This place was once home, or at least, Skie thought it was, alive under the roof of her rumbling years caught in the cobwebs of the cellar. The crystal chandelier was still as dazzling as starlight, glistening like a foreign galaxy above, reflecting the youthful, curious eyes of Skie’s once future nostalgia. It was here that she became who she was in the guest room of her ancestors' home.

Plastered with pink floral paper and cheap, fluorescent candelabras, Skie pictured this empty room as it once was: filled with laughter, love, dolls, and books: everything she needed to be the studious mischief-maker she knew herself to be, the way her grandmother saw her. The same remaining gold-encrusted windows of a cotton king were a mere parlor trick for the masses: her wide eyes lit like a flickering flame in the memory. As for the diamond mirror, Skie could see the curtains behind her move like dancers in a dead ballroom from decades before, something she could not quite picture with her whole heart, yet tried. It was nothing short of painful fun, cast away in the cloth containing the remnants of the storm that shook the kingdom. And this specific towering torrent of all the terraces took the hit.

“Please, don’t leave me, Nana, I just wanna be with ya, like you promised you would be,” an adolescent Skie cried, with tears cascading from her curled lashes to her clementine-charcoal cut. There was no more anguish she needed to hide- the war was a time for fear and sorrow. And death: but not just blood and bones, but broken hearts and bonds, severed with the baron distance between souls. It boiled her blood like a melting pot of gumbo from a crawdad feast, a tradition in the manor she loved almost as much as she loved her darling grandmother. “We will be together soon, child,” Lily Jane responded, holding her granddaughter’s clammed hands in her own. Pulling a jewelry box from her house dress fur, she clamped the young fingers around the velvet frame, kissing the head of her kin.

“I will miss you, turtle,” Lily trembled, hugging her child in the nooks of her arms. “I‘ll always sing for you, Bluebird,” Skie smiled, as her grandmother pushed her away, behind the door of a horse-drawn carriage.

Her grandmother’s fate forever remained a mystery to her. Skie rubbed the warm glass from her silent eyes at the sight of a familiar painting in tatters on the wall: the living history of a ruinous ransacking, and she never really knew why. Reaching her rough, slightly wrinkled hands into her denim pockets, she plucked her gifted chest from below a zig-zagged zipper and held it to the beating of her breast. Lifting the lid, her eyes widened like they did every time before: to the graceful angel playing her harp on a cloud.

The music was a memory of the joyous life she once lived: a life that disappeared into thin air the way her family did: the way her Bluebird did. Nostalgia sank into her bones and seeped into the surrounding, familial smells of the plaster ceilings and decadent doorways, now darkened with the empty bliss of abandonment. This place was no longer home to anyone but the ghosts of the past generations, now grounded in sullen graves. Skie was alone in the ruins of her runnings, and in the routines of her clockwork cheer with the rising and setting of the sun.

“Who am I to you, Bluebird? I don’t know if your turtle is still here,” Skie paced, hoping for a sign from the fathoms above in the cloudless blues of the serene sky.

“I love you Lily Jane, and don't you forget it.” She rubbed her fingertips across the painting in tears, remembering the blueprint of her childhood. Not a symbol anywhere else of it remained: not even in Skie’s reflection. It almost seemed too distant to have happened. “You skank, have you lost your mind,” Lily Jane shouted over the railing to the ballroom floor, glaring at her daughter Clara King, a woman of rebellious, wild nature. A nature of reckless loving and whim: the very nature that landed her a child of wedlock, a pregnancy of premature measures. This was an unthinkable humiliation to Lily and her family, they did have a reputation to withhold. “But mother, I love George and he promised to pay his dues to his child, whatever the cost. It is not as bad as y’all be thinking. Just hear this once again and I will be free from your world, by Jesus, I will,” Clara contested, rubbing her hairline once over with the comb of her fingertips. She knew she had made a mistake, but she wasn’t going to admit it: especially not to her mundane and traditional mother. Lily Jane never wanted anything to do with change. In her eyes, women were homemakers in the making, just misled by fantasies and whimsical theories of evolution and industrial advancement: there was nothing that needed to change in her eyes. It wasn’t broken, so why bother fixing it? She hated hearing that women were more than that these days. “That man is a no-good cheating criminal from a family who is all the same, and I thought you would have known better than to tangle yourself up with the help. He’s an idiotic boy of ideas and theories that only enchant the maiden's wallet and get her a family before she even seals the deal! You have brought this on yourself, thinking that your juxtaposition was a delicious sight to the kingdom, well now it looks like you’ve seen it. Good for you, child. I hope you roast in the devil’s deathbed with that George from the north with a mouth bigger than a brain!” Lily’s face was a flaring red, burning under the candle-lit chandelier, refracting the rain from the elegant lattice sill. The sky was crying for her, as it would seem, with not a chirp of the sparrows to dote on. The haze of gray was no darker than the fog of her anguished eyes, sobbing in pure embarrassment: she wished she raised her child better, to be smarter, wiser, with just a hint of logic. She had failed as a parent, as a mother and a daughter alike. And she knew that in nine months, her own Clara would do the same. She had birthed another reckless trouble into this sophisticated world of willful greed, as sharp as a dagger in the pulsation of her thumping heart.

“Well, I suppose I just tip the scale, don’t I mother?” “Maybe you do. We just don’t make the ends meet the way they should.” “I guess I’ll just be off then,” Clara whispered, pushing back the raindrops from her eyes as best she could, but her mother let the water fall. Was this it? The wallpaper seemed to shrink around the frayed edges, leaving nothing but the foundation of a concrete chapel leaning into the hurricane winds of the southern storms. Yet, this fortress was far from falling apart: in fact, it seemed to keep Skie together. This palace represented who she was and who was a part of her in another life: a glorious life, long misplaced.

While lighting the hanging chandelier, she noticed how the flames glistened like a bottle of sparkling champagne.

“This brings it all back, doesn’t it Bluebird,” Skie muttered into the ceiling, envisioning her reincarnated life with love in it.

Lifting the lid of her jewelry box, Skie hummed along with the familiar melody like a lullaby, singing softly to the beating of her laced lungs. Her home was entrenched inside the soft beat. Rubbing her fingers along the chilled lip of her treasure box, the dancing angel flipped to the force of her palm on the right rotation, turning an encryption to the outside air from underneath. Flabbergasted and surprised, Skie couldn’t help but explore the hidden element of her grandmother’s only living legacy: what she wanted her dear child to one day discover.

A sudden tap at the door knocked Lily Jane straight out of her cushioned loveseat, “James, would you check the foyer for our midnight visitor?” A man in a black suit pulled open the gold, creaky knob at his employer’s request, only to reveal none other than a basket, crying in the blistering cold of the winter wind.

“Bring it to me, James,” Lily called from the heat of the hearth before her feet. Upon uncovering the wicker-handled lid, Lily couldn’t help but collapse to the floor in agonizing pain: and staring back at her were the second generation eyes of her runaway Clara. Running to the courtyard gardens of the manor, Skie needed to catch her abandoned breath in the clouds and honeysuckle of the towering vinyl archway. The cold, metallic gleam of the golden frame sent a chill through her spine: it was a riddle.

THE KEY ENTRENCHED IN HOLLYS PAVED, A QUESTION UNKNOWN AND EVIL ENSLAVED Skie must have read the scripture over a dozen times from start to finish, like a record on repeated skip. Why would this have been left to her by her grandmother, and what did it have to do with Foxglove Manor? Pacing throughout the courtyard grounds, Skie made her way to a cemetery of faded rock, destined to be lost with the hands of ticking time.

Planning each step with great caution, she made her way through the rows of deceased daughters and sons, placing a single-flowered dandelion at the foot of each name.

James, Johnathon, Clara, Holly. “Tell her to be quiet, my lord, please. The sound is more dreadful than a dying mountain goat in a spring avalanche.” “I’m sorry Madame, but the child is rather ill with hunger,” responded a nursemaid, old enough to have been Clara’s governess many moons ago.

Lily sashayed over to the nursery from her study across the hall, a Victorian mundane coop to asymmetrical butterfly’s wings, swinging from the hallowed sphere of the antechamber. Lily tried hard not to look squarely at the array of Arabian shapes and shades.

“Give her to me,” she scolded, taking the child into the crook of her elbow.

The nurse bowed as she climbed out of the room and into the thickness of the molasses hall, making it even more difficult for Lily to scold her to a point of potent pleasure. But this time, she sang to the child a song of hope, plague, and fertility. She sang her a song of repentance.

Foxglove Manor was for two types of people: the respected and the cowardly, like a cycle of dependence and service. The long line of slave owners and cotton royals made their true mark of each level, with a gold staircase and crown molding to seal the deal of disgusting wealth. These were the respecteds, going so far as to kill to keep a secret, with only the silent servants as unseeing eyes. Skie felt as though the eyes of the stone were focused on her, zoomed out from the years in the barren sandstorm winds. This was it.

Crouching to the engraved letters, Holly Daniels McKinney seemed to be a forgotten name of history in a place unknown to the outside world, except for Skie. She recognized the name as more than a century old. Could it be that easy? Rubbing her fingers along the weathered tomb, Skie noticed a number upside down in the year of the woman’s death. Pushing away the wild foliage, she turned the number right side up to the fact she knew to be true.

“Curious,” she exclaimed, just as the ground began to shake under her feet. Falling on all fours, she closed her eyes and sheltered her head with her hands as she fell through the ground like a raindrop from the clouds. The collapse of the cavernous cemetery seemed to be something from a historical novel, an Egyptian treasure secured at the bottom, but what Skie found was far from it.

It had been a wonderful vacation to the Middlelands, as she liked to call it, in a world drenched in crater lakes and evergreen glades of green fir flames. “Are you packed, darling,” Lily Jane asked through a thin tent flap no more extravagant than the dirt grass and peat moss itself. But all Skie wanted for her birthday was a camping trip with her Nana, and of course, Lily had to come through, especially because of the life her daughter gave her grandchild. The orphan wanted relations the way she never had with her flesh and blood: Lily had to make up for the terrible daughter she raised.

“Ready, Bluebird” the child responded, all dolled up in pigtails and charm bracelets, like Barbie straight from her plastic wardrobe: Lily absolutely adored her. “I have a surprise for you, darling,” she whispered into her granddaughter’s bejeweled ear as she handed her a package wrapped in the same green velvet fabric she made lopsided gowns out of in the ballroom. Skie’s sole excuse was “it spoke to her”. “You haven’t had much of a family besides me, Skie. This gift holds the key to your very existence and breath in this wood. You are one with Foxglove Manor.” Every night under the butterfly lampshade lit with a dim kerosene flicker, Skie relished in the genealogy of the book’s thick, parchment paper like a scroll from the library of Alexandria. She cherished the book, keeping it hidden and safe in the pillowcase under her very head each night. Nothing would come between her and her family, and she meant it literally.

She eventually came to memorize the names on each page: Dolly, Mason, Ivan, Holly, the list went on like the Bible. She finally felt as though she was one with Foxglove Manor. When Skie opened her hazelnut eyes, she could barely hold her tongue as she yelled in shock through the layers of solid dust.

“What kind of sick joke is this?” Just as she was about to forget her French filter, a glimmering portrait caught her eye. “Wow.” “Hold still darling, or Monsieur Nelson won’t get your profile right.” “Hey Mr. Nelson, I like your dress and top hat!” “This, Mademoiselle Skie, is a beret, not a ‘top hat’,” the artist scoffed, rubbing his horsehair brush across the yellowing canvas, “And child, not a dress, but an apron for the shell paints.” “My sincere apologies, Monsieur, she has never been painted before,” Lily Jane stated, adding the slightest tinge of embarrassment to the sympathetic mix of her silky voice. It would seem to Skie as though she was never angry, or even, that she didn’t know how to be. After the several-hour ordeal, Lily and Skie took a walk in the garden, sharing secrets and stories like they always did. And there it was, hanging just above her sewn-up hair like a stag head on the wall, showing proudly the hunt at the manor decades ago. A swell of tears came to Skie’s eyes as she stared at her grandmother’s face for the first time since their parting. Not even words had been shared that day, and Skie regretted not even saying a simple ‘thank you’ to the only family she had truly ever known or had for that matter. Weaving her way through the maze of sod and rubble, Skie touched the face of her elegant Bluebird dressed in a fur cloak over a ruby red ball gown only seen on the occasional eve of her favorite festivities. Skie pictured her own soft hands in her grandmother’s pearl-gloved hands, like the Virgin with a sinner under white fallen snow: pure magic. After making her way past the painting, she noticed a golden wardrobe closet strung on fading sketches with flowers on a bundle of sullen ivy.

The wrinkle in time had been resurrected with the masses. “Now darling, as this gown was Great Aunt Holly’s willed to be, it shall be passed down to you,” Lily Jane pet, braiding the hair of her second chance child.

“I don’t like wearing animals, Nana,” Skie interrupted as the tears flooded her whimsical brown eyes. She liked to pretend that her grandmother was wearing a living bear still intact, not a dead one reduced to a bellowing fur pellet. “Alright then, maybe not the cloak, but you will have this ruby dress.” “Nana, whenever I think of you, I think of that dress. Is it magic?” “It has the power to keep people connected through love. Just as I loved my darling Aunt Holly, you will forever love me the very same way.” Skie couldn’t help but gush at the thought that she and her Nana would be together forever, one way or another. It was a power that seemed to vanish over the hazy years. There was something special about the closet, Skie could almost feel it the minute she settled her gaze on the wonderous glint of the wardrobe. Pressing her fingers to the hollow drawers of the chest, she noticed a knob was missing on one of the levels. Tracing the outline of the puzzle piece, she noticed its immediate similarity with the music box her grandmother had given her at a time of comfort and golden memories. It was nothing but nostalgia now.

Skie untucked the gift from her pocket and placed it in the exposed wood, mimicking a jigsaw at its finest. She turned the makeshift stub to the side, cracking the lid of the rectangular secret. Excitedly, she forced her hands into the unknown and pulled out a ruby red cloth protected in bearskin fur.

She was finally one with Foxglove Manor.

She had reunited with her Bluebird.


(TW: Mentions of assault/violence and suicide) Stella sets up her booth like she does every Friday. Ballston Mall is always swarming with desperate characters: flirtatious teenagers, voracious salespeople, millennials trying to find acceptance with a side of discount pajamas. She gets her fair share of hate, sure. There's always a MAGA Hat Asshole that spits on the ground and calls her some terrible slur. She usually makes at least $500 though, and for a fortune teller that's basically the best one can do. "Hello? Do you take card?" It's a timid college student, obviously no cash. Probably still on her parent's credit card. Her shirt is on-trend and cheap. Her hair is straightened and prim, but her makeup is a mess. Lipstick on her teeth and smudged eyeliner. Hopefully the Macy's woman can help her out. Stella and her have lunch every Saturday; she's a sweetie, but intimidating. A genius with a brush though. "Yeah, we take card. CashApp is preferable though." "Oh, great! I have CashApp. Should I send you the money before or after?" Stella sighs. She hates when people ask that question. "Before, please." "Okay, I'll send it right now." There's an awkward pause as the woman sorts through her phone and *pings* the money over. Stella nods for her to sit down in the chair opposite hers. "Y'know, I don't normally do this type of thing. I was raised Catholic, so we were very skeptical. But my roommate is absolutely obsessed with tarot and crystals, so I thought she'd love it if I came here. She got it done once and it changed her life. Or so she said, at least. Actually, I don't know if it was here. Might've been a fair or something." She's rambling, which would normally annoy Stella, but there's something about it that's endearing. Like she genuinely believes Stella cares. A lot of people ramble to fortune tellers, but they just seem to talk because they can. This woman (who Stella is about 90% sure is named Grace) is talking because she wants to. And that makes Stella feel good. "Well, I'm glad. I'd ask for her name, but I probably wouldn't remember. Been working here a long time." "Oh, it's alright. So how does this work? Do I give you my hand or do you read cards? I have a rose quartz in my bag somewhere." 'That won't be necessary. Just tilt your head forward, Grace." Grace smiles with delight. "How'd you know that? My name, I mean?" Stella shrugs. "A hunch." Grace smiles smugly and leans forward a bit. "Well, you're right and wrong. My friends call me Grace, but my real name is Grayson." Stella decides she no longer likes Grace/Grayson. "Okay. Head tilt, please." Grace obeys, and Stella lays two cool fingers on her forehead. It's really oily; she'll send her to Macy's right after she's done. Immediately Stella sees a dirty wall. It's the kind of wall you couldn't usually tell was dirty unless you're standing an inch away, which Stella is. The wall gradually expands into four, and soon enough Stella and Grace are in a tiny apartment bedroom. Bare bones, but cute. Clean white bedsheets and some simple posters. A dresser full of discount clothes. "Why don't you tell me where we are?" Grace looks around bewildered. "We're, umm, we're in my room. This is my apartment." "I know that. I mean when was this?" "This? This was my dream last night." Stella tries not to look taken aback. It's rare a client selects a recent dream. Those are normally too personal, too raw. "You chose it, so we'll see what's in store." "Okay. It should start any minute now, I guess. I'm sorry, I didn't think this would work so...I don't know, viscerally. I thought you'd just..." "Make some generic shit up? Oh honey, read the sign." Right outside the booth, Stella has a sign up: PREPARE TO BE SHOCKED. It's half gimmick, but also half real. It's a truly shocking thing to relive a dream while awake. People never remember a dream start to finish, and seeing one play out in real time can be incredibly disturbing. She knows for a fact it's made at least seven people go insane. "Yeah, I, uh...I really wish I would've chosen a different one though. This one is pretty unusual for me, I think. I didn't think you'd be able to see details. Like watch it all play out." Stella knows Grace is lying. Obviously the dream is characteristic. Everybody has "special" dreams occasionally, but they don't reveal anything extraordinary. People always choose a typical one. They want to understand their pattern, what makes them tick. Or at least they think they do. "It's okay. I don't judge. I've seen it all." This is also true. Stella has seen it all. And once you've seen it all, judging doesn't just become pointless, it becomes boring. No one is truly special. That fact just becomes more apparent at night. Suddenly Dream Grace walks in wearing an evening gown. Actually, not just any evening gown: Kim Kardashian's Met Gala 2017 look. Strange, but probably not meaningful. Dream Grace is followed by a shorter, skinnier woman that Stella recognizes as her roommate. She is wearing an Adam-and-Eve look consisting of just leaves on the non-PG parts. That probably means something. Behind them both is a skinny, freakishly tall, faceless man wearing a clean-cut suit. He appears in a lot of people's dreams. Stella calls him Jack Frost. He's harmless, but certainly creepy, and the Real Grace's face goes white looking at him. Stella tries not to laugh. "Can they see us?" Real Grace looks so wan and sickly. Stella's seen worse reactions, but she still doesn't think Grace will last long here. It's not for the faint of heart. "No they can't. We're kind of like ghosts." Normally people ask questions after that, but Real Grace just leans against the wall and watches this distorted version of her life. Suddenly a booming noise echoes throughout the room, making Real Grace jump. "Let's play Twister." Jack Frost has a weird, modulated voice. Not typical, but not worth thinking about. He pulls a Twister board out of thin air and they begin to play on the bed. The dream is really boring for a while after that. They play about 9 rounds of Twister and Micheal Jackson starts playing in the background. Not a whole song, just that one clip from Smooth Criminal. Annie, are you okay? Won't you tell us? Are you okay? "This is so strange." Real Grace is watching the whole thing play out in rapture, even though all that's happened was Dream Grace dropping out of Twister when she fell trying to reach a blue circle. "All of this is perfectly normal." It's more than perfectly normal, actually. It's exceptionally boring. "Oh shit. This is the part I remember," Real Grace says as she buries her face in her hands and slumps against the wall. Suddenly a TV appears and they all start to watch a bunch of random clips from an assortment of shows. Jack Frost and Grace laugh every time without fail, but the best friend is creepily austere. She just stares lifelessly ahead. "Are you okay, Kate?" Dream Grace sounds fake concerned, almost like she's mocking the best friend. Wordlessly, Kate turns to Dream Grace and stares at her. Jack Frost hands her a knife he was apparently carrying. And Kate begins to stab Dream Grace violently, rapaciously, and soullessly. Stella looks down at Real Grace with mild concern. She has her hands over her mouth and her eyes wide. There are tears rolling down her cheeks noiselessly. Her brown hair is ruffled like she's been tousling it, and if her eyeliner was smeared before it's unfixable now. Stella was almost sure Real Grace would ask her to stop the dream now. She didn't seem like the type who could handle it. But there she stood, tears dripping down, watching herself die. She watches the blood splatter. She watches Kate laugh and wear the red like war paint. She watches Jack Frost play Twister with her lifeless body. She watches it all until she thinks she can't anymore. Then her eyes open again and she watches some more. Finally everything goes dark. Stella and Grace are back in the courtyard, though they never really left. Grace looks slightly better than she did in the dream, but her physical body cried as well so she still seems frazzled. Her trendy shirt is covered in eyeliner stains. There are a couple of people staring. Stella tries not to smile, but she knows that means new customers. Everybody loves a traumatic revelation. "So what do you think?" Grace sounds shockingly hopeful for someone who just watched her own murder. She wants a good interpretation. Her desperate energy radiates off of her and it makes Stella nauseous with disgust. "I think you are too hard on yourself. You compare yourself to people you see in the media, to your best friend. You're a jealous creature, and you need to let go of that. Reconnect with Kate. Stop making everything a competition. Also, whoever that dude you're dating is, dump him. He wants to come between you two." Grace nods like she knew it all along. She sniffles and wipes off her nose. After a quick glance around, she sees that some people are looking and begins to compose herself. "Wow. Thank you. Truly. That was amazing. I"ll tell everyone I know, I promise." Stella stands up out of her chair and motions that she can leave now, the session is over. And at the risk of laying it on, she shouts after Grace as she walks away: "And honey? You need to stop being so kind. Stand up for yourself. Stop being so giving. Take some time." The small crowd that gathered nods in approval, and Grace blushes and walks away standing taller. A nearby waitress claps and Stella resists the urge to punch her in the face. As a line forms in front of her booth, Stella puts up a 5 minute break sign. That familiar feeling of disgust and hatred is sinking in, and she needs to compose herself if she wants to make any money at all. Grace doesn't need to stop being so kind. It's dumb advice to anybody, even the most selfless person in the world. Everybody should be kinder, and everybody knows it. That's why they love to hear that no, they're too kind, that's their problem. They want to feel validated in their selfishness, and Stella gives them the stamp of approval. Stella finds comfort in the fact it wasn't all a lie, though. She definitely is jealous of her roommate and Kim Kardashian. However, her roommate is probably bad news, and the boyfriend trying to get between them was almost certainly a good thing. The advice to dump him was still relevant because Grace was obviously a repressed lesbian. She had her best friend wearing nothing but leaves, and she did grow up Catholic so it makes perfect sense. But Grace doesn't want to hear that she's a secret lesbian. She doesn't want to know she needs to be kinder. And she certainly does not want to know her jealousy is just thinly veiled attraction. So Stella doesn't tell her. Stella doesn't tell anybody the truth, even after doing this for 52 years because 53 years ago she did tell the truth and the man committed suicide not two minutes later. He jumped off one of the store balconies after Stella told him he was probably going to become a peeping-tom stalker later on in life, after he got bored of his wife like it was clear that he would. It was then that Stella realized people don't want to know what their id wants, no matter how much they claim to. And she wanted out of the job, wanted to become an accountant or something safe. But it was too late. Once you're sworn to the dreams, you can't leave. So Stella spends every day lying and letting the malicious people of the world continue to be cruel with a clean conscience. She composes herself and steps back to her desk, facing the line that has formed. She puts on a fake smile like she's learned to do so well. "Only card, please."


I had been putting off my trip to the future for as long as I could remember. Not because I wasn’t excited to go, rather the opposite. I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to step off of the platform into that courtyard to be momentous. Something to remember for the rest of my days, the swelling of pride, and my heart bursting out of my chest with excitement. My children and their children would see their mother, their grandmother after years of hard work pushing boundaries and forging a path in a world not made for the soft of heart. The time I spent away from them, building my fortune and my legacy, all worth it for that moment of glory. Most people make it a yearly event, though I’m not really sure why. It cheapens it, makes it commonplace and trivial. I seem to be the only one that holds a special reverence for the future. Growing up my parents told me of a time before when you couldn’t visit yourself, your children, or family in the coming years. It seemed surreal, in school you learn about your future, your successes, and failures. Everyone can easily search for a list of their important dates and accomplishments. To not know, to live your life completely unaware of what the future holds is insanity. How would you know what ideas were worth pursuing? What choices or places to avoid? I shudder to think of how your expectations could be so thoroughly and expertly dashed.                You might think it’s silly I’ve never been to the future since I already know how my life, my career, my family will turn out. And yes, I do know all of that on paper. The nuts and bolts of it, but the feeling of seeing my family welcome me, with love and pride is a once in a lifetime feeling. I have worked my entire life towards succeeding in business, building a home, and life grand enough to make anyone jealous. The frosting on the cake will be the moment I finally see with my own eyes the gratitude of my family after a lifetime of dedication and sacrifice.                My last morning in the present was like any other, I woke up at 4 am to hear my cup of coffee freshly brewed and dripping. The smell of it never failed to rally my spirits, even when the day seemed insurmountable. I left the house as I always did before anyone else stirred. I find it easiest to achieve success when you start your day before anyone else. There is clarity in the quiet cool mornings before even the sun greets the day.                There was always one person I see, my secretary Alex. She was ready with my second cup of coffee and the day's agenda. As usual, it was packed full of meetings and briefings, statistics, and figures. The sight of them soothed me. They were predictable, even in their unpredictability. Fluctuations here made sense to me in a way little else did.                “Today's the day! Nervous?” Alex asked me.                “Excited, more like it. 60 years leading to this moment.” I liked Alex, but the time spent on pleasantries has never interested me. There are only so many hours in the day after all. I took a quick glance over my desk, noting the important things I needed to do before embarking on my trip to the future. Last-minute calls and decisions were all that stood between me and my destiny. And like a flash, I was done. Grabbing my bag and nodding a quick goodbye to Alex, I headed to the transporter.                I had of course paid the extra fee to cut to the front of the line, sped through security, and found myself on the platform. For a brief moment, I felt uneasy. It’s not a feeling I’m used to, and it hit me like a sack of bricks as I heard the humming of the machines ramp up. For the first time in my life, I doubted. I doubted what I would see, hear, and smell. Sure, I knew the future, but actually being in it? This must be the uncertainty my parents had lived with. But in a flash, the feeling of dread and uncertainty left me.                I don’t know exactly what I expected to see. My understanding is that your family knows your coming and is there to greet you on your arrival. I don’t know how people celebrate in the future, balloons filled pictures of my parents’ birthdays, graduations, and retirements. I had been to very few parties in my time I must confess. I assume they hadn’t changed in spirit. Smiling faces, claps on the back and whatnot. I certainly didn’t expect to see the nothing that filled the room.                Must have been a mix up in platforms, bureaucracy’s inefficiency is perhaps one constant no doubt. My name, in giant black letters above the transporter, however, indicated otherwise. I was in the right place. Well, the time must have gotten miscommunicated somehow. Since I hadn’t been to the future I didn’t know the value placed on timeliness here. At this point, I would have taken any explanation for a mistakenly empty room. None appeared. I will admit now I was confused more than anything, and I left the room heading to the nearest uniformed person I could find.                “My room is empty,” I said. Getting to the point was always one of my strengths, and I expected to have a quick and salient answer just as quickly. The future had to be even more expedient than my time.                “I’m sorry to hear that.” Something in my expression must have given away my first-time status to the future, and a look I was not accustomed to seeing spread across his face. Pity. “Come this way, and we can find some answers.”                We walked down a hallway, doors opening here and there. People entering and exiting chatting comfortably and casually. Faces smiled and laughed, an air of familiarity among everyone. We entered an office and I was seated at a desk opposite a woman with a warm (condescending? Or was that imagined) smile. At this point, I still felt confident we would sort all this out. It was a surprise party planned, designed to prolong this moment. That was it. Had to be it.                “First time to the future?” the woman asked. I nodded in affirmation. Hearing her voice, my confidence in my dramatic surprise party dissipated. I worried my voice would suddenly crack or belie my growing apprehension. “Sometimes it’s hard to see the impact our actions have the first time, let’s see what I can pull up.”                Now I was really rocked. My actions impact? I worked hard, I gave all my time and my life to building my empire! Why would it be hard to see that impact? It should be shouted from the rooftops. Anger swelled within me, I couldn’t help but speak now.                “Excuse me? My actions? My actions are what made me a success. I was the first woman in my family to earn a master's in business analytics, own her own company, and a damn successful one. I built homes, sent my family on lavish vacations, my children to the best schools. Provided a secure future for generations. My actions are above reproach.”                “I can see your successes on my screen,” she said with a calmness that silenced me as effectively as a slap across the face. It was said with kindness. But a kindness tinged with sympathy. “I can also see here no one has reserved a seat to your meeting here today. You have no current communications with your children or their children in our time registered with our message servers. It’s common for impending visitors to confirm meetings. We find relationships can be more strained than anticipated without this open line of communication.”                “I had the visit planned, why would it need further communication? The date and time were clearly expressed in the travel plans.” She paused, looking down at her desk before returning my gaze.                “Sometimes the things we think are important in our time, aren’t as important to the future.” She left it at that and sent me with a print out of my living descendants' contact numbers.                I found myself sitting in the hall outside arrivals staring at the paper with my families’ numbers. I saw my oldest daughter’s name, my son. A list of their children. It occurred to me then I didn’t know a lot of the names under my children’s. Grandchildren? Who belonged to who? How old would my children be now? I had to perform a series of mental gymnastics to remember my daughter would be in her 60’s now, older than me. What was she like? Did she run a business like me? I had always assumed she did, but now I wasn’t so sure. The office administrator seemed to think her values would be different than mine. How could that be when I raised her?                But that was what she meant, wasn’t it? I hadn’t raised her. I left before she woke up and got home after she went to bed. It seemed and still does, like the right thing to do to build a future for her. Would she not see it that way? Did she remember me less as a positive and strong role model or as an absent mother, someone who floated in and out missing major milestones?                I sat and stared at the numbers, full of a doubt I had never felt before this day. I glanced at the bank of phones to the side of me, then back at the numbers. What if she didn’t answer? What if she did?


In the open expanse of the desert terrain that stretched ominously under the cloudy moonlit sky, Danny and Christina found themselves unsure of which way to go. Christina was trying desperately to stay calm but failing and Danny was hoping the sky would clear up a bit so he could use the stars to navigate their way out of Joshua Tree National Park. He learned astronavigation when he was a Boy Scout and while he wasn’t always thrilled with his parents for making him stick with everything he started there were times, like this, he was grateful for their unyielding stance on quitting. “McAllisters aren’t quitters, Danny. You start something, you finish it,” his father’s voice echoed in his head. Christina had just enrolled in a photography class at the local community college and her first assignment was to photograph something rare. She came up with the idea of taking a picture of one of the wildflowers that bloom for a short time in Joshua Tree National Park. They lived nearby so it wasn’t a difficult decision to go for a quick hike.

The area had had plenty of rain this winter and the reward this spring was a landscape that was bursting with color. Reds, yellows, purples and blues splashed across the park’s muted landscape, lending a psychedelic hue to an already mystical scene. Their morning had started with a fight, which was not unusual these days. And while their fights are about different small things every day: the way Danny squeezes the toothpaste from the middle instead of rolling the tube up from the bottom the way Christina likes it or the way Christina replaces the toilet paper roll facing under instead of over the way Danny insists on having it, the fight is really always about the same thing. The one thing that has consumed their marriage for the last three years: infertility. They are stressed, fatigued and overwhelmed with the financial, the physical and the emotional drain it has been.

They both want a baby but Christina has become obsessed and can think of nothing else. They have gone to specialists, taken every test and done everything the doctors have suggested and still nothing. They have done IVF twice unsuccessfully and the shots and the prep for insemination for the third time is causing Christina to be more and more moody and very, very angry. All the time she’s angry. This bubbling hostility is really getting to be too much for both of them. As they sit in the dark desert, contemplating which way to go they looked at each other and he noticed Christina was near tears. They were lost, hungry, scared, and disoriented. Danny felt particular pressure to get Christina out of this since he had a lot more experience with hiking and nature in general and she just didn’t need this stress. If only the sky would clear up, he could find Polaris and get them home. They couldn’t possibly be too far away from where they needed to be. “We shouldn’t have gone so far away from the marked trails,” Christina whined with a hint of blame creeping into her tone. “We’re gonna die out here!” “It'd really be great if you didn’t use that tone. I’m not the one who just HAD to get the picture of the Mojave Aster flower,” he said angrily.

“I know. I’m sorry. You’re right,” Christina said as she breathed deeply using her yoga breaths to center herself. Christina was a yoga instructor and had always been so healthy that she took her failure to get pregnant as a particular insult to her healthy lifestyle. “Okay Mr. Boy Scout, show me how to survive!” she said through her breaths.  He knew that talking would keep her focus away from her fear so he talked. “Well, when the clouds clear, all we need to is find Polaris — the North Star. It’s directly over the North Pole, always.” “How do you find that?” she asked between deep breaths that were not doing a great job of keeping her centered. “Well, to find it, we need to locate the Big Dipper. And if the Big Dipper is partially obscured, which, thanks to the cloud formation, it is you can look for Casseopeia. Casseopeia is always opposite the North Star from the Big Dipper. So that’s how you can center yourself and figure out which way to go. We parked and came in through the West Entrance so as soon as the clouds lift a little more we’ll know which direction will get us out of here.” As she listened to his answer that was meant to soothe her, she actually got more worked up.

“But what if the sky doesn’t clear up? What if a mountain lion comes around? What if the temperature drops? We are going to die!” With each question, her voice got louder and she was getting more and more hysterical. “Christina, stop! This isn’t helping,” Danny grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward him and looked straight in her eyes. “We are not gonna die. Just calm down.” Well, that did it. He should’ve known. You don’t tell a woman to calm down. Ever. But especially one jacked up on hormones.

And with that Christina burst into tears, the floodgates opened and everything came out. All the pent up frustration, anxiety and stress was released into the desert air and she wept. She wept for the children they didn’t have and never would have, for the years of trying, for the money spent and for the misplaced guilt that drove her desire to do all of this in the first place. She cried and cried and cried, and all Danny could do was hold her. As her tears subsided a little, she pulled away from him and looked at him with the most shattered expression he’d ever seen. She was completely broken and seemed to deflate before his eyes. “Danny, I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I’m, just so tired," she said through tears. "I don’t want to disappoint you. I really don't, but I think, for me--I’m done. I'm just done," she sobbed but continued talking. She had to get it out now. "I'm so sorry, but I’ve gone as far as I can go with this. I feel like I’ve failed you, I failed myself, and I’ve failed at the one thing a woman is supposed to be able to do, but I can’t live like this anymore, and I can’t take the heartbreak anymore,” the last few words were a whisper drowned out by tears. Danny listened to her in the eerie silence of the dark desert and couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had been sure she was never going to stop until they had a baby. But when she said it, he could feel the pit that had been in his stomach gnawing away at him for what seemed like an eternity break apart into nothingness, and he broke down and cried with her. He cried for all the pain and stress they had gone through and because he couldn’t believe that they had gone so long without really communicating. This whole baby-making train had taken off and put them both on autopilot. After they decided to do it they never really discussed what that would look like and how far was too far in this quest.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he brushed her tears away. “I’m sorry for making you think that you could disappoint me. You could never disappoint me. I’m sorry for not taking the time to talk about this sooner. I can’t stand what this is doing to you; what it’s doing to us. It’s just all too much. I wanted a baby. I really did, but I'm done too. I just didn't want to say anything because I thought you were still determined, and I didn't want to disappoint you.”

They held each other in the quiet of the night and felt peace come over them. After a while Danny looked up at the sky and noticed that he could see stars. The clouds had parted. “Hey, look! The Big Dipper! Do you see it?” he pointed into the sky and she nodded without really even looking. “C’mon. Let’s go,” he pulled her up off the rock she had been sitting on and they started walking west. “See? If that is north, we need to walk west over here. It shouldn’t take too long.”

As they walked out of the desert, they kept talking about how sorry they were for all the fighting they’d been doing. They talked about what they’d like to do now that they’d have time to focus on other things and they held hands and realized that while having a child would’ve been great, they were fine just being together. And there were other ways to have children. They could always adopt, but that’s a discussion for another day. Today they feel light and unfettered for the first time in years.

It took about an hour to follow the stars back to their car and on that walk they felt closer and happier than they’d felt in a long time. “You know, walking in the dark, following the stars reminds me of something I read in college that Leonardo da Vinci said. Are you ready? It's gonna be cute." She smiled in the dark at how sweet and dorky her husband was. "I'm ready. Lay it on me," she said with a little laugh. "I think it goes something like: ‘fix your course on a star and you’ll navigate any storm’. Leo was right," Danny said as he squeezed her hand. "We fixed our course on a star and it not only got us out of the desert, it got us back to each other.” "Aw, you're right, that was cute," she smiled at him knowing how lucky they were to have each other as they got in their car and drove home.


“It was Christmas morning, I woke up and realized there was a Christmas tree right in the hallway. It was all just fresh pine scent blended up with orange fragrance, hot gingerbread on the table and cinnamon hot chocolate flavor. Under the decorated there were 3 boxes, 3 gifts for 3 people, and a sock, that was for the dog, I assume. But who cared about those boxes, who? There was a bigger present, a present just for me. SANTA didn't forget about my letter, about the family I wished for. It was so real, a home where normal people spend every holiday, a fire in a fireplace, a joyful little dog running around, two loving parents and a welcoming home. It was the loveliest present I've ever received, finally my dream was coming true.” "Shut up there! It's sleeping time!" The housemother interrupted the little Kate "Oh, come on Miss Mary, I had such a beautiful dream, it's such a pity not to tell anyone! Said the little Kate, grumpy faced "besides, Denice is so willing to hear the end!" "Ok, ok, but try to whisper it, not saying it out loud, you two should've have a separate room, you're so noisy sometimes, and the others have to rest. Tomorrow's such a big day." Added the housemother "Shut your mouth, Kate!" Said the little Diane, rubbing her eyes "It's two in the morning, I need to sleep! Who cares about your stupid dream and stupid wish?” Added the malicious Diane "Girls, that's enough! Everyone go to sleep! “Miss Marie covering the girls with her high voice tone "Denice, Kate, downstairs immediately! The rest of you, to sleep right now, why I keep repeating myself all the time? Tomorrow is a big day for all of you, you just need to be rested and behave!” yelled the housemother exasperated while turning off the lights There was silence now in the old orphanage. All the girls looking forward the chance tomorrow will bring. Only three were impatient and sleepless. Be it between us, only two were sleepless, the “old miss” Mary was just exhausted, and the working day wasn’t over for her yet, since little Kate had other plans “Girls, I need you to be rest tomorrow, you just know that from tomorrow on there’ll be free for adoptions, and that the Smith’s will come. So, behave! They want a well raised little girl.” Exclaimed Miss Mary „Now go to sleep, please, tomorrow is a big day. I have to sleep as well.” Said the woman muttering how exhausted she was The Virgin Mary Orphanage for girls is shrouded in an oppressive quiet.  Probably, the young girls were all looking forward to the big day. Each of the 25 girls had an opportunity to spend the upcoming winter holidays within a family. Since neither of them had a mother or father, this was their most cherished wish. Everyone is sound sleeping, except Kate, who couldn't stop thinking about her amazing dream. It was like a fairytale for her, she was tired of oranges, a dark chocolate or a pair of shoes as presents for each Christmas. She thought : „If Santa won’t help me, as he never brought me what I wished for, I guess it’s time to act by my own self” While making plans for the big day, the little girl fell asleep, not before making a pray and promising God if she’ll have finally a family, she’ll behave and do the best to become a doctor as her dead parents were. The morning light appeared in a blink. And all the little ladies crowded into the 3 not very spacious bathrooms. It was an indescribable agitation, none of the girls can bear the turn in the order described in the orphanage regulations.

A scream like a loud roar came from below the stairs: Giiiiiirls!

Please wait your turn, you have plenty of time until the Smiths arrive! They'll come around the lunch time, Miss Mary added. The girls rushed this time to get out of the three small bathrooms, remaining the first 3 series to do their morning toilet, including little Kate and her friend Denice:

“Listen to me, Denice! These parents will be just mine, I have pretty good grades, I'm a sociable child, I'm always smiling to everyone, and I have manners. I've heard they'll come during the lunch time, I'm sure I'm gonna' make a good impression!” “Come on, Kate, you, don't believe it either! you always make jokes, and besides, you can only get along with me, Miss Mary. And let's not forget the puppies in the yard.

You forgot about your last quarrel with Diane?” “What about Diane?”  Asked Diane herself, her turn coming over “Nothing, it's nothing”, replied to stammering Denice. “Come on, Diane, I'm not in the mood for your insults, neither for your bad jokes!” Added the little Kate Look, Diane, you can't stand me, I know that you know that. But please, leave me alone, just for today, I need a family more than you think! I need it, I can't stay by my own for good.

I wasn't as lucky as you, your parents are alive, you don't have to replace them! I need it the most, please, just for today, don't be mean! Begged the little Kate  Diane stopped bothering the little Kate. perhaps she felt guilty for her naughty behavior and thought that maybe, maybe Kate was right. Her parents were alive, and she was there (in the orphanage) just for her bad behavior, because, perhaps she wasn't able to value what she already had: two loving parents, a home and much more opportunities besides the other girls.

Honestly, each one of all little girls would've preferred to be in her place. Who doesn't want to transform a nightmare in a fairytale? Diane for sure A couple of hours passed away, they took breakfast, had some math classes and lunch time was approaching. The big moment was coming soon, the chance for a family, a wish that any of the 24 little girls longed for. Meanwhile Diane, went to the little Kate and assured her that she won't ruin her chance. And, reconsidering the words Kate addressed her, she thought that, maybe, since there passed already 6 weeks, it came the time to ask forgiveness from her parents for her bad behavior and that she's a brand new person.

Said and done! Kate was now so sure that is not going to happen a thing that she'll be able to impress the couple looking for a child. The visit time arrived, the Smiths were parking in front of the building. Enough time for Marie to prepare the girls: “Girls, I need you to behave, as I've always said. These young couple is looking for a well-behaved, educated child with whom they may venture forth into the world of wealthy! One more time, Be-have! Shh! They're coming! “ All the 25 little girls quickly settled into the band, as Marie learned them. Then the poor wooden door of the orphanage opened. Everyone silent.

Just the lady Amanda heard while complaining about her new dress which had clung to the courtyard of the institution flowers. Her embarrassed husband trying to cover her wife's complaint with saluting the little girls and her housemother: “Good after noon, young ladies! How are you? Nice roses in the yard, by the way!” boasted the man in an attempt of covering his wife's while still complaint

All the 25 little girls replied in unison: Good after noon, you too!

While the rest of the girls were expecting new directions from their Miss Marie, Kate stood up in front the line and held out her hand: "Nice to meet you, Mr. Smith! How are you?" Little Kate noticed out the crowd

Marie insisted to them to start serving the lunch, inviting the two pretentious guests, and started pointing each one of the girls, introducing them this way, adding something good about each. When she reached pointing the little Kate, she, instead of answering the two's curiosities, began to sneeze uncontrollably, unable to say a single word.

Miss Marie didn't finish well presenting all the girls that Mrs. Smith began to ask if it takes much longer because she had an appointment at the hairdresser in less than half an hour, in the exclusive part of the city. The little Kate felt so disappointed, as that didn't seemed to be the family she hoped for. Even though, she breaks the line again and hugged Mr. Smith, which, apparently was liking her also.

Then, he saluted all the girls, thanked for the meal and leaved. Mrs. Smith, didn't said a thing, just rushed in a minute to her fancy car. Miss Marie, asked Kate: what was that? Why didn’t you listened to me? What if each one of you, would've hugged that man?

"I'm sorry, miss Marie! That's what I felt like, I liked that guy and I promised myself that I'm going to do whatever just to get off this place. I'm sorry!" Excused little Kate "It doesn't matter anyway, I'm not going to let any of you, to live such a life. You just saw that fancy lady, I don't know how he can stand her.

Anyway, will be waiting for other chance to come, ok?" All the girls sighed. Kate started to cry and left in the orphanage yard to see her puppies.

After a couple of days, Marie took aside the little Kate which was still upset about the situation:

"How are you, Kate? You haven't said a word in two days, are you ok?"

"No, Miss Marie, I'm not. I wanted a family so much, that was my only wish. Not that much, others have it and doesn't even know how lucky they are. Why had to die mommy and daddy in that car accident? Why? I'm so unlucky.” little Kate, bursting into tears "Oh Kate, my little one, I have some news for you, I don't know whether telling you or not. But I'm going to risk it" "What is it, Miss Marie? What happened?"

"Well, you know madam Amanda, which came the other day?" "How could I forget that fancy, disrespectful lady" "Oh, Kate, that even wasn't Mr. Smith's wife. She was his sister. Her wife didn't come as she felt sick that day" "There's still a hope, Miss Marie? That's what are you trying to say?" Shouted the little Kate full of hope "Oh, my darling, I don't know what to say. The only thing I know is that Mr. Smith's real wife resulted to be pregnant, that's why she didn't came that day"

"Oh, I have no hope then, Miss Marie. They'll have a baby now, won't need a "grown orphan girl" to raise", said the little Kate, very upset "I'm sorry my dear!"

"It's ok, it’s just not the first family which passes by without fulfilling a dream to any of us" Few days passed by and, while the winter holidays approached, the girls started to decorate the stairs railing with fir branches since the management of the institution never allocates money for another type of Christmas decorations.

Within these days, little Kate resigned herself, getting used to the idea that this Christmas will also be spent in a cold and not very welcoming orphanage, as she did in the previous years.

But one day, Marie gets a phone call. It was the Smiths; this time Rose Smith was calling. She wanted to see the little Kate, as her husband told her about the child. She had been impressed by what she had learned and decided to settle a visit to see the girl herself.

In a hurry Marie prepared the little Kate and told her not to make illusions because, there wasn't anything sure.

Rose Smith arrived within half an hour, entered the orphanage door, and saw a little hopeless, teared up little girl. She came across the girl and embraced her, assured the child it will all be fine and that, she needs some time to get used to the idea of becoming a mom for real. How would she handle this situation as the pregnancy surprised her for good. The little Kate didn't understand pretty much, but that she's not welcomed anyway since that lady was expecting her own baby. Why would she adopt one of 9 years old, thought Kate. The days passed away and it was already the middle of December and Rose Smith and her husband, Peter were visiting the little Kate every single day, reading fairytales, playing games, knowing each other, spending precious time together. The young couple spending few hours each day at the orphanage, surrounded only by little ladies and even more, by their favorite princess. But not such a big deal for Kate, since she was hopeless while Christmas was closer than ever and she was still in an orphanage.

Meanwhile the Smith's prepared all documentary for adopting the girl. The only one who wasn't aware of what was about to happen, was Kate.

The little girl was prepared something bigger. The first snow fell. Christmas Eve’s morning arrived, the young couple came at the orphanage, woke up the little girl and said:

"Wake up lazy! Pack your bags and let's go!"

Little Kate woke up smiling, she had another dream, it was like Rose and Peter took her in their home where a big tree was expecting to be decorated.

She told the whole dream to Rose, smiling, happy that, at least, she dreamed again about her biggest wish. Rose watched her, smiled, and said: "Pack your luggage, what are you waiting for? A tree needs to be decorated. Your present is waiting for you. Let's go home!


As the orange dawn crept over the west horizon, Fabio slammed the snooze button for the third time. Then the fourth. Then the-

Fabio decided the first day of school was a special day, so he got out of bed the fifth time his alarm rang. But Fabio did not know how special the day truly was. This year could be different, it’s fifth grade. Wanda and Maggie had bullied Fabio since the first grade and Fabio would prefer anything - anything - to being thrown in the recycling bin everyday during lunch. Or, at least he thought he would prefer anything. As Fabio walked to Marie Curie Elementary School, he couldn’t help but notice things were different. The sun warmed the wrong side of his face. His fellow pedestrians greeted each other, instead of gluing their eyes to their smartphones. The birds were retweeting instead of tweeting. It was the same way at school as well. The teachers were skipping, the jocks were calculating and the toilets were clean. Fabio was beginning to grow quite suspicious, but then he spotted Wanda. Not too far behind her was Maggie. Forgetting all clean toilets, Fabio turned around to dash into the nearest safe place, but instead ran into the Head of Discipline. The Head of Discipline was built like Sommer Ray’s behind and running into him was like galloping into a cinder block wall. Despite his unusual apologies, the collision with him still hurt, and Fabio needed time to recover after that. “Here, let me help you up,” a fear arousing voice said. Fabio was about to scramble away from Wanda when she grabbed Fabio’s hand and actually helped him up. He cringed, waiting for her to smack him or something worse. “Oh no,” an equally scary voice said, “Are you hurt?” Fabio looked at Maggie and shook his head, still expectant. “Of course you’re not,” Maggie continued, giggling, “A man like you doesn’t even compare to him. You’re probably rock hard! Here, let me walk you to class!” Without warning, she grabbed Fabio’s bicep and began walking towards her homeroom. Fabio stayed planted in the hallway, unable to imagine what unthinkable thing they could be planning. “You coming?” Maggie asked cheerfully, swinging her hip against Fabio’s. Fabio only squeaked in return, barely shuffling to his fate.

“Ugh!” Wanda exclaimed, “Maggie, you’re obviously taking him to the wrong homeroom, he’s not in your class. Come on!” she turned to Fabio, “I’ll walk you to your right class!” The warning bell rang, emitting the sound of singing unicorns, so Fabio took that opportunity to run. He was almost home free, the door was in sight when the gym teacher caught him by the shirt. She very happily told him that he was going the wrong way, and offered to show him to his class.

When Fabio did make it to his classroom, he expected it to smell like the first day of school: Dread and full body sweat. But instead it smelled of Pine-Sol and miracles. Something is not right , Fabio mused as he took the last empty seat. He was so busy smelling the miracles he did not even notice that he was sitting next to Wanda. That is, until she began to squee about how nice his haircut looked.

“That’s ridiculous,” Fabio retorted, “My hair never looks good.” Wanda pulled out a compact mirror and opened it for Fabio to gawk at. He gasped. Instead of looking like a deformed coconut, he mirrored a young Justin Trudeau. Today is not okay. Fabio told himself.

When lunch finally rolled around, Fabio opened his locker to find a handwritten note waiting for him.

Meet me behind the recycling bins. <3 <3 During lunch or else… ;) ;) You know who ;) <3 Fabio did know who. Wanda had very recognizable printing. And he knew that he had to meet her, because the, “Or else,”s were always worse. Although this time, instead of skulls and crossbones, there were hearts and winky faces, but that wasn’t going to fool Fabio. He met her prepared for pain. “Heeyy, Fabio!” Wanda greeted, slinging an arm around his waist. “Let’s just get on with it,” Fabio squeaked. “You’re like totally right!” Wanda giggled, “I know you feel the same way about me as I feel about you, right?” Fabio nodded, then all hell broke loose. He assumed the way Wanda felt about him was bad until she leaned in and gave him a big bear hug. Fabio was still much weaker than Wanda so he could not break free. He would’ve much rather been recycled. After a disgusting eternity, Wanda suddenly pulled away. “Oh thank God!” Fabio sighed. “Oh! Wanda I cannot believe you would just go and steal my man like this! What kind of friend are you?!” Maggie was standing to the side, rage overtaking her countenance.

“A good friend!” Wanda spat back, “He clearly loves me more, and this was the only way to break it to you. I’m just helping you guys sort out your feelings!” “ Feelings?! ” Maggie screeched, “You don’t know anything about how I feel! How could you?! The only one who understands me is Fabio!” Fabio had never been more void of understanding in his life. Before that day, Wanda and Maggie had been simple. They hated Fabio and loved making him suffer. Together . Fabio was sure they had never fought in all their years of best friendship and no boy was going to change that. Especially not him . Fabio was about to voice his thoughts when Maggie suddenly grabbed him and began a sequel of Wanda’s performance. But thankfully, Maggie wasn’t as strong as Wanda, so Fabio was able to squirm free. “Ladies!” Fabio had always imagined himself giving a speech to Wanda and Maggie, the kind that would inspire them, or at least overwhelm them with guilt so that they’d leave him alone, but not like this, “I don’t know what has gotten into you! You guys are best friends. No boy should get in between you! Your guys’ bond is so much stronger than this! Besties before buys! Bros before-” “Oh em gee! Fabio you’re so wise!” Wanda crooned. “Am I?” “Of course!” said Maggie, grabbing Wanda into a hug. They apologized to each other and continued hugging. When they detached, Fabio was standing there with an accomplished grin on his lips even though the sappy, lovesick grins Wanda and Maggie gave back were the most disturbing thing he had ever seen. Girls were none of his concern. *** The next time Fabio was being shoved in a big blue bin, he thought back to September 3, 2012, the day when the sun rose in the west.


Marianna tosses and turns in her sleep as the dreams she experiences nightly cascade before her eyes. She sees the house she shared with Anthony from a distance as she drives up Maplehill Drive. Although, she doesn't live there anymore, something keeps drawing her back. Is she missing the house and her old life or is her subconscious not letting go of her past? Drenched in a cold sweat, Marianna wakes up once again and vaguely remembers what she experienced. Melatonin and sleeping pills won't give her a peaceful sleep, and she realizes she is running out of options. Dr. Preston, her Psychologist, told her if the sleeping pills didn't help, she may have to go under hypnosis to find the underlying cause of her nightmares. Marianna didn't consider her dreams nightmares. She would go back to the house and always find Anthony. He was young like they were when they moved into the house thirty years ago. His body was tight, and his muscles were rippled as they were when he was young. She couldn't see her face to know if she also reverted back to her youthful self.

Dr. Preston didn't find it healthy for Marianna to spend all of her sleeping hours with a husband she no longer had.

The doctor stressed to her that her husband was dead and she needed to move on. Marianna assured her she had. Anthony had died in the car crash over ten years ago. Her daily life didn't revolve around his memory, and she couldn't understand why her nights did.

Another pill and she would retire for the night. Marianna hoped she would be exhausted enough to fall asleep and not dream at all.  Eleven pm, she felt a hypnic  jerk, the sensation of falling, and almost awakened. Her body started all over with sleep cycles, and it didn't take long before she was again in REM sleep, where she was driving up the hill to meet Anthony. The dreams were different every night; Before he passed away, they had moved out of the house, and it had new owners. Marianna knew when she was there with Anthony that they must have broken in because they no longer lived there. The family who purchased their old house returning home was  a threat. She would awaken from her dreams realizing they weren’t supposed to be there. Other nights Anthony would lead her through the house and take her to rooms she never realized were there. One night he took her to the attic and showed her several pianos; some were in tact with others missing keys.  There were staircases which lead to secret rooms and countless bedrooms with furniture that was not hers. Anthony would stroll through the house showing her all of the hidden features.  Marianna would tell him they needed to leave because they didn't live there anymore. Anthony was not concerned about their trespassing, and would continue to explore as if it was still theirs. Marianna would wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat realizing that sometimes she missed her old life. She was happy now and had a beautiful home of her own, and the stress of the marriage she and Anthony experienced was gone.   Marianna was a strong woman with a man in her life who made her happy. She couldn't understand the draw of Anthony and the Maplehill house.

As soon as her REM sleep started, Marianna would dream of Anthony and the house on the hill.

Most of her marriage took place there,  some good, but a lot worse. Young Anthony was the one Marianna saw in her dreams. The man who she had loved dearly. The rest of their story was blurred as Anthony  lead her through the house. Most of her dreams were pleasant with discovering new spaces until she noticed how Anthony hesitated and always looked behind.

Someone or something was following them, and it wasn't the owners of the house. There was a dark silhouette that would appear behind doorways as they traveled into the new rooms. Marianna would try to speak to Anthony to ask what it was without any words coming out. The dreams were mainly visual without much interaction . Marianna would follow him until she realized her cell phone started to ring in her dream, and it was her boyfriend. That would bring her back to reality; Anthony and the house were not real.

He was gone, and their home was also. Marianna would get up in the middle of the night exhausted, and pour herself a glass of water wondering if she would get a couple hours of sleep before her alarm went off. She desperately needed sleep. Her job was starting to suffer, and the bags under her eyes could no longer be hidden with concealer.  The sleep deprivation also concerned Marianna as she was afraid of increasing her risk for heart attack, stroke, or having a careless accident.

Functioning normally was getting more difficult. A year went by, and Marianna continued to have nightmares. She would often drive by the old house and park across the street trying to figure out why it had  a hold on her. She was surprised one day when she climbed Maplehill Drive, and saw it was up for sale. Without delay or time to reconsider, she purchased her former home.

Marianna knew it wouldn’t be deemed rational by her doctor, and her boyfriend would be offended she hadn’t discussed it with him.  She considered their feelings, but decided it was her choice on how to deal with her dreams. Marianna put her house on the market, and was in her old bedroom within two months. The first night Marianna spent at the house was uneventful. It was the best night sleep she had had in three years. She woke up happy and energetic, and was confident she had solved her nightmare problem. Dr. Preston wouldn't believe how easy it was. Marianna continued to be proud of herself for figuring it out, and it took a while to notice Anthony. He was sitting in the bay window of the dining room as he often did when they were married.  Marianna screamed and tried to figure out if she was asleep or awake. Anthony assured her she wasn't dreaming, and he was so happy she finally made it.

Her face turned pale because she had seen a ghost, and told him he couldn’t be real he died in a car accident. Anthony told her she was right, he was dead, but needed to see and talk to her. Anthony told Marianna that he hadn't treated her with the respect she deserved. He knew that she loved him, and he had taken advantage of that love. Marianna was surprised with his confessions.  Communication between them was a problem during their long marriage.  Her dreams, Anthony told her, were to get her to come there. He wanted to reassure her that he had always loved her even though he didn't show it.  He asked Marianna if she could find it in her heart to forgive him. Tears started to run down Marianna's face, and Anthony wiped them away. Marianna looked up at Anthony with red swollen eyes, and whispered......thank you. The dreams in Marianna’s life disappeared, as did Anthony.

She sold the house and moved away into a condo with a warmer climate. She didn't know why Anthony waited ten years in the house to tell her he was sorry before he finished his journey, or if it may have determined its direction, but she was glad he did. Marianna believed she was handling his death without closure, but her sub-conscious knew otherwise.


It wasn't dark like she believed it would be. Actually, it was super fucking bright. She knew she was dying, no more oxygen and it was making it hard to think.  She couldn't feel it but was aware of it. You know, like when there's something you forgot to do but you know it had to be done? It's just that feeling. It's kind of like a shedding of a skin or a layer or a peel. It's weird however you want to describe it. Death is so scary because we don't know what is next. Kinda the same with life except we feign control of life. Death is like nothingness and who can deal with nothing. At least while living we have some semblance of control. It does all flash before your eyes.  Your life.  Mostly it's the lessons you learned.  It all becomes crystal clear.  The last thing she remembered of her life was swimming and getting tangled and gasping and fighting and the struggle then peace. Fighting for that last breath was the worst. Then it was the easiest. She'd only been in the keys for about a month. There was something about island life that pulled her in. Maybe because she was born on an island. Granted, it was in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay but an island nonetheless. It's nothing but a highway full of strip malls now, just a route to get to the beach. She loved growing up along the creek waters and playing in amongst the marsh reeds. People knew one another and looked out for each other. She'd been searching for this again most of her adult life. She thought she'd found it again but the place grew faster than her childhood island did. Too many people. Too much commotion. The keys were exactly what she was looking for. It was a different pace here and it was WARM. She had gotten her scuba certification before moving down. Always wanting it just never doing it. That dang breathing thing just scared her. But fuck it she said. "I'm almost 65, I've got shit to do!" In the month she had been here she had friended the next-door neighbors. Their trailer was on the canal while hers was one over. They had a boat and went fishing and diving quite often. They invited her to go on the next trip. They wanted to do some spearfishing and it would give her a chance to go on a dive. The traffic was BULLSHIT. It took two hours almost to go 8 freaking miles. She had driven in LA traffic and DC traffic. Grandpa in his RV going down highway 98 was worse. Way worse. When people overtake an area it sucks. She'd found this place by accident. Drawn to the white sand beaches and emerald waters. It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen and in the last 10 years, it apparently became the most beautiful place thousands of people had ever seen! The growth was heartbreaking. People suck the beauty out of nature. They bring their bullshit with them wherever they go. They ruin paradise she thought looking at the jam-packed road full of tourists. I think it's time to move she suddenly thought. She didn't like the thought of moving again. Not knowing a soul, again. But at the same time, she kinda liked it. Life's an adventure, right? And to be honest, she was great at making friends. People just seemed to want to be near her. She had just gotten her SCUBA cert because she wanted adventure. She'd been bored too long. Got too comfortable. And frankly, it had been on her bucket list for a long time now. She wanted to feel the freedom of being under the water. To see the animals that lived right in her beach backyard. Then go to the keys and dive there where the diving was amazing. Routine had finally gotten the best of her. She didn't want to do this anymore. The business kept growing but she was done building it. It was time to let someone else do it. Ten years was plenty of time to devote to something. Every day was the same. The people were the same. It was cold outside too. She wanted to wake up and go sit outside with her coffee and listen to the birds and the sea every day. To have a perpetual tan and a perpetual smile. As she tugged on her coat and felt properly suffocated she went outside to her car. The wind whipped through her it felt. The iciness causing her to pull inside the coat even more. Fuck it's cold today she thought as she slipped on ice and almost fell. That was it! I'm out of here. Driving to the office hoping she didn't hit any patches of black ice. She eased her convertible into the lot thinking how badly she wanted to be able to feel the warm sun on her as she rode with the top down. Once inside she immediately started to google beaches in Florida. She was done with winter. She was done with this routine. Destin and the emerald coast came up. That intrigued her. So she booked a trip. Write your own obituary. Well, that seems kinda morbid she thought as the professor handed out their assignments. Hmm, I guess I need to first figure out how I die, she thought as she bounced the assignment around in her head. She could come up with plenty of ways she did NOT want to die. Violent or bloody was a definite no. She didn't want to suffer in any way either. She didn't want to be so old that she was crapping her pants and needing someone to take care of her. She decided that dying suddenly while doing something fun was probably the best way to go. So, no blood. No pain. I'll die while scuba diving! Seems like a good way to go. Kinda terrifying but painless. Lacey Grey Simpson Born 1970 Died 2034 Lacey lived an exciting life...


Black Rose By Charlotte S “Max! Time for dinner!” called Max’s mother from downstairs. “Coming!” called Max from her position on her bed, her feet on the wall and her head hanging off the edge, books piled around her. She flopped off her bed to the side, a cascade of books following shortly after, scattering across the unattractive cow print rug that her mother had insisted on buying. Max gave a couple of them a halfhearted shove towards her bed, before picking herself up and heading towards the door.

When she got downstairs, the table was already set and in the center was a huge bowl, half full of spaghetti and pesto. The other half of the spaghetti was on her brother’s plate, and he was eagerly grating heaps of parmesan cheese on top of it. “Save some for the rest of us, Carson” Max’s mother laughed, as she sat down next to him at the table. Max giggled at him as she slid into her chair, and Carson retaliated by sticking his tongue out at her, before grabbing his fork and taking a monstrous bite of his spaghetti. “So,” said Max’s mother, swallowing her mouthful of spaghetti, “I was thinking maybe you two could go to the park tomorrow morning? I have a job interview at ten, and I need you out of the way.” “But Mom-” Max started to protest, but her mother cut her off. “I’ll give you money to get ice cream afterwards.” Max hesitated. “Fine.” She said reluctantly. “Yes!” Carson shrieked, jumping up from his seat and knocking his spaghetti plate over the edge of the table, causing it to crash to the floor and scatter spaghetti and ceramic chunks everywhere.

“I’ll get it” Max’s mother sighed, wiping her mouth with a napkin and getting up from her seat, careful not to step on the broken plate.

Carson surveyed the mess he created from up on his chair, where he’d jumped when the plate fell, and meekly asked if he could be excused. Their mother nodded, and he cautiously stepped down from the chair, sidestepping the heap of pasta on his way to his room, where he resumed building the lego spaceship he had been working on for weeks. The next morning was clear and sunny, with only a few soft clouds in the sky, and Max was wearing only her t-shirt and cargo shorts as she and her brother walked to the park. Carson was wearing only shorts, he had refused to put his shirt on when they left the house. Their mother had let him go topless, as long as he put his shirt on if they went inside any buildings.

Max carried her mini backpack with Carson’s shirt, the ice cream money, and several books, and Carson carried two of his action figures, the Hulk and Batman. As they turned the corner to the park, Max instinctively veered towards the sidewalk, to avoid the man that usually sat on the steps of the corner store and whistled at passing women, but he wasn’t there, so she turned and went the more direct way.

Once they arrived at the park, Carson immediately ran off towards the play structures, heading straight towards James, a friend from second grade that had played at their house several times over the summer. Max settled down by a big oak tree - her favorite spot - and took out one of her books. She opened it to the bookmarked page, and was immediately enthralled, the real world drifting away around her. It felt like only a couple of minutes when she heard a high pitched scream coming from the bushes across the playground. Max jumped up, tossing her book to the side, and ran towards the bushes from which the scream had been emitted. When she got there she found Carson and James, standing in a small clearing in the bushes, both of them crying and Carson violently shaking. In front of them was the bloodied body of the man from the corner. He looked exactly as Max remembered, grey-brown wisps of hair under a black beanie, grey stubble peppering his bony chin, and the same maroon zip up sweatshirt he had been wearing two days before. His body was laid out on its back, his arms crossed over his chest, and resting between his yellowing teeth was a single black rose. Max gasped, took a step back, and quickly looked around to see if anyone else had seen. The playground was bustling with children and parents, all laughing and playing, but it all seemed miles away now. Max looked back at Carson and James, still crying quietly, and gently pulled them away from the clearing back towards the playground. “He’s only playing”, she said, her voice shakier than she had planned. She steadied her voice and tried to calm her nerves a bit. “He’s getting ready for Halloween.” “But Halloween isn’t for two months,” Carson protested. “Maybe he just wants to practice so he can be really convincing.” “But-” “Come on, let's play over here.” Max led the boys over towards the monkey bars, trying not to sound worried. She left them there, and once they had reluctantly begun playing, she crept back to the bushes.

Once she got to the clearing, she bent down to look at the body. Without touching it, she looked closely at the black rose placed in the man’s mouth. It’s stem was a medium green, the same color as the leaves of the bushes Max was in, and it’s petals were a deep black, like the night sky without any stars. Unlike the rest of the man, the rose didn’t have a single drop of blood on it, it’s stem and petals remained so pristine that it could have been fake. Max noticed out of the corner of her eye a small movement to her right, and she looked over but didn’t see anything at first. On closer inspection, however, she found a small section of lined paper that might have been ripped out of a notepad, and on it something was written in blue ink. She scooted around it to see, and read “Ten oclock am. First of many. Ther’e there is no stopping it. The Black Rose will never be stopped.”

Ten oclock am. First of many. Ther’e there is no stopping it. The Black Rose will never be stopped. Max gasped, jumped up, and started running towards the playground as fast as she could. She grabbed Carson by the arm and dragged him with her to the big oak tree where she had left her backpack and books. She grabbed the backpack, stuffed the book that she had left on the ground inside of it, and slung it on her shoulder as she hurried out of the park. “Where are we going?” asked Carson, sounding panicked. “Back home,” replied Max, a bit out of breath. “We can’t go home, mom has an interview,” said Carson, sounding out of breath too. “Then we’ll go to Angela’s house.” Angela was Max’s best friend, and had been since kindergarten, and they did everything together. They were in a school play together in grade five, and again in grade six. They practically lived at one another’s house. Max could alway count on Angela if she needed help, or for a good time. Just as they arrived, out of breath, on Angela’s doorstep, Angela’s mother opened the door and stepped out onto the small porch, nearly bumping into Max and Carson.

“My goodness, are you alright?” she asked as she stepped back into the doorway. “Yes, Mrs. Michaels,” gasped Max, “but I need to talk to Angela. Is she here?” “Yes, of course, come right in” Answered Mrs. Michaels, moving aside so Max and her brother could step in.

Max ran into the house, leaving Carson with Angela’s mother, and raced up the stairs to find Angela. She skidded to a stop in front of Angela’s bedroom door, and stuck her head in to see if she was there. Angela was sitting on her bed, earbuds stuck in her ears, and a pile of yarn, beads, and other craft supplies scattered around her bed. Max hurried in, shut the door, and yanked Angela’s earbuds out of her ears. “Hey!” complained Angela. “What are you doing? Did my mom let you in?” “Yeah, and I really need to talk to you,” Max replied. “What is it? Are you okay?” asked Angela, sounding a bit concerned. Max leaned in close to Angela, so close she could almost hear her heartbeat, and whispered, “I found a dead body in the park.” “What?” exclaimed Angela, her voice considerably louder than Max’s. “Shhhh!” Max whispered. “I don’t know what to do. There was a note next to it that said something about a Black Rose. Please, you need to help me.” “Okay, I will! Calm down. Let's go to the park.” Max and Angela got up from the bed, and Max went to fetch Carson while Angela grabbed a backpack and stuffed some supplies into it. They met downstairs, and asked Angela’s mother if she could watch Carson for a little while. She agreed, and they hurried out the door and down the street towards the park. As they were walking, Max explained in detail what had happened, and Angela listened intently without interrupting once.

As they neared the park, Max began to hear sirens, and when they hurried around the last corner she and Angela abruptly stopped walking. The whole stretch of road in front of the park was flanked with police cars, and there were police officers everywhere. Some were talking to terrified looking parents and children, some were stringing up crime scene tape all around the park, and others were bent down near the bushes where the body was laying. Max could make out snippets of what they were saying, but she didn’t understand most of the words. She heard “ Homicide,” “rigor,” and several other words she couldn’t fully make out. A tall, skinny police officer noticed Max and Angela standing on the corner staring, and came over to speak to them. “Hello girls, I’m sorry but the park is closed.” Angela started to turn away, but Max pulled her back to face the officer. “I found the dead body.” “Did you,” the officer’s face went ashen as he spoke. “Then I suppose you’d better come with me. Where are your parents?” “My mom’s at home doing a job interview. My brother’s at Angela’s house.” Max motioned to Angela as she said her name, then asked, “Are we in trouble?” “No, of course not,” the officer assured them, before turning to call one of the other police officers over. “My name is officer Daniels, by the way.”

A chubby, squat officer with a belt that looked to be a bit too small for his waist came over. Officer Daniels explained the situation to him, and then turned back to Max and Angela, who had been intently watching the officers squatting near the body. “This is officer Mike. He’s going to bring you down to the station, and we’ll call your parents to come down, okay?” “Okay,” Max and Angela both agreed. Officer Mike led them to a police car, and Max and Angela got in the backseats, with officer Mike in the driver’s seat. When they got to the station, officer Mike led the girls to a room in the back, where Max’s mother was already waiting. She jumped up when she saw them, and rushed over to hug Max tightly, then Angela, a worried expression on her face. “Are you girls alright?” she asked frantically, as she looked them over for injuries. “They aren’t hurt, but we are going to need to conduct some interviews with both of them, once Angela’s mother arrives,” Said a police officer in the corner of the room, who Max and Angela had only just noticed. The next few days were a blur of interviews, police officers, and trips to the police station. Max missed the first day of seventh grade because she had to talk to an old, grizzled detective, and Angela - who had been allowed to leave after only a few interviews - had told Max about their classroom, classmates, and teacher, Miss Megan.

Eventually, there was a trial for a man named Leonard Stakes, who they had found in a parking lot covered in blood, holding a knife that matched the stab wounds found on the back of the dead body. Max and her mother had to be at the trial, but she wasn’t made to testify, as the police already had enough evidence. Leonard Stakes was convicted of the first degree murder of Joshua Catall, and sentenced to life in prison, with the possibility of parole. Thirteen years later, Max, still good friends with Angela, had a baby boy and named him Daniel, after the officer who they had met at the park the day of the murder. Two years after Daniel was born, Max became a forensic psychologist, working with children who were witnesses to crimes, just like herself. Max dedicated the rest of her life to helping child witnesses, and taking care of Daniel and his little sister, Alice.


The pain was intense. As my driver pulled into the gravel driveway, I adjusted my position and winced. "Is everything alright, Miss Daniels?" said my driver, Weston. "Yes," I said. "I'm fine." Weston sighed. "Very good, miss. What time shall I pick you up tomorrow?" "I'll call you," I said, as I slammed the car door with my good arm. As I carefully made my way up the drive, I saw a white farmhouse with black shutters. I heard the front door slam, and a woman in her sixties jogged up to me and pulled my overnight bag out of my good hand. "Mercy!" she said, as she stopped for a moment and stared at the cloud of dust from the car. "Why did your man peel out of the drive like that? Did you two have a fight?" Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. "That's just Weston, my driver. He forgets how to drive sometimes." The woman's mouth hung open, just a little, and I saw that she had a cheap metal filling on the back of her right molar. "Oh," she said. "Well, you know men. Most of them don't know their rear ends from a hole in the ground." I laughed politely, and my new friend smiled. "Welcome to Blue Bate's Bed and Breakfast," she said. "My name is Twila." "Nice to meet you," I said, shaking her right hand with my left. "Is somethin' wrong with your right shoulder?" said Twila. "No, why do you ask?" I said. "Nothin' she said, as she rested my bag on her shoulder. "It's just that my husband, Ralph, was a doctor and he always said that you could tell a shoulder injury, down to the side, by the angle of a person's walk." "That's fascinating," I said. "Did Ralph pass away recently?" Twila's eyelid twitched. "How did you know that?" "Lucky guess," I said. "Right," she said, narrowing her eyes. "I'll show you to your room, then." I smiled. "That would be lovely," I said. ***** The door creaked open, and I smelled my new digs before I could see them. Mildew and rust, mixed with eau de manure. Great. Twila laughed, a singularly displeasing sound. "Is the room not to your likin'?" she said. I looked around and took stock. A shabby but serviceable bed was in one side of the room, and a large fireplace was located on the opposite wall. "It'll do," I said. "Does the fireplace work?" My hostess smiled through gritted teeth. "I just cleaned it myself this morning," she said. "You won't have to worry about a smoke smell on those designer clothes of yours, if that's what you're thinkin' about," she said. "Good," I said. "Great. As a matter of fact, I'd like to freshen up before dinner. Would you put my bag on the bed?" Twila muttered something under her breath, but placed my Prada bag gently atop the bed pillows. "Dinner's at 7 o'clock sharp ," she said. "I hope you like cornbread." I sighed, and lightly massaged the back of my neck. "It's my favorite," I said, "but like I said, I really want to take a shower before dinner." Twila's face softened. "Awww, you must really be tired. You take a nice shower or bath, and I'll have some hot food ready for you when you come down." I nodded eagerly, and closed the door behind the proprietor of the Blue Bates Bed and Breakfast. As I heard the sound of her steps fade away, I flung open the bathroom door and ripped the bandage off of my right shoulder. In the mirror, I noticed that yellow fluid was leaking from the wound. "Fuck," I said. I slowly opened my overnight bag with my left hand, and injected myself with enough cortisone to kill a horse. As the drug took effect, I took a hot shower (as hot as I could stand it) and laid down on the bed. As I fell asleep, I made a mental reminder to call Weston on my cell. I doubted the B and B had wifi. "Hey," said a kind voice. I coughed. "Is that you, God?" I said. There was a soft chuckle in response. "No, silly Billy, it's me," said Twila. "I brought your food upstairs on a t.v. tray that I used to use for Ralph, when he was sick. I hope you don't mind." "What time is it?" I said. "Never you mind," said Twila. "I can see you're sick and in pain, plain as day. Have somethin' to eat first, and then I'll be more than happy to tell you the time." I started to protest, but my new caretaker interrupted. "Eat first," she said, pointing to a dish of roast pork. "Talk later." My stomach growled, and Twila smiled. I reached for a spoon. "No, no, sweetie," she said. "You'll want the fork and knife for that pork." I grabbed the spoon, and drove it into her eye. "No, no," I said, gasping for breath. "I want the spoon. Easier to catch you off guard that way." Twila fell to the floor, clawing at her face. Blood and viscous fluid ran onto the wood. "That's going to be hard to clean up," I said, "but I am relieved that you don't have carpet." I grabbed the quilt from the bed--I believe in cleaning up as I go--and felt a white hot stab of pain in my right shoulder. "Oww," I said, as I whirled back around, screaming. "That really hurts, Twila!" "Goo!" she slurred. Then she fell to the ground and I heard the satisfying sound of a skull cracking. An empty vial of cortisone gently fell out of her hand, and I picked it up. "I really wish you had put up more of a fight," I said, as I fished my phone out of my trusty black bag. "Makes me feel less guilty about killing you." I called Weston. "Hello," I said. "I need to change the pick-up time. Can you be here at 3 am? Also, please call our client and tell her that the work is finished." "Excellent," said Weston. "She'll be very glad to know. How is your shoulder, and how did you get that injury? I am curious, you know." "I accidentally shot myself in the shoulder," I said. "Are you happy? I fucking shot myself in the shoulder." "That's what I thought," said my old friend, laughing. "I'll be there as soon as I can." ***** Weston and I watched the last of the blood swirl down the bathtub drain, and I gave the area one last swipe of bleach. "I think we've got everything clean," I said. "I'll check the rest of the house, one last time, to make sure." "Do you hear that?" said Weston. "Hear what?" I said. "Would you help me carry these trash bags? They are heavy, and I can't carry them by myself right now." "I know," said Weston. "If we had cut up the body like I said, instead of burning it in the fireplace, the bags would be lighter." "No," I said, shaking my head. "You're mistaken. Ash is always lighter than the human body." "Would you shut up for one second?" said Weston. "I will not," I said. In that moment, we both heard it--the faint but distinct sound of a human voice. "Shit," I said. "It's coming from the basement." ***** "I still can't believe Ralph was chained up in the basement," said Weston. "Really?" I said. "I can. Twila was a textbook sociopath. I'll bet she even tortured small animals as a child." Weston rolled his eyes. "You didn't torture small animals as a child." "Yes, but my father was a sociopath and taught me to be one. I am a different kind of creature, so to speak." "Exactly, Miss Daniels." "Are you being sarcastic, Wes?" I said. "Don't call me Wes," he said. Just then, there was a loud thump from the trunk. "Don't you think our client will be a bit upset that her beloved grandfather is in the trunk of our car?" said Weston. I thought for a moment. "No," I said. "She'll be happy that he's alive and well." "Right," said Weston, the man that I love. "I certainly hope that you are correct." "I am," I said. "I'm always right." "And you always have to have the last word," smiled Weston. "Yes," I said. "I do."