You’re sitting on a linen sofa, looking at a painting on the wall that depicts a young boy with blond, curly hair dressed in his Sunday’s best, posing against a doorframe. His face is turned to show its left half. Surrounding you are cherry wood cupboards and stands with 19th-century lamps, windows clothed in floral curtains, an electric chandelier overhead, and to your side, a tall mirror on top of the crested hearth.     Voices buzz from the adjoining room, but you’ve sequestered yourself alone in here because you wanted another look at the invitation letter. In your hands sits a brown envelope, sealed with a green wax stamp of the same crest on the hearth, and inside, there’s a single piece of laid paper.     In an old English font, it reads, ‘You are hereby invited to the Whitlock manor for a dinner celebration of the new moon. The doors open at 9 p.m. Please wear your finest clothing, and we hope you’ll enjoy the party,’ signed by Molly Whitlock.     Having lived in Whitlock Hills for most of your life, you’ve heard about this new moon celebration before. Your town sits atop a wooded hillside, sheltered from the outside world, truly alone. Yet, when the night grows dark, and you look out at the mountain’s base, you see lights from other settlements, building towers that reach into the sky.     Many, including you, are curious to see what those places are like, but since the last car broke down forty years ago, there’s no means to escape Whitlock Hills—except for the new moon celebration.     Seeing the youth’s curiosity, the wealthy Whitlock family organizes this event every thirty days and lends its resources to send a few people away on a trip. How lucky you feel to finally have the chance at that.     Your sister participated in the event a few months ago as well, and she’s still out there exploring the world, so it must be a wonderful place out there.     After putting the letter back in its envelope, you rise from the sofa and walk into the other room. Inside, amidst striped wallpaper, a display cabinet saturated by ceramics, and an antique carpet under your feet, is the host of guests. Apart from you, three other people have been invited, and they’re conferring amongst each other. While you recognize their faces, you don’t really know them that well, so you stay off to the side, quietly waiting until the event starts.     Suddenly, unannounced, strangers start funneling into the room. Unlike your casual white T-shirt and jeans, they are dressed in blouses or tunics with tight vests scrunching up the chest, paired with dress pants or skirts based on gender. But even more peculiar are the black eye masks they don while their hair is tucked away in brown coifs.     The other guests go silent, watching the mysterious figures fill the room, cluster into groups, and start their own conversations. None of them address you or another guest. Then, upon the last masked face taking their place, a woman appears in the opening.     Her face looks gaunt, cheekbones poking out and eyes bulging from their sockets. A black boater hat rests just above her brows, a curtain of blond hair combed straight down the back of her head. Her black-gloved hands hang still in front of the pleaded skirt from her blue dress, puffed up at the shoulders.     She bows and says, “Welcome, everyone, to another new moon celebration. I hope you’ll have a pleasant night.”     The masked people suddenly start applauding rapidly and vigorously. The other guests follow along, so you do it as well.     “Now.”     The applause abruptly stops, and you lag behind a second. With a mellow grin, the lady’s eyes find you, then the three guests next to you.     “Some of you aspire to venture out of this town, am I correct? I can understand; there’s a lot to explore, but the world isn’t as welcoming as you might think. So, before you run off into trouble, I want to make sure you’re prepared.”     From a pocket in her skirt, she grabs a red mask and puts it on.     “In the outside world, there are a lot of topics that are taboo to talk about. I know that, within our little community, people like to tell it how it is, but when you’re elsewhere, you must know when to mind your manners and hold your tongue.”     She steps to the side, clearing the entrance.     “Breaking such a faux pas is a mistake you don’t want to make.” Her arm presents itself to her side. “Hereby, I would like to introduce my son, Jonathan Whitlock.”     A young man steps forward from around the corner, blond locks curling from his head, a face much rounder and fuller than his mother’s. He appears to be at the end of his teenage years, yet still wears a sailor’s shirt and shorts, fidgeting from their awkward fit.     “Please treat him kindly tonight, and I will grant you your wish for freedom.”     Someone in the group beside you leans to their friend, whispering, “So, is that Molly Whitlock?”     “I think so.”     Ms. Whitlock raises her arms and shouts, “Let the night commence!” before she booms two claps through the room.     As if rehearsed, the masked people start turning and darting around randomly, scrambling you and the guests apart like debris in a storm. Swept up in the current and pushed around, you end up in a corner, a man and woman flanking you, wrinkled smiles sitting below their masks.     “Do you know how the alphabet goes?” the man says.     “I’m sorry?” you reply, unsure if you heard him correctly.     “The alphabet,” the woman whispers. “Could you tell us how it goes?”     “Uhm… A, B, C…” You stop yourself, feeling ridiculous at having to dictate it out loud, but the expressions of the masked pair don’t change. They stare at you with raptured interest. So, you continue. “D, E, F, G.”     As you hum the melody you’ve been taught as a child, your ears pick up the voice of another guest nearby.     “Four, five, six, seven.” They’re counting numbers, also for a captivated mask duo.     “J, K, L, M…” You stop momentarily when you spot Ms. Whitlock’s son, Jonathan, walking towards the young girl who was also invited.     You stare at his smooth face, thinking about how soft his skin looks, when something strange happens. On his right cheek, a fold begins to appear, then two more above it, right next to each other. A bulge of skin pokes out and grows further until it becomes a slope, and when the slits open, they reveal a row of teeth and two sets of eyes. There’s a face, a second face, on Jonathan’s cheek.     “Good afternoon,” Jonathan says to the girl.     “Uh—h-hey,” she replies, her eyes unsure where to look.     “Do you like it here in our house?”     “Get in my bed with me!” the second face yells. “Can’t sleep anywhere else, only on the floor!”     You and the girl jump, shocked by that sudden, shrill voice. The masked woman of the pair then tilts her head at you and says, “Could you continue the alphabet, please?”     Having forgotten where you left off, you start back from the beginning. “A, B, C, D.” Meanwhile, you tilt to the side to watch Jonathan’s conversation.     “Is something wrong?” he says, leaning forward a little with his neck, which is followed by the other face shouting, “Kiss me, sexy lady! I know you want to!”     “Just uh… surprised,” the other girl says through a tremble.     “What for?”     “Well…” Halfway between a smile and a frown, she glances around the room, looking for something or maybe someone. “I don’t know if I should say.”     “Why not? You can tell me.”     “I think it would be rude.”     “There are no guest rooms, so let me grab those boobs!”     The girl backs away into the wall, and Jonathan immediately pursues, grabbing both her hands and gently raising them up between them. “Trust me. If it’s anything I can help with.”     “The uh…” You see her neck bulge and contract from a gulp. “That face on your cheek, the things it’s saying… they make me uncomfortable.”     Instantly, Jonathan’s face levels out, a hollow expression, before he steps back and mumbles, “That is indeed rude.”     Two pairs of hands emerge from the other room and grab her by her arms. She yelps out, “No!” but then they yank her back through the entryway, and in an instant, she’s gone. You hear her shrill screams fade into the distance—where you can’t make out, just gone.     Your heart starts to race, a loud thumping pushing on your eardrums.     One of the remaining guests leaps back and yells, “What the fuck!” which causes a masked man to face him. He shakes his head, saying, “No, fuck this,” and he runs out of the room. No one does anything to stop him.     The front door clicks open before you hear a loud and abrupt thud, quickly followed by the guy’s high-pitched cries, slowly smothered by a heavy groaning until a wet splat marks a stop to it. The door then creaks shut.     The room is dead silent. You and the last guest exchange glances, his face frozen solid, your own going sore from the high tension.     Breaking the hush, you hear Ms. Whitlock’s voice ring from several rooms over.     “Dinner is ready!”     “Ooo, dinner!” With an excited clangor to his voice, Jonathan rushes out of the room and into another. The masked people calmly follow after him.     Now alone, the other guest slinks to you and whispers, “Do you think we can get out?”     “I don’t know.” You go over to a window and tug at its handle, but it won’t budge. A lump swells in the back of your throat, causing your voice to shake. “I think we’re stuck here.”     “What now?”     Thinking back on what Ms. Whitlock said, you reply, “Be polite… and ignore the face.”     “Oh, dear guests! Will you join us?”     A sudden chill washes over the air following Molly’s words, and you know—instinctively—that you need to arrive at the table. It cannot wait, so you walk over and turn to the left, entering the dining room, red walls on every side while a long table faces you, filled with plates, dotted with candle stands.     “Please, take a seat,” Ms. Whitlock says from the table’s head. Jonathan sits at her side, gorging on meatballs drowned in red sauce, and the only spots left are right in front of him.     Carefully, you sit down, making sure not to draw his attention, placing your arms softly on the table and keeping your eyes on your plate. The same meal is before you, bubbles bulging and popping from the dressing like magma. Your stomach cramps up, struggling to hold everything inside.     “Not hungry?” Ms. Whitlock asks you.     “No, I’m fine,” you say, barely able to draw enough breath. “I already ate before coming.”     “You ate before the celebration?”     Masked heads turn towards you, their eyes shadowed under the sockets.     “N-no, I mean—I-I’m sorry—”     “Fat fuck can’t stop eating!” Jonathan’s other face makes you falter for a second, the pressure of everyone’s gazes becoming heavier.     “I didn’t mean any disrespect,” you quickly blurt out. “My cousin came over, happy about me receiving the invitation. Dad made some soup for us and-and I didn’t want to turn it down, so… I’m sorry if that was rude of me.”     “Not at all,” Ms. Whitlock hums, a smile twitching across her face. “That’s fine, deary. Thank you for explaining yourself.”     Letting your chest sink, you carefully smile back.     “Your dad sucks! Mine cooks way better than yours!”     The little face’s whiny voice attracts your eyes for only a moment, but when you return to Ms. Whitlock, her grin wanes. After glancing at her son in turn, she asks, “Is there something you want to say to Jonathan?”     He looks up from his plate, gawking at you with wide eyes.     “No,” you say. “I was just looking around.”     “Are you sure? It’s rude to lie to people.”     “It’s because I’m tired. I usually go to bed around this time, so…”     “Oh, do you want some rest before leaving for the outside world? That’s fine. We’ll prepare some beds for you.”     “Not my bed!” The little face cries.     “That’s all right,” you say, pushing yourself and the chair back, glancing at the other guest next to you. “I think we’ll go home and travel the world another time.”     “It’s really not a bother,” Ms. Whitlock pouts, shaking her head. “We have a room ready right now.”     “I thought there weren’t any guest rooms,” the other survivor stutters.     You nod along, your jaw rattling. “Yeah, and we don’t want to be a bother.”     Following your words, the table remains quiet while the masked people turn their heads forward. The room becomes hot, and it feels like you can’t breathe—that the air is gone.     “No guest rooms…” Ms. Whitlock’s voice drops to a low purr. “Where did you hear that?”     “From…” The guy stops abruptly, shock spreading through his face right before his eyes jerk to Jonathan.     All of a sudden, your neighbor is sucked under the table in a blur, so fast as if something grabbed his legs and pulled him with the strength to rip open trees. You barely hear the start of a yell when he’s gone from your sight. You look down under the table but only see a dark stain on the carpet slowly withering away.     “What was that about a guest room?” Ms. Whitlock asks.     You straighten and see her gaze latched onto you like a pit bull’s bite, the languid grin constant and unmoving.     “Nothing,” you stutter, barely any strength in your voice.     Sprouting a brighter smile, Ms. Whitlock leans over and grabs your hand resting on your chest, planting it on the table underneath her own. Then, her other hand reaches to stroke across your arm.     “Don’t be nervous, sweetie. You’ve done well and remained polite; just let us get rid of your fatigue, and you’ll be off to new places in no time.” Despite your body wanting to tear itself away from this woman—this house—the gentle touch of her fingers trailing across your skin causes a numbing heat to throb through your body, her sultry whispers tickling your ears. “Won’t you stay over for a quick rest?”     You fail to answer, too swept up by the sudden pleasantness of her presence, a nice, warm fire for the chill you’ve been suffering from.     “Won’t you prepare a room for our dear guest, my boy,” she says to her son.     “But I’m still eating.”     “I shouldn’t have to repeat myself, Jonathan.”     The clatter of a fork falling on a plate scratches at your ears, but you lack the motivation to look over at Jonathan. He must be standing up, retiring to the entrance hall before ascending the stairs. That’s your guess… since you’d rather bask in this hot glow some more.     It makes you sluggish. Listless. For a moment, you forget what happened and think about nothing—true serenity.     Then, someone sneezes, and instinctively—because it’s the polite thing to do—you utter, “Bless you.”     Ms. Whitlock’s hands are pulled back, torn from your arm, leaving you in dreadful solitude, and when you look up at her, you see apathy in its most graphic sneer. It makes your head spin with nausea and constricts your chest until it stings.     “Bless who?” she says.     Her question stirs in your mind until you glance at Jonathan, and it finally settles in. He’s coolly staring at you while his second face is twisted in an evil smirk.     You addressed it.     “Bless who?” Ms. Whitlock repeats. “Remember, it’s rude to lie.”     With each passing second, you feel the space around you wither as if a claw is slowly curling in on you. For a moment, you think about answering, ‘Nobody, I must be hearing things,’ but something tells you it’s already too late.     Instead, you jump out of your seat, run out of the room, and into the entrance hall. Right ahead is the front door, offering freedom so close by, but then you remember the horrible sounds when it was opened and the scream that followed.     You turn and rush up the steps to a hallway of doors.     “Don’t be rude now.” You hear Ms. Whitlock’s voice echo from downstairs, gradually growing louder.     Desperate, you try the first door you see, and it opens without a fight. However, once you step inside, it immediately closes behind you, and when you try the handle again, it's locked in place like stone. With a twist at the bottom of your stomach, you slowly turn around, and… a few feet away, you see a human skull sitting on a wooden stand.     You carefully step closer, noticing that something else sits before the skull. It’s a clumped ball of chains, and once you pick it up, the bundle unfurls into a silver necklace adorned by a star pendant.     The same pendant your sister wore.     A hand lands on your shoulder, cold to the touch like steel, squeezing at your flesh firm enough that you know it could shatter your bones. Then, another one takes your other shoulder, holding you in place with absolute certainty. Gathering what little courage you have, you turn your eyes to the side and gently twist your head to see.     A row of pointed, black fingers drape over you like icicles, their tips nudging at your skin. Unable to sense the beating of your heart anymore, you try to look back further at what’s behind you, but then you are thrust away into an endless darkness, and with the abruptness of a twig snapped in two… everything goes silent.


"Two Pair! 10s high!" The meaty fist slaps the lawman's cards on the table, causing the dirty glasses and last bottle of whiskey to jump and wobble. The bar is nearly empty this late at night. Or should it be this early in the morning? I don't know and I don't care. All I do know is Mr Crane won't let me flop down on the sacks behind this here bar until all the customers are either upstairs with the girls or finding other homes for their drunken stumbles. Heh, even the girls want these imbeciles to lay it all on the line and finish up. Sandy's been drooped over Marv's shoulder all night, but I swear she's decided to sleep there. I caught her drooling down his lapel three hands back, but he ain't noticing anyhow. He hasn't seen much other than the cards and his drink since a couple hours past midnight. He eyes the turn now, the ungrateful turd of a card he just dealt himself, and curses. I always find it amazing a man can hold so still while cursing and drinking and, well, Mama told me not to use the other word, not even in my own head. No wonder Sandy can sleep on him like that. "It's yours, Burt, if the Scribed don't have nothing better." Oh, damn. The fatigue muddling my head is instantly wiped away by Marv's words. Not this again. Why did I give them that last bottle? Now the Scribed outsider will take offence and he'll pull those guns. Then I'll need to go call Mr Crane to tell him the bar is all shot up and he'll blame it all on me, I know he will. I look from the three me...people at the table, to the balcony for the first floor. Oh, thank you, sweet lord. Angie's there. She'll step in if anything goes down. She might look like the rest of the girls, but one wrong move and they'll be shipping you back to Tombstone in a pine box. The Colt hides behind that stretch of bare back, cocked, locked, and ready to keep the peace. The peace! Please, please don't make her shoot the lawman. I join everyone else in the room in watching the Scribed. No one calls him that, of course. He's either the man with no name or "Pardner" to most. To us that know him, those on his regular route, he's Boneyard Bill, or Bones if yer brave. I'm not brave. Bill lifts his chin and stares Marv in the eye, the orange glow of the light from his socket doing nothing to pierce the drunken fog of his opponent. Slowly, the hard white of his fingers move to lay his two cards down, knuckles clicking againdt the wood as his hand unfolds. "Three of a kind." Bill's voice echoes in the air, deep and resonant, a sound that throbs through every part of your body and soul until it reaches your brain. And it must be Bill's voice, since we hear it when he moves that sigil-carved jawbone of a mouth. No one cares he doesn't have a throat for breath to pass through. When you live on the edge of the Soul Lost Plains, you get used to people like Bill. You get used to it, or you leave. One way--or another. Burt stares at the pair of tens Bill drops. There are only four in the deck, this being a reputable house of disrepute, and they are all visible. His face flushes. His eyes bulge. Suddenly, I pay increasingly more attention to the bet in the middle. Oh, jeezus, no. The flat, silver star sits atop the small pile of favours. It's just possible to make out the word "Deputy" from where I am. I can only imagine what the Sheriff will say when Bill walks into his office, that star pinned to his desert-tan poncho, head bowed so his cowboy hat hides his fleshless, scribed face. He won't bluster, he won't rage. He'll give Burt a whooping he'll never forget and then send Bill out into the plains. And he will go. But, he'll be back, probably with his bounty, and something will need to be done about it. But that isn't what is going to happen. It's going to be worse, I just know it. "Ye cheated." Burt's voice is low, dangerous, carring the conviction of a man who knows he is always in the right. And the fear of a man who's life depends on not being wrong. "You know I didn't." "That's the third time in a row ye had a ten." "How do you know that? You didn't see my cards last round." Burt's face grows redder than I thought possible, and I go looking for the bat. Or a place to hide. "What ya saying, Scribed? You callin' me a... " "Boys." Angie doesn't raise her voice. "Take it outside, m'kay? I don't want to explain to the sheriff why I had to put holes in your clothes, you hear?" Bill turns to Angie, ignoring Burt, who looks ready to ignore the lady. "You don't want that, Angie. You know how I play those games." The chill air ices over between one breath and the next. Even Burt has lost his bluster, red skin now the colour of snow, or that's the colour they tell me it's supposed to be. His eyes drop to the single bullet atop Bill's stack of favours. One of his special bullets. His soul bullets. "You were saying. Lawman." I've heard that tone once before. The time Bill hopped into town, missing a leg, a couple ribs, and half a hip. He hopped to the graveyard and fell on Old Charlie's grave. I didn't see it, but they say he dug the old man up and 'recycled' what wasn't being used. It took three nights for him to finish carving those runes into the bone but, when he was done, he wobbled on out to confront the mob of pitchforks and shotguns. That was the first time I saw the bullets in action. I didn't want to see them again. I didn't want to see the jauntiness return to his step when he was full up again. "Well?" Damn, Burt, back down! Back down and save us all the trouble of explaining this to the sheriff. Instead, colour returns to Burt's face and venom to his words. "You're a cheat, Scribed." Boneyard pushes his chair back and stands, poncho billowing around his skeletal figure. Humerus, ulna, radius, that's what the doc calls them. Arm bones. They snake out, one of those big black pistols held by the guard on the end of a finger. He places it between Burt and himself. "That," he points at the bullet, "And that," he points at the gun, "Are for you. Don't anyone say I didn't make it fair. When the clock strikes Rise -- we draw." No one moves when he leaves, saloon gate swinging as he passes. One breath. Two breaths. "Who do you want to tell your ma?" "Angie..." "Who do you want to tell her, Burt? Someone will have to." "I got this. This time we're on even footing. I'm same as him." Angie shakes her head and turns to her door, probably to watch from her window. "You're not the same, Burt. You ran and hid the time he came to the cemetery. You didn't see what he done. You didn't see what he is." Her eyes are haunted, their hollowness visible from here. "I'll tell her for you. I'll spare her your stupidity." Burt stares after her, then at the weapon. Slowly, he picks it up, breaks open the magazine and loads the cartridge. All the while, his hands shake. He doesn't look at anyone. No one looks at him. "I got this." He starts for the exit, stumbles, straightens, pushes the gate apart. Leaves. Silence reigns. Marv continued his statue act all the way through. 'Til now. Together, we race for the door and I only just note Sandy's chin smacking into the seatback as he moves. I don't think she was awake long enough to be aware of what's happening. It's later, earlier, than I thought. False dawn has past and the pinks and purples of morning's first light already streak the skies, fleeing before the rolling thunder of Dawn's Cavalry on the move. The clouds of dust their charge kicks are easily visible, and I pray we won't be dealing with a soul storm today on top of everything else. No warnings were issued, but it's long past due for one. Burt stands in the centre of Main Street, Bill down by the old church. He's quiet and still, feet spread, shoulders...well, I have to say loose. His face is hidden under his hat, the brim bowed to cover it. He might be grinning, maybe smirking. Can skeletons smirk? He faces the cavalry, appearing ready to meet them in battle, instead of defending his honour against a drunkard. We all watch, wait. The sky lightens. The cavalry charges. The air is still. Then, they are upon us, their spectral mounts flashing across empty space, their silent cries echoing from open mouths. They twirl their sabres and kick long-gone spurs into longer-gone flanks. They tear past us--through us--the wave of dust following in their wake, the only physical manifestation of their existence, fleeing before the oncoming light. And, just like that, they are gone again, the dust billowing around us, slowly turning to motes of purest crystal as dawn breaks across the town. My gaze darts between the combatants and the line crawling up the bell tower, creeping ever close to the old toller. Burt's fingers twitch. Bill doesn't move a non-existent muscle. The line inches closer. Burt's legs tense. He's ready to act. Angie's right. He fled. He hadn't seen. She would need to tell his mum. Finally, the rays strike the bell and, for the first time today, its silver chime rings out over the land. Burt dives. Bill fires. If it were a normal bullet, he might have survived. It isn't. A spray of colour bursts from Bill's barrel, streams of light putting the sun's recent performance to shame. They twist, and turn, and form beautiful horrors from nightmares. Flying skulls, dead unicorns, demons leaping from unseen air pocket to air pocket. They are their own cavalry charge, and they have spotted their enemy. Burt doesn't scream; he doesn't have a chance. He has barely enough time to realise what's happening before they are upon him, ripping his soul from his body, snatching it away and roaring into the sky. Their cries and cackles are unheard, but I know I will hear them. Eventually. In my nightmares. Bill calmly lowers his pistol, raising his canteen in the other hand. He says something then; I know not what. But the spirits hear him. And, though they struggle and plead, they return to the skeleton, drawn to that bottle. It takes forever and no time at all to shackle them to their master, who sends them somewhere only he has ever been. When the last vanishes from view, he raises the canteen to his jaw and drinks deeply of the nothing. Wiping his arm across his face, he shuts the lid and strides to where what was once Bill lies, retrieving the pistol from the body's loose grip. "Get me his star, Davey. I got a sheriff I need to talk to." I do what I am told.


I promise I'm not a creep. Well, I try not be but sometimes I just can't help but take a double take (sometimes a triple too) whenever I see a beautiful girl walking around. And hey, it's not I'm the only one who does that. Sure, there aren't a lot of bisexual girls in this country who openly showcase their interest in a girl and end up looking like a lost puppy gazing at a random stranger. But hey, cut some slack alright? There is a really good reason as to why I stick with just looking and lamenting over my singlehood instead of shooting my shot. "Hi. Sorry for bothering you but I just wanted to say that I think you look really pretty." Great opening line for a conversation with a stranger right? NO! Not when you are a girl, hitting on a girl in a majorly homophobic society and very little awareness about sexuality amongst people. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?" - Standard reply which is expected but rarely received because hey, why should I be polite with a stranger who's talking to me nicely and just complimented me? The most common response has to be a confused, borderline disgusted face expression, followed by a cold shoulder. This is a clear indication that she's not interested in any sense whatever. Otherwise, it's either of the following responses - 1. Instant Friend-Zone "Oh thank you. I think you look nice too." A friendly response, followed by a friendly smile. "This might sound really weird, but I was thinking if I could get your number, because I would love to get to know you more." At this point, I'm literally shaking with nervousness. Asking for their number is the second most nerve-racking stage of the conversation. Which is the most, you ask? You'll see. "Umm, why do you want my number?" Here comes the crossroad, it's either coming out as a bisexual to a complete stranger and tell them that you are asking them out on a date, or friend zone yourself and hope that someday you might be able to tell them that you are attracted to them. This, right here is where I'm ready to throw in the towel and take off running. Anxiety shooting through the roof, I just stand there contemplating my life decisions while that girl simply walks away. Pre-mature heartbreaks hurt a lot, especially when you know that you never had a chance. 2. Stranger Danger A straight up ignore to my actions is something I'm used to (flirting with friends is really very masochistic). But my desperate heart never understood when to stop. "Hey, I know this really random and you might not even know why a girl is out of nowhere talking to you, but I'd like to know you better. That is if you agree too." Pretty lame, right? I know but when you're standing next to a pretty girl and trying to talk to her, you tend to say a lot of lame things, so excuse me. "I'm sorry, I don't want to talk to you. I don't actually socialise with strangers." And then they simply walk away, unaware of the fact that they just took my heart and squeezed the life out of it. Rejections are something you can never get completely used too, no matter how many times you face them. Believe me, I know. The sheer amount of times I've been rejected by girls, be it by simply disregarding my advances and laughing them off or just walking away from the awkward situation, I could write an entire book titled, "How to 'NOT' Ask a Girl Out if You Are a Girl! |100+ Ways that you should AVOID to achieve Success|" Speaking of painful rejections, the worst has to be having my sexuality ignored for the sake of normality. The best example of this are conversations with friends. Usually people think that talking with friends is easy, that they understand each other and open about such things. Again, NO! Not when most people treat LGBTQ+ people like how they deal with people with special abilities. They exist, it's completely normally and should be treated equally. Of course, everyone believes that the rest should treat them nicely. But when faced with the same situation, they end up being ignorant and arrogant. Yeah, ableism is real. Get your facts straight. "Hey man, could you not talk that way? It's really weird." "Dude, you really should not flirt with everyone you see. That's so uncomfortable to look at. " "Could you not always talk about your sexuality? It's not your entire personality, you know." "Can we talk about something a bit more relatable please? Most of us are straight, you know." I mean, I understand where they are coming are from. Since I also believed that I was straight for quite a while, I know that they might feel a bit out of place. But being called out like this every time, just because my tastes are different, is really painful and embarrassing. To a point where I feel that it's easier to act like I'm straight and deal with the rising internal homophobia, than to actually be myself and face the embarrassment of not being able to have a conversation with my "friends" and supposedly making them uncomfortable. All this, is not a unique experience. People from LGBTQ+ community everywhere face these kinds of situations every single day, ranging from external symbols to false realisations about being fake, abnormal, wrong. But yeah, this has been my journey from being a happy, bubbly 'straight' extrovert to becoming a reclusive and quite bisexual, who spends most of time watching lesbian and gay Tik-Toks, reading absurd Fan Fictions, confused between dying my hair and piercing my ears, always keeping a filter on my words because I'm not ready to come out to my parents, thinking and re-evaluating my sexuality. (Am I actually straight and pretending to be Bi just for attention? Or am I really a lesbian and pretending to be attracted to guys because of compulsory heterosexuality? Or am I pansexual and unaware about it because I'm afraid of the consequences of being outed? Or am I asexual and just pretending to be attracted to someone just for validation?) And imagining how it would feel like to have a life where I don't need to worry about whom I love. ~~~~~ And to anyone who's reading this and going through this too, I'm really sorry that this world can't treat you right, like you deserve to be. I'm really sorry that you aren't able to be happy being yourself. And I hope that someday, this all will change for better. And it doesn't, well we all are gonna die one day anyway right?


They sped along in V formation, kings of the aerial highway. Any jaywalker plucky enough to cross them was flattened. Dale was riding near the front, when the leader honked loudly. "There's a nice hole-in-the-wall up ahead. We're stopping for drinks." They’d been traveling since sunup so the gang honked back their overwhelming approval.

The smooth surface was icy on Dale's underside as he settled into the water. He shivered. Then, after a moment, began to guzzle lake water. He'd been needing a drink for hours. His gullet full, Dale started to think of food. He made his way to the bank where a few of his brothers had gathered to complain about their old ladies between sips of lake water.

"How's the eats?" asked Dale. "Not bad," said Jack, a one-eyed goose that was the head of their V. "Some grasshoppers and frogs here in the shallows."

"Nah, I'd better not," mused Dale. "I ate a cigar butt off a sidewalk yesterday. Plus, I swallowed a diamond ring that I found on a park bench. My stomach needs something lighter.”

"Suit yourself, Brother," Jack returned.

Dale found a creek and followed it into the nearby forest. He had just found a nice spot and was about to dive to the bottom for minnows when a piercing cry for help rang out from farther up the creek. Out of curiosity, Dale paddled upstream where the creek became wide and deep. There was an island of sand in the middle of the creek, and perched on top was a small rooster with a large red comb.

"Could you help me out?" asked the rooster when he saw Dale. "Why should I?" asked Dale as he swam up to the sandbar.

"I—I'll owe you a favor!" said the rooster. "A big one." "Why would I need a favor from a clucker?" Dale laughed. "Is there nothing I could trade for a ride across this creek?" asked the rooster. Dale hesitated. The rooster was clearly a local, so he would know the area.

"I had a bad cigar the other day,” said Dale. “So I'll be requiring minnows." "Sure thing," nodded the rooster. "Get me across this creek, and I'll do you one better."

His interest peaked, Dale allowed the little rooster to climb onto his back and ride him to the far shore.

"I owe you my life!" said the rooster.

"I'll settle for minnows," said Dale. "Do you know a good spot?" "I've got something better," whispered the rooster.

Dale followed the rooster until the woods opened up to a small marshy field. "Here we are," said the rooster. "But you must not be seen, and you must promise not to reveal this place to anyone."

"This place!" Dale's eyes went wide. "Is this a rice field?" "Yup," said the rooster. "But if Farmer John spots you, you'll be shot, so stay low to the ground." The rooster led Dale to an inconspicuous corner of the rice field, and pointed his feathers invitingly. "There's plenty, so please eat your fill."

Dale hadn't been this excited since that corn field in Indiana. He dove into the shallow water and began to gobble rice.

"Is it true that migrators are scared of snow?” asked the rooster.

"What do you mean?" asked Dale.

"You run away from the snow every year,” said the rooster. “Everyone says you’re scared.”

Dale spit out a mouthful of rice. "We aren't running away from the snow, we’re running toward the sun!”

“Winter is scary for locals too,” sighed the rooster. “But in different ways.” The rooster plopped down on the bank of the rice field. "I actually tried to migrate. Almost made it across the stream, but I was washed down to that sandbar."

"Why'd you leave?" asked Dale. "I didn’t think locals ever became migrators.”

“I had to. The chickens on my farm have gone completely insane," said the rooster. Dale chuckled. "Yeah, I'm sure they're wild. A real dangerous bunch of cluckers."

"If you only knew," the rooster shook his head.

Dale ate his fill, then climbed up beside the rooster. "You know," he said, "for a local, you aren’t bad. What's your name, friend?" "I'm Red," said the rooster. "Well Red, thanks for the meal.” Dale flapped his wings. “I've gotta get back to my V," "You won't tell anyone about this rice field, will you?" asked Red. "If a lot of rice goes missing, Farmer John will kill more chickens this winter."

Dale pitied the rooster. Stuck in one place, just waiting to die. "No, I won't tell anyone," said Dale. "I give you my word."

"Good-bye," said Red. "And believe me, I will pay you back for saving me. I give you my word."

Dale flew back to the lake. As his brothers came into sight, he felt his rice coming back up. There was a row of repulsive creatures encircling his friends along the bank. "Mallards!" Dale scoffed.

"This is our turf!" the mallards were quacking angrily as Dale landed. "We stopped here last fall and marked it as our territory." A mallard pointed to a nearby tree, which had a small pile of rocks against its trunk. "We took those rocks from the bottom of the lake and put them there last year, clearly marking this as mallard territory." "Clearly!" said One-eyed Jack, the leader of the geese. Dale pushed through the wall of mallards and stood between the two groups. "It's a big lake," he said. "Big enough for both geese and mallards."

"It's a lake, not an ocean!" said Jack.

"It's not big enough for the two of us!" agreed Marco, the mallard leader.

"How about we settle this in the morning?" suggested Dale. "All of us need a place to stay for the night." "Nothing doing!" honked an old goose as he strode toward the mallards.

"Never!" quacked a young mallard, as he strutted toward the geese.

Peace was never an option. Dale realized that now.

Cluck. Cluck. Cluck. The goose and mallard war-cries were interrupted by the din of interlopers. "Locals?" The pecking and wing-beating halted as the mallards and geese stopped to stare.

Dale saw a flock of chickens edging around the lake, pecking at rocks and grass as they went. They were led by a shriveled looking rooster with a faded comb. "Get lost!" Marco mallard quacked at the chickens.

The chickens stared blankly at the two groups. They glanced from the geese to the mallards, then back to the geese. The old rooster in the lead suddenly stumbled backward. "Where'd y’all come from?" The flock of chickens clumped together and shrieked in unison at the sudden appearance of a threat. "We've been here this whole time, you dumb cluck," said Marco mallard. "Shoo! This is our territory!" The chickens' terror passed momentarily, and they became curious.

The geese became increasingly annoyed as the chickens gathered around them, scrutinizing their bills and feathers.

"Are you aliens?" asked the old rooster. "I've heard tell of your kind." "It's best that you leave," said One-eyed Jack to the rooster, flapping his powerful wings in warning.

The mallards were not so kind. Using their powerful wings and bills, they bludgeoned the chickens into a full retreat.

"We don't want to leave!" squawked the chickens as they gathered behind the old rooster. “The grasshoppers and worms here are tasty,” whined a young rooster. “I’m so tired of eating rice,” grumbled a young hen. “It has no flavor.” "We’re leaving," said the old rooster.

"Rice?” Both the mallards and geese perked up at the same time.

"Pay Henrietta no mind," said the old rooster. "She's just a picky eater." He turned to the young hen. "It doesn’t matter how tasty the bugs are around the lake, this territory belongs to these gentlemen. When we get back to our rice field, you will finish your rice before eating bugs, or you can just go to bed hungry."

The old rooster bowed his head to the geese and mallards, apologizing for the intrusion. The chickens turned dejectedly and started down a well worn path leading into the woods.

This situation suddenly struck Dale as strange. However, before he could voice this opinion, a fresh tumult erupted.

"Wait just a minute!" quacked Marco mallard.

"Yeah, wait!" echoed One-eyed Jack. "What's this about a rice field?"

The old rooster turned and looked at his pursuers blankly, then he stumbled back. "Who're you?" he squawked. The other chickens clustered together and began to shriek once more at the sudden appearance of a threat.

"We were just speaking a moment ago," said One-eyed Jack.

"Ah! You were by the lake earlier," the rooster pointed a wing at One-eyed Jack, recognition dawning on him. "That's how I know you!"

"That..." Jack hesitated. "Is correct."

The old rooster nodded as if greeting an old friend. "What can I do you for?"

"You said you want bugs right?" interjected Marco mallard. "We can give you all you can eat." he gestured at the lake. "Really! You'd do that?" asked the old rooster in amazement. The flock of chickens began clucking in excitement.

"But in exchange," said One-eyed Jack, "We want rice." The old rooster looked surprised. "You want to trade bugs for that nasty gruel?" he shook his head. "I can’t take advantage of you.”

"You see," said Jack, "we aren’t normal migrators. We are… we're 'aliens!’ If we don’t eat rice we’ll die.”

The old rooster looked at him with pity.

"We are willing to make a trade,” continued Jack. “We will give you all the bugs you can eat," he looked graciously from one chicken to another. "All we ask for in exchange is your rice field."

The old rooster hesitated, "I don’t know. It seems like we're taking advantage of you.” The young hen, Henrietta, nudged him angrily. "It’s fair. Just accept!" The old rooster shrugged, then nodded his agreement. "Okay, follow us."

The flock of chickens, geese and mallards formed a caravan along a well worn path leading into the nearby woods.

Dale watched them go. This whole affair seemed very strange. It couldn't be the same rice field he'd just eaten at.

“Ugh!” Dale clutched his stomach. He’d eaten too much earlier, and as he hunched over, he pondered his poor life decisions. If only he hadn't eaten that cigar butt or that stupid ring yesterday. That ring especially. The gold band had simply been too shiny, and the diamond had been too sparkly. It had just been sitting there on that park bench looking delicious.

"Wait!" shouted a distant voice.

Dale spied a small rooster rushing along the bank of the lake. It was Red.

Red caught sight of Dale, and made a bee-line for him.

"Have the chickens been here?" asked Red as he gasped for breath.

"They left a while ago," said Dale. "They led my brothers and some mallards to a rice field.”

"What?" Red’s eyes blazed.

"Wait a minute," Dale held up his wings. "They aren't taking them to your rice field. That rice field is danger—" Dale stopped as the realization suddenly hit him. “But why?"

"I told you!" Red flapped in exasperation. "The chickens around here are devious and evil." "Devious?" Dale cocked his head, recalling the dimwitted locals. "I don't buy that."

"It’s a con!" said Red. "They’ve done it before.” "But why?" Dale asked again, starting to worry.

"If Farmer John bags enough game birds, he won't kill any chickens during the winter,” said Red.

Dale stared dumbly. How had he been so stupid? "I have to warn them!" said Dale. He flapped his wings and flew up. But he'd barely left the ground when his stomach convulsed. He hit the ground with a thud.

Red rushed to his side. "Are you all right?"

Dale staggered up, gazing horror-struck at the path leading into the woods. He couldn’t warn his brothers in time.

"Follow me!" shouted Red. "I know a shortcut." Dale's stomach was in knots, but he managed to chase Red. They rushed along the edge of the lake, and entered the woods using a game trail.

"Foxes use this trail," grimaced Red, "but we don't have a choice." They pushed through the underbrush, keeping a sharp eye out for predators.

"Why does your farmer need to kill so many migrators?" asked Dale, between gasps. "Doesn't he have plenty of rice?"

"He sells all the rice," said Red. "Farmer John is saving up to marry a lady farmer down the road. He’ll eat chicken this winter, until he saves up enough to buy something called an ‘engagement ring.’

The forest suddenly opened up and Dale could see a farmhouse with a smoking chimney, a big red barn, and a rice field. In the middle of the rice field a flock of birds were fighting bitterly. "They haven't been spotted yet!" Dale exclaimed.

As he spoke, there was a rapping at the farmhouse. To Dale's horror, dozens of chickens were pecking at the farmhouse door. The door swung inward and a young man in overalls waded amid the chickens. "What’s going on?”

The chickens flapped wildly and turned in unison to the rice field where the geese and mallards were battling.

"Varmints!" the farmer exclaimed. Shotgun in hand, he waded through the chickens and slinked toward the rice field.

Dale flew up, but thudded to the ground once again. This time his stomach gurgled, and he vomited a mass of lumpy goo onto the ground.

He lay there in the dust, panting. "Have...to warn...them.” "I'm on it," shouted Red, as he dashed toward the rice field. "I still owe you one, remember."

Red raced down the hill. "It's a trap!" he yelled. One-eyed Jack and Marco Mallard halted their battle when they heard Red's warning. That was when they finally noticed the farmer slinking toward them. One-eyed Jack instantly recognized the metal stick in the farmer’s hand. Marco did too. They temporarily shelved their differences.

"Fly away!" One-eyed Jack screamed.

"Run for your lives!" said Marco mallard. The battle screeched to a halt, and in unison, both sides leapt into the air.

The farmer fired off two quick shots, but missed. He reloaded, but when he raised his weapon, the birds were out of range.

Dale saw his brothers fleeing, and sighed in relief. His eyes went to Red, who was now surrounded by an angry flock of chickens.

The old rooster shook his head with disappointment. "Son, do you know what you have just done?"

"I know." Red hung his head. "But this… it just isn’t right.” The old rooster sighed. "No one disagrees with you Red, but this is the only way." The old rooster gestured for the mob to break their encirclement. "Let him go."

Red plodded back to Dale. "Seems like all your friends got away. I guess we're square now."

Dale gazed at the black dots on the horizon. "Hey Red," he said. "Thanks." "Don't mention it," said Red. "What're friends for."

“You aren’t a friend—or a local,” said Dale. “You’re a brother now—an honorary migrator."

"You're not gonna make me fly are you?" asked Red. "I got on top of the barn once and realized that I'm scared of heights."

Dale grimaced. He suddenly felt something squish beneath his webbed foot. It was vomit.

Amid the half-digested rice, Dale saw a sparkle. It was the ring that he'd swallowed the previous day. Suddenly he had an idea.

He ignored the vomit and pecked out the ring. Rushing to a nearby puddle, he began to clean it vigorously.

Red watched on, bewildered.

Dale rinsed the ring until it shone like new. "Take this.” He dropped the now-sparkling diamond ring in front of Red. "What is this thing?" asked Red, pecking at it.

"It's an engagement ring," said Dale.

"You mean?" Red looked at the ring with growing excitement.

"Yeah," said Dale. "Give that to the farmer, and your flock will survive the winter.”

Red whooped.

“See you next year, Brother!” Red pecked up the ring and rushed to Farmer John.

The farmer plodded along with a flock of dejected chickens trailing behind him. He was still cursing under his breath when he noticed the little rooster barring his path. "Not now, Red," said the farmer.

Red dropped the ring on Farmer John's boot.

"What's this?" said Farmer John as he stooped and picked up the diamond ring. "Jesus H. Christ!" he exclaimed. He held the ring up to the sunlight. "Lord in heaven,” he whooped! He bent over and scooped Red into his arms. "Red, I'm gonna make you my best man!" Dale took flight and raced to catch up with his brothers. As the farmyard and rice field faded in the distance, he watched the farmer laugh all the way to his pickup truck. “I’m so getting laid!” he shouted. He stumbled over a chicken every step of the way, but hardly noticed. The chickens were squawking loudly and if the farmer could have understood them, he would have heard them chanting "Red! Red! Red!" with wild excitement.

Dale dropped into V formation. "You guys as hungry as I am?" he groaned. His stomach was empty and all he could think about was finding another rice field, one with fewer chickens.

Before anyone could reply, dozens of quacks sounded and a V formation of mallards pulled alongside. The two groups glared angrily at one another for a long time. "There's a nice estuary five miles south-west," Dale called. "First ones there get to stay!" “We marked that one last year!” quacked Marco mallard. “We left a pile of rocks by—” But the geese ignored him as they beat their wings and sped toward their next meal.


Santiago, 14 February

My dear Butterfly, We knew it was true love when that ladybug reached our holding hands the day we first met. It happened when the sun was shining in the highest of the sky. I had already studied for my Bar exam, so I was eager to enjoy the little spare time I could afford. You were finishing college too, do you remember? Who would predict that the end of our professional education would concur with our relationship bursting like the Big Bang? I remember those October evenings when eating our ice-creams ghosts in the plaza. Yet, we did not pay attention to the spiders and the spooky Halloween atmosphere. The spring of love bloomed through us. Hours passed by rapidly. We did not want to say goodbye and part to our separated homes.

The summer of our love ended. Autumn and winter arrived with their problems: our first jobs, protocols to follow, and so on. They created all the arguments and difficulties we had to pass through.

'How can you date a guy like him?' My father would say.

'How can you date a girl like her?' Your mother would ask.

'I hope you never marry. It would be a disaster,' the aunties said. Our love was the rose, and their rejection of our relationship was the thorns we had to endure. They pinched us. We bled. I still cry sometimes when I see our scars and remember those moments. Those stupid comments ruined the most beautiful days of summer. The memory of that tiny ladybug playing in our hands and the joy we felt when looking into each other's eyes that very first day were the reasons why we were not giving up. But was it worth it? It was a question I did every day when fighting for our love. Regardless, on the darkest day of our winter during December, when we were shopping the Christmas presents, I knew that our love would blossom again with spring, stronger and more hopeful than ever. I just knew it.

How did I know it? I knew it because a ladybug posed on my shoulder and made us stop arguing.

'Hey, look!' You said. You took it and played with it in your hands. That day, we discovered something marvelous: the little ladybug fought gravity! If you held it in your arm, it would walk to the sky, never to the ground. If you rolled your hand to have the little insect upside down with its face looking to the ground, in that vertical position, it would rotate with its legs until its face headed to the sky again. We did the experiment so many times that day. We were astonished! No matter what, the ladybug would insist on being optimistic and looking to the sky rather than being led to the ground until it reached the highest point of your hands and flew away. We looked at each other. That was our same attitude towards the obstacles of our happy ending.

First, a ladybug gave us the drive to start our romance. Now, another ladybug was saving our relationship. Were they related? We laughed while making up a story of them being mother and daughter or maybe grandmother and granddaughter. Then we thought: What if they were males? Father and son? Grandfather and grandson? Anyway, those ladybugs were even better than Cupid because if the baby in diapers made people madly fall in love, ladybugs made us magically fall in love. Though our relationship had a freezing wind around it, the heat and the shining sun on the festive day were stronger than the cold. It was, by far, a Christmas miracle. That December was the turning point in our love story.

It is a fortunate fact that roses can survive after removing their thorns. The day you picked up those scissors and pruned them away was so liberating. How beautiful was our love when cutting down all the negativity towards us! Shutting down all the toxic relatives was the miraculous remedy we necessitated. Who needs them when five guests are enough to celebrate our wedding, the most important day of our lives? The following year, it was the birth of our little baby boy, Juan de Dios, the Christmas miracle we needed to convert those foes into allies. Who can resist the laugh of our little one? And how happy we were the day a little ladybug landed on our baby’s nose! Then God blessed us with the birth of our twins, Clementina and María. How pretty daughters we had on New Year's Eve! We felt like fireworks were celebrating with us their arrival, not only the New Year but also the new lives that were beginning. These little blessings sometimes acted like little monsters. When Juan de Dios broke the twins' Barbies, I was near to having a mental breakdown. Disciplining Clementina and María was all a challenge. Ironically, when we were broke, they demanded more toys, clothes, and money for going out with friends than when we were rich.

Yet, we forgot all those problems when we saw them acting in the school's theater plays. Also, Clementina's poems are priceless. Juan de Dios is a gifted doctor now. And María, wow, a badass leader. They grew strong and then flew away like birds must do. Why am I describing all these events of our lives in my Valentine's letter? Because I want you to remember that the outside atmosphere does not determine the weather of our love. Yes, we can have summer in Saint Valentine. Yes, we can enjoy the flowering of love even in September. No, being in our summer holidays does not guarantee that we will have warmth in our relationship. I write this to advise you to be hopeful when the cold arrives and be careful when the heat surrounds us. Every day, somehow, we must take care of our relationship and endure the different challenges life makes us face. That is, at least, the vow I take today and every day since our wedding.

I love you with all of my heart. You are my support. I am yours. The one who says that love cannot win all the battles a partnership faces is the one who has never truly loved anybody in his entire life. I hope this letter is like a rainbow on our special day. With love, Your flower.

P. S.: I forgot to tell you that Clementina asked me yesterday by phone why my favorite insect is the ladybug. I told her succinctly that a ladybug saved our relationship in the harshest moments.

'Really?' She asked. 'How?'

I could not badmouth her great aunties nor her grandmother or grandfather. Why would I show her the thorns in the garden we had for so long taken care of?

I only answered, 'Oh, if you knew. If you only knew.'


"You said you'd teach me the true meaning of wrath," the man with the gun said. Disgust curled each word before he spat them out through gritted teeth. "Is this what you wanted?" His hand did not waver as he kept the gun fixed on the woman in the shattered doorway. In another lifetime, he had called her beautiful. He remembered the time before the earthshakes began to last days- weeks, even. When anyone could risk traveling up into these high-risers and not just the fools who had something to prove. A life where fragility and delicacy were cherished and beautiful, not something one had to beat out before the Quakes did it for them. There was nothing of that life left in either. Her eyes were just as hard, her hands just as bloodstained, even as she held them before her with palms up in plaintive surrender. He didn't take his eyes off those hands, knowing, knowing that as soon as he did, she'd make him regret everything and more. "Cal," she said, in that tone of voice. His teeth ground together. One finger played with the trigger of his gun, offering the slightest pressure before releasing it. "Don't you dare." The woman eased into the room. He took a step back. She took another forward. A jerk of the gun halted her in her tracks, and she spread her hands just a bit further apart. "I just want to talk." His smile was so forced it almost pained her as much to see it as it did for him to wear it. "Yeah? Yeah, really? Talk? I should have shot you as soon as you opened your mouth." She winced. It looked genuine. "Cal, I'm sorry. I never should have started this." Another careful step forward, and she lowered her hands. "It's best we step away before any more of our people get hurt." He laughed out loud, a surprised bark. "Our people?" His boots crunched over broken glass as he swiveled to peer into each corner of the room with wide eyes. The gun remained fixed on the woman as Cal went through the exaggerated motions before he looked forward again. His expression went flat. "The only people getting hurt are yours. Because of me. I'm hurting them. You haven't gotten close to touching me or mine." Her eyes lowered. Submission? Guilt? He doubted it. "I realize I was wrong," she said. "If I had known-" "If you had known," he cut her off. "You did, Rae. You fucking did. Don't fucking try to tell me no one told you better. Don't play this game with me. It might work on all the others, but you know damn well I never thought you naïve." Her eyes flashed and her chin lifted in that little stubborn tilt it did right when she was ready to give someone a piece of her mind. Cal didn't wait for her to do that, forging on ahead anyway. "Blood. Fire. Pain. Your exact fucking words, Rae. So how dare you come here and beg the dog to stop after you kept on kicking and kicking and kicking it into the fucking corner. You want me to stop? Then you can damn well MAKE ME!" He breathed hard, his eyes alight with the fire of his words. Rae's hands had curled into fists at her sides. Her voice turned low, harsh, and controlled. "I thought you would see reason, Cal." His finger brushed the trigger once more. "I can't turn my back anymore, Rae. So either you step down; admit you're wrong so the world can see, or my hands are going be stained red with every one of your boys." "I can't step down," Rae said, half to herself. Her face turned, that delicate profile suddenly lit by the setting light through the window. The pang of her voice would tug at the heart of anyone who carried one and it settled like a thorn in Cal's chest. "I have nothing left." "I didn't start this, Rae." His voice turned harsh to counter the sorrow in hers. "I'm just-"The gun twitched in his hand. "-I'm just winning it." "So why not just shoot me here?" Cal said nothing. Instead, he raised his gaze from her hands, tracing over the scars of her face and lines of her brow. He finally settled on her eyes and allowed his own to lose their hard edge. "Because," he said, his voice gentle, "for the sake of everything we shared together," he paused, seeing her face soften, then stiffen as he continued, "I want to see you suffer, Rae. I want to watch as you finally understand the mistakes you keep on forcing and the pain you cause. I want you to know that, as much as you pride yourself on finding everyone's little weaknesses, their little place it hurts most, it doesn't make you any less vulnerable." Her voice matched his for softness, yet simmered with the force of words she just barely held back. "I'll kill you and everything you care for, Callahan." The man shook his head and lowered the gun. "Too late for that." And, as she turned for the door, he clicked his tongue at her. "So long, Rae." Her footsteps echoed down the hallway and faded into silence. "That could have gone better," Cal murmured to himself as he turned to the window and crunched his way across more glass to peer out at the street. He watched for the small hooded figure exiting the building and tracked her path until she disappeared down another street before letting out his held breath. "Could have gone worse too." He was in no hurry to leave this room, though a chill wind with the scent of ocean tugged at his collar in threat. It had been a nice building, before the Quakes, and as Callahan turned back to consider the scattered wreckage of windows and furniture, he considered something else. That consideration led him out the doorway, through the hall, down the winding stairs, and out through the sagging doors where he turned to face the building. The gusts of wind and beginnings of rain stood no chance against his coat, and so Callahan stood there for some time, pondering what he saw before him. "Are you gonna stand there 'til the sun goes down?" Cal cocked his head briefly in a nod to acknowledge the soft voice before he turned to face a woman leaning up against the mangled remains of a bike rack. She had settled into an almost cliched pose, her arms crossed and chin lifting her cocky smirk. Like his own, her dusty coat bore the stains and tatters of many battles. Unlike him, a chain-wrapped bat dangled from one hand. "A book could be written about everything to observe on this street, Keth," Callahan said without preamble. He gestured between them. "About us, even." He wasn't wrong. Tall where he was short, pasty where he was tawny, the two couldn't contrast each other more. She had even chopped off her hair, leaving only a fine black fuzz. Cal would rather put an eye out than touch his own pristinely curled locks. "Is this going to lead somewhere or have you been sneaking snakebite again?" Cal granted her a thin smile. "Both. We're going to have company soon." "Ah, fuck. You're not gonna-" "Ah- ah- ah," he held up a finger to halt Keth's protest. "It's not that many. She never risks more than a couple of her boys." Just a talk, he had said. All they had to do was arrive, chat, and leave. He had said there was no way Rae would try to strike out at him. "You lied to me," Keth said, her voice not even incredulous only because it was just so like him. "You lied and now I have to beat some idiot asses because you thought I wouldn't come with you if I knew?" His pleasant smile faded briefly, just a touch. "I never said-" "Tch," she said, her turn now to cut him off. "I told you I was only here for your protection. Not to start murdering in your damn one-sided war." "Technically it's not one-sided, they're attacking us now-" "Cal." He shrugged, his brow quirking in a sheepish manner. "Does it help if I say sorry?" "It might if you actually meant it." Keth turned her head to scan the street, gripping her bat more firmly. "I don't hear anyone." Callahan turned as well, swiveling his whole body with lips pursed and dark eyes searching. "That's strange. I really thought she'd take the bait." Ignoring that comment, at least for the moment, the woman straightened from her half-seat on the bike rack. Her head cocked, ear turned towards the harbor, and a searching tenseness to her expression. Before Callahan could say anything further, she put up a single finger, stilling him into silence. The silence stretched on for longer than it should have. "Fuck," Keth said softly, realizing what exactly that silence meant. "No birds," Cal agreed. His smile had returned, thin and tight, the man pretending that his face hadn't suddenly gone pale. Reaching into her coat pocket, Keth pulled out a set of binoculars, fumbling with them the wrong way in her haste. She righted them and peered through towards the harbor, straining to see where the grey waters were. Or at least, where they had been. "Quake?" Cal dared to ask. She nodded grimly. "Water's gone." In the distance, a foreboding grey swell had begun to ascend in a wave towards the city. To the naked eye, it seemed laughably tiny. No one would be laughing when it closed the distance to finally crash over land. "Well?" Callahan stretched out his hand to Keth, fingers curled invitingly. She snorted once, ignoring the gesture in favor of breaking into a full-on sprint in the opposite direction of the tidal wave. With his coat flapping in the wind of his passing behind him, Cal did the same. "I think!" he called to Keth between breaths as they ran, "That we! Were set up!"


“Remember this one?” said Jenny gently stroking the roughly done stitch on the belly of a visible old but freshly cleaned Teddy. “‘Of course I do. I thought I was going to die that day” Jenny imagined Teddy say with a frightful cadence. “And this?” Jenny inquired gently pulling at the dark black button, that once used to fasten her school blazer, and now was Teddy’s left eye. “’It was terrible,” replied Teddy, recalling the fierce Boston Terrier that terrified Teddy.  “Although I miss Bambi”, Teddy lied. “No you don’t” Jenny asserted. “You hated her since the very moment Mom brought her in.” she persisted. “You’re right. I don’t miss her at all” Teddy laughed. Jenny joined in. Jenny tucked the bear in just under the neck with his right arm sticking out. Just the way he liked it. “Good night” Jenny wished the bear before turning the lights out. “Good night dear” the senseless stuffed bear replied. Teddy and Jenny had been together since Jenny was 7 years old. Jenny was 26 now and Teddy was, well, not Teddy. When Jenny was 13 years old, Jenny’s mom had bought her a new bear which Jenny continued calling Teddy. The old Teddy was probably abandoned at a park or stolen by one of Jenny’s childhood friends. Perhaps Jenny had supressed this memory and continued to believe that the Teddy that was currently being spooned by her was in fact the Teddy that Mom brought home when Jenny was just 7 years old. Jenny got up early in the morning and looked at her phone. No new messages or emails. She threw the phone back at the bed stand and hugged the bear sleeping next to her in a tight embrace. The bear was almost as big as a 3 year old baby but lighter than her pillow. “Morning dear” Teddy whispered in Jenny’s ears. Jenny’s mind still processing the “no new messages” ignored Teddy’s greeting. Jenny’s best friend had received an invitation for a 9 months internship to Paris and Jenny was waiting for her invitation. “After all, I’m smarter than Bindi” Jenny angrily thought. “I said Good Morning my sunshine” said Mr. Teddy trying to gain Jenny’s attention. Jenny grabbed Teddy by the neck and tossed the bear out of the bed and into the floor without looking back at where he had landed. “Am I not smarter than her?” Jenny questioned herself. “You are the smartest person I know” cried Teddy from the floor. Jenny tossed like an epileptic patient in her bed, a montage of exasperated movements followed by a scream into her pillow. Teddy had seen it all. For a teenager she spent an awful amount of time at home. Although Teddy enjoyed her company, he was also a victim of her sudden bursts of anger. He had been tossed, thrown, strangled, punched, pedigreed, half nelsoned, suffocated and even drowned in one or two occasions. Jenny got out of her bed and went into the bathroom. And yes, Teddy had been there with her too. Teddy was glad today wasn’t one of those days. For many years Jenny would take Mr. Teddy to the toilet with her. She would sit him right opposite to her on top of the wash basin while she did the deed. Poor Teddy couldn’t even cover his eyes. He was traumatized. Fortunately for Teddy, Jenny’s fear of bathroom monsters didn’t last long. Jenny reappeared in her bedroom and started getting ready for work. She walked over and around the room while Teddy still lay on the floor. While tying her shoe lace, Jenny noticed Teddy on the floor. “I’m sorry Teddy” she picked him up and sat him on the dressing table. “Here you go” she said as she positioned him on the table so that he wouldn’t fall. “There’s a letter for you Jenny” cried Jenny’s mom from outside her room. Jenny jumped in excitation and ran to the door, opened it, snatched the letter from her mother and shut the door on her face. “What is it?” the mom inquired still outside the room. “Nothing” Jenny replied automatically. A typical teenage answer. The wish had been granted, the prayer had been answered. Paid internship to Paris. And with her best friend! Jenny was beyond happy.

Jenny ran out of her room screaming.  “I’m going to Paris!” “I am going to Paris!” The sound of cheering and laughter and happiness reached Teddy. He was happy too. “Am I going to Paris too?” Teddy asked himself. It was seven hours later that Teddy saw Jenny again. She entered her room with the tired smile and fell flat on her bed. Mr. Teddy had quite enjoyed the spooning the previous night and had hoped that the same would happen today. But Jenny did not move. Jenny’s mom entered the room at midnight, tucked her daughter in, turned the lights out and left. Mr. Teddy had to sleep on the hard wood dressing table all by himself. The next morning Teddy watched as Jenny brushed her hair next to the mirror and in the mirror. The remnant of yesterday’s smile still visible on her face. “So when are we going to Paris?” Teddy asked Jenny in anticipation. “Knock! Knock!” answered the door. “Who is it?” Jenny asked still driving the comb through her hair. “It’s me, Aunt Jen” answered a sweet voice from behind the door. Jenny opened the door and welcomed her niece Ophelia inside. “Your mom told me you lost your doll. Didn’t you?” asked Jenny The young child nodded and expected Jenny to bring out the doll she had lost. “Well here’s Mr. Teddy”, Jenny said picking Mr. Teddy up from the table. The child was visibly disappointed. “Here, take care of it while I’m gone, will ya?”, Jenny requested. Ophelia had been tricked by her mother into believing that Aunt Jenny would give her a new doll. She did not want a bear. “Don’t you want it?” Jenny asked surprised at Ophelia’s response or lack thereof. The child stared at the toy and then at Jenny unable to provide a response. “Don’t you like it?” repeated Jenny. “I like it” Ophelia replied dishonestly. “Well, it’s yours now” Jenny confirmed. The child took the bear and pressed it on her chest, confirming its new ownership. “Just like that? How can you… How?” Teddy stammered in disappointment, shock and abject humiliation. “I’m sorry” Jenny replied realizing what she had just done. Teddy turned around and hugged Ophelia refusing to face Jenny’s loathsome face and that ridiculous smile. “May I go now?” Ophelia politely asked her aunt. Jenny in a daze caressed the back of Teddy’s head. But he wouldn’t turn. With his chin on Ophelia’s shoulder, the bear was streaming tears that no one would ever see. Ophelia ambled out of the room leaving Jenny alone with her selfishness. A deep sinking feeling stabbed Jenny on her chest. “How could she?”


The Things I Wrote By Jennifer Leigh Kiefer In sixth grade, you stopped me in the hall by our lockers. You had noticed I was reading a book you liked. I was new to the school; you were my first friend.              By seventh grade we had a friend group that was inseparable. Bonded by books, bonded by the written word. We spent our time writing stories and acting out the ones we read in the woods by your house. Out there we could do and be anything. We would climb the trees like cats or fly out of them like birds. Those woods were a whole world to us then. You were so wonderfully adventurous, always convincing us to climb another tree, dream a little bigger. And when I climbed too high, you talked me down, helped me find my way back to solid ground and then we’d race back to your room with the big white bookcases, and you’d tell me your newest idea or show me the strawberry lip gloss you wanted to wear for your first kiss.              And by eighth grade, boys were lining up, without even knowing it was strawberry lip gloss they wanted to taste. While I was hopeless at flirting, you knew just what to say. Plus, you always were the prettiest of us. You’d flip your hair, figure out how to swish your hips when you walked… you didn’t need to turn around to know they were right behind you. We acted out stories less and less, but we still would fight for the main character when we did. Even though it should have been clear to me who the main character in the story of our friendship was. I would have followed you anywhere. Of course, I was your sidekick. At lunch our group expanded to include the guys who always fought to sit on either side of you. But that was okay, I sat directly across, the perfect spot to share a smile, or an inside joke, when the boys lost your attention. At the end of the school year, we spent a whole day racing around a theme park, no adults to slow us down. We imagined what high school would be like. We could never have been more wrong.

             Instead of freedom we found our lives crowded by harder classes, more activities, and less time to visit the woods and our world away from all the stress. I could no longer keep track of all the boys following you, but maybe there weren’t nearly as many as I remembered. It took me nine years to figure out why they even bothered me so much and I’m not so sure I trust my hormonal teenage memories.  But to me it seemed like they were always there. Even during the one class where there shouldn’t have been any, you found ways to go find them. I thought that was supposed to be our time. I worried our time would disappear entirely.

             I don’t remember what precisely started our fight.              I don’t remember what caused me to write that letter.              But I remember that I cried as I wrote it. I remember one of our friends warning me not to give it to you. And I remember not listening.

             However, for all the words I wrote about feelings in that letter, it has taken nine years to come to terms with what I was really feeling. It seems so obvious now. It’s crazy to think it took another six years to figure out that I liked girls. And it wasn’t until a date with a girl a couple years later that I really figured out that I always had. I don’t remember her name, but she told me about how she realized she had grown up with a crush on Meg from Hercules. Since that conversation, I’ve seen movies I’ve loved as long as I can remember in a new light. I didn’t only have crushes on Disney princesses though. I’ve been slowly rewriting my memories from before as well.

             Do you remember when we pretended that we were our favorite characters from our favorite book series? I got to be the main character in that one and you played my love interest. We worked together to save the world against the villains we made up in the woods. Inevitably I would get hurt or captured and you would come to save me, playing the hero just like the hero you had become to me when you talked to me in the hall that day in sixth grade.

             For a couple wonderful years, you played my love interest out there in the woods, until out in the real world, you found love interests of your own. In the real world I wasn’t the main character, but while it took me many years to realize, you were still my love interest.

             In that letter I wrote that I hated your laugh. I wondered for many years why I wrote about something so trivial, so irrelevant. I didn’t hate your laugh though. I hated that I was no longer the one making you laugh that way.

             I hated that I didn’t know how to leave the world we created, or that I didn’t want to. I hated feeling left behind in those woods. No one to talk me out of the tree. No one to convince me to climb in the first place.

             You moved away the summer after I wrote that letter. Before I could realize what I had done. Before I could apologize. Did you find new trees to climb by your new house? Do you still climb trees today? Do you create new worlds in those trees like we once did together? Do you ever put those worlds on a page?

             I’m not as good at it now, but I’ll still climb a tree here and there. And I often dream the day away.  I’ve filled pages and pages since we last spoke…including pages and pages I’ve wanted to send to you.

             But I’ve forever been haunted by the things I wrote. It took me nine years to understand myself, how could I ever ask the same of you?

             You were the one that taught me to climb higher though, so I will ask anyway.

             And you were the one that convinced me to take the risk and jump back down when I climbed too high, so…              You were the first girl I loved. I came out as pansexual last year, though I’ve always loved regardless of gender. I wish I would’ve known it then so I wouldn’t have written those hateful things out of a jealousy I didn’t understand. But I had a long journey of self-discovery to go through, one I wasn’t ready to take when we were friends.

             You owe me nothing, but if you remember the world in the woods like I do, if you remember the sleepovers, the snacks, the strawberry lip gloss, and if you remember all the books we read and words we wrote together with a fraction of the fondness I do… please forgive me for not appreciating a friendship I cherished so much more than I showed. Forgive me for all the things I got upset by with no explanation I knew how to give. Forgive me for all the things I wrote. Both in that letter and the apologies I have written and left unsent since.

             Forgive me because I know I’ve made far too many mistakes, but even though I have grown a lot and learned a lot and changed so, so much… I’d still really love to visit that world in the woods one more time. With love, The girl who still misses your friendship nine years later.


"This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives," Dill starts the story. "Two friends Akiva and Katie where the bests of friends. they did everything together, but their lives were gonna take a sharp turn." "I'm so excited for soccer tryouts, TOMORROW!" Akiva says in her purest grin. Akiva has the best soccer skills in their school! She is one of those athletic people that actually like what they're doing. "Don't get to excited Akiva, you might not make it," Katie says grimly. Although her name makes her sounds cheerful like Akiva, Katie doesn't think she has any talent, so she is upset to know Akiva is AMAZING at everything. "What do you mean? I've beat lots of boys in a billion games. I can beat them again!" Akiva says really getting on Katie's nerves. "Akiva...How are you so good at this...at everything?" Katie says in a shrill voice. "I don't know...but I love it, all the sports that existed are so fun and amazing!" Akiva grins, yet again. this throws Katie off the road of a simple conversation to her blowing her head off. "AKIVA!!" Katie yells just about to say something else but stops herself from blowing up. "I don't get why you're amazing at all the sports in the land and I'm Dreading everything." "Wait Katie, you should join badminton team! I think you would love it. The best part is...Tryouts are tomorrow!" Akiva cheers. her voice is so high pitched and when she's happy, it's very contagious. "Oh, That's the thing where you have a birdie and a racket?" Finally Katie sounds excited about something. Next Day Katie I woke up from my restless sleep. Badminton? no, that's not for me. Akiva is just trying to make sure I'm not in her way! uggh so unfair! I am joining the soccer Tryout! I think I'd be better at that then Badminton. I put on my blue sweatshirt and Black pants the Normal. I head downstairs and have breakfast, the normal eggs. I put my homework in my bag and check my phone. Akiva, she's on her way? already? I don't really wanna spill that I'm doing soccer Tryouts too. I don't wanna feel her wrath. I pass her at our spot but keep going till I get to school. I hang with Stephanie till the bell rings. I see Akiva at soccer Tryouts, she seems confused to see me here. but I ignore her till then end of practice that's my goal. we do drills, kicks, blocks and cool stuff, but Akiva seemed as sloppy as me or maybe just a little more. That is surprising. "Think quick!" Ms. Soccer says to Akiva. I think Akiva didn't hear because the ball smashed her right in the face! she looked at all of us and then her face looked a little goofy! I couldn't help but laugh. Others saw her goofy face too and joined in too. I felt so good! my first laugh with possible teammates! I actually like this team now! "Tryouts is over," Ms. Soccer says. "I am proud MOST of you joined tryouts today. You'll find out who made the team tomorrow, It'll be on the gym doors." I go home with some of the other kids! I know what Akiva is taking about! It is sooo fun! I am excited to see the gym door tomorrow! All these thoughts make me feel loved. I put on the same types of clothes but different colour. I put homework in bag and rush to school! I talk with Dan a guy that tried out for soccer too! the bell rings. Me and Dan get to the gym doors. I look on the sheet! Oh My!!! I made it on the team! just barley with 77 points! I look for Dan too. YAY Dan made it too with 83 points! this is amazing! I see Akiva come up to the paper and I blend into the crowd. She looks destroyed! her head looks hot pink! oh man! she probably isn't on the team. she should've payed attention to Tryouts! "Why! KATIE! I had 76 points! you destroy everything!" she mutters loudly. I feel so bad. I am glad she didn't see me. Akiva was so close. but what's done is done. Akiva I woke up from my slumber as normal. but today is no normal day! it is the day of my SOCCER TRYOUTS!! this is gonna be the best day ever! I put on my white shirt with blue and green lines at the collar, my black legging pants, black thin conferrable socks that made my feel nice and ROCKSTARISH, the fabric of my clothes felt smooth and silky. I feel like the queen of the world! I quickly head downstairs to eat breakfast. Yum, it's like my mom knew it was my special day! I had the most delicious waffles ever! I gobble the waffles like it was nothing! I grab my Math, Science, History and English homework and put them in my pink and black bag. I run upstairs to get my phone it's 8:01! I swiftly put my phone in my pocket. I slide my feet into my soccer shoes and head out the door, no hesitation. I grab my phone from my pocket and text Katie, On my way. She reads it and we meet up. She seems like a ghost, like she had no sleep or anything! maybe she was too excited for badminton. we don't really talk when we get to school. She is just hanging with Stephanie, so I hang out with JJ. It is time! Finally, all my hard work will pay off! I get to the Tryout but I wasn't expecting to see...Katie?? I thought that she was doing Badminton why is she here? I approach Katie and she sees me, but she walks away? what? is Katie mad at me or something? I try to ignore all the nervous energy coursing through me. I need to concentrate, but all I can think about is why Katie is here. "Think quick," Ms. Soccer says as she kicks the ball. I was too dazed about Katie, to notice the ball that got plunged into my face. That toke me out of my daze. Oh My Gosh! I was too dazed about Katie that I forgot about Tryouts! Ms. Soccer glared at me and so did the other kids, including Katie. Katie started to laugh at me! others joined in too. I am gonna do better the rest of this practice so I secure a spot on the team. "Tryouts is over," Ms. Soccer says. "I am proud MOST of you joined tryouts today. You'll find out who made the team tomorrow, It'll be on the gym doors." Ms. Soccer left and all my joy got wiped off of me like that. I lay in my bed and stare at the wall. I completely flunked! I couldn't stop thinking about Katie. She laughed at me, stared at me in an embarrassing time, ignored me for almost the whole day and she didn't even walk home with me! I have 76 points...I could still make it on the team, I assure myself. I didn't do THAT bad. people could've gotten much worse? I think these thoughts till I flutter my eyes close. I awake in panic! Did I Flunk the team? was yesterday real? I bounce my clean clothes on and sprint downstairs. I shove food into my mouth as quickly as I can! I don't bother bring my homework back to school, cause I forgot, no I didn't want to do it. I shove my phone in my pocket and sprint out the door! I forgot my bag! you know what I don't care! I NEED to see the results! I get to school just as the bell rings. instead of going to English I Rush to the gym door just like the other people who tried out. I search the paper for my name and the point count...Not there! I look at the vert bottom. My Jaw clenches like it's gonna break! there it is, Katie Welt with 77 points! I am gonna KILL HER!!! I thought we were friends but by then it was too late.


I looked in the mirror, brushing light pink eyeshadow over my eyelids. A bristle from the

brush poked my eye. I blinked several times, trying to get the powdery dust out. My eye stung badly. I turned on the faucet and splashed some fresh cold water in my eye. I wiped my eye with

a towel, but a cold mist washed over me, making me feel cold and forgotten for a few long seconds. I shook off the feeling and blinked some more, but all of a sudden the light above me flickered. I stopped blinking and closed my eye to look up. The light stopped flickering and was blaring at me.

Weird. My eye felt normal again so I continued putting on the eyeshadow until my right eyelid was filled with a small explosion of light pink to go with my teal dress. I moved on to the left eyelid, blinking a few times.

The lights flickered again. They flickered in rhythm to my blinking. Extra weird. I ignored it. All I needed was to get through getting ready. I continued, brushing my golden brown hair, making it silky and smooth. My lipstick matched perfectly with the rest of the look, a nice brick red. Still, every few seconds, the light above me would flicker. I convinced myself it was just an old bulb, though it still blinked to my blinking. I put one last clip in my hair, then looked at my full self in the mirror. I have to admit, I looked good. My teal dress had skimpy noodle straps and a fitted waist, then it flowed down to right above my knees. I had wedges on that made me look four inches taller. My hair flowed down my back. My long bangs clipped on each side.

I batted my eyelashes and blinked as I walked out the bathroom door, only to find every light in the house blinking with me. I panicked. My breaths were hot and fast, my heart was beating so hard I thought it was going to jump right out of my chest. I blinked back tears, but that only made the lights blink even more. Then, all of a sudden a light from the kitchen burst and shattered on the ground. The once whole bulb was now in millions of pieces. My tears stopped so I stopped. I stopped blinking, I stopped breathing so hard, and my heartbeat was back to normal. I took a deep breath and reached out a shaky hand to turn the lights on for real, but I didn’t have too. When I started blinking again, the lights started blinking. Even the fallen light. The glass was shattered and broken, but the light still flickered with me.

I screamed only to find the hallway light shattering too. I didn’t know where to go. The lights kept flickering and stopped me from focusing. My only thought was to go outside. I crossed my arms over my head and ran for it.

I fumbled for the lock on the door, only to realize that I had locked it, not opened it. Once I slid the lock out of place, I swung the door open and ran outside. My eyes were squeezed shut and I stifled a sob. Eventually I opened my eyes. What I saw made me scream.

Last I knew it was 9:00 p.m. Now the sun was up. I blinked rapidly. The sun blinked rapidly. It flickered from day to night, night to day. I was trapped. Trapped in my own world.  I looked around, trying to find something, anything. I was tired of seeing the sun come and go. Popping up one second but being gone the next. I slowly got up, wiping my wet teary eyes with the back of my hand and went inside. I didn’t know what time it was, but I went to bed. Once I touched the soft bed with the soft fluffy pillows, my eyes were closed. I had a dream. I was in my bed, though I wasn’t myself. I was something else. I was hungry. Hungry for more. Hungry for more power. I moved closer to the bed. I needed her. She was my way to what I needed. I moved even closer. All I needed was her. She would be my way.

I locked my eyes with her closed ones. I am Shormist. Sizing up my prey, I jumped into her body, making us one. My eyes bolted open. I was sweaty but cold. I was also very hungry, but not for a meal. I got out of bed, and steered my way to the front door. It was early morning, still naturally dark. I was willing to let the people keep their sunrise, so I kept my eyes open and alert. I started walking through the neatly trimmed grass, striding down to the sidewalk. I let the people wake up and start getting ready for the new day. More cars made their appearance, along with tired people drinking their morning coffee. I stopped walking at an electrical tower. It stood tall and in charge of all light. I started my climb to the top of the tower, my eyes still open. When I reached the top I saw the eyes of people staring and doubting. I turned towards the tower. It would have to end its power in ruling all light. It would have to work for me. I stared at the tower, willing it to do as I say. I turned to face the town. My hunger was slowly being satisfied, but there was one thing that would make me full. I would be in full rein of all power. No daylight would ever be seen again.

I closed my eyes. One fast, cold, hard blink. And that made all dark and all ruled by me, Shormist.

I heard them screaming and yelling. Shouting at a teenager to get down, and other harsh words. But this was how it was going to be. Darkness forever.

My eyes were still closed as I climbed down the tower, letting my senses carry me. At the bottom some came immediately to see if I was ok. Others thought I was the cause of the eternal darkness, and they were right. “What did you just do?” said, what I sensed was a tall man. “Bill, this girl was not the cause of that!” said a lady with a shrill voice. “Why are your eyes closed? Open them!” “Did you do that?” “What is the cause of this?” And then I spoke. One simple word. “Darkness.” I let my senses make my way up the tower, And when I got to the top, I stayed there for the rest of eternity. I stayed there for eternal darkness. And I stayed there for me, Shormist.


My name is Mary I am 27 years old, and in 2 months time I will be graduating from university of Zambia, with a masters degree in accounts!! God I can't even imagine this,it has always been my dream to be an accountant one day and this dream of mine is soon going to be a reality in 2 months time. But over the past 5 years have come to realise that life is a journey full of struggles, full of problems full of challenges and full of ups and downs, such that if you are not strong enough you can give up on your dreams. I believe in life we all have dreams that we want to achieve one day, but some times the circumstances that we find ourselves in makes it impossible for us to achieve our dreams and most of us we end up giving up on our dreams. Five years ago I lost both my parents, and this was the time when I was about to enter into university. On that fate day when I lost both my parents I thought that was the end of my life , because my parents were the ones who were going to sponsor me to university. I didn't know what to do, and I was so confused all I did was cry and ask God why these things where happening to me, because I did not understand why God would allow such a thing to happen to , been a Christian I know that God sees and knows everything, and God knew that I was supposed to go to university for my studies, God also knew that for me to go to university I needed my parents for sponsorship and so I kept asking God why I took my parents from me when I needed them. First forward 5 months after the burial of my parents I said to my self , I am not going to site down cry all day and feel pit for my self and I am not going to give up on my dream of going to university and become an accountant, because giving up is not a solution and if I give up on my dream of becoming an accountant nothing will change my situation will only get worse, so I prayed and asked God to give me the strength and the Grace I also asked God to give my wisdom and knowledge to know what to do, because been a Christian I also understand that nothing is impossible with God if you ask he will give you what you have asked, so I prayed and asked God for his guidance because I knew that God was going to answer me and he did, he answered me and he gave me a good idea . After a few days God told me to move out of my parent's house and to go and live with my Aunty, aunty Jane I then rented out my parent's house and I used the money to pay for my first semester tuition fees and everything that was needed for me to start school. And one thing that I can tell you is that my life wasn't so easy during my university days, life was so difficult, there was so many things that I needed while I was at the university, but I couldn't have those things, because the money that I was getting from the rentals was just enough for my tuitions fees. But despite all these challenges that I was facing I never gave up on my dream of becoming an accountant, I kept trying and moving forward, even though they where times when I felt like giving up I never gave up on my dream because I knew that one day my dream will be a reality and in about 2 months my long life dream of becoming an accountant will become a reality. And now my advice to everyone out there who wants to give up on your dreams because of the challenges that you are facing today, is that you should never give up on your dreams instead you should keep fighting and trying until your dream is fulfilled, because giving up is not a solution it only makes the situation worse, because when you give up nothing changes everything remains the same. So no matter how difficult the circumstance you find your self in is don't ever give up on your dreams. And always remember to put God first in any situation that you find your self in because God will never fail you not even once all you need to do is pray and leave everything in God's hands cause he knows what's best for you. Sometimes you might think that God is not there but believe me you God is always there and he works in mysterious ways when you least expect him, just have faith believe in him and he will do miracles for you, he will make a way for you where there is no way, he will meet you at your lowest point in life, if he did it for me be list assured that he will do it for you as well just don't give up on him and he will not give up on you no matter what. I always encourage poeple with my story and I tell them how I faught to be where I am today , and I tell them that the reason why I am here today is because I never gave up on my self despite me lossing both my parents when I was just about to go to university. And now I am on the verge of achieving my long life dream of becoming an accountant, just in 2 months times I will be graduating from university of Zambia with a masters degree in accounts just like I have always wanted, my dream will soon become a reality. And this is so because despite everything that I want through while I was pursuing my dream I never gave up I keep moving and working hard. And you too your dreams can become a reality only if you don't give up when things are hard , because nothing is permanent in life problems come and go even the most difficult ones. The End.