Luna Whitemoon stood in front of the two doors. Both stood over ten feet tall and were made out of pure water. Shimmering waves of crystal clear blue shone on one, while dark, abyssal waves, with the rumbling of thunder, were the other. It appeared to be an easy decision. The clear one reminded Luna of her home on the small islands away from Falconus. She and her village always swam in the clear waters of a continent-less earth, as the warm sun sent rays of light into the sandy bottom of the oceans. Fish of illustrious colors dazzled under the light as Luna remembered that time. She stared into that door. Dark faint shapes, like feathers in wind called to her, urged her forward into the door. She stopped herself. It would be so easy. The House of Waves made this Luna’s test. Stand in front of two doors. Whichever one you chose determined whether you would be their champion. She was lost in thought, swimming through her memories before she smiled and went through a door. As a child, the world always appeared like one thing. With the sun, stark white sandy beaches, and the warm wind whispering with the laughter of children, the world appeared to be a paradise. To the children, it would last forever. It was their parents' job to keep that vision alive. Until it was too late. Luna remembered her days as a child well. To her, it seemed ordinary, but to others, remembering what you ate and the exact words you asked your mother when the stars fell from the sky on every full moon, was a gift. The gift of memory. The total recall was a gift she would use well in her years studying under the House of Waves. Learning, reading, a small scholar with cloud white hair, becoming an encyclopedia of knowledge about the oceans, about the lakes, and streams, waterfalls, and rain around her. Everything that had to do with water, was in her library of a mind.

So much so, she wanted to become water. The teachers for the House taught her and other students the way of water, not only a style of combat but a way to channel your own inner waters to maintain balance in your life and in turn, keep the balance of the world, because to let your own inner water flow out into the world in a way where you flooded it with poison, was as much of a sin as a man thinking he was a god ruling the planet with a malevolent fist. As the years went by, she remembered the word of the atrocities, of the death surrounding the land of Falconus. She remembered being thankful, of being grateful that she didn't have to see the carnage from the god’s elementals storming cities and enslaving others. Her family was safe, and so was she. That’s all that mattered. Yet like that God’s hand of power, reality came striking into her world. She knew the emotional world of anger rarely on occasion, sometimes when she would fail in a sparring session with another student or when her mother urging her to leave the House Of Waves behind, to be wife to a man that would only show her off as a trophy as the white-haired islander who talked to the moon. That’s where her name- Whitemoon came from. She was as dark as her brothers and sisters, yet her hair flowed like the moonlight under its home and shone in the sunlight. It was hard for her to hide from the stares in her earlier years, but she learned to be like water: to just flow with it. Eventually the flow changes. The flow changed the night, the god of Power struck down on her home. She was in the moonlit night, feeling the glowing radiance of the moon absorb into her hair, illuminating it in a ghostly light. She remembered the feeling of the cooling sand and how it stuck to her feet as the water sent chills down her calves. She loved it this way. Although her mother and villagers went against swimming in the water in the dark, instead of the fear others felt from it, she welcomed the solitude.

Over time, the dark depths changed. She learned over time to appreciate the light in the darkness. Because the dark wasn't always bad. It could be warm and could drift her into the light. She remembered the cooling waves under wrap her in its soft grasp. She turned and looked up from the dark depths up to the moon. It told her of one thing: to trust in the waves. Even in chaos, even in unpredictability, the waves would lead you through. Luna just wished it would lead her back home when the stars started to rain down once again. Only this time, the shooting stars were actually heated chunks of diamond in space, crashing down as fireballs. She felt the thundering boom along with the muffled voices of panic. Keep going….just keep going…this is only a test. Luna swam, deeper into the dark depths, further away from the moon, deeper to the source, as the second door, the one of the dark and thundering unknown was starting its challenge. She didn't expect the door to do this. She thought the mysterious leviathans of the ocean of the tentacled creatures in the underwater caverns would test her, but not her own memories. Not her own nightmares she was experiencing every night before this test. A part of her wanted to, so badly, swim back up to the surface, to the moon, to crash back into reality and see, see the smoke and flames after the colossal shockwaves sending tsunamis across the planet. She so badly wanted to breathe cool rushing air, and swim, with all her strength back to the remnants of her home island, find her mother, find her sister, her teachers, her classmates, save them, help them anything! But like water, the past is unavoidable. It's uncontrollable. You can bottle it up, but it only forms, and always finds a way out. Maybe as vapor, but eventually it comes back as rain, ready to come down slightly, then crash down upon you until you’re soaked. Luna sank deeper into the abyss, until the pleading sounds of her mother, of her family, were gone, and only the beating of her heart remained. Her heart beat, faster and faster, with it, came the rumbling of something around her. S if she was in the bowels of a dark beast, the waters around her rumbled, growling, hungry for its next dinner. She could feel the panic set in, all the terror, something she didn't feel until that day. On that day, Luna eventually did return to the surface, after the crashing waves, the mouth of the twin gods of the Seas swallowing any land there was over. She didn't know it was angry then. She felt it as grief. As pure anguish. The hole of loss within her was so great, greater than a lagoon. She searched around her, across the dark and moonlit night, only to find no light, no source of home. Home was gone.

She searched that entire night for survivors, but the only thing she could find was remnants of homes, and the lifeless bodies of people she once knew. Their eyes told it all. They thought it was another shower, another light show, then before the full horror could come, their world was flooded. Who knew once warm, nurturing water could turn on the people so quickly? Luna didn't know until that day. The day when she felt alone, truly for the first time. She was lost in that void of a night until the morning, where she spent three more nights, searching, hoping, yearning for her family. She never found her mother’s remains. Whether it was the fish or hungry carnivores sharing the depths with her or just the other gods deciding to spare her the mercy of more pain, Luna Whitemoon’s life changed. She was found by a messenger ship, sent originally to spread news, but now to look for any survivors. They thought of her as an omen, a sign from the god of power himself that he was not to be trifled with. The sailors kept their distance, until when they met the land of Falconus, then sent her off, alone, in an unknown land she only heard about, that was suffering from the same god’s might. Now she could see firsthand the destruction and misery she tried to ignore for so long. It's why she chose the door of dark waters. It's the door anybody would avoid. We try to hide, to look away, to ignore, and be oblivious to the world around us. Luna did that once, and it cost her her world. Now here she was, back in her memories, swimming in deep dark waters to something… It started off as a twinkle, an illusion from her oxygen-deprived mind until it grew. It grew until the warmness soothed across her frozen skin, bringing her back to life. As the light grew, so did the gulping of air. It should have been water flooding her encapsulated lungs, instead, air entered. The most interesting thing was, she never opened her mouth and sucked in water. She could feel more air fill her body until the blinding light sucked her into somewhere... What stood out to her first were the pillars of bright water surrounding her. On top of them figures barely corporeal staring down at her. She looked down and watched in awe as a pillar of water formed around her knees and became solid. She opened her mouth to speak, but the figures spoke, in unison first. They pounded like the gentle waves of her home island. If the ocean could speak it spoke through them. She knew who they were: The House of Waves. Luna Whitemoon...chaos you have seen peace. Through destruction, did you truly value creation. Through darkness did you find the light. The ever-changing waves have called to you. And you have answered. You realize that through madness and pain can you make it to acceptance and peace. You have a light inside of you. Like the Lunar Goddess’ gift to you in your outsider of an appearance, you have been chosen by The House of Waves... The pillar rose until she was closer, at level with the figures. They circled around her, drawing nearer until the center of the figure stepped forward, and like an invisible wall of water, the figure’s translucent appearance disappeared and a woman nodded to Luna. She was tall, appearing young, but Luna, knowing better, was thousands of years old. The woman’s hair was stark white, like hers, and her eyes were the brightest blue she saw. Her ebony skin stood out the most. She reminded Luna so much like herself, she could be looking into a mirror and wouldn't know. “You’ve seen and felt the God Vukon’s wrath. The man turned god has proclaimed himself ruler and tyrant of this planet. In order to defeat him, we need a worthy warrior. And we have chosen you. Only you, with the calming but crashing waves of our sanction, can help lead the rest of the champions and yourself to Vukon’s defeat. Have you accepted?” Luna Whitemoon shuddered. Were there others like her? Of course, there were! All the years of training, of meditation, of reading, all came to this point, and she forgot one thing: other champions from the other houses were out there, waiting, searching for the others to come together and defeat Vukon. The woman let out her hand and a stream of energy flowed towards Luna. Luna let out a hand and the powers of The water sanction formed a fist in her hands. The watery hand changed. It rounded, softened until flower petals appeared. With peace, there is its opposite war. With darkness comes light. With vengeance comes justice. Luna knew all these things. She had vengeance in her. She only wanted to strike back at Vukon for what he did to her and her people. She also knew the compassion and fairness that came to justice. To rightfully set balance back to the scales of Falconus. The land called to her pleaded to her for her help. She wasn't going to fail again. She wasn't going to swim away from the challenge. She was a tsunami, storming across the seas towards it.


My job can be extremely boring. I mean, there were days that I left the office with tears of boredom streaming down my metaphorical face by the time I left for lunch!

Today was one of those days! It was only ten in the morning and I was planning my early escape!  If I had to sit through another boring staff meeting, I felt like I was going to pull my hair out! None-the-less, I took my seat beside my supervisor for the anticipated tedious meeting that lay between me and my lunch escape plans. I was planning on developing some malady and taking off for parts unknown at lunch time.

I wanted a three day weekend but would settle on a two and a half day  one, if I could. The staff meeting droned on...and on...and on… “Sadie!

Earth to Sadie!” the moderator said, trying to get my attention.

My boss poked me in the ribs and jolted me back to reality. “I want you to interview a resident of Shady Grove Retirement Community and have the interview presented at Monday’s staff meeting.” Since the moderator was the agency's director, I nodded my consent. There went my plans for the great escape. As the meeting was wrapping up, I gathered the handouts that seemed to multiply each week.

“Here's the name of the lady I want you to interview” the director said as I tried to slip out unnoticed.

“Thank you” I said, “I hope to do it justice” I continued as I tried to leave quickly and unnoticed. Unfortunately for me, Steve, my cubicle mate caught me sneaking out. “Sneaking away?” Steve asked. “Not today” I said. “I’m off to Shady Grove Retirement Community.”

So, the director gave you the assignment that I ducked out of...I don’t want anything to do with those old coots!” “Better watch what you say” I said as I opened the office door. “One day, you’ll be one, too!” At last I was free of that boring office.

I would rush through the interview, and be off to do whatever I wanted for the next two days!

It took me about twenty minutes to find the retirement community.

I checked in with the receptionist who called the resident in B-22 and told them that I was on my way to their unit. I wandered the halls, looking for room B-22. As I wandered, I noticed that there was absolutely nobody aimlessly wandering the halls like I had thought there would be.

It was clean and well maintained.  Again, not what I thought it would be.  I eventually found B-22 and knocked on the door. I was somewhat surprised to find a well dressed, sixty-something lady answering my knock. “You must be Sadie” she said.

“My name is Alice, and my daughter said she’d be sending you over for an interview.” We shook hands as she ushered me into a small living room.

I looked around and saw a kitchenette and two doors. I assumed one was the bedroom, but I had no idea what the other one was leading to. “My Director said I’m to interview you” I began. “Do you know why?” Alice slowly turned in my direction and had a weird smile spreading across her face. I began to have questions about this lady. Something was off here. It made me nervous.

“My daughter is your director” Alice began.

“Well, that answers one question” I said with a nervous laugh. “She thinks that my history is something that your agency might find...interesting.” Alice continued. “What would the Area Agency on Aging find ‘interesting’?” I thought.

Alice continued, more to herself than to me. “I once was the ‘girl’ in a magic act...you know, the assistant to the magician.

It was an interesting job to say the least. I got to be sawn in half on a regular basis.” “How do they do that trick?” I just had to know. “Most magicians will never tell you how they do their tricks” Alice said. “But it has been simply ages since I did that job.

I had to scrunch myself into a tiny box...the feet part was fake and moved by remote control by the magician or one of the back stage assistants.” “There really is a reasonable explanation for each trick, isn’t there?” I asked. “Yes” Alice said slowly. “But that’s not the reason I wanted to be interviewed.” Now, my curiosity was getting the better of me...and I threw all those inner cautionary warnings to the wind. “Why did you want to be interviewed?” I asked. “Follow me” Alice said and she led me into one of the two doors in the room. We entered what seemed to be a storage room, or maybe it was a second bedroom doing the job of a storage room. I couldn’t tell. If there was a window, it was expertly camouflaged, and so was the closet. In the room seemed to be every prop her magician’s act ever performed.

There was the box she scrunched into for being sawn in half, and several others.  As Alice stumbled around the stuffed storage room, she explained what her magician did.  He did the type of tricks where something seemed to come out of thin air. She talked about how he made things vanish and how he made some things float.

She was most infatuated with how he’d take an everyday object, usually something brought in by an audience member, and make it either float or vanish or move from one side of the stage to the other. Sometimes they’d take water and ‘transform’ it into ice on stage.

As we ventured further into this room, my eye was caught by a large clear container. It was tucked way back in the deepest recesses of the room. “Tell me about this” I said as we neared the contraption. “That one is special” Alice said. “It was the magician’s favorite illusion.” Alice went on to say that he thought that he was the first to perform this illusion...fashioned after Harry Houdini’s fateful escape act.

He’d have it filled with water, be handcuffed and chained and then lowered into the water. His intention was to escape the watery tomb and reappear at the back of the theater with a flourish.  He nearly drowned the first time he tried to perform this act so he changed it from water to balloons and he disappeared in a puff of smoke and reappeared in the balloon stuffed container.

He would then distribute the balloons to the audience. “Alice” I said, “it’s clear to me that you really enjoyed this job.” “I loved it so much” Alice said, “that I married the magician! We had a long, happy life together.

This interview is to tell the world just how marvelous he really was.”


INTERVIEWER : (grumbling, visibly annoyed) Welcome, everyone, to this very special interview on WVRT Channel 7, right here in the heart of New York City. Tonight, we have an extraordinary guest—God Himself. Let's give a round of applause for the Almighty. I had to cancel my plans, so let's discuss this. (pauses) And by 'discuss,' I mean I'll ask questions, and He'll give divine answers. It's a win-win, really. GOD : (fidgeting, voice unsteady) Thank you, thank you! Wow, great to be here. You know, not every day I get invited to do a TV appearance. Usually, I stick to more, uh, celestial venues. But hey, I'm here to mix things up! INTERVIEWER : (sighing, looking at phone) We'll try to make this quick. We all know You're a busy God, and some of us had to cancel important plans for this. (rolls eyes) I mean, it's not like we have a life or anything. GOD : (laughs nervously) Oh, I appreciate that. Time is relative when you're eternal, but I have quite a bit on my plate. Managing the universe is a full-time gig, and the overtime is killer! INTERVIEWER : (mutters) Great, another comedian. Okay, first question... (scrolls through phone) People imagine you as an old man with a beard, very serious and solemn. What's the deal with that? GOD : (chuckles awkwardly) Yeah, I get that a lot. The whole old man with a beard is a stereotype. I like to mix it up. Today, I decided to go for a more relaxed look. You know, approachable and ready for a good chat. Divine presence doesn't have to be all thunder and lightning—sometimes it's nice to just have a conversation. And honestly, who wants to carry around that heavy stuff all day? It's murder on the shoulders! INTERVIEWER : (sighs heavily) Right. Uh, next... (scrolls) How did you develop the idea of creating the Earth? Certainly, you had a plan. Like I had it tonight. I had to cancel it because of this interview. GOD : Well, I was just floating around in this infinite nothingness, you know, doing my thing. And I thought, 'This is getting old! Let's spice things up a bit, shall we?' So, there it was—the spark of an idea. Time to make a world. It's like a little side project to keep me entertained. Think of it as the ultimate DIY project but on a cosmic scale. INTERVIEWER : (under breath) Fascinating. And then? Wait, let me find it... (scrolls) Ah, here. How did it all start? GOD : Oh, funny story—I was all set to start another round of contemplating the mysteries of existence. But then I thought, "Nah, let's cancel that. Time for something new." So, I scrapped my plans for another eon of meditation and dove headfirst into creation. And all of this happened in just a few minutes, mind you. INTERVIEWER : (with an exaggerated eye roll) Oh, the drama. Okay, let's move on to the next act... (scrolls) What was your first move, Mr. Creator? GOD : "Let there be light!" I announced it with the confidence of someone who knows what they're doing. And BAM! Light everywhere. It was like flipping a switch in a cosmic closet. But then I realized, "Hold on, which way is up?" Turns out, in a void, there's no up or down. No biggie, though. I decided to define it myself. Light on top, darkness below. Simple enough. The first day, I nailed it. High five, me! INTERVIEWER : (forced laugh) High five, you. Moving on... (scrolls) So, what happened next? GOD : Next up, I figured, "Hey, let's get some atmosphere going." So, I split the waters, making a cool sky above and an ocean below. It took a bit of effort. Those waters were stubborn! I had to do a lot of negotiating. It was like dealing with a cosmic union. But I managed. Second day in the bag. This was getting fun. I could totally get used to this creating gig. INTERVIEWER : (sighs, rubs temples) Yeah. Great. Then? GOD : On the third day, I decided it was time for some real estate. "Dry the land, please!" The waters obliged, revealing vast stretches of fertile soil. Plants sprouted up like they had been waiting for this moment their whole existence—which, in fairness, they had. Trees, flowers, grasses, you name it. It was like Earth got a major landscaping upgrade. I even threw in a few bonus waterfalls for good measure. Who doesn't love a good waterfall? Especially when you don't have to worry about mosquitoes. INTERVIEWER : (checks watch) Sure, waterfalls. Uh... fourth day... here we go. What about the fourth day? GOD : By the fourth day, I was on a roll. "Let there be lights in the sky!" I said, putting up the sun, moon, and stars like a cosmic interior decorator. They started twinkling and shining, making time a thing. Days, nights, seasons—bam, all sorted. It was like setting up a giant celestial clock. Tick-tock, Mother Nature! INTERVIEWER : (mutters) Tick-tock, great. Fifth day... (scrolls) How did you feel after four days of creativity? GOD : Feeling confident, I looked at the oceans and skies and thought, "These places could use some inhabitants." So, I filled the waters with fish and sea creatures and the skies with birds. The oceans were splashing, the skies were flapping—it was like a grand opening party for the animal kingdom. The fifth day was done and dusted. I would have dropped in the ocean if I had a swimming suit. But I didn't want to scare the fish. INTERVIEWER : (checks phone again) And on the sixth day? GOD : On the sixth day, I went all out. "Let's bring in the land animals!" I said, and the ground was suddenly teeming with creatures of every kind, from lions to ladybugs. It was like a zoo had exploded. But I wasn't done yet. "Let's make humans," I said, molding them in my image. I gave them some smarts and creativity, and boom—humans. And here you are, folks! My little science projects. INTERVIEWER : (half-heartedly) Incredible. So, you must have taken a break after all that work? GOD : Definitely. But before that, I noticed a tiny detail out of place—a leaf slightly askew, a ripple in the water that didn't quite fit. No problem. I paused the passage of time with a mere thought. Yep, that's one of my perks. Everything froze perfectly still, like a grand cosmic painting. I took my time adjusting that leaf, smoothing out the ripple. Once everything was right, I restarted time, and everything flowed seamlessly—perfection. INTERVIEWER : (sighing) That's amazing. But you mentioned that all this happened in a few minutes. Can you clarify how that works with the whole seven days of creation? GOD : Ah, good question! Well, from my perspective, I have this nifty ability to pause time. So, while the creation story is told over seven days, I used a pause, tweaked, and perfected everything in what felt like minutes to me. Think of it as divine multitasking. Seven days for the story, but just a few sacred minutes of intense creation action. Like a speed run but with more existential weight. INTERVIEWER : (sarcastically) Fascinating. Now, have you had any problems with creation from the start? Did you have to cancel any plans or make changes? GOD : Oh, absolutely! It wasn't all smooth sailing. Take the waters, for example. They were stubborn. I had to negotiate a lot to get the sky and oceans sorted. And the stars—don't get me started on those. At first, they were just drifting aimlessly. I had to tweak their courses several times. It's like herding cosmic cats. And yes, I did cancel a few plans here and there. Originally, I thought about having flying elephants, but then I reconsidered. (chuckles nervously) Good call, right? INTERVIEWER : (under breath) Flying elephants...brilliant. Where did you spend the most time during the creation process? GOD : Honestly, the details. It's the little things that take up the most time. And humans, well, they were a project all on their own. Ensuring they had the right balance of intelligence, creativity, and curiosity took some fine-tuning. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to program a sense of humor! INTERVIEWER : (looking at the clock) And now, a question I think everyone wants to know. How satisfied are you with humanity? GOD : Ah, humanity. Well, it's a bit of a mixed bag, isn't it? You have done some truly amazing things—art, science, pizza. But then there are those moments when I think, "Did I forget to include a commonsense chip?" (chuckles) Overall, I'd say it's a work in progress. There's potential, though—loads of it. I'm optimistic. I just need to update the firmware every now and then. INTERVIEWER : (sighs heavily) One more thing that many people are curious about—what can you say about Adam and Eve's situation in the Garden of Eden? What's the deal with the snake? GOD : Ah, the Garden of Eden. That was supposed to be a perfect little paradise. Adam and Eve were my first humans, and I wanted to give them a good start. The snake, though—well, let's just say that was a bit of a hiccup in the plan. I gave them free will, and the snake exploited that. It was a test to see if they could resist temptation. Spoiler alert: they didn't. But who hasn't made a bad choice because someone whispered in their ear? The snake was crafty, but it was all part of the grand design to allow humanity to choose. Free will isn't free if there are no real choices, right? INTERVIEWER : (checking watch again) Can you tell us something about Adam's or Eve's reaction to the Garden of Eden? GOD : Of course. I remember once Adam said, "I am the happiest man alive!" And Eve said, "I wish we could stay here forever." They were thrilled with the setup until the whole Apple incident. After they were kicked out, they had to learn to slow down and pursue a quieter way of life. Adam and Eve learning to slow down and pursue a quieter way of life after being kicked out of Eden was a big lesson. It's a lesson I hope humanity picks up on, too—sometimes, it's okay to pause, take a breath, and enjoy the beauty around you. You don't need to be in a rush constantly—leave that to me! INTERVIEWER : (stands up, clearly ready to leave) Thank you for sharing this incredible story with us, God. Do you have any last words for our viewers? GOD : Just this: keep exploring, learning, and growing. Remember, the journey is just as important as the destination. And who knows? Maybe one day, you'll surprise even me. Keep up the good work—mostly. Thanks for having me, New York! Until next time! INTERVIEWER : (already walking off) Thank you again. This has been a truly enlightening experience. Until next time, everyone! (muttering) If there is a next time...


Jillian swept her overgrown bangs out of her peripheral vision and tucked them behind her ear. Her mousy brown hair was starting to unravel from the messy bun she had hastily thrown it in earlier that morning. Passing the larger dining room table, Jillian set the smaller table in her kitchen nook. Two of her great-grandmothers cups, slightly cracked but not broken; white bone with paisley flowers faintly caressing the cups. The sun would be shining through the bay window at 2:00. Just in time for tea. Jillian capered to the cupboard nearest the stove and perused her tea collection before settling on Oolong. A quick glance at the clock told Jillian she still had 15 minutes before Tess was expected. Not enough time for a shower but at least enough time to change her shirt and maybe run a brush through her hair.

               Forgoing her normal sweatshirt and leggings, Jillian quickly changed into her favorite denim skirt, ankle length and a purple, button down shirt. She left the top two buttons undone so her silver locket could be seen. After brushing her hair quickly, she headed for the kitchen and turned on the burner for the tea kettle. Not knowing what to do with herself, Jillian tided up her kitchen and living room, which did not necessarily need to be straightened. She took extra care to align her pictures of herself and Tess. She kept three on a shelf in the den, just above the T.V.  That way the kids could see pictures of Aunt Tess and not forget.

               The tea kettle whistled and pulled Jillian away from her pictures. As she turned with the kettle, Tess was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. The two shared the same features. Although the pair were not sisters, they were often mistaken for twins. Same brown hair, same soft, green eyes, and both women were 5’7” and curvy. Tess was much paler these days, however and thinner.                “I didn’t hear you come in,” Jillian softly sighed in relief, “I always worry you won’t be able to make it.”                “I didn’t want to make too much noise and startle you,” Tess replied as the women moved to the nook. Jillian poured the tea.

               “I’ve missed you,” they both said and laughed. This laughter was not the laugh of comics but the laugh of the melancholy.

               “How are you,” Tess asked.                “I’m ok. The kids are ok. Abigail just had her 9 th birthday. She got that diary that she wanted. Purple, of course. Everything is purple with a glitter pen to write with. Sarah told her she won’t have anything to write in it until she’s double digits. I can’t believe Sarah is already 13. I don’t know where the years go. Abby is always wanting to tag along with Sarah and, you know how it is at that age. Sarah’s just NOT having it.” More forced laughter. “She is discovering boys now. I saw the name, Brody written on her math notebook with a heart around it,” Jillian rolled her eyes. “I wished she would just focus on math. I can’t complain, I guess. Both girls are getting A’s. They’re good girls. They’re just growing up too damn fast. Before I know it Sarah will be married and Abby will be trying to tag along on the honeymoon!”                “How’s Tom?”                “Tom’s Tom. His job is good. They just made him head of his department. He is now in charge of all sales in the Chicago Suburbs and greater Indianapolis area. He’s been gone a lot lately. And when he is home, he’s on the phone, or in his phone checking emails, sending texts. Then there’s the spreadsheets and the metrics and the constant stream of questions from customers, sales reps, his boss, his bosses boss. His phone is constantly dinging.”                “Dinging?”                “Yeah, dinging.” Jillian made a dong sound several times while Tess laughed sympathetically.

               “That would make me crazy,” Tess laughed.                “It does,” confessed Jillian, “I set it to vibrate sometimes. I just can’t take the constant noise. Of course, then I have to listen to the buzzing. I wish you had gotten married and had kids.”                “Me too. Well, sometimes, but that would have made it harder later, you know?”                “I guess.”                This silence was uncomfortable for a beat and then Tess broke it by saying, “Well, you’ve told me about the girls, you’ve told me about Tom. How is Jillian?”

               Jillian swirled her tea in her cup for a minute or two before answering; considering how best to answer. How was she? Every day she woke early to make breakfast for Tom and spend a few minutes with him before he jetted out the door. Some days, that was the only time she was able to spend with him. Then it was time to wake the girls and help then get ready for school. She dropped them off, usually stopped at the store, cleaned the house. Occasionally she painted or journaled in the afternoon. Sometimes she took walks at the park preserve down the road. She liked to look for the crows. On Tuesdays and Thursdays she met with Dr. Lipstein from 11:00 to noon. She used to work. She had coworkers and lunches and responsibilities and a life. That was before. Before Tess was taken away from her.

               “I’m the same.” This came out in a rush of breath.

               “The same? You mean stuck. You are stuck. I am the one who is dead and you are stuck.” Tess didn’t mean to be funny. Or maybe she did. Tess was always funny that way. She was funny when she first felt sick. She kept her humor through all of her treatments. She laughed when she tried on wigs after her hair fell out from the poison that was relentlessly pumped into her body. She made jokes about not buying green bananas when the doctors told her the poison wasn’t working anymore. She comforted everyone who came to comfort her. Especially Jillian. Jillian didn’t want to be left alone. They had never been apart. Not since 3 rd grade when the Jillian moved to town and Mrs. Kirkpatrick introduced them. Jillian was very shy and Mrs. Kirkpatrick wanted to make sure they she had at least one friend to sit with at lunch. She paired her with Tess and they never looked back. They shared a dorm at ISU. Tess was the maid of honor in Jillian’s wedding, god mother to both her girls and the closest that only child Jillian would ever have to a sister. Jillian knew Tess was always straight with her. Even after death.                “You’re right. I am stuck. I haven’t been able to get back to work since…” her voice trailed off. Tess’ eyes shone with compassion.                “I know that. But you have to.”                Jillian nodded and swirled her tea. “I am so scared to go on without you. Dr. Lipstein says I am, was, dependent on you and I need to focus on myself. I need to get back to work. I need to have tea with my girls and not with…”                “A ghost,” Tess finished for her.                “Dr. Lipstein doesn’t think I have tea with a ghost. He doesn’t think you’re real. He thinks I sit here by myself and drink tea and talk to nobody.”                “Well, technically, I have ‘no body’,” Tess laughed at her own joke.                Jillian smirked a bit at the pun. It wasn’t the worst one that she has heard from Tess. She wished they could see each other more often.                “What do you do all day,” Jillian asked.                “I go about my business. I spend time watching people. Kids mostly. They can see me. When I wave, they wave back. That’s a nice feeling. Just being seen. I can’t be visible too much. After a meeting like today, I’ll have to rest for a long time. Months. It’s like sleep but more deep. I don’t dream. There is no tunnel or bright light. I just go to my grave and laydown on it. Then I sleep. When I wake up, I’m where I want to be. If I want to be near my mom, I’m at the nursing home with her. If I want to be with you, I’m in your kitchen. Don’t look surprised. Sometimes I’m here but you don’t see me. It’s too hard to be visible all the time. I just kinda peek in. Then I poof out and I’m somewhere else. Wherever I think of, I just am. I don’t walk or anything. Unless I’m really concentrating. Then I can. I tried to going to placed I’ve never been. You know how I always wanted to go Paris?” Jillian nodded and Tess continued, “Well, I concentrated really hard on the Eiffel tower and nothing happened. I think it’s because I’ve never been there. I can’t ask anyone because I’ve never seen another ghost. I’ve seen shadows of others. Like something in the corner of your eye. But there’s never anyone there. It would be nice to speak to another ghost. I have questions. It’s lonely. You’re the only one I can talk too. It would make Mom too sad. Kids would be too scared. I live for our tea time.” Tess stopped her soliloquy. Jillian could tell that this last speech had worn her out to her soul, which she supposed, was all that remained of her. Jillian struggled to come up with something, anything to say but couldn’t find adequate words. Couldn’t even hold Tess’s hand. The pair sat in companionable silence for several minutes.                Tess broke the silence first by asking, “What are you going to do get unstuck? You still have a life. Do something. Anything. Live for me. I died. Tess died. Jillian is very much a live but not so much living.”                Jillian continued to swirl her tea. An idea forming in her mind. She started weighing her options. They had money in savings. Tom’s new position came with a hefty pay increase. And Tess had left some money for Jillian. Most went to her Mom, but Tess had some set aside for Jillian. Tom was so busy he wouldn’t notice if she and the girls took a vacation. A few days if nothing else.

               “Paris,” Jillian said aloud as she was musing.                “Paris?” asked Tess, not quite understanding yet.                “I can take the girls to Paris. We’ll eat French food, look out from the Eiffel tower, put a lock on the Bridge, take in art, write poetry in cafes.”                “I think that’s the most wonderful idea I’ve ever heard,” Tess beamed.

               Both women were smiling now. They shared conspiratorially smiles over their teacups. Finally, Tess spoke, “I should go now. I’m awfully tired.” She did indeed look tired. Her pale and translucent skin, even more pale. She seemed to be fading from view as Jillian looked on. “I’ve enjoyed our talk, Jill. I miss you.”                “I miss you too, Tess. Same time next year?”                “Same time next year.”                Jillian blinked hard to stop the tears that threatening to spill over her lids. When she opened her eyes, Tess was gone. The chair was still pushed out where she had been sitting. Jillian gathered the kettle and the two cups, still full. She washed them and returned them to the cupboard. She pushed the chairs back into the table. She pulled hers and the girls’ passports out of the safe in her closet and sent Tom a text outlining her plan. He would respond when he had a few minutes to spare. Jillian called her travel agent and spoke with a perky young woman named Judy who said she would be happy to book them a mother-daughter Paris trip. She couldn’t wait to tell the girls. Even though Tess wouldn’t be there, she would carry her memory with her. And then, when she spoke to her again, she could show her the pictures and tell her the stories of their adventure in Paris. Maybe, just maybe, Tess would want to be with her and could somehow join them there. Jillian wouldn’t see her, but maybe her girls could. Tess said children could sometimes see her.  They were both so little when Tess died, would they remember her? Sarah was 6 and Abigail only 2. They’d lived more of their lives without Tess, whereas Jillian had lived most of hers with Tess.

Jillian realized she had to pick up the girls from school. Abigail’s school would be letting out soon and after she would be en route to the Jefferson Middle school where Sarah would be just finishing volleyball practice. After dinner, before Tom came home, she would tell the girls all about Paris and their upcoming trip. Before Jillian left the house, she paused by the three pictures of her and Tess. She picked up her favorite. Her and Tess when they were in high school and frozen in youth and innocence. She kissed the picture and whispered, “Same time, next year.”


There comes a time when you need to accept the family you have. It's a hard thing to do. Especially when the family you have isn't the family you want to have. When that family is dysfunctional and broken. When that family hates you. It's hard not to take it personally. To not carry a grudge. I used to think I was the forgive and forget sort. That I could just...figure out how to get past it all. And maybe I could have, if they'd come for me. If they'd bothered to lift a finger and attempted a rescue. Something, anything, to prove they cared whether I lived or died. But they didn't, did they? For all of their fancy names, nifty outfits, and extraordinary reputations, they really were terrible people. How else could you view a group of people blessed with such power that couldn't be bothered to save their own flesh and blood? Why was I worth less to them than a random stranger screaming across town? When I was a kid, my parents had high expectations. The first born of a popular and extremely powerful metahuman family, all eyes were on me as I turned 5. That is when metahumans start showing signs of their powers. I turned 5 and showed no signs. They waited another year. Nothing. All the buzz died down, and instead the paparazzi started questioning my utility as a metahuman. That is when they decided to have another child - my younger brother.

Was I defective? At a very young age the question bothered me. Why was I not like other kids? Even my own brother had shown signs of super strength - like my dad - even before he turned five. So why me? Why was I the one who was different? As we grew, I became ostracized from my own family. They looked at me, eyes filled with hatred, disappointment and pity. I decided to withdraw from the world, even as I was bullied and beaten in school everyday. Why are you even here? They would taunt. They were right - but I didn't know why I was there at a school for aspiring heroes. There was no point in training for a power that I did not have.

I learned to accept them for what they were the same day I learned something else: Supervillains aren't born that way, they're made that way. By life and circumstance. No one wants to be evil, they just don't want to be vulnerable and hurt any more. They learn to act against others so no one is given a chance to act against them. Sigue was like that. Labeled the most dangerous villain of the century, on the surface he was brutal and ruthless. Kidnapping me was evidence enough of that. He targeted me because I was weak. He waited until I was alone and defenseless and made his move. He executed his plan to perfection, grabbing me while walking home from school. His only mistake was assuming anyone cared. You can only gain leverage over an enemy if you possess something they value. Well, my family didn't value me. They didn’t value me enough to save my life when they save hundreds every day doing their jobs. It came as a shock to us both. It's one thing to suspect, and quite another to have it confirmed. I glared pitfully at the floor, the chains rattling around my ankle. “Well there you have it.” I spat, the ground a victim to my glare. “The great Whitlock family, savior of thousands of people, can’t be bothered to save their own son.” Tears pooled in my eyes but I furiously blinked them away, not willing to cry in front of a villain. I’m going to die here. The horrifying thought crossed my mind quickly but it was true. I was alone with a murderer, someone who killed without mercy. I looked up, my vision still blurry from tears.

He had an odd expression on his face, twisted, a painful grimace. He reached his hand out and I flinched. He retracted his arm slowly, hands clenched into fists by his side.

“Look, kid-” he tried. “Carson.” “Carson.” He corrected himself. His face twisted again and I squinted at him, trying to figure out his thoughts. Before he could speak again, I blurted out, “If you’re going to kill me, make it quick please.” I bowed my head, surrendering myself. After all, what was the point of fighting? I had no chance. It was better to give in in the hopes of a quick death.

“Don’t do that.” He spoke out, his voice hard. I snapped my head up quickly, only to be startled for a different reason. He had taken off his mask. No one had ever seen his face before, Sigue’s identity a carefully concealed secret. But now I watched as he set his mask aside on the ground coming closer to me. “I’m… sorry.” My eyes widened in bewilderment. “What?” I laughed incredulously. More out of hysteria than anything. “You’re sorry ?” “Yeah.” He admitted. He walked closer and I tensed, watching his movements carefully. Surprisingly, he sat down next to me, also keeping his gaze trained on the floor. I stared unwaveringly at his face, the one he had kept so carefully hidden from heroes and villains alike. He had strong facial features, arguably handsome if it wasn't for the long scar running from the corner of his mouth all the way to his ear. It looked painful. I wondered who could’ve possibly landed a hit like that on someone so powerful. “I know what it’s like being betrayed by your parents.” I scoffed. “Yeah I’m sure you do.” I pulled my knees closer to my chest, the chains rattling. My eyes filled with tears again. I blinked furiously. “You can cry.” I startled, turning towards Sigue. He wasn’t looking at me. “I won’t say anything.” “You kidnapped me,” I said dryly. “You're not supposed to be nice.” He chuckled softly. “That wasn’t personal.” He took a key from his pocket. “Here,” He said, unlocking my wrists. My ankle was still bound but I had more freedom of movement now. “Thanks…” I said carefully, rubbing my raw wrists. “My parents…” He hesitated. I cocked my head in confusion. His voice was slightly shaky, unlike anything I had ever heard from the fearsome villain. “They threw me out. I had a “villainous” power. They were scared. So, off to the streets I go.” My eyes were wide as I took in his story. Surprisingly, I could relate. I could relate to someone who has killed and hurt so many people. I almost laughed again, but remained silent, not wanting to break the careful air of peace between us, “It was terrible. I was the same age as you, homeless, cold, no place to go.” He sighed. “I went to so many metas. People supposed to be heroes turned away a starving kid because of his power. Because they were scared .” He clenched his fist, and the beam next to us exploded. I jumped, watching the shrapnel drift to the ground like confetti. My mouth felt dry, going cold with fear again. “So,” he continued, his voice carefully even. “I do know what it’s like to have shitty parents.” I chuckled. “Well I guess that’s one way to put it.” A tense silence fell over the room, the only noise in the room was my heavy breathing. “Is that why you’re a villain?” I whispered quietly, breaking the silence.

“Part of it.” He sighed. “When you get hurt, you hit back. When society shuns you out, you have to find a way to claw your way back to the top.” For some reason that’s what finally made me break down, the tears filling dripping down my face. The words were harsh but in the end they were true. I was at rock bottom. How could those I had loved and admired for so long inflict such pain? Despite my desperate attempts to earn their affection, my parents remained distant, their indifference a silent condemnation of my existence. Now I knew the truth. They never cared, and they never would. Sigue looked way out of his element, seemingly not knowing how to deal with a crying kid. “Shit, I’m sorry.” He reached out, but seemed hesitant to touch me.

I let out a shuddering breath, it sounded more like a sob. “No, I just…” More tears fell. “I just wish my parents cared about me!” He froze. “I mean they just left me here! ” I wailed. “With you!”

“Hey-” “I just want them to like me. To care about me and pay attention to me for once in my life.”

Sigue sighed. “I’m sorry. I really am.” He put a hand on my shoulder, the action strangely caring. He took the key and unlocked the shackle around my ankle. “Here. You’re free to go.” I looked at him in shock. I didn’t move. He got up to leave and walk out the door. “You’re not going to kill me?” I asked incredulously. He turned around to look back at me.

“I don’t kill kids.” He gave me a wry grin. “I have no need to keep you here if your parents aren’t coming. Go back to your family.” I stared at the floor, processing. My heart still felt like it was shattering in millions of pieces, my family’s unwillingness to help their own son cutting deep. But, a new feeling was emerging beneath all the shards. Rage. How could they turn their backs on their own son, leaving him to navigate the darkness alone? The pain of abandonment morphed into a seething fury, burning hotter with each passing moment. No longer would I allow their neglect to define me. “No.” He squinted at me. “No?” I stood up, drying my tears with my sleeve. “No, I’m not going back.”

He sighed. “Don’t go to the streets, boy. It’s a tough world out there when it’s every man for himself.” “No. I want to stay with you.”

He laughed. “Okay, kid, now I know you-” He paused when he saw the expression on my face. “Oh. You’re serious.” “I want to work with you.” I took a step forward. “I want to be your sidekick. My parents left me here so they’re not going to get me back.” “You. The son of the most influential meta family of all time, wants to work with me, someone who’s killed thousands?” “Yes.” My eyes glowed white in the pale moonlight. “They abandoned me. They have never cared about me. And now they’re going to pay. Such people don’t deserve the title of ‘hero.’” Sigue stared at me with barely concealed bewilderment. “It’s going to be tough, kid. Your family will be gunning for your head. Every single meta in the city will be out for your blood if you work with me.” “I want to.” I said quickly. “You… You don’t understand how much everyone hates me.” I whispered quietly. “I’ve been beaten, teased, and bullied all because of something I can’t control. I don’t want to live in a society that shuns people like me. People like us. After this… I would rather be dead, than go back to my good-for-nothing parents.” “Well then,” He said, a hint of what seemed like pride in his tone. He wrapped a strong arm around me pulling me closer to him. “Let me show you the ropes.” As we walked, I could help but feel that this was what it was meant to be. I was never supposed to be a hero. I was never meant to confirm the expectations set out for me. No, I had a much more important path. In the failed attempt at luring my family out from hiding Sigue had gained something: a devoted apprentice. Someone who was willing to dedicate themselves fully to furthering his goals and ambitions. Someone who would rather be with him than their own family. Strange, I know, but I cannot stress enough how terrible it feels to be betrayed by your family. Particularly when that family possesses every ability to at least try and do something about it. So, while I had lost my family, I gained something too. This wasn't a simple case of Stockholm Syndrome. It was the first time where my effort was noticed and appreciated. Where the skills I did possess, while not superhuman, were certainly powerful when given the opportunity to be of use. And Sigue gave me that opportunity. He let me be powerful. Yes, my father could bend steel in his hands, but I could shoot a bullet between the eyes faster than he could crush me. My sister could fly faster than the speed of sound, but my viruses traveled at the speed of light. My mother, my dear, indifferent mother, could boil water with her eyes, but I could set the world on fire with my mind. So many things come easily to metahumans, that they often lose sight of how the world actually works. When you are above the world, the world is beneath you. You have strength, but you lose context. Since you are powerful wherever you are, you forget that you can only be in one place at once. He taught me how to exploit that. How to be everywhere at once. How to harvest the data left lying about and unsecured online. How to inflict damage without risking anything of value. How to gain power over the powerful. Piece by piece, we built our empire in the underworld. An unassailable bastion from which we launched our attacks. And attack we did. The metahumans had woefully under-invested in their own base. They thought no one would possibly dare to attack them from within. Proof of their narrow-minded mindset.

We gained the power to hurt those who had hurt us. To teach the world that creating supervillains had consequences. My family immediately caught wind of my alliance with the most powerful supervillain of the decade. Immediately, without

hesitation they attempted to kill me. I was not surprised. It hurt seeing the people I once loved turn on me without even bothering to get an explanation from me. It hurt but I pushed through it. I understood what kind of people they were now. I wasn’t going to shed any more tears on them. Not anymore. Yes, I learned to accept the family I had. They unfortunately learned the consequences of that too late. One supervillain is an annoyance. Two supervillains? Well, that's a problem. And Sigue and his sidekick were a real problem.


Used to be. Three words that hold a world of stories in their hands. Stories of the past. Things that happened that will never happen again, at least never in the same way. Well, I have one of those stories. It was in the tenth grade when it all started. Tina and I were placed in the same science class, sparking a friendship with literal sparks (physics experiment gone wrong). Before I met Tina, I would always eat lunch alone, longing to sit with one of the other kids around me, but they were never next to me. I had hoped that if I was nice enough, pleased everybody and brought each person up, they wouldn't let me down. So even though I would say hi to many people every day, I didn't have any real friends, people I could hang out with every night, and it wouldn't have mattered what we did, because we were together. When I became friends with Tina it was like that. At first, we would call each other every night, talking on the phone for hours while doing out school work, studying for exams or even just watching the same show on television. One day, a cold November night, we decided 'why not meet in person?'. Soon after, we would hang out together all the time. Creating private jokes, sharing secrets about our past and crushes of the present, baking to our hearts desire- I was happy. Somehow, I got lucky. Somewhere, way up in the sky, someone woke up and decided to look out for me and make my deepest desire a reality. For some reason, the stars decided to align for me that year. I didn't, I still don't, know why that happened. I was just another rather average human being, hoping to survive not just life, but also high school. Tina didn't just make me happy sitting under a blanket in her parents' basement watching movies until 4 A.M., she also made me happy in school. We would study together, getting good grades in all of our classes. Tina, being the social butterfly that she is, also introduced me to a bunch of people I had never really interacted with before. Like I mentioned before, I said hi to many people, but never truly got to know them. But with Tina by my side, I could tell you billions of stories about each and every person at my school. We would get invited to party after party after party. I felt over the moon after every single one, the night confirming that I belonged. That is, until one of those nights, as I went to grab Tina so we could make it home before curfew, she had brought Chandler to tag along with us. Chandler was every girl's dream at our school, and Tina knew, believe me she knew, that I had the biggest, most crushing crush of my life on Chandler Wong. With his fine black hair sitting neatly on his head and his chocolate brown eyes looking like wells of melted chocolate calling to me to dive in deeper and deeper, and let's not forget his personality (since isn't that what makes him our true hero?). Chandler could be described as loyal, brave, smart and maybe a bit cunning- all the ways in which he can't be placed into even one Hogwarts house. Always nice to people, always seeking to help out to those in need (seriously, he did charity work at the soup kitchen three times a week), always trusting everybody. Chandler was the kind of guy that even the most not-wanting-to-ever-be-married type of girls would want to marry and live with forever since he treated every single person he met with the utmost respect. So when Chandler and Tina tagged along behind me on our way home that night from the party, I couldn't help but feel devastated. If Tina could do that to me, why had I trusted her so much? How could I have become such good friends with her and never have known this would happen? And how could Chandler, perfectly sweet Chandler, decide to go out with someone as awful as Tina? Maybe she changed. Maybe while I was watching movies and baking cakes, she was planning her way of overstepping, using me as the step in her ladder, the pawn in her little game of chess, the last ingredient needed to perfect her poisoned apple. All she ever wanted was to get to the top and be the best. Whenever we would get are tests back, she would gloat about all the 100s she got, making my 98s feel as pathetic as a crumpled, dried flower. But perhaps it was my fault, because I let her do that to me. Tina saw a lonely target to crush on her way up, and I allowed her to take that step. If it weren't for my stupid wishes and feelings, I would have never have became friends with her, and maybe I would be ok. I vowed then and there that I would never let Tina, or any other person treat me that way. I decided to still be friendly with Tina, because the fact that I knew her true intentions, gave me power over her. Power to decided how our future would be. After we graduated, Tina going off to a prestige university, and I going away to law school, I never bothered to answer her phone calls. It was easy, since they never came in. Over the years, whenever I think about our friendship, I wonder if there was something different that could have happened, enough to changed the ending of this Used To Be. But even if there was, I don't think I would change a thing. the story helped me realize how to be a better person and friend. I also realized how much pain and suffering can come when experiencing lost. At the end of the day, Tina and I were friends, best friends. But now? we are just two women, living extremely different lives, who used to be.


I knew my demolition would be inevitable. My halls have been left empty for so long now. My pipes are a wet mess of rust and mold. My electrical wiring and conduit have been reclaimed by nature. My insides are nothing more than chewed wires and bird’s nests these days. The carpet on most of my floors has a festering slime in the fibers. Multiple inspectors said they’d never seen anything comparable, and warned against anyone entering. That’s likely why they’re tearing me down. I suppose by this point I’m comparable to a rabid animal, a danger to the rest of the city at large. How did this happen to me? Too weathered to operate, too expensive to fix. A sad, shadow of what I once was. I blame the overnight custodian. Once that pipe burst on the 49 th floor I knew my time was limited, but now it’s closer than I care to consider. Last night was my final sunset. Now here I stand, just before dawn, with engineers preparing me for annihilation. My walls are sweating with fear, but that might be the leaks. My once illustrious halls housed the rich and the famous, back when I was beautiful and bright. My ground floor boasted hosting the highest profile parties in the city. The bulk of my residents, and a percent of the surrounding population, would come for all night gatherings of live music and strong drinks. The bar didn’t close, neither did the casino. The theater on one end had back-to-back comedy shows all night, and the theater on the opposite end showed a variety of films on an endless reel. The ballroom always had the most requested live bands, and the dancing never ceased. For decades people came together and parted like waves in the pool. If only those days could have lasted forever. After a great and wonderful while, the parties wound down, and the city hotspot changed. As always, entertainment demands evolved. On the verge of a new century, I found myself excluded from what was once routine. Long time employees left, and permanent art fixtures were sold. The live music turned sour, along with the regular crowd. Then there was talk of turning me into a hotel. How I dreaded the thought of the short term. The idea of having guests instead of residents made my wallpaper cringe. What happened was far worse. New management stepped in with a brand-new plan. At first, my bricks shuddered with excitement. They studiously cleaned me inside and out, and replaced my heating system with something more modern. I was repainted nicely. They even went as far as giving me a new roof. I expected a new era of excitement. Instead, I witnessed a violent restructuring. My suites, my theaters, the penthouses, even my ballroom; their over scheduled projects ruined all of it. Half-hearted crews came with tiny walls and sloppy work. I endured hurried plumbing, unprofessional installations, and my grand lobby reduced to a hallway with a keypad door. I lived a building’s worst nightmare, or so I’d thought. I was filled with residents once more, but things were different this time. The smoke from their lungs felt toxic to the air. Untrained and uncared for pets had no choice but to use my floors as their toilet. Every stairwell was filled with trash. Entire bags were sometimes thrown from higher floors downward, usually for fun. Disingenuous young adults, college students, and self-destructive entrepreneurs filled my halls, night and day. To my genuine relief, a custodian was hired. He came in with enthusiasm and vigor. Ready to turn the place around and fix up every issue. Sadly, I found that he was only filled with such intensity when fueled by powdered motivation. The worst part was his stimulant exclusively enhanced his words, and did nothing to aid him in getting actual work done. His resume had been a lie. The new custodian barely knew how to operate a broom. He spent most of his time at his workstation laughing at the internet, unless he was explicitly directed to perform a supervised task. A month into his employment he accidently found a pipe connector with a minor leak inside a maintenance closet on the 49 th floor. He tightened it by hand then wrapped a towel around it, and left for the day. Forgetting what he’d discovered by the time he hit the front door. A regrettable amount of time later, the building manager found himself investigating the 49 th floor. There had been numerous complaints about soggy carpets and an incessant dripping. He entered the maintenance closet, and standing water flowed out around his shoes. He bolted in, and ripped the thoroughly saturated towel off of the piping, which also tore loose the connector. The part was replaced and fans were working on drying the floors in less than an hour. Unfortunately, little did the building manager know, further inside the wall, the force of the jerked towel had undone pipe connections further down the line. A constant waterfall formed through a slim channel between walls. The unintentional canal twisted down and through each floor, all the way to the basement. Nearly a year passed before anyone noticed or complained. Other than the custodian who spent many of his overnight shifts dry mopping the basement. By then the majority of the damage had been done. The sun is up now, and I’m prepped for a controlled demolition. There’s a crowd gathering. The end of my time must be soon. I used to constantly wonder what was to come, if another new owner would come along and refurbish me, so I could peak once more. I’d rather be a hotel than simply empty. I could become an office building for all I care, anything. But for my roof to meet the ground, that is a fate no building wants to meet. It took them years to move everyone out, and the basement was flooded long before then. Stubborn tenants that refused to give up their space. One elderly couple claimed they were grandfathered into an old lease and were allowed to stay until they expired. Two floors below a hoarder contently lived among human waste and rotting drywall. These residents, among many others, could not be budged. Notices and advisories did nothing. The owner begging at their welcome mats was of no help either. Finally, after a stroke and a couple police raids, the last of the apartments were vacated one by one. The custodian electrocuted himself trying to steal copper just after I was closed to the public. Apparently, he assumed the power was already off because he made no effort to check the electrical panel. He wasn’t the first or last death within me, but he was by far the most gruesome. I had amazingly maintained a murder free status all those years. Never a rooftop suicide, or séance in room 666 either. I can safely say, there are no hauntings for this interior. The building manager and other employees stopped coming in soon after the custodian’s death, and I was empty for a short time. Then a new community arose. They seemed to be referred to as homeless, but I was happy to house them. All these floors and rooms, most of the furnishings left behind, someone needed to enjoy them. I was redecorated with spray paint murals, and artful collages. Families outfitted their quarters however they liked, and knocked down walls whenever more room was needed for new arrivals. They even found a way to fill the pool with water from the basement during a hot summer. A sense of community had been restored within me for the first time in painfully long. They happily thrived for a decent number of years in their decaying haven. I was devastated when the police forced everyone out one day in a blur of commotion. It happened too fast, so much noise, and then complete silence. A few days later the owner and the old building manager spent time boarding my windows and securing all my doors. They swept the building multiple times to make sure no one was left, except for the rodents in the walls and the fish in the pool. I spent 1000 days empty. Devoid. Alone. Those were the worst days. Bleakness and disrepair. Parts of the higher floors collapsed like vertical dominoes. Nothing inside was the same. Much of the furniture had been drug out and burned in the parking lot, which no longer had asphalt. I find myself disappointed the chandelier in the main hall is long gone. Having it fall would have been spectacular, and something to look forward to. I knew anytime the building manager or owner arrived not to get my hopes up. They were usually boarding a higher up window that had been shot out, or hit by a mighty impressive throw in one instance, if I’m being accurate. The crowd outside is bigger now, and there’s a camera crew. Without these old walls in the way, perhaps something new can flourish. Hopefully they do something nice with the space I occupy. A park or a school maybe, a library would be nice. I hear numbers being praised by the crowd. I’d like to imagine parts of me can be used for something else, but I don’t think it works that way. I just hope someone finds the guy that drowned searching the basement recently. I suppose he thought there would be a safe down there. There's loud popping all around. What an incredible rush.


“It’s funny”. He spoke through a rictus grin. “I don’t remember you being this angry”. “Angry”? She said sarcastically. ”Why would I be angry”? “I don’t know. Especially as, if I remember correctly, you were the one who made all the decisions”. “Decisions?” Zack leaned a little closer to her.”Not to meet me? Not to even discuss what we had promised to discuss?” Hey! Sandra, what happened? Sexy feet…! Sandra murmured. Huh what, Sandra? ‘I said 60 feet social distance, Sandra asserted. Zack laughed aloud, ’oh no!It’s just 6 feet! Sandra had become paranoid after the Pandemic set in. Zack came forward, Sandra screamed, ’don’t touch my bag! Whenever she touched a surface, a door knob or a simple parcel lying outside her door, she would panic to think “Did I touch COVID-19?”, and wash her hands frequently throughout the day. Zack grimly,”Sandra, get a hold on yourself! Liza came pushing her trolley full of groceries, she almost dashed into Zack. Hey, Zack, you are back on your two feet! Zack tried to silence her with a gesture. But Liza babbled on,’ you know Zack, those 7 weeks at the City Hospital, I had the urge to call Sandra and tell her about you’. Sandra cautiously came forward, Liza jumped to hug her but Sandra took a step back. ‘What happened to Zack?’ Liza turned to Zack, ’so, you didn’t tell her?’ ‘Tell what’, Sandra pestered. ‘Zack was on a ventilator for weeks inside the ICU. Due to COVID-19 restrictions, he was kept in isolation. Sandra gasped, oh NO! Zack grinned, ’I am ok now. ‘Sandra, I know you would dread ‘the news that I had COVID-19. . The last time Sandra met her fiancé, Zack; it was at a restaurant, on March 17,2020. They promised to meet again on April 7,2020 -- birthday of Sandra. Zack had bought a special birthday gift, a diamond ring; to surprise Sandra with his proposal. Little did they know that on her birthday, Zack would fall sick and test positive for COVID-19. Sandra was livid, ‘so you thought you could just disappear from my life, without a trace’. Zack lowered his lids,’ Sandra! Listen! Sandra,’No, I won’t listen! ‘Check your phone, note how many hundreds of calls, texts, emails I did! Zack,’calm down’, calm down please, Sandra. Zack hugged her. Sandra shrunk away,’oh NO! Zack knew Sandra suffered from hypervigilance about cleanliness and the ‘social distance’ norm, she was taking very seriously. Zack smirked,’ see, you shirk being touched, how would you respond if I told you, I was in ICU for COVID-19? Sandra blushed,’umm…I…..I Zack told her,’I know, leave it unsaid! .Seeing Zack suddenly in the supermarket on 14 th September, 2020 it was like waking up from a stupor. They stared at each other for a moment. Zack looked exactly the same, Sandra thought, no –better, damn it- Both were wearing masks, it was just the two of them, marooned on their part of the supermarket. It was a strange meeting, both knew hand-holding, hugging and kissing were taboo! You never were a big one for commitment, were you?” Sandra angrily flashed. She felt his eyes on her and flushed. Shut up, she told herself. Other people were only a matter of some 15 feet away. Zack’s voice dropped to a murmur. ”Are we really going to do this?” Zack felt the need to confess, worried that his proposal might come to a pretty humbling denouement, if Sandra didn’t respond, He might still be hung up on what might have been. Sandra felt a kind of recklessness building within her. How many times had she wanted to have this conversation? How many times had she rehearsed all the things she wanted to say to him? How could he stand there and behave as if nothing had happened after all? “You really want to get into this now, Sandra?” “Why not?” she said, waving back. ”It’s only been 5 months. I figure that’s a pretty decent period of time to put off an argument.” “ “NOT TO MEET YOU?” She turned and stared at him. ”Are we talking about the same relationship during Pandemic” Both in self isolation to protect from the deadly infection of a bat-born, spikey ball-shaped, gorgeous-looking infinitesimal virus with a name befitting a royal! “The day you left,” he hissed beside her,” you were going to meet me at The Hub, so that we could discuss our future, and you never even turned up. There was no way to contact you, Sandra! You refused to answer the phone and you avoided me like the Corona! “The Hub?” “And you knew I couldn’t reach you once you handed in your work phone. What was I supposed to think? Don’t you believe that after everything we’d been through, everything we had promised each other, that I deserved a little more than just a no-show?” Her voice dropped to a whisper.”It was The Hilltop” we were due to meet at “The Hilltop”. And YOU were the one who didn’t turn up.” Their eyes locked. People were increasing in number in the supermarket; Zack was feeling an electric jolt as their hands made contact. “Two hours I waited.” They stared at each other. For a moment, everything disappeared, She was there on a wet Friday, weeping into her jacket in almost empty “The Hilltop”. “There’s nothing to say. We’ve moved on.” She felt the faintest pressure and realized with shock that it was his leg against hers. From day one on Earth, lovers are hardwired to touch, hold and kiss one another. “Have you”? He said quietly, and the words went through her like a seismic tremor. ”Really”? “All this time”, Zack said quietly, ’both of us believing the other had bailed out.” I just figured you’d tired of my indecision.” “I’d waited the best part of a year. I would have waited”. “You never said that”. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to.” She had grieved for him. His lips closed in. She again yelped. Coronavirus stole the sweet magic of kissing. She head-butted him and squealed, and that was the end of it. The “touch starvation.” has affected the psyche of lovers. Both coronavirus pandemic and the protocols that came with changed the trajectory of the relationship between the two.


1978 First Impressions I have arrived. Here I am, a small town kid who just got a good job, my first job that wasn’t working for friends of my parents. I am an employee at Woodbury’s Financial.   And it’s in the big smoke, the city. I did not ever think that this would happen. I have to admit that I am a bit intimidated. Everyone seems so sophisticated, so big city. I wonder whether the people I am working with are going to think of me as the very opposite, almost smelling like I come from a small town.

After the First Week For the first few days I didn’t know whether I was going to be accepted or not. I felt so stupid asking about the bus system, and having to write down the route numbers of the buses I would have to take to get here and back home.  I imagined that they could sense my fear of going to the wrong place. Little things become big.  I have the first desk that I have ever had for a place of work. I had to look around to see how people organized theirs. Would they know what I was doing? Could I include a picture of my dog, or would that be a way of announcing that I didn’t have a wife or kids, that only a dog would have me? These were the kind of dumb, insecure thoughts that ran through my head for my first four days on the job.            I began my Friday workday thinking that this had been a very long week, and that I would probably just have to be content to just come in, do my job, and then leave, looking forward a weekend with no social worries.            But then Friday happened. The lunch break changed everything. As I was preparing to eat at my desk, to chow down on the two egg-salad sandwiches that my mother always packed for me, I discovered that I had forgotten to pack them. I had been in a hurry, as I had slept in a bit, doing a little drinking the night before.            I was hungry. Where should I go? Then I saw about 10 of my colleagues, male and female go out the door. They would know a good place. I would follow them to , but discreetly, at enough distance so I did not look like I was tailing them like a puppy.            They stopped and entered a restaurant. I halted right away and pretended to be looking for something in my left pocket. Once they were all inside I marched up to the place. It was a coffee shop with the name “City Lights” shining above the entrance.

As soon as I walked into City Lights, I was made to feel like I was home. The woman who obviously ran the place asked my name, and said, “I’ve never seen you here before.” I felt strangely comfortable telling her that I was a new employee at Woodbury’s Finances and that I came from a small town.            As I looked around the place, I saw that the walls were covered with pictures of movie and rock and roll stars. James Dean and Elvis Presley were particularly prominent. I knew whose idea that was. You would almost think that she knew them personally, or at least there would be autographs.            One of the waitresses, when she heard the name of the company that I worked for, directed me to the combined two tables where my colleagues were sitting. According to the waitress they always sat there, and that her brother put the tables together before they arrived. I was greeted somewhat hesitantly by my colleagues, but still, one of the guys pulled out a chair for me.            The place wasn’t big on menu by how we would come to measure such things in later years. Coffee was black, or how much sugar or milk or cream did you want in it. You could have toast, bagels and ‘we now have croissants’ with a limited number of toppings, and four different kinds of sandwiches.  There was one soup for the day. I reckoned that it was the social atmosphere that kept people coming back. The staff treated the customers like family, even newcomers like me.

 After a few other lunches at City Lights, I would discover that two of my ‘sophisticated colleagues’ as I would refer to them when I talked to my parents, were from small towns too, and had felt lost for the first while when they began working with the company.            This was the beginning of my adaptation to work and life and work in the big town. No more packed lunches – I wasn’t a child still in school. It was City Lights every day for lunch. And I began to make friends with my colleagues, those born and raised in a small town, and some of those who had been city boys and girls all their lives.            The owner of City Lights, Madam Martha as we all called her, had a daughter, Julie, who worked there as a waitress.  She was the one who had directed me to sit with my colleagues on the first Friday. The third time that I went there, we caught each other looking at the left hand, specifically the wedding finger, of the other. There was a short, uncomfortable but still shared laugh.  Then she asked me if I liked any of the movies now playing in the theatres. I mentioned the only one that I knew about. Then there was a silence, with her first staring at me and then looking away. I was unaccustomed to the sophisticated ways and means of city girls, but I finally picked up on the hint. I asked her out clumsily – Are you busy tonight? She said ‘not at all, how about you?   Thinks moved quickly from there. After a couple of months of movies, music, and romance at her apartment, I made the big step of taking her to see my parents. While I knew that my mother could be quite critical in this department, she told me soon after meeting Julie that “You have picked a winner there son. Why don’t you marry her?” 2018 I have been working here for 40 years now, and have worked my up to being the CEO. Julie and I got married and found the ideal residence in a condo not far from City Lights. We had two kids, who have now moved away to create their own city life. Julie now works at City Lights part-time while one of her brothers has taken over as manager. I am a regular there. The menu has changed considerably – three different varieties of lattes, and even more modern and unexplainable, at least to me, avocado toast.  Whoever thought that one up? But the cozy atmosphere of the place has not changed, neither did the now slightly faded, but never dusty pictures on the wall. A much older, but still fairly energetic Martha comes in twice a week to dust the pictures and to talk to the customers. The Newcomers Now there have been three young new hires within the last month, all of whom are the children of immigrants, a sign of the times.  All of them are involved in IT.  They are competent enough in the job, but even after several weeks they have not fit in with the others. I have heard several people calling them ‘unfriendly’ or ‘aloof’, ‘like all of their kind’. The fact that they are in IT and are not part of the gregarious sales crowd has also led to some estrangement from the others. I had found it always easy to believe that IT people are talking down to me. It seems to be a general feeling that many get, certainly those of my age. I had to do something about it, but not be seen to be doing so. I didn’t want the new people to be called ‘boss’s pets’. I didn’t want to ‘take someone aside to have a little talk’. In that path lay potential resentment. And I didn’t want to take the new hires there myself, as that was another road to lack of general acceptance. I came up with a solution. I had my secretary give each one of them a package of gift coupons for City Lights. She was to tell them that she had forgotten to give the coupons to them earlier.  She was then to give them a story as well as the coupons. It was to go something like this, “I think that place was the secret of the boss’s success. When he was first here (my secretary has a year’s seniority on me) he felt isolated from the rest of us because he was a small town boy, and the rest of us were city folks. Once he went to City Lights he was accepted. He even married one of the waitresses.’ All of the new hires are single. My plan worked. The next Friday they went to City Lights. The waitress (my wife) sat them down at a table beside the one where the other employees of our company had gathered. Julie asked them whether they wanted their tables combined. The ‘yes’ that she heard was rather quiet, but she started moving the new hires’ table anyway, with help from both sides. One of the regulars asked his new colleagues whether they knew who the guys in the pictures were. With the expected answer ‘no’, an explanation was forthcoming, complete with a mandatory “Thank you very much”, with a raising of the collar of the jacket of the questioner. This was followed by a James Dean sneer that had to be explained by pointing to the appropriate pictures. The rest, as they say, is history.  And the present and the future.


SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 1 ST , 2:00 AM

I find my boyfriend standing over my best friend’s lifeless body with a gun in his hand. I don’t even have time to panic, because he has our bags packed in the car and tells me to immediately get out of the house. He has matches in his hand, it smells like gasoline in here now that I think about it. Thirty seconds later, the lake house is in flames behind me and he and I are in the car going anywhere but here. If you had told me two years ago that taking two hundred bucks from my best friend to go talk to him would lead me to this moment, I would have told you that you were out of your mind. But maybe that’s me – out of my goddamn mind. TWO YEARS PRIOR I was going to go with a casual outfit tonight, jeans and a tank top, but the more I think about it, I don’t get out much. I should dress it up a little bit. I decide on a slinky dark purple dress and put on some lipstick to match. It’s summer, but that doesn’t mean I have to wear bright colors just because everyone else does. I uber over to the bar and immediately am assaulted by a bear hug from my best friend, Clara. She knows I hate hugs, but has decided it’s more fun when I’m not expecting them and can’t refuse. “VALERIE WHAT THE HELL IS UP!!! YOU’RE TEN MINUTES LATE AND I NEEDED TO START DRINKING YESTERDAY, LET’S GO!” she exclaims as she drags me into the bar I needed some serious convincing to go to. We sit at the bar and three hours later are on drink number five and can’t stop laughing at a story we just found out about regarding a friend from college and his idiotic tendencies to gamble. While we’re mulling over the latest news on all of the people we will never talk to again but will follow on social media forever, the most interesting man walks into the bar. He’s tall, chiseled jawline, deep brown hair with the brightest blue eyes, and a side smile that has trouble written all over it. He’s built well, and his shirt is just tight enough on his shoulders to notice. He sits at the opposite end of the bar, directly in view of us. Of course, I’m sweating, but I’d never go up to him. I’m way too awkward for that. Glass number six goes down quicker than the fifth and Clara is noticing the stolen glances between me and Mr. Muscles. She’s nearly begging me, “Go up and talk to him, Val. You’ve got nothing to lose, except maybe your panties at the end of the night if you’re lucky!” I brush her off and roll my eyes, but she knows that’s all I’m thinking about. Clara pulls out her wallet and hands me a wad of cash, “I will give you two hundred bucks to go up to him right now and introduce yourself”. So I do it. I walk over with my emotional support wine glass (that I should have replaced with water at this point) and sweat through a handshake and introduction. His name is Evan, he works in finance, he’s new in town, and in fact, is looking for some new friends. Perfect, I’m your girl! Evan joins us at our seats, and we have incredible chemistry. We can’t stop talking, he can talk effortlessly to Clara while also focusing most all his attention on me. The way he looks at me I feel like he is looking effortlessly into my soul, and I am fully a shell of myself. I am barely present besides in his attention. He’s got the charisma of JFK with the subtle danger of an undercover FBI agent. I’m a lost cause at this point, he’s got me wrapped around his finger and I already know I will forever be his. ONE YEAR LATER I’ve been with Evan for a year now, and he is one of the most multidimensional people I have ever met. He is well-versed in literature, world history, world religions, science, everything. If you asked him something he would probably know it. He’s kind, but rough when he needs to be. He’s got a great work ethic and when he wants something done he gets it done; something about his determination turns me on like nothing else. He comes to my place three days a week and I go to his place three days a week, and we always have one day apart. It’s perfect. I have this tendency to get very private about my relationships and kind of cut off my friends while I’m in the process of building a relationship with a man, and this one is no different. I haven’t spoken to Clara in three months, partially because I’ve been busy with work and Evan, but also because they got into a big fight a while back. I’m not sure what it was about, but all of a sudden she was storming out and telling me, “Maybe you should rethink who you’re so in loveeee with, Val”.  Evan says she claimed he was a misogynist, and I wouldn’t be surprised – Clara thinks all men are assholes and misogynists. Nonetheless, I’ve never been happier. I don’t need anything else in this life, just him. Sure, if we fight, it can get ugly, but he always makes up for it and I think that’s what counts. He knows he’s in the wrong and takes the steps to apologize. FRIDAY AUGUST 31 st , 7 AM Hey Clara, it’s me. I know it’s been a long time but I wanted to give you your space to breathe and do your own thing and hopefully lose the hatred for Evan (and me?). Give me a call, because I wanted to invite you up to the lake house with us this weekend. We’re leaving tonight at 8. Let me know. I leave Clara a voicemail early in the morning in hopes that she will respond. I want her to come on vacation with us; it’s been way too long since we’ve been in touch and I miss her dearly. I really want to know what happened so long ago with her and Evan, but I guess I’ll never know what was said. She calls back two hours later with an enthusiastic “YES! Duh, of COURSE I’ll go! I miss you like CRAZY and have SO much to update you on”. Now THIS will be a fun weekend. FRIDAY AUGUST 31 st , 10 PM We’ve officially arrived, and I forgot how much I loved this place. The lake house is quaint, exactly what you envision when you think of a Vermont lake house. It was my grandfather’s house and he left it to me when he passed a long time ago, so Evan and I have been up here a few times making it our little home away from home. We’ve got a little book nook for the nights he’s too deep in thought to talk and just wants to do his own thing, a giant fireplace with the quintessential antlers tacked to the wall above it, all the card games and board games you could ever imagine, and of course a room fully dedicated to my art supplies and half-finished canvases. Clara has already made herself at home in the guest room and comes downstairs with a box of wine she was given by one of her customers as a thank-you gift. She’s ready to party, yelling “HEY ALEXA, PLAY POP TOP FIFTY”. She’s pouring three generous glasses as Evan and I start a fire in the living room. Evan apparently had a bad week at work, although he never likes to talk about work with me. I’m still not sure what specifically he does. I know he works in finance, but I’m not sure what he does or who he works for. Sometimes it feels weird, but honestly, whatever. It’s not like he’s a serial killer, so who cares what he does so long as he’s making money and likes what he’s doing? He does work some seemingly weird hours, either super early in the morning or super late, but that’s none of my business. So long as he comes home to me, I’m happy. He, on the other hand, is not the happiest camper right now. He’s got that look on his face that makes me want to jump on top of him but I know would result in a blowout fight about why he sometimes needs space to deal with his own issues. SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 1 st , 12:15 AM Clara and I are drinking and having our time to talk about girly things and all of the gossip we haven’t been able to share with each other in ages, and Evan is sitting in the corner with wine and a book in hand. Clara gets louder as she drinks, and I try to calm her down because the one thing I don’t need is these two getting into an argument like the one from a year ago. Clara tells me, “I have to tell you something. I got a HUGE promotion and I’m moving to LA to my old bosses’ penthouse to take over for her on the West Coast. Can you BELIEVE it? I mean I know I’m amazing, duh, but like, a penthouse? All these big businessmen out here pretending they’ve got their shit together meanwhile I’m about to be out on Hollywood Boulevard with all the stars living it up every night!!”. Evan whips his head around and stares at Clara as if she just said that the Knicks lost the championship. He says nothing, just gets up and walks upstairs. “What’s his deal, Val? Seriously, this whole brooding mysterious vibe is way too much for me right now,” Clara says. “I don’t know, he had a bad week at work and is probably upset to hear you talking about a big promotion. But I am SO happy for you!! We have to throw the biggest going-away party for you before you leave,” I respond. We spend some time planning what has now been named CLARA IN THE CITY OF ANGELS: A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN , and I decide to take a break and head upstairs to check on Evan. He’s been up there a while, anyways. I find him laying in bed staring out the window, and I ask him if everything is okay. “I told you, Val. I don’t want to talk about work with you ever. I had a bad week, that’s it, okay? Let it go. I love you, I’ll be down in a few,” he responds. SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 1 ST , 1 AM I head back downstairs to see Clara on the couch with snacks and wine set up on the coffee table, all set for the cozy evening we had planned in the first place. She’s got plenty to say about Evan, and I’m at the point where I need to just say something. “Clara, what’s your deal with him? You told me to talk to him that first night, you seemed to like him that night, what’s the fucking problem? What happened last year when you guys got into that blowout fight? I can’t understand why you hate him so much. He treats me well, I love him, you’re my best friend and should be supporting me through this. What’s the issue?” I ask. “Val, that’s a loaded question,” she responds hesitantly. “What, then? Spill. Now” I say. “Fine, but quickly before he comes downstairs. Don’t hold this against me, you asked for this just to remind you,” Val begins, “Long story short, I didn’t realize when you two first met that I actually knew him. Well, knew OF him. He was my brother’s drug dealer. Like, serious shit, Val. Cocaine, heroin, and I once I realized that was the connection, I couldn’t shake it. I called him out a year ago because he caused my brother a lot of harm and fueled his self-destruction so much that he lost his job and had to move home with our parents at 39. And he still owes Evan thousands of dollars, and I told Evan a year ago that he can take it and shove it up his ass. I hate him for putting my brother and I in a situation like that, and I will never forgive it. I don’t even know if he has a real job, Val, but he’s like the biggest dealer in New York. And nobody has any idea because he plays it off like he’s this dapper guy who works in finance”. I’m stunned. I don’t believe her. I don’t want to believe her. I can’t. This can’t be happening. “Clara I – I don’t even know what to say. How could you have kept this from me for so long? Why are you just telling me now? I mean it makes so much about him make sense, but I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me,” I fight back tears as I say this, “You know what, I need to take a walk I’ll be back. He will probably be coming down soon anyway so you won’t have to fake a smile around me when he decides to show up to the party”. I nearly run out of the house, away from everything. I don’t know what to think. I am madly in love with the biggest and most sophisticated drug dealer to the wealthy in New York? And I never caught on? And Clara never told me, even when she knew? I just need a minute, so I go all the way down to the lake and cry. I cry for myself, for the idiot I am (in what way, I’m not quite sure yet), for the awful things Clara’s brother went through, and for the fact that apparently Evan was the catalyst of it all. And for the fact that, despite all of this, I am still, definitely madly, in love with him. I decide that I’m stable enough to go back inside. So in I go. SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 1 ST , 2:30 AM

I just witnessed my boyfriend standing over my best friend’s body with a gun in his hand. And she was bleeding from her head. And he did it. And I didn’t even scream. And I let him torch the house. And I got into the car with him to drive far away from it all. And now I am in the car with him, somehow happy I can finally be with him and only him. And I feel free of something, of what I am not sure. But I am happy. No more drama. I decide not to ask Evan about the things Clara told me because, well, he knows I am aware of that darker side of his personality now. Maybe he will share, maybe he won’t, but I don’t need to risk my life trying to pry open his Pandora’s box of secrets. I may never know why he shot Clara, or torched the house, but what I do know is that somehow, someway, I feel like I need to be with him forever. I want to be with him forever. I still love him, after it all. And I’m out of my goddamn mind.