face. “You have something more valuable than your riches and your jewels. I want half of your heart." "Half of my heart?" Libre asked, surprised. "I am not a deceitful witch, princess. I will tell you right now that taking away half your heart will take away the ability to love someone fully." Libre sat for a while longer before wrapping her cloak around her and standing to leave. "I won't miss a feeling that I've never felt before." And with that Libre left the shop and went back to the castle. The next day, Libre went back into town and to the witch shop. This time the door swung open before she could even knock. "Ready?" The witch asked, her violet eyes glowing unnaturally bright. Libre took a deep breath and said, “Ready.”


I lay there in my crown of flowers, the purple velvet coat soft under my body. The silver beads in the sleeveless bodice of my ivory dress twinkled in the sun as the tulle skirt fluttered in the breeze. My handsome prince stood above me. He, with his ivory skin, sky blue eyes, and blond hair, slowly leaned down. This was the magic moment, our first kiss. And just as our lips were about to touch, he started poking my shoulder.

Huh?  I thought. Then I woke up.

My eyes opened and I saw the poking perpetrator. My friend, Jason, was sitting beside me laughing. I sat up, annoyance on my face but embarrassment flooding my cheeks.

“What were you dreaming about?” he asked, still chuckling.

“Shut up!” was all I would say.

Golden warm beams of sunlight shone through the giant oak tree leaves. The cool summer breeze blew through my long curly ginger hair as I picked leaves out. I swatted at a mosquito that landed on my bare freckled leg. Ripped jean shorts and a loose tank top with my bikini under had been my ensemble of choice during this summer. I may have dreamed of being a princess in a fairy tale, but I was just a naive country girl. Being as I was 18, I was set to begin college and get a proper education, my parents’ hope. My desire, however, was to get married and have kids but my parents would have none of it. Alas, these last two months at home would be bittersweet.

I looked at Jason as he set up his fishing pole next to mine. Nothing was biting that day, as was the norm. I didn’t go for the actual fishing. I went to hang out with my friends. With both Maggie and Alex already gone to their respective universities, it left me and Jason. He brought Anna once or twice in the beginning this season, a friend of his family’s, but usually she was working when we all hung out. How I missed Maggie and Alex, but especially Maggie, my best friend. Still, I was thankful to at least have Jason to hang out with during the last couple of months.

As I sat staring while he baited his hook, I noticed how though he was not my type, I was feeling… attracted to him? No, being half asleep must have been causing this delusion. But... his dark tanned skin glistened in the sun, his thick onyx hair cut short, and matching eyes serious as he concentrated on the hook. He wore a light-weight gray t-shirt and cut-off jeans. Noticing his strong neck and veiny hands brought a mysterious tingle into my body.

Ew, what am I doing?!

I admonished myself as I continued gawking. As if sensing my stare, he looked directly at me.

His eyes met mine and I looked away quickly. Because why not make it more embarrassing for myself? He smiled mischievously but then, choosing to ignore the awkwardness, he began chit-chatting about college and the future and we settled into a pleasant state. The lazy late afternoon slowly transformed into dusk as shades of lemon, cherry, and tangerine radiated through the oak leaves. The sunset came and went, revealing the abundance of stars in the sky above. The cicadas sang their song as the full moon casted its gleam on the riverbank where we sat.

“I’m going to miss these nights” I said with a sigh, looking up at the twinkling sky.

“Anything else you’re gonna miss?” he replied, impishly. I looked over at him smiling slyly.

“What do you mean?” I asked as my heart started beating a little faster. With that same wily smile, he moved closer.

“Anything, or anyone, else you’re gonna miss?”

I looked at him, wide eyed and unable to say anything. Bashful, with that same mysterious tingling sensation throughout my body, I made myself meet his dark deep eyes. Without realizing how or when it happened, we were even closer, so much so that I could feel the heat radiating from him. And before I could make sense of it, we were kissing. Passionately. We fell into one another, clothing cascaded away from our bare bodies. My skin feeling the cool of the grass and the fever of his hands. The music of crickets and the sparkle of fireflies swirled all around. The night more magical than my dreams could ever hope to be.

Our serendipitous encounter started a nonstop romance for the next six weeks. Except Saturdays and Sundays, which I assumed were for his family time. I steered clear of bringing him home due to my strict mom and dad, as well as my two younger brothers being there. My parents expected me to remain a virgin until I get married.

Hah, that’s out the window now!

I giggled to myself. Jason did not take me to his place either. With him being only 6 months older, I surmised the discretion was for the same reason (his parents as well as with Anna staying there). Mine and his gatherings always took place on the same part of the riverbank. We would meet in the late afternoon, as we had in summers past, as friends hanging out. But those nights ended very differently, with fire and enchantment, before heading home in the wee morning hours. It was the fairy tale I had been dreaming of.

One Sunday morning, I went upstairs to my room to get dressed when, suddenly feeling nauseous, I darted to the adjacent bathroom. There before me, mostly in the porcelain bowl, was the breakfast I just had with the family.

Ew, gross, I thought as I began cleaning up. Bacon and eggs were normally my favorite.

Weird. As I grabbed a roll of paper towels from the little cabinet beneath the sink, a tampon box fell and projected the cylinder wrapped products around the bathroom floor.

Get it together, will ya?!

I scolded myself as collected the scattered tampons. Then I stopped, realization hitting me like a ton of bricks.

Scrambling to my feet and stumbling to the puppy themed wall calendar over the cabinet, my fears were confirmed. It had been eight weeks.

I’m late,

I registered nervously. I could hear my heart hammering in my head and my stomach turned as the room began to spin. I dropped the few tampons I had in my hand and rushed back to the toilet.

Moments later, I laid on the cold bathroom tile, contemplating.

What am I going to do?

I stayed there for a while. As I ruminated though, I was surprised to find my panic was slowly transforming into excitement.

Oh my God, I’m going to be a mom?

I wondered in amazement. I needed to be sure. I timidly stood up and quietly opened the bathroom door to listen. My brothers must have been outside playing as the only sound came from my parents who remained downstairs chatting with one another. Not sure how long the opportunity would last, I snuck into my parents’ room nearby and rummaged through my mother’s things. Amidst her own tampons, pads, and other items I wish I could forget, I found a pregnancy test.

Thank God!

I skittered back to the bathroom and waited the longest three minutes of my life.

***

I felt euphoric.

I’m going to have a baby,

I envisioned pensively. Not just any baby, but a baby with one of my best friends...

Oh crap, Jason!

I wanted to tell him right away so we could start planning. After splashing water on my face and brushing my teeth, I changed out of my normal summer attire. I chose a mid-length floral sundress, bare shoulders, hair down. Looking into the bathroom mirror, I approved of the princess that that was in the reflection. Instead of waiting until tomorrow when I would see him at the river, I decided to tell him right away. I would walk to his house as it was only a mile down the road and surprise him. I could see it in my head:

He will run to me, and I will tell him. He will pick me up and twirl me around as we laugh and cry tears of joy.

College-schmollege, my life was turning into a romantic comedy!

I made it there in about 15 minutes. The pale-yellow two-story home sat quietly at the end of a little walkway made up of concrete squares. Vibrant green oak trees surrounded the property.

Do the birds always sing so beautifully?

I wondered as I floated to the front door. Nervous, I hesitated for a brief second before knocking on the white wood entrance. I held my breath as the door opened. There Jason stood, the father of my baby, never looking more handsome. I giggled at the surprise on his face.

“Surprise!” I tittered.

“Oh, hey...” he half laughed, and we hugged awkwardly.

“Do you have a second?” I asked, so giddy I thought I was going to jump out of my skin.

“Well, just a second, I was about to head out...” he seemed uncomfortable. I could tell this didn’t seem like the right time, but I just couldn’t wait.

“I’m pregnant!” I whispered shrilly, putting my hands up in a prayer position in front of my smile. My sage eyes dazzled as I looked into his, widening like saucers, mouth hung opened. As I waited for him to say something, anything, I slowly saw my vision fading away.

Instead of picking me up, he stood still in shock. Rather than twirling me, Anna’s smiling face came up behind him, waving to me. Jason and I couldn’t laugh together because she put her arms around him and lovingly kissed him in a familiar way. Tears did fall, my tears. Not of joy, but of dismay as I bolted from that house. My floral dress and ginger curls flowed after me as my fairy tale came crashing down.


Logan was a man who had lost his way. He was a successful businessman, rising to a high position in a Fortune 500 company, but his success had come at a high cost. He had become self-destructive, drinking heavily and engaging in dangerous and reckless behavior. He had lost touch with the things that once mattered to him; he was self-destructing. Everything changed when Logan's grandmother, Ellen, died. She had always been the rock of his life, and her passing left a huge hole in his heart. At her funeral, Logan learned that she had left him a piece of land in the remote mountains of East Tennessee. He had visited this land with his grandmother as a child and had many fond memories of it. Logan decided to take a break from his life and visit the land that his grandmother had left him. He packed a bag, took leave from his job, and set off on the long drive to East Tennessee. As he drove, he couldn't help but think about his grandmother and the memories they had made together. He knew this trip would be a chance to reconnect with the things that once mattered to him. When Logan arrived at the land, he was struck by its beauty. The rolling hills and lush forests were exactly as he remembered them as a child. He decided to explore the land, and as he walked, he came across an old, dilapidated cabin in the woods. This was the same cabin that he had visited many times with his grandmother and had many fond memories of. Logan did not know it yet, but this was the place where he would begin to heal. He decided to spend some time at the cabin, to fix it up and make it his own. He spent his days working on the place, fixing the roof, the windows, and the door. He cleaned out the inside and made it a cozy and comfortable home. He even started to plant a small vegetable garden out front. As Logan worked on the cabin, mending its wounds, his own wounds, one-by-one, began mending too. He realized that he had been on the wrong path in life and needed to change. He stopped drinking and started taking better care of himself.

Since the cabin was small and rustic, it was the perfect place for Logan to escape from the world. He spent his days hiking in the woods and fishing in the nearby lake. He spent his nights reading Shakespeare and staring up at the stars, taking extra special joy in observing the constellation Orion make its way across the night sky. And, slowly but surely, Logan began to heal. As the days passed, Logan began to feel a sense of peace. He began to see the beauty in the simple things around him. He would watch the sun rise over the lake and feel grateful for another day. He would listen to the birds singing in the trees and feel a sense of wonder. He would look up at the stars at night and feel a sense of connection to something greater than himself. Logan also started to learn new skills, like how to make his own furniture, fix appliances, and cook. He realized that he found happiness in small things like the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the morning, the sound of wood crackling in the fireplace, and the sight of the sun setting behind the mountains. He realized that he had never felt this way before, and the simplicity of the cabin's life was the key to his healing. As the weeks turned into months, Logan's physical and emotional health improved. He started to feel strong again, and his wounds began to heal. He started to feel like himself again, like the person he was before he lost his way. Logan rediscovered himself. He realized that he had been living a life that didn't align with his values and needed to change. He began to think about what truly mattered to him and what kind of person he wanted to be. One day, as Logan was sitting on the cabin's porch, he realized it was time for him to leave. He knew that he had found what he had been looking for and that it was time to take on the world with a renewed attitude. He packed his bags and said goodbye to the cabin, knowing it would always hold a special place in his heart. Logan left the cabin with a newfound sense of purpose. He had changed and was ready to take on the world with a positive attitude. He returned to his old life with a renewed sense of purpose and a new perspective. One of the first things Logan did was quit his job and start a new business. He wanted to do something that would honor his grandmother's memory and make a difference in the world. He started a company that focused on sustainable living and preserving the environment, something his grandmother had always been passionate about. He knew that this was his true calling and that this was what he wanted to do with his life. Logan's business was a huge success, and it brought him immense satisfaction. He was not just making a living, he was making a difference. He could use his talents and skills to help others, and he knew that this was what his grandmother would have wanted. He knew that he had found his true purpose and was living his life with purpose and meaning. As Logan's business grew, he was able to give back to the community in a big way. He started a charitable foundation focused on helping the less fortunate and protecting the environment. He knew that this was what his grandmother would have wanted, and he felt that he was living his life with purpose and meaning. Logan's time at the cabin in the woods profoundly changed him. He had taken the time to heal, refocus on himself, and uncover his true purpose. He had rediscovered himself and had found a new perspective on life. He knew that his grandmother's passing had been a turning point in his life. He was grateful to her, and he was thankful to the cabin for giving him the space to heal his wounded heart, soul, mind, and body. This story's moral is that sometimes in life, we lose our way and need to take the time to heal and find ourselves again. We need to focus on ourselves, and we need to find our true purpose. It is important to take the time to heal, take time to focus on ourselves, and truly find our proper purpose in life. Sometimes, the things we lose in life can lead us to something greater. Like Logan, we should be bold and take time for ourselves, to focus on healing our wounds and find our true purpose in this life. In doing so, we can honor those who have passed and leave behind a legacy that both they and we would be proud of.


I anchored Magic in a little cove that was bordered by coco palms and fern over a black sand beach. It was one of those perfect beach scenes that I dreamt about as a child and now I was here. I got the dinghy in the water faster than ever with the thought that maybe the cove might disappear. I had my rum and a sandwich in my backpack to celebrate a small delight at finding this place. Before I touched the sand I had a sense of being in that dream; that I wasn’t really alive yet but still comfortably in my cot under our tree in our backyard. But, I knew I was here. The sand between my toes. The warm water over my feet. I tied off the dinghy to a palm next to a tiny trail that lead into the bush. It is truly amazing to step into a place you’ve never been before, and yet not only know that you’ve been there before but strangely, though not startling, that I recognised people along this path and that they recognised me showing  welcoming nods. The trail led to a small village and the people seemed to stroll in a cadenced grace of motion. They were in a mix of complexions, all dressed in loose whites going about their business with a general expression of alertness that I interpreted as something about to happen. I noted again that the clothing they wore was in various stages of cleanliness or age. But they all wore white without anything contrasting. White shorts, long pants, skirts, sarongs, dresses, all white. Even the children wore white, though mostly stained from games and play. There was a laughter about the place, even in direction giving or conversation that made me smile. My first thoughts were that this was a religious community of some sort. My next thoughts were shocked by my name being repeated in greeting. ‘Afernoon, Cop’n Piktorne’, a little girl, bowing from the head in passing, said merrily. ‘Good Afternoon, Capitan Pickthorne’, an older man said raising an open palm and bowing slightly. A string of small fish were dangling from his other hand as he passed along. A group of children ran across my path giggling at some pursuit in which they were engaged. The cobbler making sandals, the woman selling vegetables, the people sitting under the shade of a round twig thatched roof talking all reminded me of people I thought, no, I was sure with whom I was familiar. My head heated. The sun was relentless. I went over to the shade where a group sat talking under a thatched roof. ‘Hablan Ingles, Señores?’ I asked standing in the sun in front of their smiling faces. ‘Why yes,’ a white-whiskered man responded, nodding to me and giving me his full attention with a curious stare and parted lips, ‘we do, Capitan Pickthorne.’ ‘Do I know you, sir?’ I asked directly. ‘Why yes, you do, Capitan,’ he smiled quizzically, ‘you know all of us, maybe you... have forgotten us, but... but time eventually chafes the untruths.’ He invited me into the shade and introduced me, or it seemed he was reintroducing me to the group who were seated on stiff straight back thatch chairs in a loose semi-circle. One man out of the group of seven arrested my attention with his smiling eyes. He was introduced as Capitan Alejandro Grande. I was informed that Capitan Alejandro was captain/owner of a trading sloop and a great dancer. The others, all men at least in their fifties and the soft mix of skin colours, turned out to also be great dancers with a couple being introduced as both great musicians as well as great dancers. ‘Capitan Pickthorne,’ Capitan Alejandro spoke, ‘why do you not see the village... then please return to this shady spot... we still have refreshments awaiting your return.’ They all smiled in a warm excited manner at me and in agreement with the captain. I dug in my pack and handed Captain Alejandro my rum bottle. They all beamed at the gesture and some grunted laughs as older men sometimes do. The village passageway softly curled as a snail’s shell, the apex being the older men’s shaded spot. I walked along the homes, each raised a few feet from the earth on mahogany trunks. They were well constructed huts or palapas of thatch roofed, most contained a single rooms with divisions and were white washed thatch and daub rounded structures. A smaller model was also raised above the ground for food storage. Each property was spaced at least 12 meters apart. Vegetables greened the borders of the buildings to the mixing with a neighbour’s growth. Orderly rows of greens, spinach, chilis, tomatoes, yams, zucchini, various beans, berries, ranging trees of mango, papaya, tamarind, sweet and sour sop, and banana palms waved to the slight of breezes, dwarf coconut trees formed the actual property lines. The properties were neat, a rubbish fire here and there. Many of the people seemed to be waiting for me. They stood in family poses in front of their homes, each welcoming into their property and their homes. I went into the first three more out of courtesy than curiosity. They were very simple inside, with one wall dividing  a comfortable cooking and eating area with sleeping spaces. The thatched twig sidings, painted white, provided shade from the sun, and allowed a breeze to pass through the gaps in the mud daubed thatch work. Being elevated provided a coolness to the floors where they had laid grass mats which seemed to direct air upward to my feet. Their choices of mattresses or thick cotton mats, chairs of fat pillows, curtains or shutters were the only distinctions I could detect. Generally each home was an external duplicate of the others. This was a very organised community. My slightly developed curiosity waned after the third one and I only token glanced into others that had a different entrance design or windows... something that would draw my immediate attention. By the end of the passage I was drenched in sweat, the birds screamed too loudly, the children were too impulsive, the sky was too white, the smiles somehow too loud. My shirt was taken off gently. I was sponge washed, towel dried. A white shirt was slipped over my head and extended arms.. A simple shirt with a slit in the top for my head and of a soft cotton fabric for my comfort. My shorts and underpants were taken off and I was sponged again and dried. Loose white cotton trousers were pulled on me and belted firmly in place by a thick leather belt with a large silver rectangular buckle. A wide brimmed hat was placed on my head, its swooping brim sheltered my shoulders and head from the sun. I adjusted the fit, feeling refreshed. A drink of clear liquid was handed me in a half coconut shell and I gulped it down. All of this bathing and clothing was accomplished with happy chatter, even jokes and laughter. I did not feel I was in any way being ridiculed. It felt as though the people were simply at work making light of what happened to them on the way there. I thanked those who had washed and clothed me and walked over to the village border of rice fields. The smell of the tall grasses overwhelmed me. I was in a complete state of smiling. Probably if I were on a city street I would have been labelled a fool grinning for no apparent reason. There, I simply joined my hosts who were mostly smiling at something or leading up to a smile or just coming off one. And it was not the kind of smile that you show at a cocktail party or because of listening to a comedian, or a good poet... it was just some kind of happiness inside that created the feeling and set the features. Strange one, I thought, you look for reasons to smile to be happy and you never find a consistent one... you find yourself happy and you feel you have to explain it. Poof, I said to myself, I can’t think of the whys or the feeling will go poof... this is it is all. The drumming started and became stronger, the melody more defined, a doo dee doo bop doo dee doo bop. I half stumbled, half trotted around back through the passage way, looking probably like a Tarot Fool and just like one not caring through an innocence in feelings that lightened my chest and straightened my back and pulled me toward the low sky. I felt that the clouds sent invisible fingers that pulled or pushed me. I was there but not. I was a passenger in my own body. At the shaded hut of the older men my meandering stopped. I did not see them. I could not anything until I entered and the darkness dissolved to show a room not unlike my family’s room with a rounded couch, with a small cocktail table in front and an opened book lay on the table. But, there was an elevated open fire pit that sent a stream of smoke upward with a sweet smell on one side of a centre pole that supported the roof. Mats and pillows lay strewn upon a light cotton rug. Kitchen utensils were hung neatly along a wall. A long iron bar stood upright, implanted in a hole in the rug near the pit. Books lined a curving four shelved bookcase. A scorpion ran across my path. The scorpion was awash in a ray of sunlight, crouched openly near the pole as if hiding. My feet were dusted from the walk and my ankles had sweat streaks marked brown in the dust on my dried skin. I looked at the palms of my hands as though they were new to me. Soiled dark in their sharply defined creases. Small and large mounds adding emphasis to the muscle underneath. Ready for any work, chore or pleasure that needed the contact for the touch I wanted to give. Around the palm and the light hued flesh of my fingertips there was a glow of golden richness that was tanned deeply. I looked around me at the smiling and grinning faces of the older men and others and a growing rumble of a chant. I looked at tall rice stalks waving through the window, gold-headed, green-bladed, the sun at it’s last rays laid on the bristles encasing the rice heads. Turning back again a great woman stood before me in the darkness of the poled hut. I started to understand some myriad of associations affecting me. But, it was as though other knowledges were passing me by. The great woman stood in front of me and sprayed me with liquid air. I inhaled as much as I could. ‘We are the clowns,’ she said to me and to white swaying figures around me, ‘the true buffoons of the Almighty Lords. They play with us and if we are aware of the game it is then possible to piece together some of the rules. The Lords might want you to play consciously, and then they will make the rules available... only the rules will be in their language and you will have to make a game of translating or absorbing their language. But you know their language is not to be interpreted, only absorbed.’ My heart was pounding rapidly, drowning out the drum-sea waving rhythms. Grains of light were rising speckled along the pole’s path into the darkness of the tent. I floated higher, feeling presences brushing through and about my body. ‘The cowardliness’, a voice within me softly spoke, ‘in us is not a false one. One that says we should find that spot before we get too old and settle upon that spot until we die a natural death, that is after living a natural life in that one spot.’ The darkness lightened into browns and golds that separated each fibre of the thatched roof. I was again with my feet on the earth, the ground pulsated the rhythm of my heart. ‘We are cowardly’, the voice resumed as I defined each golden hued palm braiding, ‘in that march toward the depth in our real being. Many other levels come our way and reached, only then can we absorb enough to be on our way to the grand threshold.’ I was smoking a black pipe, a top hat nudged, unbalanced on my head. I had a long black skirt on. It had big white dots. I had a tuxedo tailed jacket over my bare chest. My cane, which I swirled eloquently overhead, was the colour of my skin tipped with glowing silver. I wanted money that the people gave me in bills and coins which I stuffed greedily into my pockets. I wanted a bottle which appeared in my hand, I swallowed and sprayed air on the smoke pit and into adjoining mouths. People became clear. I could identify facial features, individual gestures, rings, bracelets then they became a swirling mass once more... except for one. The great woman danced for me. Her eyes were closed and she was lovely. Her body undulated pulling at my loins. I twirled my stick above us and circled her bringing her urgent body to mine, slipping past her, pulling her to me, slipping past. People threw coins and bills in the air and at my feet. She was racked with sensual spasms that lifted her off one foot, almost falling she would stomp down that foot to gain the other foot and again tilt to falling, then the other way she would go. My cane was pointing first this way, then that and she would follow to the wild beat of my heart. I stopped her, willed her still, willed her back bent head just above the ground. I lifted the skirt of her dress and the soft layers of her petticoats. Her lushness was thrust toward me. I opened my loose fly and placed my hardness upon her clitoris, pulling backward and forward., rubbing it with my urgency. She shook. I inserted slowly to the full and moved into an exploding darkness of dull luminescence. Instead of feeling spent, emptying , I felt as though I was pulling out her juices with me filling. She was on the ground asleep. I was twirling my cane, comets trailed the tips. I was happy, like a child who was an adult. The great woman again danced in front of me.

The great woman was now dressed in billowy white blouse and trousers and had jumped up to then down from the ceiling. She danced before me with a concerned expression on her smooth face. A primary blue sash cut into her blouse and pants joining them to a narrow waist. Her long raven hair was matted, streaming black seaweed. She pointed to my crotch and my protruding organ. I quickly tucked it back in and closed my fly, my passions suddenly sapped. I was tired, barely able to keep my eyes open. My cane was gone and I was again dressed in loose whites. I felt ashamed of the wild nastiness I had enacted. I was ashamed in front of all these people as witness. But, the drums still paced and my heart again throbbed replacing the drumbeat with my own cadence. I smelled the sea but could not see it, knowing that I was well inland. I looked into the great woman’s eyes, unable to speak but willing my concern about being landlocked to her. She smiled. ‘Trouble is a voyage by land’, I heard a woman’s from behind me. I turned and saw nobody, turned back and the great woman was gone. I was alone on my cot under our tree.


As I walk down the crowded halls of East Ridge High School, I think about how my life has changed in the past two years. But do you want to know something? Everything still feels and looks the same: It’s still the same old rusty sky blue lockers, with shiny silver padlocks; it’s still the same hideous Panther, leaping for a checkered flag. It’s the same stale air; it’s still the same loathsome teenagers that roam the crowded halls. It still the same judgmental and pity stares from people who know nothing about me or my situation. I think the actual change is me. The funny thing is that I am still the same old girl with waist-length strawberry blonde hair with icy blue eyes. I am still the same old teenage girl who wears large sweatshirts (the number of sweatshirts I have should be illegal) that have weird quotes on them and shorts. I think what changed is my mentality, my personality, and my perspective about a lot of things. Outwardly I am still the same: I still have the same hair colour, eye colour, skin colour, height but Inwardly I am so different, it’s such a stark contrast that I don’t know who I am anymore. I am a shell of who I used to be, I am not that strong ‘confident’ girl anymore, I am not on cloud nine anymore, I don’t have a plan, I don’t have a direction. I am lost. I have lost so much that I am left with nothing. I lost myself, my identity, my being, my existence. I feel alone, I feel helpless, I feel ineffectual, I fell used, and it’s all because of... Oomph! I think I just ran into a wall. Fantastic! Can’t you just smell the sarcasm? I can imagine the bruise on my ass. Oh! It’s my lucky day! I repeat, can’t you just smell the sarcasm? “You have got to be kidding me!” I groaned. “I am so so so sorry, I wasn’t looking at where I was going, Are you okay? Wait! Let me help you up.” The wall spoke. Hold on! Stop! Wait, a minute! The wall spoke! I don’t recall when walls could talk. Maybe I smacked my head, and I didn’t notice or maybe landing on my ass caused some shock waves to be sent to my brain causing me to hear voices or maybe I have schizophrenia and the voices are calling me or maybe I am just insane. You know what? I think am going to go with the latter option; it sounds like the most sensible choice. “Hey, you okay?” the voice spoke. As I peered up to figure out what the hell was going on, I wished I didn’t. I wished I never even showed up to school. Heck! I wished I never woke up this morning. As I looked up at the ‘wall’ I meet nothing else but the eyes of the devil. I discover the familiar pair of piercing sea-green eyes that have hunted my dreams for the past two years. I find the eyes of Luca Giovanni Valentino. “Nevaeh” Lucca whispers. The way my name flows out of his mouth, like a starved man who has gotten what he craves. The intensity of his sea-green eyes as they gawk at my face leaves me exposed. The way he is staring at me like he was struggling to believe it was me. The way he is nibbling on his bottom lip, something he does every time he is trying to figure something out makes me paralyzed. I was defenceless; I was vulnerable, and I was staring. I could do nothing but stare. Stare at what used to cause all my happiness, stare at what used to be my entire world. Stare at the man that brought me to my knees and left me there begging. Stare at the man who made me fall hard, but did not catch me. Stare at Lucca Giovanni Valentino; the demon that haunts my nightmares, the gatekeeper to my hell. “Luca” I murmur back as I continue to stare at what stripped me of my dignity and power. Do you want to know something? He still looks the same, it’s the same silky soft, messy, dirty blond hair, the one I used to love running my hand through when he was placing soft kisses on my neck. He still has those stubble cheeks, the one I used to feel prickling my cheeks when I used to lie on his chest at night as we spoke about the future. It’s still the same bulging biceps that I used to bite when he sent me to the stars. I let out an almost inaudible whimper, tears cloud my vision, all the memories I tried to bury deep down were coming back, tormenting me, robbing me of the little control that I had. “Hermosa, My Love, I can’t believe you are here.” The way he watches me with that childlike excitement baffles me. “Oh, shoot! Let me help you up,” As he reaches over to grab my hand, I flinch away. A string of emotions passes through his eyes. Shock, Hurt, Guilt, and Regret, If I wasn’t staring intently; I would have missed it. “Now am your Hermosa, NOW am your love!” I hiss as I push myself off the ground. “L-l-let me...” “Shut Up! Shut Up!” I yell back as the tears, that I was trying to hold back, flowed. “Shut Up! Your bloody mouth you Bastard. You have no right to talk to me, to look at me. I hate you, I hate you so much Luca,” I yell. “I hate you, I hate you so much! You ruined me, Luca! You ruined me. Do you know that? Huh? Why do you insist on torturing me by telling me all those stuff?” I hiss as loud sobs rip through me. I look at the floor for I could no longer stare at the eyes of my lover. I didn’t know what to do; I didn’t know what to say; I didn’t know how to feel. I was so helpless and truth be told; I was at his mercy. “Nevaeh, I will never try to torture you, I never meant to hurt you. I love you so much” I stare at him wide-eyed. I was speechless, I couldn't believe what I was hearing, maybe I was going crazy. Was I supposed to believe that, after everything, he put me through? Luca was staring at me pleadingly, willing me to believe what he was saying. I kept quiet. Despite my silence, Luca continued talking. "You have always been my love, my deepest Tesoro, ti amo tanto. Don’t you remember? Did I not make you a promise? I told you, you will always be the most important person in my life and that I would tell you that forever” “Mi Amore, are you okay?” Luca asked as he embraces me in his arms. “Yeah, am Okay don’t worry about it,” I said as I tried to release myself from the tight embrace he had me in. “Don’t lie to me. You know I hate it when you lie to me. What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” he looked at me sharply, daring me to tell him anything but the truth. “I-I” I stuttered. I didn’t know how to tell him how I felt: I feared his reaction. “What’s it? You know you can tell me anything?” I looked away from his piercing green eyes that were solely focused on me. “Do you love me?” I asked as I look up at him. “What?” he asked incredulously. “Do you love me?” I repeat. He stared at me for a few seconds. Those few seconds were the most terrifying moment of my life. Thoughts raced through my mind ‘what if he was looking for a suitable way to reject me’ ‘What if all of this is a lie?’. Luca’s silence was doing nothing but make me feel worse than I already did. His silence caused my eyes to glaze over with unwanted tears. I looked away before he notices them. “Cara, look at me” I look up to stare at the familiar pair of sea-green eyes that have taken me to the stars. The eyes of the man I love so much. “How could you ask me that question? Do I love you? Have I not shown you? With my kisses, my hugs, my hands, my heart-our nights together. Don’t you feel my love then?” I stared wide-eyed. I was dumbstruck and speechless. What do I say to that? “Neveah, you will always be My Love, the most special person to me, Mio Tesoro piu profondo, ti amo tanto, Sempre and I would tell you that forever” Another powerful sob rips through me, I can’t do it: his presence is making me feel things I buried away two years ago. I hyperventilate, I couldn’t breathe, I could sense a panic attack coming. Luca seems to notice my discomfort and tries to touch me again, but I slap his palms away. “Don’t touch me!” I screech. He looked startled at my sudden outburst; I used that moment of weakness to my advantage and ran. I ran away because I knew that if he touched me, I would be at his mercy. I will fall for his tender words and subtle caress. I was struggling to remain strong; I was clinging on to the glimmer of hope that allows me to believe that I could walk out of this with my head held high; that I would come out stronger for the fire I am standing in wouldn’t leave scars. But I knew that was a lie, I knew it was my mind trying to console me. There was no way I was getting out of this unmarked, I was in too deep and there was no way I could escape. I ran into the ladies’ restroom and locked the door; I looked through all the stalls to make sure no one was present to witness my meltdown. I leaned on the sink to catch my breath, my hands fisted the marble countertop tightly until they turned white. I didn’t care. I look at the mirror and studied my reflection. I looked like a mess: my hair looked like a bird’s nest from the multiple times I ran my hands through it. My clothes looked dishevelled from my fall, my eyes, the icy blue eyes I loved to admire, looked dull, almost lifeless. They revealed how I felt. They showed helplessness. I felt helpless. Luca had this incomprehensible power over me. He controlled my thoughts, my emotions, my choices, me and he did it with immense joy. I remember one night when we laid in bed together; he was pestering me to do the deed with him. I felt strangely uncomfortable why he wanted it so badly. I remember myself asking, why? When you give me that control and you let go, you unravel for me and like a beautiful flower I watch all your petals fall away. You give me that moment to steal you away from yourself, from all your ambitions, goals and even your demons, and for those few, sweet moments of whatever I want to do to you. I own you. You are mine. Hermosa that is power. It’s scary, but it just makes me love you more and more… I knew that loving him was terrifying, for him to have that much power over me, it terrified me. He could either make me happy or rip me to shreds. I thought with the power Luca possessed over me, he would use it to make me happy, use it to build me until I appear a Phoenix, reborn. What I didn’t know was that it was me giving him the right to destroy me. “Say yes Hermosa,” I said yes. I said yes to the devil; yes to selling my soul to a man. Yes, to allow someone to have power over me. Yes, to be someone’s possession. I said yes to nightmares. Yes to betrayal; yes to heartbreak; I said yes to death. I fell onto the ground and sobbed, hugging my knees to my chest. I could no longer keep myself up and going.


More Than Yourself My sword reflected the bright morning sun. I tried to focus on the maneuvers I was supposed to do, but my mind kept wandering to the contest the next morning. I would be facing the best swordsmen on this side of the mountains. I breathed deeply. That was not the problem, the problem lay in the fact that I was a girl, well not a girl, a woman. My skill with the sword was formidable, but I had been prohibited from competing in the Trials. The Trials were held every year, they boasted many different competitions, but the one people came to see the most was the sword fighting. Many great swordsmen would come from all over the world to see the outcome of the Trials. The winners got the best treatment and would be able to stay in the castle and keep company with the King. The Trials had very few rules. Number one: you had to fight fair, if you cheated in any way you would automatically fail. Number two: Whether you failed or won, you would fail or win humbly and respectfully. And last but not least, Number three: you had to be male. This was the one rule that I wanted to change. And so, I had taken the matter into my own hands. Yesterday had been the second day of the Trials and a man named Erick, who had won the last two years, was winning the sword Trials. And he made a point of telling all the women in the stands, that he was the best catch any girl could want. Well, one thing led to another, and before I could think twice, I jumped the stand and slapped his face with my glove. The universal challenging insult. And before I could change my mind I spoke the official words, “I challenge you, Erick, to a contest by the sword in two days. If I win, then I and any other girl will be able to compete in the trials. If I lose, then I will not trouble you again.” After looking me up and down, he stared me in the face and laughed! I was furious! But it was settled, the only thing that had me worried was the fact that the last contest Erick had been in, he had killed his opponent. And I knew that I had publicly flouted his so-called “authority,” and this made him mad, which made him dangerous. I had been lost in my thoughts, but my sword had not stopped swinging. When I finally pulled my focus back to the present, I realized that someone was watching me. I stopped suddenly, staring at the dark-skinned man. He watched my every move, and I could see his right hand making small movements as if copying my sword strokes. “Well hello there!” the man started as if he knew he was not supposed to be there. “Sorry miss, I did not mean to interrupt you. I was just trying to learn your sword fighting style, it is something I have never seen before.” I looked at the man, I recognized the stance of a fighting man. “Do you fight?” He in his turn looked me up and down. “Some, but there is nowhere for me to compete.” He made a motion towards his dark skin. I was not known to be the brightest in recognizing cultural things, this was one of my weak points, but the last and unspoken rule of The Trials was that all contestants had to be white. “I understand, I want to compete in the Trials but am not allowed either. In fact, I am preparing for my fight with the two-year running grand champion Erick Futermer, I challenged him yesterday, and am going to fight him tomorrow.” He looked at me “Yes, I know, everyone knows. And you have helped spark an interest for others to fight for justice. I hope you know that it is more than just you that you are fighting for. For if you win the path will start to open for others, maybe even me. But if you lose you will not only die, but the spark will die with you.” His dark serious eyes made his words even more real, but I could not tell, was he nervous for me, or for the possible impact that my failure could bring? “I know what rests on my shoulders, but there was no one else who was going to take action, and I was not going to stand and let the opportunity slip by! After all, I did not see you there!” My words were slightly salty, but I was close to being offended by his brisk assessment of my odds. My confidence was fake, but I could not let him see how nervous I was. He just raised his eyebrows and leaned against a pole, he said nothing, and the silence created a black hole that needed to be filled. My fake confidence and salty attitude were slowly sucked away. I did not speak, but I lowered my sword and looked to the ground. My shoulders slumped, I was exhausted, I had not slept well, and was at a loss of how I would be able to beat Erick. The man stood up and walked towards me. “You do not have a chance if you fight the way I saw. You lack focus, and your stance could use improvement.” At first, I was angered at his words, what did he know? But then I felt a profound sense of hopelessness, he was right! I had never fought an opponent who was trying to kill me. Any weakness that I had would be exploited. I had fought one on one plenty of times, and I did have some skill, but compared to a man who had been fighting since he was fourteen, my skill was nothing. I also had not had access to the training that Erick had had. I was starting to feel less like a woman and more like a girl. But before I could let my feelings spill out, the man continued. “But you do have speed, in your sword and your feet, and your lack of a style will help you immensely if you know the style with which your opponent fights. That way you can make up for your lack of strength with knowledge.” His words stopped me in my tracks, the way he said them made it sound as though he was going to help me. I tested the waters. “And do you know how to help my stance, and how to gain this knowledge? And if you do, where did you learn it?” He looked at me and smiled, “They do not let me fight in the Trials, but they will let us join the armed forces. My father was one of the best swordsmen in the armed forces and he taught me. And because of that, I do know some things that will help you.” As he spoke, he pulled two swords from his back, they were shorter than a normal sword and curved. But I could see the light reflecting off the sharp blade. He got into a fighting stance and motioned for me to do the same. The training had begun. The next morning, I woke up in a cold sweat, I had had a dream of the fight, and I had lost. The man came as promised and he taught me more about stance and technique than the actual fighting. Before I knew it, it was time. “Well, it is time for you to go, the contest will begin soon. I wish I could do more, but there is just no more time.” The man spoke and I felt that he meant what he said. I nodded, “Thank you for what you have taught me. I wonder, will you be there? If I do win, Erick’s friends may not be too happy.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it; I know a few others who will be there. I think you will be fighting in front of a crowd!” “Great!” I said, he laughed, “You best go, I will be there soon.” I made my way to the grounds, Erick was already there. I put on a smile. Best not make him mad, otherwise this contest could go sour. “Good morning Erick.” I tried to be cheerful, but when I saw his face, I could see that the contest had already been soured. “I see you have finally decided to show your face! I am mildly surprised you showed up, but then I guess I knew you would not be smart enough to stay away!” I tried to keep my mouth shut and think about what I was going to say. “Well, I guess I am not smart enough to stay away, but too smart to leave.” My words did not have the intended result, instead of laughing it off, he drew his sword, “Well then, let us start this thing!” His sword moved with the speed of a snake. I hurried to pull my sword free and blocked his rushed stroke. He circled to his right and I moved to my left, he struck out again, reminding me of a snake’s tongue. “Focus!” I told myself, I had to implement what the man had taught me. I steadied my feet and made an attack of my own, my heart jumped to my throat when Erick dodged and struck out at me. I held my breath when his sword came within an inch of my head. The fight went on, he would strike, and I would parry, then I would strike, and he would parry. But the speed at which this happened got faster and faster until I knew we were fighting way out of my league! Our swords still flew faster, but I was no longer in control of the fight. My response was slow, and my attacks became fewer and farther between. He was attacking more and defending less. I was losing! I got one cut across his leather breastplate, but then disaster struck. When I withdrew from a lunge he ducked and stepped on my foot causing me to stumble, I tripped and fell to the ground! He stood over me and stabbed me in my right shoulder. The pain nearly knocked me out, but I managed to hang on. This wound had been on purpose, I would not be able to fight for a long time. Then he held his sword over his head, the typical stance of someone who was about to permanently end his opponents' fight. I realized that my arm was the least of my problems. The sword started to fall, and I closed my eyes. But then there was a loud ‘ring’ I opened my eyes to see the man who had helped me standing over me, protecting me from the death stroke. “Enough! You may disagree with her, but that does not mean that you must kill her! Relent, and I will not kill you!” I watched Erick’s face in surprise, for he was pale, and looked as though he might faint. He dropped to one knee, “Of course my Lord John.” I was suddenly confused, the man who had saved me put down his hand and helped me up. I looked into his face, and that is when it struck me, the king had adopted a son, the son’s father had been in the king's guard and had saved his life, but had died in the process, the boy had been about sixteen years of age and the king took him as his own son, raising him as a prince. My eyes widened as I realized who this man was. “I am sorry my Lord, I did not recognize you.” John, as I knew him now, laughed. “I must admit, I was surprised you did not recognize me, but that is not the purpose of my visit. My father, the king, has heard of the unfairness that the Trials enforce, so I was sent to see if anyone cared. But my father also told me not to act unless there was already someone trying to make a difference. Which of course there was.” He looked at me “But that was not enough, you still had to put actions behind your words, and even though you were scared you still came and fought the best that you could. And even though you were not able to win, there were more people than yourself that were behind you.” He looked at me as if I should respond. “I am sorry, I do not understand.” John smiled and took out a piece of parchment. “It is here declared that the Trials shall no longer be for men of one color, but now the Trials shall be open to both men and women of all races.” John put the parchment away, “You may not have won the battle, but then again there was a bigger war going on. And even though we have won this small victory there are still many more battles that need to be won before the war is over. Justice will prevail! We just have to remember, that we are more than ourselves.”


“That’s it, I’m finished!” Calix announced as he entered the abandoned warehouse. Black blood dripped from his clothes onto the concrete floor. “I swear it, Allard. No more prophecies or monsters or fate. I’m done with it all!”          Allard came rushing as fast as his ragged leg would allow. An injury he had sustained years ago from a similar beast Calix had bested tonight. A beast that had punctured his new armor within moments and ruined his celebration.          Allard quickly stopped as he took in the picture of his friend, wincing at the sight. “What the hell did you fight tonight?”          “A loxhorn.” Calix groaned as he removed his weapons, his armor, and his soiled shirt. Underneath it all was the wound Calix had felt throbbing for hours.          “Calix, I just mopped the floors.”          The stare Allard received could’ve burned through walls. “I’m quitting.”          “Monster hunters don’t get to quit.”          “Then call it a retirement instead. I’m done.” Calix left his equipment on the floor as he shuffled his way further into the warehouse, searching tables and shelves. He sighed with relief when, finally, his hands wrapped around the half-full bottle of whiskey.          “Well, you look like utter shit.”          Calix froze. He knew that voice- that sweet, innocent, beckoning voice.          “Oh, no.” Calix turned. “No, Allard. What is that witch doing here?”          “I am not a witch.”          “I could’ve called you something that rhymes, instead, sweetheart.”          Briar was across the room, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She looked the same as the last time Calix had seen her. Just as deadly.          “Not happy to see me?” Briar taunted, a wicked smile across her face.          “Happy to see you? The last time we were together you let me get dragged into the sewers by a Dragrer that tried to devour me whole. I reeked like piss for weeks and I still can’t smell right!”          “Calix, please don’t be presumptive. She comes here with news.”          Calix flicked the whiskey bottle open and took a long sip. “No.”          “What do you mean ‘no’?” Briar pushed from the wall.          “Exactly what it sounds like- no. If you hadn’t heard, I’m retired now. No more monsters for me. Tonight, I’m getting drunk and regretting my past year of decisions just like every other normal human on new year’s.”          “That’s ridiculous, Calix. Stop acting like a child.”          Calix flared, “How many times have I risked my life? Been wounded? Nearly lost myself to fighting creatures I never asked to fight? Take whatever world-saving quest you have and shove it.”          Briar and Allard followed Calix as he stormed across the warehouse, this time looking for the damned first-aid kit he had laid around here somewhere.          “So, you wouldn’t be interested in hearing that a Fenrer has been spotted just outside the city.”          Calix paused, “…Fenrer have been extinct for over a century.”          Allard confirmed, “Not anymore.”          “A team spotted one moving West three days ago. They’ve been keeping tabs on the monster while a team is assembled to kill it. I came to recruit you. Your reputation for hunts speaks for itself- we want you to help us kill it.”          “Did she already rope you into this?” Calix asked Allard, taking another drag from the whiskey bottle.          “You know me,” Allard shrugged, “I was promised the body for research purposes if I helped. I couldn’t pass the opportunity.”          Calix scoffed, “So predictable…”          “Calix, wait!” Briar stepped in front of him as he tried to leave. They were close enough he could smell the mint gum on her breath. “This isn’t the first rare sighting we’ve had over the past year. First it was a Inferorid, then a Hoxfond, now a Fenrer. All thought extinct and all, somehow, miraculously returning.”          “That’s impossible- I slayed the last Hoxfond myself.”          “Brighton died fighting it. The strangest part is that it had a scar on its chest from where a sword had run through its heart before.” Briar paused, letting the information sink in. “The monsters are coming back to life.”          Calix took another drink, squeezing his eyes shut as though he could tune out the world.          “We don’t know how it’s possible, but she’s right. The scholars have been following the situation for a few months now.”          “You didn’t think to inform me before tonight?” Calix snapped at the old man.          Allard looked him up and down, “You didn’t seem in the right headspace lately to drop this sort of news.”          Calix wanted to argue, but one look at himself and he shut his mouth. It was impossible- monsters didn’t come back . The amount of power - of magic - it would take for something like that to happen… hunters everywhere would be desperately underprepared.          “What’s hunting the creature going to do if it’ll just return? What are you hoping to gain from this?”          Briar leaned back against the table, again crossing her arms. “We’re hoping to use the trace magic left in the creature to track where it came from. We have an actual witch already with us, ready to do the spell. All she needs is the monster’s body.”          “Say you find whoever is responsible for bringing the creatures back, then what? You hunt them, too? How do you plan to kill someone that powerful?”          “I’d say my sword to their throat would do the trick.”          Calix sighed, “… When’s the hunt?”          “Oh, it’s already begun. You’re the last hunter we’ve reached out to join us.”          “Well, don’t I feel honored and special.”          Briar chuckled, “Listen, I know you want out of this career. I understand it completely and, hell, maybe after this I’ll do the same thing. But right now, you and I both know that whatever is happening needs to stop before it becomes too powerful, even for us.” She approached him surprisingly gently, placing a hand on his bare shoulder. “I know you want to quit but let’s finish this first. Consider it your new year resolution– no stopping until whatever monster necromancer is dead.”          Calix took one last drink. “Fine.” He grumbled, “But I’ll need a new set of armor before we run off to die.”


Albert Capone, the son of the famous Al Capone, had always wondered how he was left penniless especially because his father had been a successful businessman. Everyone that knew his father also knew about him which ended up causing Albert to be looked at differently than all the other kids. He was always alone, but according to his father if you ever felt lonely the one place you would eventually find a friend is at the playground. Day after day he would go to the playground in look of a friend; as he lay on the roundabout spinning it using his feet, he felt comforted knowing his father had spent most of his childhood like that on the same roundabout longing for a friend.

When he went to live with Aunt Ermina, his father’s sister, he was given a chain that his father had left him before he died; he always liked the chain that his father gave him, but he was always perplexed by the meaning of the three numbers written on one of the chain segments, 1, 25, 47.

It had been 3 years since he lived with Aunt Ermina and now he was 12 years old going into middle school at St Patrick’s School in Miami Beach. He was not very accustomed to the different class schedules, lunch, and lockers. When he got his lock, the password contains 3 numbers which were 12, 25, and 47 which had look very familiar. Throughout the first day of school, the three numbers kept dwelling in his mind. After a grueling day of just introductions, school finally ended and now he could go home and figure out why those three numbers had him so confused. He then went to the roundabout at the playground thinking it might help him. In the same way, his father had, Albert did the same and held onto his chain with both hands. At that very moment, he realized that 3 years ago he had found the numbers, and then he realized why the numbers had him so confused. He also realized another thing, the numbers on the chain could be the code to a lock. With that in mind, he went back home to ask Aunt Ermina if there had been anything else left from his dad. Aunt Ermina thought for a while, but nothing came to mind so she just said, “No, I don’t think so”, as she shrugged.

Albert was once again stumped. He thought to himself if I were to hide my money I wouldn’t hide it far from home. He then got a map and then located his old house, he looked for any places where there would be places to hide large quantities of money. Since he knew the playground was very special for his father he assumed that the money had to somehow be linked with the playground it was also only two blocks away from the house which was good. Since it was already past 9:00 it was pitch black outside, but that wouldn’t be holding him back; he got his flashlight and then headed for the playground. Once he arrived he began looking under the slide, stairs, and even on top of the structures. Having hit a roadblock, he headed for the roundabout, and at that moment he realized that his father had always liked it the most out of all the things at the playground. Albert knew the lock had to be somewhere there; he then had any idea, maybe the roundabout itself was like a gigantic lock like the ones you put on a locker at school. There was one problem though, he didn’t know where the numbers were on the lock. It was getting late and he didn’t know how to figure out where the numbers would go, so he just headed home. The next morning he was so thrilled to find out how to open the giant lock, aka the roundabout. Knowing his father, he knew he wouldn’t just pick a random spot to be the “zero” of the lock, the “zero” had to be something he could also remember, something that had sentimental value for him. Since the only thing that came to mind was his old home, he just went with his gut and believed in his prediction. If he was able to open it he would have to do it at night again when no one was around. He was going to try and play hookey, but there was just no point. At school, he had been able to not die of boredom because last year in 5th grade he made a couple of friends that he was just fun to be around. Since it had only been 2 days after summer break, everyone was still filled with energy. Since everyone else was happy it felt as if the day had gone by really quickly. During the bus ride home, he imagined what money could do for him and Aunt Ermina; he could finally get an Xbox, move into a larger house, and buy the nice clothes and shoes that everyone else had. He had waited patiently until it was dark outside and finally headed towards the playground. Once he got to the playground he held out the map to see which direction the house had been. He put the flash where he thought the “zero” would and began entering the code written on his chain turning the roundabout as if it was a lock. It hadn’t worked, but he knew he could guess which of the 8 handles would also be the “zero”. He kept entering the code then changing the “zero” handle on the roundabout, then on his 6th when he got to the last number of 47 the roundabout became really stiff as if he to turn the handle of a giant safe. At last, he got to 47 and the whole roundabout started to open revealing a long tunnel with lights that seemed to go down for at least 50 feet. He picked up his flashlight, map, and backpack and started going down. As soon as he was fully in the tunnel the roundabout had shut on its own like something out of a horror movie. He cautiously went down the tunnel having both feelings of anxiety and excitement. He reached the bottom and a man wearing a ski mask was pointing a rifle at him and yelled, “Who the hell are you?” A second later the man lowered his rifle and took off his mask and said, “Son? Is that really you?” and ran towards him to hug him. As both Albert and Al Capone held each other tears started falling down their cheeks. Al said to his son, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most, I know it was hard to lose both me and your mom.” After they had hugged for a couple of minutes, Al showed his son around the place where he had been hiding/living for the past 3 years. There were fairly big farms and one living room that served as his bedroom. Albert sat on his bed and Al pulled up a chair to begin telling his story. I know it wasn’t the right thing to fake my death since it caused you lots of pain and suffering, but I couldn’t live my whole life in prison away from you. I devised a plan which involved the roundabout and the numbers on your chain and now that I know it worked I have no regrets now for faking my death for the people that I loved. Although for Albert, this isn’t as he had expected he was still content with the work he put into finding his dad. The money which had been on his mind since the search began seemed to have left his mind completely, since all he ever wanted was to have company and feel loved. Now he knew that his father faking his death was all because he loved him and finally since the day he “died” he felt relieved as if a large weight was lifted off of his chest. Although the money would’ve been able to satisfy him for the rest of his life, finding his father would most definitely be enough to make the rest of his life more enjoyable even if it meant that he would have to spend most of his time underground secluded from the rest of the world.


The Last Will and Testament:

Before we move any further, I should inform you that if there’s anything else you wish to complete, go do so immediately. You won’t have much time left.

Taste every breathe, scream all the air out and bring it back in again, feel whatever life you can before it’s drained out of you. Try to reach a piece of peace. Tell others the truths you've been secreting. I am not sure of the exact timing of it all- or even the exact cause of it. You might have days left or only seconds. You might be overwhelmed by a virus, or technology, or perhaps some eldritch horror. In the beginning, I was worried how anyone would even discover this will- once I am truly gone. Dead. But then, I remembered how everything related to that demon is never quite right. I imagine this paper will just be slipped through time, below a door or into a mailbox or down the covers of your bed in a million different little screams. I think they would enjoy it, the added tension of it all.

You will at first dismiss me as a lunatic. Oh, what a gift a lack of lucidity would be. Or to age at all, in fact. If my body ever got around to being autopsied, at first it will just seem like your ordinary 30-year old, a J. Doe struck down in the prime of life. Until they notice the frozen blood with centuries-old viruses lurking inside. Until they realize that what was first assumed to be organs, a heart, lungs, liver, were simply clever replicas made in plastic. And that the only true part of mine left was my brain, rotted away from centuries ago with decaying maggots pupating inside.

A pact was made. With an entity, some devil, some death, some Cthulu. In the end, the name never had importance, the archetype is the same; The End of All. My body would be the first key; they had dealt me the chance to begin the ultimate last. Quickly, I snatched it up. Oh yes, Armageddon, the decimation, the devastation, the annihilation, The End of All. Let us get on our knees and pray, let us burn and pillage our lands, let us sacrifice and loot and be terrified by ourselves.

Well, we all make dumb mistakes when we are young, don’t we?

In your youth- when your trust in humanity first slowly crumbles underneath you. When you first come across that concept of pure selfishness- the complete unfairness of life. That initial understanding that the universe cares not for you, or what you have created, indeed, they don’t even consider you as a concept. Oh, when that perfect void of the utter uselessness first envelops you, soaks you in, has you become just one of its trillions of lost souls. Ones that are so plentiful that you asphyxiate on your own normalcy.

You know that feeling, of course. Anyone would do the same, in that situation. I repeat to myself that anyone would have done the same. So, egotist that I was, I made the sacrifice, I branded myself, I crucified humanity, and was proud for it. Think of all the pain I prevented. Think of all the suffering I stopped.

Then I waited-

And I waited-

Until my own stupidity mocked me with its evidence.

Until I wiped the mist of self-obsession from my own eyes and saw the world from a perspective that was not my cursed own.

Until I unwittingly learned to care for another- and then another- and another. Until, by extension, I finally understood that our own intricacies and importance are not subtracted from by our multitude.

Until I realized how much I had truly doomed everything and everyone. I prayed to a God that I knew did not exist for my consciousness to just end. For my me to end. To become nothing but dust and rotted flesh and flies, so I wouldn’t have to consider myself with such disdain any longer.

Then I waited for mercy-

And I waited for mercy-

I spent a century seeing the same events happen over and over, again and again. I spent another just trying to understand the patterns they created. There were decades consumed watching waves slowly eat away at the coastline, of feeling the mountains grow and shrink beneath me. I sank into the ocean only for it to raise me up. I burnt out so much time in volcanoes that my skin will never lose that charred, aching feeling- regardless of how my exterior appears.

Eventually, there was a forgiveness, but I don’t know precisely when. Eventually I told myself that whatever force I did sign with could have done this regardless. It was a joke, really. It’s all a joke, if you don’t think about it hard enough.

There is a sick irony to it all. That every generation wishes they were the last, every age prophecies and hopes and wonders and seems determined that this is the highest they could possibly go. Everything must be so much worse after this, because of course, who could do better? And I watch all of them, laughing, because I- the cause, don't even know that expiration date. Because I have seen their same society begin and end a hundred different times. I know this is unfair of me- I have spent too long in life, and he has made me unfair. I’ve had so much time, truly too much time, to be confronted with this. Yes, I know you must also need time, but there’s precious few left. Yes, I know that’s unfair.

Go panic and go through your eight stages of grief if you must, but if you can, come back to sanity. Because we always tend to become the very monsters we have nightmares of.

This end is just like the volcanoes really, the end of us, but not of all. We mark the skies with it, it destroys our land and futures, and yet, there is creation. It’s just not our creation.

I’ve lived through so much, have seen so much, and I know now what I did not when the pact was made; that this is just another part of the cycle.

In the end, they always think a knowledge will be revealed to them. A truth, no- The Truth, to everything. But- in that end, Armageddon will be the same process as the bloody birth of a child. Screaming and pain and blood, only for a sudden quietness and the start of anew. We circle around and around ourselves and then call it original. The only secret that is revealed in the end is that there is no such thing as original.

The evils we conjure up are misunderstood in their intentions. Yes, institutions fail, kingdoms fall, all people, even I- will die. Writing that now, a shiver rushes down my spine- some instinctual terror laid deep in my genes that I’m yet to be rid of. Even now, when I'm so ready for my own ultimate last. We were never the only ones. There were billions that created us, and billions that will come after. There always were-

Our end will be a beginning for others- that is the secret. If you can, please take comfort in that. If you can- forgive, make amends, gather your loved ones close, and- then wait. Perhaps we will be allowed to see the start. Perhaps it will be a better one than our own.


 The friendly front desk lady stood at the door, holding out a giant candy cane to me, almost invitingly. -"I don´t think I like the sight of that." I sighed. She looked at me with puppy eyes and slowly came closer. -"Doctor Harker requires a favor." Molly beings. -"Let me guess." I interrupt her. "a last-minute patient?" She nods silently. -"I have a plane to catch Molly." I say with a sense of urgency. I can see that Molly sympathized with me but was unable to conjure up the words to express it. -"I can give you another free meal voucher." she smiled gently. -"I didn't have time for more than a cup of coffee today." I shook my shoulders. Molly hurriedly fished the voucher out of her pocket: "Look! Dinner and three sides, plus dessert." -"What time is this patient coming?" I asked. -"She's already here." She replied quickly. I glanced past Molly in the subdued waiting room, where the only obvious sign of the holidays was an overaged wreath and a light-trimmed elf sitting on the edge of Molly's counter. -"This is an exception rather than a rule, so it must be an emergency." Molly tried to convince me. -"Yes, some people need extra support around the holidays." I said under my breath. Over the years it had kind of become the norm for me to work on Christmas eve, I never minded celebrating a couple of days later, because I never “did” Christmas in the traditional sense, but I always enjoyed spreading some holiday spirit. But that year I had been invited to an actual Christmas celebration. -You go now." I said to Molly. "Happy Holidays! We'll see each other again in the next year." I tried to sound as cheerful as possible, suppressing the urge to look at the clock with all my might. -"Are you sure?" Molly asked, impatient to leave. "Can I let the patient in?" I nodded and blew her a kiss: "Go now!" -"I heard gunshots on my way here." said the dazzling woman absently, casually strolling into my office. -"Oh." I said feeling silly. -"Maybe someone bringing in a last-minute Christmas dinner?" she continued. I was a little annoyed that she started a conversation without greeting me or introducing herself. It crossed my mind that there were no woods or fields for miles around to shoot game at all. I got annoyed that I let myself be bullied, by someone a little rude, but was probably hiding behind this slack attitude out of nervousness or to put on an attitude. She walked around my desk a few times, then stopped and gave me a cold look: "Do you have any M&Ms?" I smiled absently and shook my head. She let out a loud sigh and turned around to take another look at the interior of my office: -"Well," she began, "I think it's quite something that you don't have statues or elephants in here. -"Good." I said just to say something. -"They belong in India." she continued. -"What can I do for you?" I asked, not wanting to discuss elephants or any other item on my desk any further. -"Maybe you can prescribe me something." she said as if that were the most normal thing in the world. I coughed and invited her to sit down. -"Prescribe something?" I asked, " What for?" -"Because I'm dead inside." she answered dead serious. Not wanting to continue the conversation by starting with a rejection, I asked her to tell me more. She rolled her eyes in reply. -"This office is inspiring and embarrassing all at once." she said, curling her lips in disdain. I felt myself getting angry inside. I did not want to miss a plane for some bratty bitch who thought she could come in and extort a few pills from me. -"You've probably seen Dr. Harker before, haven't you?" I asked as politely as I could muster, "He's the one who asked me to see you before I left." But she did not answer me and shrugged her shoulders in boredom. -"Okay," I said, "Let's try this again. What can I do for you at this late hour on Christmas Eve?" -"Social anxiety." she answered dryly, peering past me through the window behind me. "I'm not good at expressing my feelings." -"Okay. Please..." I started, but she interrupted me: -"Please don't ask me how I feel because I don't know." -"For what it's worth, many people don't know how or what exactly they feel when they come here." I tried to reassure her.

-"A doctor once told me I had tight angles." she started. -"Who was that doctor if I may ask." I asked. -"A funny guy, who said he would torture me." she answered. -"And did he?" I asked in shock. -"What? Torture me?" she laughed faintly. "No, he said that stress played an important role." I nodded. "Please continue." -"Fuck!" she said. -"Excuse me?" I asked. -"Another therapist ordered me to let go of my thoughts because it was my thoughts that tormented me." She paused and looked straight into my eyes, "I like my drunken monkey thoughts. Well, most of them." She smiled shyly, "I like being alone with them." I was about to ask what those thoughts were about, but she went on to say, "And another one told me to step back and drop all attachments." -"Are you feeling depressed right now? I asked. "That's the problem," she replied firmly, "I don't feel anything at all." -"Don't you celebrate Christmas?" I asked curiously. She pursed her lips and blew a raspberry: -"Christmas, what is that anyway? A few Christmas decorations, bows and stockings, and a freaking baby in a creche. That fucking doll always ends the Christmas spirit for me!" she says, suppressing a yawn, "I don't understand it all. Friends writing stupid cards and announcing hopeful things. Everybody is happy and all is bliss! What does it even mean when people say they are overcome with a feeling of joy? Nah, I don't understand it." -"Maybe the beginning of grace is not resenting other´s blessings." I said doubtfully. "So, you don't have any plans for the holidays?" She shook her head. -"not even pick a movie somewhere?" I insisted. -"Movies are boring." she said dryly. "Life is boring. to me all is equally flat. It's all like a mechanical production." -"You lack the capacity to feel joy, sorrow, or love?" I asked. She rolled her eyes in boredom. -"The only emotions I am familiar with, are fear and anger." she said softly, as if embarrassed. "It's not that I lack the words, I have no feelings at all." -"And yet, you do recognize fear and anger. That's a start." I tried carefully. -"Fear, anger, and confusion." she corrected me. -"Of course." I agreed. "But there must be something else going on for this to be so unbearable for you right now." -"I met somebody, and I don't know how to feel about her." She sat up straighter and rubbed her eyes. "It´s confusing. She confuses me." she continued. -"Are you in love?" I asked. -"She showed up and something changed. Everything is weird and it´s confusing. I don´t even know if I´m able to like her." she said in a breath. -"It sounds like that woman managed to kindle some sparks in you." I pointed out to her. -"I'm not good at expressing my feelings." she said awkwardly. -"I always try to win people over by buying them things. -"Do you have any friends?" I asked. -"I don´t think I have real friends. They are all fake. I think I was friends with my brother." Her face softened a little when she mentioned her brother. -"He always stood up for me. He said he always could tell how I felt. Which was funny because I don´t know how that feels: to feel." She suddenly seemed very tired and helpless. -"I do not believe that you have no feelings. You have no words for your emotions." -"You know I built a successful career for myself." she said with pride in her voice. "And I have been married twice. Yes! I had two wedding days. I said - I do - twice." she held up two fingers to emphasize the double. "I have no happy memories from my marriages. The men were simply not right for me." She pushed back her hair and continued, "anything I do that requires an emotional response, feels fake to me." -"So, you do feel?" I started. -"Most of my responses are learned responses." she said softly. -"What do you mean by learned? where did you learn them? I asked. -"By watching TV shows." she said shyly. "In an environment where everybody is happy and jolly; I act like I´m happy, but it´s all a lie. I just act. I think I do feel something, but I don´t know what it is I´m feeling, or what it is I am supposed to feel." I nodded understandingly, not wanting to interrupt her story. -"I put myself on a pedestal to be something I´m not. Cognitively I can react just fine. but it is not real. It´s all fake, and I am so tired of pretending." She hid her face behind her hands. -"It is not right to have to live like this." I said understandingly. -"I have a vocabulary. I have words for emotions. I just don´t know if it´s the right word, for the right emotion." she continued. -"How do you know when you´re scared?" I wanted to know. -"I find it scary when my heart starts to race." she replied. -"Are your parents still alive?" I asked. She shrugged indifferently. -"My mother once hit me so hard in the face that my eye was black and blue. Then she put a patch over my eye. At school, the kids asked why I was walking around with a patch over my eye. Then I said that I was a pirate A girl told me that girls could not be pirates, especially if they were ugly. When school was over, I walked home past her front yard, where she was playing. her and pushed her she tumbled back onto the lawn and began to whimper a door flew open and a huge dog charged at me snapping and snarling I tried to get away in panic, but the girl's mother grabbed me and drove her nails into my shoulders. She wriggled my arm behind my back and hissed in my ear that I was a very naughty and ugly girl. I felt embarrassed and stumbled home on the sidewalk. I looked for my mother, and when I finally found her, she looked at me very angrily look. That girl's mother had called her. She screamed that she was extremely disappointed in me. When I was six, she set fire to the house, while me and my brother were inside. Later I heard from people, that she suffered from postpartum depression. There was no treatment. She went to prison. Everybody called us little shits, and nobody wanted to look after us. We were in and out of care homes. I never saw my mother again." She had told this sad story in one go. -"You said you were ashamed? Could you feel then?" I asked. -"I was flooded with misery. I imagined that no one wanted me because I was bad, naughty, and ugly." she added. -"Have you ever kept a diary?" I wanted to know. -"Yes, I have." she nodded vehemently. "a black composition book, which I always kept well hidden." -"What were you writing about?" I asked. She gave a little laugh and said, "Flowering coverage of the cute boy who accidentally bumped into me. And love poems. I don't remember why I wrote." -"Perhaps writing was your refuge." I spoke. -"You know," she began, "now that I think back on it: I could feel. I could feel colors. I still can feel colors and even taste them. And I can taste words as well." -"Maybe because of the colorlessness of your childhood, you learned to preserve the richness of texture. Tone, depth, movement, in an effort to make the world look lusher and more vibrant." I thought aloud. She fell back, exhausted. -"Anger is all I feel, and yet I don't know how to express it." she groaned. When I try to write it down, it loses volatility." -"How do you convey the anger you feel?" I asked her. -"I think I´m way beyond anger. It´s rage! Sometimes I shake with rage. Blind rage; uncontrolled and unstoppable." she said with clenched fists. "I live on a constant low boil of anger." -"Like most people." I tried to comfort her. "Most people spend their lives with a deep-seated fury." -"That's kind of sad, no?" she asked. -"And yet," I began, "Italians rage against each other full of desire and smoldering jealousy. -"You almost make it sound beautiful." she sighed." -"Perhaps you are not emotionally blind. you´re numb and a little colorblind on the emotional spectrum." I continued. -"Is there help for me?" she sounded almost pleading. -"Yes!" I assured her, " It´s called psychodynamic therapy." She wrinkled her nose and smiled weakly but hopefully. -"What does that mean?" -"Well, I don´t know exactly, but it will help you to uncover unconscious thoughts and behaviors." -"And this will make me feel better?" she asked in a childish voice." - "I am firmly convinced of that." I said, "The anger you're feeling right now; voice it and learn to listen to it." -"And meanwhile?" she insisted. -"Well, isn't this the season to be jolly?" I laughed. -"Even if I have to fake it?" -"Yes!" I said firmly, "Fake it till you make it! Translate your anger into a language in your head, listen to it and hang on to it! That's about all you can do right now, but it's a mighty good start. " -"And what are you going to do now?" she asked innocently. I could hear the final boarding calls in my head. I took a deep breath and said: "

Over the years it has kind of become the norm for me to work on Christmas eve. I don´t mind celebrating a couple of days later, because I never “did” Christmas in the traditional sense, but I always enjoy spreading some holiday spirit. And though this year I was invited to an actual Christmas celebration, I think my plane is already up in the air… - “Because of me?” she almost sounded guilt-ridden. I smiled and nodded: “Not to worry! I have a free meal voucher. Look! Dinner and three sides, plus dessert. Can I persuade you to join me?”