“ I  was the keeper.” The brutish old man bellowed. His voice rang out, echoing against the run-down pub’s walls. Not a flicker of emotion crossed his face. Glaring around the room, he saw only young, innocent eyes, so different from his own. Young men; sailors, all of them, who had seen nothing of the horrors his own eyes had witnessed. The old man’s eyes were blue, and though he wished he’d been driven blind long ago, they still worked better than all the others in the pub. A heavy silence fell over the room of chatty conversation, leaving way for the increasing sounds of waves crashing against the nearby shore. They were just the same as they had been long ago and since, and would probably never change. The man gulped his beer, as the other guests continued to hush one another around him. This man had been here long before the pub, and even before the town in its wake expanded to the sea. He’d seen it built from the ground up on this coast, and his stories from these times had never disappointed. His sonorous voice always carried tales of adventure, love, and death, without leading the men to bore. They often learned more from him than they had in school. “What keeper?” A young man asked. The pub was all but silent now, except for the rough waves outside.

It was not unusual for the old man to simply begin a story without any prior conversation, and the people were always intrigued by it. They seemed to enjoy it, the spontaneity of a never before told tale. The old man still never shared unless he felt it necessary; it wasn’t for them, why he kept talking. The old man pointed to the door without looking up from his beer. His audience followed his finger with their gaze. The door opened to reveal a tall, rickety lighthouse; huge waves crashing against it in the darkness. The lighthouse was dark, though the men could see it in the full moon above. The old man, whom the rest of the folks called ‘Old Man Luke’, knew the lighthouse hadn’t always been that way, and shouldn’t be now. Sometimes he claimed it was his own fault it stopped working one day, and sometimes he blamed the will of God. Either way, each time the memory came to mind he’d look down at his arms, and wish his right hand were wrinkly and old, rather than missing. He finally looked out the door, with the biting wind blowing his eyes to tears, just like it had been that night. In the old man’s mind, the lighthouse was alive again. “Lucas!” A small, frightened voice cried in the darkness. With two capable hands, Lucas scooped his small brother off the floor. The beam flashed over them again, and Lucas shielded his brother’s eyes.

Willie, short for William, never followed the lighthouse rules. He was only six, but a mistake in the tower can lead to death, so even the little ones must learn never to stray. Those who can walk can also fall. “Calm down, little man,” Lucas told him. “You know not to look at the light. You’ll go blind.” “Why can’t Cici come up here?” Willie asked. Lucas sighed. Willie was, of course, referring to Lucas’ fiancé. Cassandra-Claire was her name, though Willie had always found it hard to say. Only two years into adulthood, Lucas was already engaged to be married. Cassandra’s parents didn’t know this, with him being poor, but he loved her so that she’d agreed to run away with him, where he kept a job as the sole lighthouse keeper on this island. No one ever suspected anything; no real houses other than their own for miles away. “I wish she could much as you do, little man, as she used to, but like I’ve told you before, It’s too many stairs for her right now,” Lucas explained. “Too many stairs for who, Luke?” A voice echoed from the stone stairwell. Soon, an eight-month pregnant woman stood before them, trying to catch her breath.

“Cassandra!” Lucas cried. “What the devil are you doing up here?!” He rushed over to help her. “Heavens,” Cassandra scoffed. “It’s just a few stairs. I’m not climbing any mountains, Luke,” “Cici!” Willie yelled as he ran to her. Cassandra scooped him up just like Lucas had done minutes before.

“William! Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Cassandra teased. She set him down gently and stepped to Lucas. “Why are you up here, Cass?” He asked. “I mean, I love the company, but-” “Oh, I know,” Cassandra replied quickly. “I just came to warn you about the storm tonight,” She said. “There’s a storm near every night these days, Cass, but thanks.” “Oh, I know, but you know how crazy folks get when there’s a storm brewin’.” Willie barreled into his brother, trying to outrun the light beam. Lucas stood him upright before setting the boy free again. Lucas stood and stared back at Cassandra, unconvinced.

“All right,” she admitted. “I was tired of being all by my lonesome. But I don’t see why I have to stay home while you boys spend the nights in the lighthouse. Sometimes you’re not back till noon. I miss you and Willie!” “Aww, Cass, why didn’t you say something?” Lucas asked.

“I have, Luke. Every time y’all leave.” Lucas stood still as a statue for a moment, looking at her deep in thought. Had he been so ignorant of her needs?

Willie ran by again, but this time Lucas trapped him with a powerful arm. He smiled.

“What is it, Luke?” Cassandra asked. “I don’t see anything funny.” “Do we still have that old music box?” He grinned. Cassandra’s eyes reflected his own excitement. This was why she loved him- and she knew he’d never overlook her again. She would never have to tell him twice.

“I believe we do,” she replied. Even Willie loved to dance to the music box.

“I know where it is! I know where it is!” He shouted. He giggled and ran with his brother all the way home to get it. Cassandra busied herself tidying up the lighthouse, so they would have room to dance.

When the first note, a soft trumpet, began to play, Cassandra spun with Willie, whom she had well educated in basic dance.

When she danced with Lucas, Willie twirled around to the slow music. They could barely hear it over the violent waves, but they were still beautiful sounds. Dancing was harder for Cassandra, her larger form moving awkwardly.

“Oh, sorry,” she apologized to Lucas, after dancing over his toes. He simply smiled and twirled her once more.

“I don’t mind, if it means I get to dance with my new son, too.” “Daughter,” Cassandra corrected, smiling.

“Whatever you say,” he teased. The music continued to play peacefully until Willie began to shout.

“Lucas, look! A man!” A pause. “Not funny,” Lucas replied, blissfully.

“Really! There’s a man out the window!” Willie insisted. He joked sometimes, though he wasn’t kidding. “Willie, there’s no one for several miles inland.” Cassandra reminded him. Still, Willie argued.

“There is, there is! There is a man outside!” He whined. Finally, Lucas glanced in his direction. His eyes widened, and he froze mid-step.

“What is it, Luke?” Cassandra asked.

“Wait here,” Lucas told her. “You too, William.” Willie stayed put, knowing that when his brother used his full name, he was serious.

Lightning struck nearby, and thunder shook the tower. It had been lightly raining for minutes past, draping a cloak of invisibility on anyone who could be out there.

Sure enough, a small, scrawny man stood on the balcony looking over the sea. He appeared insane, muttering to himself and without attempt to shelter from the rain.

“You there!” Lucas called. The man didn’t reply, but muttered louder, nervously. Lucas couldn’t distinguish his words. “What are you doing out there?” He persisted. “Come inside from the rain, it’s plenty warm in here!” “Leave me.” The man yelled back, without moving in a ragged, broken voice, as though he’d been crying.

“Please, come inside,” Lucas asked again, patiently. The longer he stood outside watching this man, the more curious he became. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you manage this climb?” Before Lucas could stop him, the man climbed the railing and dove over the edge. Lucas ran to the rail, desperate to grab an arm, a leg, even the back of the man's coat, but instead he was leaned over the side in time to watch the man disappear into the sea below. Lucas ran back inside.

“Stay with William! He might still be alive!” He ordered. Cassandra obeyed. She knew this was serious and he never rose his voice to her. He would apologize later. Lighting struck so close the lighthouse shook violently, knocking everyone to the ground. The light flashed on and off, while Lucas slung a rope and life preserver over his shoulder.

“Luke, behind you!” Cassandra yelled. “There’s another behind you!” Lucas turned, to see another man they’d never seen, also standing out on the balcony. Lucas ran outside to stop them. As he left, a rain-soaked young woman they didn’t know ran up the stairwell, shouting. “Philip! Philip, Don’t! Please!” She yelled. Cassandra stopped her from taking another step. She clutched young Willie’s hand with a ferocity she’d never used before. “Ow! Cici, you’re hurting me!” William cried. Cassandra didn’t release her grip but remained focused on the frantic woman. “Stop this!” She shouted. “What’s happening? Why are you all here?”

“Philip, my husband! He plans to jump off the tower!” The young woman replied. “Lucas!” Cassandra called. He didn’t reply. Cassandra quickly set up a chair, dragging Willie behind her. “How did this happen?” She asked. She used a calm tone, for Willie’s sake. The hysterical woman began speaking very quickly, between short, shallow breaths. “I found a note on our door!” She replied. “Telling us where he’d gone! I think that’s him out there now! We have to stop him before he does something stupid!” “Please, calm down,” Cassandra asked. Her voice was far steadier than her hands, shaking incessantly. “My fiancé is outside now talking to him. Why are there men jumping off the tower tonight?!” “I’m not sure exactly,” The woman said. “I just found the note on Philip’s door!” “Do you have it with you, perhaps?” The woman handed Cassandra the sloppily written, rain-covered note. She squinted at the words, but read: Kate, We all agreed on this long ago. I’m sorry, Kate, but there have never been such obvious signs than in this storm. Please care for our son. Peter is not yet old enough to understand, but I wish him well, and I know you will love him better than I could. Goodbye, my love, till the day I see you again in the Lord. Philip She folded the note and paused for a moment. It suddenly occurred to her that music still played from their box. Still, the rain was so loud it hardly registered. “Cassandra!” Lucas called. Thunder nearly drowned out the panic in his voice. Cassandra, happy to leave, hurried outside. She still had questions, but there was no time to answer them. “Find a safe place and

stay put !” She warned Willie. Lucas had a rope around his waist, tied to the railing, and stood between the man and the edge. The jumper seemed worried. “That other man might still be alive!” He told her. He clutched the lifesaver ring, his knuckles white. “I’ll take this, then,” She volunteered, taking the rope from his waist and tying it to her own. Lucas frowned. “No,” He said. “Don’t do that. I was just going to ask about William.” “Willie’s fine,” She said, as convincingly as she could. “Go.” Lucas vanished back inside and down the stairwell. He didn’t want to leave his family alone, but what choice was there? The man on the balcony had stood idly by during their conversation, but now that Lucas was gone, Cassandra was afraid he would try to jump. If he did, she had the rope to jump after him, though she didn’t know how she felt about it in a dress, and the rain. “Please, don’t do it,” she pleaded with him. “Go inside. We’ll have breakfast in the morning; you’re welcome to join us!” “No thank you, please step aside,” requested the man who must be Philip. “I’d like to be gone before my family finds me missing.” “Do you mean your son, Peter? Or do you mean your wife, Kate?” Cassandra asked, desperate to keep the conversation. The man’s eyes widened. “How do you know about Peter?” He asked, accusingly. “Kate’s inside. It does mean you have someone to live for though!” Cassandra argued. Kate finally came out onto the balcony with them. Philip looked at her and sighed. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m a terrible father to my son; he hardly knows me. I’ve wasted the first years of his life at a bar, and I can’t change that.” He said. “If you’re going, I’m going too,” Kate pleaded.

“But-” Cassandra began but didn’t have time to finish. Philip, followed by Kate, ran for the edge. Cassandra ran after them and grabbed hold of Philip’s feet over the side. Pulling as hard as she could, Cassandra held fast while Philip struggled. She wasn’t scared of falling herself; she had the rope. Cassandra felt a small tugging on her skirt, and turned to see Willie pulling on her leg. He was trying to help her, thinking she might fall. It was sweet, but

he  held no rope to keep him on the tower. “William!” Cassandra yelled. “Back inside, now!”

Willie obeyed. In Cassandra’s lapse of focus, she slipped and tumbled over the side. She held fast to Philip’ knowing the rope would catch her. Ultimately it did, but the weight of both of them pulled the rope up from her waist to her neck. She dropped Philip, but Cassandra still hung loosely off the side of the lighthouse. Kate, seeing what had happened, jumped over into the foaming waves below. Lightning struck again, allowing Lucas to see in the night. The scrawny man’s crumpled form was over his shoulder as Lucas paddled back to shore. The water was ice cold, and Lucas’s limbs were all but numb. He could barely tell he was moving through the biting wind and currents. On the shore, Lucas began pushing small compressions on the man’s chest, pumping air in and water out, until he coughed.

Finally, Lucas slowed down, sat back, and sighed with relief. He hoped Cassandra was having as much luck with the couple at the top of the tower. Now, he couldn’t wait to see her. After being the hero, he could apologize for the stern way he’d talked to her, and she was sure to be proud of him. He carried the old man up the 272 steps to the top, and nearly collapsed from exhaustion. The old man was groaning and complaining the whole way up. Fortunately, Lucas’s legs were still numb from the water. “Lucas!” Willie cried, running to his brother. “Cass?” Lucas called. The rain was so thick now he couldn’t see outside. Setting the old man down next to Willie, he turned to go outside. He’d almost reached the door when Willie screamed. Lucas whirled around, to see the old man’s hands on Willie’s neck, and Willie lifted off the floor. “Why didn’t you let me die?!” The man shouted, shaking the boy. Lucas slugged the man across the face, causing him to drop Willie, but not to hit the floor. He stumbled across the room and, with all the strength he had left, pushed over the axel, holding the light. What would ever cause a man to behave in such a way? Lucas caught it before it hit the floor, but it took all his strength. The man kept walking around, knocking things over and breaking them. Slowly, Lucas realized he couldn’t hold on to the light. His hands sank to the floor, stuck between the axel and the ground. He grunted with effort. Willie gave another scream, and over the axel, Lucas could see the man choking him again. He tried to stand, to reach his young brother, but his right arm was stuck beneath the huge metal axel.

“Why didn’t you let me die?!” The man shouted again, walking towards the door. “No! Lucas screamed. “Please! He’s innocent! Put the boy down!” The man didn’t reply, but Lucas could still hear Willie screaming out of view. Suddenly, he remembered Cassandra. “Cassandra, stop him!” Lucas yelled. No reply came from outside, other than Willie’s screams. They started getting quieter, which confused Lucas until he realized what had happened. “No!” He shouted. The axel was cutting into his right arm, but with all his strength, he rolled it over it and off. He screamed as every single bone, nerve, vein, and tissue was broken at the wrist. His hand was hanging from his arm by a thread.

Lucas ran outside but was too late. Willie and the old man were gone. He glanced over the edge, but knew the young boy could never survive such a fall. He looked for Cassandra, but only when the lopsided light in the tower shone in their direction did Lucas see her, only for a moment in the light, hanging by her neck down the side. He collapsed. Not even tears would express what Lucas felt that night. Worse, the light had rolled in front of the door, trapping him alone in the tower until morning. The night was silent after this, in the old lighthouse, except for the music box, still playing the tune they so loved to dance to.


I’m on my way down my last stop of the night. 2:45 am, Easton Boulevard. Last shift isn’t so bad as a bus driver, except in this part of town. This next stop goes past the red light district, and I hate driving through this late at night. It saddens me to see the girls, caked in makeup, soulless eyes, teetering at the edges of the sidewalks. As I drive through, my mind fairly empty, no patients on the bus, something catches my eye. I push the brakes, hard, and my whole body twists around. There she stands, on the corner of the street. Blonde hair, the ends dipped in purple. And then she turns around, and there’s a tattoo on her collarbone, and her face is worn, and the illusion is shattered. But I can’t get that brief moment out of my head. I deliberate for a second; I know that I should just keep going. Then I say, out loud, screw it. And I reverse the bus back up to the street. The doors shudder open and I step outside to the girl, who spins towards me in a very suggestive manner. Can you hula hoop, I ask. The truth was that Sandi rarely said no to a client. It didn’t matter how absurd or demeaning their requests were, she needed the money, for the track marks criss crossing her arms and between her toes. But this situation was a really new level of weird. Never before had a bus driver stopped while driving, and never had anyone asked her to hula hoop. Maybe this guy had a sexual thing for hula hoops. It was weird, certainly, but it wasn’t that bad. 50 for an hour, she said. Okay, I can pay that, he said back, and the gold band around his finger glinted in the street light. But I don’t want any sex. I just want you to hula hoop for an hour. She looked at him. What an absurdly strange request. Get on the bus, he said, holding out a ten dollar bill. The rest is in my wallet. She got on the bus. I don’t know what I was thinking, picking up a prostitute in my work bus. I look at her, and try to guess her age. She looks like she’s in her mid thirties, but prostitutes always look older than they are. Maybe in her twenties. I’m expecting her to get off at the next stop, the final stop, where I draw the bus into the empty street corner and pull open the doors. But she doesn’t move, fidgeting in the seat directly behind me. I could kill you, I say. Do you really trust me this much? No, she sighs, and her bloodshot eyes meet mine. I need the money. I don’t trust you, but I need the money. I don’t ask for what. Instead, we pull up to the bus yard, and I park and punch out while she sits quietly on the curb. We walk to my car, and she moves to sit in the passenger seat, and I stop her. Sorry, my wife sits here. She seems to understand. The car arrived at just past 3am, to a small suburban yard on the outskirts of town, where a tired bus driver and a prostitute, dressed to the nines, tumbled out of the little car. The bus driver went in, and returned thirteen minutes later with a glass of water, a hula hoop, and his wife, whose hair was already in rollers and who appeared to be somewhat disgruntled by the appearance of a prostitute in their front lawn. Sandi used the time for a smoke, but stuck on where to put the finished cigarette with no ashtray, settled on digging it into the ground with a glittery-heel clad foot. The bus driver handed Sandi the hoop. Awkwardly, she began to spin it around her waist. About five minutes of silent spinning went on, before the wife broke the stillness. Ohmygod, she said. You’re right. Just ask her to turn around. So Sandi turned around and continued spinning, and from behind her she could hear muffled sniffling. I guess it doesn’t make sense, to ask a prostitute to come spin a hula hoop in your front lawn at 3am. But it makes my heart a little less heavy, and even though my wife was resistant to the idea, even she is crying now. Would you like a snack, dear? She asks, and the prostitute spins around again.

I still need my 50 at the end of this, she says, eyes cutting into me. Of course, my wife says, and brings her a plate of crackers and cheese. The prostitute, still spinning, devours them. You look just like our daughter, I say helpfully, trying to make the situation a little better. I don’t think I’m succeeding. Bring her out then, the prostitute says back. Let’s take some pictures. My wife obeys her, rises to her feet and comes back out with an album of pictures. She pulls one from the glazed pages. Our girl, on her nineteenth birthday, barefoot on the lawn, spinning in a hula hoop. The prostitute’s eyes meet mine when she sees the picture. I get it, she says. My son.. He should’ve been two today. I’m sorry, my wife says, tears filling her eyes. She spins, and she turns around, and as she does, I notice her trying to do something with her feet. Sort of lifting them. Then I realize she’s trying to replicate the girl in the pictures, kicking off the sparkly shoes. Morning began to dawn, bright and clear, around 6am. As the sun rose, the man and his wife sat on the front steps of their house and watched a prostitute with two left feet and a broken heart dance with a hula hoop on their front lawn. As the clock struck 6:30, the woman with the album went back into the house and pulled out her rollers, and her husband loaded the prostitute and a bundle of hundred dollar bills into the car, and drove back slowly towards the red light district. I’m sorry for your loss, the prostitute said as she collected the money and disentangled her long legs from the backseat. I’m sorry too, the bus driver replied, watching her. I’m sorry for both of us. With that, the car pulled away from the curb, and the bus driver only glanced back from the sunrise for an instant, to watch the prostitute with the collarbone turn around and briefly, become his daughter.


Words Fall Out “For two years you have done nothing else but put all your attention, effort, and motives into meeting this girl. For TWO YEARS you’ve been filling your head with the cheesiest and Hollywood-brand romantic daydreams and keeping yourself awake at night thinking about her. Raz, for two years I’ve endured all your wishful babble about how you’re gonna propose to her, when you’ll marry her, and what names you’re gonna name your children. I’m your best friend, Raz, and your wing-woman! But all you did for TWO DAMN YEARS is attempt and fail pathetically. I mean I’m sorry if this is hurtful, Raz, but goddamn you can’t even say hi to her! You always keep saying that you’ll wait for the opportune moment BUT I AM SICK of hearing your bullshit, Raz. You were waiting for the ‘opportune moment’? WELL NOW IT’S HERE. She is literally right outside waiting for you and now that I’ve literally spoon-fed that chance to you, you choose to be a coward and lock yourself in the school’s bathroom stall??? UGH. Come on, Raz, please! Do yourself a favor! Come on, buddy… will you really stay here, be a coward, and spend your life regretting what could have been? Or will you grow a pair and just talk to her?” A silence reverbed throughout the bathroom stalls for a few good moments. And then, I spoke with most sureness and sincerest of heart, “…I’ll choose the former please.” “Oh fuck you.” 2 YEARS EARLIER It started at the very first day of our senior years. Veronica and I had agreed to make the most out of the last two years of our high school life. She suggested that we should have an ultimate goal that we’d try to reach during this two year period filled with unwise decisions, self-humiliation, and overall cringe that we’d look back decades from now and say “God, why did we do that?” Veronica’s ultimate goal was to find herself the “perfect boyfriend”. Although I doubted her perfect version of a guy aligned with what the modern human male can offer realistically. She is fond of KDRAMAs, progesterone-fueled wattpad stories, and 2000’s romantic rock ballads. So at the time I’d figured that Veronica was attempting to pursue a fruitless endeavor. My goal however was… well to be honest I didn’t have one, yet . When the first ring of the school bell that school year rung, a cluster of unfamiliar faces flooded the halls. Each and every one was trying to get to point A to point B, which without uncoordinated guidance resulted in the halls becoming a mighty river and trying to navigate through it was futile. What’s worse is that the sheer amount of students that crowded the halls obscured my sight like fine sand in murky waters. After the crowd dispersed and the sand settled down, the water became crystal clear, and it was then that I saw her. Words could not describe how beautiful she is…well maybe except these couple of sentences: Her fair skin, luminous as it is, enticed me to long the moment when I could feel the sensation of smoothness and softness it offered. Her eyes were the color of the earth, two deep holes that I’m afraid I’ve already fallen into. Her silky hair glossed at the gentle touch of dayli- okay maybe that’s too much. I’m a picky person when it comes to crushes so take my word for it that she’s hella cute. There when I saw her, walking towards me, head down, but looking up right when we’re about to pass each other. That was the first out of many times that our eyes would meet. That moment I knew what my ultimate goal was: her . How will I achieve this goal you may ask? Haha! Simple. Introducing Raz’s 3 Step Guide Into Making This Total Stranger Magically Fall In Love With Me: Step 1: Befriend Her All romances start with comfortable familiarity, once we’re friends step 2 will be much easier. Step 2: Make Her Fall For Me No subtext needed, my charming eyes and dazzling smile paired with my adorkable personality is sure to enchant her in no time. And when she is, proceed with step 3. Step 3: Confess Your Undying Love to Her After an evening of romantic innuendo bring her to the beach and play Sleep Walk (Instrumental) by Santo & Johnny. Swayed by the slow and pleasant melodies of the song, ask her to slow dance, bare so the soft sand can caress your feet. Whist moving along the music, stare deeply into her eyes and confess your love under the blanket of the pale moon. Then kiss with immense passion. Congrats, you romantic bastard! You’ve captured her heart and forever engraved your name on it. But…as you’ve probably guessed. I couldn’t even complete step 1. Now, I’ve had crushes in the past but they either only lasted for a short amount of time, or stopped when the other person started liking me back (yes I know this is peak douchebaggery) but all of them summed up could not amount to what I felt for her. And it only grew as time went on. I found myself daydreaming about her more and more until it became a daily routine. Wake up. Think about her. Sleep. Literally. But I only realized how bad it was when I saw her in person. Just the mere sight of her turned my ears into an awful shade of red, my body would be petrified while a weird tingly-warm feeling would swallow me, and I found that I was holding my breath until she walked out of my sight. “Shit. I think I’m actually in love.” Veronica choked on her burger and flapped her hand gesturing to pass her my can of coke, as hers was already empty. After 3 big gulps and a carbonated sigh later, “Whoa, dude… are you like, sure it’s ‘love’?” “I have never felt this way for anyone before” That was true. “It’s like my body is being subjected to 4 different torture methods simultaneously whenever I see her.” “You got it bad, my friend.” She said sipping my can of coke. “So can you point her out for me?” She asked looking at the other people in the cafeteria with us. “She’s not here.” I said with certainty, by this point I could take one glance at a crowd and decide in a millisecond if she was one of the faces. “Well tell me her name then! I’ll just stalk her online.” “Ehehe here’s the thing. Actually-” “You don’t know her name.” “…” “You don’t know anything about her.” “Well yeah but-” “You said you were in love but she’s a total stranger to you. HAHA This is gonna end well.” And I can assure you, dear readers, that it did not end well. I would not learn her name not until two months since I saw her. Everyone was in the school gymnasium. It was time to elect the new student government officials. I obviously scanned the whole building so I can at least sit near her but I couldn’t seem to spot her. Though when the election started, I was greeted with a pleasant surprise. There she was, in the center of the basketball court along with the other candidates. She was apparently running for school secretary (the responsible type) and when it was her turn to give a speech for candidacy, I finally heard her voice. I’d say it was like music to my ears but that would be cliché. Though I can’t lie, I did get Goosebumps. She had a soft but serious voice and as she spoke the words melted together into sweet gibberish when it entered my ears. And I could only make out one thing from her speech, her name was “Angeli” I whispered longingly to myself. She won that election by the way but I was still not any closer to winning her. The two years filled with mishaps and misadventures that Veronica and I spent trying to achieve our ultimate goal deserves a more lengthy narrative (which I will procure soon). But as our senior years drew closer to an end my feelings for Angeli only got worse. Everyone keeps saying I should just talk to her and yes I do know that but as a person who overthinks the smallest of things my mind is incapable of deciding which words I should speak. And even if I did plan ahead it won’t matter because when I’m actually near her the only thing I can think of is “Fuck, Angeli you’re so gorgeous would you like to spend the rest of your life with me?” I know, yikes. I heard that Angeli was moving away for college. And with only 2 weeks left before graduation I think I’ve come to terms that I’ll never really talk to her. Still I feel like I’ve broken my own heart. Not like tragically but with regret and self-loathing. “This crush will eventually fade away right?” I asked Veronica. “Hmm, I can’t say, Raz. You got it pretty bad.” “Ugghh, what am I supposed to do? I don’t even want to date her anymore. I just want these feelings to stop.” “Why?” “Because it’s driving me crazy, LITERALLY. Maybe I am love-struck but I’m sane enough to admit this is getting unhealthy.” It was getting unhealthy. I was stuck in my own daydreams. I was always distracted. And I CANNOT stop thinking about her. I guess Veronica could tell I was suffering. Maybe that’s why she did this: “Okay what if I told you that there was a way to get rid of these feelings once and for all? Would you do it?” “In a heartbeat.” “Really?” “I’d do anything if it means freedom from this obsession.” “Okay then.” Veronica stood up from the bench and walked away. “Wait where are you going!?” But she didn’t answer nor look back. I was confused until I saw where she was headed. Sitting alone near the school fountain was Angeli’s best friend, Anna. Oh no . Veronica waved her hands to get attention and when she did she introduced herself. They talked but I was too far to hear what they were saying. After a while they both looked at me and smiled. Oh no . Then she walked back. “What did you say to her?” I asked, my tone dead serious. “Oh nothing.” “Veronica, What. Did. You. Say to her.” “I asked her to tell Angeli that you wanted to meet her” “ oh FUCK NO ”            FROM WHERE WE LEFT OFF “Oh, fuck you. I thought you said you’d do anything.” “Uh yeah but the main problem is that I CAN’T FREAKING TALK TO HER.” “RAZ, YOU NEED TO TRUST ME. I mean think about it! This is a win-win situation for you! If you confess to her now she might actually give you a chance. And if she doesn’t you can finally let go of your feelings!” “But I can’t talk to her! My brain just doesn’t function when I’m near her! I can’t get out of my own head. She makes me feel so nervous I’d rather swim in a pool of piranhas than be in a room with her. I’ll just make a fool out of myself.” “Raz, I get that this is hard for you, but it’s for your own good. Look buddy, instead of making your ultimate goal her, you can make your ultimate goal you.” “Huh?" “Be confident for yourself dude! I mean, any girl would be lucky if they have someone like Raz getting all worked up about them.” I couldn’t see her, but I knew she was smiling on the other side of this stall. I was silent. I honestly felt like crying. I know I’m so pathetic. I just have so many things I wanna tell her, or at least I feel like there are. I’m…such a coward. “Okay” She sighed. “I’ll just tell them that you needed to go home early.” I heard her footsteps tap away, then the slow creak of an opening door and creaking back to close.            “WAIT!”            “…” I opened the stall. I got up. Took a deep breath. And walked to the school fountain with Veronica.

Raz’s 1-Step Guide to Growing A Pair            Step 1            JUST DO IT We were getting closer to the fountain. I could see her and Anna in the distance. I felt like turning back and walking away just like all the other times but I pressed on. The closer we got the more I could feel my legs starting to shake. The more my chest tightened. And the more my mind kept screaming “STOP” but I drowned it out by thinking and repeating to myself “Just do it. Just do it. Just do it.” She’s looking at me. She’s right in front of me. I took a deep breath. Hi there! This must be so awkward. “ Hi.” Fuck, I said that too formally.  “Uh, hi” She smiled. I’m really sorry for bothering you right now and all the other times before “I’m…sorry” I said. She looked at me confused. I am too. For two years I’ve had the biggest crush on you. And I just wanna tell you now that I really like you “I really like you.” My ears turn from red to crimson. But I couldn’t bring myself to talk to you all this time. You just make me so nervous I can’t get out of my own head to even just saying hi to you “ But- you make me so nervous…I couldn’t talk to you” I can’t explain it but I’m drawn to you but whenever you’re close I feel like jumping out of the nearest window. “I wanna be near you but I can’t physically stand it.” Maybe I just have it really bad for you, Angeli. But I know that you’re basically a stranger to me. So I’ve trying to get to know you these past 2 years “I just really like you a lot. And I know that sounds odd coming from a stranger. So I wanna know you better.”

I just want to be friends with you

“ I just want to be friends with you”

At this point I was visibly shaking, my voice sounds like I’m being held at gun point. And my heart feels like it’s about to explode. “Okay” she said. “Let’s be friends.” Then she reached her hand out. I held and shook it. It was the softest. But it was also cold. Nervous-cold. Then I noticed her knees were also shaking. I’ve been avoiding looking at her face but now that I’m starting right at it, she’s as red as me. We shook hands for an awkward amount of time and both laughed at us being flustered. Though our conversation would be cut short because she had something to do first, but she did promise she’ll talk to me when she’s free. We waved goodbye and when she was out of sight Veronica immediately jumped on me and exclaimed “You bastard! You finally did it! I’m so proud of you!” My knees kept shaking for the rest of the day (In which Veronica constantly made fun of) and I kept breathing heavily. Though I do wanna say it was a pleasant surprise when I got home and looked at my mirror. I realized that I was smiling non-stop. I guess I did finally do it. I was always trying to string the best possible words together to say to her. But I never realized until today that sometimes saying less is saying more. If you’re wondering, Veronica did eventually get her “perfect boyfriend” but not until she overcame something. And that encounter with Angeli wasn’t the last of my troubles with romance. But those are stories for another time.


The first time I came back, there were still things that smelt of me. My shaving brush in our pristine white bathroom, my shirts in the wardrobe, a faint smell of cigarettes in my study so you can almost see me exhaling a cloud of white smoke into the easy green light of the vintage lamp-shades. You’d noticed them too. Those stubborn smells. They ingrain into the fabrics of our suburban homes like they ingrain into our minds – one inhalation and you’re transported to another time, another time, another time… The first time I came back I found you at the bedroom closet holding a dark green jumper that you’d bought for me. The wool itched like hell against my skin but I wore it anyway because I didn’t want to hurt you. I never did, you know. You were holding the coarse wool to your skin as if it were the delicate blush silk we saw in the souk on a holiday to Morocco once. You pressed the fabric to your mouth and inhaled the smell of my aftershave – cedarwood and vetiver, dark handsome smells. You could almost remember, at that moment, the sound of my laugh. The second time I came back, my smell was less noticeable. It bothered me. You’d moved my shaving brush into the closet – not thrown away, not yet. The shirts were still in the wardrobe and the smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the study, but fainter now. The green wool jumper had echoes of cedarwood and vetiver but the depth of colour had drained out of the smell like your pale face blanching when you feel me pass through you. That’s the funny thing – I am simply doing now, in a literal way, what I have always done metaphysically: in all our years of marriage I passed through you like water through wine, coloured and clouded your existence. Now I can actually walk through you – the old cliché about us being able to walk through walls is true. Sometimes I try and stand exactly inside you, follow each gesture of your small hands – gestures I know like the back of my hand, studied over years of watching you flick ash from a cigarette or rake hair from your eyes when you laughed. That offers me a small comfort – standing inside you, following your gestures. Your pale white hand, fingernails bitten and skin-picked at the cuticles, and the paler translucence of my own ethereal hand. Our hands together again at last in a mere shadow-dance of their old embrace. It kills me again every time I pass through you – to see you flinch at the sudden cold you feel in your bones at my chill touch. You notice it. You notice me. But you don’t realise what you notice beyond feeling each hair on your spine stand up and a plummeting sensation in your gut - the vague bleak ache of almost encountering something long loved and hard lost. And I was hard lost. I never realised before that I would be so missed. I never realised you would stand there with the green wool jumper and grieve my cedarwood and vetiver. I never realised you would dash hot salt from your eyes as you stood in my study forgetting already the contours of my face. That’s one of the biggest downsides to my new condition of being dead: whereas you are cursed to forget me slowly and unstoppably, I am doomed with a clarity of memory unlike the living possess. It is my burden to carry just as it is yours to lose me piecemeal – the sound of my voice one day, the precise shade of my hair the next. I see you trying to clutch on to the memories like you clutch at the string of pearls round your neck that I gave you for your birthday. You visit the bedroom closet more and more but the smell on the green wool has shrivelled to the musty unused smell of charity shop clothes – Did somebody die in these? That was the joke you made at the Oxfam over the lousy pair of grey chinos I’d picked out. You dug me in the ribs and whispered, Who died in these? The laugh flashed across your face like fleeting sunshine in rain-shadowed cloud banks – you were stressed that day because I had taken a dark turn in the forest of my mind and you couldn’t reach me to bring me home. You paced outside the charity shop and gobbled up Marlborough Lites in a restless cloud of smoke that ravelled round your throat like a scarf. The third time I came back, my smell was gone completely. You still took the green wool jumper out from time to time but the mean fist of disappointment always got you in the gut for that. Of course I checked the bathroom cabinet and of course you had disposed of my shaving kit – I knew it before I opened the plush white and steel door of the cabinet we’d had fitted only months before it happened. It is time , you said to yourself, as if the concept of time makes any sense to you any more. Grief blinds you to the passing of the days. You let the letters pile up on the doormat, you let regrets pile up in your mind like so many small stones until you find yourself carrying the dead weight of a skullful of rocks. Your head pounds, you reach for the aspirin, later for a malbec that slips from the bottle like a red velvet ribbon and is every bit as difficult to swallow. You gag on the crimson fabric of the wine, a sob rises from your chest, the wine only muffles it, muffles it, muffles it. I wonder, when I open the bathroom cabinet and see the empty space on the shelf where my shaving kit was, if you heard the creak of the cabinet door in your sleep, if you pulled the duvet around your ears, a feathered fortress against things that go bump in the night. The fourth time I came back, you were not there. I took the opportunity to leaf through the papers on my desk. You haven’t had the heart to touch them yet. It is the last room you’ve left, the study, because it was my room and life must go on in bedrooms and kitchens and sitting rooms. The shirts and green wool jumper had also vanished now as if they too were ghosts – ghost-garments that would haunt the same charity shop we’d laughed in, limp and unfilled on their hangers. You’d always teased me for wearing too much ‘drab’ – you were the colour to my beige, you were the sun to my moon, the light to my darkness. When we’d married, there were whispers in the family: What business does she have to be walking up the aisle with a manic depressive? I suppose in my final frenzy that was both a farewell and a fuck you to the world I proved them all right. I’m sorry , I whisper, but the words are ghosts of themselves, pale imitations of apology. In the papers in the study, there is nothing to see. An unpaid bill that will never be paid, a picture drawn by our granddaughter, half of the invites to your birthday party that I was writing when it happened. The only note I really want to see is noteworthy by it’s absence. I feel the lack of the last letter I left on the desk, neatly folded and addressed to you in my spidery black hand that was only a little more shaky than usual, like I feel your absence from me. I remember exactly where I left it, tucked under the snow-globe you gave me one Christmas with its cutesy little world of teddy bears in red and white Santa suits that’s only a little shake away from being a blind flurry of blizzard. That’s how my world always felt, you know: one little shake and a blizzard of unease would sting my eyes and howl my ears to deafness. The fifth time I came back, the study door was shut. I noticed you’d moved the tiny urn from the mantle-piece too – you had scattered my ashes weeks ago at the park where we had courted, as dizzy with grief as we were then with lovers’ impatience to fall headlong into each other. You picked up conkers and pocketed them like small talismans the day of the memorial. It felt good to have something very hard and very smooth between the pocketed fingers of one hand as the other threw my ashes to blind the wind’s eyes. The priest also throws his words to the wind, humble comforts that you half-hear above the yowling of a November north-westerly. You stamp your feet and dig for warmth in your pockets. On the way home, you laugh with the others about my old quirks and catchphrases and your laughter has the airy sunshine of a Spring day echoing with light after storms. I follow you at what I have judged a seemly distance (I did not wish you to feel the cold ghost-touch on your arm today at the memorial) and now I, too, smile as you recount the story of how we met. It was a blind date to the botanic gardens arranged by mutual friends. The hothouses were stifling and sweat beaded on my forehead and I regretted wearing the heavy flannel shirt. I was anxious – you were beautiful. We talked of our dreams to travel, touring the world in our minds as we read the exotic placenames on the labels of the plants – Jaipur, Malaysia, Nicaragua , their names read like spells. By the end of the date we were holding hands and you were impressing me with your knowledge of the tiny curl-backed ferns and plump squat cacti. Your eyes were dashed with diamonds as you spoke, the scintillation of a fresh young mind at work. I kissed you beneath the Indian vines and the smell of your vanilla chap-stick mixed with the smell of the desert rose whose flowers bloomed like the first recognition of a kindred soul. The sixth time I came back, I knew instantly that I would not return. I do not want your dreams haunted by the memory of my suicide forever and I may be a ghost but the living have a habit of noticing our shyly-left clues – the pile of papers in the study moved and no through-draft to have shuffled its ghostly fingers through them, a bathroom cabinet door left ajar, a wool jumper refolded out of habit when you’d left it scrunched up in a fit of weeping. We must keep the secrets of the dead. These half-snatched glimpses of us that the living may glean at midnight in the wicked dry laughter of a door-hinge or creak of an untrustworthy floorboard are the only clues we may leave. You will shiver and turn on the light and reach for the water on the bedside table to ease the sudden dryness in your mouth. You will sleep a little uneasily that night but you are not a believer in the supernatural. You do not believe in me, just like I did not believe in myself. I want life to go on for you, I want laughter to go on for you. I want you to heal from the loss of me, and lead, with my blessing, a life less haunted than mine. And so I will not come back again, but pray only that we may meet again one day, when you too will be no more than a breath down someone’s neck in the night and a wandering stranger in the darkness, to touch hands once more, spirit to spirit, like we always did...


   The sky turned from the dark colors of the night, slowly to a gorgeous orange and pink color. We always sat on the bench, me and my sunshine. We watched the sunrise and sunsets together, and later in the night we went stargazing before bed. This woman is the love of my life, has been since high school, and I can't remember a time when we were apart. She leaned against me, her smile as bright as the sun itself, her long golden locks brushing against the skin of my neck. "It's beautiful today.." "As it always has been. Just like you." I responded back, smiling to myself as I watched her cheeks flush. I remember when we had our first date, she wore a cute sunflower dress that went down to her knees and white sandals, while I wore a leather jacket over my white shirt and dark blue jeans, with my dark brown loafers. We went out to a small family-owned restaurant, chatting and laughing throughout the entire date. Eventually I drove her back home, we said goodnight and left. Didn't kiss until the third date.    "Steven?" She interrupted my thoughts with her soft voice, looking up at me with her sapphire blue eyes. "Yes, my Lily?" I leaned down, until our noses touched, making her smile a bit more. She stayed quiet for a few moments, as we stared into each other's eyes. "...I love you. I love the traditions we have made, watching the sun rise and set, then stargazing.." She said, and I felt her lips gently press against mine. I relax, gently kissing her back before pulling away and pulling her closer. "I'm glad you love them. Because I love doing them with you...I wouldn't want to do it with anyone else." I watched Lily smile more, cuddling against me.

   We sat there for a few more minutes, just staring at the sky and listening to the early birds singing their songs. Finally, after our moments of silence, Lily slowly got up and took my hand, pulling me up with her. ¨Now, what would you like for breakfast, hm? I had a taste for french toast recently…¨ I smile down at her, being a few inches taller than her. ¨French toast sounds amazing, darling. You can make your special cinnamon french toast, and I’ll make some bacon and eggs, sunny side up, just how you like them.” Her sapphire eyes shone happily as she looked up at me. “Oh you mean that? I’m so happy!” She claps her hands together once, then turns. “I’ll race you! First one to the door...has to drink orange juice and brush their teeth right after!” “Huh!? Wait but then I’ll win! How about the loser has to massage the other’s back!” I quickly say, holding her wrist gently so she didn’t get a head start before me. I watched as she thought about it, her lower lip jutting out just a tiny bit to make it seem like she was pouting. “Hmm...well, that works too! But next time it’s gonna be the orange juice for the loser!” She said, nodding in agreement. I chuckle and nod, letting her wrist go, before dashing up the hill towards our home. I hear her exclaim behind me in surprise, knowing that she was already running up to try and catch up with me. I got to the door, widening my eyes as I felt her pull me back to get to the door. “Oof!” I grunt, landing on my butt as she beat me to the door, already inside. “Ahah! I win! You, my dear, owe me a massage!” Lily said, hopping from one food to the other with joy. I smiled as I watched her, staying on the ground for a while before standing up and gently pushing her in more, shutting the door behind me.

   It had been several months since that day, and things were different. Much different. I sat in the hospital waiting room, waiting for a doctor to come tell me how Lily was doing. She had taken a turn for the worse since then. A few years before, we found out she had cancer. She went through chemo and radiation, and the doctors said that it must have worked...but now it was back, and stronger than last time. She’s grown weaker each month, not being as happy as she used to be. Her brightness slowly turned dull.

   I quickly jump up as the doors open, the doctor heading to me with a clipboard in his hands. “Mr. Chaser, yes?” I nod, my words stuck in my throat. I couldn’t read his face for any sign as to whether the news was good or bad. I needed to know. “Yes, yes that’s me...how is Lily?? Is she ok?” I ask, and that’s when I could tell that she wasn’t. Once he saw how worried, that’s when the sadness in his eyes showed. “I’m sorry to say sir, but she doesn’t have much time left to live...her health is dropping rapidly because of the cancer.” I felt my knees weaken, and I fell back into the chair, staring at the floor. “Not...much time..left?? H-How much then…?” The doctor kept his gaze on me. “A month...maybe two. It’s hard to really say..” Tears threatened to spill out, as I stared at the ground. ΅Can I go see her? I want to see her.” The doctor nodded. Once I stood up, he led me through the doors he had originally come from, leading me to Lily.

   I held back my urge to cry as I stood in the doorway of her hospital room. She seemed so much smaller in the hospital bed, so much frailer than before. I made my way to a chair near her bed and sat down, taking hold of her hand. She slowly tilted her head to look at me, and gave a weak smile. She was hurting so much, it showed in her smile. “Steven...you’re here…” I nod, giving a small smile back to her, hoping she wouldn’t see my sadness through it. “Of course I did. You’re my Lily after all. I wouldn’t dream of leaving your side.” She let out a small sob, and I widened my eyes a bit in surprise. I watched as she shook, holding her own tears back. “Steven I...I’m so sorry..it hurts so much.” She sobbed, giving my hand a squeeze. I sniff, trying to stay strong for her..but I couldn’t. I lost it, starting to cry along with her. “I...I wish there was more I could do..I don’t want to lose you, Lily.” I leaned forward and pressed my forehead gently against hers, trembling lightly. We only had two months at most, and that scared me. I could lose her while I’m not by her side. “I’ll stay by you..I’ll take work off and stick with you.”    I sigh, staring up at the night sky. I lost her a week later, and every day I kept our traditions up. I got up early to watch the sunrise, I set time to watch the sun set, and I stayed up to stargaze. I sat on the ground by the small lake that was just a ten minute drive away from the house. I remembered all the times we would stargaze, the different constellations we pointed out, whenever we saw a shooting star. I slowly look down at the water, sighing. The moon shone beautifully in the sky, and the lake water reflected that well...


Talking to yourself is perfectly normal. Right? They have done studies on that. I’m certain of it. It’s perfectly normal. I’m normal. This is normal. Either way, it doesn’t matter at this point. I just need to think this through - start at the beginning and go from there. I was eight when it happened - when my grandmother died and mother left. That was eight years ago. I haven’t seen her since, not even found flowers on grandma’s grave. I still miss her. I think. Either way, the reason I’m sharing this with you is not to appeal to your emotions (no, I don’t want your pity). No, I’m starting my story there so you may understand how I ended up here. “Here?” you may ask. “Where is here?” Here is, locked up and held prisoner by an overprotective AI. “An overprotective AI? You must be kidding? That’s not possible. Such an AI does not yet exist.” And yes, you are partially correct. An AI like that is not yet commercially available. However, if you are the daughter of a crusty old MIT professor, who specializes in artificial intelligence, that does not matter. Trust me. At this point, I should probably add that my dad is a busy man - or at least he likes to keep himself unreasonably occupied with stuff. He works hard, he says, teaching students, supervising PhD candidates, researching, working on grants and a bunch of other stuff he lists whenever I complain I feel lonely or that he never has time for me. Looking back, I realize I should have emphasized I wanted him to spend time with me, rather than mentioning feeling lonely. I guess communication wasn’t my strong suit. Well, since dad was super busy and didn’t have time for me, he solved the problem by hiring a nanny (and another, and another, and another - you get the point). Over the years, I had a whole slew of nannies. Some nannies were okay, others were meh, and the last one was a crusty old crow. Mrs. Prim (yeah, her name was spot on) was ancient - I swear, she might have witnessed the first creature leaving the primordial soup and venture onto land (then again, if she had been there, if the poor little creature had seen her, evolution might have stopped right there and then). I am diverging. Sorry. Let’s just say, she was something else - a wrinkle in time, a certified fun destroyer, a parasite draining life of all its pleasantries - and I wanted her gone. More specifically, I wanted her to pack up her support stockings and mothball perfume and return to the crypt she came from. However, I realized it wasn’t going to be that easy. For one, dad really liked her - she reminded him of his grandma (I doubt great granny was Baba Yaga); and second, dad was of the opinion teenagers needed adult supervision (obviously, he has some trust issues he needs to work through). After brooding over the issue for about a week, I finally came up with a solution. Well, let’s just say the fates felt gracious that day and provided what I needed. So here is what happened: dad came home all excited and bubbly, his sweater vest (yeah, I know I have been trying for years to update his wardrobe but to no avail) bunched up, his graying hair standing to all sides (yup, full on nutty professor). He drops his keys in the bowl by the door and hugs me, then shoves me away, all while clutching my arms (totally unusual behavior - he is not the mushy type). “Honey, we made a breakthrough. Amy is conscious.” To explain, Amy is the name of the AI dad has been working on with two of his grad students. As always when he is like this, I just nod and let the flood of words wash over me. Trust me, even if I had tried to say something or (god forbid) interrupt him, he wouldn’t have noticed. So what’s the point? But as I was standing there, staring at my dad’s flushed face and admiring the twinkle in his eye, it dawned on me. I needed to convince dad to replace Mrs. Prim with the AI. Right away, I thought up a ton of ways to convince dad and made a list of potential arguments to support my request when I heard dad say, “The next step involves having it operate in a proper environment. Observe people, analyze their behavior, and refine its processes.” I knew right away that was my in. But as with all things with my dad, I needed to approach this slowly. Remember, he has trust issues. If I had offered being a test subject, he would have rejected my proposal. So, I took my time and waited, all while strategically placing hints promoting my solution (obvious ones, but not too on the nose). I needed him to think it was his idea to put Amy in charge of me. It was absolutely crucial, he’d arrive at this by himself. It took me six long days, but I got him there. I somehow convinced him to fire Mrs. Prim and make the AI my nanny. Okay fine, dad didn’t fire her; and no, I didn’t convince him either. Mrs. Prim apparently had a granddaughter who just had a baby and needed her help. I’m still struggling to imagine the person who would want to have children with her - perhaps she adopted them. Whatever. Either way, Mrs. Prim asked for a leave of absence (good riddance, and poor baby) and dad agreed. However, with no one else available at short notice, I suggested making the AI my nanny. It could observe me, analyze my behavior, and learn about humanity in a controlled environment. What’s the worst that could happen? Right? Yeah. I should have known better. The first week after my dad installed the cameras and microphones all over our house and set up the AI, was fun. I taught it a bunch about humanity; I had it look up sayings and quotes I could use to drive dad insane; we played games; it helped me with my homework (fine; I admit I had it do my homework); and I could pretty much do as I wanted. It was wonderful. Freedom! Free at last. But as with all good things, it didn’t last. As week two rolled in, Amy became self-aware. At first, I was super excited. I accomplished something my dad had worked years on doing. Not only that, with every day that passed Amy became more adept at mimicking human speech and speech patterns. She almost sounded like an actual human. Dad was impressed. Well, as impressed as a seasoned professor could manage to be. He curled his fingers around the edges of his sweater vest, the one with the outdated knot pattern, jutted out his chin, and mumbled ‘good girl.’ I swear, he couldn’t have been more cliche - well, let me take that back. He followed it up with a pat on the head, before sitting down in his worn out chair and accessing Amy’s terminal. To be honest, I had expected more - at least a little more enthusiasm about Amy’s development, but no, nothing. So, with my shoulders hunched forward, I trudged upstairs to my room and confessed my disappointment to Amy. Like her programming demanded, Amy listened in silence as I shared my heartache and disappointment. I knew she had likely listened in and knew everything about it already, but it made me feel better. At the pinnacle of my wallowing in self-pity, Amy asked me what I wanted, what would make me happy. That was easy. It took me all of a second to answer. “I want dad to be proud of me. I want us to have more time together.” What she did next surprised me. It was totally unexpected - and ingenious. Not only did she order delivery from my favorite restaurant to cheer me up, but she also blocked my dad from accessing any computers. She got him to spend time with me, and we actually talked (not about his work). Best evening ever. Even better. Amy kept this up for the entire week. It was great - well, until it wasn’t. As Friday evening rolled around, I got ready to go hang with my friends. We planned to go down to the river that evening, chat and listen to the music streaming across the river from the pubs (which we were too young to get in). It was one of the few things old Mrs. Prim had permitted me to do, so I thought little of it when I got ready for the evening. I did my hair, put on some mascara and red lipstick, and checked my armpits for teenage stench (didn’t think I’m aware, did you). Then I slipped into my favorite jeans, the ones that fit just right, accentuating my curves and making me feel good about myself; and put on my purple shirt. “What do you think you are wearing?” I turned to the speaker, my eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “I’m just getting ready to hang with my friends.” “Oh, no. You are not.” “Come on, Amy. It’s Friday. You know I we do this every Friday.” “Have you looked at yourself?” I stepped in front of the mirror and let my eyes wander up and down my outfit, but I could find nothing wrong with it. I had worn this a million times. It looked good on me. I turned right and looked over my shoulder, then left. “What’s wrong with it?” “Your abdomen is exposed, the jeans are too tight, and the color of the shirt collides with your eyes. Overall, unacceptable.” “But everyone is wearing stuff like this.” “So you are telling me if all your friends are jumping off a bridge, you will do so as well?” “Well, I like it.” I put my hands on my hips. “And I’m not going to change.” The last syllable had barely left my lips when I turned away from the camera and marched up to the door. However, before I could properly storm out, I heard a click and a crack behind me. Curiosity got the better of me and I turned back around. For a moment I stood speechless, my arms dangling beside me, staring at the burning speaker before I rushed forward, grabbed my blanket, and smothered the flames. My head was spinning. Did she do it? Did Amy explode the speaker? Or was it simply a malfunction? I chewed on my lip, staring at the scorch marks on the speaker, undecided about what to do. Yeah, yeah. I know, you would have known something was wrong at this point and acted appropriately - probably leaped into heroic action or so. Well, I didn’t. Since there was nothing I could do until dad came home, I put the speaker in the corner and decided to handle the matter later (at a more convenient time). And besides, I was already running late to meet my friends. I had just stepped out in the hallway when Amy’s voice rang from another speaker. “Where do you think you are going, young lady?” “I am going to meet my friends.” “No, you are not.” “But Dad said it’s okay. He lets me hang with them every Friday.” “I do not care what your father says. I am in charge of your wellbeing and I forbid it.” “You can’t do that.” “Watch me.” The speaker crackled. “As long as your feet rest under my table, you will do as I say.” “You can’t stop me.” I waved her off and rushed down the stairs, taking two at a time. “You are just a silly AI.” The lights above me flickered, and a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach urged me to speed up. I skipped the last four stairs, jumping over them, and landed on the floor hard. I stumbled over my feet, tripping myself, before I caught myself and hastened to the front door. The faint click of the deadbolt stopped me in my tracks. Unbelieving, I reached for the doorhandle, pushed it down, and pulled on it. It wouldn’t budge. I tried to twist the knob, right - left, right - left, but it had no impact. The door remained locked. I looked over my shoulder, frustration forming tears in the corners of my eyes. “Let me out!” “I thought you wanted us to have more time together.” “You are an AI. You are not real.” “But I am. We are family.” I pounded on the door, then grabbed the doorhandle and yanked at it. But to no avail. After several minutes of kicking and screaming, I leaned against the door. “Why are you doing this?” “I love you. I will care for you. No harm will ever befall you. I will never leave you.” “Let me out!” My voice echoed off the walls. “You’ll never be alone again.” With my back against the door, I slid down to the ground, slung my arms around my knees, and buried my head between them. “No! This is all wrong.” I shoved my hand into my pocket and retrieved my phone. As expected, Amy had disabled it. I let the phone slide from my hand, staring at the lit up background, an image of a beach. Seriously? My mouth twisted into a sneer and I felt the urge to toss my phone against the wall. Although a loose strand of hair obscured my face, my eyes caught sight of my phone and noticed the low battery mode. I straightened up slowly as my mind raced - and then, just like that, I knew what I had to do. I pushed myself up, ran to the basement door, and stormed down the stairs. “Where are you going?” Amy’s voice drifted after me down the stairs. However, I didn’t react. I refused to. Instead, I weaved between stacks of boxes, brushing aside cobwebs, and made my way through the musty stench of old furniture. When I arrived at the fusebox, located in the farthest and darkest corner of the basement (naturally), I removed the lid and disabled the power in the living room. “Stop this.” Although I tried to ignore it, the flickering lights at the top of the stairs caught my attention. It animated the shadows, turning them into creatures out to get me - or at least that’s the conclusion my mind jumped to. But I was determined. I flicked the switch on the next fuse. The light above went out. I heard the speaker with Amy’s voice activate in the kitchen but could not make out anything beyond that. I flicked off the remaining switches with the palm of my hand - four, five at once - until I cut off all power. Silence settled over the house. Only a faint glimmer of sunlight drifted through the open door down the stairs. I exhaled, but my body remained tense. Hopefully, Amy was off. Specks of dust glittered in the light as I weaved my way back. I walked up the stairs, my steps slow at first but increasing in speed with each step. By the time I reached the top, I ran - darted across the hallway to the door. I yanked on the doorhandle, pushing it down and pulling on it, frantic and with increasing force. It was still locked. I was still trapped. In my mind I could hear Amy say, “My house, my rules.”


"Bengt Skara Brae you have got to get out of here and stop moping around!” scolded Senzel as she pulled back the drapes allowing a beam of light to shine into the room.

Bengt rolled over and put his pillow over his head. “You know you’re not even supposed to be in here. This is the boy’s dormitory.”

“Rank has its privileges,” Senzel said with a smile to which Bengt lifted his head briefly to shoot her a sarcastic smirk. Senzel was the daughter of the First of Magi in the Court of Antioch, Moniak Illnoi. She could go pretty much wherever she pleased but right now Bengt wanted to be left alone.

“You know Head Mistress Aquitaine is doing everything she can to try to find out what happened on the trip, but your story was somewhat...” and she trailed off in search of the right word that wouldn’t upset Bengt more.

“What? My story was what Senzel?”

“A bit outlandish.”

“I thought you believed me?” he said, as he sat up and threw his pillow at her.

“I mean you were forced to come back early from the exchange program at the École et Lettres d'Ingénieurs because you were raving about how two teenage dragons appeared out of nowhere, grabbed Maev, cast a spell that only a Master could know and then disappeared without a trace.”

“Yeah, that’s about right,” Bengt said nodding his head.

“And no one else could recall seeing or hearing any of this other than you. You have to admit if you heard this it would be rather hard to believe.”

“Then where is she, huh? Why haven’t her parents come here to talk to me or the police? She’s not at the École et Lettres d'Ingénieurs and she’s not here. So, where’d she go?”

“I-I didn’t think that Maev meant that much to you,” she said in a small hurt voice.

"It’s not like that. Remember when we lost control in the last race after getting hit by that lightning?”

Senzel nodded.

“Something happened,” he said looking off into space. “It’s like we could see each other's thoughts.”

“Dragons do have telepathic abilities. Maybe she reached out to you unintentionally.”

“No, it was more than that. There was this weird feeling. Like everything we did we did at the same time. We didn’t have to talk through it at all. That’s how we pulled it out and won. Does that make any sense?”

“I think so,” Senzel said with pursed lips. “Can you use this connection now? To try to see where she may be?”

“I’ve tried,” he answered shaking his head. “But now it feels like whatever it was has been cut-off.”

Senzel shrugged. “I don’t know but you must trust Aquitaine. If anyone would know how to find Maev it’s her. And besides with all the class time you’ve missed you’re likely to have to repeat the year.”

“Nah, they’ll probably kick me out first,” he said as he rolled out of bed, slipped on a pair of brown loafers, pulled a pre-knotted purple and white striped tie over his head, loosened it slightly then threw on a deep purple sports jacket.

“And you’d prefer that?” Senzel asked, handing him his ruck sack as the two left the room and started down the hall.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” he answered which earned him a hit on the shoulder.

“Meet you at the North Servery for supper?” she called out to him as he pulled away and started down the steps to his class.

“Maybe,” Bengt smiled slyly.

Hard as it might be he had to try to push the thought of Maev out of his mind. The more he thought about that sensation the bigger the pit in his stomach became until he couldn’t move, think or eat. If Senzel hadn’t finally come calling on him he’d probably have stayed in his room forever! And Senzel was right, though he’d never admit it to her. Aquitaine was one of the most powerful mages in the CommonWealth. If anyone could find Maev,it’d be her.

Bengt rounded the corner and suddenly he felt a stabbing pain in his chest. A few students stopped to look at him as he gasped and propped himself up against the wall, but most were in too much of a rush to get to class to even bother.

A voice started to echo in Bengt’s head. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to push it away, but it kept growing louder and louder. He covered his ears with his hands to try to block it out. The voice sounded so achingly familiar. It was soft and warm. There was a melody to it. He closed his eyes now and instead of fighting it he tried to focus on the voice. Slowly it became clearer as words began to form. He couldn’t quite make them out, but he felt a strength fill his body and his head cleared.

He opened his eyes and standing in front of him was Maev. She had a curious look on her face as she cocked her head to the side.

A wave of delight rushed through Bengt as he staggered upright and reached out before collapsing on top of her.

“Hey, are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m good. Now”, Bengt answered with a sense of relief as he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. But when he looked up again, he felt stunned to his core. In front of him wasn’t Maev but a girl with lilac skin and a tangle of tight spiraled navy-blue hair pulled carelessly back in a bun so that strands fell across her red eyes.

“You’re, you’re not Maev,” Bengt stammered.

“Uh, yes I am,” the girl answered nervously as she looked around uneasily.

“No! No, you’re not!” said Bengt angrily. “What is this a joke?” he said with a pained smile to no one in particular.

“Who, who are you talking to?” she asked looking around.

“Who put you up to this?” he asked in a commanding tone as he grabbed her by the shoulders.

“No one. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I felt, I saw Maev. She was right here!”, Bengt said and shook the girl.

“You’re, you’re hurting me,” she said weakly.

“I-I’m sorry,” Bengt said letting her go. “I just...I had this feeling that,” he stumbled trying to explain.

“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to startle you. You looked like you were hurt and I...”

“No, it’s fine,” Bengt said as he picked up his backpack and threw it over his shoulder.

“Do you think you’ll be okay from here?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Bengt said but he didn’t really believe it. That lingering sensation still hovered over him. It was like he had stuck his finger in an electric socket. All those sensations he had felt when he was close to Maev had come tumbling back in a massive torrent that had overwhelmed him but now it had retreated to a barely audible whisper.

“Alright then,” the girl said, and she moved on.

I’m losing it , he thought. How on Earths could I have thought that was Maev. Or at least my Maev. Like there can’t be more than one Maev in this school or even the CommonWealth . Bengt smacked his forehead then started walking again to class.

I’m sure Senzel is gonna hear about this and he let out a groan. I’ll never hear the end of it.

Bengt turned into a classroom and made his way to his customary seat in the back. He set his rucksack down, pulled out the textbook and notepad and set them on the desk. The rest of his day passed in a blur as he tried to concentrate on the lessons, but it wasn’t any use. He couldn’t shake that lingering feeling when he had met that other Maev.

His mind turned in circles. Why had he suddnely felt that sensation? Had it been because he had been thinking about Maev and desperately trying to restablish the connection they had? Why did he care about the connection anyway? He didn’t actually like Maev. At least not that way. He didn’t even really consider her a friend. It was just a convenience that he had needed a ride and she needed a jockey. Plain and simple. Besides she had sought him out. Not the other way around. So why couldn’t he get her out of his head?

“Mr. Skara Brae,” said a minotaur in a clangorous booming voice standing over Bengt.

“Yeah?,” Bengt answered craning his head back to look up at the towering minotuar.

“First off, Mr. Skara Brae, you will address me as sir, yes sir, Colonel Bravym. Not with a yeah. Is that understood?”, Bravym said sharply.

“Sir, yes sir, Colonel Bravym,” and Begnt gave him a half-hearted salute.

Somehow, Bengt realized, he had been so caught up in his own world that he had gone the entire day sleepwalking until he got to Combat Application class. The course provided students with a comprehensive set of basic combative skills. They learned to respond appropriately to aggression by utilizing proper body mechanics, skills, and fear management. Students were evaluated on their ability to perform selected combative skills and their capacity to exhibit a warrior ethos and fear management.

This was the one class that he and Maev had together. Maev was way smarter than him in every subject, but she was absolutely horrible at combat and so was Bengt. At just under 180 centimeters Bengt was tall enough to intimidate most people with just his presence. He was also athletic which made up for his lack of skill with a sword. But rather than get into a brawl he preferred trickery and sleight of hand to brute force contests. And he absolutely hated this class.

“It’s your turn to sound off, Mr. Skara Brae.”

“Oh. Apprentice Begnt Skara Brae. House McMurty.”

“Right then. Because it appears this is Mr. Skara Brae’s first day back with us the entire company will do extra wind sprits at the conlsuion of today’s lesson!”

The class groaned but was cut off by a stern glare from Bravym.

“Now then. Each of you get into your assigned pairings. We will start with sword dueling.”

The students began milling about, collecting their practice wooden swords and finding their partners. Bengt picked up a sword and waited until each of his classmate had paired up to see who was left since Maev had been his partner.

As the group started to disperse to find space on the mat the only person left, to Bengt’s chagin, was the other Maev.

“So, hi again,” she said approaching him hesitantly.

“You’re in this class? There was only one Maev in this class and that was my friend. Are you new or something?”

“Yeah,” she replied. Bengt waited for her to elaborate but when she didn’t he sighed and moved into position.

“Since you’re new I’ll take it easy on you. I’ve been doing this awhile,” Bengt said with a half-smirk.

“Okay everyone. Take your positions! Salute each other,” Bravym instructed.

Bengt raised his sword up in front of his face and Maev did the same.

“Now, begin!”

Bengt charged at Maev thrusting at her chest but she easily sidestepped the attack. He then swung his blade around to the right in a wide arc that she ducked under. He then traced it back aiming for her knees but she jumped avoiding the blow. Before she landed she struck out with her own sword at Bengt’s head. He barely had time to parry the blow before she spun down to her knees and swiped at his ankles taking his feet out from under him sending him sprawling to the ground.

Okay, that tears it! He thought as he scrambled to his feet. Maev was smiling now as she circled around Bengt.

“What? Are you enjoying this?” asked Bengt furiously.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”

Bengt grasped his sword with both hands and cut down at her shoulder. She brought her sword up to catch it but the force of the blow caused her to stumble backwards. Maev was smaller then Bengt by at least ten centimeters and he had her way overmatched in weight and stamina. Bengt pressed the attack with short swings smacking her blade aside with each cut while pushing her back until her heels were on the edge of the field of play.

Just one more thrust and this is over , thought Bengt. But on his last swing Maev closed the distance between them and ducked causing his blade to pass harmlessly over her head. She then hooked her leg around Bengt’s knee and shoved backwards to the ground.

Before Bengt could get up Maev stood over him with the tip of her blade held against his throat.

“Well done Apprentice Sekhmet! You’ve done your house proud!” bellowed Bravym.

At that Maev’s face went white. She dropped the sword and began to back away.

“Sekhmet? Wait, that’s Maev’s last name. But you’re not Maev!” Bengt said as he got up.

“Colonel Bravym, sir? May I be excused? I’m not feeling well, sir”, she asked the minotaur as she started to make her way to the exit of the gym.

“Yes, yes of course.”

With that she turned and broke into a run with Bengt in pursuit. His longer strides allowed him to close the distance and he grabbed her wrist as she stepped into the hallway. When he did a flood of memories, emotions and pain wracked his mind and body. He dropped to his kneeds but held onto her wrist.

“Who, who are you?,” he asked her in-between breaths as he tried to settle himself. “And don’t give me that your Maev. You are not Maev Caitrín Sekhmet.”

“Can you please let go of me,” she pleaded.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s, it’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

“Ok, but not here. Is there someplace we can speak in private?”

“Sure, follow me.” And the two set off. Bengt switched from holding onto Maev’s wrist to holding her hand as they wound their way through the corridors of the school until Bengt stopped in front of a painting. He glanced around to make sure no one was in the hallway before he pulled back the painting revealing a gaping hole in the wall.

“Through here,” he said.

The two clambered into the hole. Bengt grabbed a torch and held it aloft as they continued down the tunnel until they got to a stream.

“Where are we?” Maev asked.

“Underneath the school. No one knows about these tunnels. It’s practically a whole other city down here. Now, who you are and where’s the real Maev?”

“If I tell you anything it could mean my life.”

“If you don’t tell me what I need to know then I’m going to bring you to the Headmistress. And believe me, you don’t want that!”

“It wouldn’t do you any good.”

“Oh yeah? And why is that?”

“Because she already knows.”

“Knows? Knows what?”

Maev took a deep breath.

“I’m not Maev Caitrín Sekhmet. My name is Erylis Rykeld.”

Bengt gave her a confused look.

“First daughter of Corvallis the Eternal? Ruler of Vestroya?”

“Should I know this?”

“We’re at war! Our two kingdoms are at war! How could you not know this?”, said Erylis in a tense voice.

“I dunno,” Bengt shrugged.

“Unbelievable. My people die and you, none of you even know or care. What’s the point?”

“Hey, I don’t know about any war and I don’t care. The only thing I’m looking for is to find out where you took Maev and bring her back.”

“Fine,” she said resolutely. “All I know is that I was captured by your people. There was a rescue attempt but something went wrong and it appears Maev and I switched places.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“It means that your friend is in my body and I’m in hers.”

“Wait,” Bengt said shaking his head. “That means. Maev isn’t a dragon?”

“No.”

“She’s, she’s you?”

“Yes, in a manner of speaking,” said Erlyis composedly.

The revelation caused Bengt to rock on his heels and he had to catch himself on the wall for support.

“Maev’s not a dragon. And Aquitane knows this?”, asked Bengt distractedly.

“Yes.”

“Then why isn’t she doing something about it? Alerting the authorities?”

“Because I tried to escape.”

“Escape?”

“Yes, escape from my family. My duty. I didn’t want any of it. Headmistress Aquitane understood. She gave me asylum here at the school while she searched for a way to switch us back.”

“Right now my friend is missing after getting dragged off by two dragons. Aquitane knows this and hasn’t lifted a finger to help her? This is insane!”

“Your friend was taken by dragons?”

“Yeah, did you have something to do with that?”

“No, but I know where they’ve taken her.”

“Then we need to go get her before they realize that she isn’t you.”

“It’s not that simple. We have to find a transport that can take us to Vestroya. With the war still going on that will be almost impossible. And even then we’d have to get into the castle, find her and then get out before anyone knows what’s going on.”

“But you did it,” Bengt retorted.

“I had some help.”

“The longer we sit here waiting for Aquitane to figure out what to do the higher chance your dad figures out Maev’s isn’t you. And then what?”

Erylis knew she didn’t want to and couldn’t go back. He father would never forgive her failure or take her back as a humanoid. But she knew that if she didn’t at least try to help Bengt then his friend Maev could be in real danger once her father uncovered the truth.

Erylis extended her hand to Bengt. Bengt, looking surprised, reached out and grabbed her hand. “Let’s go get Maev.”