There was a ranch in northern Idaho owned by the Desperación family. Frederick, and Julie inherited the ranch and lived in the large mansion at the center of the estate. Their niece, Elizabeth, lived in a shack beneath a large oak tree on the outskirts of the property. She didn’t mind this arrangement, in fact, she preferred it. She preferred the rolling meadows of wildflowers speckled by dashing young pine saplings than the manicured pasture of her family’s cattle whose horrid stench perished any hope of Elizabeth carrying on the family tradition. She steered clear of the pasture, barn and mansion. She felt no desire to be near them. She preferred it this way. Her aunt and uncle preferred it as well. Elizabeth, bless her soul, was a terrible worker. She couldn’t help but stare at the sky beyond the mountains, listening to the sounds of the sea. She was, as her aunt and uncle described, “a chronic idealist prone to willful forgetfulness, and an especially horrid conversationalist when it came to matters of the physical world.” They wondered how they could be related to someone as distant as Elizabeth. They spread barely hidden rumors about her to the workers, and secretly plotted her removal from the family will. Elizabeth knew these things but didn’t mind. They left her alone, and she them. She preferred it this way. All was peaceful and content in Elizabeth’s life. She would wake with the sun, or the lunch bell, or whenever she chose. No one cared when she did. No one bothered Elizabeth. She would don whatever clothes were cleanest and sink into buttery dollops of sunflowers melting in the sun, inhaling their pasty scent as she had for years on end, until she felt the desire to clear the imaginary weeds from vainly measured pine saplings that haven’t grown for years and won’t grow for years. Elizabeth was alone with her thoughts, as she always was. The ground absorbed her tears and the wind silenced her cries. She was alone, piteously alone, and there was only one thing in her life that banished the joy of death, her cousin Oliver. Elizabeth thought that with a name as whimsical as Oliver, the young man behind it must be equally so, but it wasn’t so. Oliver was a stern man, aged before his time by spending sunny days huddled within the shadow of religious doctrine. He desired nothing more than to be a humble clergyman in the church and had overcome the obstacles of pride and wealth to do so. He became a paragon of virtue, his heart a great outpouring of love and affection for all who knew him. He was a flawless man, an exemplar of his faith, save for one mortality, his love for his cousin Elizabeth, an overwhelming force only counter-acted only by her equal love for him. No one knew that Oliver was to arrive at the ranch that day. Elizabeth lay on a large rock watching two dragonflies making love in the air, pretending to hear the cry of the eagles over those in her head. Her aunt and uncle lounged in their new gazebo, sipping iced cocktails out of crystal goblets, thinking about how grateful they were to have such well-behaved cattle, such amiable weather, such excellent finances, such reasonable politicians, and how Elizabeth couldn’t mess any of it up. Just as Oliver’s car parked at the edge of the family property, they had each settled into the quiet contentment of their private agonies. Oliver rubbed his calloused hands over the letter tightly clutched to his chest. He approached his parents without looking up and mutely placed the letter on his father’s overflowing lap. They take dainty sips from their goblets and inquire to the whereabouts of his priestly vestments. He ignores their mordant questions with a shrug of his drooped shoulders and walks into the open fields while his parents indignantly wave their pink hands for his attention. After satisfying themselves with meager effort, they address the letter simply titled, “This letter explains everything.” They open it and wish they hadn’t. Suddenly the air becomes too hot, the cattle too unruly, the finances too unstable, the politicians too unreliable. They signal the servant to renew their glasses and complain about their lives into the folds of each other’s throats. Elizabeth had not heard any of this. Her favored paralytic state deadened her to the undesirable world around her. She felt today was a day of great despair, as all days were. The sky sank heavily on her sun-burned shoulders and razor-sharp flower pedals maimed her bare legs. Another day would pass without Oliver. She felt no hope for today, and no chance for tomorrow until she heard his voice say… “Elizabeth?” She sprang from the ground with joyous tears carelessly flooding her adolescent eyes. She ran to her cousin and threw her arms around his neck, determined not to let him go, determined to tell him how much she missed him, determined to tell him how much she loves him, determined to tell him that a life spent with him is greater than any life spent without him, determined to kiss him until her body fails her, determined to love him until the world ends. “My lover is pregnant, and I am to marry her. This is goodbye.” As it did then. Elizabeth fell away from her one true love. Her opened mouth wailed unadulterated anguish. She cursed the God that birthed her love for a life without her, the God that stole his life from her so that he could steal it back for another woman, the God that they worshipped and led neither to happiness, damning the God that took Oliver away, damning the God that took Oliver away. “Oliver!” He’d already walked away, sparing no comfort or attention to the crippled girl in the open field, blind to her memory in his mind, deaf to her strangled cries of love. He ignored his parent’s desperate questions and drunken bargaining and drove back to his lover whom he eventually marries and fathers two children who hate his drunken abuse and finally cast him out of their home after his dalliance with a minor. Elizabeth remained on the ranch to bear the memory of her love as reminders of her worthlessness, her hopelessness, her uselessness. It wasn’t until three days after she hung herself that her aunt found her while looking for a lost lamb.


I woke with a start to see my boyfriend, Jamie, aiming a shotgun at my head. “DON’T FUCKING MOVE!” he screamed at me. I’d only just woken up and this scenario was pretty unusual, so I hadn't really planned on moving just yet. I was still trying to gather data on my surroundings to work out what the fuck was going on. Jamie had stopped yelling and seemed to be sobbing. His face was all red and blotchy and wet. I’d never seen him like this before, but I made a note that it was not a particularly attractive look on him. I briefly wondered why I was considering his attractiveness at this moment in time and then returned to the primary task at hand; dealing with the sudden shitshow unfolding in my bedroom. As I went to adjust myself and start trying to reason with my newly psychotic boyfriend, I realised that I was sitting up, which meant that I must have fallen asleep, in bed, in a seated position. This seemed a bit weird, but given the other things going on around me I decided to park this oddity and come back to it later. I really needed to focus on the important things. “Jamie” I said, in what I hoped was a calming tone. I wasn’t really sure what tone of voice I should go for, since I had never encountered a scenario like this before, but calming seemed like a good option. “Please!” He half shouted half sobbed in my direction, shotgun still aimed squarely at my forehead. A smell wafted by my nose and I realised that I was hungry. Starving, in fact. Had I missed dinner last night? Focus. “Jamie” I tried again, in my soothing tones. Christ, I really was hungry. That smell was making my mouth water and I could almost feel my jaw trembling at the thought of eating. “Please” he whimpered “Please, don’t come any closer. You’re.. You’re not yourself. Please, just stay there.” Not myself? What the fuck? I’m not the one pointing a shotgun at my life partner! I decided not to raise this point with him right now, given his current state, and persisted with plan A; getting him to calm the fuck down. I was starting to get pretty agitated too as I was now fully awake and had been awake long enough to properly understand the severity of the situation. If things didn’t start to change in the next couple of minutes, there was every chance my gentle, caring, loving boyfriend was going to become a crazed, psychotic, murderous boyfriend and we would be making headlines for all of the wrong reasons. But my god I was hungry. That smell! It was so distracting! It made my jaw ache and my stomach felt like it might implode if I didn’t eat soon. “Jamie” I tried again, raising my arm, palm forwards in what I hoped was a kind of non-threatening “it’s okay’ motion. BANG! I felt something graze my shoulder. He’d fucking shot me! Fucking crazy bastard. This filled me with an almost uncontrollable rage. I mean, he was clearly unwell, but to SHOOT me?! This situation was getting out of hand very quickly. Drastic action was required and I needed to formulate a plan B, quickly. Jamie’s sobbing/whimpering had grown louder and he was now making the sound of a hysterical child crossed with a wounded animal. It was the kind of noise I didn’t really think humans were capable of. I suppose it was the kind of noise you *hope* humans aren’t capable of. The kind of noise that alerts you to a deep-rooted, animalistic distress, and signifies the absence of any rational thinking. “Please” he kept saying “Please, I don’t want to, I can’t…” What the fuck was he on about? I looked down at my right shoulder to assess the damage the shotgun had done but I had to do a double take. A huge chunk was missing from my bicep. Christ, could shotguns do that? It felt like he’d grazed my shoulder but apparently he’d taken off half my upper arm. The wound was all jagged and torn, it kind of looked like I’d be bitten by a rabid dog or something. I could see the bone and bits of muscle and flesh hanging off and for a moment, I was weirdly intrigued by the anatomy of my arm. It then occurred to me that it didn’t hurt. I was struggling to formulate a plan B as by now there were a lot of things about this scene that weren’t quite adding up. But with the overwhelming issue of my boyfriend firing a shotgun at me I was finding it quite hard to piece together the full jigsaw in my mind. And I was so hungry! It was getting really quite difficult to focus with this overwhelming hunger consuming my body. I don’t know what it feels like to suffocate, but I would imagine that the longer you go without air, the more and more the thought of breathing takes over your mind, until it’s the only thing you can think about. All other thoughts leave you and the only thing you can concentrate on is taking a breath as your whole body fights to fill your lungs with air. Well, that’s what this hunger felt like. Jamie was still sobbing somewhere in the background of my thoughts but that smell, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was so delicious. I wasn’t just hungry, I *needed* to eat. I needed to taste that salty smell on my lips. I needed it like… I don’t even know. Like a fish needs water, like a plant needs sunshine. Neither of those come close, I needed to eat like it was a compulsion. There was nothing else I could do at this moment, but eat. I looked up at Jamie, the shotgun still aimed at my head, and tears streaking down his face. Oh. My. God. He smelled delicious. I could smell the sweat dripping off him and his tears rolling down his face. I could smell his fear, and his panic. And I wanted to taste it. “Please” I heard him whimper. I lunged at him, I needed to satisfy my hunger.


Bits of wrappers hidden under the store shelves crinkled as the fleshy tendrils of the mop moved back and forth across the cheap tiled floor. “What’s this?” Ryan looked up from the register. Inez continued to mop. A twisted smile crossed Ryan’s face, his voice grew louder “Stealing money from the till, are we?” The mop froze. Inez looked up, “What are you talking about?” “Looks like we are $50 short tonight.” Ryan held up a fist-full of cash. “And *you* were on register today. I just got here.” It was Inez’s first week on the job. She had been tempted by the lumps of cash every time she rang someone out. Who wouldn’t be? Especially when your belly’s empty and you’re not sure the lights will be on when you come home. But, she had resisted that temptation. She needed this job, and there weren’t many others around that would hire a 17-year-old dropout. “I didn’t take anything, if that’s what you’re trying to say.” She stared at him. “I don’t know.” He fanned his face with the bills. “Numbers don’t lie.” Ryan sauntered over toward the hot Cheetos and meat sticks. He placed his elbow up on the shelf and leaned in toward Inez. “You know… Bob would be pretty upset about this. He really, really, *really* hates when people steal from him.” Inez thought back to the rest of her day. Had she accidentally rung someone out? No, it couldn’t be. She had been careful, very careful. She used to get straight A’s in math, and nearly every other subject. She was meticulous, studious, someone with a lot of promise. And then… her mother got sick. Then everything seemed to fall apart. “I didn’t steal anything.” She spat out the words. “Well,” Ryan leaned in a little closer, “Seeing how this is your first week, and I’m a nice guy, I’d be willing to cut you a deal.” A shiver moved down her spine as his eyes moved up and down her face, almost searching for something. “What kind of… deal?” She said as her eyes narrowed. “You see, I could use a favor.” Thin lips stretched across his face. “How about you take my shift tonight?” “Your.. shift?” “Yeah. AND you can pay me for it, too.” The shit-eating grin grew bigger. “Wait… no.” She held her hands up and stepped back. “That’s bullshit.” “Well, hey.” He turned to walk back to the register, shouting over his shoulder. “I’m just trying to be a nice guy. I’m really putting myself at risk to try and cover you. But, if you want, have it your way.” “This is blackmail.” Inez stomped toward the register. “There is no way I took that money, and there’s no way I’m giving you anything.” “Look.” He leaned over the counter. “Either you lose a little bit of money, or you lose your job. It’s up to you.” “You… you...” She pointed her finger harshly. She could barely control the heated breath that rushed in and out of her lungs. Barely keep back the words that she wanted to say to him. She needed that money more than he could ever know. Taking an extra shift was one thing, she would always say yes. She could always use the money. But, *this*? “What’ll it be, darlin’?” Inez stood in silence for what felt like forever, trying to quell her rage. The breaths came in and out in giant rolls of hot air, like steam was billowing out of her nostrils. After a few deep breaths, she was able to fight back the urge to strangle him. Then, finally, she was able to calm down enough to talk. “... Fine.” Her glare was like an icy dagger. “Great!” Ryan grabbed his coat and trotted off to the door. “I really appreciate the favor.” Inez stood in silence, staring at the register. Her mind a constant buzz of memories from earlier in the day. Her head aching with a terrible pressure as she analyzed each passing thought. “Oh, and Inez.” Ryan turned around as the automatic doors opened in front of him. The shit-eating grin grew large enough to swallow a whole pig. “I really think I’m going to enjoy working with you.” She waited for the familiar ding of the doors to let her know he was actually gone. Then she rushed behind the counter and furiously counted all of the cash, dutifully noting the record of every purchase made during the day. It was short. Exactly $50 short. She counted it again. Still short. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out how it had happened. Unless… Ryan had snuck it out when she wasn’t looking as soon as he got into work. The CCTV cameras would show it for sure. But, she didn’t have access to them. And Bob wouldn’t be in until morning. Which, is when her shift would now end. It was only 11 PM. This was going to be a long, long night. The thought of her mother being alone that long, and not knowing where she was if she woke up… it was almost too much. She would call, but she didn’t have a phone. And Bob didn’t like personal calls being made on the store’s phone. Inez slumped against the back of the counter and collapsed into a heap, just out of view of the CCTV. There was no way out of this situation. She was trapped. *Ding*. The doors opened again. An icy blast flew in. It was 100 degrees when she came into work earlier. It wasn’t unusual to get too many customers on a weeknight this late. For some reason, this time she had a very uneasy feeling. Inez crept up, her eyes just glancing over the counter. Something moved past the edge of the aisle, and then seemed to disappear. She stood up and looked around. Then, near the fridges in the back, she saw it again. She crept over toward the aisles, trying to look nonchalant. Then she peeked behind them. A gangly mass of hair was draped around cheap leather. The pockets brimmed with the colorful coverings of chocolate bars, lollipops, and beef sticks. One hand stuffed a bearded face while the other clasped an oversized container of cheesy puffs. The figure grabbed a beer from the fridge. Then it turned and walked calmly, confidently toward the back door. The one that only employees use. “Hey.” Inez’s voice cracked into a tiny whisper as she tried to speak. She was almost right in front of him. The figure did not turn back. Didn’t even acknowledge her existence. He pressed onward, pushing his body through the swinging doors. Inez’s knees buckled. Her body started to shake. First Ryan, now this. Bob would have her head on a plate if he knew she let this guy get away. “Hey… HEY.” Inez stammered as she broke into a run. Her hands pressed against the swinging doors just as the man in the large coat disappeared behind them. “You can’t go back there!” Her body pushed through the opening. But, instead of the dingy back room that smelled of bleach and weed, there was a sudden drop. Before she knew it, she was falling. Air pushed past her face as she screamed into the empty nothingness. It was pitch black. She fell for what felt like forever. But it was probably only a few feet. Her body hit the ground with a large thump. The cold, hard, uneven ground scraped her nose and the side of her face like a cheese grater. Head bounced against the surface, the elbow of her sleeve tore open, a painful groan exited her lungs as the wind rushed out of them. She lay on the ground for a moment. In pain, trying to understand exactly what just happened. Then she looked up. The cruddy old chair of the back room was gone. The walls were dark slate and bare, no emergency exit signs, no labor rules. No buzzing, twitching fluorescent lights hung above her. There was only the light of a dozen moons hovering high above her head like a pack of scattered marbles. She tried to push herself up, but a stinging pain in her knee kept her pasted onto the ground. Painfully, she turned her neck to look behind her. The swinging doors were no longer there. The storeroom was gone. Everything was gone. In its place was a dark, cold world. Like the cliffs beside the ocean after midnight. But there were no lapping waves, and no shore to retreat to. Nothing but an endless sea of chiseled, dangerously tall blocks of stone stretching upward toward the haunting moonlight. As the fog danced slowly over the landscape, they revealed the endless winding of stone walls. Twisting and contorting around as if they were a maze. “You there.” A voice came from out of the darkness. Inez painfully forced herself up a little more, frantically, trying to find its host. Trying to be ready to defend herself. “What in the devil are you doing here?” A figure with a scruffy beard, slightly dotted with bright orange flecks stepped out of the shadows. The empty cheese puff container hung under the pit of his arm. Inez’s lips moved, but no words came out. A million thoughts swam through her mind as she tried to make sense of him. She must be dreaming. Maybe she fell and hit her head. That would explain the pain. There was so... much... pain. She had never had a dream this real before. The feel of the wet stone beneath her palms. The acrid taste of blood pooling out of her split lip and into her gaping mouth. “Well, out with it.” The bearded man stepped closer. “H… he…. Help me.” She whispered. “Me?” The man’s face turned down into a frown. “Help *YOU*?” Inez sat there with a pleading look on her face. “Oh, well isn’t that RICH.” He turned to the walls and shouted at no one in particular. “She wants *me* to bloody help *her*.” He stooped down to her, the wrappers in his pockets crinkling as he bent down. “Am I to be your rescuer then, eh?” His voice was low and unforgiving. “Am I supposed to scrape you up off the ground and lead you out of here like a god damn fucking savior? Could you be so unbelievably daft to be in this place and think that I would fall for something like that? Anyone you can get in here must find their own way out.” Inez’s eyes grew wide. The bearded man practically spat as he spoke every word. “Do you not know where you are, you dolt? Do you think I don’t know? I don’t know who the hell you are, but I’ll be damned if I spend one half of one percent of my energy helping a mindless idiot that dares to ask for anything HERE.” With a jolt, the man was on his feet again. Tattered brown leather swished into Inez’s tear-streamed face as he turned and walked away, back into the darkness. “WAIT!” Inez screamed, head searing, body aching. She looked up once more toward the sky and the jagged, endless row of dark stone. “Wait…” She whispered into the cold air as she sobbed. Just as the sleeve of her shirt was becoming soaked with tears and blood, she heard a noise. The clip-clopping of shoes. She braced herself for whatever might come out of the darkness. The bearded man appeared from the misty shadows again. He took a deep breath. “I had a moment to think.” Inez pushed herself up. “Please… help me…what is this...” “I was a bit harsh earlier.” He interrupted. “It was unbecoming of me, and I would not normally act like that. It’s just… this place. You have to be on your toes. I wanted to come back and apologize. I have a most urgent job to do and it almost made me forget my manners.” Inez smiled through her tears. “Then you’ll…” “Here.” He grabbed her hand. At first, Inez thought that he would grasp her hand and lift her up. But, instead, he pried her fingers open. Into her open palm, he placed a chocolate bar. “I can’t just leave you empty-handed. Here, think of this as a ‘good luck’ and ‘farewell’ gift from me.” A sad smile stretched across the dirty face before he turned around. Inez watched with horror as the bearded man disappeared for the last time.


The Volvo is a reliable car, but, like fine wine, gets bitter with age. Its engine whirls reluctantly to a start, its lights responding in a dazzling array of bright red and blinding white. From a distance, the scene was nothing more than the old routine of a seasoned road veteran, but to its driver, its lights were the ticket to freedom. This ticket was the gateway to a fleeting sense of hopelessness and simultaneously the yellow brick road to freedom. The catch, however, was that it always led to the same place. A Volvo lets you feel lost, but nonetheless comforts you with its familiar roar and occasional stumble. Feeling lost with this car is another way of saying you’re totally free to go wherever you want. So I think of this freedom as if it were the crisp night air pouring into the front seat from the sunroof, tasting sweet as a byproduct of bees hard at work pollinating the spring flowers. With all windows down as I swerve between potholes, the nearby wildlife are presented with the lyrical genius of Wheatus as he and I harmonize from the bottoms of our hearts about the struggles of teenagers and their dirtbag counterparts. In celestial mockery of my Volvo and its headlight hubris, the night sky awakens. Their collective luminescence overwhelms the faltering turn signal on my heap of 2004 Japanese metal. As the road widens and the turns subside, my headlights become almost one, blending into each other and forgetting their differences. I am no longer the driver, but a passenger on a falling star. There is no better sense of our existence than this feeling of senselessness. A grinding thud interrupts this moonlight sonata. “Damn you,” I whispered, mostly to myself, but also to the pothole. It should regret its actions and remain deeply penitent for adjourning my mighty dance with the heavens. Nonetheless, I pop the trunk and begrudgingly begin the process of replacing my blown tire with a spare. It’s always the front left wheel, and it’s always a user error. For that reason, I have slowly grown to accept the gentle indifference of the world. There are no inherently bad things, just different intentions and consequences tied to each action. Thus, it is to capture the universe in essence to say everything needs everything else in order to be anything at all. The only true “bad” thing would be to take it too seriously. After all, it’s just a pothole. The Volvo sputtered back to life, its lights reflected in the eternal pool of the sky. Two roads diverged in this wood, and I took the one with less potholes. It is not necessary to reach any destination beyond my Volvo’s capacity. The purpose of a drive is to drive - to take the wheel and your hand as one and smell the oil. It is not to reach a destination, but to enjoy the sights along the way. One must imagine Sisyphus happy. As I gaze in astonishment at the world above me and the warm air surrounding me, I find myself overwhelmed by the pressure of these small celestial candles. As I turn off my car’s front beams, the sky follows suit, the Volvo lights fading as they lose their battle to the sun. The sky fills its pool with splashes of color, its painting becoming an infinite ocean, with the Volvo lights reflecting the universe looking back at itself.


“Be thankful of what you have; you’ll end up having more. If you concentrate on what you don’t have, you will never, ever have enough.” – Oprah Winfrey There once was a boy named John, who lived in an old and small red cabin up the hill with little to no neighbours around. John was a skinny and weak but determined child, whenever he goes to school, he’ll always envy those who play soccer and basketball, he thought to himself while watching at the side line “Wow, those people sure are energetic, they’re so strong and fit, I wonder how it’s like to be that strong, life must be easy for them.” As he wondered about his hypothetical life, he started to analyse the fast and elegant movements of the players, day by day he’ll analyse and see how they do it, how they throw the ball and how they shoot for the goal, and all the time he’s fascinated by how good they are. Until one day, John decided to join them, after being envious of the players for so long, John wanted to climb up and be just as good if not better than the player. First John went to the soccer team and tried his hands on the black and white ball, of course it didn’t end well at first, John couldn’t even pass the ball onto another coming players. After weeks of playing in the soccer team and practising on the wide and green field, John still can’t manage to keep up with the rest of the team who had been playing for years. John wasn’t even qualified to partake in the competition, he wasn’t up to par. People even started to doubt John, the team, the couch and even his parents were trying to convince him to find another hobby, one could even say even John was starting to believe in their doubts. Until one day, during practice, John landed a straight hard goal. At that moment no one was really cheering for John as landing a goal is not enough for him to compete, but for John, it was the first major sign of improvement. John became even more determined and more obsess with soccer, John started training in his own free time, day and night, John will be spending the time on practising his kicks and coordination. Until finally, the couch recognised his skill and he went to win a gold for his team. All the people who once doubted John was cheering for him, lifting him up in the air and such, he had accomplished what he desired, to be on par or better than the players. John had never felt so alive at that moment. After a few months however, John returned back to his normal mood. He was good at soccer but there’s nothing left to prove. So, he looked upon the gruelling basketball team, thinking “If I could become good at soccer, I bet I could become good at basketball as well”. So, he left the soccer team and soon joined the basketball club with the same amount of determination he once had for soccer, at first of course he couldn’t catch up to the rest of the team but he knew he was improving, he was attentive regarding his progress and that’s what kept him determined and eager. The couch for the basketball club could see it, he saw the fire in John’s eyes and offered help with practice. Not long after that, he was qualified to compete and won yet another gold. He had accomplished what he desired, to be just as good as in basketball as he was at soccer. John had never felt so alive at that moment However, after a few weeks, John lost his determination in the sport, he could still play and score but for him, it wasn’t the same. It was getting boring for him, so he looked for another hobby, until when the exam result came in and he realised how poorly he had been doing. Even worse, his younger brother was doing better than him in academic which made John really envious. At the time John hasn’t felt envy for quite a while, and John hated it. His eyes began to be filled with determination once more, to become better at academy, to become as good if not better than the top. So, there he went, began to cut out distractions and study as hard as he can, filled with goals and determination. After a year, he pulled through and became one of the top students of his school, winning academic competitions and was seen as an example of a hard-working student, even having scholarships for colleges. He had accomplished what he desired, to be as good if not better than the top. John had never felt so alive. However, after a few days, John once again felt…bored. He returned to his home after graduation and lay in his bed. He did it, he maintain the top until graduation, yet nothing was in his eyes, no fire, no…determination. At that moment, John could hear the chirping of the bird, the blowing of the wind and the rustling of the grass through his window. It was until he realised, he didn’t have any long-lasting friends to talk to, he realised that other than his family he was quite, alone. He couldn’t go back to his soccer team, he abandoned them. He couldn’t go back to his basketball club either, he left the couch without any consideration. He couldn’t go back to his school, because he was too caught up with studies that he made any connections. The thought of being alone disturbs him, for the first time he felt empty, until he saw a crack in the wall, and started looking around and realised how poor the family is. And so, he began, going to college with the scholarship and determine to become rich, as rich if not richer than the top. He believed he will accomplish what he desires…then maybe he can be alive.


“This is going to work. This WILL work.” … “This…this HAS to work…” “Keith…listen man, you know we can pull out of this if you don’t feel right about it. We’re not locked in. We can scout another job, find another mark, a MUCH EASIER mark, one that’s not a suicide mission…we don’t have to do this one. ” “No. We need this job, Miles. I need this. This is our ticket out. We do this…we pull this off, and putting dinner on the table is never a question again. You’ll never have to worry about those final notices waiting in your mailbox. No more counting each ounce of gas left in your car to make sure you’ll have enough to get to work. Don’t you get it? We do this, and the struggle is GONE. We do this, and everything can go back to normal. We get our lives back again. We do this…” Miles’ emotions boil over. He swipes at the table, knocking everything to the floor. “…we do this, and Sarah takes you back, right? We do this and you get to be a family again!? Michael and Chris will come running to greet you at the door!? And everything goes back to normal? The past three years just gets erased, right? Is that what you really think is going to happen?!? WAKE UP MAN!” Miles’ voice echoes throughout the garage. Silence follows. Miles sits down, his head lowering into his open hands. “Keith, my dude…I get it, man. I know what you’re going through…but this is crazy. We’ve never pulled a job this big before. We’ve never worked with this many people on a job. We don’t know this city. We haven’t had enough time to scout. We’re rushing into this. I don’t like it.” “Miles, you never like-“ “I DON’T LIKE THIS, KEITH!” “WE DON’T HAVE A CHOICE!! That clearance code we got our hands on is now five days old, two days away from being reset. Security is at its tightest on that 7th day, and we won't have another chance to grab any other codes, which leaves tomorrow, and ONLY tomorrow, to pull this off.” “Keith, we’re trying to steal from Falzone. A.K.A. Gideon Falzone, the most dangerous crime boss in the city. A.K.A. the guy the police in this city won’t touch. A.K.A. the guy who’s bathroom we’ll be hung up in while his GOONS TARE US APART PIECE BY PIECE JUST FOR SNEEZING IN HIS DIRECTION.” Miles’ expression shifts from rage and frustration, to one of depression. He knows he can’t stop Keith. He’s known him all his life. Keith isn’t going to stop now. There’s no turning back. “…why him? Why now? Dude, there will be other scores, other jobs that don’t involve stealing from ‘The Lord of the Chicago Streets’…” Keith perks his head up from the ground. “That’s such a dumb nickname.” “Yeah, you tell him that while your insides are pouring onto his shiny marble floor.” Keith smirks for a second, then returns to his stoic look. “He stole from us first.” “So we throw our lives away trying to get back at him?” “WE’RE NOT THROWING ANYTHING AWAY. THIS WILL WORK.” “Keep telling yourself that…” Miles stood from his chair, and slowly made his way to the door. “Miles, where are you going? We still have to figure out the vault gate.” “Keith…” Miles’ voice started to break. “I’m out, man. I’m out.” Keith threw his notebook across the room. He recognized that tone of voice. This wasn’t a bluff. “Miles, don’t do this. Not now.” “I’M OUT, Keith. I don’t want any part of this anymore. This is suicide, plain and simple. And you’re not right, you’re not thinking clearly. You’re blinded by, by rage.” Miles’ voice begins to break. “You’re blinded by your family problems. You’re blinded by…your own damn pride.” “This isn’t about pride or any of that. It’s about making things right. Falzone was supposed to set us up after we did those jobs for him, and all he’s done is play us. We haven’t seen a dime from him. Because of him, I lost my job, I lost my girl, my kids…I lost everything because of him. He won’t get away with that. I’m taking what’s rightfully ours.” “Keith…dammit Keith, you’re the best thief I know, alright? You’re a goddamn savant when it comes to this stuff, but when you get in your own head, you can’t focus, and that always gets us in trouble. You’re biting off more than you can handle this time. This isn't a couple of months in lockdown like how Virginia played out. This is our lives at risk. And it’s not just your neck on the line here.” Miles points at the door to the left, where the rest of the crew waits. “It’s MY neck. It’s Randy’s neck, Mitch’s neck, Carol, Lindsay, Tim…those are KIDS in that other room, Keith. They don’t even know what they’re signing up for. Most of them aren’t even from here. And you’re willing to put all their lives on the line, for what? To dig yourself out of a hole that YOU PUT YOURSELF IN?” Keith’s expression went cold. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Miles?” “Man, you didn’t need to get involved with Falzone in the first place. You knew the risk. I warned you. The Old Timers warned you. But you went on ahead with it. All this bullshit you’re dealing with? It’s all on YOU. And I’m not dying for that, Keith. Not me.” “Miles…we can’t do this without you.” “Good. Then the plan is off.” Keith dropped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He walked over to the notebook, returned it to the table, and began flipping through pages. “Keith.” No response. “KEITH.” “KEITH!!” “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, MILES, IF YOU’RE OUT, THEN GET THE FUCK OUT!” Miles began to respond, but the words froze in his throat. He’d never seen Keith this far gone. He was genuinely afraid. “Please, Keith. Please…don’t let this be the last time I see you alive.” Miles turned around and went for the door. He swung it open, only to find the rest of the crew waiting right behind it. It was clear they heard every word. Miles paused, giving each person a long look. He feared for them. This would most likely be the last time seeing any of them as well. “Guys…good luck.” Miles pushed his way past the crew, down the hallway, and out of sight. Keith, only noticing the rest of them now, collected himself as best he could. “Come in, guys. We’ve got some new plans to go over, and only a few hours before showtime. Let’s get this done.


They can’t rest, so they won’t let me rest. They’re everywhere I am, their voices echoing against my skull. You might think it’s a gift, but in reality, being able to see and hear the dead is nothing but a curse. I can do nothing for them, not one shred of solace I can offer while their voices pound away in my brain. When I was younger, I thought it was fun. Like a game that only I could play. Watching their ghostly wanderings, chasing the smallest ones through the garden of my childhood home. They have always seemed more real to me that even my own family. But now, the game has become dark and twisted. One day, I was walking down the street when I heard the most gut-wrenching screams I’d ever borne witness to. Looking around, I quickly located the source: the shadow of an old man standing next to park bench. A mangy stray dog was curled up on the rough planks of wood, shivering in the chilly air. The ghost reached out to it futilely, empty tears streaming down his face as he failed to comfort his lost friend. I couldn’t take it anymore. There was a place I walked past often that called out to me. It was a hospital. Or rather, an asylum. I would occasionally see patients sitting outside with beautiful nurses, everyone looking peaceful and serene. The perfect place for someone like me. I stepped through the front door and up to the front desk. A lovely woman with ebony skin and a heart-shaped face smiled from behind stacks of papers. “Hello,” she greeted me warmly. “How can I help you?” “I need to check myself in,” I replied. I expected her to ask questions, but she simply guided me to an empty room. As the door closed behind me, I quickly fell asleep, truly alone for the first time inside the mint green walls. When I finally woke, pulling myself out of a slumber deeper than hell itself, it was time for me to meet the doctor who would hopefully have the answers I needed. A nurse with hair the color of turmeric and a spray of freckles across her nose came to my room and led me to a dark office. I followed closely behind her and watched her feet as they moved, almost seeming to dance across the tile floor. Inside the office, a woman in a white coat waited on the couch, her eyes shining like jade fire in the dim light. She gestured for me to sit next to her, patting the sofa with her long, graceful fingers. I sat easily, feeling nothing but peace in her presence. “I understand you admitted yourself to the hospital,” she said, her voice humming like the strings of a lute. “Why?” She tilted her head to the side as she waited for my response. “I see ghosts,” I said, the words slipping from my lips without thought or hesitation. I dropped my head into my hands. “I just want them to leave me alone so I can rest.” As gleaming tears began to form in my eyes, the doctor leaned forward and placed her soft hand on mine. “Don’t worry,” she said with a gentle smile. “I'll keep the ghosts from bothering you.” Days went by in a haze. Sometimes I walked outside among the weeping willow trees, accompanied by a nurse with rubina lips or gleaming almond eyes. Sometimes I talked quietly with the other patients; the ones who were willing, that is. Some of them are just so, so angry, and they always seem afraid to come near me. I sighed with relief every time their sharp eyes turned away from me. Some days, I looked out my window and saw them on the other side of the fence. There are so many of them, and they all feel so deeply. I can see their lips move, speaking their lonesome words, but inside those walls, there was only beautiful silence. Most days, I sleep. I have a lifetime of rest to catch up on. But now, from somewhere just outside the wispy fog of sleep, I feel someone shaking me, voices talking and shattering the blissful silence. “Wake up,” a stern voice says. I barely have the energy to mumble, “I’m just trying to rest.” “You can’t stay here,” he says angrily. I blink open my eyes slowly, taking in the shining gold police badge pinned to his shirt. “But I’m a patient here,” I say, rubbing the sandman's dust from my tired eyes. The officer shakes his head in pity. “You can’t be a patient here,” he says roughly. “This hospital’s been closed for years.” The silence explodes, and I twist in the air as I fall.


Dropping his keys by the front door, the man shrugged off his coat and threw it over the back of a kitchen chair. The early evening light splayed across his small city flat through the open blinds and ancient windows. He fell into his worn easy chair and switched on his TV. Absentmindedly, he flicked through the seemingly endless channels but couldn't find anything to quench his boredom. Unsatisfied , the man found his eyes straying from the television and out the window next to him. His apartment building was one of many near identical old and worn complexes on his street. The buildings were only separated by narrow and damp alleys. This meant that, if their curtains were open, you could see straight across into the apartment of the building next to you. The man’s window looked directly into the flat of an elderly woman. Every windowsill in this woman’s apartment was littered with plants of every imaginable type. Spiky looking cacti, ever-growing bamboo shoots, a rainbow of colors and shapes and sizes. He saw her then going to each and every one of them. Watering, caring, tending, and… talking? Yes! She was *talking* to them. *She must have gone mad!* He thought. He knew the woman lived on her own in her flat. She had been there as long as he could remember. And always surrounded by her ever-increasing collection of plants. The man scoffed and rose from the chair, making his way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he reached inside and pulled out an ice cold beer. Snatching his coat off the chair he headed out the door and up to the roof of his building. He took up his usual spot leaning against the brick wall and raised his lighter to the end of the cigarette that rested between his lips. He pulled in a long breath and held it for a moment, before releasing the smoke into a cloud in front of his face and took a sip from the glass bottle in his other hand. Again he looked over to the building across from him, to the large, glass, greenhouse that sat on the opposing rooftop. Just like the woman’s windows, he could see endless plants filling every available space that it had to offer. However, unlike the plants that sat in the woman’s window sills, many of the plants within the greenhouse seemed to be in varying stages of health. Some looked near death, all dry, wilted, and brown, while others sat in broken or crumbling clay and plastic pots. Taking another long drag from his cigarette, the man wondered why the plants within the greenhouse looked to be in such poor shape in comparison to the ones the woman kept within her home. He knew that the greenhouse did in fact belong to the same woman who lived across from him. He wondered if maybe it was harder for her to make it up to the roof and so these plants were neglected more and more as she grew older. The sun had begun to fade beyond the city and the sky had lost its warming glow and grew dark. The man extinguished what was left of his cigarette and dropped the butt into the now empty beer bottle and carried it back inside. He returned to his place in the easy chair and remained there for the remainder of the night. The man stirred and squinted in the now bright sunlight. He had unknowingly fallen asleep in his chair with the TV still on in front of him. This was however, not a rare occurrence. He grumbled to himself as he pointed the remote forward and hit the power button. The screen's light cut out and he was left in silence. The man stretched, uncomfortable from sleeping in the old chair and yesterday’s work clothes. He rose from the chair and stumbled once again into his kitchen. He brewed a pot of coffee and poured himself a mug. He made his way to the living room and looked out his window to the day before him. Today was saturday, which meant the man had the day off from his tiring office job. He took a long swig from his mug and was greeted with the bitter taste of the black coffee. It looked like it was going to be a pleasant day outside, the sun was warm and the sky held the pale blue of morning. Movement caught the man’s eye as he again peered into his neighboring apartment. The woman was seemingly returning from somewhere as she had just come in the door. In her arms she carried three potted plants. *Jesus woman, more!?* The man thought surprised. He began to notice however, that all the plants she had been carrying were similar to those he had seen in the greenhouse the night before. They seemed near death, dry and browning. *Why on earth would she buy the dying ones?* The man questioned. It made no sense to him to purchase the plants nearest to death's door. The man finished his coffee and once again pulled his coat over his shoulders. He made his way back up the stairs leading to the roof and fished out another cigarette from the pack. However, this time as he gazed across to the other rooftop, he noticed the woman bringing the new plants up to the greenhouse. This time he could actually hear this woman speaking to the plants she was cradling in her arms. “I simply cannot fathom why on earth they were just going to throw out you precious little things!” She exclaimed, nearing the greenhouse. “All you lovelies need is a little bit of love and care and you will be just as beautiful as any of the plants in that place.” The man watched as she brought the plants inside and could make out that she was shuffling the plants about to try and make room for the new arrivals. He watched her as she traded out some of the more lively ones for the sickly ones she had brought up with her. Again he could hear her speaking as she exited the greenhouse, now with a different group of plants held in her arms. “See! Just like I said!” she exclaimed. “A little love and care and you’ll grow as bright and beautiful as a rose!” The plants the woman now held were lush, green, and filled with life. They looked healthy and new. The man couldn't believe that the beautiful blooming flowers she now held could ever have looked like the things she had previously been carrying. “Yeah right.” he mumbled into his cigarette. Once again within the walls of his flat the man looked into the mirror of his bathroom. He looked at his unkempt hair. He looked at his five-o'clock shadow. He looked at his crooked nose. His wrinkles. And his tired, cold eyes. No, there was something behind the frosty gaze he was seeing. Behind the mess, and ice, and gruff. Behind it all he saw a familiar sadness. Dark and seemingly endless. *All you need is a little love and care…* The old woman’s words echoed in his mind. Dropping his keys by the front door, the man shrugged off his coat and threw it over the back of a kitchen chair. The early evening light splayed across his small city flat through the open blinds and ancient windows. The man walked over to the window nearest his old recliner, and set down a small, wilted, and sad-looking, Plant.


I've been staring at the TV for the past hour. Not unusual... In usual times. The TV's off. It's been off for the past five days, yet I still seem quite content to lounge and stare absent-mindedly at my distorted reflection on the black screen. I'm glad I can't make anything distinct out... I reckon I'd look as bad as I feel. Ever since the announcement came things have changed. It was a Sunday night and I was adhering to my tradition of drinking a box of wine and lamenting on how my life at the age of twenty-seven had devolved into a slow, meandering existence. You know, millennial bullshit. As I was glugging down my fourth, but certainly not my last glass of vino, I was distracted when the TV almost fucking killed me. The speakers must have been blown out by the racket that thundered in. I must have looked a picture; those last drops of wine from the glass caught in my throat and I flapped around like a whale at sea-world desperate to be put out of its misery. When I regained my composure and assured myself I'd never gain any respect, I stared at the TV which had finally shut up. Now a black screen was dominated by big bold letters - **STAY CALM - A MESSAGE FOR THE NATION INCOMING** What. The. Fuck. **Phone. Contacts. Mum.** Of course she didn't answer. I can picture it now; she's sat in bed, some true-crime documentary playing on the TV, and *he'll* be lying next to her. When her phone wakes up and my picture appears he'll stare at my mum and give her the *it's late honey, we don't have the time to deal with her right now* look. She'll return with the *Thank god you said it, now I can at least pretend I was coerced into ignoring my only daughter, you're just the best Jimmy, I'm so glad I got married to you and threw that little shit out of our home so we can fuck with the doors open* look. That's it. That's my only point of contact. I felt pathetic at that point. As in, I truly understood what the feeling of *pathetic* was; there's a physical drop in your stomach and shivers run down your back...you become hot and an overwhelming sense of vulnerability hits you in the core. You could say that wasn't the best feeling to be overcome with as the TV emitted another assault to my eardrums. The sound dissapated again and this time a voice replaced it almost immediately. It was the voice I had been expecting as soon as I saw the first message. Our great and glorious President. *My fellow Americans. It is with a heavy heart I speak to you tonight. Firstly I am very sorry for interrupting your Sunday evening, I'm sure many of you are quite afraid and concerned right now. I'd love to be able to tell you that there's no reason to worry, but I'm afraid I simply can't...* **Phone. Recently Called. Mum** *The United States today received information regarding an unprecedented and immovable obstacle to the continuation of not only our own existence, but that of every living thing on our planet...* Call was rejected again. I bet he slapped it out of her hand that time. No way would she ignore me, she must have been watching this as well? *There is an asteroid roughly twelve miles in diamater on a collision course with Earth. Projections are that it will strike us in seven days and the impact will result in the total annihilation of us and our home...* You go through the motions of acceptance incredibly quickly. It's not a drawn out process. I'll explain how mine happened - Bullshit. He's the president of the United States of America addressing the entire nation. Okay, this is serious. *I know this is quite a shock. I presume many of you are wondering why I am being so open and frank about this. Well... I guess there's no more contingency plans or exit strategies to care about any more. It was important enough that I have decided, against the wishes of my advisors, to tell you the truth and allow you to go out in whichever way you feel is right and justified. I leave you with only one request - depart this world showcasing the best of humanity. Put our compassion, dignity and honour on a pedestal and let us move onto the next great adventure proud. Good luck to you all. Goodnight America* Then it was over. The screen flipped back to my original programming. I can't work out if Kim Kardashian was a vacuous waste of air and cells before or after I realised my world was over and nothing I ever did or dreamed about mattered anymore. Probably before, but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt. The sound of my phone ringing came at me like it was trapped down a well, far off in the distance. I picked it up and my heart did one of this slight jumps when you get excited. *Mum. I'm scared* *It's not your mother, it's Jimmy.* *oh...* *Look I'm calling to tell you me and your mother have decided to take off. I can't explain and to be honest, I won't. I'm sure you've just heard the president.* *Erm okay. Well... Where should I meet you?* *Meet us? What are you talking about!* *Meet you so we can all be together obviously!* *I think you've misunderstood this whole situation. I'm not surprised, you never where very bright... Look. You're not coming with. I called to make sure you didn't come running down here and waste your time. Just stay away from us.* *Go fuck yourself Jimmy, put my mum on now!* *Your mother doesn't want to speak to you. This has been coming a long time if I'm honest. How could you not see it? The heartache and trauma you have caused that poor woman. You should have the deceny to respect her last wishes and stay away. Don't you dare cause your mother any more heartbreak* *I'll hear that from her you teet suckling leach* Then it happened. From somewhere in the background I heard her voice. *Just go away Kate! Jimmy has spoken for the both of us* I like to think she was sat at the dresser table at the side of the bed. Cigarette in hand and her mascara running down her face. Shaking so bad she couldn't get a proper drag and staring vehemently at Jimmy, who had forced her to lose all sense of humanity and compassion. But it's more likely that OJ is innocent and Twilight is actually a good film if you look at it's artistic merits. No, she would have been sat at that dresser, ensuring the phone was on loudspeaker and mouthing instructions to Jimmy, getting more perplexed and angry every time I spoke. *But... Mum, please I'm scared* This is where she would have inhaled deep and arched back ready to deliver her knockout punch. Jimmy would have slunk away from the phone, knowing his work was done and he can stand in the shadows and watch the emancipation in peace. *You listen here and you listen good. The last we spoke I told you I'd reached the end of the road. There were no more chances. I cannot go through this anymore and now with all this shit going on... We deserve to have some peace at the end Kate. Please understand, it's not because we don't love you. It's because we can't fucking stand you.* *Oh please, you talk as if I killed someone mum! Im sorry I didn't turn out perfect like you wanted-* The phone cut off. She actually cut me off from her reality with the click of button. It wasn't even a click...a lazy moment of the finger and that's it... I'm gone from their lives. Like millions of others, I cried myself to sleep that night. First it was pity, then anger and then... Just to get it all out. Once sleep came and I woke the next day, I'd accepted it. The World of course went insane. For the first couple of days we had the news and social media to keep us informed of everything. The riots. The crime. The depravity. So much for humanity. But then, all that stopped as well. It only takes two days for the World to just stop. Once every single person suddenly just doesn't give a shit... Its all done. Electricity went - no more lights, no more warmth. Thankfully I'd spent wisely as an introvert. I had a deluxe weighted duvet with special microfibres that retain your body heat. God praises those who late-night drunk shop. You could also live off my supply of ramen noodles and cherry bakewells for a considerable amount of time, so I wasn't concerned with starving. I didn't have much of an appetite anyway. Finally, my brain decides food is no good when getting healthy is the least important factor in my life. I know other people are with their families. Well, people who aren't rioting or going around unleashing their inner monster, just because they can. I've got a picture in my head of how I think the perfect family are holding up right now. There's a mum. A dad. A son and a daughter. Their all grouped together in the living room, sitting in front of a massive open hearth fire playing monopoly and drinking hot chocolate. There's a Christmas tree as well, just for the sake of ensuring this cliché rings as true as possible. The dad rolls a double and fist bumps the air. "Oh Ronald... You did it again you lucky man," the mum croons whilst stroking his fringe to the side. He beams. The daughter crosses her arms and huffs. "Not fair!" she says and scowls. Her brother puts his arm around her and leans his head on the side of hers. "Now, now Lucy... Don't worry, I won't let daddy hurt you," The mum suddenly becomes stiff and looks at her son. "What do you mean by *hurt*, Blake?" she asks, her voice a bit shaky. The son looks at his dad who, pale as a ghost now tries to roll again. "Nothing honey, I'm sure nothing at all. Come on I passed GO!" The mum looks now at her daughter who is looking at the ground, shooting nervous glances at her dad. Blake is messing with the corner of the board, avoiding eye contact. "Ronnie... What's going on?" she says now standing up warily. Another round of glances and finally it dawns on her. "No...no...NO!" I can't even pretend to know what a perfect family is. My mind so broken and ill from a lifetime of... Life. Not a single person from my past has phoned me. Well they didn't when the battery was still working. I'll lie to myself until the end - they've probably been ringing non-stop since it went dead. I'm alone. So utterly alone. And it's the end of the world. I'm going to die in a couple of days and the only feeling that comes to me now as I sit here staring back at my shadowy image on that black screen mirror is - pathetic.


You’re in line at the grocery store. An old sickly man is uncomfortably close to you, not more than 5 1/2 feet away. You think about turning to tell him to back off but worry that you might breathe in his air in the space between your words.  You think better of it and scoot a few inches forward. The lady in front of you shoots an annoyed glance in your direction. Well... you’re pretty confident it’s a lady, and that it was a glance, the hazmat suit makes it hard to tell.  You scoot back half the distance as a compromise. The line moves forward. you purchase your groceries, suspiciously eyeing the fingerprint residue on the debit pin pad. You decide to run it as credit. The cashier hands you a pen to sign and compliments your smile. You blush and say tha.... oh my god you're touching your face. Why are you touching your face?! It’s probably nothing.  The cashier is staring at you in horror. It’s not nothing, you’ve been compromised. Gavin Newsom and Andrew Cuomo suddenly bursts through the door with a team of pandemic police. They put you in a glass box and ship you to a local zoo that’s been converted to a holding area.  Welcome to quarantine  Ok, this is probably fine right? I'm in the care of professionals, they are looking out for my best and the public good. A worker comes out into the room. he's wearing all white and carrying a... watering can? You squint. Yeah, that's what it is. He starts to pour water over the tops of your glass celled brethren. You look up. Holes.  The worker is nearing closer now, methodically watering each box. Everyone looks confused, and people start to shout and ask questions. "Why are we here?" "Why don't we have beds?!" The thought hadn't struck you, but it was now poignantly odd that someone should be quarantined in a standing glass box.  Another oddity catches your attention. The shouts are subsiding. But only the ones furthest away, like a trailing silence. You watch and listen as the silence closes in on you. The worker is watering your neighbor now. You see for the first time that it's not quite water at all. It mists as much as it pours. It fills his cell and his body slackens, a faint smile on at the corner of his mouth.  Your turn. The worker looks at you, his gaze is detached. He raising his arms and the can with it. Your nose fills with sweet, then sour, and every iteration between. Your skin blazes with sensation as if your nerve ending were being trailed through cotton. And finally, a deep, comforting slumber engulfs you. You fall into nothing.  Awake. You look around blurry-eyed. The boxes are gone, replaced with smears of green and yellow. Your eyes widen and force shut in an attempt to restore your vision. It only makes it worse. You go to rub your eyes but your hand never reaches them. you look to the side. You only see leaves. You look down, more leaves. Your vision darkens as you lose the ability to crane your neck.  Your vision returns, but not in the same way. You feel the light as much as you see it. Your thoughts become simple. Warm light. Grow tall. Reach more light. Nice smile.


Logline: A woman struggles with a car accident that killed a young woman, she can finally put it behind her but first has to meet the young woman's mother. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Savannah Appleton was stressed out, her daughter, Beth, was sick, her son, Jackson, was not doing what she told him to do, and her husband, Jack, broke the dishwasher. He was unable to repair it himself, and as a result, the kitchen was flooded. She's had better days. "You know, I told you to find someone to fix that, but you just had to fix it yourself," said Savannah. "Yeah, it looks worse than it really is, it just looks like a lot of water because it’s spread all over the place. Unless you block it from going to the living room, it's going to make the carpet wet," Jack says. Savannah begins placing paper towels on the border between the kitchen and the living room, soaking right through the carpet. "Great, now we're going to have to replace the carpets after this, this is completely insane," Savannah says. The dog starts barking outside, "The dog is still outside! Jackson!" Savannah shouts. "What?" Jackson yells from his bedroom over the sound of his video game. "Ten minutes ago, I asked you to take the dog in, he's going to get off the leash again," Savannah says. "I'm going to get to that in a sec," Jackson says. Meanwhile, the situation with Jack and the dishwasher has gone from bad to worse; now, water is pouring out of the sink as well. "I can't do this anymore, I have to meet our tax advisor at three," Savannah says, giving up the paper towel remedy, and letting the water right through to the carpet. Jack puts his hands up in a rage, "There you go, just let the water into the rug, that's a great job," Jack says sarcastically. Savannah starts walking to the door, as Beth comes out of her bedroom, "What is going on here?" Beth says that she takes two steps towards the kitchen, smelled the dirty water, and proceeded to vomit on the floor, mixing the dirty water with her vomit. "You really couldn't make it to the bathroom, I'm out of here, I'm going to be sick," Savannah says in desperation. Savannah begins leaving the house; she sees their dog running away with a leash still attached to its collar. She offered up a little chase, but the dog got away, and she gave up on that, too. "Not my problem," Savannah says, having given up entirely on this day. While driving along a wooded rural road, Savannah starts to cry, frustrated by all the bad things that are going on today, her children, her husband and that stupid dishwasher, and that damn dog. She's in a trance, driven this commute a thousand times in her life. The road is about to narrow, and she slows down a little, tears streaming down her face making it hard to see, out of the blue, a car heading in the opposite direction has to swerve and hit a tree. Savannah gets out of the car quickly, runs over to the other car, the driver, a woman in her twenties, hit her head pretty hard on the steering wheel, and she was bleeding. Savannah took her phone out and called 911. "Hey, can you hear me, my God," Savannah says to herself. She taps the girl's shoulder through the shattered driver's side window; her head falls awkwardly. Savannah knows that this girl has broken her neck; she's dead. Savannah's gasping for air; she's in a panic attack. What did she do? Her foolish crying killed this girl. The paramedics came, it doesn't look good, the young girl wasn't breathing. Savannah feels guilty and accompanies the ambulance to the emergency room where the girl is pronounced dead. She's in shock; she sees the girl's mother running into the emergency room, weeping, hearing the news, nurses have to catch her or else she'd collapse. Savannah can't bear it any longer and left the hospital. She's a mess when she comes home. She steps into a house that's an inch deep in water, bits of vomit still visible through the floodwaters and a dog leash that hasn't returned yet. She doesn't care, Savannah lies on the couch, and just looks ahead, she's inconsolable. "What's wrong?" Jack asks. Savannah is not responsive. Eventually, she tells them about the crash, and they're trying to comfort her, but she can't stop crying. Later that night, they watch the news, the car crash is the lead story, at the end of the story they say, "Sadly, the 24-year-old, Alexandra Morgan, died of injuries sustained by the crash, a young life cut short." They show an image of this beautiful girl laughing, and Savannah can't take it, she goes to the bedroom and cries herself to sleep. Savannah attends the funeral anonymously, visiting from afar. She didn't want to see the girl's mother, so she left the funeral when it was halfway through. A month passes by; Savannah refuses to drive a car, sees a therapist twice a week, and is haunted by the belief that she is responsible for the death of Alexandra. Her family does all they can to try to help her get through this accident; Savannah just sinks further into depression. During the middle of the night, Jack wakes up and finds that Savannah is gone. He gets up to find her and locates her in her car, with the engine running in the garage. Savannah is trying to kill herself. Jack sits in the passenger seat and turns the engine off and consoles her. "We'll call your therapist in the morning," Jack says as Savannah nods her head. She starts to take part in therapy three days a week and begins to feel better. Savannah is finally able to get out of her depression. When she's ready, her therapist suggests that she put the accident behind her, go and visit Alexandra's mother, and offer her condolences. Savannah goes to meet with Alexandra's mother. She rings the doorbell, and Mary, the mother, responds. She invites her in, and they have tea, Savannah keeps it together, "I just want to say how profoundly sorry I am, I was at all the memorials, she was a great girl with a lot of friends," Savannah says. "Thank you; I appreciate you saying that it's been a tough couple of months," Mary says. Savannah gets a glimpse of the family photo on the fireplace, that's enough to set her off, she starts weeping, shaking her head, Mary takes control of the situation and holds her close. "Now, let's put it in the past," Mary says. "It's all my fault, this beautiful girl, taken so unexpectedly, I can't sleep nights, I don't want to live any longer," Savannah says. "Now, stop that right now, that doesn't do anyone any good. Alexandra was a beautiful young girl, but she was troubled," Mary says, Savannah stops and pulls away. "What do you mean by that?" Savannah asks. "We kept this out of the press, but Alexandra had attempted suicide once before the accident; in truth, it was just a few days before the accident," Mary says. "You don't think?" Savannah asks. Mary shakes her head and starts to weep. Alexandra stares at her phone, staring at a text, it's a week old now, but the pain is fresh. "I think we should see other people." from her former boyfriend, Aaron. Alexandra throws her phone and it hits the wall, leaving a dent. Mary pops her head in the room, "Is everything alright?" Mary asks. "Please leave me alone, nothing in life will ever work out," Alexandra says. "You need to stop this talk, what did the doctor say, concentrate on getting better, concentrate on the future," Mary replied. "I'm done with all this nonsense," Alexandra says as she gets up. "Give me the keys to my car!" Alexandra screamed. "No, you know what the doctor said, you just need to stay at home and get better," Mary says. "I'm a prisoner in this house, I need to get out, I'm going nuts!" Alexandra says as she storms out of the room, followed by Mary. Alexandra goes to the dining room where she takes the tea kettle from on top of the fireplace and empties it on the dining room table. Rummaging through a bunch of keys, she eventually finds the keys to her car. "No, no, if you're going anywhere, I'm going to drive you," Mary says as she pulls her back into the house and tries to take the keys. Alexandra pushes her mom away. "Sorry, Mom," she says as she turns out the front door. Mary opens the door again, " I love..." Mary attempts to say, but Alexandra has already taken off. Alexandra drives down the wooded and rural road; the radio is on, it's distracting, so she turns it off. Tears are running down her face; Alexandra closes her eyes. There is a narrow part of the road coming up. Her car is in the middle, but Alexandra's eyes are closed and she can't see the turn, her car begins to drift, misses Savannah's car entirely, and hit the tree.


I have an appointment today at 1; I’ll be home in time to pick up Alice and Janie for dinner and to pick up my son from practice at 4. He’s a Striker on the Michigan Jr. Shooting Stars. One of these day’s he’s going to be seen on TV playing with the professionals I can just feel it. He’s at that age where changes will be coming soon. I have already seen his attitude growing but I know when he’s older I’m going to miss these days. I pulled up to the soccer field 15 min early. I liked to watch him practice just a little bit before it was time to go. He waved at me to acknowledge I was there as I sat on the bleachers to hear the final whistle blow from the coach. “Alright, great practice you guys! Let’s be sure to focus on speed when it comes to drills next week. Some of you are falling behind.” The coach always seemed like a real douche to me but he wore those mini shorts every week which told me he probably didn’t know it wasn’t the 70’s anymore. I waited for my son to grab his gear only to hear him be stopped by his coach. “August, can I talk to you a moment?” My son stopped and headed back. I looked at my watch to see it was already 12:08 and I still had to drop him off at home. I couldn’t make out what the coach was talking to him about but all that mattered was seeing my sons face sink to the floor. “Hey kiddo, everything okay?” I asked as he approached me. “Yeah it’s nothing.” He answered with such melancholy in his voice. “Are you sure? Your face doesn’t say nothing.” I asked again. “I said it’s fine dad can we please just go?” He snapped at me, I stopped pushing the subject and let him get in the car. This team means everything to him..... I hope that prick of a coach knows that. I pulled up to the house with him and unlocked the doors, his face was still drooped the whole car ride home. “Your mom is inside working if you need anything. I am heading to an appointment right now but I’ll be home soon alright?” The door slammed behind him with not a word said. I really do worry sometimes...he may not know it, but he is a part of what makes up my entire world. My appointment wasn’t anything special, I just had to take another physical for work in order to keep my job after a recent injury. I fell down the stairs at the office a few weeks ago and have been having trouble seeing out of my peripheral on my left eye. Turns out it’s nothing that will affect my work so I have one less thing to worry about. The appointment didn’t take long, I was fortunately in and out before 3pm with plenty of time to get back home, relax, then get ready for our monthly family dinner. We have dinner as a family all the time but once a month we like to take the kids out for something special and today just happens to be Dave and Busters. Good food for Alice and I and games for the kids. Today has surely been exhausting but it has been one of the best days. I can’t wait for dinner. I didn’t realize as I was thinking this that my wife was looking right at me the whole time. “What are you off smiling about now?” She giggled to me. “Nothing just...” i sighed in between to wrap my arms around her waist. “I’m feeling extra grateful today. I don’t know why I just... can’t help but be in a good mood.” She pushed me away with a smile and threw my Marvin Martian T-shirt at me. She bent over to lift up her stocking, as if her arms and hands were made of water. That’s all I had to think about to get my blood pumping. Of course right before dinner with no time to spare for a quick one. Isn’t that how married life is though? I rushed downstairs to grab my jacket and keys listening to the bickering screams between my children. “Come on kids your dad is waiting!” Alice yelled out to the top of the stairs. Their thundering roar of their feet was heard again. “Mom can I invite Josh to come with us?” My son asked with a sudden hopeful tone compared to earlier today. “Maybe next time, hurry up to the car I’m starving.” She pushed both of them out the door with haste. Don’t stop that woman from food. This is advice based off experience.


My life started like a fairytale--and by that, I mean I was fucked over by fairies. Apparently, a long-lost ancestor did something helpful to some fairy sometime ago, and the fairies chose my birth as the moment to pay my family back for my ancestor’s kindness. The fairy chose a gift to supposedly bless me with, no matter how much my parents begged them to reconsider. I can see the conversation happening in my head like it was only yesterday. “I, a great and completely superior fairy being, have decided to bless your newborn child with a gift that is so undeniably wonderful that you all will be singing my praises for the rest of your small, mortal lives,” the fairy probably said at some point. “Your daughter will have the gift of being completely and totally irresistible. Everyone and everything will find her to be the most interesting and appealing creature they ever saw and this in no way will totally screw up her sad, little life!” If my life was a movie, the narrator would chime in with “What could possibly go wrong?!” My parents, bless them, did not know how to handle everything that came with a daughter who was irresistible. They tried, for sure. When I was picked on and kissed by literally every child in my preschool class and the teacher aid tried to kidnap me, my parents realized this was going to be a problem. I was homeschooled, and I wasn’t allowed to leave the house. I grew up without friends or seeing other family members because we couldn’t trust them to not fall under my spell. To save everyone some grief, I left home as soon as I was able to go and live in the middle of nowhere, Location Redacted. I wish I could say moving away from people fixed all my problems, but it didn’t. While I was successful in getting away from other people, my new location brought forth a new audience to avoid. \-- “I can see you,” I rolled my eyes and tossed some salt over my shoulder. The telltale human-shaped outline flashed before disappearing completely. I didn’t look up from my book. “Eden,” a tentative voice pipped. The air shimmered and a tall, lanky boy sat a heavy stare where the specter had once been. “That ghost has been getting closer and closer to you over the last few weeks. I think we should take another look at the runes on the fence.” “What’s a ghost gonna do, Mael?” I glanced up from my book and rolled my eyes. “Possess me? Jokes on him, then he would have to deal with all this shit.” Mael pursed his lips and reappeared on the other side of my armchair. “You and both know ghosts aren’t a big deal.” I was far more unnerved at the thought of not being able to finish my book in peace. “Come on, please? You know I can’t leave the cabin. Can you please check the runes are still intact? I can try to fix them if the sigils have worn off. It’s been, what, ten years since I was alive and placed them there?’ “Probably closer to twenty. You looked super dead when I got here.” I added as I turned back to my book. “Come on, Eden, this is serious. That ghost got too close for comfort.” I rolled my eyes. For the spirit of a witch bound to his former home, Mael was more overprotective than my own mother. “Fine, I will go get some food from the garden and I will check the runes while I do that, okay? It’s not a big deal though, ghosts are easy enough to get rid of.” I appreciated Mael letting me use his home now that he was dead. When I stumbled upon the small cabin in the woods, I knew it had to be cursed. Despite that, it was my only option, so I pressed on. I was surprised to find the spirit of the former owner still in the house, but Mael was pretty useful. He knew all sorts of stuff about the supernatural creatures that wandered around the woods and he was pretty handy at making runes and creating poisons and medicines. It was the first time I was grateful for my curse--instead of horrendously murdering me for disturbing his eternal slumber, Mael now acted like my bodyguard, or like an annoying big brother. And, best yet, he couldn’t follow me when I left the cabin, so I could easily escape his nagging by going into the garden that surrounded the cabin within the fence. I pulled on my oversized gardening boots and grabbed my basket of gardening supplies and walked out the door. The sun was starting its descent from the sky. I fingered the iron nail I wore around my neck, it wasn’t nightfall just yet, but things did get a bit more restless around here when the sun went down. I set to work on picking dinner for the evening. I didn’t often leave the confines of the small fence surrounding the cabin, so I relied on the fruits and vegetables Mael had planted during his life. Sometimes, a few of the werewolves who roamed the woods would bring me some of their smaller game or the occasional grocery store essentials but I tried to dissuade that kind of behavior as much as possible. “Good evening,” a smooth voice called from the treeline a stone’s throw away. I stopped in the middle of picking a carrot and sighed. Here we go again. I didn’t bother standing up from the dirt as the umbrella-wielding man approached the fence. His pale skin and dim glowing eyes gave him away immediately. “Let me guess, you aren’t a vampire and are totally just lost in the woods and need to come inside for some reason. Or, better yet, you have been creepily watching me for who-knows-how-long while I slept and now you are here because you are in love with me and *totally* won’t eat me.*”* I rolled my eyes and went back to the carrots. “Why I am wounded!” he feigned. I could feel his piercing eyes burrowing into my back as he watched me. “It sounds like my brothers have been unkind to you, sweet darling.” One thing I learned about vampires is they always blame each other for their bad reputation, and, for some reason, they always call their victims by nauseating pet names. I looked up at him and blinked my eyelashes. I stood from the dirt, content with what I picked from the night, and sauntered slowly toward the fence. He audibly gulped. “Oh, you have no idea. Some of those mean, ol’ vampires came here not long ago. They--they said they just needed some help and I couldn’t just turn them all away.” His eyes were even brighter up close, and they are carefully watching my throat as I spoke. “But, wouldn’t you know it, they tricked me. As soon as my back was turned--” I bit down dramatically on my own teeth and he jumped. “They took a big bite right out of me.” To prove my point, I pulled the collar of my tee-shirt down to reveal a mess of scarred flesh on my shoulder. The vampire stilled, his glowing orange eyes were transfixed on the newly exposed flesh. He was so easy to read. I held by the urge to roll my eyes. “You know,” he jumped when I spoke again and smoothed out my collar. “You should really be more concerned with what happened to the guy who took a chomp out of me. As I’m sure you have noticed, my blood smells--and tastes--irresistible. Do you really think they would have stopped by choice?” He was leaning in so far, his hands were propped up by the invisible barrier that bound him outside my fence line. I thought I even saw some drool pooling out from his lips. They never did listen. I also didn’t tell him the other vampire got garlic poisoning because I had just eaten a whole loaf of garlic bread. “Hey!” a voice suddenly shouted. “Get away from her!” In a flash, the vampire was gone, his umbrella was abandoned on the ground assuming so it wouldn’t slow him down in his retreat. A second later, a flash of brown and black barreled past my fence and howled. The creature stopped in his run and trotted back to my fence, transforming from his lycanthrope form to his human one. His yellow eyes lit up when he got closer and he started to run his hands through his messy black hair. “Hello, Garret.” I returned to my basket, now full of carrots and a small potato for my supper, and finished brushing the dirt from my knees. “Man, that was close! I am glad I caught a whiff of that guy when I did! I don’t even want to imagine what could have happened to you if I wasn’t here to help, Eden!” I tried to smile at the young werewolf as he beamed at me from my fence, but I am sure it resembled more of an exhausted snarl. “You are so right, I would have obviously been eaten alive if it wasn’t for you.” “Right? You are so lucky I am so close by. I sometimes swing by this way, you know, just to check on you, and I am so glad I did today.” Garret couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen. He was a kid so I tried to not hold his behavior against him too much. Besides, Garret was one of the wolves who brought me fresh meat when there were leftovers, so he wasn’t all bad. He was, however, a talker. I didn’t want to stand there as he monologued at me so I quickly wished him a good evening and retreated back inside. Mael was nowhere to be seen when I walked back inside. It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear for a while, so I set to work on cooking my dinner. When I sat down and finally picked my book back up, I remembered why I had gone outside in the first place--I didn’t check the runes on the fence. It was already dark outside by the time I realized, so I frowned and shrugged it off. One more day would be fine--I had just salted the peeping-tom ghost anyways. I had to fight to keep my eyes open as I read on in my book. I had just gotten to the part of the story where the protagonist ignored her instincts to run when she had the chance, the antagonist was sure to make an appearance… I woke up to a pounding headache. My hand reached up to touch my forehead, but I couldn’t move it. Slowly, the world came back into focus. I wasn’t in my living room anymore. I was outside, surrounded by trees and darkness sitting alone my own table covered in sugary sweets. One of my hands was tied to my seat. I swore loudly as I tried to remove the rope from around my wrist with my non-dominant hand and failed. “Good morning!” a voice chirped. I stopped struggling with the rope and let my head fall to the table. This couldn’t be happening, it was laughable. A young specter materialized, his face full of mirth as he spirited around me. “You’re finally awake! It’s very rude to fall asleep at the table, you know!” His grin was unnerving. It was too wide for his thin face. The ghost couldn’t have been more than a young adult when he died, but his clothes gave away his age. No one wore suits styled like his for the last several decades, at least. “Okay, you caught me. What do you want? To have a tea party? How did you get all of this from my cabin?” I paused, my eyes raking over the small cakes on the table. This son-of-a-bitch used up all my flour and sugar to make this shit, didn’t he?! I turned furious eyes on him. “Well, it wasn’t easy!” he laughed, then his eyes narrowed and his voice rumbled cooly, “You know, you aren’t very strong.” His countenance returned to his sickenly sweet smile and she pushed his ghostly hands through some of the cakes on the table. “I just want to have a little party with you! You see, I think it’s about time for my birthday and I don’t have anyone to celebrate with. You aren’t an easy girl to get ahold of, you know.” I frowned. I didn’t want to ask it, but I did: “Why do you want me to celebrate your birthday with you? I have salted you out of my life more times than I can count.” Take the hint, seriously. “Let me guess…” “You are so beautiful, you are captivating!” he finished for me. “Your skin looks so soft and those freckles are just adorable.” Of course, people who don’t have freckles always think they are so interesting. “And your hair is so thick and luscious.” I wash it, like, maybe once every three weeks. “And your eyes. Your eyes are the most beautiful. They are bright and the color is just so strange and captivating.” My eyes are hazel. Just hazel. It was always interesting to hear how others saw me as a glamorized version of what I actually was. “Thanks.” I reached unceremoniously for the iron nail on my necklace and pulled it off. “But, you should probably go back to Hell or whatever you spawned from and leave me alone. I am not interested in playing house with you.” His eyes fixed onto the iron in my hand. Surprise flashed across his eyes for just a moment before he disappeared and immediately reappeared behind me. He placed his hands on my temples and pushed them inside my skull. My skin didn’t offer him any resistance. My body involuntarily convulsed, my tied wrist twisted and thrashed against the bindings and the nail fell from my hand only to be kicked away by my own traitorous feet. I gasped for breath when my body finally started to still and the ghost was once again in front of me, looking with renewed interest at the table. “Which cake should you eat first?” He didn’t acknowledge the pain he inflicted on me. The sparkle in his eyes said he probably enjoyed it. “If I celebrate your birthday with you, you’ll leave me alone, right?” I said. He smiled and got far too close to my face. “Yes! In fact, just try a piece of cake! It has been so long since I have eaten anything and cake was always my favorite when I was alive. If you eat just a bite, I promise to let you untie yourself so you can go.” I glared. This was obviously a trap, but I was out of options. Mael couldn’t help me and I couldn’t rely on Garret to come bounding up this time either. Did ghosts even have a scent? It seemed unlikely. “Fine. I will have a bite of your cake and then I am going to go home. We have a deal.” It was fine. I was always fine. The god of luck also seemed to find me irresistible. I picked up the fork set in front of me and the ghost’s eyes watched my every move. Slowly, I reached for the cake closest to me and took the smallest bite I could manage. The cake wasn’t very sweet and it was certainly burned, but I continued to chew. When I swallowed, I made a big show of it and then reached with the fork to the rope around my wrist. The ghost watched me, remaining eerily silent as I finally broke through the rope and flexed my sore wrist. I coughed as soon as I stood, and the ghost burst into laughter. I coughed again, this time doubling over and retching on the ground. I stumbled and tried to stand, but I instead fell to my knees grasping my stomach as a stabbing pain shot through me. Of course, he fucking poisoned the cake. Jackass. “Oh, sweet girl, don’t move so much. It will be over soon.” the ghost was grinning down at me like a madman. I guess ghosts were more dangerous than I had originally given them credit for. “I was hoping you would pick that one--it looked like the most fun according to all those scribbles that witch boy left.” I coughed again, this time blood splurted out and fell from my chin to the ground. “We are going to have so much fun, honestly. You and me, together for all eternity. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” There was no way I was gonna let myself die at the hands of a motherfucking ghost and some shitty, poisoned cake. I crawled, one arm still firmly grasping my stomach that felt like hot lead. “It’s no use,” he smiled, getting too close to my face again. “You’re already dying.” I coughed again, this time hacking up blood in his ghostly face. He jumped backward, probably a habit from his life, and glared. It was then I saw the iron nail on the ground. I could just barely reach it when he realized what I was doing, but it was too late. I turned with all my might and slashed through his spectral form. While salt was effective at banishing ghosts for a short while, iron was like a lock to keep them from coming back to our side. It would be a good long while before he would be able to come back. Not that it would do me much good. I couched again. More blood. “I thought that bastard would never leave.” A familiar, smooth voice said from the darkness. I tried to scramble to my feet but faceplanted in my own blood instead. “You smell…” he paused and took a deep, satisfying breath. “Delicious.” I hate vampires so much. The vampire from earlier blurred towards me as I coughed again, he stopped just short of running into me. He regarded me with his reflective eyes as his smile slowly fell. “What did he do to you? I can’t drink this. It’s ruined.” He wrinkled his nose as though my wasted blood was the most offensive joke he had ever heard. “No. Stop it.” I wanted to quip back that I was in no way able to cure myself from whatever afflicted me, but all that came out was the taste of iron on my tongue. Next thing I knew, I was being lifted from the ground and thrown over a shoulder before being sped away. I was suddenly thrown hard to the ground, in my weariness I could just make out the light from my cabin’s windows. Shakily, I turned and saw Garett snarling at the vampire who was looking from me to my cabin to Garett and then back again. After another bout of coughing up my own blood, I crawled into the dirt and pulled myself forward as best I could. “You idiot!” I heard vaguely behind me. I didn’t bother trying to identify the voice. “I am saving her!” “No!” The other growled. “I am saving her!” I tuned them out completely after that and focused my efforts and pathetically crawling my way to the front door. Everything was spinning and I felt just so cold and tired, but I kept on as my entrails tried to work their way to the outside. A sudden, knife-sharp pain bit into me--it felt like I was drowning in my own lungs. Something crashed into my fence behind me, but the world had already gone black. I woke up gasping and thrashing with horrible pressure pushing down on my chest. I was inside the cabin and Mael was leaning over me with misty eyes. “She’s awake!” He bellowed suddenly and disappeared. Somewhere behind me bottles started to rumble and clatter together. Garett was over me, his hands were pressing down on my chest and his face was dripping in blood, my blood I suddenly realized. I twisted to my side and pushed his hands away from me just as Mael reappeared with a vial of something bubbling. Garret instantly forced my head back and stuck the glass vial between my lips as Mael paced beside us. I spluttered out some of the liquid when I was overwhelmed by it, but Garret only forced me to drink until it was gone. “If you hold her head like that, you are going to rip it off! Gentle!” A voice called from beyond my garden fence. The whole gang was here to watch me pathetically almost die because of a pathetic ghost. Fuck my life. I tried to push Garett off of me again, but he held steady. “I am going to put you in your bed now,” he stated and he moved to pick me up. “Don’t do that, idiot. She is covered in her own blood and dirt! Clean her off first!” Mael materialized at my side and growled, “You won’t be touching her like that.” “Well, you can’t touch her at all!” Garett spat back. “I’ll touch her!” “No!” Mael and Garett both roared. I just wanted some peace and quiet. They were too loud. I pushed myself up and shakily attempted to stand. When I almost fell, I held tight to my armchair for balance, ignoring Garett has he reached for me. “I can fucking clean myself up. Everybody, get the fuck out of my house.” Garett frowned but nodded his assent before walking to the door and shutting it behind him. I didn’t hear footsteps leading away, so I guessed he was still outside on the step. I turned to Mael. “Help me pack a bag. Tonight.” “What? But you aren’t in any condition to leave. Where would you even go?!” “Honestly? I need to punch a fucking fairy in her stupid, fucking face.