She felt like a ribbon streak. A ray of light rich enough to give me youth yet I’m a cold. A shiver down her spine of fear after the sunsets with anxiety and every time she comes back up the fear seems to disappear but—how can she look at me like I’m velvet royalty when I’m just a midnight line of forgotten strength? I’m incomplete but when she smiles I feel heat. She’s a sunrise and I set– the world on fire… yes. How can she love me when I’m less than lavender and she’s gold? Many try to forget about the building beyond the hill. Days are more rainy there than sunny but when the first autumn leaf falls- it falls there. I only know because I packed my bag five summers ago, the last days of July, and left in the middle of the night. My travels led me towards the only bricked road outside of town. The trees covered the rural road blackening the view of ghosts whistling in the night. Perhaps they were trying to say something I couldn’t quite understand. I remember a sign lay on the road saying: “Beware of-” but the last words were covered in the overgrown red grass.

When I crossed the hill that put my home out of view, everything felt cold. The rain fell like hail and my breath was smoke out of my nose. There was a place I could rest in the distance. I parked my car on the abandoned street and stared at the tiny place, lit with a singular green lantern. Yellow hues line the calm wet street, as I watched a woman walk past the window singing a tune. Rain drops lined the glass, my body shaking with cold as I could only think of how warm she felt inside. The sign outside the building looked as if it was soon to fall off but I slowly creeped up. Grabbed the door, noticing that the rope on my leg was dragging from my car. It stained red like the mysterious irritation that inflamed my neck. I tucked it into my pocket while cracking the door quietly; I jumped when I heard glass shatter at my feet. A gray cat ran past me, out of the door, with a cracker in its mouth as the woman yelled for it to leave before meeting me with an unwelcoming gaze.

She wore a black apron over a velvet dress. Her eyes ran across my body as if my baggy brown overalls and hand knitted sweater weren’t professional enough to be welcomed in this place. Yet she was the one with white powder staining her face.

“I just hate it when that cat steals,” she groused, ignoring my presence, stepping from behind the long wooden table. It covered half of the front of the room. Candles lining the corners like she was summoning the dead. “May I help you?” I question, as she reaches for the broom.

She chuckled slightly, tossing it at me since I stood closer to the door. I had failed to catch it as it fell into one of the five pink bean bag chairs that sat on the floor. I ran my hand over my short curly hair, wiping the water off of my wet hands, nervously laughing. “That’s what I should be saying. You came into my store.”

She crossed her arms as I had let my eyes scan the room. There was sun & moon tapestry on the walls, lights hanging from the ceiling, and a purple chalk sign that had lists of foods on it as if she was meal planning for the week. Chalk was something I hadn’t seen in years since a child. People say it’s because the companies had shut down during the strike two decades ago, from today, that chased all the women out of the now male dominated town. I was only a child however and children are raised by their fathers here regardless of if they are born male or female. So, I couldn’t leave but I wasn’t the only one because this neighbor girl understood me too. I glance up at the women as my heart beats out of my chest. I try to play my nerves off by sitting in the bean bag. Putting my focus on the lavender candles burning against the long wooden counter.

“Would you like something to eat?” “Uh- just a berry scone and tea.” “Okay,” she nods, remaining still.

Her gray eyes pierced into my soul as I looked at her confused. She held out her hand. Maybe she didn’t understand me. “I’m sorry, I can get it myself if-” “Look I don’t give out things for free,” she interrupts. “I-I didn’t realize,” I apologized and quickly handed her the cash that I had on hand. She counted it unimpressed before staring at me hopelessly and just rolled her eyes.

While she was making my tea she couldn’t stop glancing at the dirt that stained my pants. She ran her sharp long black nails along the wood leaving scratches. She’d peek over her shoulder with dormant eyes like sleep was something she lacked. However she felt lifeless when she’d open her mouth to hum, the world around got dark. Crickets had danced outside and dragonflies passed by the window but when she’d start to sing, it was like every creature would stop to listen. Or run? I kept my hand in my pocket to hide my rope and constantly glanced at my car. Anxious about the amount of time that had passed with me having been there, I don’t remember anymore if I had further interacted with her after I took my sip of tea. It tasted like vanilla but was thick like mud, however, I enjoyed it. Burned going down my chest and made my legs feel weak as I walked to my car. Only thing I remember was just an hour before I walked into that store, I was shaking from the cold. I left feeling nothing but a wave of blazing heat rising in my body- did I burn alive? Maybe from the inside? Maybe in another life? Now, five years have passed and I now live ten minutes from the building everyone tried to forget. Left wandering in the rural roads with the darkened ghosts whispering to the townspeople who are curious enough to explore the building. The lady I met that night still wore velvet. She wore velvet while I passed out in the middle of the street before I could even drive off. She wore velvet when she pulled the rope out of my pocket and tightened it back around my neck, whispering to me that I was never going to escape. Back meaning that’s how I died once before when I was young. Burned like a witch for love. And she wore velvet when she drove me back down the rural road and tied me to a tree leaving me to die with nothing but the whispering ghosts who all told their own stories of the building beyond the hill. They said she was waiting on someone of the past to set her free. That sparked my new found curiosity of who that might be. I walk hidden to the light around me. The midnight gaze of those that pass by in their car don’t even show my existence, but one day a lady came into my store. She lit up the street like gold and maybe I was being too cold. Letting her in was my first mistake. I let the cat get the best of me that once it was time for the woman to leave I didn’t know how to ask her to stay. She stumbled out like she had been drinking, my second mistake of giving her that scone. I walked to her car knowing she was going to disappear soon into the air. I got scared. Before I knew it I tied the rope around her neck again and told her she won’t be able to escape. Oh amor, whispering that was my third mistake. All because I had remembered your darling face.

You can’t kill a ghost but can you remind the undead that their heart used to race. We fell hard for each other in a world that burned us alive because to them our love was a devils game. So I left to save her life, said I’d come back to another life but shortly died before I could ever say goodbye to her in that life. Trapped here as just another soul for two decades that I don’t know if my efforts ever paid off. Then five years ago a woman came into my store. Came and left just as fast but for a moment she felt familiar. Felt like I knew her from the past. I had peeked over my shoulder across the counter at her dirt stains and realized I knew her by last name but– she stared at me like she only wanted to get away. Pity. I’m just another ghost who’s heart no longer beats, making everyone too nervous to eat. For her I would have lit another candle. One that melts purple instead of blood red. For her I would have hummed a little louder. The tune she seemed to have not remembered I sang before we had to go to bed. For her I would go back and not get so distracted that I use deadly nightshade instead of blackcurrant. Even then I still managed to tie her to that tree because distance is better than letting her learn what I did when she walked into my store. Now every new year she manages to come back. She is stuck looking for her life purpose but has a memory so short that she doesn’t even know how many times she’s seen my face. Her soul can’t move on and neither can mine so she keeps wandering and I watch her pass by. Waiting for the moment that my cold words will go warm, and I can tell her that we once made each other whole.

On those nights we’d sit by the tree that was in between each other's house. Waved at each other from next door, hoping to see each other the next day. - I wonder now if my heart shall beat again when it seems to break every time you come in-


“You’re finally going to take me there?” Peter asked. “Yup,” Dennis said with a nod.  	The two sat high up in the branches of an old redwood tree. Out toward the horizon, the silhouette of a city loomed, the tall skyscrapers veiled by a thick morning haze. Peter eyed it, curiously. He had always been told the city was a dangerous place, however, he was now of the age where he was expected to make the journey to its heart. To do so was a rite of passage. There, the Elder Dove would reveal to him the secrets of the past.  	“You ready?” asked Dennis There was an ominous tone to his voice that put Peter on edge. “Yeah.” “Okay, let’s go.”  	The two leaped from their perch and picked up speed. The wind rushed past their ears and, when they felt the onset of weightlessness, they spread their wings, and the two pigeons began their hour-long journey to the city. Dennis took it slow, becoming more alert than normal once they passed outside the boundary of pigeon country. His amber eyes scanned the landscape below, pointing out important features for Peter to remember as it was his little brother's first time outside the border. He also did this in case he didn’t make the return journey home, and his brother had to find his back, alone. “What is that!?” Peter exclaimed, pointing to a massive concrete structure stretching over the bay. “That’s a bridge.” “Who built that?” “The humans.” Peter’s eyes widened. “No way! The humans? How did those savages manage to build that?” Peter had seen few humans in his short life and found them to be unimpressive things. They were awkward creatures, scarcely able to take care of themselves, and were wildly unpredictable. They talked with screeches and shouts, hardly able to carry on a conversation without getting emotional. “Humans aren’t what they used to be,” said Dennis. “What happened to them?” Dennis pointed to the city. They were close now. “That’s what you are about to find out,” he said, “For now, just stick with me.” The two tightened their formation, crossed the remainder of the bay, and made for the gap between two colossal buildings, the tops of which disappeared into overcast clouds. “Oh my,” Peter said as the details of the city came into view. Many of the buildings were charred and crumbling, with thousands of shattered windows that looked like jagged maws. Cars jammed together in jumbled heaps, filling the streets. Broken glass and trash littered the sidewalks. “Be on the alert,” said Dennis. “The humans here are more wild than the ones in the country.” Aside from the wind producing an odd harmonic as it flowed through the concrete jungle, it was eerily quiet. Peter stayed close to his brother as they banked this way and that, dipping and diving to avoid low-hanging cables and lights. His eyes darted all around, taking in all he could. He imagined what this place looked like before it was destroyed and thought it to be a busy yet exciting place to be. “PIGEONS!!!” A voice screamed from below, “Rats with wings!!! Die!” “Bank left!” Dennis shouted. Both turned just in time before a rock whizzed by where they used to be. Dennis quickly led them around the corner and out of sight, before circling back a minute later.

“What are you doing?” asked Peter. “Shh, I want to show you something.” Dennis found them a silent perch. “Look and see,” he said, pointing at the woman. She was an odd thing to look at. It was cold yet she wore scant clothing and walked with an exaggerated swing in her hips. Her face was coated with a substance that made it look artificial and her hair was unnaturally blonde. A moment later, a group of men appeared at the far end of the street. They paused for a moment and, once they saw the woman, started hooting and hollering as they advanced on her. “Those are city-born males,” Dennis said, quietly. “Dangerous things. Very unpredictable around women.” Each of the males puffed out their chest and began boasting in an odd ritualistic manner. The woman paused, placed her hand gently on one hip, and pursed her lips. It was too much for the men to handle and they began to fight one another. The woman laughed, gleefully. “See how primitive they are,” said Dennis. “Their hearts are wild with desire.” Peter nodded, amused by the scene. “Come on,” said Dennis, “Let’s move on.” They flew for another couple of blocks until they saw another woman walking alone down an alleyway. Dennis perched them in a hidden place so they could observe. Unlike the other woman, this woman had blue hair and was dressed comfortably as she walked from one end of the alley to the other. Once she reached the end, she stopped, looked both ways, and then turned around to walk back the way she came. “I feel like this is the right way,” she mumbled under her breath. Peter watched her walk back and forth for ten minutes before he leaned over to Dennis and asked him what she was doing. “She’s trying to navigate based on what feels is right, but she keeps second-guessing herself,” he said. “We call it the doom loop. She’ll be at it for hours before she makes up her mind.” They flew for a while longer until they came to a blue and white skyscraper. They circled around it, making their way higher with each lap until they reached the top. To Peter’s amazement, another tower was built on its roof yet this one looked naked. It was a maze of interconnected steel beams, angled slightly, and forming a tall pyramid. Crowned on top was a series of smooth rectangular panels with watchful faces painted upon them, their detailed eyes overlooking the city in all directions. “Woah,” breathed Peter as they neared the top of the second tower. Behind the panels was a large nest that could have easily fit more than five hundred pigeons. A faint glowing light pulsed within. Dennis dove for the opening. Peter followed and the two came to a stop just beyond the threshold. “Greetings, brother birds.” The Elder Dove approached, feathers white as bleached flour. A talisman hung loosely around her neck and she wore a small crown made from twigs and colorful pebbles. She walked toward them with purpose, head bobbing back and forth, elegantly. Both Dennis and Peter bowed. “What do you seek?” she asked in a commanding tone. “Knowledge,” said Peter, “as is the right of all pigeons.” The words flowed from him, well rehearsed. “Come,” the Elder Dove said. “Come and see.” The warm light in the center of the nest pulsed, its predictable frequency providing a hypnotic ambiance. Gold and silver chains dangled from the domed ceiling, shining bright. “In the beginning, the humans reigned supreme,” the Elder Dove began, “they were masters of the world, ruling with god-like powers; capable of flight, instant communication, and possessing limitless knowledge at their fingertips.” The dove stopped and looked at Peter, her stare deadly serious. “But they became too proud of what they created and began to experiment with things they knew little about.” She led them to a rectangular panel leaning against the far wall of the nest. It was a head taller than Peter and had a reflective, onyx sheen to it. “We don’t know much about what happened, as little survived the Desolation.” A sudden gust rattled the nest as if brought about by the mere mention of the calamitous event. Peter and Dennis flinched, but the Elder Dove continued. “We were never really able to figure out what happened until we found a human out in the country sane enough to learn how to communicate with us. Apparently, these towers emit a frequency called ‘6G’ and the humans hoped it would strengthen their technological prowess. They were eager for progress and neglected dissenting voices. They activated the 6G towers without knowing whether the frequency was safe. The moment they did, everyone within range of the towers had part of their brain fried, the part responsible for logical reasoning; leaving only the emotive side of the brain to make decisions.” “Oh, my,” said Peter. “This problem was compounded by these black panels - the humans call them smartphones - and the fires of their emotions were stoked. No longer did they think. They just felt. Driven by greed, fear, and hate, they turned on one another. Each nation declared war on its neighbor and rained fire down from the sky. Cities burned. Many people died.” “That’s terrible!” “But there is a silver lining to this tale. The humans did not foresee that the same frequency that made them insane caused a massive increase in the cognitive ability of city-dwelling birds, predominantly pigeons. As the humans slaughtered each other, we pigeons were able to escape the Desolation, and form colonies of our own far outside the cities.” Peter gazed at his reflection on the screen of the smartphone. “Why didn’t they just turn off the frequency or throw away their phones?” asked Peter. “It was too late. The damage was already done and they would rather sacrifice their sanity than do away with their smartphones.” Peter remembered the men he saw earlier and the wild look they had about them. “What will happen to them?” “Some of our more altruistic scientists are trying to develop a way of protecting the humans from 6G using tinfoil hats but, so far, none of the humans will go along with the experiment. They always complain about how awkward and silly the hat makes them feel. For now, they will live on in their own primitive societies, governed by their chaotic emotions and wild feelings until we pigeons overtake them with sound logic and reasoning.” “Pigeons will inhabit the earth,” said Dennis. The Elder Dove nodded. “And blameless will we remain.”


“Mom?” Gianna peered into her mother’s study where she saw her working on what was probably her latest sermon. Her mother is a pastor at the First Methodist Church normally prepares sermons relating whatever is going on in the world with the Bible. No, really. She likened Jesus multiplying bread and fish to Gianna cookies with her younger sister and Mary Magdalene washing Jesus’s feet to her husband washing the car! “Just a second Baby, mamma is working,” she cooed, holding up a well-manicured index finger. ”Baby?” Gianna thought. She was nearly sixteen and her mother insisted on referring to herself as “mamma“ and calling her five children “babies” when Tishi is the only sibling under 13! “Mamma, can I go to Malanda’s sweet sixteen birthday party? You already know her parents and all that so you know I’m in good hands. It’ll just be me and some people from school, it’s all,” Gianna burst. She bit her lip in anticipation of her mother’s response. She tasted her raspberry chapstick. “Who’s ’friends from school?’ That boy Treyshawn? The one who isn’t going to talk to my baby girl?” Gianna’s mother turned around in her chair, her comically long eyelashes batting. “I am not letting my daughter go out with boys,” “Why can’t I go? I won’t talk to nobody and I wanna be there for Mal, she’s counting on me being there!” Gianna protested, waving her hands and feeling the weight of being the girl with the strict, religious mother. “No. No way I’m letting you go when there’s boys around that I don’t like. That’s that.” “Why? Why even if I put it on GOD that I won’t talk to nobody?” Gianna nervously twirled a corkscrew out of her luscious hair. She wanted to rip all of it out and smash her mother’s Bible in half. “Because I said so. I’m the mother of this damn house and this isn’t going to be the time when I let you go and mess up on my watch!” “Thanks. You’re such a goddamn good WARDEN!” Gianna shouted. She slammed the door and ran out of the house. She took out her cell and called Malanda. “Guess who's About to be grounded.“ Gianna sighed. “You?” Malanda squeaked. “She thinks Trey is gonna be there and he’s gonna tie me up and get me pregnant and make me join one of those other Christian denominations, or worse, a Catholic Church,” Gianna giggled, thinking of her mother refusing to drive past the St. Mary’s on Fifth Street in case somebody tries to tell her about the Pope and his wondrous ways. “But Treyshawn is a good guy, and doesn’t she know it’s all kids frI’m the class, most that she’s met?” Malanda’s disappointment was in her voice. Gianna could see her friend’s big brown eyes go watery, knowing her friend won’t be at her birthday because of her rebellious cousin, Treyshawn. “Whatever that woman says, goes. Maybe if I told her we were studying for medical school, she would’ve let me come over but then she would make me do penance for lying and I don’t feel like reciting the Lord’s Prayer ten times a day for a week,” Gianna pulled her eyes, recalling a very real and insufferable punishment. “I will save you a seat at the table and a slice of cake if she ever changes her mind. My mom can talk to her mom, right?” Malanda suggested. “Your mom is non practicing. My mom doesn’t like people without a religion, she thinks they're ’lost‘ and ‘lazy’,” Gianna heard Malanda sigh. “Oh,” Malanda said with  a heavy heart. “I have to go...We can talk later, ok?” Gianna took a deep breath. “Of course, Mal,” The girls said goodbye and Gianna took a good look at the red and white house that stood before her. Her mother worked hard for her and Gianna knew she loved her but she wished that she could trust her daughter and let have fun. Gianna kept her faith and always got A’s and B’s in school, has never touched an illegal substance and goes to TWO services on Sunday. She was a good kid and she wants to fight for one night to spend with her friends. Gianna marched back in the house and was king to start a conversation when her mom came out in the porch. “Baby,” her mother started. “You know I worry. I was into smoking and drinking when I was your age. You know how I found myself and worked for the life I wanted. I was the one running round with boys on Friday nights when I should’ve been studying for the SAT. Then I met a preacher who helped me create my business, connect with God...I even met your father and had 5 beautiful children who make me proud everyday of my life. But understand, Gianna Joelle, you’re a good girl, a smart, beautiful and strong young woman with brain and strength I didn’t have and probably will never have at your age. I just want your life to be less difficult than mine was,” Gianna’s mother walked down the steps and brushed her daughter’s smooth, hazel cheek and nodded to her. “Mamma, I know. I try my best for you and for me to say I’m thankful and I’m a good kid. I want to make you proud. But you should know that I love you and that I will be my own person. I can take care well on my own and ain’t about to throw away a pod thing. I just NEED you to trust me so I can go to a party for my best friend. Can you give me that chance to show you?” Gianna braced for impact. She was never this blunt and candid with her mother and didn’t know what to expect. “Be home by 11 and make sure you call me when you about to leave. And no tank tops. Or short shorts. Wear comfortable shoes. Don’t let ANY boy-“ “So, that’s a yes?” Gianna interrupted, clenching her fists and grinning. “Yes, Baby” her mother smiled. “Oh thankyouthankyouthankyou!” Gianna jumped into a hug with her mother and laughed. Then it hit her. “Why do I need to wear comfortable shoes?” Gianna queried. “Because I said so. And you ALWAYS save your good shoes for Sunday’s,” THE END


Content Warning: Gore, themes of abuse I rounded the corner in a white Honda Civic. It wasn’t mine. I mean, I guess it was now. The corner had turning restrictions but only on weekdays in the mornings and afternoons for children walking home from school. It was well past 4:00 PM, so I made the turn on red. Main street was bustling. Food trucks lined the streets offering everything from tacos to lobster rolls. People gathered en masse for some of the trucks, while others seemed less popular. The barbecue wings were slaughtering the vegan ones. Stringed lights hung over the street, winding left and right in a zig-zag pattern as far as I could see. Music came from the gazebo. It sounded light-hearted and fun, likely a local band. This was nothing like the town I’d lived in only two years ago. Don’t get me wrong. It was the same town; White Hill, Connecticut. Before I left, however, it was a sleepy town. People didn’t know one another, and they preferred it that way. I knew more people than most because I was the cashier at our only liquor store. People knew me by name and were nice to me because I had something they craved. It’s what we considered a position of power. Back then, my town had few restaurants, one sticky local bar, no festivals, and certainly no string lights over Main Street. I found a parking lot behind a microbrewery. I wanted to fully experience what my town had become. I approached the lobster roll food truck. The line stretched on for miles. The drive to town was long, and my stomach was eating itself from the inside out. I was pretty sure that I hadn’t been on the east coast in a while. I knew that I hadn’t had a lobster roll in a while, so the wait felt worth it. I felt like I could treat myself anyway. I had a wallet full of money that wasn’t mine burning a hole in my pocket. Might as well live it up. Taking it all in, I realized that the curly blonde hair in front of me looked familiar. Lauren was our town’s only preschool teacher which made her our liquor store’s best customer. “Lauren?” I called out. She spun around, but her smile faded when she saw my face.

“Lauren Winters,” I confirmed. “It’s Megan.” I watched her rack her brain. I’d been through a lot in the last two years, but my look was more or less the same. I was a little thinner, but I had the same silky jet black hair which I stopped to cut before arriving to town. I liked when it fell just below my shoulders. I wore clothing that was similar, maybe even the same as what I had back then. I had on a simple white tank top and jeans with white sneakers. The main reason I couldn’t believe that she didn’t recognize me, however, was that my family was of Japanese descent. We were the only Asians in our tiny Connecticut town.

Growing up, every Asian related joke or stereotype got thrown in my face mercilessly. I developed a thick skin and a quick wit. People who came into the store knew that they could make whatever joke they wanted at me. I would verbally gut them alive like my ancestors preparing ikizukuri. Three cuts with the sharpest of knives and you would be served like a live fish with your gills still flapping, moments from death. People didn’t talk much in our town, but I was confident that they knew me. They knew that I didn’t take shit from anyone, and they knew that I was Asian. I was also confident that I was standing in front of Lauren Winters, so what was going on with her? “Megan,” she began. “I’m not sure that we’ve met. Are you from around here?” “Yeah, I worked at Bart’s for years.” “Who’s Bart?” she asked. “It’s the liquor store on the corner of Stokes Road and Glen Ave,” I replied.

The interaction we were having shocked me. She used to come in every day for wine. Now that I focused in on her, I noticed that she looked different. She was more vibrant and cleaner somehow. She used to look like she wasn’t sleeping, and in the afternoons, she had no energy after being with the kids all day. I used to ask her if they’d sucked the life out of her or if it was vampires. She always had a fresh hickey on her neck and never thought that was funny. I did, so I kept asking. Her bright blue eyes blinked a few times as she tried to smile at me.

“I don’t know that store. Maybe I’ll check it out some time. It was nice meeting you, Mary.” I didn’t correct her. She was next in line, so I left her alone to place her order. When she finished I placed my own. A Maine lobster roll, some kettle chips, and a lemonade. I asked if they could spike it. They said no. I was beginning to think my town had gone dry when out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a man with a beer bottle. Danny Fisher was the only realtor in town. He had very little business and a not so little drinking problem. “Danny!” I yelled. He looked up but didn’t wave. I walked over to him. It was still close enough that I could hear my name if my order was ready. He looked from left to right. “I’ve been out of town for a while, but a lot has changed!” I said. “Did Bart’s close down?” “Who’s Bart?” he asked. “You know, Lauren Winters just asked me the same thing. It’s the liquor store where I used to work. You both came in like every day. How am I the only one that remembers this?” “I think you have me confused with someone else,” he said turning to leave. I grabbed his arm. “Danny, you’re an alcoholic. You were always at the liquor store. And you’re still at it,” I said pointing to the bottle in his hand. “This is root beer, not that it’s any of your business,” he said. And with that, I let him walk away. My order was ready anyway. I grabbed my lobster roll and took it to a bench near the gazebo where the band was playing. I recognized two of the band members, but with the way things were going, I wasn’t sure they would remember who I was. I waved in their direction, and both averted their eyes. What had become of my town? What amnesia washed over them? I finished my lobster roll, which was delicious, and headed back in the direction of my car. There was nothing left in this town for me. My parents both died years ago. I had no other family in the area. The man that I had hoped would become my family betrayed me in the worst possible way. He kidnapped me, took me far away from home, and held me against my will in a motel room for two years.

Every day I asked myself how I’d managed to fall in love with a psychopath until one day when I saw my opening. The woe is me phase ended and the scheming began. There was a rip in his favorite sweater. It was an expensive sweater. It was cheaper to go to Walmart and buy a sewing kit to fix it than it would have been to replace it. I insisted that he let me fix it because he didn’t know how to sew. At first he resisted. Being told he couldn’t do something was unacceptable in his world. I backed off and said I didn’t want to do it anyway. He loved making me do things I didn’t want to do. Reverse psychology is a bitch. I slipped two needles from the kit into my pocket when he wasn’t looking. I chose the biggest ones. He kept the door closed with a chain and a lock. He wore the key around his neck. He handcuffed me to the iron bed frame every night. That key was also around his neck. Careful not to break the silence one night, I moved the handcuffs from my side of the bed to his. I slipped my body over his, stepping off of the bed and on to the floor.

He was a heavy sleeper, but I felt like taking the keys off his neck might wake him. I had the needles in my hand and at the ready. Sure enough, the second the chain started tickling his neck, he opened his eyes. Once he did, I jammed the needles straight into his pupils. His body jerked away from mine, but I had the keys in hand. The chain broke off his neck, leaving me with both keys. My hands barely trembled as I broke free. I grabbed his wallet and keys off the table and bolted towards the door.

That’s the story of how I ended up the proud owner of a white Honda Civic, which I could see on the other end of the parking lot. It sat near an artisanal pizzeria. I rolled my eyes as I passed by. Next to that was a shop called Ritual Blossoms. I’d never seen a shop like it before. It had a small door between two tall windows. In each window was an assortment of candles, gem stones, and bottles of different shapes and sizes. The bottles contained bath salts and flowers. The woman behind the counter was no older than 20. I watched her wrap a colorful stone in pink tissue paper for a customer. I went inside. One side of the shop had a wall lined with books about tarot cards, palm reading, journaling, spirituality, mindfulness, and other related topics. The other side had candles of every size and color.

In the center of the store was a giant stone that had been cracked in half to reveal crystallization. A sheet of glass covered the stone so it could serve as a table. All along the glass were items for sale. Perhaps they were for the rituals the name of the shop suggested. The customer left, and I was alone in the shop with the girl. “Can I help you with anything tonight?” she asked. “No thank you. I’m just browsing,” I said. “Here,” she said handing me a long thin box. “What’s this?” “Incense. I can feel that you need it,” she said. “What I need is a stiff drink, and an even stiffer-,” I stopped myself. “I know it sounds crazy,” she said. “You don’t believe in this kind of stuff, but you’ve been through so much. Take it to your hotel room tonight, burn a little, and breathe in the aroma. I know it’s going to make you feel a lot better, Megan.” Her smile was calming, but I was still taken aback that she knew so much about me. She was the only person in town who recognized me and called me by name, but I was sure I’d never seen her before. I accepted the gift and left the shop without buying anything. I did exactly what she said. The next morning, I went back into town to see if my favorite deli was still there. I figured I’d get a coffee at least before figuring out what my next destination was. There was nothing left in town for me, but I had nowhere to go. To my relief, the deli remained intact. I went right up to the counter and ordered a coffee and a bagel with cream cheese. As I waited, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around, and it was Lauren. She still looked clean and perky, but her smile was warmer than it had been last night. “Oh my god, it is you! Long time no see, Megan!” She gave me a hug, shaking my body back and forth. She had no apparent recollection of our encounter from the night before. We caught up a little. She bored me with stories about teaching, which I guess she liked better nowadays. She told me that she’d gotten married, and was thinking of starting a family. “And where have you been? I feel like it’s been ages since I’ve seen you!” she said. I nodded, considering my response. I told her I’d been away but was thinking of moving back. I liked the changes I saw in town and could see myself putting down roots here. Maybe I’d find a job, give dating a shot, get a hobby. I think I’ll take up sewing.


The view from up here.

They are solemn. Peaceful. Obtrusively gentle. They are a finger tracing the runes of her spine. They are the hills climbing upon her back. A heart swelling over the edges like dough in the oven. A pair of light blue eyes. The narrow slits forming. The wide moon uncovered amongst grey skies. A girl with a red scarf boarding the train. Searching for something she hasn’t yet discovered. Looking through the fogged glass for self-reflection, blank eyes stare back. They release no messages yet. An upsurge of salt weakening against the sand. Fingers grazing towards the shore. Tides breathing shallow breaths that of a weary man. Butterflies stretching to break from mummified cocoons. Soft touch amongst the earth, a delicate touch of Mother Nature. A baby cries in fistful slumbers, furrowed in colours and bewildering echoes. A plate smashes into in mendable jigsaw pieces. Shards to cut the flesh with sharp edges and jagged tips. Mother birds burrowing their beaks in search of worms for hungry cries follow her in the gust. A relationship crumbles through stacks of papers and a three piece suited lawyer. Looks of unmoving emotion. Locked windows, shades pulled tightly. Bitter shadows creeping in their skies. A battle clouded by loves weather spells. Another grows as they whisper sweet love in each others embrace, a comfort spoon feed to each other. A nagging heart longing for acceptance to full the bottomless pit. A glass empties.

An old man hobbles onto the bus, waves a silent goodbye. A tide pool swelling beneath his eyes as he looks amongst his family. His mind is betraying him. He can no longer remember their names. Oh, the quiet downpour of the years drowns the youth away. The creases of books etched upon faces, folding the skin into pages that sigh life. Hands caress decaying skin. Two blue turnips. A final petal sways in his eyes. Shaking wind caresses the lungs. A final shallow breeze sighs through. A flower falls in the rain.

Oh the view from up here.

A father lets a single tear fall down his cheek silently, he is alone. A mother embraces her dying daughters hand another silent goodbye, she is alone. Collapsing against hard floors, bruised bones and wounded souls. A grim reaper pushing against the barricade. A daughter begging her father for a relationship. A clockwork woman with tv playing static in her eyes. Her eye's aren't seeing, her ears aren't hearing. As she binge watches the past mistakes. Replaying this channel of regret and waiting for the next season. A pout of cigarette stains. Smiling through the lung pains. Swimming in nausea, crashing nicotine waves.

A child steals with sly fingers and cunning eyes. He screams. She whimpers. A hand raised. A blood vessel bursts. Wild blue eyes. Swollen, red sadness. A slave for violence. A slave for comfort. Promises used to mend a broken seam, stitching with shaking hands and shaking minds. Small lips curved upwards stretching towards the heavens. Deep blue pools waiting for one to swim amongst them. Emotions swirl down the drain. Dirty water tears. Rinsed off with swallowed screams. There is something blocking her sink, for she is overflowing and feeling too much.

I see all from here.

Yellow striped tennis balls flying through space upon green turfed courts. An orchestra bellowing to the heavens, delivering spirits to the skies. Praises to the almighty as above so below. He passes a meal to fragile hands. Hushed love with a side serving of the laugh stroked memories. Feet that fly along wooden beams. The passing of pointless notes. The euphoria of naughtiness. Fingers reaching to grasp the sky. Swollen light. Spilling into one another. Secrets bursting through open hearts. Lies whispered through closed doors. Kisses laying gentle against skin. The warmth of an embrace. The cold furls of silence. A raised chorus. The lightening eyes. The slam of a door. The back of heads. Fingers reaching towards the other. Unshed rain. The taste of regret. Shallowing shards of glass. A message unsent. A lover lost. A friend twirling into the unknown. He buries himself away from the sound of her crying. Her voice cracking under the weight of a million tear drops. Swallowing the life of her. Chewing and grinding it to ragged pieces that cut open his body as he tries to swallow the taste.

A child’s toothy grin infecting a gathering of strangers. A man falling to his knees. A woman closing the door. A young girl watching herself in distaste, spiralling to the dark hollows of her mind. Scratchy girls opening their skin, to feel something within. A rope, a death sentence hung upon a tree by the quiet child you pass in the hallways. Laughter as wine glasses cheer together in unison while he swings across the interstate.

How does one explain the view?

Close the door. Slam it shut. Open it gently. Lock it profusely. Let the light touch you. Keep the darkness burrowed within. Smile. Cry. Scream. Laugh. Feel her warmth. Embrace his flaws. Him and her. You and I. Open minds and rusted locks. Breath in life. Sigh it out. Capture silent wonder. A moss covered branch swaying in a cool breeze. A snowflake floating to meet the pavement. Trees hiding their voices amongst whispers of rain. Birds singing to our cries. Hidden messages. Locked secrets. Delight in the beauty of hearing. Yet not understanding. The ripple of water, sunlight on a spider web. A dance between stars. Escaping the shadows. Raising the stakes in the poker game of life. A label machine. Being still. The awakening. The falling. A storm. A scar. A crying kiss. Soft brown hair. An empty house. Foot prints walking away in the mud. Surrounded, yet alone. Creatures born of dark emotion. Sinning from the first light. A fierce hate. Intense love.

I want all of you. Yet none of you.

You make me feel too much.

The view.

The view of all things. The view from up here.


I was working in my shop as a Chemist when a woman walked in with a gun and shot me. My bulletproof lab coat deflected the six.44 Magnum shots, but it still felt like getting pummeled. Bullets ricocheted, breaking beakers, vials, and other glassware. I winced, verified my body was not Swiss cheese with a glance, then gawked at my assailant. She was young, maybe in her twenties which meant she was born into the apocalypse. She wore a black tank top with black polymer pants and a clear visor with a digital display over her eyes. I heard the gun’s hammer striking the empty chamber with a click, click, click that seemed like punctuations to the woman’s screaming. Since I deal with these assassination attempts at least twice a week, I recognized her as a novice, not a Scientist like me. “Die, World-ender!” the woman shouted, then threw the empty gun at my head. “Hey!” I shouted and ducked as the handgun flew past me. She then ran at me with a knife. I guess I wouldn’t be making any sales today after all. I extended my hand, palm up, toward the woman and said, “ Aeris .” The oxygen and nitrogen gas molecules in the air were beckoned by my will to concentrate and expand in an instance. The shop's interior shook as a wind flowed from my hand with hurricane force. Vials and bottles rattled, a few more breaking on the concrete floor. Tables pushed to the sides of the room from the gale. The charging woman covered her face with her arm as debris and dust whirled in a vortex around her. The wind’s force stopped her charge by pelting her with billions and billions of molecules. She strained to push toward me, but her foot slipped and fell to the floor. She tumbled as the wind pushed her to the shop’s exit, but she held onto the door frame. “I’ll stop you from doing it! I’ll save the world!” she screamed as her grip slipped. I redirected the wind to the shop’s metal security door with a flick of my wrist. The wind caught the door and slammed it shut with a clang, and I replied, “Yeah, well, take a number.” My name is Dr. Henry Ion Fischer, and I destroyed the world. Well, not technically me. My future self will be the one to destroy everything, you know when I go back to the past to do it. What I mean is that I am destined to go back in time and destroy the world. Nothing can stop that. If something could stop me from going back in time and destroying the world, then the apocalyptic world I live in now wouldn’t exist. Confusing? See, this is the reason people keep trying to kill me. No matter how publicized it is, people still didn’t get it; they can’t kill me. It’s not like I’m immortal or something. I can die, just not yet. And why? Because you can’t bend time; time bends you. Let me start from the beginning, er, maybe present is a better descriptor.            I have traveled from the pre-apocalyptic year of 2025 to the post-apocalyptic year of 2049. In this future, the population has been decimated, governments have been obliterated, survivors live in cities run by gangs, and it is perpetually night. Blocking the sun was what I did, er, will do, to destroy the world.            It’s an odd feeling to know what you haven’t done yet. I didn’t know how I filled the sky with clouds so black that sunlight couldn’t break through them, but I assume it has to do with my abilities as a Chemist, a type of Scientist. Scientists live long lives and have extraordinary powers related to our discipline. We call the ability our nous , and sometimes the power feels like an actual noose more than a gift. I don’t know why I destroy the world. I’m not an evil Scientist. If anything, I am an apathetic Scientist, or maybe an aloof Scientist, but not an evil-doer bent on world destruction.            When I first arrived from my jump in time to 2049, I had a bit of a freak-out month. I’ve since resigned myself to my fate as World-ender. How I came to be thrust into the future is a story for another time but suffice it to say that a Physicist specializing in time travel launched me into the future to materialize in the dark, dilapidated streets of future Boston. I was jumped by fanatic body augmenters, but a group calling themselves the Remnants rescued me. The Remnants escorted me back to their base at Fenway Park but didn’t tell me I destroyed the world.            In 2025, I had a friend named Melody Kenzie, and we often worked together on her cases as a private detective, especially when she suspected a Scientist was involved. However, in the future, I found myself in now, Melody was the leader of the Remnants. It was Melody who told me I was the cause of the world being destroyed. She said I died when it happened, and I heard loss in her voice that implied we had something more than friendship when I returned to 2025. Melody said she never knew I went to the future and back until 2030, right before the apocalypse. I was relieved to know I would eventually make it back to my time, but as I saw the devastation of this future, I became fatalistic. I contemplated suicide in hasty thoughts meant to preserve the world I once knew instead of this futuristic hellscape. When I told Melody, she put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger. No shot was fired. She then turned the gun away from me and fired again. The deafening shot jolted me with the realization that I wouldn’t be able to stop the world from ending. I was the World-ender. That’s when she told me, “You can’t bend time; time bends you.”            Melody’s demeanor differed from the hotheaded seeker of justice from the past. She was now much harder, militarily shouting commands and keeping what she knew about me close to her chest. While I remembered conversations Melody had with me just a few months ago, for her, our friendship had been buried under years of strife.            Like I said, after that, it was a hard month. I drank a lot. I slept even more. I explored the expansive area in and around Fenway Park. People lived in hovels and slums, barely surviving on the resources gathered from scouting. My shop was one of several in the market district, and people traded necessities there. A few Scientists were in Fenway, and they used their abilities to help keep everyone’s head above water. In my time, Scientists were to remain hidden, but now they were society's leaders, caretakers, and soldiers. Within a few days of arriving, everyone knew who I was. Some Remnants started calling me World-ender when the assassination attempts began. Melody had to put up signs telling people how they couldn’t kill me and shouldn’t try.            There was a banging on the door to my shop, and my reminiscence ceased. I shouted, “Go away. I’m closed for today due to excessive attempts on my life. Thanks, please come again.”            I heard a key turn in the metal security door. There was only one person that had the key. Melody Kenzie walked through the door and closed it behind her. She saw the smashed vials on the floor, and her eyes met mine.            “Typical day?” she asked.            “For this dystopia, yeah, it’s about the average day I expected,” I replied. I grabbed a dustpan and broom from the back of the shop and swept the broken glass from the floor. Melody walked around the broken glass and said, “At least it wasn’t a Scientist this time.” “Yeah, I guess being shot at is better than having another Chemist hurl fireballs at me, or my mind attacked by a Psychologist trying to make me kill myself, or being thrown into a portal by a Physicist to who knows what place. Oh, and remember that Biologist who could turn into that werewolf-lizardman creature that almost clawed my face off? “Yeah, but I got there before he could,” Melody said. “And I’m thankful for that, of course,” I said, “and thankful for you helping me set up my apothecary shop. You pulled me out of a bad place when I first got here. Despite some Remnants trying to kill me, I enjoy synthesizing medicine for them. Makes me feel like I’m alleviating the pain I’ve caused or will cause. At least it gives me something to do besides drink myself to death, er, well, you know what I mean.” Melody said, “Henry, you know you don’t have to stay here.”            “It’s not like it’s safer anywhere else,” I said. “The only place left with a shred of normalcy is the society you have made here. It’s bleak, but I can still see hope when I look for it. Because of you, there are businesses, children can play, people still fall in love, and—”            I stopped myself short of saying more. I loved Melody once, in the past. Maybe I still did love her. I locked eyes with her and felt my heart skip as I saw her push a strand of red hair over her shoulder, and she adjusted her form-fitting body armor. Melody was a Scientist, a Chaotician who could see through the chaos and use her nous to predict a few minutes into the future with incredible detail and accuracy.            I shook my head and broke my gaze into her eyes. If I still loved her, it was the Melody I remembered from the past, not this one. How could I love anyone without loving myself?            “Why are you here?” I asked.            “There’s a mission—”            She paused there, already anticipating my interruption. “Let me stop you right there,” I said. “I don’t go on away missions. I tried my hand as a scout before you helped me establish my shop and most of the away missions were like I was some Red Shirt in Star Trek. There was always one crazed Remnant that lost their shit and tried to fight me, kill me, or just make the whole journey a pain in my ass.”            “It’s not like they can kill you,” she replied.            “Uh, yeah, but it still hurts,” I said. “Sure, I can’t die, but I can be maimed, beaten, and put in a coma. So basically, as long as I’m still capable of destroying the world, anything can happen to me.”            “It’s just pain,” Melody said under her breath. I didn’t reply, and we stood silent except for the broom's swish and glass clinking in the dustpan. I glanced at Melody to see her back was to me, and she was standing tall and straight. Then, after a while, she said, “What if I said this was ‘ the’ mission.”            I jerked my head toward Melody, but her back was still turned. I gathered myself, anxious about what she meant, but calmly placed the dustpan on a table.            I said, “Do you mean—”            “Yes,” she said, interrupting me. Stupid nous always telling Melody what I would say. She turned to me, her hands behind her back, and stood to attention. “We all have our part to play in this future. As the leader of the Remnants, I command you to join this mission. We depart tomorrow morning.”            The broom dropped from my hands and clattered to the floor. I wasn’t sure if I was glad or terrified to be going back to my time, but for the first time in a while, I felt excited.            “I accept,” I said, suddenly surprising myself.            She looked at me and shook her head. “You don’t have to accept. You don’t have a choice. Time bends you.” Melody turned on her heel and exited the shop before I could say another word.            The following day, I heard a knock on the shop door. I rose from the cot in the back room of the shop where I slept and said, “Hello?”            “Officer McCreedy here to escort you to the launchpad, Dr. Fisher,” said a scruffy voice from the other side of the door.            I cautiously opened the door. I recognized McCreedy as one of Melody’s lieutenants, but I didn’t know much about him.            “Are you ready?” he asked.            I nodded. McCreedy then escorted me to the launchpad atop a platform on Fenway. Word must have spread because everyone came out of their homes as I walked the streets to watch me. A few people heckled me, and a group of kids threw garbage at me, but fortunately, no one tried to kill me. When we reached the launchpad, I saw Melody in the cockpit of an airlift, a vehicle like a helicopter but with no rotors and flies using magnetic levitation.            “Hey, so now that we are all here, does someone feel like telling me what we are doing?” I asked Melody and the four officers on the launchpad.            No one said anything, but then Melody spoke from the cockpit, “Remnant scouts found an anomaly outside the city. We’ve been analyzing it for a couple weeks and determined the origin to be from the past. 2025 to be exact.”            “What is it?” I asked.            “You’ll see,” she said, and then, “Ready for takeoff?”            Her team gave the affirmative then we were in the air. Seeing the destruction of Boston from above was like swallowing a stone. A city I loved was in ruin. I thought of the other cities around the world that shared the same fate because what I did, er, will do.            When the airlift landed, the officers jumped out and scouted the area with their rifles held at the ready. I stayed in the cockpit with Melody until we heard the all-clear.            “The anomaly is this way,” Melody said, walking into the forest, the officers following her. We walked a while before reaching a glowing two-dimensional, circular portal. I froze. The portal’s center was black, and the edges ringed with blue. It looked exactly like the portal the Physicist forced me into last year.            “At least I won’t have to worry about my tensing anymore,” I murmured. Then louder, I asked, “So what do I do now?”            The officers shuffled their feet. They seemed anxious too.            “There’s nothing you can do,” Melody said, drifting off as she spoke.            “Well, how about I just don’t go into it!” I said. “If I don’t go into it, the world doesn’t end.”            “And then you wouldn’t be here to say that,” Melody explained warily. “Just like you can’t die until you destroy the world, you can’t stop yourself from going through this portal.”            “Then tie me to a tree or something. Nope, not going to do this. Living in this hellish future is one thing, but there’s no way I’m going into the portal to willingly destroy Earth.”            “Then we’ll make you,” Melody said and eyed me. She was serious.            With a nod, two officers grabbed me by the arms while the other two put their rifles to my head.            “Whoa! Back-off!” I shouted as they pushed me closer to the portal. “I’m warning you,” I said.            “Throw him in!” Melody shouted, and the officers forced me forward.            Most of the last year was spent wishing I was in the past again. Now, with it so close, I couldn’t do it. Not if it meant things would end like this. I reached for my nous, and black clouds stirred above me, sucking down to ground level until no light could be seen. My nous flared, and molecules consisting of the air pushed a spherical wave of pressure around me, knocking back the officers holding my arms and clearing the blackness. One of the rifles went off, and the bullet sliced my cheek as it went by me. All four officers were on the ground around me, and I said, “Now, how about we just talk calmly about this?”            “Officer down!” McCreedy shouted, and I spun to see that the stray bullet had caught Melody between the eyes. Blood oozed from the bullet hole in her forehead.            “No!” I shouted. Even though Melody was going to force me through the portal, I still felt our friendship of the past. The love I had for her back then and now.            “Why didn’t she move?” an officer asked. “She knew that would happen, right? Her nous lets her see a few minutes in the future.”            Then it hit me. The world's weight crushed me, and I felt myself take a step forward. Then I took another step. And another.            Melody did know. She hadn’t told me much about how the apocalypse happened. It made sense now, though. She would have gone back to the past with me if she could, even if it was just to look up at a blue sky together. Maybe she hadn’t told me about when I returned from the future because those were happier times for us. Perhaps she was trying to give me what she had already experienced. But at what cost? The world? No, it was because we can’t bend time; time bends you. So, we might as well make the best of it.            I stepped forward into the portal and returned to 2025 to become the fated World-ender.


Moscow, December 18th, 2021 I felt exhausted. It had been a long journey and I felt the sharp pain from the blisters on my feet with every step I made. But the night was fast approaching and the temperature was dropping drastically with every minute past since sundown. I needed to find a place to settle for the night, somewhere that could protect me from the elements. As the sky was getting darker, the city started to pick up a nefarious vibe. With every direction I turned, I saw evil looks lurking from behind the flickering impromptu fires that littered the dark street corners, the kind of sinister looks from the steely cold eyes that told me to get lost or else. I found a dark abandoned building nearby. These places are notoriously dangerous at night and could harbour the most vicious populations but beggars can not be choosers, besides, I really couldn’t walk any further in this condition and I was used to this way of life. I found a corner that shielded me from the cold wind and snow. I was beyond hungry and soon asleep. ‘Alexei, look what I found!’

‘What did you find Igor?’ ‘A Chink!’ Loud laughing noises and bright light on my face woke me up to a young man standing in front of me with a torchlight in his hand. He looked in his early 20s, dark hair and was in a thick green winter coat. A second young man about the same age came right after him and looked at me from a safe distance with a suspicious gaze. He was in a leather jacket and had fairer hair than the first man. I instinctively grabbed the knife in my pocket. ‘Igor, could you not.’

‘Not what?’ ‘Not use that word. I don’t like it.’ ‘Oh, really, what do you care?’ ‘Chinese people are people just like us, Igor!’ ‘Sure, Jesus, never knew you are such a saint.’ ‘Shut the fuck up Igor. Hey, you, still alive?’ He was obviously talking to me. ‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘You speak Russian?’ ‘Only a little.’ I covered my face from the torchlight. Alexei pushed Igor’s hand down and came closer to me. ‘You don’t sound Russian, you Chinese?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You alone?’ ‘Why? You gonna rob me?’ ‘I’m just trying to help, is all. I will leave you alone if you wish to but it’s getting too cold for you to survive the night in a place like this.’ ‘Hey, Alexei, not our business, let’s go.’ Igor nudged Alexei but he held up his hand. ‘We are the nightguards that look after this site. You are welcome to come to our office with us, it’s just around the corner and it’s warm there.’ I was still holding on to my knife tightly as I slowly got up from the cold concrete floor. Suddenly I felt dizzy and fell against the wall. ‘Hey, hey, you ok?’ Alexei caught hold of my arm and steadied me. ‘Look, I don’t know what happened to you and I’m not gonna ask if you don’t want to say but you are safe and you are coming with me ok?’ ‘Ok.’ I nodded and held onto Alexei’s arm as he slowly helped me get to my feet and walk to his office. ‘Igor, finish doing the round then get some snacks from the shop, will you?’ Alexei took out his wallet and stuffed some money into Igor’s hands. ‘I don’t believe this is fucking happening! Back in a few minutes.’ Igor reluctantly took the money and shuffled on. With each step I took, the half-healed blisters broke again and fresh sharp pains shoot up my feet like electric shocks. But we made it to his office quickly and as he opened the door, a sudden flood of light and warmth washed over me. ‘Sit.’ Alexei pulled out a chair for me and took out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ ‘No.’ I shook my head and smiled faintly. Alexei lighted up his cigarette, put the kettle on, pulled out a chair for himself, and sat next to me. ‘A woman like you, in a place like this, alone. Hmmm…’ He puffed on his cigarette and breathed out a cloud of smoke. ‘Is there a particular place you were going to?’ ‘No.’ ‘No? I see, a woman with few words. Maybe you are just hungry and lack energy. Don’t worry, Igor will be back soon, in the meantime…’ He suddenly stood up as he heard the kettle was boiled and went to the desk in the corner of the room. ‘Coffee?’ ‘Hot water if you don’t mind.’ ‘Just hot water?’ ‘Yes, thank you.’ I nodded. ‘Ok, you got it.’ He nodded and poured hot water into a cup and brought it to me. ‘Here ya, hold on to the cup and warm your hands up. ‘Thank you.’ ‘No worries.’ Alexei sat back in his chair and puffed another smoke. ‘You sound well educated I must say. It is strange that you end up like this. Look, I mean you no harm, and I probably understand a lot more than you think, you can talk to me if you wish. We got all night. But it’s ok if you don’t want to.’ ‘It’s ok.’ I slurped some hot water and nodded. ‘We can talk.’ ‘Yeah?’ Alexei looked up and smiled. ‘Yeah.’ I smiled back faintly. ‘I, um, many years ago, decided to become a ghost.’ ‘A ghost?’ ‘Yes. Wiping myself off the grid completely, become none existence. I am no one, so I can be anyone, anywhere, doing anything.’

‘That sounds, insane.’ Alexei pulled another puff and continued. ‘But you don’t appear insane to me. There’s a thin line between genius and madness and I guess you are the former.’ ‘I don’t know about that but I realized since an early age that the only way to know the whole truth is not to be bound by the biased truth. Only then, one can be truly free to choose one’s own identity and life path.’ ‘And how free are we talking about here?’ ‘I have traveled on foot across continents, slept under streetlights, ship decks and stars studded night skies. I have witnessed exceptional cruelty and tremendous kindness. All I learned is this: there’s no good or evil, we are all capable of anything. You live what you manifest. And you Alexei, manifest positivity in this world.’ Suddenly Alexei paused and looked at me, ‘I have heard that gods walk among people in ancient Greek legends, but…’


Ten Years Ago:         It had happened while Kira was strolling through a busy parking lot, in the light of day, nodding absently to the chatter of her three-year-old. How had no one noticed or helped her? She had felt the sharp prick of a needle in her arm and caught a glimpse of a gloved hand holding a syringe. She reached feebly for her confused little boy in the shopping cart as her mind and body folded inwards.         When she regained consciousness, Kira was in a dark, cement-walled room that smelled of cigarettes and piss. Her empty stomach contracted and she retched unproductively. Her brain throbbed and her limbs were slow to respond to her urgent requests to get up and run. Her wild, darting eyes had caught a movement to her left, and there she saw an older woman staring back.         “Help,” Kira’s burning throat cracked out. The woman smiled, walked to where Kira sat on the floor, and stroked her cheek with a spotted hand.         “No one can help you, dear,” the woman replied hoarsely. “Benny will be back soon. Then we’ll get started.”         Kira could only shake her head and stare at the insane woman with short, spiked, white hair, a hot pink t-shirt and ripped cargo shorts. Her wrinkled knees sagged over a roadmap of blue and purple spider veins on bare legs pocked with goose-bumps.         Kira crab-scooted desperately away from the door as the handle rattled. The door opened, revealing a slight-framed man with thick glasses that magnified his brown eyes. His lank, dirty-blonde hair spilled down both sides of his face. He stared back at Kira as a slow smile lifted his lips, exposing a row of cracked, yellow teeth.         A piercing, shrill scream reverberated in the room, and then Kira felt a stinging slap on the back of her head that caused her to suck in a breath, cutting the scream abruptly. “Stop that heinous noise this instant!” the old woman demanded.         “Mama? Why is the lady yelling?” the man asked in a slow, child-like voice.         “Oh, she’s just nervous and excited, Benny. Don’t worry, she’ll calm down.” Kira felt a sharp pinch of warning dig into the vulnerable flesh on her upper arm.         The woman waved impatiently at the man. “Now, give those bags here.”         Benny handed over two plastic Dollar Tree bags and the woman grunted as she bent over them, pawing at the contents. A container of peanut butter, plastic-packaged portions of fruit cocktail, and a box of Toasty O’s. She nodded her head and gave her son an adoring look. “You did good, Benny. This will do us for a few days now.” Benny beamed under his mother’s praise.         The other bag had a bottle of water, some toilet paper, and a roll of duct tape. Kira went cold as the woman’s gray eyes slid in her direction.                                                      *********         Kira repeated “Why?” in a steady chant that first night, not even realizing that she was speaking out loud. The woman ignored her until Benny was snoring in a sleeping bag on the other side of the room. Only then did Kira get the horrifying answer she sought.         Bernice was broken with regret that she had ruined her son’s life. Benny had been diagnosed with fetal alcohol syndrome as a young child. His dad had left soon after this revelation, and Bernice had only overcome her disabling depression by dedicating her life to making up for her mistake. She was fiercely determined to give Benny the fullest, happiest life that she possibly could despite the irreversible brain damage her drinking had caused him in the womb. She wanted Ben’s life to be as “normal” as possible and was willing to do anything to make that happen.         Bernice fought for Benny to be included at school, she insisted he be invited to classmates’ parties and go to prom. The only thing she couldn’t do was force others to accept and love him. She could rally for harsher punishments for bullies, but the consequences never healed the hurt.         As her repeated efforts inevitably failed to give Benny the life she longed for him to have, her grip on reality fractured. There were moments when she recognized her own insanity, but she couldn’t stop bull-dozing the path she was convinced Benny should take.         On Benny’s thirty-fifth birthday, Bernice told him she had a special present for him. Wouldn’t he like to get married? she had asked him. “Like the prince and Cinderella?” Benny replied wide-eyed. Bernice had smiled with tears in her eyes and nodded at her son.         After sharing this memory with Kira, the two women had locked eyes. Shaking with despair, Kira understood the role she had been assigned. “But I’m already married,” Kira pleaded. “I have a son of my own.”

Bernice’s eyes had hardened as she spat, “You will never tell Benny that or I will find your husband and son and kill them.”         In the days, weeks and months that followed, Kira’s spirit detached itself from her body. It wasn’t really her there on the bare mattress on the floor. It was not she, Kira, who was trapped in the dank and dreary cement dungeon. She could not let herself acknowledge or accept that she had been reduced to a sex slave who washed herself with water from one bucket and squatted over another to excrete her waste. This was just a temporary situation. She would get out, Kira promised herself. She would resume her real life.         At least she knew she wouldn’t get pregnant in that hell-hole. A complication during Jamie’s birth had required the surgeon to remove her uterus. What seemed a blow at the time was now a blessing.         Kira felt constantly fuzzy-headed and uncoordinated. Bernice was adding drugs to Kira’s meals which left her feeling drowsy and weak. Kira knew this must be why Benny was strictly forbidden from touching her food or water bottle. Whenever Kira refused to ingest what was offered, shrewd Bernice would ask Benny to give Kira a tight “hug” while she injected Kira with a stinging substance that rendered her unconscious. Bernice told Benny it was medicine that Kira needed.         The same ritual was performed at bedtime. Every single night she was pricked into a drug-induced slumber. Kira’s arms were bruised tender from being poked so many times.         In her dreams, Kira saw her sweet little boy, Jamie, cry out for her. “I’m sorry, little one. Mommy will be home as soon as I can,” she whispered each night as she fell back asleep on a pillow damp with tears. Her heart cracked open imagining Paul distraughtly thinking of her non-stop, frantically searching for her day after day. She knew her husband wouldn’t rest until he found her. This thought was all that kept Kira going. ********* Present:         Kira let out a yelp of pain and shielded her eyes from the glaring sunlight. She hadn't been outside or seen the sky in so long, she had forgotten how bright it could be. She blinked rapidly and got her bearings. Then she heaved the heavy door shut behind her and leaned her back against it, as if to keep the evil in.         Her legs were shaking and she allowed them to collapse beneath her as she slid to the ground. Hot tears cleared rivers of blood from the surface of her cheeks. She touched her face, and then looked down at her blood-soaked shirt. It made her laugh. That glorious blood had saved her life. Or whatever was left of her life.         Kira had stayed under the covers that morning, moaning that she didn’t feel well. The previous evening, before the obligatory injection, she had felt the tug of her period starting and it had given her the idea. Instead of asking for a tampon as she usually did, she had surreptitiously bunched a spare t-shirt into the space between her legs. Through the night and into the early hours of the morning, she passively let her monthly fluid leak into the fabric of her shirt. When she awoke, she felt the sticky, soaked fabric still in place, and her heart sped up in anticipation of enacting her plan.         With very slow, spaced-out movements hidden under the covers, Kira carefully put the blood-soaked shirt on her torso. She lowered the blanket discreetly and glanced at her captors. They were munching on dry cereal and paid no attention to her. Her heart beat against her sternum like a frantic bird trying to escape her chest. She placed a shaking hand between her legs to collect some blood on her fingers and wiped this over her face.         She had to count to three twice before she summoned the courage to launch herself off of the mattress and onto the floor, wailing loudly. As she heard Bernice and Benny exclaim and then come rushing towards her, Kira dramatically flopped onto her back with her arms splayed out, feigning unconsciousness.         “Oh, no. Oh, no,” Benny repeated in a high-pitched whining voice, taking in her blood-soaked shirt.         “It’s alright, Ben,” his mother said in a too-calm voice. “We’ll get her fixed up. Can you go to the Dollar Tree and get some supplies?”         “Should we call 911?” he asked.         Bernice hesitated a couple of beats before replying. “No, don’t worry. I can handle this. You take this,” she handed him a wad of bills and a list of items, “and bring back what we need, ok?” Kira got the distinct impression that Bernice just wanted to get rid of Benny so he wouldn’t object to whatever she thought she had to do about this inconvenient development.         Kira listened carefully as Benny ran up the steps and banged out the door. She held her breath listening for the usual clunk of the deadbolt sliding back into place, but it didn’t come. Just as she’d hoped, they were too distracted to be on guard as usual. Through a thin slit between her lids, Kira observed Bernice tapping nervously at her mouth, looking around the room. For what, Kira didn’t know, but she wasn’t going to wait to find out.         Kira gathered her flaccid muscles in preparation, took a deep breath, and sprung up with all of the strength and speed she could summon. She leapt at the metal box against the wall just as she had planned, scrambling to get her hands on the syringe she knew Bernice always kept loaded and ready for emergency use.         She pulled the cap off the needle as she looked at Bernice, who was frozen with a stunned look on her face. But as Kira lunged towards her, Bernice’s eyes hardened in anger and Kira knew she wouldn’t go down without a fight.         Kira feigned a right dodge as she swung her left hand forward with the syringe, plunging the needle into a squishy thigh. She pushed on the plunger even as Bernice roared and swatted her hand away. She probably hadn’t received the full dose, but Kira hoped it had been enough.         Moments later, she got her answer as Bernice crumpled to the floor. Kira didn’t hesitate. She ran up the steps and out the door. Propelled by adrenaline, she burst onto the sidewalk panting. She pressed the door closed and leaned her back against it, as if to keep the evil behind it.         Not knowing where she was, Kira stumbled away from the Dollar Tree she spotted at the corner. A woman walking a plump, tawny dog raised her eyebrows at Kira before diverting her gaze and briskly continuing on.         “Please,” Kira croaked, “Help me. I’m Kira Randall. I need help.”         The woman assessed her for a few moments before recognition seemed to cross her face. “Kira Randall. That sounds familiar…”         “Call the police. Please,” Kira begged, her knees buckling. A police car pulled up a few minutes later, silent lights flashing. Two officers got out. The older one approached her warily, shining a flashlight in her face.         The officer began asking her questions. He wanted to know if she was on drugs. If she had a home. Where the blood had come from.         “Yes, I have a home!” Kira replied indignantly. “216 Maple! Take me there, please. My husband and son must be very worried about me. I’ve been gone…” Kira didn’t actually know how long it had been.         Kira told them her full name and explained that she had been captive for years and only just escaped. Surely they had been searching for her? The two officers conferred briefly and then ushered her into the back of the squad car to go to the station, offering no reassurances. On the way, Kira gave them the name of her husband and begged them to call him for her. Then she stared out the window as sites, some familiar and some foreign, flashed by.         Seated in the bare room awash with artificially bright light, Kira had never felt so alone. She stared at the large white door, willing it to open and let Paul and Jamie come rushing through. She couldn’t wait to hold them close and tell them how hard she had fought to come back to them.         Finally, she heard the heavy metal handle of the door being engaged, and she grasped the arm of her chair ready to launch herself out of it. But when the door opened, it was just the younger officer with a concerned look on his face. “I need to ask a few questions and collect samples from you, Ma’am, to confirm your identity.”         Kira was stunned. “Where’s my husband?” she gasped.         The officer looked uncomfortable. “We did contact Mr. Randall about his first wife. He is skeptical you are who you claim, but he said he would come by after work to help us sort this out.”         Kira’s mouth dropped open. First wife? After work? Why wasn’t he rushing right over? The officer sat down in the chair across the table from Kira and took out a pen and notepad. “What is your date of birth? And what hospital were you born at?”         Kira was in shock and couldn’t find the energy to be angry at how she was being treated. She answered the questions robotically. She let herself be an inanimate object while her cheeks were swabbed for a DNA test and her fingertips were covered in ink, then pressed onto a card. Someone handed her a new shirt and collected the bloody one in a plastic bag. It was the same disembodied feeling she had used when Benny had raped her. She was no longer in her body.         Then she heard a familiar voice outside the room, and this time when the door opened, there was a man who she faintly recognized. He had a beard now, and his hair had greyed. His face was a bit fuller, his eyes a bit droopier, but it was Paul! She shouted his name and jumped to her feet, ready to embrace him.         But Paul took a step back with a hand raised to ward her off. An officer stepped up beside him and told Kira to stay back. She couldn’t believe it. “Is this your wife?” the officer asked.         Paul looked hurt and defeated. “No,” he whispered.         “What?” exclaimed Kira. “Paul! How can you say that?”         The sound of her voice changed something in Paul. He looked at her closely. “Kira?” he asked incredulously.         “Duh!” she replied. It was a common refrain of hers and Paul grinned widely back at her.         “You look terrible. I can’t even recognize you,” Paul explained.         Kira was awash in relief. More officers came into the room to get Paul’s confirmation of her identity. This broke the spell and a buzz erupted. Now they wanted to know where she had been held captive and a description of her kidnappers. She told them everything she could, feeling revived by Paul’s presence and the fact the police finally believed her.         Thirty minutes later, a tall, skinny teenager in baggy clothes arrived at the station. He locked eyes with Kira. She knew those eyes. She dropped to her knees and wept, holding her hands up towards her son. He came closer but didn’t touch her. She was a stranger to him. Paul introduced them. Kira’s chest emptied.         Kira’s mind whirled helplessly, trying to comprehend what surreal life she had stepped back into. She had been forgotten. Life hadn’t waited for her return.         Kira had been declared dead eight years prior when a convicted murderer falsely claimed responsibility for her disappearance. Paul had remarried. They divorced after two years, but in that time, Heather had adopted Jamie. He called her mom. Kira numbly held the pain at bay. It was too much to process.         The police located the hovel where Kira had been held. A dead woman was found on the floor. Kira wondered if she had injected too much of the “sleep” solution into Bernice. She wasn’t sorry.         Kira said no, she didn’t want to press charges against Ben. “It wasn’t his fault,” she said sadly. She wondered if he would become a ward of the state.         Kira went back to the house that didn’t feel like hers anymore. She took an obscenely long shower. While hot water ran through her hair and over her skin, her thoughts percolated. Paul hadn’t betrayed her. It wasn’t Jamie’s fault he couldn’t remember her. She knew she could either accept the new normal and build from there, or she could be bitter and take her anger out on the people closest to her.         She thought of how Bernice had let disappointment poison her life. She was nothing like Bernice. Kira shut off the water, reached for a fuzzy blue towel, and decided simply that she had to forgive the wrongs if she wanted to be free of them. She longed to get to re-know Paul and Jamie. She had yearned painfully for another chance as this life. She intended to use it well.


As I sit quietly in the attic of the house I rent, I have my security cameras running on various screens on tables in a semi-circle in the center of the room.  Out the front window, I have a video recorder filming the house and the street diagonal from me. I am looking through social media and making notes on hobbies and friends and relatives, really any information I can find about him. I have millions of pictures of him from infancy to the man he is today. He had been dating Tiffany, But he found flirtatious messages on her phone that made him aware of the affair she was having. Of course, she cried and denied it But the proof was there on her phone for him to see. I know because I put it there. He was so hurt and mad when he ended their 3-year relationship, He had even proposed to her. But now she was old news. He met me by accident, I was at the mailbox and had my arms full of packages I had ordered, I knew his schedule and I knew that at 3:10 p.m. after a long day at work he would pull in his driveway and walk down to the mailbox and grab his mail. I was there fumbling with the packages and trying not to drop the " Fragile" packages I had in my arms. Being a Gentleman he offered to help me to my door. He grabbed a few of the "Fragile" packages and left me with just one package to carry. I invited him into my home and asked him to sit them on the dining room table. I introduced myself. I thanked him and introduced myself as Meredith Grim, giving him my shy innocent smile. He said he was glad he could help and introduced himself as Anton Mission, This I already knew Anton Leonie Mission, Born April 1. To a single Mom Lisbon Mission.  I knew she had worked two jobs to pay the bills and had been a good mother. They had not been rich, but he never did without. I had a smooth Jazz CD playing softly and he mentioned that it was one of his favorite artists.  I invited him to stay for dinner as the homemade lasagna was just getting ready to come out of the oven, I had already made Garlic Bread and was popping it into the oven as I pulled the Lasagna out of the oven, The fresh salad and a nice bottle of wine were chilling in the fridge. He accepted my invitation for dinner I knew Lasagna was one of his favorites. I quickly set the small table for two and grabbed two wine glasses from the rack. I asked him to open the wine and pour it for us while I got the salad from the fridge and scooped us some into our bowls. The Lasagna smelled delicious, I grabbed the garlic bread out of the oven and put It in a breadbasket. I sat the lasagna on the table with the bread and our bowls of salads. We sat to enjoy our dinner and I softly asked if it would offend him if I said Grace before our meal, Of course, I knew this would please him. We quietly talked while eating our dinner. He talked about growing up with only his mom and I talked about growing up all alone in foster care.  After dinner, I cleared the table and we quickly rinsed the dishes and loaded them into my dishwasher and he Thanked me for dinner, He said it was the best night he had had in a very long time. He excused himself and said that he had a ton of paperwork to finish before he went to bed tonight. I gave him my cell phone number in case he needed anything and He promised to have me over for dinner soon to return the favor. I made sure to finish my work early each day and made sure I was at the mailbox each day just as he was checking his mail. It had been a week since we "met" and I had not heard from him except a quick " Hello" at the mailbox. I invited him over for dinner again on Friday, I told him I was not wanting to celebrate my birthday alone. He agreed to come over at about 6 p.m.  Friday night. I got up early Friday, Went to the store to buy some nice steaks, fresh vegetables, and real potatoes. I was going to grill up the steaks and baked potatoes and fresh grilled vegetables. I even bought a Boston Cream Cake from a bakery, Put it in a cake holder so He could see My Homemade Birthday cake. I bought a nice bottle of wine and put it to chill.  I got my hair and nails done and even bought a new dress that would accentuate My assets. He wrang the bell at exactly 6 p.m. and I showed him in and showed him out the sliding door onto my patio. I had a small table already set up, had the wine in an ice bucket, and was just pulling the vegetables off the grill. I put the steak and baked potatoes and some veggies on his plate and then I fixed my own. He made a comment on how delicious it smelled and how amazing the cake on the divider in the kitchen looked. We visited quietly while eating and he told me he had been really busy at work the previous week and was glad I had invited him to dinner tonight, He said he had finished a huge project today before the deadline on Monday so he was happy to celebrate my birthday with me. I told him I had also been busy writing some reviews and things, really boring things and I was happy for the weekend. We finished our dinner and headed inside to clean up the dishes and I was going to cut my homemade Boston Cream Cake. I told him to make himself comfortable in the living room and I would bring our cake if he could carry our glasses and the bottle of wine in there. Once I settled on the small sofa beside him, We ate our cake and drank our wine while listening to yet another favorite artist of his playing softly on the stereo. He wished me a Happy Birthday and gave me a small box wrapped in silver paper with a bow. I gently unwrapped the bracelet he gave me and he helped me put it on. We talked for hours about our hobbies and he was amazed we had so many in common. When my Grandfather clock struck midnight he joking said he had better go home before his Cinderella turned into a Pumpkin or something. I gave him a hug and a small kiss on the cheek and thanked him for the bracelet and for coming to dinner and for making my birthday a happy one. We got into the habit of sharing dinner a few times a week and we learned all about each other. When He wasn't with me I was watching him. I followed him and I had put a tracer on his phone while he was in the bathroom and so I knew where he was every minute of the day. Sometimes of a night I would let myself into his house and watch him sleep, He looked like an Angel when he slept, So perfect. He confided in me about three months into our relationship that he enjoyed my company and he felt like he could talk to me about anything. He said it was like having a sister he could share things with. He never tried to kiss me, even though I prayed he would and I tried several times but he would redirect his face at the last minute so I kissed his cheek a lot. He told me he was going to be gone on vacation for a week with his college guy friends and asked me to keep an eye on his house If he only knew. I slept in his bed every night he was gone, wore his clothes, used his shampoo and body wash, and brushed my teeth with his toothbrush every night. I was in Heaven. I hacked his computer, went through all his personal stuff and I blocked emails and phone numbers on his home telephone. When Sunday came and he got home at about 9 p.m. I had him a plate in the oven keeping warm and had written him a note saying I hope he had a good vacation and that I would see him at about 6 p.m. the following night for pizza and movie night. I told him I hope he enjoyed the dinner I had left him, that I didn't know if he would stop on his way home to eat or be hungry, I told him if he wasn't hungry he could refrigerate it for later. He called the next day and said he couldn't make dinner that night he had to work late to finish a project and of course I knew it was a lie. I followed him to a popular pub and sat in the back and watched him meet his "blind date" they ate and drank and danced and at the end of the night he kissed her goodnight as he put in an Uber to take her home. He also took an Uber home since he had been drinking. He came into his house, showered, and went to bed. He fell asleep almost instantly and I sat there listening to him breathe and I hated him. The next few days passed by slowly. He worked or stayed out late and it was almost two weeks before I finally caught him at the mailbox. He explained that work was crazy and he had met someone, You would really like her he told me and suggested we all arrange to have dinner sometime soon. I was getting angrier and angrier as the days passed and the more he posted her on his social media the more I snooped on hers. She was perfect for him and she didn't even have to change to be perfect for him. He continued to share cute stories with me about them and their dates, She moved in with him after only two months and we were all fast friends. I spent a lot of time with them and I was there when he proposed to her after only three months. I was the Maid Of Honor at their wedding and was there when they announced their newest arrival would be coming in the fall. I watched, I listened and I waited. I had been in his life for over ten years, Of course, he only Knew me for two of those years, But I was loyal. Now I am sitting in a cell behind bars. A burglar broke into my home while I was at the grocery store and found my room, an anonymous call and some photos to the police and they searched my house. Anton filed charges on me and I was arrested for Stalking, Cybercrime, Breaking into his home.  But in court, he wore the Blue pinstriped suit that brings out his eye's and she was dressed to kill. Baby Meredith named after her GodMother was dressed in an adorable strawberry print dress and bonnet. I may not have him, But every time he calls his daughter's name he will remember me. Meredith Grim.


If anyone ever found out Queen Eleanor had clandestine meetings with a whore, much of the kingdom would be scandalized. There were those, however, who would understand, especially fellow females. And while she could have sent her maid to obtain the necessary information, Eleanor felt it imperative to go herself so no detail would be missed.

On the day she married Edward and became queen, her own vow flowed beneath the marriage words: Eleanor would never become pregnant, would never carry a child in her womb destined to be forced by the whims of men and their kingdom games.

Now she breathed a sigh of relief during her visit to the chamber pot and was again thankful in her heart for Nicola, an unlikely ally--the most well-known, respected woman in the brothel. Nicola, who gave her the concoction and who instructed her how to fill her body with it nightly to repel Edward’s efforts to create an heir. Eleanor paused for a moment in front of the window, relishing the fact that, for the next few days, she would not be required to respond to Edward’s touch when the lights were extinguished. She had once again escaped motherhood and with just a bit more time, Nicola promised to provide a more permanent solution. She turned when her faithful maid, Linota, rushed into the room, the maid’s expression pained. “Milady, your brother is here and wishes to speak with you.” Eleanor’s heart clenched. “Send him in.” Her brother, Morcant, liked to catch her off guard. Time spent with him was never pleasant.

Morcant strode into the room, his usual smug smile in place. A young woman trailed behind him, her eyes downcast. Morcant’s sharp eyes swept the room and narrowed as they came to rest on his sister. “Leave us, Linota,” he commanded. The maid hurried from the room, casting an apologetic glance at Eleanor. “I’ve come to check on you, sister. I’ve not yet heard word of you being in the way to provide Edward an heir.” Eleanor straightened her shoulders. “Things have not progressed as quickly as we had hoped, Morcant. But it has not been very long. I myself am not worried, and Edward has not spoken of it.” Eleanor's face was calm, but she trembled inside, questioning once again how long her temporary solution would hold. Morcant crossed the room, his face tempestuous, and grabbed Eleanor by her upper arm. She didn’t allow herself to flinch.

“I hear otherwise, Eleanor. That if you have your way, there will never be a baby.” He tightened his grip, and now Eleanor could not help her face from contorting. “That will not work, Eleanor. I will not allow you to create dissension in the alliance between Edward and me because of your petty woman ways.” “I cannot imagine where you heard such things, Morcant.”

“Your daftness is very unbecoming, Eleanor. You forget I meet with whores also.” His smile grew. “They are always happy to see me coming.” Morcant released her arm. “And, as you can imagine, they reveal more to royalty than just their bodies, hoping for some special favors from the throne. There is a particularly young, tasty one residing there now, and she was foolish enough to disclose what she had overheard about the Queen. ” Heat flared in Eleanor’s chest. “And what does Agnes think of your dalliances?”

“Don’t be silly. Agnes, as most women, does not think at all, or very little. She is only preoccupied with keeping her seat beside me. You would do well to emulate Agnes.” He gestured to the young woman standing behind him, who still had not raised her eyes. “I’ll check back soon, Eleanor. In the meantime, I’m leaving Ursula here with you.” Morcant took a lock of the girl’s hair in his hand; he tugged it lightly, but Ursula remained motionless. “I can only spare her for a short time, though. She’ll be keeping a close eye on you, ensuring you are no longer defiling yourself with a whore’s amalgam to deprive Edward of his heir. If things haven’t changed by the time I return, I’ll inform Edward and he might choose to take more. . .aggressive measures.” “I have Linota as my maid.” “Not anymore. I’ve dismissed Linota. I spoke with Edward and relayed my concerns about her. She strikes me as one too opinionated to wait on the queen. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get some rest. I’ll dine with the king in the morning, and then I owe my new friend in town another visit tomorrow before I journey home. Should I pass along your regards to Nicola while I’m there?”

Morcant winked as he left the room, and Eleanor shuddered. She thought briefly of giving up, having a baby. It was exhausting: stuffing herself with the mixture (imagining herself to be much like the fat birds that lay on the feast table ), enduring the long nights when Edward was amorous, and waiting, hoping Nicola’s gift had worked once again.

But then she thought of Edward, his sweaty odor, his meaty breath, and her required submission to it all. Her resolve strengthened again. The compulsion to protect a child who would never be born hummed through her.

When the door closed behind Eleanor's brother, Ursula stared at it for several moments. She surprised Eleanor then by stepping forward and holding out her hand. “A note from Nicola.” Eleanor remained still. “And why should I trust you, my brother’s little spy?” Ursula continued to hold out her hand. “I want nothing more than to distance myself from your brother. Permanently, if at all possible.” She reached up to pull the fabric of her dress away from her neck, revealing a series of dark bruises. Her gaze remained fixed on Eleanor.

Eleanor’s face softened. She took the note and skimmed it. She would meet Nicola under the cover of nightfall.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Eleanor was struck once again by Nicola’s stateliness as the woman moved in softly rustling skirts toward her.

Authority wrapped itself around each of her words. “I apologize for the loose mouth of my girl. They are often silly and attention-seeking when they are young. She will change as she ages. The doctor is attending to her injuries now.” “Morcant?” “He is a sniveling, power-hungry, cowardly man. But also a dangerous one. I have a proposition that will help us both.” Nicola held out a small parcel. “Have the girl, Ursula, visit the kitchen tomorrow morning before the food and drink are carried out to your brother. Four drops will be sufficient.” Eleanor looked at the offering. “It seems a drastic step.” She lowered her head. “ I’m sorry. I know you must think me pampered, spoiled, and cowardly as well.” Nicola shook her head. “We are all under someone in this kingdom. At least your husband is only a customary king, using the pawns that have always existed to maintain control. Morcant, however, is something very different. The diabolical lurks in him. I have seen it. My girls have felt it. Again and again.” There was a flash in Eleanor’s mind as thoughts collided like fireflies. “You always planned to ask me this.” “I knew it was always a possibility. We cannot carry out the plan in the brothel. The pain your brother has caused there is too well known, and suspicions would be aroused.” Nicola’s smile emerged.

“When your maid goes to the kitchen, have her bring back peeled onions to your room. Use them to prolong your tears. Your mourning period for your brother will be up to you. Edward will not call you in, out of respect for the dead. I promise to help you again, Queen Eleanor, when the feasibility of that period passes. And do not forget my oath of a more permanent solution.”

She handed Eleanor the parcel. The Queen reached out to grasp Nicola’s hand for a moment before she could turn away.

Then she hurried through the blackest night to hide the parcel until morning when she could repay Nicola for the gifts she had provided. For although circumstances saddled her with the title of whore, to Eleanor, Nicola is nature’s sister, and a Lady. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In the morning, soon after the sun yawns and stretches its beams into the sky, soon after the cries ring out through the castle and the apothecary is called too late, Eleanor inhales the sharp scent of onion and smiles.