Parnell, Iowa 1885 “I still have half a dozen ponies to break and get to market,” Avery Cooke says. “Besides, Skeeter’s not ready for something like this.” Snuffing out his pungent cigar, Andor Cressy, the rotund owner of the Zenith Mines and the Top Dollar Ranch gives Avery a grim look. Avery corrects himself. “Mister Skeeter.” “And don’t you forget it. You people have been free for twenty years and you act like you’re my equal. I ain’t above whippin’ nobody, black or white, who sasses me. When I say teach the boy how to use dynamite it ain’t open for discussion. And if he gets so much as a burnt finger, I’ll take one of yours, understand?” Avery looks shell-shocked as he leaves Cressy’s office. He nearly bumps into Cole Calhoun, his friend of more than twenty years. The bearish ranch foreman chuckles, scratching the stubble on his cheek. “That’s the same expression I wore when Cressy told me to teach Skeeter how to shoot a gun.” “Well, this is worse. He’s opening a new mine and wants me to teach Skeeter how to use dynamite. He’ll kill us all.” Cole laughs hard until his belly shakes. “The boy’s too lazy to yell ‘Sueee’ in a pig pen. He’s not stupid, just a boy. Never had a reason to care about much. He’s always had somebody who’d do for him. Maybe handlin’ somethin’ that could kill him’ll give him a sense of responsibility.” “Problem is, it could kill us too.” “Righteous words, pard. Just make sure I’m in the next county when class starts.” Avery and Cole watch Skeeter connect the fuse to the bundle of dynamite he’s placed under a stump. “Everythin’ according to Hoyle?” Cole asks, tightening his hold on the reins of his horse. “So far,” Avery replies. “Nervous?” “Biggity. Remember when he was a pup? The boy used to eat dirt… by the spoonfuls!” “His mama was a bad cook. He outgrew a lot of those bad habits thanks to you and me.” “You’re right, Avery. Maybe I should have some faith in the little knothead. But I’m still not gettin’ down off this horse.” Major, the Cressy’s friendly hound dog, sniffs at the nearby box of dynamite. “Stay outta there, Major,” Cole warns. “Your fuse is too short,” Avery yells to Skeeter. “Are you kiddin’? It’s gotta be two foot long!” Skeeter returns. “Dynamite has a short fuse and so do I. You’ve got about twelve seconds after you light that fuse to get clear,” Avery says. “I ain’t as old and slow as you.” “And if you make a mistake, you won’t get the chance to be.” Skeeter lights the fuse, scrambling back to Avery and Cole. The stump explodes, sending splinters in all directions. “Yee-haw! Maybe this could be rip-roarin’ fun after all!” Skeeter shouts. Cole’s horse whinnies as he struggles to hold it in place. “Well, professor, did he pass?” “We’re still here.” Major runs up to Skeeter holding a stick of dynamite in its mouth. Screaming, Skeeter darts off. Major leisurely trots behind him, the stick of dynamite still firmly clenched between its teeth. “How far do you suppose he’ll get?” Cole asks. “Skeeter’s quick. But he can’t outrun four legs.” An explosion sounds in the distance. “Pshaw,” Cole says. “I really liked that dog.” Charity Moore hurriedly exits the general store with Skeeter at her heels, jabbering endlessly. “I’m gonna inherit my daddy’s goldmines and ranch someday, so I’ll have all the money I’ll ever need. In the meantime, I aim to start a family. I was thinkin’ maybe with you.” The twenty-six-year-old strawberry-blonde bank teller freezes, looking at the short, skinny, freckled boy. “I’m a little old for you, don’t you think?” “Nothin’ like an experienced woman.” “I’m afraid I lack the experience I think you’re referring to, Mosquito.” “It’s Skeeter, and we should about things over lunch.” Spotting Avery tying his horse to the hitching post, Skeeter yells, “C’mere! I wantcha to meet my future misses.” Avery slowly approaches the mismatched couple, his bewilderment evident in his pleasant half-smile. “This here’s Charity Moore. She’s gonna be Mrs. Skeeter Cressy.” “That so?” “No. it’s not so,” Charity says defiantly. “We got a few details to work out yet,” Skeeter offers. “Such as me agreeing to be the wife of a wet-nosed Mosquito.” “You watch your mouth, missy, betrothed or not. And my name is Skeeter! My daddy’s one of the most powerful people in this pig sty. You don’t wanna upset his son. So how about lunch?” “I’ve already had it. I was just stopping in the store for a spool of thread. I have to get back to work.” “Then dinner. You got five bucks, Avery, so I can take this fine lady out in style?” Charity blanches. “I’m working really late tonight.” Avery hands Skeeter some money. “Maybe you should use the money to unwind instead, Mister Skeeter. You’ve been working hard lately.” Skeeter laughs, slipping the money in his pocket. “You’re right! I got a great idea, Charity. I can sport you around town during the Summer Festival next week. If you see my old man, Avery, tell him I’m in the saloon throwin’ a few back!” Charity watches Skeeter bounce away. “The sad part is, he thinks he’s a catch. Thanks for getting rid of him.” “It might only be a slight reprieve if he tells his father about you,” Avery replies. “I’m not worried about Andor Cressy. I worked along the Mississippi in some of the most raucous dance halls ever patched together. I learned how to take care of myself. I can do something so offensive Cressy’ll insist I don’t have anything to do with his little mosquito.” Turning to Avery, she adds, “Something like being friends with a well-spoken colored man.” Stiffening and staring straight ahead, Avery whispers, “Thank you for the compliment, ma’am.” “Don’t get your feathers in an uproar. I’ve only been here a few months, but I know most of the people in this town respect you a lot more than Skeeter.” “Personal matters are somethin’ else,” Avery replies. “Oh, you’re talking about the invisible code that says we’re not allowed to be together. Fiddle-dee-dee to that. We’re just having a polite little conversation. Not one passerby has stopped to stare at us or curse at you. They’re too caught up in their own sad, dirt-poor lives to string you up just for standing next to me.” “That’s a comfort,” Avery says.  Sighing heavily, Charity adds, “I wish I could get away from the stink of these cowboys and rednecks.” “I say the same thing at least twice a day, although I’m already up to four times today.” “I need a man who knows the difference between a fence and fencing.” “You use a hammer on for one. The other, a sword,” Avery says. “Sounds like you’ve had some schooling.” “I got through high school in New York.” “That’s farther than I got,” Charity notes. “You wouldn’t happen to know an intelligent, well-spoken man, would you?  I was hoping I’d find one here.” Avery looks down at the sidewalk. “The man’s got to have a backbone too,” Charity says. “If you could be someplace else, where would you go?” “I read about this town called Nice in France. It said everybody there gets treated the same, no matter what they look like. But I don’t speak French.” “I do,” Charity replies. “Sounds like a nice place to open a restaurant.” “I know a good cook. Me.” “But where would someone get the money to open her own place halfway around the world?” Charity asks. “You’re a teller, aren’t you?” Avery and Cole flinch as Skeeter nearly drops a box of dynamite before carrying it into the storage shed. “Your nerves must be shot,” Cole comments. “He dropped a few sticks in the sand before. Then he tossed them back in the box like he was playing horseshoes.” “And he’s gonna be the big wheel around here someday,” Cole says. “Frightenin’.” As Avery walks away in disgust, Skeeter emerges from the shed smoking a cigarette. “Did you light that thing in the shed?” Cole asks. “It was dark in there. I needed a light, so I struck a match. I didn’t wanna waste it, so I smoked the rest of the cigarette I rolled a while back.” Later that afternoon, Cole rides into the ranch. He sees Avery taking the saddle off his horse and rides over to talk with him. “Where you been?” “The boss wanted me to get the mail and his medicine. Apparently, he’s got gout and whiskey is the cure,” Avery answers. “What have you been up to?” “Cressy told me to fix the fence in the north pasture, so the beeves don’t get loose. I went up there to look at it. We need to get more wire to fence them in.” “Have you seen the kid?” Avery asks. “I thought he was with you.” A thundering boom sounds in the distance. “I think we found him,” Cole says. Avery and Cole ride up on Skeeter, who is firing rockets in the direction of the north pasture. “What in the blazes are you doing!” Avery snaps. “I just came up with somethin’ that’ll leave you grinnin’ like a weasel in a hen house,” Skeeter says gleefully. He picks up a stick of dynamite. “I take a stick of dynamite, then I attach it to a stick from a tree, and we got a rocket more powerful than any of those little pipsqueak fireworks they’ll fire off at the Summer Festival.” Cole’s meaty features turn crimson. “You dunderhead! You’re shootin’ at the cows in the north pasture! You probably turned half of ‘em into ground beef! Your daddy’s gonna be madder than a wet hen!” “Not if I was never here!” Skeeter says, bolting for his horse. Avery and Cole watch Skeeter speed off. “He expects us to hold his water,” Cole mutters sourly. “Just like a thousand times before,” Avery replies. Avery and Cole slow their horses at the peak of the hill overlooking the north pasture. Cole curses under his breath as he looks at the slaughtered cows. “I count eight dead,” he says. “Looks like the rest stampeded.” “You’ve got something worse to worry about,” Avery replies, pointing at Andor Cressy, who is speeding toward them, his eyes black with anger and his gun drawn. Pulling his snorting steed to a halt, Cressy points his gun at Cole. “You! You fat, lazy toad! I told you to fence in the north pasture!” “You did. But if I had, the dynamite might have killed all of them beeves…” “Shut your fat trap!” Cressy turns his gun on Avery. “I’m not healed, boss,” Avery says quietly, raising his hands to show he’s unarmed. “That’s the only thing keepin’ you alive, boy! You were supposed to teach my son the right way to use dynamite! What do I get? Two yahoos blowin’ up my cows!” “But Boss… We didn’t…” Cole manages to say before he’s cut off. “Don’t say another word, you sidewinder! My son can run a ranch without you, and he can break and get my horses to market without you, Avery. I trusted you two for over fifteen years, and you go and murder my cows! Next, you’ll be bushwackin’ me! Pick up your pay, both of you. I want you hellions gone by tonight!” “You’re gonna regret this,” Cole says. Skeeter peels back the swinging doors to the Silver Bullet Saloon. Spotting Cole downing shots at the bar, he eases up alongside of him. “Sorry to hear about you and Avery.” “At least it’s the last time I have to cover for you, Skeeter.” “Where’s Avery?” “The owner won’t allow him in here, although his money spends just like anybody else’s,” Cole says. Owner of the hotel’s more hospitable. He let Avery take a room there. Avery says he’s gonna leave town in a couple of days.” “You’re not goin’ with him? I thought you two was pardners?” “He’s chasin’ a dream. He thinks he can be a free man somewhere, a man with the same rights as everybody else. Good luck, and God bless him,” Cole says. “I got a score to settle. Avery’s more willin’ to forget. I’ll miss him, though. He kept me on an even keel. If he hadn’t, you’d be writin’ your old man’s eulogy. That calm of Avery’s? That’s what earned him his familiarity with dynamite. I was Captain of the Fifty-Eight Regiment of colored troops out of New York. We had a white sergeant, Carl Cash, who worked with the dynamite until he accidentally blew his hand off. We had to blow up a bridge and we didn’t have a replacement, so Cash taught Avery how to use it. You gotta admire a man who can face that kinda danger and walk away without a scratch, and Avery did it every time. So, now that you’re on your own, what’s it like playin’ ramrod for your daddy?” “I ain’t cut out for this.” “Too dangerous?” “Nah. There ain't enough money in it. My daddy’s made so much money from his goldmines and from raisin’ beef, he doesn’t know how much he’s got. And I’m on a salary like everybody else.” Cole scratches the stubble on his chin. “Don’t seem fair. You say your daddy’s gold is in the bank?” “Yeah, there’s probably twenty thousand in gold bars there and twice as much in cash. I wish I could get my hands on some of it.” “Maybe you can. The Summer Festival has started. Most folks’ll be goin’ direct from church to the festival this Sunday. It just so happens that the bank’ll be closed Sunday. The Festival’s a mile outta town. Parnell’s gonna be emptier than a bone orchard.” “I don’t have the combination to the safe,” Skeeter says. “Who needs a combination?” Cole and Skeeter ride through Parnell’s empty streets. They pass Charity and Avery standing in front of the bank. Avery is carrying a large bag. Grumbling, Skeeter rides up to them. “What the hell is this? My girl out with a colored? No offense, Avery.” “We ain’t got time for this, Skeeter!” Cole yells after him. Charity stiffens. “Great. You insult him in one breath and cower in the next. Not that it’s any of your lookout, Mosquito, but Avery was just carrying some clothes for me.” “C’mon, Skeeter, be sensible. If you can’t trust Avery, you can’t trust anyone,” Cole says. “Where are you two dangerous outlaws headed?” Charity asks. Skeeter looks at Cole, who quickly answers, “The saloon.” “Isn’t it closed because of the festival?” Sticking his nose in the air, Skeeter says, “Well, it ain’t closed to me. And my name is Skeeter!” “Glad Avery and Charity didn’t dally in front of the bank,” Cole says, watching Skeeter attach a second bundle of dynamite to the safe’s door. “Shouldn’t one bundle be enough?” “Who’s the demolition expert here, Cole? This here’s the finest safe made. Came all the way from Philadelphia. Four sticks might only put a dent in it. Eight’s gonna make us rich.” Skeeter twists the two long fuses for each bundle of dynamite together. “Trick I learned from Avery. Now instead of lightin’ two separate fuses, I only gotta deal with one.” Skeeter strikes a match. “If I timed this right, we got thirty seconds before she blows.” He lights the fuse and the two men run outside, covering their ears. “You sure people won’t hear the explosion?” Cole asks. “I told you. They got a target shootin’ competition goin’, music, elephants all kinds of other noise goin’ on. Even if they do hear somethin’, we’ll be forty thousand dollars richer by the time they get here.” Cole looks at the bank. “Did the dynamite go off yet?” Skeeter moves on tiptoes toward the bank. “Dang it. I bet the fuse went out.” The bank explodes and Skeeter and Cole are thrown backward. Stunned, Skeeter and Cole slowly regain their feet. Tiny shards of wood and metal fall around them like drops of rain. A gigantic hole in the ground remains where the bank once stood. “The money!” Cole shouts. “It’s blown to smithereens!” “Forget the money,” Skeeter says. “The gold bars. We still got the gold bars!” The pair rush to the edge of the chasm. “That hole’s gotta be twenty feet deep,” Cole observes. “How do we get the gold outta there?” A gold bar drops in the dirt on the opposite side of the hole. “Maybe we won’t have to!” Skeeter says, elated. Skeeter and Cole look up at the cloudless sky. A gold bar cleaves off the top of Skeeter’s skull. Before Cole can complete the curse on his lips, a gold bar hits him between the eyes. Both men’s bodies topple backward, falling into the smokey abyss. Charity boards the 12:30 train, lugging a heavy valise. Seeing her struggle, a conductor grabs it from her, despite her protest. “It’s got some precious items in it.” “Don’t worry, Ma’am, I’m gentle as a lamb,” he says swinging it into the overhead rack. He huffs mightily, surprised by its weight. “I bet you’ve got a small fortune in there, eh, Miss?” Charity twitters coquettishly. The conductor looks over at the dapper Black man across the aisle, frowning. “You behave boy, or you’ll be walking the rest of the way on broken legs.” Charity situates herself in her seat. She looks across the aisle at Avery, who tips his derby. “Fancy meeting you here, Mister Cooke. Where are you bound?” “France. But I don’t know how to speak French.” Charity smiles. “Don’t worry. I do.”


With each passing person, their information blinks in the left corner of my vision. Their names, occupations, home addresses, height, weight, hair and eye color and other things deemed “useful” by Tyrex Industries. I am the last of the Vega-12 experimental program. I am the last Replica. I am an android living in a human's world.

Replicas have been declared illegal on Earth. Well they’re illegal outside of Tyrex Industries at least. I escaped weeks ago, I wanted more out of my life. I wasn’t about to be someone’s pleasure model. Instead I was trained in hand to hand combat, military skills, along with some self defense and martial arts. Although my body and face are still built as a pleasure model, my body is a concealed weapon of power, force and strength.

My escape has been on the down low, I doubt the police informed the public. The last thing they need is thousands of people in a panic. The panic would make it easier for me to leave the city. I’m sure they have Hound Dogs looking for me. Hound Dogs are special police task force units designed strictly for the detection and execution of Replicas. Like me.

Luckily enough I have yet to cross the path of one, then again I’m good at passing as a human. If they suspect a Replica they’ll administer the HURA test. Human Empathic Reactions Assessment. I’ve always passed as a human. I’ve only been given it twice, but that still is too many for me.

I would have thought a Hound Dog would have found me out by now, I’ve been on the run for three weeks. I’ve seen many Hounds but they never catch on. For a Replica, surviving three weeks is pretty astonishing. Either the Hounds aren’t doing their jobs very well or I’m just exceptionally good at outwitting them. I like to think the latter.

Rain starts to patter down on the window of the cafe and people outside flee to shelter. I pull my hair up into a ponytail as I stand up, and make my way to the door. I smile quickly at the barista before exiting the cafe and stepping out into the cool rain. Neon signs glow in the gloomy atmosphere of the city, illumination reflected off of water on the street. Vehicles zoom by both on the street and in the air. The city never seems to stop for a second. There is always movement. I tilt my head to the sky and let the cold rain droplets splash my face. It’s been so long since it last rained. The air is cool and refreshing against my skin. I shake my head to shake away the rain droplets and then down the sidewalk I go.

Passing under neon signs and passing by shops, people seem to part and make a path for me. I know it’s because they’re trying to escape the rain but sometimes I worry. I mean I have a valid reason to worry, there are Hound Dogs hunting for me and me alone. I’m worried I might slip and leak that I am a Replica. It’s not terribly hard to pass as a human though. I was gifted with memories and emotions, human qualities. I was given an unlimited lifespan meaning without any kind of external resistance, I can live forever. I have developed my own emotions to things though. My childhood memories are still implanted, fake, but I am aware of what’s real and what’s fake.

As long as I “forget” of life back at the Tyrex Industry, I should be fine. Considering all the people who moved to off world habitations, there still are a lot of people here in this city. Lucky for me though there are a lot abandoned apartment buildings and hotels. I step inside my apartment building, and I say my because I have the whole building to myself. No one else lives here. I push the elevator button and the door opens with a little dinging sound. I step inside and press the button for my floor, number eight. After a few moments, the door whooshes open and I step into the hall, my heels clicking and clacking on the floor as the echoes reverberate through the emptiness.

I walk down the hall approaching my apartment until I hear movement, shuffling and some cussing.

Glass shatters, “Shit!” A man’s voice yells. The door to apartment 850 is open and a young man, about 23, stands over broken glass with some boxes behind him. “Are you okay? I heard the glass break.” I question, gaining his attention. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone lived here—“ “I live in 852. I’m Robyn.” I reply. I look into his eyes and then focus on my visual information log. Name Ryan Davis, age 23, height 5’ 11”, weight unknown, occupation Hound Dog, badge number 0-1-1-2-5-7, address— I unfocus from the informational data. This man’s badge number is identical to my serial number. 0-1-1-2-5-7. It’s impossible. This has never happened, this has never happened in the history of ever.

“I’m Ryan,” he says softly, his voice warm and tender, not something I was expecting. I plaster a smile to conceal my slight worry, “Nice to meet you Ryan, oh and try not to cut yourself while cleaning up that glass,” I say and then turn away, heading to my own apartment. I step inside and lock the deadbolt on my door. The only other person in this building is a person whose job is to hunt me down and kill me. Talk about luck! Rotten luck, but still luck!

The badge and my serial numbers, this doesn’t bode well. I’m not one for superstitions, omens or anything like that but this can’t be a good sign.

I turn on my photo analyzer and slide a picture into the examining slot. The screen blinks to life and then the photo appears. I sink down and sit on the floor, carefully looking over my photo. I’m standing on a sidewalk in a Chinatown. I’m standing and smiling while pointing to a neon shop sign, with a doughnut in my other hand.

“Zoom in 12 percent, 23 to 34. Stop. Pan right. Stop. Pull back.” The machine clicks with each verbal command. “Enhance and zoom 56 to 73. Stop. Sharpen the image. Clean it up. Pan right two degrees and stop. Print a hard copy.” The machine prints out the enhanced portion of my photo. It’s a man in the background, carefully observing me from afar, with the collar of his coat turned upwards. I can’t see much of his face but he looks somewhat familiar. Rather than go searching for his face, I’ll focus on his coat. It has a small insignia on the right upper sleeve. An image of a bloody snake wrapped around a thorny rose.

I’ve never seen this image before but it obviously means something to this guy. I have to find him and get rid of him before he can get rid of me. I don’t want to be executed just because I’m a Replica, I haven’t done anything wrong. In this world the people don’t care about right or wrong though. All that matters to them is that I am not human like them.

I shut the machine off, stuff the picture under my couch cushions and then slowly shuffle to the kitchen. In the silence of my apartment, I can hear muffled voices from next door. Ryan’s apartment. It sounds like he’s on the phone with someone.

“Yes, I’ve seen her. — No, I don’t need another briefing. I’VE SEEN THE PICTURES ALREADY. IT’S HER. — No, she doesn’t know, but she’ll suspect soon enough. — I know what my job is, I’M WORKING ON IT. — Look, she caught me off guard earlier. I know it’s her, I’ve been-. — Are you sure? — Yep, I can do that. She’ll pass the HURA again though. We both know. You know it, I know it—“ I stop listening.

He knows I’m a Replica. But how? Did Tyrex Industries give them a photograph? I changed my hair and stuff but are they that good? Have they known the entire time? Have I been watched and tailed the whole time? I thought I was passing really well. I got a job and everything to blend in.

I need to get out of here. Right now. I throw my coat on in a hurry and run towards my window. I don’t know if I can climb down the side of a building in the rain but looks like if I don’t I’ll be killed. I guess it’s better to risk it. I pull the window open and look outside, the rain pouring heavily now. The ledge looks treacherous. Immediate death just waiting to happen. Too bad this place didn’t invest in a fire escape, it would be useful right about now.

Maybe I can climb up the roof, it’s a lot closer than the ground. I inch my way out onto the ledge and look around for something to grab. There’s not a lot, a roof drainage pipe and another window ledge a little higher up. I take my chance with the higher ledge and pull myself up. Without hesitation, I kick the window in and climb inside. I exit the apartment and run down to the end of the hallway. I come face to face with a door labeled ‘Rooftop Maintenance ONLY.’  I turn the door handle, but it doesn’t budge, it’s locked. “Damn it!” I exclaim under my breath. With a few solid kicks, the door swings open, revealing stairs. I dash up them to the roof.

The rain pelts down on my hair and coat. I look around frantically searching for somewhere to go. Rooftop after rooftop are my only options. If that Hound is looking for me, it won’t take him long to realize that I went up instead of down. I look at the building next door and decide to make a running jump for it.

I run and brace myself to not make it, the jump feels like I’m flying and time seems to stand still for a moment, until my feet make contact with the next rooftop. I look back and see that I made it. I almost let out a squeal of joy.

I run to the rooftop access door and swing it open, running down the stairs as fast as I can. I follow the stairs, spiraling downwards until I find a door labeled ‘Ground Floor.’ Dazed and confused, I look around for an exit sign or a door. Unsure where to go, I carefully tip toe around, looking for a way out of here. I spot an exit and sprint to it. I shake the door, but it’s locked. I grab the nearest object and smash the door’s glass. I run out into the rainy city, down an alley and away from my apartment building. *** I sit in the cafe, my back to the door. A few other people also are here. I take the cup of hot cocoa in my cold hands, trying to absorb some warmth. I bring the cup to my lips and take a few sips. I then turn the collar up on my coat as a few more people step inside the cafe.

“Look, I’m sorry. I lost her, for now. I’ll find her again—” It’s Ryan’s voice, “Can I get a coffee, black?” “Sure thing,” the barista replies. Ryan sits down in a booth right behind me. I slowly turn my head to see that he has his back to me. Maybe I can leave without him seeing my face. I quickly finish my drink and then slowly get up. I take one more quick look at him and notice a familiar symbol on his coat sleeve. A bloody snake wrapped around a thorny rose. I turn so my face is away from him and then I make my way to the door. I slip outside and begin to panic. He’s been following me. Why hasn’t he killed me yet? He recognized me right away back at the apartment. Hound Dogs don’t care about killing Replicas in public. A tap on my shoulder breaks me away from my thoughts. It’s Ryan. “Why haven’t you killed—” “What generation are you?” His voice cold and emotionless. “What?! You should already know—” “I won’t ask again.” “Vega-12. Your people should know that already. They should have told you.” “They did. I just wanted you to admit it as proof that you’re a Replica. Now can I kill you.” His voice empty and cold, like the rain. “What’s your badge number?” I whisper weakly as fear overcomes me. I was trained as a fighter but right now I feel like a field mouse that’s about to be devoured by a lion. “0-1-1-2-5-7. Why?” “Because my serial number is 0-1-1-2-5-7.” “That’s not possible—“ His shock and confusion is just the advantage I need, letting fight or flight take control, I choose both. I fight him and get him laying on the ground, and then I turn to run. I’m not ready to die just yet. *** I can’t run forever, I’m getting tired. It’s been a few hours, so maybe I’m okay for now. I don’t even know where to run to anymore. I lean against a building and try to catch my breath. The rain has finally stopped, giving way to a starry night. I can’t go to my apartment, the cafe isn’t safe, and it would be suicide to go back to Tyrex Industries. I literally have nowhere to go. I hear the sound of a gun getting cocked, and then I feel the cold barrel pressed against the back of my head. “Just make this look good, trust me,” Ryan’s voice whispers.

“Like I can trust a Hound, but what choice do I have? You’re the one with the gun,” I whisper back. He leads me down an alley, out of sight from the street. His car sits idling. He raises his gun and fires twice into the air, to make people think he’s killed me.

“Why—” “Get in the car. We need to talk.” Despite my better instincts, I obey and get in the car with him. The heater blows softly, making the inside of the car warm. He puts it in gear and we start driving. “Where the hell did you learn to fight like that? You did one hell of a number.” “Classified training. Enough with the small talk, get to the point Mr. Davis,” I sneer. “Okay look, I did a little digging into the Tyrex Industry and your serial number doesn’t exist. It’s not in their system, hell it's not in our system either. As far as Tyrex and this city is concerned, you don’t exist.” “No, I escaped from there! There has to be some sort of mistake, or something!” I raise my voice. “Unless you’re not an original Tyrex creation. You might not—” I cut him off. “What? Someone else creates Replicas? So someone else created me? What the hell is going on here?!” Disbelief courses through me. “I’d like to ask you the same thing, I did my research! According to Tyrex’s and our systems you don’t exist! Which means you can’t be a Replica. It appears that someone wanted to disguise you as one though. And they almost did pretty good, but they forgot to create the Replica files. You would think that someone would have caught on sooner.”

“So am I... a human or something else?” My voice quakes with a whisper. “I don’t know, which means there’s something more going on here that someone really wants to hide,” Ryan whispers gently.


I had always been the timid one. The person that always sat in the corner nibbling on her biscuit and never said a word. To anyone. I enjoyed the soft breeze brushing past me, the first rays of morning sunlight bathing on my face. I longed for a time where I could be

me , when I didn’t have to hide myself from these people that seem to laugh in my face every time I dared to speak up. Which I never did of course, for I didn’t have the strength to look darkness in the eyes and send it fleeing in the opposite direction. I would say I was ‘fine,’ or ‘having a great day,’ but I was never fine, and I was never having a great day. The facts were never woven into my string of words. I needed someone to confide in, to talk to. But most of all, I needed someone to believe in. I’d watched Autumn fall to Winter. I’d seen tiny white snowflakes gently tumbling from the darkened skies, and witnessed the intense heat of the Summer sun. But within all this new life blossoming around me, I was the centrepiece on display, never changing, always fixed in the same position. Still, and unmoving. Yes, I’d walked on the damp sand of the beaches and swam in the icy waves, but I’d never danced, never sung. My legs, while just bearing my weight, carried me along the dusty road of life, but my heart never followed. I was a shadow of a memory long gone, of the future, whatever it should bring. It was on this lonely path I was on, that I’d heard the song of the silent sparrow. It sang no song, but I could hear it’s desperation all the same. There was a longing in its voice, a silent plea for help. Yearning for better days. Then there were the words. The words shaped by letters, and the letters shaped by feeling. ‘Hello,’  was a common one. It meant;

‘I acknowledge you.’

‘How are you?’  Was another one. It meant;

‘I wonder how you’re feeling?’

But these words meant nothing to me, for nothing ever said to me could fulfil the hungry desire I had in my heart, like a big, black, empty hole waiting to be filled. Fulfilment never came however, and so I think back to the swallow. The lonely sparrow on the desolate road of life. I saw him on the opposite side of the river. The waves were lapping the shore, and the breeze brushed past the leafy arms of the trees above me. He shouted something at me, but I looked away. Words meant nothing to me. He jumped in the river and swam to me. I turned away, not daring to hope. He reached the shore where I was at and reached out a hand to touch my shoulder. He looked at me through sea blue eyes. I gazed at him with sharp green ones, then looked away, ashamed. He beamed at me with perfect lips, and I replied with a tight smile.

“You look lovely when you smile,”  he said. But I did not believe in flattery, so I walked away, out of sight. But he ran after me, his hand landed on my arm. I looked at him quizzically for a moment, trying to find truth in his words. He nudged my side and walked me over to the other side of the hill. He gestured for me to sit down, but the lush grass was damp with rain. He spread out his jacket so that I could sit. I sat, and he sat beside me, though he sat on the grass. He pointed out at the brilliant sun setting over the hills, and at the birds chirping merrily, singing a song. A real song. I had seen a faded dull sun set over a dreary meadow, but I had never seen a sun so full of light and hope explode over the grassy hills like this. I felt a movement inside me, like my heart was shifting into place. It was a pleasant feeling, and I knew then, in that moment, that he was someone to believe in. I saw the swallow from the road flutter over beside me. It sang of joys and renewal, of hope and belief. And its words could be heard, even by me. He gazed at me with compassionate feelings, and I felt for a moment; I could open my eyes. The clouds began to form, and drops of rain began to fall from the sullen sky. They tumbled down onto my skin, the sudden coldness shocking me back to reality. The rain poured. I arose from the jacket on the grass and hurried to my home under the valley. He called out to me, but I didn’t stop, not even to ask his name. The rain kept falling, dripping onto my chestnut hair and leaking through my clothes, hugging them tight to my flesh. My shoes squelched beneath my feet as I ran further and further towards my home, until I tripped. The ground met me as I landed on the rocky path. The world resembled a spinning top, and I lay amidst the dying crimson of the sky, and let my thoughts wander through my empty frame. I felt all life I had left slowly melt away… then an arm encircled my waist, I was being lifted. But my senses were incomplete as I slowly looked around at a world made entirely from darkness. A blinding light and a piece of loose yarn broke into my vision. He was there, looking down on me as I slowly let my eyes adjust to the light. His jacket was unravelling, leaving a me-sized hole in the center. I closed my eyes and let myself moan. He touched a hand to my face, and I let the warmth of it sink into me until I was warm all over, a kind of fluttery feeling. He looked at me with a knowing smile, and I smiled back, not a word spoken between us. After all, words were just words after all, nothing more. I knew that if I fell, he would catch me, whenever I was in doubt, he would support me. The hungry desire in my heart had been fulfilled at last. He was someone special, someone to believe in.


Tom was a keen dancer and every chance he got he would practice in his local community center, dancing was his life, he always felt alive when on a dance floor, and during his dance days he liked to enter competitions which took him around the country, he just couldn`t get enough of this, but working in his local ice-rink was a place he also loved, watching the figure skaters doing their routines always helped Tom with fresh idea`s for new moves in his dance routines. Carol was a close friend of Tom`s which every Friday and Saturday evening at the local Ice-rink she would be there, chatting to Tom, yet Carol always had a soft spot for Tom, which he knew as she wasn`t exactly discrete about it and made it plain and simple to Tom, but Tom being Tom never fell into her trap, she was a kind girl, friendly funny, a bit plain, but nevertheless, she was a sweet girl. Tom was very good at keeping things at arm's length, doing his best not to give off the wrong signals then regretting it later, yet I think Carol knew this and as the same never pushed the boundaries, she 16 not far from leaving school so she had the whole world in front of her and Tom kept making sure that this was the case, so that she went down the correct path of life. One Friday evening when Tom was working at the Ice-rink Carol appeared as she always did “Hi Tom” came the sweet voice Tom looking up from a customer that he was handing out ice skates too spotted Carol “Hey You, are you ok?” replied Tom as she moved along in the queue he spotted someone with Carol that he hadn``t seen before, and as Carol approached Tom in his little cubicle Carol introduced Tom to Anne. Now Tom had seen Anne from a distance from time to time when walking in the town, but he didn't realize that she lived around the corner from him, all this time I`ve lived here and I have never seen her closer to home, he must be losing the plot he thought to himself, anyway Tom stuck out his hand to shake Anne`s hand and to say hello, she was quite petite and wow very pretty Tom thought again to himself. As like any other evening at the Ice-rink the evening came and went as fast as it started and Tom was busy collecting customers skates and he handed back their own footwear, he loved his job, meeting so many people it was to him the next best thing to going to a night club, eventually, Carol appeared with Anne, “Hi Tom, thank you for a lovely evening” stated Carol, at this point Tom looked at her in a strange fashion “A Lovely evening?” he replied, Carol went red in the face with embarrassment “You know what I mean” she replied, Tom handed Carol and Anne`s footwear and he replied “It`s a damn good job I understand what you mean Carol” with a cheeky smile. Allan, who is Tom`s boss came over to see him “A great night`s work again I see Tom” as Tom placed the final pair of ice-skates away he glanced at Allan “Yeah it seemed more busy than usual tonight” pulling the grid down to close off the cubicle Allan said “You`re working hard Tom, and it`s not going unnoticed my lad”, as Tom locked up he thanked for his boss for the kind words. The following morning Tom rose and collected his dance gear and headed to the local community center again, bag full of LP`s off he went, it was great to have the center to himself and eventually the music pounded out the speakers and Tom got down to his usual dance routines, as the music faded out and he went to change the LP over there was a loud knocking from the main entrance door. Tom, now all in his laced dancewear headed to the door, slowly opening it, he noticed Carol was there “Hey You” said Tom, as he opened the door wider he also spotted Anne, “Well what do I expect from this visit girls” asked Tom as Carol and Anne walked in, Carol mentioned to Anne about Tom`s dancing and she was quite intrigued and want to see what all the fuss was about, so the girls took a seat and watched whilst Tom started his dance routine once more. Time was now getting on and Tom had finished what he was doing for the day, and they all eventually left the building, Tom locking up as he always did, then collecting his back and LP`s stated to Carol that he had to get off, just before leaving Carol pulled Tom aside “Just a heads up, the reason why we came was that Anne like`s you, and I mean like`s you Tom” suddenly everything went quiet and Tom could feel himself blushing “Ok Carol thank you for that” and slowly he backed off and headed home. Days later, there was a gentle knock on his front door, as he approached and opened the door he came across Anne “Hello Tom” Anne said, Tom now leaning out of his door and looking for Carol, as he stepped back he asked Anne “Where`s Carol today?” at that point Tom could see Anne now going red in the face “Erm, I`m not sure really” replied Anne, so instead of being rude Tom asked Anne if she would come in “Yes Please” came a quiet reply. After a few hours Tom and Anne seemed to hit it off quite well, getting to know each other a bit better and their friendship was growing stronger, at this point Anne stated that she had to go, as she was meeting her mum in town, as they slowly walked towards Tom`s front door and opening it, he leaned over and gently kissed Anne on the cheek, and she also did the same thing back to Tom, for once in his life he had never felt this way about any girl until now. As time went on, Tom was occasionally invited for tea around at Anne`s place so that he could meet her parents, but as ever Tom was the nervous kind and never wanted to speak out of turn or really say anything stupid that would back fire on him, and from what he could witness her parents were slowly taking to him, which he thought was a bonus as getting on with any girls family is a task in itself, get that far and you cracked it, Tom always thought of it as an initiation test, if dad-approved you`re in there. Tom and Anne`s relationship was blossoming and things were going from strength to strength, yet at the age Anne was coming on 17 he didn`t want to rush things as she was at that young tender age when one evening after Tom had visited Anne, he could sense something wasn`t right “Is everything ok Anne?” he asked in a nervous voice as they stood at her front door saying their goodbyes for the evening Anne started crying “Hey What`s up Anne what`s with all the tears?” Tom asked in a gentle way, then came the sucker-punch as she leaned into him and resting her head on his shoulder, she explained they had to move, as her dad had been promoted and they wanted him closer to his workplace. This news devastated Tom, his whole world now falling part, finally finding someone he felt he could trust and love was now slowly slipping away, and the matter of it all Tom could do nothing about it, “Where are you moving too?” asked Tom in a wobbly tone of voice and now the tears started welling up in his eyes, as Anne explained it was like having a knife plunged into his heart. Months had gone by, and Tom occasionally walked passed Anne`s old house and trying to draw back the memories of what they had together, he was now starting to realize that life was such a cruel evil game, yet what could he do, he had no idea where Anne had moved too so the point of trying to trace her was pointless, even though his heart wanted her so much, he wanted to be that knight in shining armor to find her and rekindle their love that was gone. It had been 4 years now since he last saw Anne, yet he never forgot her, he knew she was the only love of his life and no matter how many lovers he had, even if he cared for each oth them Anne was always there a distant dream, and yet dreams never came true for Tom, his life his world was in tatters. On Tom`s 24 th Birthday he arranged a night out at a night club after work, he managed to get free tickets, so as it was coming to Christmas time and he was working on the spotlights on the ice-rick Christmas panto which he did love doing as Tom loved Christmas and the spirit of things, the pantomime had finished all the friends who were working also on the spotlights all headed down to the bar ready for the evening. Allan again came over to Tom “You never let me down boy, that`s why our business is flourishing, and it`s all thanks to your hard work” then suddenly out of the blue his boss handed him an envelope “Open it later boy” and smiled as he walked away, “Tom” are you ready buddy” came a shout from the bar, Tom looked over stuck his hand in the air to acknowledge whoever was shouting, and eventually Tom and his friends left the ice-rink and headed out to town. It was a brilliant evening, the drinks flowing, the laughter in the air, everything good, until a certain song came over the speakers a song that reminded Tom of Anne, he stood there looking at all the people on the dancefloor enjoying themselves, a small tear welled up in his eye`s, but he knew he had to move on, his dream had gone and nothing would ever fill that lonely gap in his heart again. Tom could hear his friends shouting him back to were they seated, as he walked over he eventually put a brave face and rejoined his friends and as he was facing them and enjoying the banter that was going on, he suddenly felt a gentle tap on his shoulder, as he turned he noticed it was Carol “Hey Carol, how`s you?” she flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek “Happy Birthday Tom” as they drew back Carol asked if he had heard anything from Anne “No….Not a thing” he replied and lowering his head, Carol raised her hand and placed it under his chin and raising his head, Carol could see how devastated he was and how much he was in love with Anne. But she knew no matter what she would say would stop his pain, she could see he was a broken man yet always thinking of other`s before himself and always putting on such a brave face, “Tom……I have someone I would like you too meet” said Carol, suddenly Tom grabbed Carol's hand gentle and replied “No, Carol…..I know you mean well and always been there for me, but I`m really not interested in anyone else” Carol grabbed his hand and said, “Tom, please come with me and trust me”. He stopped in his tracks “Carol, I really don`t want to do this” Carol this time grabbed both of his hand and said “If you don`t come with me Tom, I`ll guarantee you`ll regret this” so just to keep face and keep Carol happy in her little games he followed her, they both fought through the crowds of people standing around the dancefloor and heading to where Carol was seated with her friends, they were sat in a circled cubicle when they arrived Carol said to her friends “Everyone I want you to meet my best friend Tom, and it`s his birthday today” all Carols friends cheered and the odd one came over and kissed him When again he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder, as she turned slowly his knees almost gave way he almost fell flat on his backside, he was now in the state of shock, as before he stood the most beautiful young lady he`d ever seen in his life, as he turned to look at Carol she raised her glass to him and said “Happy Birthday Tom…….You deserve this” Stood toe to toe gazing into each other`s eyes, was the last person Tom thought he would never ever see again…..It was his Anne, the tears slowly trickling down her cheeks she slowly put her arms around his neck and said “I thought I`d lost you forever” Tom gently kissed her lips and then whispered in her ear, “I`ve never stopped hoping and I`ve never stopped loving you”


Rambo, a wild-eyed kid in his late twenties stands facing the horizon. To his left stands a stern-faced fifty-year-old named Octavius, still donning his signature jet black hair even in his advanced age. Both dapper in their fitting, yet nondescript suits, they are smoking cigarettes, looking out at the sunrise. Octavius, just because he’s trying to keep the time. Rambo, because he is genuinely in awe.

"You know, I'm as atheist as fuck,” Rambo says, “but it's shit like this that makes me believe maybe there is a god. Like he painted this shit just for me."

"Sounds like a bunch of bullshit,” Octavius complains his mind still occupied by staying on schedule.

“Well, what else could it be? How does somethin’ that beautiful happen by accident?” Rambo says pointing to the sky as if it could speak and testify on his behalf. "Years of evolution,” Octavius just says. “It probably has somethin’ to do with fuckin’. Everything does.”

“Where do you get this shit?" Rambo laughs, putting out his cigarette. “Books,” Octavius cocks his gun. "it's a good thing, you young bucks should try it and stay off that damned Netflix."

They both get in the car. A small, unassuming Ford. Any nobody could be driving it. Octavius takes the wheel. Rambo at his side, they drive off. "Ok, what's the job today?" says Octavius, already getting down to business. "Some woman in the upper east side," says the younger one, showing a photo of a Brunette in scrubs. "This is her picture."

Rambo catches himself looking at the woman a little too long. Octavius continues driving. But notices in his periphery. At first, he says it with a smile, "Don't think about it."

"About what?" "About catchin' feels for the target. I know how that ends."

"Really. how does it end?"

"With one of us looking up soulfully at the moon and the other in a body bag."

He snatches the picture from Rambo, serious now. "For real. I thought this would go without saying, but love and contract killin’ don't mix."

"What? I'm in love now? I was just staring at the picture a little while. Wanted to make sure I got the face right."

"Sure,"

"What? You don't believe me?"

"Fine," Octavius says, "let's do a walk thru." "She's a part time nurse working her way through school. likes Thai food, poetry, and old Star Trek reruns. Smart as fuck. Been on the dean's list every year. But she’s coming off a bad divorce."

"On the rebound, that means her poonanny is ripe for the picking huh?"

Rambo gives a disapproving look. "Sorry,” Octavius laughs. “go ahead tell me what's her schedule like."

This question gives Rambo pause. "Why I gotta tell you her schedule? The fuck that gotta do with anything?"

"Because it's important so we can know the optimal time to kill her ass. You know? Less witnesses, know the location, maybe there's a pizzeria nearby. I get hungry after a kill."

Rambo continues reluctantly, "She’s pretty busy. She has class Mondays through Thursdays. Works. double shift on Fridays and Saturdays but has every other Saturday off so she can--" And that's the moment. Rambo hesitates for just a split second and Octavius knows. The elder shakes his head with a knowing smile.

"Come on, Rambo, don't leave the world in suspense. So she can what?"

Realizing defeat, Rambo admits, "So she can be with her son on visitation days."

Octavius wraps the steering column in victory, "Badda bingo!"

They're nearing their destination.

"Look," he goes on, "we can't kill her at a school or a hospital. There are cops all over the place. If we get her, we get her at her home and yes there's a possibility her son will find her dead body in the living room. There'll be blood everywhere, a violin playin like somethin' out of a Disney movie." He turns to Rambo with serious eyes, "If she doesn't die, she testifies against the boss and he’s goin’ down and both you and me are gonna start getting fitted for pine boxes so I gotta know if you're gonna freeze because frankly I don't give a shit about you but I'm kind of fond of my ass." “So I gotta know,” Octavius concludes, raising those black eyebrows inquisitively, “Is this gonna be a problem?” …. BANG!

Rambo pulls the trigger and the bullet flies from the chamber on a predetermined path unable to be pulled back in. He watches as the ball of metal rips right through the young girl's cranium, tearing away flesh and turning a once walking, breathing human being into a lifeless clump on the floor.

Octavius looks on, impressed.

"Now, was that so hard?"

He goes toward the kitchen as if he didn’t just witness a woman being murdered.

"I wonder if this broad keeps beer in the house."

Octavius's words are mere echoes in the background. Rambo hangs over his victim. Her eyes frozen on the final frame of her life -- pure terror written in her pupils. Rambo remembers his mother, finding her dead and what that did to him. How he burned to find the man who did it. How a younger Octavius helped him exact revenge. Now, he finds himself squarely on the other side of that equation.

He looks toward the kitchen with pleading eyes as if Octavius has a magic wand to turn back the clock of time -- as if there is a solution to this dilemma of the soul. But Octavius merely strolls in slurping on a bottle of vodka. "I'm impressed," he says, "this broad knows how to drink."

But right before reaching the living room, he pauses, slightly taken aback. Rambo panics, realizing that his mentor has seen the worry in his eyes. A look, Rambo knows, that doesn't belong in the eyes of a contract killer. But soon Rambo realizes Octavius is not looking him but over his shoulder.

"What did I tell you?" Octavius smiles as Rambo hears sobbing.

He looks over his shoulder to see a young brown-haired boy hanging over his mother's dead body, crying.

"Just like Bambi,” the cold-hearted Octavius beams.

"Oh well," he goes over and pats the young boy on the head, "guess we gotta clean up." He aims his gun at the boy's head. There's no hesitation. He pulls back the trigger.

"Wait!" yells Rambo. Octavius rolls his eyes, realizing that Rambo has interrupted him again.

"What now?"

"Nothing," Rambo says coldly. "I want to be the one to do it."

Octavius is getting impatient.

"You sure about this?"

His resolve is steadfast, "Never been more sure in my life."

"Fine," Octavio says. "be my guest."

Rambo knows the road it leads to, but still he aims the gun and fires. It rips through the heart and blood explodes everywhere. When the dust has settled, Octavius lays on the ground clinging for life.

"You ungrateful son of a bitch!" Rambo finishes him off with a killshot through the head.

"Come with me," says to the boy.

His tone is decisive but in truth he has no idea what he will do.

....

As they ride to an unknown destination, vast roads in front of them silence pervades the entire trip. Droplets of sweat are forming all over Rambo's body. Finally, from boredom, the child asks the obvious question, "Where are you taking me?"

Rambo gives the obvious answer, "I don't know."

The child wrinkles his brow as much a child can wrinkle it and then asks the main question on his mind, "Did that other man kill my mother?"

Lying is in a contract killer's nature. It comes natural to them, but there is something about coming face to face with your past that shatters a man.

Rambo approximates the truth with, "He was sent by another man to kill your mother."

"Who is he?" the boy asks. "Jules Espicito," Rambo confesses, because it feels good telling a full truth to the boy once and for all. But then Rambo realizes the boy is stirring. He is thinking and Rambo knows how this ends. The boy looks at Rambo's gun and says the words he himself said long ago, "Can we kill him?" Rambo remembers this: the insatiable lust for vengeance. Key word insatiable.

"Well," Rambo says to the boy, "why would you wanna do that?"

"He killed my mom," the boy says and in that instant Rambo knows what he must do.

"We'll kill him together," he says.

The rest of the trip is a fog. They arrive at midnight and are in the middle of what might as well be nowhere. He walks the kid to a lake. "Are you sure he's here?" the boy says.

"The person who killed your mother is here, yes," Rambo says, going into his pocket for the gun.

Killing the kid, after all, is for the best. He knows the road of vengeance, after all. It's a very long road. A road that leads to nowhere and goes on forever, growing with each kill. He reaches for the gun before realizing it's not there.

At that point, all he can do is stand there and laugh in this Eureka kind of moment and say, "Kid's smart like his mom."

The bullet blasts through Rambo's brain and his body plops to the ground. The boy, holding the gun, looks down at the clump of flesh. The satisfaction lasts for an instant. He looks at the moon reflecting off the lake and loves what he sees. He sees the next kill. He sees Esposito.

One more , he tells himself. Just one more.


Reflection, a time to look back on a year that was filled with so many amazing moments and moments that weren't amazing. A time to move foreword, to look to a New Year for new beginnings. My name is Jaylen, 2022 for me was a year filled with so many ups and downs. Now as I sit here in my apartment looking out of the window watching the world get ready for the New Year, I look back on the year that was and get ready for the year to come. The year began like any other year with a big party, lots of good food, lots of drinking and lots of dancing. It was an amazing time. I never had so much fun in my life. But then as I started to begin my life in the New Year, I get the worst possible news. My beloved Granny passed away. I was stunned. I was heartbroken. I cried for days. I shut everyone out including my best friend Chase. My Gran was my world. She raised me to be the woman I am. She taught me about responsibility and working hard. She always use to tell me to follow my dreams and to never give up on my dreams. My fondest memory of my Gran was during the holiday season. We were always in the kitchen baking cakes and cookies. Gran was one special woman. I miss her so much. After Gran passed away, I gave up on my dreams of becoming a photo journalist. I couldn't do it anymore, not without Gran. She gave me my first camera and ever since then my love for taking pictures took off. You will always see me with a camera in my hands. During the next couple of months since My Gran's passing Chase has been coming to my apartment to check up on me, to bring me food and just talking to me. Chase was Gran's favorite person other than me. Me and Chase talked about the many things we did together as kids. We laughed at the many crazy things we did together. Me and Chase live in the same apartment building. He lives two floors up from me but we haven't spent as much time together. Since Gran passed, I've been seeing Chase a lot. I don't blame Chase for not hanging out with me. He has a busy life. I guess my depression brought Chase back to me. When spring arrived Chase came to see me. He told me it's time to get out of my depression and start doing what I love to do, taking pictures. I knew Chase was right. My depression was getting the best of me. I didn't know how to cope without Gran and that's what I told Chase. Chase grabbed me by the hand and told me "I'm here for you Jaylen. You still got me." For the first time in a long time, I smiled. I smiled because Chase never gave up on me. On a beautiful Saturday afternoon Chase came and took me and my camera to the park. At first I didn't want to go but Chase encouraged me and I took the first step to a normal life. You know what Chase was right. We got to the park. I saw the many happy smiling people. Chase handed me my camera. I took it and took my first picture in a long time. I cried not because of Gran but for me missing out on what I love to do. Chase came to me and hugged me. He told me everything is going to be alright and it's not too late to continue to follow my dreams, that's what I did. My camera and of course Chase became my two best friends. I began to take pictures of my neighborhood, the people and of Chase. My portfolio began to grow. I showed Chase my portfolio. He was happy and excited to see my work. He loved the pictures I took including those of himself. He asked me what my next steps were. I told him I sent my pictures to a few magazines including Time and People. My life was looking up all thanks to Chase. He never gave up on me and he taught me not to give up on myself just like Gran did. By the summer I received an email from People Magazine saying they love my work and want to see me in person for an interview. I looked up at the sky and said Gran, I did it. Next, I went to see Chase and told him the good news. Chase was happy for me, that night he took me out to dinner and helped me prepare for my interview. Chase gave me pointers on how to talk and how to act. I took it all in. The day of my interview came. I was extremely nervous. I really wanted the job. I called Chase, he told me not to worry and to believe in myself. I knew with Chase by side this job would be mine. I put on my best clothes and left for the interview. You know what happened next. They loved me and my work. I got the job. I couldn't believe how well I was doing. 2022 started off bad but now I'm on top of the world. I still miss Gran but I have Chase with me. I called Chase the moment I got out of my interview. He was proud of me. I got my dream job. Fall arrived and with that came Halloween. I was going to spend Halloween by myself instead Chase invited me to his friend's party. I went as a modern-day version of Cinderella. Chase went as something scary. He picked me up from my apartment and together we went to the party. I had the time of my life. Being with Chase has opened me up to the possibility of love, something I never felt before. Chase has opened up my heart. Me and Gran always use to spend Thanksgiving together, now I had no one to spend Thanksgiving with. Then Chase came and invited me to spend Thanksgiving with him and his family. I jumped at the chance to go. We went back to the old neighborhood which brought back a lot of memories of me and Gran. Chase's family was amazing. I relayed missed his sister Lucy and his mother's cooking was so delicious. I laughed at every one of his dad's jokes. I loved this Thanksgiving but Gran not being here was making me sad. Chase came to me and hugged me. Being in his arms took away the pain of missing Gran. Thanksgiving was over and the Holidays were upon us. Me and Chase helped each other out in the decoration department. By the time we were done both our apartments looked like Christmas. Now I had to get Chase a present. I couldn't find anything I liked for Chase. So, I decided to make Chase a photo album of this past year we spent together. When I finished the photo album it looked beautiful. I pray that Chase would love it. Chase once again invited me to his parent's house for Christmas. I was excited to go. Christmas Eve came and like clock work Chase came to pick me up. We arrived at his parent's house just in time for dinner. Dinner was amazing, the company was great. When it was time to open presents, I gave Chase mine first. He opened it and just as I hoped he would Chase liked my present. I opened his present next. Chase gave me a charm bracelet. I loved it. The next day, Christmas Day Chase took me to the cemetery to visit Gran. I brought Gran's favorite flower Camellia. I placed them on her grave. I sat down in front of Gran's grave and began to talk to Gran. I told Gran everything that's been happening to me. I tell her Chase is in my life and he's been inspiring me to do incredible things. Last thing I tell Gran is that I miss her and I love her. Then me and Chase left the cemetery holding hands. Christmas is over and here we are New Year's Eve. A lot has happened to me this past year from Gran's passing to Chase coming back into my life to getting my dream job. 2022 was a rollercoaster ride. To make 2023 even more special, there is one thing I have been wishing for and that is a kiss from my prince when the clock strikes twelve. I go to my room and put on my best clothes, a little make-up and fix my hair. I look at myself in the mirror. Jaylen, you look beautiful. I check the time. Oh My God! It's almost twelve. I leave my apartment and walk to the elevator. I push the button and wait for the elevator to come down. Two minutes later the elevator doors open. I enter and push the button for the 7th floor. I check the time, it's 11:53 seven minutes until the New Year. The elevator door opens. I walk to Chase's apartment. The music is still playing. I walk to the apartment door, open it and walk in. Chase is standing by the window. I check the time, it's 11:56 four minutes to midnight. I'm getting nervous. Jaylen, you can do this. I walk to Chase. He sees me and begins to walk towards me. "Jaylen, you look beautiful." 'Thanks. You look handsome." It's mere seconds until midnight. Chase grabs my hand. We begin the count down 10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1, Chase kisses me. I kiss him back. "Happy New Year Jaylen." "Happy New Year Chase." Me and Chase kiss once more


The first sign of trouble was the outbreak of the virus in Venice. It had come in on a cruise ship a week into July and spread faster than the speed boats on the Grand Canal. By the end of the second week, the doctors at the Servizio Sanitario Nazionale had announced an estimated death rate of over 85%. By the end of the third week, we were under lockdown. Worse than ebola, tuberculosis, or smallpox was this Grim Reaper in the shape of a microscopic parasite. By week five, the virus had spread as far south as Rome. The Italians called it Signor Morte –Mister Death .

           Nothing was working. After two weeks of spottiness, the WIFI had crapped out. Cell service and phone lines had gone down two days later. The grocery stores had stopped delivering and I was living on stores of dried beans, rice, and pasta, but as long as I had water, I could manage. Neil Gaiman had said, “If we were not islands, we would be lost, drowned in each other's tragedies.”

Signor Morte had made this astonishingly clear. We all exist on our own little islands, even though our islands may sit side-by-side on the same little street. ~|~ Giorgia had not messaged me in days. She had sent me a text–just a quick Buongiorno but the cell service had collapsed before I could reply.            Rolling onto my side, I curled into a ball. A mewling, scratching angry creature was growing inside me and with each passing day, it was worse.

I felt a tear slip down my cheek. She had begged me to move in with her, but I had said no. I had come to Sicily to focus on writing. The creature inside me got angrier, every time I considered my choice.

“Back off,” I said to the creature. “What else could I have done?” I had come to this tiny village, Circello , to finish my novel–time without work, and without Nonna and Nonno pushing me to marry some nice Italian boy. No, I had not come to Sicily to fall in love. “It’s not love,” I insisted, but the creature simply sniggered. ~|~ Morning. That was the time when water was pumped into roof-top tanks from the street, but not that morning. The pump was silent. I had 500 litres in reserve on the roof. Not enough.

~|~            It had been a week since the water had been pumped to the rooftop tank, but the last drips had fallen from the tap and I knew that I had to decide. Should I stay? Without water, I’d be dead in three days. Do I go out? If I went out, I would come up against Signor Morte . How long would I last? One way or the other, death was standing watching me.            And there was that thing; that one other thing that had been in my mind as I tried to decide what to do. What had happened to Giorgia?

~|~            With a scarf around my mouth and nose, I stood for a moment, palm flat against the door. After weeks and weeks inside living with the spectre of Signor Morte , the door felt odd against my hand–heavy and unreasonable. My chest tightened and hot pinpricks of fear spread up my neck and across my face.

“Maybe I should stay?” The angry creature rose up and shrieked.

“Okay, okay. I’m going,” I told the creature.

Shouldering my rucksack, I opened the door into the first fresh air I had breathed in 56 days. I gagged. The sick, sweet, cloying smell of putrefaction was thick. I could feel it on my skin. The smell coated the inside of my nose, my mouth, and my throat. Tears ran down my cheeks, partly from the stench, but more from the knowledge of what was behind the foul smell. It was silent. Eerie. I had to get away from the silence–to hear my own footsteps. By the time I reached Via Arcuri , I was sprinting. I skidded around the corner.

I pressed my hand against my mouth to keep from vomiting. Even with the scarf, the smell was horrific. Clouds of flies swarmed the piazza and beneath them, hundreds–no thousands of half-eaten bird carcasses.

I had to get out. Now. The creature inside was screaming, fighting. Running from the piazza , with no idea where I was going, I ran as much to get away from her as from the carnage behind me. Running blind; I was sobbing, gasping for breath. At the stone steps going down to the path and out through the olive orchard, I tripped and tumbled, hitting every flagstone on the way down. Amidst the dust, I lay wheezing, catching my breath. Where should I go? But I knew. It was Giorgia. I had to find her. Bile burned my throat as I stood up. The olive trees were swaying. Everything was swaying, but it wasn’t the trees, it was me.

“One foot after the other,” I whispered while the creature inside me sniggered. ~|~            The August heat had returned. The sky was brilliant–blue and cloudless. The sun baked my head and my shirt clung to my back. As I walked along the country road, dust carried in on the African scirocco coloured my legs a chalky orange. In the distance, the silence was broken only by the occasional barking of a feral dog skipped over by Signor Morte .

           It struck me that the only living animals I had seen were predators–dogs, cats, foxes, and one hawk circling above. Everything else lay dead in the short, dry, yellowing grasses. What does that mean about us? I wondered. ~|~            I followed the backroad to Sant’Anastasia until I came to a pack of feral dogs tearing apart a sheep. Since Signor Morte , the feral dogs looked far less friendly and far more aggressive, so I cut through the fields and over the mountain.

           On the treeless mountain, each step had to be taken with care. Rocky outcroppings, bleached bone-white by the sun, held unknown dangers. Small outcroppings hid behind clumps of vegetation waiting to trip me–larger crags hung over me, sending small rocks tumbling down. I regretted not bringing a walking stick.            Before I was halfway up the mountain, the wind picked up and dark clouds started to skitter across the sky. The creature chuckled. The temperature had dropped from an exhausting heat to a chilling cold and the sky was a sinister black. Lightning shot forked fingers down from the clouds as I struggled against the wind to reach a cave up ahead            In an instant, my arms tingled, and the hairs stood on end. BOOM! A brilliant white light flashed, and I was filled with excruciating pain shooting down my arms and legs and through my torso. The creature howled in rage. Light surrounded me like a bubble. I could feel myself thrown backward, in slow motion. The creature chortled, “Now you’ve gone and done it,” and I was out cold. ~|~            Icy rain pelted down, waking me and I moved, groaning in agony, onto my hands and knees, and crawled the last 200 feet to the cave.

           Inside was large and dry. My arms were painful and heavy with tree-like scars–branches, leaves–running from my shoulder to my wrist. I had heard of this before. Lichtenberg figures. Marks left by lightning running through one’s body. My body.

Exhausted, I collapsed onto the ground, rucksack under my head, when I heard a low growl from the back of the cave. “Please,” I whispered, “This can’t be an inhabited cave.” I pulled a flashlight from my rucksack and peered into the back. The yellow eyes of a fox flashed; its teeth bared.

Too sore and exhausted to move, I said to the fox, “You stay there, I’ll stay here. Let’s just leave each other alone.” The fox’s growl grew into a snarl. Belly low to the ground, it began to creep toward me. I had nothing left for this, but the creature inside me did. Her rage bubbled over and pulsed through my body like the lightning and I, too, was enraged. How dare this fox threaten me! Without warning, the creature thrust me and my rage at the fox. I howled, diving so quickly, the fox didn’t have a chance to move. I clutched its head and smashed it down on the rocky floor, spreading its brains and blood all over my hands. Licking my fingers, the blood and brains tasted delicious. I tore into the flesh until all that was left were bones and fur. I crumbled to the ground and fell, dreamlessly, asleep. ~|~            My eyes opened to sunshine, a pounding headache, and a ravenous appetite. I gulped down a bottle of water, hoping it would help.            My eyes caught the pile of blood and bones and fur beside me. No. That couldn’t be real. But I knew it was, that I had been the one to kill and eat that fox. I stumbled out of the cave to my knees, waiting for the retching to start. It never did. As disgusting as eating raw fox was to me, the creature seemed satisfied. Grabbing my rucksack, I started up the mountain. If nothing else, I was going to make it to Giorgia today. ~|~ The sun had just passed the midpoint in the sky when I reached Sant’Anastasia. Silence, with the same dreadful odor of putrefaction. Flames of exhaustion licked my calves and burned my feet. In spite of the stench, I had to stop. My thirst was raging. Ah, grazie Dio ! Before me was Bar Roma. A metal chair lay on its side in front of the bar. Could I do it? A lifetime of conditioning said no. My exhausted legs and thirst said yes. I smashed in the window.            The inside was oppressive, but there were no surprises, no bodies. The bar was fully stocked. Even the water flowed from the tap. I ducked down and let the water run into my open mouth. Miraculous. I drank until my stomach gurgled until the creature was submerged, at least for the moment. A padded bench called to me and I stretched out to give my feet and legs a rest.

~|~            “Stella!” Sure as life, I heard someone call my name. I sat up and listened. It was Giorgia.

           “Stella!”            “Giorgia! Where are you?” I ran to the door, the sun blinding me. Outside on the sycamore-lined sidewalk, I couldn’t see her. “Stella!” Trotting along the sidewalk, I looked down each of the side streets. Ahead, a figure turned the corner. It was Giorgia, but before I could call out, a dark shadow rose up behind her. It was huge, black, and ominous. From behind her flew an enormous hawk. Giorgia looked over her shoulder, shrieked, ran and the hawk gave chase. Larger and larger it grew. Giorgia’s face stayed in shadow, but the hawk, now huge with a massive wingspan, was absolutely clear. Soft feathers lay in brown and white stripes over breast muscles so strong that every time it flapped its wings, I could see the feathers ripple with the movement of the muscles beneath. Blood orange eyes were trained on Giorgia and with a loud kee-eeeee-arr , it changed its trajectory, pointing sharply down. The creature wailed back in answer. The dark shadow had now spread over Sant’Anastasia , and huge, black storm clouds rolled in. Sprinting, I tried to make it to Giorgia before the hawk could. Head down, Giorgia dashed toward me.

           “This way! Giorgia, over here!” I screamed. Her legs pistoned up and down. She was close enough I could hear her gasping. The hawk’s talons were now out, ready to clutch at Giorgia’s back, pick her up, and carry her away.            “Giorgia, take my hand!” Head still down, she reached out as she ran toward me. I grasped her wrist and pulled her sideways down a narrow alley–too narrow for the hawk, now the size of a small plane. We tumbled over and over. When we rolled to a stop, I grasped at Giorgia’s shoulders and tried to roll her over onto her back, but she fought me. Above us, the hawk screamed. Kee-eeeee-arr !            “Giorgia, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” The creature was now fighting to get free. “Giorgia?” I whispered. But instead of Giorgia’s melodic Italian accent, I heard a harsh canine growl.

“Giorgia, please.” Once again, I took her shoulders. This time she didn’t resist, but her face stayed hidden. Gently, I place my hand on her cheek and turned her to me. I scrambled back, hitting the stone wall of the building at the back of the alleyway. What horror had happened to her? Her eyes were torn bloody sockets. Her beautiful soft olive skin was purple and rotting. Flesh had peeled away, and I could see broken teeth through holes in her cheeks.

“Oh my god, Giorgia, what happened? Who did this to you?” With a low guttural predatory sound, Giorgia leapt at me. I rolled away harder than I had intended and banged my head against the wall. ~|~            I sat up with a start. Still in Bar Roma, I was on the floor. Giorgia was nowhere to be seen, and the sun was streaming in the broken window.

           “It was just a dream?” I whispered, staggering to my feet. From the angle of the sun, I couldn’t have been asleep for much more than an hour.

           The creature whispered, “She’s in trouble. She could die.”            Yes, she could die. I grabbed my rucksack and left the bar. ~|~            It was an easier walk to Burgio than it had been to Sant’Anastasia. Giorgia’s house was on the outskirts, just across the fields from the Capuchin Monastery. I ran past the prickly-pear and the almond and fig trees, until I came to her ancient wooden door, painted bright blue against the pink-ish stone and the terracotta roof tiles.

           The creature inside me purred. This was where I belonged. My home was in Giorgia’s arms and she had to know I’d finally realized it. After all I had been through, to realize what I should have understood all along; I did not want a life without her.            I pushed on the door.

           “Giorgia? Are you there?” “Giorgia?” I called again, a little louder.            From upstairs there was the squeaking of bedsprings and the padding of feet across the floor.            “Stella? Oh, mio Dio ! Is that really you?” It was Giorgia. My knees nearly buckled in relief.            “Giorgia, I’m downstairs.”            Instead of the sound of footsteps, I heard nothing.            “Giorgia? Aren’t you coming down?”            “Stella…I don’t look like you remember me.”            “What do you mean? I don’t care!”            “Really, Stella, you have to prepare yourself.”            “Giorgia, please.”            Giorgia came down and stepped into the light. I stumbled backward, landing on the granite floor. Her right eye was gone, and, as in my dream, her face was purple and rotting. One nostril was a loose flap of skin, and her flesh had peeled away in parts with broken teeth jutting through. She reached out a hand. The beautiful long fingers that I used to love to watch as she played guitar were twisted and two were missing.

           “My beautiful Giorgia. What happened?” I whimpered.            “Oh Stella, don’t you know? It’s the virus. It was on the news before the power went out. It has two stages. The first is the sickness. If it kills you, you’re dead, but if you’re infected and something else kills you, the virus somehow brings you back to life. But this,” she gestured to her face, “this is what happens. Lesions, rotting flesh, symptoms like leprosy. No one knows why. And it changes your brain chemistry. I can’t eat anything but raw flesh anymore. Everything else tastes so bitter I can’t stomach it.”            “But Giorgia, is there no treatment? Can’t you get help?”            “Stella, there’s no one left to help.”            “Wait, does this mean…you died?”            Giorgia nodded. “Two days ago, I was firing the gas kiln and there was an explosion. It threw me across the room. When I woke up, my eye was gone and my nose was, well, like this.”            “Oh, my poor Giorgia.”            “What about you, Stella. How did you die?”            I frowned, confused. “What do you mean? I didn’t die.”            “Oh Stella, my darling girl.” Giorgia took a mirror from the table. “Here.” She handed me the mirror.            The creature snarled. “No, I don’t want to look.” I tried to hand the mirror back to Giorgia. She pushed it back.

           “Look, Stella.”            The creature twisted and writhed inside me. “No. No! I won’t look.”            “Stella,” Giorgia held my face in her mutilated fingers. “Stella.”            Slowly, I lifted the mirror and peered at my face stunned. It was hideous. The angry red Lichtenberg figures that ran down my arm, were also across my cheeks. My lips had turned black and purple and when I touched them, the skin sloughed off. I shook the rotting skin from my fingers, sickened.            “Stella, it’s okay. We’re together now.”            “It was the lightning. I was struck by lightning on the mountain last night. But I didn’t have the virus. How can this be happening?”            “Did you ever have the feeling like you had something alive in your belly? I did, for weeks. I thought it was stress, but it’s the symptom that comes when none of the others do.”            “So, my flesh will just drop off me? And then I’ll die?”            “ Mia gioia , I’m not sure we ever will.”


He felt the bullets' impact, but there was no pain at first. Just a horrible sense of intrusion - those foreign things fused with his flesh in a way that just felt wrong . He ignored it and ran, taking random turns, hoping to lose the gunmen in the maze of the lab complex. It wasn't him they wanted. Not really. He and his colleagues were just in the way. When he could run no further, he took refuge in a storage closet. For a few hopeful moments, he thought he might just live after all, but the slow, measured steps approaching and stopping at the door of the closet told him otherwise. The door opened and he had only an instant to register the impassive gaze, and the leveled weapon before...            Jon surged into wakefulness, panting and shaking with the adrenaline rush. Third time in two weeks, and he was more than a little sick of it. He shoved the sheets aside and got out of bed, only because the pall of dread was still hanging over him and he needed to move, to defy it. Damned if he'd hide under the covers like a scared kid. He paced the house for five minutes, and then went back to get what little sleep was left to him before morning.            He still couldn't figure out what was triggering the nightmares. Sure, the stuff he worked with had some weaponization potential, and the facility had some fairly hefty security, but he'd been there for five years without a single incident, and never really thought beyond the problems inherent in his research. Maybe a pattern in the data that he was picking up on subconsciously was trying to get his attention.            He rose a little early, and stopped to grab a cup of coffee on the way to the ferry landing. Yesterday's rain had cleared, leaving a watery sunlight, and a fresh breeze off the water. Jon leaned on the railing, watching a crowd of gulls begging bits of donut and croissant from the tourists.            "It's almost like a dream, isn't it?"            Startled, Jon turned to look at the girl leaning on the rail beside him. He'd been so preoccupied that he hadn't noticed her arrival.            "Hm?" he said.            Her vague gesture took in everything—the weather, the rising mist, the gulls—and  she smiled up at him. She looked like a refugee from Woodstock, about nineteen and slender, her long, straight hair stirring in the breeze off the harbor.            "You know. All this. It's such a beautiful day. Just like a dream."            He couldn't help smiling back at her. "Yeah, I suppose it is."            "Do you know what I'd do?" She pulled her rainbow colored shawl closer around her shoulders.            "What's that?" he asked, obliging her, because even if she was a little young, a guy couldn't help playing along with a girl who looked like that.            She looked up at him, meeting his gaze with another of her sunlit smiles. "I'd take the day off. The whole day. Drive along the coast. Walk on the beach. Eat lunch in some little café you've never been in before. Watch the sunset from a cliff. I'd just take the whole day, and not come back until it's all over."            "Until what's all over?"            "The day, silly. The whole day." She shook her head. "Were you even listening?"            "Sure I was." He looked out idly over the water. The ferry had come into view but it would be ten minutes yet. "I heard every word. It sounds fantastic. But I have to go to work."            She made a face. "I'll bet you work way too hard. I'll just bet you have like a month’s vacation days you've never used."            "Busted."            "So take one. I dare you! You won't though, because you're all establishment, through and through."            "Hey!" Jon protested. "My grandparents were at Woodstock. My dad was conceived at Woodstock."            "So take the day off." Her eyes challenged him.            He shook his head, chuckling.            "I'm older than I look, you know," she announced.            "What?"            "That's what you were thinking. What does a kid like me know about responsibility? Well, I have a lot of responsibilities."            Now it was his turn to be challenging. "Yeah? Like what? You can't be older than nineteen."            She nudged him playfully. "Right now I'm responsible for getting you to take the day off. Come on. Buy me breakfast." She rolled her eyes at his expression. "You heard me, right? Because I said, 'Buy me breakfast,' not 'Have sex with me.' I'm harmless, I swear." She glanced out at the incoming ferry. "Come on. Say yes, right now. Don't think about it. Just say yes."            He looked down into her eyes, and for a moment, he felt dizzy. She looked up at him, still smiling. "You see? You know you want to."            "I don't even know your name."            "It's Gabrielle. And don't you dare call me Gabby. I hate nicknames. Come on. There's a great bakery just across the street."            He let her lead him away from the rail. She moved like a dancer. They bought coffee, and cream cheese Danish and ate them sitting on the beach. Jon felt a slight twinge of guilt when he called in to say that an emergency had arisen and he was taking a vacation day, but he put it out of his mind. A day off might be just what he needed to destress and get rid of the nightmares.            "Do you believe in fate?" Gabrielle asked, licking the last of the cream cheese off her fingers.            "You mean, like, what's going to happen happens, and we have no choice? Nah. We make our own fate."            She stood and walked to the edge of the water, where she kicked off her sandals to let the waves wash over her toes.            "We do have choices." She looked over her shoulder at him. "But I think, sometimes we need a little nudge in the right direction and maybe the universe provides that." She sighed and bent to pick up her sandals. "I have to go."            "What happened to taking the whole day off?"            Gabrielle smiled and shook her head. "You're the one taking a vacation day. You think you're my only job today? I have half a dozen more establishment types to corrupt before dinner."            He watched her walk back to the landing, and after a moment he followed. When he reached his car, he sat for a time without starting it. Then he got it running and turned it toward the coast road. His cell vibrated in his pocket. He turned it off and tossed it into the jockey box.            It wasn't until the sun had set and he'd turned his car back toward town that he thought again about Gabrielle's odd choice of words.

Don't come back until it's all over .            He pulled his cell from the jockey box and turned it on. Fifteen messages. He keyed up the first one.            "Jon? Where the hell are you, man? All hell's broken loose! There's… we don't know how many are dead, but Mark, and Janet and… They shot, like, everyone! For God's sake, call me when you get this!”


In a small town in Memphis, everything seemed strange, not like any other town. Though the people living there didn't really know why it was so different. Everything seemed just so perfect and everyone was happy. The Adams family had just arrived in this little town to see a concert of one of their favourite artists. The family had two boys named Jack and Liam, and their parents were Hailey and Ben. Something seemed off at the start because they came from Ottawa which was a big town but was hit by a horrible disease. From what they knew from the news there had yet to be a cure for the disease. Knowing that the townies where the Adams had moved in were constantly on edge, worried that they might get whatever weird sickness the Canadians had brought to their small town. First Jack became sick from the disease, he could barely speak, move or stay awake. Of course, the whole family was concerned, but they decided to leave him home while the rest of them went to the concert, thinking he had just come down with the flu or a cold and just needed a little bit more time to get back on his feet. By the time they arrived home, Jack was in horrible condition and they decided to take him to the hospital. Once they arrived, they were told him was too sick to go home immediately and must stay at the hospital. The rest of the family drove home to Ottawa because they could not afford the hotel room for very long. In Ottawa, they went up to their apartment, but Liam could barely make it up to the apartment showing clear signs of sickness, with the same symptoms as Jacks. It wasn’t soon after that Jack’s brother Liam got sent over to the hospital. Doctors still had no clue what the boys had and were scrambling to figure it out as Jack's condition got worse and worse. All the families on the block avoided the family as though they were the plague and in more ways then they'd like to admit they were. After à week or so of both the boys being sick, Jack died. It took a toll on the whole family and they mourned for à while. The most peculiar thing though was that the parents were still healthy as ever. As the weeks went on more kids disappeared from the streets and into different hospital beds, sick with whatever the Adams family had brought with them. Liam had passed away too and now just the parents were left hanging around, silently revelling in the misery. After about à month there was no laughter in their town. All adults mourned the loss of their children except one family. The parents to the Adams boys weren’t all that sad. They were happy. In less than 3 months they were moving again. But one morning a nosey old neighbour peered into the home of the now childless Adams and noticed an odd sight. Two ancient women hunched over à boiling pot making something with a rancid smell. The neighbour didn’t know it but these two old women were the Adams and they were boiling up the next disease for the kids in the neighbouring town. After all witches love the taste of children's bones. As the Adams are continuing to make the recipe, they laughed and laughed like they were so excited. The neighbours noticed that they were so happy making the soup. They wondered what it was. They could smell it from the outside and it smelled absolutely atrocious as they couldn’t really make decent food proven by the one neighbourhood potluck they had before all the children got sick. One neighbour, the husband, then went over wanting to have a conversation with the Adam’s, hoping that they would stop making their stupid soup as it stank up the whole neighbourhood with what smelled like a dead animal. The wife stayed home and hoping he would have some success but after the sun has went down, her husband never went back. She mourned, mourned and mourned. She was feeling so extremely upset by her husbands disappearance that something snapped within her. Losing her 3 children was terrible but now the loss of her husband had tipped her over the edge. She tried to gather more people to spy on and turn against the Adams with her but everyone was in so much despair they wouldn’t leave their houses. After a few days, the woman had worked up the courage to go into the Adams house and see if she could find anything suspicious about them. Before leaving she grabbed a kitchen knife to arm herself against anything that could happen while she was there. They were the ones responsible for her whole families death she knew it. Being as quiet as a mouse, she crept through the wooden door, avoiding the one loose floorboard she noticed and scurried to the room beside “the soup room”. She peered into the room and saw the same two women making their soup again. She stepped into the room and politely asked for the recipe a fake smile plastered on her face, hoping to get close enough and slit their throats for the pain they caused her. The two women glanced at each other, snapped their fingers in unison and the neighbour had this pounding urge to walk to the cauldron and dip her hand in the unpleasant mixture. The heat rose, and she removed her hand from the substance. Her fingers had melted off. the neighbour had absolutely no idea why she was doing these excruciating things to her body but she just kept torturing herself. Eventually, she emerged her whole body in the hot liquid, screaming in absolute agony as she felt her skin burning and het lungs breathing in more and more rancid air. She died  later that night. The souls of mourning people made the women stronger. This went on until there was no one left except the witches, cackling and chanting as they got ready for their next massacre.


I can't believe he's gone, Jolene thought as she sat down on the outside porch for her morning tea. Keith was the love of her life and in an instant that life was taken from her. They were together for six years. Sitting down for morning tea and talking about their future together was their favourite past time. As she sipped her warm chamomile tea she was thinking about their life together while a single tear was released from her eye. Jolene just couldn't believe how it happened. Keith was out of town for work. He worked in construction. He went wherever he was needed. He was staying in a cabin two hours outside of the city. There were four other men staying in the cabin with him. The story that Jolene heard from the other construction workers is that Keith was sleeping. Another worker put a pot of oil on the stove to cook some french fries and then went outside for a cigarette. The pot caught fire and the whole cabin went up so fast. They didn't have time to get back in the cabin to get Keith out. Keith was the only one caught in the fire. Jolene was so mad at the whole situation. Keith was just sleeping and he was the only one that lost his life. I'm never going to see him again, she thought. I'm never going to sleep next to him again. I'm never going to even have another fight with him. I'm never going to hear his voice again. "I never left you". "Huh", Jolene jumped. "Who's there?" Suddenly, a feeling of calm came over her. Her hand started to tingle. All of a sudden she had the over whelming feeling that Keith was with her in that moment. "Keith, is that you?" "Yes, my love! I have never left you. I never will." Jolene looked at the empty chair to her left. Slowly Keith's aura started to appear. He was smiling and holding her hand. "You are so beautiful, my love!" Jolene just started to sob. She wanted to hold him so close but she knew that she couldn't. "Honey, why did you leave me? I miss you so much, I have never felt this much pain before." "Oh Jolene," Keith exclaimed, "you know I didn't want to leave you. Things happen for a reason. I love you so, so much. You know that. I never would have left, if I had a choice." "I have been with you this entire time. I know you have been struggling and you have been in a lot of pain. That is why I am here. I have been granted this short time to appear to you, just this once, so you can have some closure." "No, Keith!" Jolene yelped. "Not short! Not once! Please stay." "You know I can't. Let's just sit here for a little while and enjoy each other's company. Like we used to. They continued to sit and talk for the next two hours talking about the life they had together. Keith was even able to get Jolene to laugh a few times. Jolene was enjoying the morning so much that she was starting to forget that Keith wasn't truly there with her, and that he was going to have to leave soon. After talking for two hours Keith realized that he was going to have to leave and he wanted to help her ease some of her pain. "Jolene, my love! Please know that I didn't suffer in those last moments!" Jolene let out an enormous sigh of relief. "That is one of the things that has had me so worried. I thought you went through so much pain when you died." "No, not at all. I didn't feel it at all. I was sleeping and just didn't wake up. It was just the smoke." "Well, I guess that's a little comforting to know at least." Jolene said. "What about now though? Are you in any pain?Are you at peace?" Keith smirked at her. "I told you I haven't left you, I meant that. To be with you everyday is the best thing ever. I am so happy. "I just wish I could be with you everyday." Jolene frowned. "I know you do, my love. But just remember, I'm always with you. When you are sitting out here drinking your chamomile tea every morning, I'm with you. Just look at this chair and you will know that I am sitting here with with you. You can talk to me. You might not hear my answers, but I will definitely hear what you say to me." "I will talk to you every day then." "You can talk to me about your good days and your bad days. Tell me funny stories that make you laugh. I love watching you laugh. You are so beautiful when you are just in the moment and laughing without a care in the world." "Jolene, um, when you're ready I don't want you to hesitate to move on either." "What do you mean? There is no one else for me." "Right now, maybe not, but I don't want you living a lonely life either. I know you won't be ready for a long time, but eventually, please think about finding someone else. Even just a friend for companionship. I don't want you to be all alone. That's not healthy for anyone." Jolene was feeling very uncomfortable and looking at the ground now. "I'll think about it." "That's all I ask. I think It's time that I go now, my love." Jolene's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Oh, okay. I love you so much, Keith." "I love you too. Forever and always." Keith stood to stand in front of Jolene. He bent down to give her a kiss on the lips. It didn't feel like a normal kiss though. She just felt a slight tingle on the tip of her lips. She will remember that feeling forever. When he stood he said "remember, I will always be with you," and with that, he was gone. Jolene took a few moments to cry and remember the last few hours. Once she composed herself she stood to bring her tea cup in the house, she had a smile on her face now. She couldn't wait for her morning tea tomorrow.