I peered through the viewfinder, encasing the vista within my shot. The air was still and stifling. I paused, taking in the rolling valleys, barns, and farmhouses, with my finger on the button as though it were a trigger. Every picture on this thing is money spent, money I don't have. I have to be exact. I dropped the camera from my face and let it dangle around my neck. The trees here are deceptively lush on the river roars, abundant with fish as though this were that kind of place. I'm not sure of the kind of place this is. Everything about as far as the eye could see had secrecy and deception built into the rocks at the core of the mountains and dark secrets run deep in the groundwater. That being said, it looks appealing from a distance. The houses are brightly painted, and cars move like beetles to and fro. It's like when you're on an airplane, and all that occupies your mind is getting off and returning to society. There's an unsteadiness about being suspended and apart, which shakes you in ways you didn't know it could. Then you land. You realize how awful and suffocating it is and why humans have always been so adamant to take flight. That's exactly what it's like, except here the forces that keep you returning are far more complex and elusive. But they do just that. They keep you here until your flesh rots from your bones. I continued to walk along the dirt track back to my truck. I took snapshots of birds and flowers and occasionally found a perspective I hadn't imagined before. Although that's very rare. The truck began to appear in the distance. It was once a vibrant red but had since faded to terracotta. Rust had begun to eat away at the body, and someone had written “clean me” in the window dust. It works, that's what matters. Anyway, trucks are expensive. I noticed the sky began to fade to a dusky orange hue and realized it must have been some time since I checked my watch. It hadn't felt as though as much time had passed as evidently did. I can spend half an hour on one photograph and only perceive about 30 seconds of it. It's as though my mind is a vacuum of everything else for those minutes. I glanced down at my watch. The band was thick tanned and cracked leather with a gold clock face. It was already 6:00. Was Hugo’s flight landing at 5:00 or 6:00? I couldn't quite remember. Vivian told me yesterday, but I honestly hadn't been listening. I had to abandon my follies and return home. Inside, the truck smelled of familiarity. Even though I don't smoke anymore, the aroma had fused into the fabric of the seats long ago. Tobacco mixed with the smell of the vanilla freshener I always buy. I took in the comfort of my intimate awareness of it, then turned the key in the ignition, expecting to hear a low grumble as it came to life. Much to my surprise, the air remained thick with silence. I tried once more but to no avail. I let out a deep and frustrated sigh as what had happened finally clicked. I hopped out of the truck and glanced up and down the road. For once in my life, I was hoping to see another human being. I stood there for a few minutes. Just as the interior of my truck had greeted me with its familiar aroma, the smells of the valley were something that I knew deeply. The perfume of the wildflowers hung delicately in the atmosphere. Somewhere in the distance, someone had obviously lit a campfire, and the smoky smell mixed with pungent moss. Just as I was about to give up and call Vivian, I heard the wheels of some vehicle as it moved swiftly across the dirt road. From my right, I could see a blue van rounding the corner. I stepped to the side of the road and waved frantically, hoping I might get out of this mess. When the van slowed to a stop, I let out a sigh of relief. Before me was Tom. I knew Tom from where we used to work at the paper mill. Of course, it no longer existed. Like many things in this place, it had succumbed to ruin. It always seemed it was the best things that met this fate, at least around here. Tom's a very lively man, to put it lightly. Like many of this disposition, his laughter was infectious. And like many infectious things, you didn't always want to catch it. He could make a joke out of anything, and you'd find yourself in hysterics. Perhaps against your better judgment. As soon as he saw me, his face lit up for reasons I cannot explain. Sure, we knew each other, but I had always felt as though he had merely put up with me. He rolled down his window. “Gus! You all right there, buddy?” He seemed genuinely concerned, which I had not seen coming. “Ah, just a bit of trouble with my truck. I was going to call Vivian and—” “Hop in, seriously don't worry about it. I'm sure they can send someone to pick it up in the morning.” I looked around as though I really had another option before saying, “I really appreciate it, Tom, with Hugo coming home and all.” He smiled at the mention of Hugo. Everyone around here knew of Hugo’s important job in the city. His success had become the talk of the town for some time. Some more distasteful voices had started saying that he was sending money back home and that we were hoarding it all to ourselves. Of course, this wasn't true. I rarely even heard from Hugo. In fact, I don't think we'd had a proper conversation since he was a boy. When we did, both of us could sense the superficial nature of what was being said. “Of course, of course. What's he doing back in this dump?” He said it in a sort of affectionate way. Only he could really call it a dump, whereas if I had said it, I would have really meant it. “Just visiting really.” I honestly don't know why he decided to come. I got a call last week out of the blue to tell me of this trip to town. It wasn't like him at all. He's far more planned, I would say, but I don't really know if I know him. Sure, he's my son, but I had always felt there was a chasm between us, uncrossable and treacherous. “You and Hugo should come round for drinks if you're up for it. Even later tonight, Jenna won’t—” Normally, I would say no, but to be honest, the prospect of having everyone back in the house just sitting there scared me slightly. I could already sense the tension that even the sharpest of knives wouldn't be able to cut through. “Uh, you know what, I think I might take you up on that offer.” Tom took one hand off the wheel and gave my shoulder a hard pat and shook it slightly. “That's the spirit, Gus! You know, I really do miss the good old days.” I'm not sure exactly which days he's referring to. Sure, the paper mill wasn't the worst of it, but it made me slightly sad to think of this old man reminiscing about a time that he would never get back. We pulled into the driveway of my house just as Vivian’s car was coming down the road. In the passenger seat, I could see Hugo. He looked slightly different from the last time I saw him. I could see a few grey hairs poking out between his mop of jet-black curly hair. His face seemed more gaunt, and bags marred his under eyes. I jumped out to greet him. “What happened to the truck?” Vivian asked just as Hugo was gathering his things. “The darn thing broke down on me. I’ll have to send someone out in the morning.” “Hugo's pretty tired,” she declared, obviously having moved on from my truck. I nodded in response, with some awareness of what that might mean. Tom walked from behind me, just as Hugo got out of the car. “Hey, there Hugo. I was just asking your dad if the two of you would like to come for drinks.” “Um, yeah, I guess so.” He looked to me for reassurance, which was a rare thing. “I'd be happy to go.” I looked to Vivian. She didn't seem too miffed at the prospect of being excluded. I very much doubt she would have wanted to join anyway. The thing about Tom is that he is very much a traditionalist or man's man as you might say. I'm sure he would be shocked and appalled to see Vivian outdrink him as I'm almost certain she would. Perhaps, a younger version of her would question him on her lack of an invite and bring up his patriarchal standards for drinking buddies. However, in the moment, she remained silent. I thanked Tom for the lift and began to help Hugo in with his things. He had a surprising amount with him, a large suitcase as well as an oversized duffel bag. I couldn't remember how long he said he would stay. Maybe I hadn't asked. As we walked into the kitchen, I realized I hadn't eaten all day. Usually Julie did the cooking. I turned to Vivian for answers, and she looked back at me as though she knew what I was thinking and thought in return that I was being extremely rude to be expecting anything from her. “Pizza is alright with you guys?” Hugo had sat down at the kitchen table as though he didn't quite fit in with the surroundings or as though this were new and unfamiliar territory. They both nodded in response, and Vivian joined Hugo. As we sat around the table tucking into our pizza, there was a distinct silence. It wasn't a casual silence, the one you might find while food is being enjoyed. This was a far different thing. It was uncomfortable, and it seemed to shout violently at us. As we sat around the table tucking into our pizza, there was a distinct silence. It wasn't a casual silence, the one you might find while food is being enjoyed. This was a far different thing. It was uncomfortable, and it seemed to shout violently at us. “It’s almost eight, you guys should get going. I'm gonna go to bed, I have work unfortunately.” She dramatically rolled her eyes justice Hugo scoffed. She turned to him sharply, “what was that?!” He looked shocked at being accused of anything. “Nothing” he replied. She wasn't going to let go of this, “no seriously, what is it?!” Realising he wasn't going to get away with it he replied “So what exactly are you working at now? Last I remember, you worked in a bar.” “So?!” She answered back sharply. “I'm just saying, it's not exactly the most serious profession. Who cares if you sleep in.” “Like I said I'm going to bed.” She got up and threw her plate down onto the counter. Once she had left, I turned to Hugo, “You really do have to be less harsh on her.” “You know, you're the reason she never got up off her ass.” I was taken aback by the sudden direction of hostility towards me. “You know what happened.” I said, trying my best to not actually get into it. I stood up, “We can walk to Tom's place.” We walked once again in silence to Tom's house. The night had well set in at this stage. The smokiness I had detected in the air was now in full force. On the neighbouring mountain, I could see the flicker of headlights as they wound round the windy roads. At Tom’s, the wine flowed in red tidal waves and we had abandoned our hostilities with the help of alcohol . I took it in, knowing it would not be soon to come again. The whole night is a sort of haze now. I remember we went to the local bar and, with my camera still in hand I took snapshots of the night. The next thing that seemingly came was my warm and soft bed. It held me as my head spun. I stared up at the ceiling and watched the fan and everything else go round and round. Then sleep enveloped my senses. I was awoken by the song of morning birds, as they went from their nests into the brand new day. I could hear some sort of hum of activity coming from the kitchen. As I entered, freshly cooked bacon and eggs wafted from the door. Just inside Vivian was standing over a hot stove. In the corner, a very deflated looking Hugo sat, in front of a steaming cup of coffee, blacker than his hair. The smoke curled in the air like kelp at the bottom of a lake. “Morning,” I said, greeting them both. Hugo grunted in response, clearly not able for much more. I walked past them both into the garage where I had my darkroom setup. I flicked on the red lights and got to work. The place had an eerie feel, it was almost unsettling in the bask of red light. At some point Vivian had placed a plate of egg and bacon just inside the door. I must have been so consumed with my work that I'd hardly noticed. I left them untouched and they grew cold in the uninsulated garage. As my photo of the valley, I thought I was so intimately aware of came into fruition something wasn't right. I was expecting one thing and sure enough I got the other as always seems to happen. But this was different, as I looked down at the picture the mountains didn't look quite right. They were out of place and even the houses seemed to have been rearranged. I called Vivian in quickly, knowing she's the only other person who like me reluctantly knew every elevation and shape of the valley. “What is it?” She said opening the door. “Take a look at this!” She glanced over my shoulder, with a confused look. “It's a nice photo I guess.” “Does something not look off to you?” She let out a nervous laugh “Should it?” “I'm serious.” I retorted, “Everything's in the wrong place.” “What do you mean, it's just the valley.” Realising I was getting nowhere I dropped it, “Never mind.” She skulked away back to whatever she'd been doing but the image still played on my mind. How could something so close, so fundamentally a part of my life be unrecognisable? I was there yesterday, I knew the indentations of every slope and the shade every house was painted. This wasn't what I saw. This was something entirely different. Next thing I knew, I heard the shrill ring of the doorbell interrupting my train of thought. I heard no one stir to answer it and so I temporarily abandoned my confusion. I opened the door to see a cleanly shaven young man with sandy hair standing before me. He smiled at me, with a knowing look. Maybe he was one of the lad’s kids from town. He continued to look at me expectantly. He must have seen my confusion and he went on to explain himself, “I was just grabbing some milk and I forgot my keys.” This startled me, why on earth would this stranger have keys to my house. “Vivian!” he called, I was still shell shocked, how did he know Vivian? Vivian came running to the door. “What's wrong?!” She wasn't talking to me but rather the sandy haired strange man. “Is dad OK?” At this point I exploded, “What on earth are you talking about? Who are you and what are you doing at my house?” Perhaps, this was some cruel trick Vivian had come up with to confuse me. It wasn't very funny. But instead of amusement Vivian wore a look of utter horror. “Dad! It's Jacob, your son.” “I don't have a son called Jacob what are you talking about?” I started both of them, trying to crack the facade but to no avail. I ran into the house into to my darkroom. I locked the door quickly and dragged a chair to block the entrance. At least I still had my egg and bacon, even if they had gone cold. I could hear footsteps getting closer and whispering just outside. I could vaguely hear Vivian say, “I don't know what's wrong with him.” And the supposed Jacob say, “Jesus Christ, he didn't recognise me.” There was a panic in his voice, it seemed almost genuine. Then I had an idea, if this Jacob really did exist, then surely he would have been with us last night. I glanced at the pictures which were hung up on string around the room. In the dim red light, it was hard to make out which photo was which. Eventually, I came across the evidence of our big night out. The first photo, was of me with my arm wrapped around Tom. Obviously, I had given my camera to someone else, something which is markedly unlike me. Then as I looked at the next photo I froze in sheer terror or perhaps shock. Right there in the photo the sandy haired man stood next to Hugo with big grins across their faces and pints in hand. I remember taking this photo except it was only a portrait of Hugo. And now this stranger had somehow appeared. There was obviously something very wrong whether it was with me or the universe. Something deeply fundamental had shifted and altered the course of my existence. Next I had to decide what to do. I could continue to not recognise “Jacob” and Vivian and Hugo’s concerns could rise or I could play along with it. Either way it wasn't going to end well but one way would certainly end worse. I compose myself and gingerly opened the door. Vivian, Hugo, and Jacob looked up like startled lambs. “Hey dad, are you OK?! You really scared us.” Vivian was the one to ask this. “I’m sorry, I really didn't mean to frighten you. I just” “It's OK, we just wanna make sure you're OK" Vivian gave me sort of hug and sat me down. I hadn’t realised how weak my legs had become. I honestly don’t think I am okay, at least by any familiar definition of the word. The very fabric of my mind had to twist and contort to contend with such a lie, just as reality had done the same.


tw: brief mentions of body image - 1956 Cindy is 14.

Sometimes, when I close my eyes at night I see a woman.

She drips with jewelry and burgundy silk.

Gold lays on her neck softly, coiling around her wrists in dainty loops. Her hair is in pins and her teeth are the color of paper.

I see her now, on the stage. She’s swaying as she sings; her voice comes from deep in her stomach.

In the heart of the stage, her body doesn’t reflect the spotlights that hit her; she soaks them in. The beams wrap around her, sliding under her skin - she glows.

I’m awake now.

The hallway towards the kitchen is long, dressed with rows of framed photos in velvety black and white. The young woman from my dreams is posing in them, smiling wide with those paper teeth.

Bonnie Wright signed every picture.

In the kitchen it’s dark and smells like warm salad dressing and cigarettes. I walk on my toes and the floor still creaks. I pull a box of crackers from the empty pantry and head back to my room. Hot smoke wraps around the walls of the hallway, reaching towards me from the living room like long gentle arms. I sink to the ground, my back to the wall and eat quietly. Around the corner, the radio plays. My aunt Bonnie rocks in the coffee-stained chair, balancing a lipstick-stained cigarette between two red fingernails.

Playing from the radio is her thirty years younger. She sings softly, her voice gravely and deep now. She could listen to herself sing for hours; to be fair, I do the same.

*  *  * In my room I stretch my legs out as far in front of me as I can, curling my hands over my toes. My hair falls over my shoulder and tickles my thigh. “Cindy?” calls a voice from the hallway. “Cindy, it’s -” Bonnie enters my room, “oh good, you’re dressed.” I nod, still holding my stretch firmly.

“I’m going to pick you up from ballet at 3,” my aunt tells me, pulling my hair tightly into her hands. “You have singing lessons at 4.” My head is nearly ripped from my neck as she twists and twists the hair atop my head, securing it in a bun. “Okay,” I say.

I slide like butter into my middle split, and my body aches from the days of work before.

Bonnie sits on my bed and it groans, tossing her pink house slippers to the floor beside my face. She smokes for a moment, watching me.

“Perhaps we lay off the crackers for a while.” “Hmm?” I look up, confused.

She leans forward until her face is right in mine. There is a bit of food between her teeth. She runs a hand down my sides like I’m a cat. “Do you see that bit of fat when you sit down?” My heart is on the floor. “Yeah.” “People will see that, in your recital dress.” She takes another little puff.

I nod. Bonnie shrugs and tells me, “I know it’s harsh, but that’s just show business.” *  *  * It’s after rehearsal one night and Bonnie is asleep. Still, her voice hums from the radio, floating through the apartment, being soaked up by the walls.

In my room, I put my clothes for the next day in my dance bag. It is brown and has my initials embroidered on the top - I think it was a gift from my dance teacher when I was only five.

In the mirror I stand square and upright, bringing my stomach into my ribs and giving my back an arch. I drag one leg in front, across the other and smile as best I can. Now I look just a little like my aunt in the picture that hangs above her bed.

When I breathe out my stomach relaxes, rounding out naturally. I tighten my jaw and turn out the lights.

Some nights, I dream of Bonnie in the audience. She sits in those cushy wine red theater chairs, her elbow on the armrest as she pulls the cigarette from her thin lips. 				Her legs are crossed. I stand in the heat of the spotlight, with sweat rolling in beads down my neck. My hair is tight in a bun as I sing from my chest and breathe from my stomach.

In this dream, my words dance through the theater all night.

Afterwards, my aunt meets me backstage. Somehow the absence of flowers in her hand or a smile on her face speaks far louder than anything she could have said. “We need to work on your breath control,” she tells me, placing a hand on my low back to guide me to the dressing rooms.

It seems harsh, but that’s just show business.

- 1962 Cindy is 20.

Bonnie has passed.

Tonight the casino is loud.

Men are wearing suit jackets that smell of whiskey and playing cards. At their homes, the landlines ring off the wall with angry wives demanding they end guy’s night and just come home. It’s already 11:00.

I stand on the stage with my hands behind my back. The floor is creaking when I step, like it used to back home. The man who is setting up my microphone finishes the job, and gives me a nod.

Stepping forward, I push my dress behind my heels. The rim of the skirt is lined with a red feather boa that tickles my toes.

As the music starts I close my eyes gently, swaying a little and placing my hands on the mic stand. When I sing, I draw breath from my stomach like Bonnie used to say. 			   My head burns but not as badly as my throat, and as the words come out they feel hot and dry.

In the large room, the men still play cards. Perhaps I saw a head turn my way; the eyes crawled from my feet to my neck then looked back at their hand.

Still, I sang.

Because that’s just show business.

*  *  * The bus was late arriving so I was late getting home, but that didn’t matter as nobody was waiting on me.

My apartment is warm and the air is thick. Dishes make a large shape in the sink that is hard to make out in the dark. The counter is scattered with half empty glasses.

In my room I turn on the lights and set my bag down on the bed. The embroidered letters have begun to fray, and now they barely say anything at all. I put my heels by the door and sit on my carpet in my floor length dress, stretching my feet out in front of me and grabbing my toes. I exhale with the burn of the stretch, burying my face in my knees.

My mirror leans against the wall, with the hook for hanging it and the nail to attach it to the wall in a clear bag beside it. On the floor as well is an old photo of my aunt. 	Fifty years old by now, it must be at least.

Bonnie Wright is still scribbled at the bottom. I look into her eyes with her smile and her perfect white teeth as my feet ache from the heels. They have blisters underneath the bandages. Truthfully, she likely would have been proud of the blisters because beauty is pain and that’s just show business.

- 1967 Cindy is 25. Tonight at the casino I got my picture taken. I was told I’d get the hard copy of it on Monday when I come in for the night shift.

As I was taking it I was in a sleek red dress. I wore gold earrings that dripped over my shoulders; my honey skin absorbed the spotlight. My stomach was relaxed in a deep exhale. After work, I took the bus to the only open cafe down the street. The light-up sign was missing two letters as they had burnt out, but it was open until 4.

I swept my red dress under the table, and folded it atop itself in layers like a deep red ink. My coffee and sandwich came with a napkin.

Cindy Wright I scribbled on it again and again until the paper looked akin to a storm.

It’s how I’m going to sign my pictures, I decided.

It may seem like stealing, but that’s just show business.


The dark hallway seemed as long as it was eerie. Even though it was a small New York cramped apartment, it seemed like it stretched like a fashion show walkway, but with an audience of old family photos, that only showed a little glimpse of innocence now lost. It shouldn't have been disturbing, it was Luca's childhood home after all, it was the place where he was first taken to from the hospital after his birth and has been his metaphorical nest for his entire life and the way things are going who knows how long he will still be there. The same corridor that a week ago he would have passed without so much as a thought about its composition now felt like an alien environment, to the point that Luca thought he was dreaming. Objects seemed to repeat multiple times, the walls warping with every step, spiraling into the front door. The closer he got the smaller it got, it was as if the mechanics of his depth perception were reversed. The floor moved like a wave making him seasick and the doors felt like they lead to traps. The closer he got to the front door the more leeches made their way on his skin, sucking his blood and making him natious. But soon enough he reached the door handle, as soon as he put his hand on it a cold fog surrounded him, his arm went limp, it was like all of his muscles were taken out, leaving only skin and bone to just sit there barely being able to support itself. A tall shadow came into his vision, tall as a skyscraper but thin as a street lamp, his own mother Vittoria seemed something like a witch in that very moment, leaving him to feel like a disobedient hunchback servant. "Where are you going, Luca, it's the middle of the night, don't you have any sense at all." "I'm going for a walk ma, I can't sleep.", not daring to look at her. Her voice sounded the same as always, but now sure didn’t feel the same. "Stay here alright, I don’t want you causing any trouble." "I won’t mom, I promise, it's okay. The sun will be up soon anyway. So I just thought that I should just take a walk to clear my head a bit, that’s all." every word felt like a pushup leaving him breathless, but as a result even more afraid. He turned back to her with a nervous smile and a breathless laugh. She was way taller than that of her presence. With a slight sigh, she said "Be back at six." "Will do."

With the fist of her steps back, the dark aura started to pull itself out of Luca, like a tree being derooted. He quickly

got the strength in his appendages back and immediately opened the door.The dim night light felt like a flashlight in comparison with the darkness of the apartment.

Walking past the neighbourhood which felt like a dark forest, every place has a totally different feel during the night, even somewhere you’ve been thousands of times can have a totally different atmosphere depending on the lighting, it was a very early morning, so no one was around, Luca was alone, as he passed the streetlights, he noticed how his shadows rotated, one after another the same cycle with every streetlamp, as he was a few street lights away from his destination, he noticed another person's shadow behind him, he needn’t have turned around because he already knew who it was,

he did pick up his pace a little, the darkness swept away the shadow only for the next light to reveal only Luca’s shadow, alone like before. He entered the park near his home where he sat on one of the benches. A few moments later an older man sat next to him, signs of dawn began to show as the sky became a lighter shade entering the blue hour.

“What’s been bothering you.” “Just this thing with the family business. I don’t know if I want to continue it.” “Well son, I know you have dreams, but you’ve got to think more realistically, life isn’t going to give you everything. You have to just make the most of what you have.” “You always talk about how mom’s parents immigrate here, barely knowing anything and without a dime. You said they made a life here, how is me leaving in any way different.” “It just is. You see, they were lucky that my parents gave them the opportunity to live here, they supplied them with a job and steady income, on certain conditions.” “What conditions?” “Things that should not interest you.” “Well actually, it’s not the only reason why I’m against it.” “Mhm What do you mean.” “Well… Nothing actually I just wasn’t sure what I was feeling.” “Listen, what we do is bigger than you. We have a good relationship with the community. Everybody loves the restaurant. Don’t you

want to continue being a part of our lives? We raised you, you can’t just leave us, we’re your parents, family is the most important thing in your life.” “But at what cost, dad.” “And where are you going to go, huh tell me.” “Just leave me alone.” Luca turned his back and just walked away, with no real other option he just went back home. A golden shine had just outlined the horizon. Luca entered the old family restaurant, it still had that special smell he always associated with the place, in an hour or so it would open. But Luca couldn’t shake off what he saw, he just had to confirm that it wasn’t some sort of dream or hallucination. If he was going to spend the rest of his life here he could at least make sure that that one thing wasn't true. Through the door in the kitchen, a short staircase led to the basement, cold and damp. There in front of Luca was the freezer door as soon as he opened it the door behind him closed.


It was a hard walk to the Mt. Vernon, it almost took him an hour to reach the destination. After working the entire shift John didn’t have any mood for going to the party but still it was needed of him, his sister would be turning eight tonight. She'd want me there , John had believed. A four story apartment building stood in front of him, high as hell as he was. When John walked inside and began his climb, something felt strange. I’ve been to these steps before…… But surely he never was, he had to ask for the directions. Déjà vu is what they call it. The apartment building was a gloomy place. It didn’t do justice to the locality it was in. The walls were still damp from the rain that had washed down the entire city yesterday. Someone or more than someone had mistaken the stairs for trash bin. There wasn’t even an elevator to place you up on your wanted floor. Up and up he went, wondering. Not much later, the door stood in front of him. A white wooden door in a dark building. The door . John could hear the faint noises inside : sounds of laughter, of kids and their parents, thumping steps, shouts and curses, all but sadness. There was a big part of him that would’ve wanted nothing more than just walk away, even from there, but he knew better than that or he hoped at least. So, he raised his right hand, coiled it into a fist and knock…..knock . The noises from inside grew colder. Knock…knock , he did it again. Then, as the moment stretched longer, he could hear the sound of someone’s steps coming closer. The door opens. And the world was full of laughter. Fun…is that what they call it? , wondered John.  He found Uncle Ben on the other side with a smile on his face. John was forced to smile. His uncle was a slender man, same as him but shorter. “Uncle Ben.” said John. “John my boy, we were all just waiting for you, come in.” “Well, I’m sure you were.” A lie . As Uncle Ben ushered him in, John found himself in a strange place. I’ve been here before….. but how could he?  The yellow walls were all decorated with birthday celebration. The place seemed upside down. There were people around, a lot of people. John found many unknown eyes on him but only for a moment, then it was all forgotten like he was never there, except…… “Is this my poor baby John?” asked Aunt Martha as she came to squeeze the soul out of him with a hug. “It seems to be your poor John grandma, I’m not sure about that baby part.” John replied. “Well, you’ll always be a baby to me.” A cousin sister to his mother’s mother, Martha was an old woman. Short and round, even though she was in her late 60s, her features hadn’t left her. “How long have you been living on air?” Aunt Martha inquired. I’ve been living on worse things than air, grandma . But John thought better than to say it. “Well, what the lad’s gonna do when his grandmother wouldn’t spare him any meal.” Uncle Ben came to rescue. “I didn’t spare you any meal, you seem fatter than me.” Aunt Martha replied. Then there was a guffaw, from both mother and son. John forced himself to smile. “Where is she?” John asked. “Jennifer…..she should be here somewhere” Martha looked all around. “It’s not likely a place to be lost.” “No....not Maa. Joy, where’s Joy?” “Joy? Ahhh the girl. She might be in her room with her mother.” “Can you get her for me? Please” For a moment it seemed she might deny but….“Yeah, wait here.” was all she said before she left. “So, what’s going on with you John?” asked uncle Ben. “I’m alright.” “You still working—" “Who are all these people?” John interrupted. “Uhhh, well people” Ben said, a little startled “You know neighbors, friends, colleagues.” Then it was silence, the awkward one, at least for a moment until….“But it’s good you know, it’s her birthday-“ “You don’t have to do it. You can go. Those are your friends I believe. I won’t miss your presence, well at least while I’m waiting.” And so it was done. Ben left and John was all alone in the midst of all the chatters. If truth be told John never longed for anyone’s presence. By now he was used to it, or fool he must be if he wouldn’t. Life was all like it, life has always been like it. There was a time when he would cry for his mother to stay or not leave him for some stupid work. Of course he didn't need money to live, he needed his mother. There was a time when he would’ve dreaded the dark but not now, rather he’d welcome it. It was a long time ago, it wasn’t even him. John, some John who lived here, who had a mother and a father, a place to live. There were many John in this city alone, sadly he wasn’t the one. Uncle Ben though must hadn’t liked the way he’d spoken but this John was tired of pretending. He was sick of them for treating him like he cared. He didn’t or so he thought at least. After some more moments of peace and silence, the hall erupted all of sudden……and then she came. Can anything be more pure and innocent ? His sister was wearing a gown of neon pink color. Holding a small purse in her hand, she was taking those little steps her gown could allow. After Joy came her mother, Aunt Martha followed them out of the room with two kids and some other girl he might have known once. Then it was all done in rush. People clapped their hands and gave her some pretty compliments. He was lost in the flood. If Joy had noticed him, she gave no sign and so he stood there, silently in the shade of all the fun. Cake came forth with Uncle Mike (only person’s presence he’d have welcomed in this room after Joy and Martha). The candles were blown out as soon as they were being lighted. As per the tradition “Happy Birthday” song was sung, John passed along few versus with them. The hall was full of laughter when the song ended with Joy hidden behind the world. John glanced up at the wall clock that must’ve been feeling safer than ever. The hour of wolf was nigh upon them. John knew what it meant, it was the time to present the gifts and then food. John had suffered enough shame for a single day and he didn’t intend to suffer it more. The girl he had came for wasn’t here. Joy, was it? The girl was lost to him, it seemed. John’s sister….the other John’s. Shying from people’s stare he had entered this strange place, without them he left. The eyes of unknown never mattered to him, nor did they mattered now. Two eyes were all that he had cared and hoped for, but it seemed that that too were lost to him. As he made his descent, the sound of crowd started receding and soon only the sound of his footsteps remained. I’ve been to these steps before…….I’ve lived my entire life on these steps , memories came back to him. The climb down took him much less time than it had taken him to climb up. John was pleased to put that place behind him, good and well for now. When he emerged out of the darkness, his mere body casted biggest shadow that he could have ever hoped to see. He looked up to the east, the moon was there, hiding behind the ever racing clouds. White as milk, it shone like some God’s angel. It’s silvery rays washing the entire alley with the godly presence. It was good. It felt good. It was beautiful. As John made his way down the alley, he heard someone calling him from behind. He turned, and a shadow stepped out into the light. It was a woman, young and handsome one. He knew her once…. more than knew. “You’re leaving.” She called out. “I suppose, I am.” John replied. “The fun has just started.” “Well as you know, I’m not a very man you look towards to for having fun.” “I don’t know. Why did you come here, then?” “To meet someone.” “So, did you met ‘your someone’ then?” “I suppose….I did.” “You lie…… poorly…..still.” John shrugged. “If you say so.” “Oh…I don’t say anything, John” She’s still beautiful, more than ever . “What you doing down here?” “You were leaving without your return gift.” “I didn’t bring her anything, if that’d give you any help.” “Still, you attended the party. You’re entitled to receive a gift from us. Guest right.” She returned his shrug. A smile broke into his lips. “Alright then, be done with it.” Cara moved aside. The world moved aside. She was standing there, still trying to hide herself behind Cara. Tears filled his eyes. This is more pure and innocent . As Joy ran to meet him, John stood there still, with his arms open, preparing himself for the moment. “I didn’t see that one coming”, John whispered to himself…...and then it came…..John lifted her up off her feet and plunged her into the sky…..and soon the shadow casted by the moon’s silver was even bigger. -	Rudransh Sharma


“We have plenty of time.” said Angela as she loaded her bag up into her brother’s 2001 Ford Mustang. The black-in-color car blended into the nighttime landscape as she begrudgingly got into the passenger seat. Tommy fell into his sun-worn leather seat as he rolled his head over and annoyingly stared into his sister’s discontented face. He sighed, turned the key and the roar of the engine started up. “Why can’t we just leave tomorrow?!” she beckoned.

“It’s Vegas! We can hit the casino early! I’m feeling lucky!” exclaimed Tommy. “In six hours, we’ll be in the glowing lights of the strip. I’m the one driving anyway! Just relax.” “You and your ‘gambling issues.’ You better not leave me at the wedding alone! Even though Shannon is our cousin, I can’t stand that side of the family.” “Don’t worry sis! I’ll be around and when the ceremony is done, we can jet outta there.” Stated Tommy as he lit a cigarette with the car’s lighter. They breezed through the late-night traffic of their Salt Lake City suburb community. Traveling south on I-15 alongside weekday rat-racers that yearned for their weekend camping and hiking expeditions with traffic fading as they moved further away. The two remained quiet as they listened to music and passed through the night, exiting the illumination of their hometown. Tommy broke the silence, asking about the girl that Angela was dating. “It fizzled; she wasn’t what I thought she was.” proclaimed Angela. Tommy saw a glowing figure walking down the side of the highway. “Well maybe SHE is.” Tommy hooted as he gestured to the hitchhiker, gliding away with her thumb out. The hitchhiker’s 5’8” frame was hugged by blue jeans, black sneakers, and a red jacket. She perceived the approaching car’s headlights and turned around; her brunette hair whipping as she covered her eyes from the light to view the good Samaritan that would stop to help. “She’s cute, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to be picking up anybody now, Tommy. Doesn’t this interfere with your blackjack time?” asked Angela. “Like I said, I’m the one driving.” Snapped Tommy. The hitchhiker came up to the passenger window as Tommy lowered it. Her brown eyes scanned the vehicle and its passengers as she complimented its style.

Tommy lowered his head for a better view as he asked where she was going. “Cedar City, the university there – S.U.” She said. “Hop in,” said Tommy, with a smirk. “I’m Tommy, this is Angela, the little sister.” The hitchhiker giggled and introduced herself as Gina. Angela smiled and got out to let Gina in the back seat, as she got in, Angela couldn’t help but admire her physique as she entered the car. As Angela sat back down, Tommy gave her a knowing look and they drove off.

Tommy sat back as they drove and eyeballed his rear-view mirror. Gina caught his stare and glanced away. Angela suspiciously asked why she was walking so late to the university. Gina replied, “I was just visiting here, I was heading back for a class thing and my car broke down.” Angela snapped up, curiously. “Why didn’t you call anyone that you knew to pick you up?” Gina snarked back, “It was easier to hitch a ride from someone heading that way anyway than to bother my friends.” Tommy spoke up, “Let’s relax to some music, ehh?” as he turned up the radio dial. The radio announcer came on “…authorities looking for information involving the shooting at a local…” Tommy turned the dial to switch stations to the closest pop station. Tommy anxiously readjusted in his seat as Angela sat back in hers, arms crossed, and looked out at the passing nighttime rural landscape as they silently traveled along on their route.

Angela broke the hour-long silence as they passed a sign that read Beaver 47 Miles . “Can we stop in Beaver? I’m going to need to pee.” Tommy agreed, “Yeah, I need to fill-up too.”

As they approached the gas station, Gina asked if they wanted anything from the shop, Tommy and Angela declined. As Tommy was pumping the gas, Angela came out and was at her door tidying up her area of the car when she looked at the back seat and saw Gina’s phone. Angela looked up at Tommy who was still working the station and at Gina who she could still see browsing the shop aisles. Angela grabbed the phone and hoped there wasn’t some sort of security code for her phone. Angela easily made access and tapped on the photo album icon, curious for more pictures of Gina and any other information about her. Angela looked at Tommy again, at the shop then back at the phone.  As she swiped, she saw selfies, group photos of friends, food and drink images and pictures of dogs. There were also a few of Gina in her poolside bikini outfits which piqued Angela’s interest. Satisfied, she was about to drop the phone, with the last picture she was looking at of Gina in a restaurant with a group of friends and Tommy sitting right next to her. “What the fuck?!” Angela thought.

“What are you doing?!” scowled Tommy. Angela playfully laughed, “Ahh haaa!! You caught me! I was about to look for pics of Gina, you’re right, she’s cute!” Tommy glared at her as he got in the car. “You’re weird. You don’t say anything the whole time she’s with us, now ‘she’s cute’? Better put it back cause she’s coming.” Angela tossed the phone back onto the backseat and let Gina get in.

           As they drove, they chatted about random subjects which Angela used to gather as much information about Gina as she could. Despite Angela’s looks, Tommy didn’t say much. An hour later, they were in Cedar City; they passed through Highway 56 where there were a handful of hotels, restaurants, and gas stations still open at that hour. They stopped for a few coffees in the McDonald’s drive-thru lane. As they waited for the attendant to complete the transaction, Gina screamed “oh shit!” Tommy and Angela looked at her and saw the color leave her face. Her mouth dropped and her eyes widened, staring across the street. Tommy and Angela whipped around and saw a man, dressed in all black, pulling a pistol from the holster on his waist and took aim at the car. “Oh shit!” shouted Tommy. He threw it into Drive as the man fired two shots, cracking the windshield and narrowly missing Angela’s neck. Tommy veered the car right as he drove out of the parking lot, over the sidewalk and into the street. The man quickly sprinted and headed the car off, precisely jumping into the open driver side window, with half of his body hanging out. “Give it to me!” he yelled. With a quarter turn of his body, he raised his gun and aimed towards Gina. Angela quickly grabbed his arm and began wrestling the gun away from him. Tommy began punching the man’s face and maneuvered his position to reach for the door handle. As Angela wrestled with his arm, the gun went off causing a loud ringing in the car’s cabin. Gina shifted in her seat, brought her leg up and kicked the man in the face as Tommy opened the door causing the man to fall out of the moving vehicle. The adrenaline surged and the three began breathing, looking around for anything else. Their minds trying to make sense of what just happened. Tommy drove into the incoming neighborhood streets, made a few turns to avoid any would-be followers and stopped at a park, feeling it would be a safe place for now. Angela jumped out of the car and yelled “What the fuck was that?! Who was he? How do you two know each other, Tommy?!... What’s going on?!” Tommy threw a confused look on his face and Angela snapped, “I saw you in one of the photos in her phone Tommy!” “Calm down Angie, I can explain!” Tommy beckoned. He looked at Gina as she got out. “We’re friends that…” “It was drugs… for me;” Gina interrupted “I needed money for my family and was selling some pills. The deal went bad and someone was killed. I’ve known Tommy for a few years. My car died on the way here and you guys picked me up. It was supposed to be a quick trip. I knew you were going to Vegas so I called Tommy for a ride.” Angela glared at Tommy, “This is why we left early?! You gotta be kidding me!” “You weren’t supposed to know! It was supposed to be quick and easy.” Tommy replied innocently. “So, what’s next?” Angela asked. “That guy is still out there, I doubt he’s dead; and who is he? Why is he trying to kill you just for pills?!            Gina and Tommy looked at each other as Tommy answered, “He was someone apart of the deal, just mad about it.” Gina injected, “Just take me to S.U. and you can head out. It’s my fault anyway.”  Tommy and Angela looked at each other. Angela looked into his eyes; they screamed an apology that only she heard.

“You’re lucky we don’t just leave you here, ‘Gina’”, retorted Angela as she made her way towards the car.

They loaded into the vehicle and headed for S.U. and Angela sat quietly, trying to review the night’s events. “Where are you supposed to go at S.U.?” she asked. Gina replied, “The library.” They were on-campus in about ten minutes and looked around for anyone on the grounds. So far it was empty except for the random vehicle passing in the night, which they watched. Gina was meeting Dr. Forster, a university professor. They parked the car and cautiously moved toward the building. They silently crept, watching every moving branch and floating bug; listening as they heard the crunching of grass under their feet and the nighttime crickets chirping. As they moved toward the atrium, a figure opened the door and let them in, it was Dr. Forster, “quickly, come inside,” he whispered. When they were all inside, Angela looked at the wiry man’s frame, nasally voice and thinning hair and blurted, “YOU sell drugs!?” Dr. Forster looked at her puzzled, at Gina, then back at Angela. “What… No... I… Gina, do you have the sample?” She handed him a thumb drive and vial and he scurried to a laptop, set up on a nearby table, plugged in the drive and began typing away.

Angela became furious; “You better tell me what is really going on right NOW!” Tommy opened the floodgates he had been holding back all night. He told her about the deal that went bad was actually for information on, and a sample for, a strain of altered animal DNA that could be used as a bioweapon. The lab in Salt Lake is under a government contract and is conducting research on it.  He and Gina met with an insider so they could get proof extracted and sent down to Dr. Forster to test and report it to blow the whole thing wide open.  When they made the handoff, the man in black killed their contact and tried to kill them too. Tommy and Gina split up and planned to meet in Vegas but when her car died, she contacted him for help.

“I didn’t want you involved sis,” Tommy said. “I also didn’t want you to know about what I was doing. This is dangerous.” Dr. Forster stood up and walked back to the group, “It’s all here, this is exactly what we…“  Blood splattered over Gina’s face and torso as Dr. Forster dropped to his knees and onto the floor. They looked back towards the dark bookcases as two more shots rang out and Gina fell backwards. Tommy and Angela snapped out of their shocked state and ran back to the car. As they reached the car, Tommy fell headfirst onto the hood and slid down, leaving a trail of dark blood lit by the moonlight. Angela turned saw him sliding down the hood and onto the curb. She looked at the figure walking toward her from the tree and felt the hot sting of a bullet hitting her shoulder as she fell to the ground. She stayed low and tried to crawl behind the car but before she could make it, she saw the silhouette standing over her from the streetlight, then nothing. Tommy saw Angela from under the car and heard the footsteps meet with another set behind him, then listened as they both departed. He lay on the grass, feeling the life flow out of him. As he watched at his sister, he thought of the original reason he set out on the road this evening. The wedding and casino, the fortune, and memories he would have made; the plan and his intentions that lead to the darkness blanketed around him. The realization filled his mind and his heart filled with regret as he whispered his last words. “We were never going to make it.”


Mary rushed inside the house, locked the door behind her and shuffled slowly to the kitchen. The kitchen, that’s where it was, waiting for her. She was in no hurry to get there plus she was out of breath. Her brisk walk truly was a workout. Going for a walk was supposed to make one feel better, not so in this case. Entering the kitchen, her eyes fixed on the letter resting on the bench by the sink, it was from her mother. Daring not go any closer she parked herself at the dining table and stared at the envelope. Her name in beautiful cursive writing, the address so formal but decorated with little pink hearts, sickening really.

How long had it been, seven, maybe eight years? It mattered not, Mary had moved on with life and it was sweet. All the pain of the past was well and truly behind her, she sighed and dropped her head into her chest. Her breath was back to normal but her heart was still beating loudly. Perhaps she was wrong, gasp! Maybe she was still upset with her mother despite the comforting words she would tell herself. Mary never understood why it had come to this, her mother’s logic was so flawed and irrational and selfish, it was beyond hope. It all started with two simple words shared from an innocent heart seeking support, “We’re homeschooling.”

The vitriol response was outrageous. It flowed ceaselessly like an erupting volcano, the lava was filled with condemnation, anger and judgement. Mary was dumbfounded. The unexpected attack left her speechless. Bearing the hot wounds of disappointment and shame, she fled. Mary took a deep breath in an attempt to restrain the emotions rising from the pit of her stomach, it was no use. A small tear escaped demanding immediate attention. Her index finger would have to do. She looked at the droplet as it trickled along her skin. Imagine what she would see inside via an emotional microscope. Closing her eyes, Mary remembered the benefits reaped from the price she paid. Her children flourished in every metric, at least the ones she truly cared about. Their relationships were strengthened, their learning a joy and their true identities discovered along the way. They were not necessarily top of the class academically but they were flourishing. They carried an emotional maturity and confidence that will open the world to them. For that, Mary was proud.

For six excruciating months, Mary regularly engaged her mother. Her gentle approach and solid reasoning gained her nothing but a mockery of her own identity. The woman would not listen, a hard-hearted creature who knew best. No amount of addressing her concerns, most of which were poor assumptions and judgements, could pierce the wall she had erected around herself. Her mother was incapable of seeing her point of view. Mary had finally concluded that somehow her mother decided it was a personal attack on her. Since Mary chose not to follow in her mother’s footsteps, she must have unwittingly declared war. Addressing that issue made no difference either. Her mother was relentless in her desire to not only cross Mary’s boundaries but utterly destroy them. Perhaps her mother was simply embarrassed? Homeschooling is a bit out there and many people dislike different. The idea of having to tell her family and friends of her daughter’s decision was going to reflect negatively on her, it made no sense.

Mary had tried so hard to settle the issues, reassuring her mother the decision was based on many solid foundations. It didn’t matter so Mary eventually stopped caring. She’d had enough and decided to cut the relationship. Her well-being and that of the children was in peril. She cut swiftly, like ripping off a bandaid. The anguish that followed lasted way longer than Mary had expected. Nevertheless, her resolve was stronger. Her mother made many attempts to reconnect and Mary told her the conditions that must be met. The woman still wouldn’t budge. As more time passed, they both accepted the new reality. It was all water under the bridge now, her mind was finally free of the worthless war with her mother, until this morning! Mary had checked the mail oblivious to what lurked within. She lifted her gaze to the white envelope by the sink once again. The possibilities came rushing in. Was it a trap, new condemnation, a death or someone dying? Was it possible it contained the ingredients of reconciliation? Her hope had been dashed so many times that she let that one go immediately. It was surely another trap. Standing tall, Mary marched into the kitchen. She wanted to grab the letter and shred it but instead went right to the kettle and switched it on. She grabbed a mug and prepped everything needed to brew a coffee. She raced back to the dining table and sat. Do I even want her back in my life? Mary was able to conjure up some positive memories which birthed the briefest smile. She found herself drawn back to the envelope, attracted to it. Then she noticed the piece of cake sitting on the bench next to the envelope. Certainly, that was the cause of the attraction. Maybe, in some strange way, she did hope the letter would be delicious and satisfying to her soul like she knew the cake would be. She had to blurt it out, “I want the cake and the letter but I know they’re not good for me.” She chuckled at herself.

Enjoying her lighter mood Mary went back to the bench and prepared her coffee. It looked and smelled fabulous but needed one more thing. She filled a teaspoon with raw sugar and paused just before she let it slip into the mug. As it is now, this coffee reflects our relationship, it’s bitter. If we could be reconciled then the sugar will be added and it’ll be sweet. Mary let the sugar drop slowly into the coffee. She watched each grain as if in slow motion rain down into the waiting coffee. Each grain represented a good memory and hope for the future which the coffee warmly welcomed, enriching itself in the process. Mary smiled and stirred the coffee. Returning the spoon to the sink she noticed her left shoelace was untied. Like a crying child, that demanded immediate attention. She knelt and grabbed the two ends of the lace. Again she paused and looked at the two separate ends. When untied, shoelaces can be dangerous, they can trip you up. Mary brought the laces together ready to cross them but stopped again. To unite the laces, they have to get real close and both need to give a little so they can become one when pulled together. Mary giggled, “Okay brain, that’s enough of that, I’m trying to think.”

Mary placed her coffee, cake and the letter on the dining table and sat down slowly. She took another deep, hopeful breath and picked up the letter. She dropped it quickly and sipped her coffee instead, delicious. Her hand went to the letter but passed it by for the spoon, using it to smash out a piece of the cake. Into her mouth it went, sweet and satisfying. Finally, she picked up the letter, briefly studied it and then addressed it. “This all started with two words. It can all end with two words. Just two sincere words spoken in true humility is all it will take.” Mary knew how hard it was for people to say those words, she understood because she was not immune. She always wondered why people can be so stubborn though? If talking again, she would have to say them to her mother too. She may stand by her decision but she did say things she shouldn’t have for sure. Enough delaying. Mary ripped it open, unfolded the letter and couldn’t miss the first enlarged words, I’M SORRY!


Brad broke up with me today. I can’t say that I’m surprised after the disastrous dinner that we had at his mother’s where everything that could go wrong did go wrong. I was hoping that we’d be able to talk it through and perhaps see the funny side but the conversation we had was so brief we never got that far. Although I have to admit that he had the decency to look a little pained and sorry about it. A small consolation. When he suggested “The Little Cup”, a rather twee tearoom in the high street, I knew something was wrong. Do you know why I think he suggested there? Because he knew that no-one that mattered would be there, other than his mother’s cronies maybe and all they’d do is report back what she probably wanted to hear: that her lovely son was having to let a girl down gently…again. You know, maybe I’ve had a lucky escape. I didn’t think that earlier in “The Little Cup” although I held myself together well. I was already there when Brad came in, drinking hot tea from a delicate china cup and saucer and sitting at a round table with a lace tablecloth. Boy, did I feel out of place! I was sat there, looking at my phone, trying to look less self conscious but quite clearly not achieving it. Two old dears were on the table next to me, having a toasted teacake and a pot of tea between them, a generic pair of geriatrics, floral and pale. They looked up when Brad walked in and he nodded a greeting and smiled at them and you could see them preen a little at the attention. And then, inevitably, he saw me. There was a moment where he glanced away and I saw him take a deep breath and then head towards the table. He didn’t even take his coat off, just unbuttoned it before sitting down. “Hi,” I said. “Hello,” he replied, a little stiffly. “How are you?” I asked, thinking that this was all a bit stilted. I mean, we were a couple at that point but neither of us hugged or reached for the other. The mood was set. “Fine. Fine, thanks for asking,” he said. I mean, how formal is that? It’s like he’s meeting an aunt in a drawing room, not his middle-aged girlfriend and lover. “So, what’s up? Why the period tearoom? Are you going all Mr Darcy on me?” My attempt at humour was ill-advised, I realise that now. Nerves always make me inappropriately humorous. He was flustered, I could see that as he said a bit too quickly and sharply, “No! I mean, no. This place just seemed neutral, that’s all. And convenient.” I remember raising an eyebrow and looking about me. “Neutral? That’s a strange way to describe this place. Do you mean like a no-man’s land in a war zone?” He flinched at my analogy and rallied. “Not at all, no. Just a nice place and not too far for you to come, I thought.” How considerate of him , I thought sarcastically. I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable now and Brad was very much starting to squirm in his seat, looking around him. I think I knew what was coming and I wanted him to get on with it but a contrary part of me wanted to make it difficult for him, even if it was excruciating for me. “Are you looking for a waitress? Because there isn’t one. You have to order at the counter.” I nodded in the direction of the lady idling behind the cake display. “Ah, no. I mean, I know but I won’t be ordering anything.” This must have given him some resolve, admitting this because he took a deep breath and said, “I may as well just say it.” Another breath. “I think that we should break up.” Silence. I said absolutely nothing, knowing that he hated silences and would do anything to fill it. “You see, after the dinner on Saturday, I just think that, erm, we probably aren’t best suited and, er, it might be better to just end it now rather than continue and find out later.” Again, silence. I could feel my emotions mounting: sadness, hurt and anger. It took an effort, I can tell you to keep control but I did. I thought that I was falling in love with this man, you see, but right then, I didn’t like him at all. The two pensioners on the table next to us were whispering quietly to themselves, having dropped the tone of their conversation considerably once they could see what was happening. There was no doubt that they were earwigging. So, how to react? I wanted to cry. I wanted to rage. I wanted to punch him. But I’m not sure that even I could act so uninhibitedly in such a delicate and quaint location especially with such a gossip hungry audience. Should I stomp out? Plead with him? Ask him why? I could have done all of these things but instead, I simply said, “Okay.” This was obviously not the response he was expecting but it was one that offered him a modicum of relief as his shoulders released their tension and his face, which had been taut, relaxed somewhat into a less serious expression. I saw something akin to tenderness then enter his expression and quickly looked away from him, before my eyes betrayed the fact that they were filling despite my efforts to the contrary. “Okay,” he repeated and then looked lost, having no idea how to end such an awkward meeting. I remained silent. I had already made my concession to the easing of this break-up. He was getting nothing more from me. He stood, clumsily, his chair scraping the floor. I was just sat, waiting for him to leave so that I could go too. It seemed symbolic of what he was doing, for him to walk away from me rather than me walk out ahead of him. And besides, I was contained while I was still but I felt like any movement might cause my emotions to slosh over, like water in a bowl. “Okay,” he said again, running his hand through his hair. “Well, I guess this is goodbye, then.” Pause. “Goodbye, Tilly.” I’d like to say I politely responded but I didn’t and as the little bell on the door signalled his departure, I gathered up my things as calmly as I could muster and once I knew it was safe, headed out. I heard the two ladies let out a sympathetic “Ah” as my hand touched the door handle and I left Brad and his break-up behind. I’m not a great one for self-analysis as sometimes you can tie yourself in knots trying to decipher why this happened or that didn’t work or how someone feels about you but you know, it had to have been that dinner. I can’t think of anything else that could have made him feel differently. If I hadn’t stained the rug in the hallway with dog turd; if I had been able to eat the food; if I hadn’t accidentally kicked his mother’s dog; if I hadn’t put almond milk in the coffee instead of real milk – so many ifs. But sometimes, it just isn’t your day and sometimes, a series of unfortunate mishaps can lead to the end of a relationship. Bye, Brad. There’s only one thing that can help me now. Or two, if you think about it. Ben and Jerry. *** I had to break up with Tilly today, which went rather well, all things considered. Mother suggested that I choose somewhere neutral and convenient for Tilly like “The Little Cup” and it seemed as good a place as any although it always smells slightly of musty lavender which is a bit off-putting. Must be the odour of its older patrons. The older odour! Ha! Eau de Older Odour! Chanel should bottle that for the olds! Mother’s friends Mabel and Doris were there when I got there. I’d just come back from visiting Mother at home, still in bed after the almond milk incident of the weekend. Poor Mother. She tried so hard to impress Tilly, pulling out all the stops but it was just a disaster from start to finish. I mean, it could have been quite comical really if Mother had let herself see it that way. I am sure that Tilly would have seen the funny side of it; in fact, I know that she would have. I can just imagine us over morning coffee, laughing at when she realised that the awful stench was coming from her! Or when she felt something on her foot and kicked out only for it to be Petal, Mother’s Pekinese! The almond milk was a little more serious as Mother could have died if not for her Epipen but still. Such a catalogue of errors is Shakespearean in its farcicalness. I’ll miss Tilly though. I really thought that she was the one. Funny, attractive, caring. It was always going to be a hurdle bringing her to meet Mother but I felt sure this time that they’d get along. I mean, it’s very difficult not to like Tilly, you know? But I suppose with all of the “catastrophic events” of Saturday, as Mother termed them, it was inevitable that Mother would feel badly. I wish that it had gone better. Tilly felt like she was made for me in some ways. We complemented each other so much, had shared interests and she had such a sexy smile… Oh well, plenty more fish and all that, I suppose. But I was sad today. Tilly looked so lost in “The Little Cup”, I almost changed my mind. I really wanted to hold her, make her feel better. But Mother was adamant and told me, “The best way to do it is like removing a Band-Aid – with determination and the right amount of force. One firm pull and away!” I followed her advice and I have to say that it went smoothly and there was no embarrassing flood of emotions from either of us but I can’t help but feel regret, like something has been left unfulfilled. Perhaps Tilly and I can be friends. I’m bound to see her around and we didn’t leave on bad terms – it was just a little distant. You know, I love Mother but I’m a grown man in his fifties and really, I need something more than my job and my hobbies and my mother. Mother has suggested that I get a dog for companionship when I am away from her, but it’s not the same. I’m not sure why she can’t see that. And a man has appetites, you know… Perhaps I’ll drop Tilly a text and see if she wants to have a walk or something in a week or so.  There’s no harm in us being friends and I’d like to see how she’s doing. Who am I kidding? She makes me feel good, like no-one I’ve ever met before and I care about her, despite how Mother feels. I mean, Mother doesn’t have to know, does she? *** When Bradley told me that he was bringing someone home, I wasn’t surprised. There had been signs for weeks of someone new being on the scene, so to speak and he was devoting a lot of the time that he would normally spend with me elsewhere so it was no great surprise when he asked if he could bring Tilly to dinner. Tilly ! What sort of name is that for a grown woman? Really! Bradley has the most awful taste in women. I mean, she looked nice enough but you can never really tell by the way someone looks what they’re going to be like, can you? For example, look at Ted Bundy. Well presented and intelligent by all accounts; a caring family man and a loving husband but also a blooming sociopath. No, I had made up my mind before she had even reached the house – she was not the girl for my Bradley. He had to see it for himself. But there was no harm in helping him along a little, was there? I always think that the measure of a couple is when they encounter difficulty, don’t you? How they master an obstacle or two, say, is where you really know what sort of partnership they’ll make. The fact that those obstacles are less than accidental and concentrated into one ill-fated evening is neither here nor there, in my opinion. Petal, my darling Pekinese is always doing her business in the same part of the front lawn next to the driveway. I’m not sure why. It must be a favourite spot for some reason. Normally, I am quite fastidious in the disposal of her deposits but on hearing of Tilly’s imminent visit, I may have become a little lax in my vigilance at disposing of those little turds. I may have parked badly, leaving only a very small space for Bradley to park, with inadequate room for a passenger to get out on the tarmac. Dinner was at 8pm, just dark enough to allow twilight to distort small lumps on the lawn. It was a shame that the Persian runner in the hallway had to be the recipient of such a tawdry coating but sacrifices are always made for the greater good and it had become a little threadbare in patches. Tilly was very apologetic, of course, but the damage was done and the scent of squashed dog turd and disinfectant was a heady reminder of her wrongdoing all evening. Bradley had already told me that Tilly had a low tolerance for salt after she couldn’t finish a delicious salt encrusted bagel that he had very kindly bought her for a lunch date one day, even with her favourite toppings so it was simple enough to slip an extra spoonful or two into her meal. I had toyed with having finger foods but when I knew that I could easily salinate Tilly’s portion in the kitchen before bringing it out, well, it was perfect. She struggled admirably trying to eat it, I’ll give her that but the salt won out. Obviously, after the poo incident, Tilly’s shoes were in need of some cleansing and I wouldn’t hear of her doing it herself, despite her protestations. I had just the thing to clean them up so that they would be as good as new and off to the utility room I went to do just that. It was the least I could do really, wasn’t it? I have to say that they were a really nice pair of shoes, if a little masculine. I could have done without such deep treads but an old toothbrush and plenty of hot water and they were pristine once more. It did aggravate my tennis elbow though and I did a lot of cursing under my breath. But I needed them to be super clean so that Tilly would feel comfortable putting them back on her feet and that spurred me on. The things we do for love! Anyway, once they were sparkling, it was only right that I applied a little polish to them and a certain special preparation of liquidised dog food, Petal’s favourite which I was able to smear in small amounts over the shoe, knowing that the smell of it under the table would drive poor Petal mad. I didn’t want to make my darling dog my accomplice and I did so hate it when she let out that awful yelp of pain when Tilly’s foot connected with her midriff. Poor little Petal Pekinese. I didn’t think that it would work so well especially when, as a compliment to my cleaning prowess, Tilly put the shoe to her nose and gave it a deep exaggerated sniff, probably in a jocular attempt to lighten the mood. I looked at her aghast and I think that she thought that it was a look of disgust as a result of what she was doing but I was actually more concerned that I was about to be rumbled. Luckily, she didn’t suspect a thing and her thinking that I was disgusted by her only made her even more ingratiating. The almond milk was a little risky, I have to admit, as I do have quite a nasty allergic response to nuts. Without the swift delivery of the jab from an Epipen, there would have been a real danger of me losing my life. My friend Mabel likes to have almond milk in her chai latte coffee when she comes around. It’s a disgusting drink but she seems to like these fancy fragrant tastes – too much for my palate. Anyway, I have a jug of it in the fridge for her regular visits marked “Mabel’s Milk” and it’s always kept on the right. Tilly, in a grand gesture, insisted on making the coffee and I thought that here was the opportunity that would surely seal Bradley’s removal of her from his life. If life has taught me anything it is to never miss an opportunity when presented. So whilst she nipped to the bathroom, I took the label off the jug that said “Mabel’s milk” and quickly switched the jugs and advised Tilly on her return to only use the jug on the left. Mayhem ensued as you can imagine but dear Bradley knew exactly what to do as I knew he would. I couldn’t bear to lose him. Anyway, Tilly is out of the picture. Mabel is my witness to that at “The Little Cup”. She reported that it had all gone rather well for Bradley but do you know that Tilly didn’t shed a tear? No emotion at all. See? Remember what I said about Ted Bundy?


This was inspired by a Star Trek episode called “remember me”  A short story by Oliver Rich-Jackson Dr. Plato Capti began his day the same as any other. As he got dressed in his usual white coat, slacks, and button-up, he took note of his form. Capti was a slender man, standing at around six feet. His shoulders were slumped, and he had sunken eyes, weary from the hours of research he conducted day after day. He began walking through the narrow hallways to the lab. The small station was orbiting Earth's moon and there were only ten or so researchers onboard at any given time, unlike the immense citadels in the asteroid belt. Those stations housed hundreds of people, and still had plenty of room left over for recreational facilities, food courts, and more; but, those were for intergalactic launches, and his station was for deep space observation. Dr. Capti was snapped out of his musings when he entered the lab. “Mornin,” said Capti’s colleague Baxter “I saw you working late last night. You missed the get-together for Susan's birthday.” 	“I had work to do. I’m nearly done mapping the edge of the observable universe,” responded Capti. 	“Why don’t you take some time off? The universe will still be there when you get back, and you know the government doesn’t care when you finish.” 	“That may be so, but the scientific community cares. They’ve hung on my every word since I identified dark energy, and besides, I prefer not to associate with others.”	 “Suit yourself.” The following day Capti woke up to find a pair of shoes missing, which he found particularly odd since no one else was authorized to enter his room. He thought nothing of it and moved on. As he made his way to the lab, he noticed other things were missing, such as fire alarms and wall fixtures. When Capti eventually made it to his lab, he found Baxter and another researcher named Henleigh. “Have you noticed the missing objects in the halls?” He asked. 	“What do you mean?” 	replied Henleigh. 	“There are missing pipes, monitors, PA systems, and more missing.” 	“That’s not possible,” retorted Baxter	“The station is pre-assembled. You couldn’t take anything like that down without dismantling the whole place.” 	“I know that! But I also know what I saw. I’ve been on this station longer than anyone else, and something’s not right.”	That’s when he noticed that the computer had finished mapping the outer boundaries of the observable universe.	 “This was supposed to take another nineteen days. Computer, what is the reason for the accelerated progress?” 	“ Mapping was completed within the expected time frame. ”

“That’s not possible,” exclaimed Capti. Henleigh chimed in, “What are you talking about? The map was expected today. Are you alright?”	 “I’m fine; though, perhaps I should lie down.” 		“If you're leaving, go by the med bay. Just to be sure, I’ll tell Dr. Naomi to expect you.”  “What happened to Dr. Abiit?”	 “No one by that name has ever served on this station.” 	“Nonsense, Computer, pull up the file for Dr. Janis Abiit.” 	“ There are no records of a Dr. Janis Abiit. ”	“Search Earths database.”	 “ No records exist for a Dr. Janis Abiit. ” 	“ …I suppose I’ll meet with Dr. Naomi,” said Capti quietly. It had been several days since the strange conversation in the lab, and things had gotten worse. After visiting the med bay he was confined to quarters and tended to by the med staff. He was assumed temporarily insane after more ramblings about the missing objects. When several hours had passed since Capti had seen anyone he began wandering the station looking for others. 	“Hello? Is anyone there?

You can’t keep me in bed if you won’t help me.”	After searching for nearly half an hour, he shouted, 	“Computer, locate Dr. Baxter!” 	“ There is no one under the name Dr. Baxter on board the station. ” 	“Locate Dr. Henleigh then!”	“ There is no one under the name Dr. Henleigh on board the station. ”	“Locate the nearest human being to my location!” 	“ Information not available. ” 	“My god.” Capti started towards the lab to use the interplanetary communicator. 	“Computer, calibrate communicator to speak to earth!” 	“ Please state a valid target ”	“Earth! Contact Earth!” 	“ There is no such place listed in my database. ” He then noticed the map of the observable universe and it displayed a bubble-like shape immediately surrounding the station. 	“Computer, describe the universe.”	“ The universe is a two thousand by two thousand kilometer sphere.” In a barely audible voice, he spoke. “no… That can’t be rig-...” 	He heard a large crash and the sound of air whooshing, followed by a bulkhead door slamming into the foundation. “Computer, what was that?!”	“ A vacuum was created because the station’s interior was exposed to space .” 	“Why was it exposed to space?” 	“ A fatal flaw in the design of the station. ” 	“Computer, describe the universe,” he exclaimed frantically.	 “ The universe is a five hundred by five hundred kilometer sphere. ”	“Is there any way to escape the universe?” 	“ There is no known method of esca-...” The computer was destroyed by the universe collapsing in on itself, which annihilated Dr. Capti and the station with him.”

There were two figures in the space.

“It destabilized again . ”

… “It appears so.” … “Reset it.”

… “Ok.” Dr. Plato Capti began his day the same as any other. As he got dressed in his usual white coat, slacks, and button-up, he took note of his form. Capti was a slender man, standing at around six feet. His shoulders were slumped, and he had sunken eyes, weary from the hours of research he conducted day after day. He began walking through the narrow hallways to the lab. The small station was orbiting Earth's moon and there were only ten or so researchers onboard at any given time, unlike the immense citadels in the asteroid belt. These housed hundreds of people, and still had plenty of room left over for recreational facilities, food courts, and more; but, those stations were for intergalactic launches, and his station was for deep space observation. Dr. Capti was snapped out of his musings when he entered the lab. “Mornin,” said Capti’s colleague Baxter “I saw you working late last night. You missed the get-together for Susan's birthday.” 	“I had work to do. I’m nearly done mapping the edge of the observable universe,” responded Capti. 	“Why don’t you take some time off? The universe will still be there when you get back, and you know the government doesn’t care when you finish.”

	“Perhaps you're right. Are you available for lunch?” The End


The wind was blowing from the north: a hint of rose in the air, mixed with the smell of shit, a breeze coming both from a parfumerie and the Seine. It brushed back the fine hairs on my arms and made my skin prickle.

From somewhere in the apartment, the chocolatey strains of ‘Ave Maria’ slipped between the hinges of the balcony door and wisped away through ivy leaves into the night. The moon hung full above, looking for all the world like a movie prop, like a sigil proclaiming oui , this is Paris, this is la ville d’amour . It was cold out. I was in the mood for that. And the ivy that wound around the wrought-iron bars of the balcony, creeping up the brick wall to sprawl over the roof, itched between my shoulder blades as I slouched on the floor. I was in the mood for that, too. A few bats wheeled over the great, fat moon, probably twittering in a French accent, and I rested my head back against the railing. This wasn’t my balcony.

I’d gotten to it from the roof, smiling at the doorman and taking the stairs two at a time until there weren’t any more stairs to take. I’d shimmied onto the slope of the roof, slipped, and slid down the shingles like I’d meant to fall in the most undignified way it could be done, and I’d landed on this balcony so hard that the metal had screeched. I’d thought surely somebody would come because of the noise.

Nobody had. Music had been playing, and I’d slumped over and stared at the faraway ground through the grated balcony floor, feeling bruises blossom on my knees.

There were some flowers in pots up here, and they smelled better than the distant perfumery. I hunkered closer to them. I plucked a few and braided them into my hair.

I definitely hadn’t processed the end of the world. Or rather, not the world. My world. Somehow, I think, I had believed this roof-climbing nonsense would help me come to terms with it. An exclamation rang out from inside the flat, and then the glass door slid aside with a sharp tack as it hit the end of its rail. Warm air from inside gushed out over the balcony. “ Qu’est-ce que vous faites ici? ” a voice demanded. It sounded female, young but maybe a smoker, and I made myself look up. I offered a smile and a halfhearted little wave, like finding strange foreign girls on one’s balcony at midnight should be a perfectly normal thing.

“Sorry,” I said, and realized the cold had made me numb and I sounded a little drunk. “Hello.” The girl in the doorway had short black hair and wore a motorcycle jacket, and she made a tch noise through her teeth. “An American,” she said, as if finding strange foreign girls on one’s balcony was completely normal, but only if they were American.

She looked me over disapprovingly once or twice, but on each pass, her eyes softened. They caught on the pitiful details: my unintentionally-ripped jeans, torn on the way down the roof. The stain on my blouse that could maybe pass for wine if nobody looked too close.

The girl smelled like cloves and cigarettes, but not clove cigarettes, and I found the mixture startlingly pleasant. I focused on that instead of her increasingly-interested eyes when she spoke: “How did you get here?” “The roof,” I said. “I fell off the roof.” She nodded, like this made perfect sense. “Ah,” she said sympathetically. “Well, it could happen to anyone.”

I frowned. Without any hesitation, she beckoned me inside. “I have brandy. You need it.”

“Wait.” I blinked at her, confused. “What?” “Brandy,” she said, and then seemed to question whether she’d gotten her English correct. “Brandy? To drink?” “Right,” I pushed myself up, making the balcony creak. “Sure. Thanks, I guess.” “ De rien .” She slid the door closed behind me, and gave me another strange look before she busied herself with a glass and honey-colored alcohol. “Why were you on the roof?” she asked, setting a glass of brandy down on the table in front of me and keeping the bottle for herself. I looked around instead of answering. It was a very cozy flat, with grandmotherly hangings over the backs of armchairs and paintings on the walls that depicted flowers, lily ponds, and one lovingly-rendered motorcycle. The tile floor was scuffed, and somehow that gave the whole place an air of weariness. “I like your flat,” I said. The girl--I decided she was probably around my age, early twenties or maybe younger--looked around, like she needed to remind herself what I could possibly be complimenting. “Oh,” she said, a bit confused. “ Merci .” She glanced into the neck of the brandy bottle, clearly contemplating drinking from it, but then scowled and found herself a glass. I sipped my own; I’d never had brandy, but it was pleasantly warming on the way down. “What were you doing on the roof?” the girl asked again. I sighed, remembering the exhilaration of such height, the cold wind, the relief of being alone. “I don’t have an answer,” I said. “You don’t want to tell me?” Her tone made it clear that she found this rather rude, and I supposed that it was. I’d intruded on her balcony, after all, and she’d given me a drink instead of calling the police. “It’s not that,” I said, shaking my head. My hair, shorter than I was used to, brushed against the sides of my neck. “Then what?” I shrugged. “I just don’t know why I was on the roof.” She looked confused, but curious, too. “You don’t know how you got there?” “I don’t know why I got there.” “Oh,” she said with a frown of faint disappointment, refilling my glass, which evidently I’d emptied. “That’s not very exciting, is it?” Contemplating that for a moment, I wondered if it was a mindless thing to say, or if I just didn’t know what she meant.

Unlike me, the French girl didn’t seem opposed to conversation. “What’s your name?” The question caught me off-guard for some reason. “Finch.” “Your name is Finch?” “You can call me Finch.” “Hm.” She sipped her drink, brown eyes roving over her flat. “I’m Amelie.” She didn’t seem to expect a ‘nice to meet you, Amelie,’ and I didn’t offer one. “Why are you doing this?” She shrugged, but didn’t hesitate. “You look interesting.” “Interesting?” She pointed to my shirt, and I noticed that in the whole summer I’d passed in Paris, I hadn’t seen more than five Parisian women whose nails were less than manicured. But Amelie’s were bitten and ragged, adorned with a couple of hangnails. “Is that blood?” “Yes,” I said. “It’s not mine, though.” “Whose, then?” “I don’t know,” I said, plucking at my shirt. “Not a person, don’t worry.” The girl leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You see? Interesting.” She twirled the ends of her hair between her fingers. “I want to hear this story.” I owed it to her and I knew it--as payment for my trespassing, and double payment for her kindness in light of my trespassing--but I didn’t feel like telling it. “There’s not much of a story,” I mumbled. “Then it won’t take long to tell.” She inclined her glass to me, as easily as if we were friends, then slipped a hand into her motorcycle jacket to pull out a cigarette and a lighter. The smell of smoke filled the flat, settling into the smell of older smoke.

My glass clinked when I set it onto the wooden surface of the table, and I let out my breath all at once. It didn’t hurt when I remembered, but it was numbing and made me feel tired. The past few months had passed in a flurry of blue eyes and black hair. There had been tangled sheets and boxes of candies, and the scent of laundry detergent that wasn’t mine clinging to my skin more often than not.

And then, suddenly, there wasn’t. “Just a boy,” I said. The French girl scoffed, tapping her cigarette off into a nearby glass ashtray. “A boy,” she said, “is not a story.” That almost startled me. “What?” “A boy isn’t a story,” she said again. Her accent made her sound very knowledgeable. “A boy is a boy.” “Well, fine,” I said, bristling a little bit. “Then what he did is a story.” “And what did he do?” I pressed my lips together. “Nothing,” I said eventually. “He didn’t do anything .” He’d let the smell of waiting rooms and hospital hallways overwhelm the smell of his laundry detergent on my clothes. He’d let the feeling of cold latex gloves, worn by people I didn’t know, replace his warm hands on my skin. I hadn’t argued, but after everything was done, I realized that I had wanted him to.

“Say,” I said. “Could I have a cigarette?” Obligingly, Amelie tapped a cigarette out of the carton and handed it over. I held the little roll between my lips and leaned in while she lit it for me. I hadn’t smoked in years, but the feeling of familiarity and nicotine made me feel more stable. Steadier.

“We had been together all summer,” I said. “I had thought maybe he was going to marry me.”

Amelie pushed her spent cigarette into the ashtray and crushed it down absently, waiting for me to keep speaking. I chuckled humorlessly. “He wasn’t much. I knew that, and anyway, he’d told me so, but I’d still thought…” I shook my head, and licked my lips, and took another drag on the cigarette. “I was going to have a baby,” I said finally, and to my surprise, Amelie’s eyes did not widen with scandal.

Instead, she picked up her glass of brandy and swirled it around. “You’re not anymore.” “No.” I looked down at the edge of the table. It was full of dents, and was probably as old as the apartment itself. “I’m not anymore.” “Was that his wish?” I hesitated at that, but then I shook my head. “No. Yes. I don’t know.” She tilted her head. “I suggested it,” I said. “It was my idea.”

Perhaps, at the time, I’d proposed it because I wanted him to stop me. But then he hadn’t stopped me, and I’d done it. And it was done. And I wasn’t going to have a baby, and I wasn’t going to get married.

Amelie frowned thoughtfully. “So you climbed the roof?” A thought seemed to strike her, and she set her brandy down a little too hard. “You weren’t going to jump, were you?” “I don’t think I planned to,” I said. “I don’t think I thought at all.” When everything was over, we had gone to his father, a butcher in the 17th Arrondissement. I had thought he was going to tell the old man that yes, we had perhaps made a mistake, but we had fixed it and we were still in love and maybe would get married someday. But he didn’t say any of that.

He’d stopped at the mistake. And so, I realized, had we. The old man had come close to striking his son. The son had moved aside--probably an instinct, nothing personal--and his father’s fist, covered in the blood of some or another dead animal, had connected with me instead. It hadn’t really hurt. He hadn’t been trying to inflict hurt, not truly. But his hand had left a smear of red over my belly, and somehow, seeing that had been too much.

I had run out of the charcuterie , leaving the black-haired, blue-eyed boy behind.

He hadn’t followed me. “I don’t think I was going to jump,” I said. “But I think… I think maybe I wanted to fall.” “You didn’t do a very good job,” Amelie observed. “No,” I said. “I suppose I didn’t.” Outside, the ivy rustled on the wrought-iron balcony, and the round, romantic moon washed everything in cold light. “I don’t think falling would be like you think,” Amelie said after a while. I snorted. “And how do I think it would be?” She tapped the backs of her fingers against the ashtray, making little clink s. “Freeing.” That took me aback for a few breaths. Maybe she wasn’t wrong. The feeling of the wind in my hair as I neared the ground--the hair I had cut so that I looked good, like a responsible girl, when we talked to his father in the butcher’s shop--and the knowledge that I was beholden in that moment to nothing but gravity… that might be very freeing. “It wouldn’t be, though,” Amelie said. She shook her head. “Not worth it.” “How do you know?” Her shoulders rose and fell. “I know.” She stood, pressing herself up with her palms flat to the table, and started putting the brandy away. “You want your own self back, no? You want what you want.” “I don’t know what I want.” “Best find out,” she said, closing the cabinet. She nodded at my bloodied shirt. “That man of yours will, new men will, women will… everyone will tell you what to want.” She walked to the door of the flat, and it took me a second to realize that she was showing me out. “No more falling, yes?” I ground my cigarette into the ashtray and got to my feet, went to the door, stood at the threshold. Amelie’s face was questioning, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” I agreed. “No more falling.”