(Content warning for animal birth) When my husband left me, I felt like I was going to die. My heart ached so fiercely that I swore it would simply shatter into a million pieces within my chest.

The only small consolation I could take from my husband abandoning me was that he hadn’t left me for another person. He just left because he didn’t love me anymore and he didn’t like the life we had created. “I hate this place!” he had shouted at me over breakfast. He gestured aggressively out the open window to the rolling plains and sloping hills as far as the eye could see. I didn’t understand at that moment how he could hate a place so beautiful, so full of promise. “This place takes and takes and takes and we don’t get anything out of it, Rebecca! It’s a prison!” I stood up and pointed to the cows grazing peacefully in the pastures, and the birds chirping in the little apple tree in our front yard. “How can you say that?” I had asked him. “We have so much here.” Exasperated, he stormed out of the room before turning around to say one last thing. “That answer is exactly why I think I made a mistake in marrying you. You can’t see it! You don’t understand me,” he had said before slamming the door shut behind him. His words floored me. I crumpled into a chair, shocked and wounded. Never before that fight had he said our marriage was a mistake. I loved him with every part of my soul and every fiber of my being. How could it have been a mistake? How could he not love me the way I loved him? That fight was our last fight. After that, when he returned home, he refused to even speak to me. I begged and pleaded for him to just explain to me in a way that I could understand. But all he did was shake his head and pack his bags. He left the next morning and I fell to the floor and held myself together to keep from breaking apart.

I wanted to scream and cry. I wanted to smash things and tear my eyes out. The hurt was so big I wanted to jump into the void to forget it. My dad’s words crept into my head, whispering in my brain as I contemplated giving up. “You’re a rancher’s daughter. You come from a long line of ranchers who have worked to the bone to live this life. You don’t give up, you don’t cry. Wipe your tears and quit wasting your water.” The memory hurt, bringing back all the years as a child when I had to hide my tears from my dad. He wanted me to be strong and thick against the hurts of the world. Well, my chance had come. What better time to show how strong I was than when I’ve been betrayed by the one person I truly loved. I wouldn’t cry. I might die inside, but I wouldn’t cry. “Wipe your tears and quit wasting your water…”  my father’s voice echoed in my head. I spent the rest of the day curled on the floor in a miserable heap, but I didn’t let myself cry. I locked the tears away, somewhere deep inside me. When it came time for my husband and me to go to court, I wore my best clothes and rallied together the last of my strength. I did my hair, put on makeup, and met him in the mediation room. As I walked into the room and saw my husband sitting beside his lawyer I almost ran away. How was I supposed to face him? How could I look that man in his eyes and discuss the fact that I would never have him again? I would never kiss him, never hug him, never share quiet evenings together. We would never again work side by side as we sorted cattle or stayed up long hours of the night to help a cow give birth. That life was gone. “My client wants full access to the savings account and the new truck. That’s it. He is willing to be amicable as long as this process isn’t drawn out. He says Rebecca can keep the ranch and the old Chevy, as well as the SUV, and the checking account,” my husband’s lawyer announced. My lawyer looked over at me carefully. “No!” I gasped, grabbing my lawyer’s arm for support. “He can’t take the savings account! That’s got all the ranch money in it! How am I supposed to feed and doctor the cattle without that money?” “My client says that money was contributed by his own income and—” the lawyer began. “Bullshit!” I interrupted. “That money was built up by my father and his father before him! My

ex -husband is just the one who convinced me to put it in the same bank as

his

account and put his name on it! It’s not his!” My ex’s lawyer cleared his throat in annoyance. The man who once loved me stared at me, no emotion in his eyes. I hardly even recognized him. “He can take the SUV, the new truck, and half the checking account,” I offered desperately. “Rebecca…” my lawyer warned me. “No, I don’t care,” I insisted. “Take most of what we’ve got. I just want the ranch, the Chevy, and the ranch account. I need that money to keep the ranch afloat,” I begged. “I’m sorry, my client is very firm on what he wants,” my ex’s lawyer said. “How could you?” I snapped at my ex-husband. “ How could you ?” My lawyer fought on my behalf for what felt likes days, though it was only a matter of hours. But despite how hard we fought, we lost in the end. When it was presented before the judge a few weeks later, my ex won the account. Once again, I wanted to cry. It was so unfair. But I held it together somehow, pushing the tears and the sorrow down, down, down. Each day it became easier to not feel the pain. But for some reason, each day the world became a little bleaker. It was as if the color was slowly leaching from the world. Once vibrant sunrises now seemed thin and pale. The birdsong I had loved so much sounded off-tune and annoying. Food lost its flavor, and I stopped cooking for myself. When I worked cattle, I only referred to them as numbers, rather than the loving nicknames I used to give them. I had pushed that pain and sorrow down so far, but as it was drowning, it pulled my happiness and joy down with it. Time ticked by in a monotonous cycle of work and sleep. Each day melted together into one blurry haze. Without the ranch account, money was tight. There was a nagging voice in the back of my mind reminding me that I was one hardship away from losing the ranch. This ranch that my family had worked so hard for, that we had poured our blood into. Any second it could be taken from me. Spring came around and I looked forward to the rains. It hadn’t rained all winter, since my husband left me. But with the spring here, I was optimistic that the land would get the water it needed. Rain was the life-giver on a ranch. Rain made the grass grow and filled tanks for watering animals. Rain nourished the fields of hay that would feed the cattle all winter. We needed rain. March came and went. So did April. May rolled around and the skies were as clear and dry as my heart had become. The rain did not fall. Tentative shoots of grass that had begun to grow in the warmer weather soon withered and died. The cattle lowed in protest as I shoveled them hay to feed them. They too had been looking forward to lush grass pastures. My tanks began to dry up, the water levels dropping inch by inch every day. Panic soon choked my throat at night as I lay in bed, wondering how long I could afford to keep up like this if we didn’t get rain soon. June came, blowing hot dry air over the rolling hills. July was worse, with a scorching sun that cracked the earth. August came and went. Still no rain. Every day my account grew smaller. Every day I burned through the reserves of water and hay to keep my animals alive. Every day I pushed my emotions further and further down. Inside, I felt like a dried-up husk, just like the ghostly remains of grass that crackled underfoot when I walked outside. September came and it was finally time to bring a load of calves to auction. The check I got for them would help to cover some of the costs of feed that I was accruing. At the auction, the cattle were a little thinner than I liked, and the prices were a little lower. Small-time farmers were unloading their steers as fast as they could, trying to stay ahead of any long-term drought. The influx of cattle kept market prices lower. Worry began to twist my stomach.

With my measly check, I returned home to pay the vet bills and load up on more hay. I groaned when each bale of hay came out to an extra twenty dollars each. My last, tenacious bit of hope reminded me that we still could have rain before winter came and froze the land. We still had time… Winter came. It came hard and fast and early. The pastures frosted over, and the cattle devoured the hay to stay warm. I was almost completely out of money.

The ranch I had loved so much was slipping away from me. I had nothing to sell to make up for the lost savings account. My old Chevy was on its last foot and I had sold the SUV to pay for my lawyer’s fees.

I wandered the barns, walking amongst the cows and patting them each one by one. “It’s ok girls,” I whispered to them. “We will make it through this.” “ You don’t cry,”  my father’s voice reminded me. So, I pushed it down again. I didn’t know how deep the reserve of my soul went, but it seemed endless. More color leached from the world as I thought about what I would have to do next. The next week I rounded up ten of my breeding cows and took them to auction. A year ago, I would have never done that. A year ago, I would have sobbed as I said goodbye to each cow. They were the backbone of my entire life, and here I was, selling them off. When I returned home with an empty trailer it seemed fitting to me somehow. Everything had become so empty. The winter months dragged on. Christmas passed by as a forgotten holiday. There was no cheer this time, no flickering lights and fragrant trees.

My herd grew smaller every week. I couldn’t stand to see the cows thinning out so miserably. The fat dissolved off their haunches from the lack of nutritious food. To try to combat it, to give myself just a little bit more time, I sold off a couple of cows every week. The money was less each time. There were too many farmers in the same situation as me, too many skinny cows coming through the auctions. I wasn’t making much money back, and the cost of feed just kept getting higher and higher. Soon enough it was calving season. What had once been my favorite time of year had become something I dreaded. I used to get such joy from the sounds of baby calves mooing for the first time. My heart used to burst with joy at the sight of wobbly legs as the calves learned to stand. Each calf got a name, and I poured all my love into them. This year all I could think was that I was going to have a hundred more hungry mouths to fill, and nursing mothers that needed extra supplements and nutrition. This year all I could think about was the muddy water that barely covered the bottom of my tanks and ponds. About a week into calving season, my favorite cow began to show signs of labor. She had separated herself from the other cattle and was restlessly alternating between standing and laying down. Dolly had been my first breech calf that I had pulled with my own hands, all by myself. Because of her traumatic birth, she required extra care and love. As she grew stronger, our bond strengthened as well. Out of all the cows, Dolly was the one who came when I called for her, who laid her head against my shoulder, and who comforted me when I needed it. She was my last friend. I knew Dolly very well, and because of that, I knew that something was wrong. Her births were normally very fast and easy. This one wasn’t the same. I got Dolly situated in one of the barns and I sat with her all night. By morning, she was finally beginning to push. Still, no matter how hard she labored, she wasn’t making any progress. Fighting back my panic, I made the decision to intervene. When I felt around, I realized the calf was too big, and its legs were folded back, causing it to be stuck behind Dolly’s pelvis. The situation had become an emergency. If I didn’t act fast to fix the problem, the calf, and Dolly, would die. Dolly watched me with her baleful brown eyes, trusting me to help her. Gritting my teeth, I tried to move the calf’s legs to the proper position, but it was too stuck. Dolly grew weaker with each contraction. Panic made bile rise in my throat. I couldn’t lose Dolly. I couldn’t bear to lose her too, after all the losses we had survived this last year. With every ounce of strength that I possessed in my body, I worked to save Dolly and her calf.

“Come on Dolly! You can do this!” I urged her desperately. She bellowed in response, exhausted and in pain. “We can do this together Dolly, I promise you! I won’t give up on you. I won’t give up on us!”

At one point Dolly went down and refused to get back up. Her eyes rolled back, and she panted shallowly. Pulling on her halter I tugged her face towards mine. “Don’t give up girl, please,” I begged. “Don’t give up just yet. I love you too much to lose you,” I whispered. Dolly bellowed in pain but lurched to her feet one final time. “That’s it! Cry it out, Dolly! Cry it all out! Cry that pain out of your body and let me do the rest of the work for you,” I didn’t know if I was going to manage to do it, but somehow, I did. With one final tug, the calf’s legs pulled forward into position. With a big push, and with me pulling on the legs, Dolly finally labored the calf out onto the straw of the barn. As if she had just been given a big shot of pain killers and energy, Dolly turned around to care for her calf. She began to lick it clean, softly mumbling to it with gentle sounds of love. But the calf did not move. Its chest didn’t rise and fall with breath. “No,” I cried. The labor had been too long for the little calf. “No!” I repeated. Grabbing a towel, I roughly rubbed the calf, hoping to stimulate it. When that didn’t work, I cleared out its nostrils with a suction. Desperation kicked in. I had never done CPR on a calf before, but I started it then. I blew into its nostrils and pressed its chest, trying to force life into the body. Dolly watched me, patiently trusting me to save her calf. “Come on little baby,” I urged as I blew into its nostrils. “Please don’t die. Please don’t die.” Something warm and wet filled my eyes. My chest heaved with sobs. Before I could stop myself, I realized I had tears flowing down my cheeks. All the pain of the last year bubbled out of me. Deep racking sobs broke free, and I cuddled the calf to me as I cried into its fur. I don’t know how long I cried but it was as if a dam had broken and released a river. Small movements shook me from my daze of tears. I lifted my head to see a dark eye blinking at me. The calf snorted, weakly looking around. Dolly nudged it, urging it to stand. “Thank you,” I sobbed. I was crying so hard that I could barely see as I stumbled out of the barn into the fresh air. I felt mildly confused as to why my tears were splattering so hard against my boots until I looked up. Rain hit my face, gently at first, and then harder as the clouds opened overhead. It was raining. Laughter soon took the place of my tears as I spun around under the thunderstorm, dancing wildly in the rain. Raindrops soak into the parched earth. Cattle bellowed joyfully in the pasture, licking water droplets from their damp noses.

The drought lasted a year, and for a year I was a dry husk of a person. Bitter and broken, I did not let myself feel, for fear of breaking down completely. As the raindrops and my tears soothed the thirsty earth beneath my dancing feet, the color came slowly back into the world, as vibrant and wonderous as it had ever been. We would be ok.


[This story contains sex, violence, abuse and swearing] “The joke’s on you.” “The joke is on you all.” “I’m not fucking around. Things are going to be different around here. I’m different. It’s not like it was. It’s never going to be like it was.” “There’s a new clown in town and he’s here to stay!” “I’m The Clown!” HaHa! HaHa! HaHa! HaHa! HaHa! HaHa! HaHa! HaHa! HaHa!

OhgodhelpmewhathaveIdone… Mummy? Where are you, Mummy? I miss you so much. Come back. I need you! Mummy? Mummy! * No one knows about his place. Everyone needs a place of their own. Doesn’t matter what they call it or how they choose to dress it up. It’s a lair. Pure and simple. That’s what it is. Not a boudoir or a crash pad or a crib and certainly not a home.

Never a home. Home is where the heart is and he was born without a heart. This place was his lair and he wasn’t into sharing, but he had no choice when it came to a certain someone. That certain someone had come along one day and chosen to stay rent free. You could call him a squatter, just as long as you never called him that to his face.

Never do that to his face. Or anything else for that matter. He’s a deceptively sensitive soul and he snaps all too easily. You won’t like it when he snaps. Not one bit will you like it.

The anonymity and sanctity of this lair was safeguarded in a great many ways. Layer after layer of protection and defence.

The lair and him both. * Boris had come into the world in the same way every other soul does. Painfully, red raw and screaming. The transition from the claustrophobic confines of the womb was a shock to the system, more so the cold air that he was forced to breathe in order to survive. There was no going back for Boris, but that never stopped him dreaming of a return to a place that was free from the violence and pain that was a constant throughout his life. Boris was a mistake. Mummy told him as much. That was another constant in his life, Mummy reminding Boris that he was a mistake who got in the way and cramped her style. Her style helped ensnare her clients. Boris loved her style. He always thought her beautiful. Her style paid the bills, but there was never enough money for Boris. Mummy needed that money and Boris owed her more still. It didn’t take long for her to co-opt her clients into helping her punish Boris for his unwanted presence in the single room she rented from one of her clients. At first, the punishment took the form of harsh words. Boris knew no different and the words didn’t hurt all that much really. The problem was that Boris had this bad habit of growing and that enraged Mummy all the more and she shared this rage with some of her regulars. Mummy and client egged each other on and discovered new ways to make their point, punishing Boris in more innovative, but most importantly increasingly painful ways.

Cigarette burns were particularly painful, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was when Boris saw a change in Mummy and after that change there was a change in her clients too. Boris became a part of what was on offer. He was a toy that Mummy used to keep her clients entertained. Once she talked to Boris about that change, “I get money for you now, you little shit.” Boris had smiled hopefully. This was a positive development. Mummy needed money and he was keen to help her. He wanted Mummy to be happy. If Mummy was happy then he was happy. “It’s still not enough,” she added, “you ruined me and you ruined my life. It will. Never. Be. Enough. You will never be enough.” Something had imploded within Boris then. You wouldn’t have seen it, even if you had been there to witness and had a program explaining what was going on inside the boy. That made it all the more terrible. The Boris that was, was no more. An important part of that little boy had buckled, bent and then snapped.

Nothing would ever be the same again. Only it was. No one noticed any change in Boris at all. They didn’t even notice the ceaseless unending sameness of a boy who was no longer little. Not that they cared. Not his Mummy nor her clients. They neither cared for Boris or themselves. That was the world that Boris grew up in. Unfortunately for those clients, a lack of care also meant a lack of attention. This dulled them and blunted their survival instinct. That would prove costly for them all in the end. Boris may have been bent out of shape and broken, but that suited him fine. From the wreckage he resided within, he understood the world a little more and found ways to cope with it.

Mostly he acted.

He acted like he was fine and he watched and he waited. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, but he waited all the same. He knew it was important to wait because something was coming, and so he waited until it came along and then everything fell into place.

One of Mummy’s clients found violence to be an aphrodisiac, or maybe it was a sort of foreplay. Possibly both. Whatever it was, it worked for him and it paid well for Mummy. One night he was in a particularly savage mood and he beat Boris half to death before straightening up, licking the blood off his bruised knuckles and turning his attention to Mummy. Mummy had watched the show and smiled a genuine and encouraging smile. She had to be into it or it wasn’t going to work for Jimmy. Jimmy worked for the mob and was well connected. Mummy had designs of getting out of this shithole and going some place exotic with Jimmy. Jimmy had other ideas, but he didn’t share those plans with her. He got a bigger and bigger discount while she mooned over him and he liked having that edge, looking forward to the day he would dump her and leave her in a complete mess. He got off on that too. He was a purveyor of pain and he got a buzz out of its effects. As Jimmy was about to start in on the main event he paused and turned around, “stop looking at me kid,” he growled at Boris, “what is it with this kid and the staring?” He shook his head and then seemed to remember something. He reached into the inside pocket of his sharp, pinstripe jacket and pulled out a comic, “here, hide that ugly mug of yours behind this while the grown-ups play.” “Ank oo,” Boris said as he fetched up the comic that had been thrown in his face, it was painful for him to try to speak, but he knew he had to remember his manners, even with a broken jaw. That moment was to change everything. In that moment Boris met The Clown and The Clown met Boris. It wasn’t a match made in heaven, some matches are made elsewhere.

* Boris entered his lair at night. Always at night. That was when The Clown came out to play. The Clown danced and played and spread his own brand of cheer in the world. Boris loved The Clown. Except for his Mummy, The Clown was the only other person Boris would ever love. The nature and manner of that love differed markedly and this was not helped by the animosity between the two objects of his love. This was an enduring animosity that had existed from the very get go. Boris always cast his mind back to those early days with The Clown as he took his seat and prepared for the rituals. He talked to The Clown and reminisced and as he went through each and every step and stage of his transformation they would relive their partnership, The Clown chuckling regularly at their exploits. He’d killed Jimmy first. But then, Jimmy had it coming. Jimmy had hurt Mummy, and he’d done it more than once. He’d split her lip, then he’d blacked her eye. It was only going to get worse unless someone stopped it. Boris had talked it over with The Clown. They would wait until Mummy fell unconscious after one glass of gin too many, then they would plot and plan until Boris knew exactly what it was that he needed to do. Only, it wasn’t Boris who killed Jimmy, it was The Clown. Boris was fine with this. The Clown knew what he was doing. The Clown was

good

at this. It helped that he enjoyed it.

“It’s going to be fun! Fun! Fun!” said The Clown gleefully and Boris had smiled. He hoped The Clown was right. He didn’t hold out too much hope though. His life had been a series of disappointments and he found he wasn’t all that bothered with fun anymore. Wasn’t even sure fun existed. Fun sounded like a lie that grown-ups whispered in your ear just before they started hurting you all over again. On the night of Jimmy’s untimely demise, Boris used the make-up he had stolen from Mummy to bring The Clown into the world. There was really only one room in the place where Mummy and Boris lived, but that wasn’t a problem because Mummy had learnt to ignore Boris so completely that she no longer saw him unless she wanted to say something mean or hurt him, and as that was a lucrative deal, she saved that for when there was someone paying for it. Mummy wasn’t in the habit of giving out freebies. Jimmy noticed though. He was half way through taking his snazzy jacket off when he saw the warpaint on Boris’s face, “what’s this?” he said, “it ain’t Halloween for another four months you little freak!” Boris never said a word, but then Boris wasn’t Boris, not anymore. He had been. He’d heard Jimmy well enough, but it was The Clown who responded. It was The Clown who unfurled and showed himself to the world in all his glory for the very first time.

The Clown was not little. Freaky maybe, but not little. He stood at his full height and Jimmy’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened in the first expression of fear that Boris had ever witnessed, and Boris was still there, only he was no longer at the controls. He was riding shotgun with The Clown and felt both enraptured and fascinated at what was unfolding before his very eyes. “What the hell…” Jimmy managed to say this as he saw Boris become something he had never seen before. There was something terrible and very wrong about the boy’s face, and Jimmy had seen that face mashed into a grotesquery by his very own hands. The boy had applied make-up in smears and swatches that at first looked like it had rained and he’d dragged his face along a raindrop coated window, but as Jimmy stared at that odd face he saw it pulse and move and something came forth. Something very wrong. Something evil. Something that just did not belong. Not here. Not anywhere. Bravely or stupidly, Jimmy remembered himself and took a step forward to confront the boy and end whatever was happening here. It was an instinct that had served him well and got him noticed and inducted into the mob. Never back down, always get your retaliation in first and do it decisively. Hit the problem hard and keep hitting until it ain’t a problem no more. Jimmy didn’t even get around to raising his hand to Boris. Only it wasn’t Boris. Not anymore. The Clown was the one that wielded the knife that plunged into Jimmy’s guts. Jimmy looked both dumb and stupid in that moment. There was a comical vacancy in his expression as he looked down at the knife handle jutting out of his stomach and then back up into the grinning and gleeful face of The Clown. The Clown barked an odd and clipped piece of laughter, then with his free hand, he encircled Jimmy’s waist, pulled him closer and danced a perfect waltz. Throwing Jimmy around like a weightless ragdoll. DAH! DA! DAH! DA! DAAAH! The Clown sang a wordless tune as he danced with Jimmy, a tune that was completely out of step with their dance, and at the end of Jimmy’s final waltz, The Clown took a half step back and with a theatrical flourish he brought the knife up through the middle of Jimmy with inhuman strength, gutting him like the proverbial fish, and just like that fish, Jimmy made sad little gulping movements with his mouth, blood dribbling down his chin in pathetic little pulses. The Clown leant in to Jimmy’s mouth as though Jimmy was imparting the most important of secrets. “What’s that?” “I can’t hear you, Jimmy!” “Speak up, man! We’re all friends here!” But Jimmy collapsed to the floor to a chorus of The Clown’s laughter. He’d never solve a problem with his fists again. “What did you do? What did you do? What did you do? What did you do? What…” Mummy was stressed. Boris didn’t like seeing her like this. Thankfully The Clown covered her mouth with his bloody hand and stopped her repeating the same nonsensical question over and over. It was so very obvious what The Clown had done. Anyone could see that The Clown had bestowed upon Jimmy his just desserts. The Clown had reaped what Jimmy had sown.

Simple. Boris could never remember much of the next bit. The Clown comforted Mummy in the only way they both knew how. Neither of them knew much of anything else. The Clown did this each and every time he took care of a client. Mummy never stopped him and Mummy never said no, but then she’d never stopped anyone or said no to them for as long as Boris could remember, except perhaps him. Boris was the exception. Boris was different.

But now he wasn’t. Now he was special. * It was always going to happen. Boris knew this. There was an inevitability to how this was going to go from the moment he saw that comic and had come face to face with The Clown.

“You gotta crack eggs to make an omelette!” The Clown had told him just before it happened. Boris was a passenger at that point and could do nothing to stop him. Nothing at all. He didn’t even utter a word of protest and neither did he cry when it was done. * Every time he took his seat and readied himself for The Clown’s appearance he always did this one thing. Before he opened the make-up box and said the words that were an incantation to summon The Clown forth, he would always lean forward and kiss his Mummy on the cheek. Her cold skin felt strange against his lips, but then he’d never kissed her before The Clown came along, so he didn’t really have anything to compare it with. The lifeless uncaring eyes were a constant and reminded Boris of his childhood with this woman, how that had shaped him and brought him to this. He tried not to think about that night, and he was thankfully spared most of it, but he could not erase the moment that The Clown had handed him Mummy’s head. She’s yours forever now, buddy! And so am I! Then there was the laughter. The unceasing laughter. Always the laughter. The Clown had not been joking. Boris had The Clown with him always and forever now, and he had that infernal, endless laughter. As he painted his face and stared into the mirror he let go once again. It was quieter when he did this. It was better this way. The Clown was better at all of this. It was best for Boris to retreat and watch from his safe place.

And let The Clown have his fun.


I am writing you… hoping I’ll finish it this time and not delete everything again and have the courage to send it. Probably my 10th attempt…. I don’t know where to start. I want you to know that what happened between us was not meaningless.. and it’s probably more meaningful than my actual marriage. I am sharing things that I haven’t shared with anyone else and will not share with anyone else.

The person I married it totally the opposite of the person she pretended to be she I met her. But worse is that she is so mean, disrespectful and so so so so toxic. I saw many red flags yet she convinced me she won’t be like that with me.. but weeks after my mariage , everything has become so so toxic. My life was so good and now I am living hell everyday.

Then when I wanted to take actions she pretended to have changed and we even decided to have a baby… now we are having a baby soon, and her behavior is so worse. Never in my life someone has been so disrespectful, savage and toxic. But unfortunately with the rest of the world she seems like a fairy and so soft spoken.. but with me she is the devil personified … All that is because we share a fake love. And even if the little love we had was true, it’s gone by now. The way she treats me, made me realize she doesn’t love me . I can’t be true love.

Do I regret ? Yes Do I wish to never having met her ? Yes Do I wish I could get back in time ? Yes Can I leave her and my child ? No Do I have a solution? No Why am I telling you all this? Because , what we shared was the only thing I had that was genuine and true. And circumstances made me do some bad choices.. and I could not have found any solution for us and the situation back then.. But guess what, my life and yours are more or less the same now.. we both have or will have

Kids.. I guess God needed to balance things… for may be making me realize things .. or complicate my already complicated life. I know you erased me completely from your existence .. and I know you probably hate me . But know the more I distanced myself with her, the more I craved to talk to you or see you again. I know I cannot just come in your life and affect your partner or baby’s life. But know I miss you so so so much and it’s not just now, I kept missing you but there is no one on earth to whom I could share this.

Lastly, I know you heard some rumors that I did show your letters etc, but I swear on anyone I love that I never did that. That person who told your sis those lies, were saying really bad things about you.. like you like me because of my car etc.. and I got pissed off and stood by your side and said you are not like that and I also said nothing happened between us etc.. she kept on saying she knows you and that I am naive etc..

to my surprise some days later she told your sis I showed you msgs etc which was never the case. In fact I tried to protect you when she was bad mouthing you. But then your sis phoned me and made as if she didn’t believe me . I guess you will think like her too. But God knows what the truth is and some people who were there .. but anyway this is not the issue. I hope one day I get to see you and we can have a proper conversation only you and me . No wife or husband , sisters, friends .. no one else..

update: 2024… this year’s Valentine’s Day has been my worst ever. I think I allowed the wrong person to come in my life. I know for sure , you would never have been this toxic or disrespectful. But it’s not like I had a choice; you were never mine to begin with. My 35th birthday has been terrible too. I have been so sad. It’s like someone really did her best to make me regret my life and feel sad on my big day. I wonder how life will continue and I hope I get some stability and that life becomes nice again . I used to me happy and I used to be a king. I am nothing like a King now and I allowed some Lion to reduce me to a peasant . But I hope I’ll be able to be the same old version of myself; strong and undefeated. i wish I listened to others when they told me to choose well and that the one you chose will determine your happiness and future. I clearly didn’t do the proper choice. Some consider me as some hero.. but I could not even be the hero of my story. I probably failed and this failure of mine is my biggest so far since it will affect me for the rest of my life. We all think we are doing the right thing , but time often contradicts us and shows us how we messed up. life was so much better single … I was better to be a lone King rather than a King with the wrong queen or no king at all. you might be wondering why I am writing all this now. I have to ! And may be one day reading all this you will find your answers too. Some stories cannot end since they never started.. I can’t say it, but you mean more to me than probably anyone else.. and you matter way more to me than whan I can say or show. I will however tell you one thing, I miss you. Anonymous hero


Dates are hard. But they're especially hard when your date is a 95 year old man who thinks he's 30. Don't ask me why I thought it was a smart idea to join a dating site, much less accept a date from someone who has their age description set as 'probably older than you.' Yeah, now looking back I see where I messed up. And I bet you're thinking why the hell I didn't pick up the clue that the man was probably in his 50s or so. Just read the story and maybe you'll understand! ------------------------------------- Shelby stared at her reflection in the mirror, dotting on the last touches of her makeup. Just a little more mascara... She swiped up on her lashes, leaving them a nightly black. Shelby smiled, finally pleased with her appearance. Tonight would be perfect. It had been three years since her last date, back when she had been 19, young and beautiful. Too bad that one hadn't lasted long. Shelby cringed at the terrible memory, and resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, for her mascara hadn't dried yet. That trainwreck of a date had been her second time. But this one would be her third. And as they say, 'third time's the charm.' Shelby grinned, positive that this date would be the one. This relationship is going to last forever! Shelby squealed in her mind, throwing herself onto her bed. Any minute now, her date would arrive. The clock that hung on Shelby's wall ticked by, the sound nailing into her brain. The night was beginning to ebb away, along with Shelby's patience. It wasn't until 12:30 am when the doorbell rang. Shelby bolted awake, and groggily stumbled to the front door, but not before briefly checking her reflection in the mirror. Her mascara had rubbed off, leaving black streaks under her eyelids. Her hair that was once in a tight bun, hung loose from her head, strands covering her face. She groaned, yet still went to the door. She twisted the doorknob, and it opened with a high pitched squeal. "Hey, hottie. Ya ready for our date?" Shelby had to stifle down a scream once she made eye contact with her 'date.' Wrinkles. There were so many wrinkles. Loose skin flapped around on her date's face and his eyes drooped in his eye sockets. Shelby swallowed her shock. "Who...who are you?!" "The name's John...or is it James? Anyways I'm your dream date honey cakes!" Shelby cringed at the man's words. There was no way on God's green earth that she was going to go on a date with that man. "Er...I'm sorry, but it's a bit late for a date right now, I mean like, nothing's open! Sorry..." Shelby began to close the door, thankful that she didn't have to go on the date. "WAIT!" The man stuck his foot in the crack of the door. Shelby huffed a frustrated breath. "What?" She tried to keep her voice calm and steady, but instead it came out shaky and rough. The man's eyes watered. "Won't ya just go on a walk with me, ma'am?" He pleaded, his voice sounding desperate. Shelby bit her lip. What could've happened to this man to make him so in need of a date? Shelby glanced at the man once more. The evil feeling of guilt formed a giant lump in Shelby's throat. This man needed a date. She could just go on the walk, and then never have to see him again... "Um... Sure, yeah, I'll go on a walk with you." The man's lips spread into a toothy grin. "Aw, thank ya, ma'am! This really makes my day!" At this this, the man held out a bony hand towards Shelby. She stared at it. Green veins the color of mold slithered down his fingers, and pruned skin drooped from the bone. The man frowned. "Well c'mon now baby girl! Take it !" Shelby gagged, but hesitantly took his hand. His skin felt like wax. The man grinned. And with a tank of his hand, he pulled her out of her house, and outside. "Where do ya wanna walk, ma'am?" The man said cheerfully. "Oh, we can just walk around my neighborhood." Shelby responded awkwardly. How could she be so stupid? She didn't even know this man's name, and now she was going on a walk with him? She was really starting to regret her decision. A tense silence weighed down the air, and Shelby often found herself rubbing her neck anxiously with her free hand. "So, umm...what do you like to do?" Shelby finally broke the silence, desperate for some conversation. The man gave her a sly grin, which only made him look constipated. "Well cutie pie, I don't think you want to know what I like to do for fun. Wouldn't want ya to be a witness if I ever gotta be on trial." Shelby raised an eyebrow. "What have you done that's so bad ?" Her date popped his knuckles, and Shelby had to choke down a laugh. He really looked pathetic. "Oh dearie, like I said, you don't wanna know." The man's voice hardened. A cold shiver fingered down Shelby's spine, but still, she decided to keep pushing. "What do you mean I don't wanna know?" She kept her voice steady, even though she was shaking inside. The man smirked. "What I mean is would you like to date a man who's a thief?" "A what?!" Shelby screamed, her face full of shock. She took a trembling step back, letting go of the man's hand. He smiled his toothy smile. "That's right, I stole bingo chips from the community centre." Bewilderment stunned Shelby. "You stole bingo chips?" She said the words slowly. He gave one of his constipated-sly grins. "Yeah, twice. And one time I stole them in broad daylight." Shelby had to laugh at that. She couldn't imagine this man, this old man that reminded her so much of a raisin, go into the community centre and take bingo chips. It was even funnier to know that he thought that was a serious crime. Laughs escaped her until she had doubled over, breathing heavily like she had just ran a marathon. The man grinned. "What, are you impressed? You scared of me?" Shelby giggled, snorts filling the spaces between them. Shelby finally pushed herself upward, and began to start her journey back to her house. "This was a lovely date, ma'am! When will I see you again?" The man called out over the hysterical sound of laughter. "Oh, I'm never going out with you again! Thanks for the laugh though!" Shelby yelled back. Happiness filled her up, like air in a balloon. That really had been the best date ever. She couldn't remember a time she had laughed that much.


I respond hesitantly, "hello," after a few seconds pass with neither a response from myself nor the feline creature watching me. "My name is Kaitlyn." In the dim light given by the setting moon, which has just started to descend behind the treetops in front of us, her white fur gleams like silver. Her ears slightly pricked forward into a triangle form. Despite being so close to where I am frozen in place, she seems quite at ease. Her large, round, emerald eyes almost appear luminous against her pale face. She doesn't do anything more than turn slightly away from me before finally turning to gaze over her shoulder once more. Although it's unclear if she's signaling yes or no, her tail slowly flicks side to side. Just as I begin to believe our conversation is over, she abruptly hops down from the stump and calmly strolls past me while keeping her feet silent. I walk after her and wonder what exactly brought us together out here in the middle of nothing. "Snowball!" Since she looks to be the only other person in the area beside me, I shout in an attempt to catch her attention. The cat comes to a complete halt, turns, and looks at me with a curious expression. I'm left wondering if Snowball is really her name; perhaps her owner gave it to her based on her answer. With how fluffy and white she appears, it sounds like a fitting nickname! Snowball begins to meow quietly but soon starts to walk backward toward me while keeping her eyes firmly fixated on my face. She moves forward onto my palm when I extend my hand, then curls up into my arms and purrs happily. I feel the warmth emanating from her body and run my fingers through the silky fur covering her head. "Why are you here by yourself in these woods?" We're standing there talking so close to each other that I inquire gently in case any other animals happen to walk by and are startled. A gunshot somewhere nearby is followed by another and a few more rounds are fired considerably closer than the ones that came before, cutting off our chat. We both leap almost immediately apart as a result of the unexpected noise startling us both. Although it's unclear what might be wrong, Snowball nips at the hem of my jeans and tugs on it as if attempting to warn me. I scan the area for anything unusual or harmful, but I'm not sure what I would do if I did, especially if it were a wild animal or perhaps a dangerous predator lurking in this forest...or worse yet, a person trying to hurt either myself or Snowball! Voices can now be heard moving toward us; they are speaking softly, but due to the distance between them and us, as well as the fact that the speaker is too far away to fully understand what they are saying, their words are not quite making sense. Even though Snowball has just been shocked, she still maintains a fixed gaze on me with her green eyes wide open. Rather than showing fear, she looks curious. She meows at me once more before looking back in the direction of a narrow trail that appears to be leading deeper into the trees away from the sound. I trail behind her, wondering why she seems so determined to go down there when I have no idea where we are going or whether I should even go there since I don't know anyone else who lives in this area, let alone getting lost and having to rely on someone like Snowball who may very well be the guide I need to return home safely. As we continue through the underbrush and over tree trunks that have fallen and are laying scattered across the forest floor, the ground beneath my feet is uneven and rocky. Compared to the trees that are close to my house, these trees seem to be much older. They're gnarled and twisted, appearing to have lived a long life, whereas those that surround my property seem young enough that one day they might even reach up high above me, blocking out most of the sunlight that enters them during summer, casting long shadows that stretch from one side of the yard to the other, and giving me shade whenever I choose to sit outside reading a book or writing in my black journal while savoring a cool drink. I accidentally run into her back when Snowball abruptly stops. She turns around and gives me a look that is akin to the expression you would expect any cat to have after learning something new while exploring the outdoors. "Snowball, what is the matter? What have you seen?" Given the scant details she has given me about our current position so far, I ask curiously but don't expect an answer that would be helpful. "Do you know of any additional trails that may branch off and go in a different direction?" She doesn't answer but instead stares attentively into whatever she saw before halting abruptly once more. She gestures with her paw for me to halt as well, then she tilts her head slightly to the left, then to the right, and eventually she fixes her focus once again on me. When I see her tail moving quickly back and forth, I start to wonder if this feline creature is actually a dog in disguise. "Is anyone there?" I stutter, hoping that by making so little noise in these woods, where everything seems so quiet in comparison to where we currently reside, I won't scare anyone who is around. Snowball slowly nods a few times as if trying very hard to convey some kind of message without words, but no matter how much time passes, there is still no additional interaction between us. She makes it seem as though she knows exactly where she's going and wants me to follow her. Snowball navigates the path through the trees until ultimately the undergrowth becomes more sparse and more light can enter through the canopy above. The terrain here becomes less rocky, making walking easier, though it still feels quite muddy and wet from recent rain. This is evident from all the puddles that are lying scattered across the ground among fallen leaves, twigs, and other debris from nature that has been washed down from higher on the mountainside during heavy rainstorms like those experienced during the autumn months in Lynsid. After we arrive at a deserted street with buildings on either side and a little park with a huge fountain in the middle, the road opens up significantly. At one end of the road, there is a signpost with a map of Lynsid's city, complete with streets and landmarks, nailed to it. Snowball pauses at this point, turns around, and then briefly glances back over her shoulder before turning back to face me. I'm not sure why she would do this considering that we had only just met, but it almost seems as if she's asking if I'm ready to follow her again. She continues to stare deeply into my eyes for several long seconds, pointing in the direction of an incoming truck headed our way. Because I've lost track of where I'm supposed to go or what road we should take to get there in the first place, I tear my gaze away from her and wave at the driver to stop his vehicle in case he might be about to help us find our way home safely...or maybe even because Snowball is telling me something important but I don't know how else she could communicate her thoughts without using gestures. Snowball gestures her paw back and forth, as the truck driver slows and pulls onto the pavement. Then he exits his vehicle and moves over to where we are standing. He bows and says, "hello," holding out his hand as if to say something in the way of a greeting, but neither myself nor Snowball seems too keen on accepting a greeting at this point because we're not sure whether we can trust him despite being so close to one another that we might run into each other if we try anything stupid like trying to push past each other. "Jack is my name." I cautiously smile back at him after he says this and gives me a warm smile. He asks Snowball, this time directly, "are you still looking for your owner?" Snowball nods slowly once more before gently tilting her head to the left, then to the right, and then back to me. "You are the first person to stroke her fur since she went missing here a few days ago, and she already appears to like you," Jack says as he casts a curious glance my way. I turn to face Snowball with a smile on my face and ask Jack , "do you know the location of her owner? Maybe if she's nearby?" "No one knows where she is after her sudden disappearance, but it's thought that someone took her away from these parts by force, with her destination unknown." Jack shakes his head in response, his face etched with worry. Snowball responds by rubbing up against me and purring softly. I softly stroke her white coat, giggling as I do so. "Snowball, I have wonderful news for you; you've found a new home!" I say softly. "I'm going to take good care of you, my little Snowball, and you'll be staying with me for good."


This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives. The house sat in the middle of no where, within the vast fields of nature. It was made from stone and wood, being large enough to house a small army. Within, the home was made of smooth marble, with line lights beaming through the floor. In the hall, photos of four adults hung on the wall. Orbs floated within the air, humming to an unknown tune. At the kitchen, the dinner table is set with a different assortment of food and a figure standing over it all. Cloaked within shadows, staring at the door as head lights lay over way. A golden apple was placed down on the table, it shined within the darkness. Laughter could be heard, as foot steps echo across and the door started so wiggle. It continued until opening and the peoples voice became in clear.  Their foot steps began to echo within the home. "Tell Sam about the time we explored the ruins within ishfal." one of the people expressed, slowly taking off her jacket.

"Well, Jenna was talking about these ancient ruins I had found. Last month, it was a true sight to behold." Avery boosted, a huge grin spread across his face. "It was like a large pit, some people think its where the ritual takes place. The people call it the ritual of evolution." Avery said, as they stopped at the table.  The light automatically came as the room understood their voices. The vast assortment spread across it, Avery for a moment looked at it all. "Who set the table?" Avery asked, still pointing at the table. A series of candles sat on top, made of gold.  Jenna walked toward the table, "I don't know, the maid had left to start her week-long vacation, " She said.

"She may have left it before leaving," Avery replied.

"Then why is everything still hot?" Sam asked, touching a chicken leg.

They all stopped as the lights went out and a cold silence entered the room. They stood there like stones, never letting their breath go. Sam looked at the others, just for a moment. Another sound came from the second dining hall, this was louder and could be heard more clearly. A strange light glimmered across the darkness for a moment and then faded.

"Avery, you got your gun?" Sam asked.  There was no reply as the light vanished and the lights of the house came back on.  Avery had his hand on the weapon of choice, it was a pistol type. One that would shoot abstract bullets at the target, killing them permanently. He moved toward the second kitchen, weapon drawn out and ready. The others flood, almost tripping on the chairs in their way. The hall to the second dining room was longer, filled with photos of loved ones and trophies that showed their past. One of the pictures gave a pause to Avery, it was one of a blond haired female. Her eyes pure blue, wearing one of the most wonderful dresses. He pressed on before the other two could catch on. She held a darkened apple, its shine was unlike any other. Floating orbs lit the way, showing off colors not normal to the human mind and yet these were radically different from earlier. Avery raised his hand as they got closer to the entrance. "If things start to get hot, I want both of you to get back immediately.  We have no idea what is on the other side and I don't want to have any of you getting hurt," He whispered. They both agreed and followed behind.  Avery then slowly opened the door, his gun pointed out and his eyes glowing a cool blue.  The lights were on, with one of the faucet running water. The oven could be seen on and cook something that smelled delightful.  The room was empty of any signs of life other than their own, yet the air within felt different and the flow of things had changed.

Avery stood up and the lights changed into a different color. He walked toward the table, on the table was a large cake. With someones name inscribed onto it, next to it was apple that shined of darkness. "Is this a joke." he asked.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, as he walked behind him.  "You really don't know what this cake is about or any of the other weird shit going on?" He replied, his fists balled up and veins started to look like they were going to pop. Avery turned around to face the two of them, a rage taken over as he started to curse and call them every name in the book.

"How could you put me through this again!!" He shouted. "This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. Not remember it." His word left a sharp and telling void.   "Avery, Think about this for a moment. We were gone for a whole month and just got back to town. How could we do this all and the maid was gone before we got here. Something isn't right," Sam tried to explain.

"You're right, lets get out of here." He softly said. They all looked at the table again and the cake was no where to be seen.  The apple however remained but its color was now white. "Holy shit!" Jenna screamed. She ran back toward the first dining room, trying to find somewhere safe.  Only to be stopped dead within her tracks as the door slammed shut and the air started to tighten around them. Sam and Avery backed away from the table and closer toward the living room. The doors had been open for them go inside, a Television light shining a bright light. "Come on Jenna, it will be safer within the living room!!" Sam screamed. She turned to face them and stopped dead in her tracks. They had entered the room, their backs turned away from the TV. A figure cloaked in darkness stood behind them.  The very sight of it almost caused her to shriek of terror. She tired to warn them, but by then it was too late.


The events of the night were coming back to him slowly—a kaleidoscope of fragmented memories and blurry visions furiously shifting, rearranging, and merging to form a rough timeline. Had he broken free in time? Why couldn’t he feel his legs? The memories were fuzzy and distant, yet in a very surreal way, they were visceral and blinding. Ah, yes—that’s right. He was out searching for something. Was he hunting? No, he was searching for

it . And he encountered it. It was rumored to appear at the heart of the ancient, whispering forest during the first full moon of the new season, its arrival shrouded in mystery and expectation. But to what end? No one knew for certain. Speculations by the nearby townsfolk oscillated between a malevolent trap and a generous opportunity, each tale more tantalizing and terrifying than the last. Though many wondered, few possessed the courage to seek it, undeterred by the provocative, bone-chilling tales of its survivors. For it was more than a simple rumor; it was a Seductress—a spirit cloaked in ethereal beauty, blessed with the gift of divine insight but cursed with a ravenous appetite for human consciousness. Its form was a mesmerizing fusion of light and shadow, shimmering with an otherworldly glow that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the forest itself. Its eyes, deep pools of starlit wisdom, beckoned and ensnared. To gaze upon it was to surrender to its majestic will, to be drawn into its orbit with little hope of escape. If one could toe the line of seeking holy counsel with this celestial being—engaged in a whimsical, hypnotic dance, the price of said counsel—without pushing their body beyond the point of death by complete exhaustion, they would return with a new perspective and wisdom beyond their years. If one could toe the line. Many who sought the spirit were often scholars and theologians, shamans and scientists, lured into its domain by its reputation for prophetic accuracy. Others, the majority, were laypeople, seeking self-righteous glory or perhaps even to challenge the being. He, however, was a different breed. A man of wealth and privilege, he had been born into a life of comfort, his every need met with the snap of his fingers. Yet, this life of abundance left him hollow, yearning for something more, something beyond the tangible luxuries and social accolades. He fell somewhere in between these seekers, among the crowd of those whose hearts yearned for the relief of understanding, led into the trees by that same troublesome curiosity that drove all who dared to stand before the elusive spirit. This insatiable desire for deeper meaning gnawed at his soul, propelling him in search of answers only God could provide. But God would not be so easily found. His search lasted for hours. No, all night, was it? He remembered. The moon had risen, peaked, and just begun its descent. Leads led to dead ends, and suspicious sounds revealed themselves to be mere nightcrawlers. His eyes were growing heavy, and his attention drifted from his task to his conundrum—that nagging, unanswered question burned a hole in the recesses of his mind. He would not leave empty-handed. Dance with me. Then, his feet were shuffling across the moss, his head bobbing, his arms swaying through the midnight air. He was unsure when it happened, but he was not alone. The moonlight cast both their silhouettes across the thick tree trunks.

What could a man like you possibly need from a thing like me? “Spirit,” he lauded, “I seek your wisdom.” That much is obvious . The words blared directly into his mind, perhaps even his soul. Its voice was no voice at all, rather pure intent originating from nowhere. The only sounds his ears could make out were the staccato snaps of twigs under his jostling feet and the deepening heaves of his own breath.

To what end? He remembered trying to quiet the commotion in his mind, to be fully present in this once-in-a-lifetime moment. But he had been chosen by the deity of his people. How could he possibly? “What is the purpose of this life,” the words leapt from his mouth just as he had rehearsed. To live. That answer stunned him, his racing mind ignoring the burning in his calves to focus on the deeper meaning behind such a trite response. “Yes, but surely there’s more?” More to life than living?  Their movement had drawn a crowd. Tiny eyes perched high on tree branches, hidden within the safety of bushes, and peeking through obscure burrows watched as his sweat-drenched body flung itself in circles. The burning had spread to his thighs, creating a stiffness in his lower back. His shoulders also labored to keep up with the increasing tempo of the Spirit’s whimsy, but he paid this no mind. Yes of course, there had to be more to life than simply existing. Why wouldn’t there be? “What else would drive men to conquer their environment or sail the seas?” Had he thought that last question or spoken it? So, you seek to know about the curious nature of humankind? Is that why you’ve come? “No, I apologize. Perhaps I have not been clear. What is the purpose of

my  life?” Your purpose is to live. Much of the night was still shrouded in a murky haze, fragments of memories slipping through his mind like sand through fingers. He knew, however, that this was when his recollections began to fray and unravel. Time had lost all meaning. No longer was he merely tiptoeing across the forest floor; Instead, he was pirouetting through the foggy, moonlit air. His body groaned uncontrollably, levitated by the Seductress's pure will. What had once been a graceful dance had reduced to a spasmodic, desperate scuttle. His arms flailed and twitched, as though conducting a symphony of madness. Frustration mounted within him, boiling over with every passing moment, for it seemed impossible to articulate his innermost desires and fears. Words eluded him, slipping away just as he grasped at them.

Say what you mean, human.  It was as though his thoughts were no longer private. “Why am I not satisfied,” his soul demanded, for his throat was too parched to form the words aloud. “Mine is a life that most men would envy. I have a flock of 10,000 sheep grazing the richest pastures and 5,000 oxen plowing fields of abundance. I possess more gold than I know what to do with, glittering in my coffers, and my businesses thrive beyond measure. My wives have borne me many sons, all healthy and strong, their laughter filling our halls. I sit upon the council of the chief himself, his ear mine to influence, his decisions swayed by my counsel.” The night air seemed to mock his anguish, echoing his spasms, but still, he did not relent. “And yet, it is not enough. Please, Spirit,” he implored, gazing into the Seductress’s inscrutable eyes, “when will it be enough? There must be more to my life than this.” The muscles in his legs and arms locked in agony, his lungs dry-heaving for whatever last few vestiges of air they could muster.

But the spirit merely returned his gaze with a detached stare. As I've said, it's in your nature to be plagued by insatiable curiosity, a restless yearning that drives your kind to explore the unknown. You speak of conquering environments and sailing seas. Yet here you are, driven by that same thirst for understanding, for meaning. The vision was slowly fading from his eyes, but the sight of the indifferent, unyielding Seductress remained hauntingly clear.

Here you are, risking this enviable life of yours to ask me a question that I have answered twice now. Yes, there is more to your existence than those transient things. He fought to understand, to feel the truth in what it was telling him, to decipher its riddles—when suddenly, understanding washed over him. It was clearer than it had ever been, and perhaps even more obvious than he expected. Of course there was more to this life, “but only if I live to experience it.”


Sitting there, covered in spaghetti and meatballs, I reflected on my poor decisions. You must be wondering, how, and why did I end up in such a predicament!? Well, I will start from the very beginning. It all began when I turned two. Every two-year-old Amur leopard must go down to town and get some human food. All of us needed to do this to prove that we were worthy leopards. My best friend, Amara, was coming with me! I was only a day older than her but acted much more mature. The strange thing was that Amara did not think so. Anyway, we decided that we would go to a human food place and choose something that smelled good and looked good at the same time. “My mother told me that the food she tried was thin, crispy potatoes in a bag and said that she was almost caught and killed!" Amara whispered to me excitedly, her eyes shining. “We can try some grilled tigers in the food place if there are any!” I whispered back with a grin. We roared with laughter. The sooner those nasty, prey-stealing, disgraceful animals were gone, the better the forest would be.

We left for town around noon, hoping to find something delicious we could try. Our parents had lectured us about safety and the usual parent talk stuff. They let us begin our adventure after they made us repeat everything they had said. As soon as we got to the road that leads to town, I began to sweat. I looked at Amara, who also looked jittery. I nudged her lightly, getting her attention immediately. “It’ll be fine. We practiced so many self-defense moves today. It will be over just before you know it.” She smiled the smile I had fallen in love with when we were just cubs. “If it’s going to be fine, then stop trembling, you frog-face!” I smirked. It was going to be fine. The town was a lot messier than I thought it would be. People walking, buying things, and even some riding on two circular wood things. We were planning to ask someone who looked nice for some good human food. We approached a fat lady, and Amara stepped forward. She bumped her head against the lady, and the lady whirled around to see Amara. Her jaw dropped open. Amara gave the lady a toothy grin, then spoke in her softest voice, “Do you recommend any good human food?” The lady screamed, catching everyone’s attention. Amara took a step back, looking startled, then looked at me. Some police were taking little wooden things out of their pockets and started to press the wood. In no time, there was a huge block of wood that came tearing over to us, making extremely loud noises.

We decided to stay because we wanted to try our luck to see if it was a food truck the lady had called for us. Suddenly, mean-looking men with metal loops started to come towards us. l looked at Amara and I caught the fear flooding in her eyes. Then I started to remember. When Amara’s parents had gone to town together, her dad was caught in metal loops and killed. I looked back at the person with the metal loops, and could only think of one thing to say: “RUN!!!!” Amara immediately obeyed and sprinted towards the center of town. I looked back and saw that the men were also sprinting. I ran even faster without looking back, but I could hear the screaming sounds of the metal loop people. Other people stopped to look at us, but then also screamed and ran back to their little huts. We hit our top speeds and ran for our lives. We kept going until I looked back. When I turned ahead again, I realized that I was headed towards a pole. It was too late to turn, and I felt immense pain shooting through my skull. I saw Amara turning towards me. There was fear in her eyes. "Ambrose? Are you okay? Can you get up? Hurry!" I gasped, shivering in agony. "Go-go with-without m-m-me-" I nudged Amara forward, sending jolts pain across my head. Then I collapsed and everything went black. I woke up and found Amara sitting beside me, licking her paws. Her face lit up as she saw my opened eyes. "You're up again! How is your head? Does it hurt?" I stood up and shook myself. “I'm fine, but where are we? Where are the people?” “I dragged you here so the people with the metal loops wouldn’t find us. It also smells really good here.” She explained. “Want to just try some food here then go back home?” I asked. She nodded, and we were on our way into the human food place. There were only ten humans in the food place. We decided we would scare one of them into getting us their food, and our strategy worked perfectly. We chose one of the ladies with a lot of food on her plate. Amara growled softly and the lady took off running. So did all the others, except for one who hid behind the desk. I jumped on the table and licked my lips. The person stood up slowly, his eyes wide as the moons. I snarled at him, showing him my fangs. He bolted out of the door as fast as the wind. I bet he could have outrun the wooden thing with four wheels easily. The food had some weird long stripes of dough and some round balls of meat. I looked at the window and noticed that there was a sign that read, “Best spaghetti and meatballs in town," so I assumed this type of food was called spaghetti and meatballs.

One bite and I was instantly in love. Amara was already wolfing down her fill. When she finished five of her plates, she moved to mine, and we started to compete for the last one. She shoved me away, and I decided to shove her back. She actually slipped and fell off the table! I laughed and laughed. Just as I was about to triumphantly devour the rest of the meal, Amara reached up, grabbed the disk, and dumped it on my head. I shot a wounded look at Amara, who was gladly licking the food off my head. Sitting there, covered in spaghetti and meatballs, I reflected on my poor decisions.


Amidst the cold night Laurel travels with only the stars in the sky as company. She can't wait to reach the next city. All around is just barren land with a few struggling vegetation.

Due to unforeseen circumstances Laurel travels by horse but only two types of persons would do so. Primitives, i.e. those who can't adhere to modern society or someone who's confident in their ability. Laurel breathes a sigh of relief as she sees the next town, Old’s Ville. Now she can have a drink, a shower and a good night’s sleep. The town has the glint of the wild west, all the buildings looked just like they came out of the era but the only horses here were metal and smelt of fuel. As Laurel strolled in, all eyes were on her. Who would have thought they’d see an actual horse being rode in this day and age. There was only one place she could head to, the local museum had the only stable in town. The curator stood wide eyed at the sight of Laurel. Approaching her, one could see the drool on the curator’s face. “Wh-wh-what c-c-can I-I help you w-w-with?” Unamused Laurel, replied “I need a place for Sheba here”. “Oh, this lovely beaut name of Sheba.” “Can I leave him here or not?” “S-sorry sorry, where’s my manners? Yes, yes you can, we keep the stable maintained for such an occasion as this.” Apprehensive, she inquired further, “You sure? If anything happens to him there’ll be hell to pay”. “I assure you Ms. Staellar. We will take the utmost care of him, I guarantee.” “You know me?” “Who doesn’t know you Ms. Staellar. You and him are known all across the planet.” Seeing as the curator knew who she was or at least knew of her, she dismounted and handed him the reins. “Point me to the best hotel in town.” “There’s only one, that would be Shack-It-Up.” “.... What’s this place known for?” “The shooting tournaments.If you have reservation about the hotel, haha the name isn’t what you think.” “... How so?” “If you really wanted to get laid, then there’s no better place than madam Chick’s cathouse.” “... Then why the name?” “The guy who bought it, renamed it, cause he thought he could compete with madam Chick but all anyone does is sleep in the rooms.” Laurel heads to the hotel to book a room. While the outside looked western like everything else the inside's decor was high tech. Truly a nice design, yet at the same time it had no taste. Nothing inside had an ounce of western flare. Laurel is approached by the receptionist bot and books her room. There are no human employees as far as she can see. She takes her room card and heads back out. Directly across the street she sees what looks like a saloon. Still wanting a drink and something to eat she heads on in, in hopes of finding other humans. Entering the saloon she finds a western style establishment that was also modern and to her delight there were other humans there as well. While they watched her, it was with downcast eyes. Everyone kept their heads down and didn’t venture to look her way for too long. Laurel heads to the bar and orders a drink. Seeing the reaction of the people near her she sets an order for some noodles and heads to a table in the back. The people's reaction was all too common for her. As the server bot brings her drink, she can only think of drowning herself in its sweet embrace. The bot informs her that her order will be done in five minutes. Stopping the bot, she places another order for the same drink but puts in an order as well for a stronger drink to be brought with the noodles. As she sits waiting, someone else comes into the bar. He is rugged in appearance but everyone in the bar greets him with a smile. He sits at the bar and relaxes a bit. The bartender serves him a drink without even asking. Taking the glass he salutes the bartender and takes a sip. Resting the glass down he looks in Laurel’s direction. Getting up out his seat the bartender stops him and whispers something, he takes another look at Laurel and waves the bartender off. “Hi.” “HI.” “Is this seat empty?” “... Who wants to know?” “Sorry, sorry, I’m Jackson Paul”, he extends a hand to Laurel’s surprise. She ignores this and motions for him to have a seat but even as he sits he keeps his hand extended. Taking another sip of her drink she shakes his hand and mutters, “Laurel Staellar”. “Must be hard being you.” Laurel gives no answer, she sits and carefully checks him out. He smiles at her as her food and drink arrives. Finishing her drink she ready’s her fork while he watches on. She eats as he continues to watch on smiling. Boldly he takes a sip of her drink much to the shock of the whole bar. “Wooo, that’s strong.” The bar is silent as Laurel stops eating. He smiles at her as everyone waits with bated breaths. Laurel looks at the glass then at him, now his smile faints to worry. Her facial expression was a true poker face, he couldn’t tell what she was going to do. Now he started to regret not listening to the bartender. Laurel is a bounty hunter with a great track record but is very loose with her weapons. Readjusting herself in her seat Jackson begins to sweat as he wonder’s how far he could get before she kills him. Resting her fork down, she stretches her hand across the table as Jackson closes his eyes in anticipation of what's to come. “You’re right, it's strong.” “....” In awe Jackson and the whole bar breathes a sigh of relief and surprise. Jackson begins to get up as Laurel stops once more. “Sit”, was the only word she said as Jackson stared into her eyes and eased back down to his seat. The atmosphere in the bar was again on edge. “Do you want some?” “.... Ex-excuse me.” Sharply she responds, “Food, do you want any?” “N-n-no.” Finishing her plate and drink she pays the bar while keeping Jackson in tow behind her. He dared not ask anything as they went to the hotel and she took him to her room. Standing like a statue he finally got the courage to talk. Sheepishly he asked, “W-what do you want from me?”. Laurel glances at him as she begins to undress. Jackson couldn’t help but admire her fair skin with those knockers he, like many others, dreamt of sucking. “You want to live?” “Y-Yes!” “Good. Then fuck my brains out.” His jaw falls to the floor at this command. He gulped but hesitated. “I can see you salivating from here. You have two options, either fuck me or die, your choice.” The next morning Laurel can be seen with a smile on her face as she goes to the museum to collect Sheba. Saddling up she heads out of town to her original destination. As soon as she was out of sight people rushed to the hotel to find out if Jackson was alive. Laurel had many nicknames but the one most relevant here is the Bloody Wife . She was considered the black widow of the bedroom. Even the owner was there as well to see. Standing outside the room his hands shake as he tries to scan his master card to open the door. The crowd

stands behind him holding their breath at the sight they knew was coming. Opening the door the owner steps inside and looks around. To his surprise all seems well, there’s only Jackson lying on the bed. Everyone outside peer in and sigh but someone outside comments that Jackson looks peaceful. The owner's eyes widened and slowly focused back on Jackson as he stepped closer. Before he could check the cleaning bot comes in and tosses Jackson’s body to the floor as it removes the sheets from the bed. Jackson jumps up and gives the crowd a shock with many of the ladies delightfully surprised. Realizing he’s naked he rushes to the bathroom, taking his clothes with him. The owner clears his throat and commands the crowd to disperse as he leaves as well. Jackson puts on his clothes and heads to the exit but he sees the crowd outside and obviously realizes what they want. He had no intention of going through them so he asks the receptionist bot for another exit but he is told there isn’t any. He then asks to speak with the owner. “Jackson?” “Mr. Saint-Claire, I need another way out of here.” “Why?” “I want to live, that’s why.” “... Ms. Staellar has already left.” “You think I don’t know that. Listen to me, I want to live. You don’t know what that woman is capable of okay.” “... I-I understand, follow me.” Mr. Saint-Claire takes him to one of the many hidden exits of the hotel. As he watched Jackson leave he can’t help but smile as he thinks about how he could use this fortunate encounter to his advantage. *** A few months pass and Jackson who had left town that day and now resides in the city of what would be New London. At the Spring Time bar he sits having a drink and watching Metro Ball.

Toasting to his promotion with his colleagues the game is interrupted. He takes a sip of his drink as the newscaster says, “Breaking news, the owner of Shack-It-Up Mr. Saint-Claire is dead”, slowly Jackson lowers his glass as the newscaster pauses.

“This just in, from those on the scene, it seems the Bloody Wife Ms. Staellar blew his brains out in the middle of the street in broad daylight”, the newscaster continued. Jackson spits out his drink as those in the bar glance at him. “Dude, did you see a ghost?” “What?!” “Everybody knows about the Bloody Wife . Why are you surprised?” “Jackson? Weren’t you from around there?” “What! He’s from Old’s Ville?” “Yea-yeah I used to live there.” “Hmm but you didn’t react to the owner’s death. You only reacted to hearing it was the Bloody Wife who did it. ” Jackson dares not talk and instead diverts the attention from himself with just enough information about what happened in the bar that night without mentioning himself. Wrongly the people assume that it was Mr. Saint-Claire who approached the Bloody Wife . Shaking their head they comment saying, “That’s why she’s the Bloody Wife .”. Sitting back down Jackson gets another drink and tries to continue being merry with his colleagues but in the back of his mind he thought it was time to leave the city. Although he had no reason to believe she would be headed his way as the news report said she went in the opposite direction he had an uneasy feeling nonetheless. *** “Lala, why’d you have to kill him?” “Why? The bastard was using my name to promote his hotel.” “You could have just beaten him up.” “... That was the original plan but he tried to blackmail me. Blackmail me!!” “...” “He thought cause I fucked a guy in one of the rooms he could-” “Wait, you said you fucked a guy there right?” “Yeah, why?” “Did you kill him?” “Haa! Look it’s not like I kill every guy I fuck okay. And no, he was breathing when I left.” Inquisitively she said, “No wonder.” “What do you mean?” “Really… your nickname?” Looking annoyed, Laura asks, “Which one?” “Come on, Bloody Wife.” “What about it?” “You have got to be dense, you know. People consider you to be a black widow.” Puzzled, “So?” Highly annoyed, she replied “.... A black widow kills their mate, you bitch.” “What’s that got to do with me?” Slapping her head, she asks “What the condition of all the other dudes you fucked?” “They're dead, why-” It finally struck Laura, Jackson was the only guy you slept with that was still alive to tell the tale. Now she was sure it was even better that she had killed the hotel owner. She glances at Sarah who stood there with her arms folded and lets out a slight chuckle. Sarah just sighs. They head to the doctor’s office for Sarah’s check up. They were at Upper Avenue, this was where Laura was headed before stopping off at Old’s Ville. As they enter the elevator to go up to the doctor’s office a guy joins them. Since Laura who was close to the corner had turned to the side to take a private call the guy hadn’t noticed her. As he continues to hit on Sarah, Laura is getting annoyed since he didn’t bother to talk softly. Turning around the guy was just about to ask Sarah for her number as he saw who was in the corner all this time. He freezes and doesn’t utter another word as the elevator reaches their floor Sarah tugs Laurel for them to leave and the guy stands in the elevator still frozen as it closes. Sarah logs in at the desk and they both take a seat as they wait for the doctor to call her. Dr. Waterly comes out after a few minutes. Chuckling he says, “I see we have two patients.” “Doctor, you love to make jokes don’t you.” “Hmm, what are you talking about Sarah?” “I’m the only pregnant one here doc.” “... That can’t be, the scanners report that there are two pregnant women.” At a loss for words Sarah and Laurel look at each other. “Doc, you sure that thing’s working?” Stiffing up he replies, “Yes, Ms. Staellar.” “I can’t be pregnant doc. I was told I was barren.” “... If you don’t mind, can I check you with this machine right here? It should give me a more accurate reading.” To their surprise, it gave the same reading as the room sensors. The ultrasound clearly showed them a baby growing in Laurel’s belly. It had to have been at least three to four months since she got pregnant. Laurel hadn’t noticed due to her workout schedule and the jobs she regularly undertook. It was common for her to miss her period for months at a time. The doctor opted to give them some space as Laurel was in shock. “Lala, this wonderful news isn’t it?” “How… How is this wonderful? Do you realize how this will affect my job?” “Come on, it's not a big deal.” Laurel stands in frustration, “For you this isn’t a big deal. You think I want a kid?!” Seriously annoyed Sarah responses, “What wrong with having a child?! Being a mother is one of the joys of being a woman.” “I ain’t got time to raise no kid, especially since that dad ain’t even around.” Realizing what she just said Laurel turns to Sarah whose face is filled with disgust as tears run down her face. Laurel tries to apologize but Sarah has no interest in hearing it. Behind tears, Sarah bites her lip and mockingly says, “At least your child has a father”. She leaves Laurel in the waiting room and goes in to see the doctor. After her checkup she storms past Laurel. “Ms. Staellar, do you want me to give you a check up?” “Doctor just kills this thing inside me.” “You sure you want to do that. You may never get another child.” “...” “I understand that you’re upset and that you and Ms. Dowie are having a fight but I want you to know. Even though she was upset with you, she expressed that I take good care of you… and the baby.” Laurel is confused, and asks the doctor to let her think about it. She goes back home and tries to call Sarah but gets no answer. As if to clear her head she takes a look at open jobs. Finding nothing interesting she drowns herself in drink. Two days later she hears a knock at her door. It’s Sarah, she’s surprised at how ragged Laurel looks. “Can I come in?” Sluggishly Laurel replies, “... Yeah”. Surprised again at the mess in Laurel’s apartment Sarah gets to cleaning. After cleaning up Laurel's mess, Sarah sits down and they talk. Although it took fifteen minutes before either of them said anything. In the end they make up and Laurel decides to keep her baby. They figure between the two of them what could go wrong with raising their kids *** At the bar Jackson and co are watching the rest of Metro Ball after the sudden news. Their team narrowly wins. Jackson buys a round of drinks to celebrate but also to help them forget about the news. He had enough issues in his life. "Hey Jackson" "Hmm, Carla what's up?" "Let's have a kid." Jackson spits out his drink. The others stared at each other then laughed. Carla found it a bit puzzling and didn't understand why they were laughing. "Carla, we aren't an item. So why do you think you can say something like that so casually." "Come on, all you got to do is fuck me." Jackson is in disbelief. While the others nod in agreement to Carla's logic.

"Carla read my lips. I don't want a kid. Not with you or anybody." "Why not? I'm hot aren't I?" "That personality of yours isn't", Jackson shakes his head, wondering why he only seemed to attract the crazy girls.


I was kicked out of more classes than most people attended. It was always “Benny, normal people don’t do that” or “Benny, go wash your mouth out with soap. Foul language is not allowed in this classroom!” I couldn’t help it. I was missing some sort of filter. The words would just spontaneously fall out of my mouth. They seemed natural. I didn’t mean to offend anyone when I grabbed my crotch. It was an involuntary spasm, just like my blinking and grimacing. The kids in grade school were brutal. They just didn’t understand. I probably made it worse when I’d beat the shit out of them when they made fun of me. It isolated many potential friends. Yet my foul jokes, boyish smile and unfiltered mouth were a hit with the girls Go figure! Unlike most guys I would tell them exactly what I was thinking and what I wanted to do, and they loved it! They thought my tics were cute. Of course, there was James and Teddy. They were my best buds. We had many misadventures over the years. They would laugh at my harebrained ideas but always went along with them. I wouldn’t say they were followers. Both have had successful professional careers as a doctors. They were more enablers. James was the silent handsome type. Tall, athletic and swarthy, he was considered a heartthrob. I know he was pissed that he’d attract the girls and I’d walk away with them. He was too nice a guy and sort of shy. I guess I’m just an asshole. Teddy was the real brain. He was smarter than any of us. Always first in the class, he could do anything well. He played a mean guitar, wrote poetry and had a damned good singing voice. His flaming red hair and great laugh made him stand out in the crowd. He loved adventures and always added interesting twists and suggestions to make my ideas more daring and fun. One of my favorite memories of grade school was a soccer game. I was kicked out of Mr. Petlock’s grade eight class for swearing, talking out of turn or some other misdemeanor. There were so many, I can’t remember. Well, there were at least six of us from different grades who were ejected from our respective classes. We had a soccer ball and all we needed was a couple more guys to have a respectable game in the schoolyard. I didn’t think twice about knocking on Mr. Petlock’s classroom door and very nicely asking: “Can you let James and Teddy come out and play? We need two more players for a soccer game.” Part of me knew that it was inappropriate, but I couldn’t help myself. Despite my nervous blinking. I maintained my angelic smile. The class erupted with laughter. By this grade almost everyone found me entertaining. Teddy and James rose from their seats and Mr. Petlock kicked them out. We had a good game lasting most of the afternoon. Mr. P. really was a good guy. I think deep down he was amused. It didn’t hurt that the three of us consistently had the highest grades on most tests. You see, that has been my get out of jail free card. I did well in school despite my many misdemeanors. Teachers and principals repeatedly told me I was wasting my talents and possibly ruining my life with my behavior. It didn’t stop several colleges from offering me scholarships. However, it probably did turn off the Ivy league schools that Teddy and James attended. The university of Illinois was good enough for me. Besides, they had a good wrestling program. Oh yeah, I’m five foot eight and have been lifting weights and wrestling since I was ten. Some would say that I am muscle bound. I guess I have short man syndrome and have compensated for all the teasing I experienced at a young age. The three musketeers were apart for six years. Teddy was at Harvard and James was at Stanford. We all were accepted to our respective schools’ medical program. Teddy and James breezed through medical school with top marks. I, on the other hand, had to work my ass off just to stand somewhere in the middle of the class pecking order. All that hard work prevented me from acting out too much. My classmates were too busy to notice my tics are us act. My occasional outbursts in the front of the class just seem to break the tension of the day-to-day grind. My classmates loved my daily act of crushing a soda can on my forehead and doing a little jig just before our professor arrived. The girls of course thought I was cute and didn’t mind my ‘potty mouth’. Professors ignored my profane outbursts most of the time. I tried to restrain myself as best as I could but not always successfully. I really wanted to be a doctor and didn’t want to be kicked out of medical school. Still there was the time our dermatology professor asked the class for a definition of acne. My answer of ‘backed up sperm’ drew gasps from my classmates. Fortunately, the professor ignored me and chose another classmate’s answer. Dr. Sebaceous always struck me as a young stuffy guy in an expensive suit.  I didn’t think he had a sense of humor but maybe I was wrong. To my surprise, at the end of medical school, I was accepted to the Harbor General Internal Medicine program in Torrance California. It was a prestigious UCLA affiliated residency. James and Teddy had their pick of programs but decided to reunite with me. James chose the Harbor General orthopedic surgery residency and Teddy their radiology program. I was thrilled. The boys were back together again and in Southern California. Let the fun begin! We rented a three-bedroom apartment three blocks from the ocean in Manhattan beach. I had my wingmen. With James’ looks, Teddy’s brain and my mouth, I knew the good times would roll. I didn’t account for how time consuming and exhausting our training programs would be. There was little time for partying or adventures. It did not stop me from having fun with patients. Harbor General was a county hospital and catered to the indigent. Medical residents had more autonomy than at a private hospital, It was perfect for a rebel like me. Attendings appreciated my work ethic and knowledge base and ignored my outbursts. In fact, some seemed amused. The drug user patients and gang members spoke my language. I could drop F-bombs and tell them inappropriate jokes and they seemed to love it. I had finally found the perfect audience. Take that, Mr. Petlock and my grade school doubters! In this world, if I worked hard and had good outcomes, no one seemed to care about my tics or unfiltered mouth. With these patients, I could use my full off-color vocabulary. I’d dispense with the politically correct anatomical words such as penis or vagina. F that! I was finally among my people and spoke their language. No sexual joke or story was off limits. I found an audience that appreciated my talents. The white coat and stethoscope gave me cover and respectability. Something I never thought I’d get. Three years of training passed quickly. I was having fun. The boys and I threw many spectacular parties on the beach. Outside of the hospital, I did not have to restrain myself. I was Benny unchained. Even though the patients did not object to my language or tics, I knew I had I had to control my mouth in front of our attendings. It was easier said than done. The odd f-bomb and inappropriate comment just fell out of my mouth occasionally. Also, I couldn’t control my tics are us circus. Some of my female attendings looked appalled when I grabbed my crotch, but I couldn’t help it. Still, my hard work and smile would win them over. It was all going well until my final year. I had the idea of a lifetime, or so I thought. Late one night, James, Teddy and I would roller skate through the hospital. We would perform a mock code in the ICU, do a cancan in the emergency room and race down the hallways. James’ girlfriend, Lori, would videotape us and we would show the film to each of our graduating classes at the end of the year. The director of my program had asked me to perform some sort of skit for the ceremonies. He opened pandora’s box! That evening, I was on call for the medical ICU and James for the surgical ICU. I didn’t see any problems managing an emergency on roller skates. If necessary, I could remove them. James was not as comfortable with the plan but as always, he was a good sport. At 7 pm we strapped on our skates in the ‘on-call’ room, donned our white lab coats and flew into the hallways. Lori, a petit fourth year medical student, recorded every twist and turn. The nurses in the ICU were giggling and cooperative. As we performed a mock code on a comatose gang member. We had to skate out of the area in a hurry when the fat Grinch of a head nurse appeared. Someone obviously ratted on us. We were down in the emergency room performing a cancan with their staff when the receptionist told me that my program director was on the line. Oh shit! The fat Grinch had tattled. James looked nervous and immediately took off his skates, but Teddy continued to dance with the nurses. He was our best skater and always knew his brains and reputation made him untouchable. Down deep, I knew, I didn’t have that luxury. My residency program was not Mr. Petlock’s class. When I took the receiver from the receptionist, I gave her my best smile. Inside I was shaking. Dr. Liebling’s baritone voice was loud and clear. “Benny, this time you’ve gone too far. Stop this foolishness and see me in my office in the morning before rounds.” I considered my options and almost dropped an f-bomb but bit my lip for a few seconds before saying: “Yes sir!” James and Teddy knew something was wrong because I was blinking and grimacing uncontrollably.  As my oldest friends, they knew it was a sign of extreme anxiety and dread. Teddy skated over to me and put his arm around my shoulders and tried to comfort me by saying: “We’ll get through this Benny. We always do.” I shook my head. Maybe I had gone too far. I really wanted to be a doctor. The next day, Dr. Liebling, a tall thin balding man in a white lab coat met me in the reception area leading to his office. It was empty but several employees were setting up for the day. As we walked, he loudly berated me. “Benny, what you did was inappropriate and irresponsible. Not only did you break hospital rules, but you endangered patients. Weren’t you on call? What if there had been a real code? Did you get permission from the comatose patient or his family to make a mockery of his condition or care? I’m not sure the hospital will cover any suits filed against you. It could ruin your career and life. Alright let’s go intomy  office and decide what to do about you.” His last words almost made me incontinent but instead I was blinking and grimacing wildly. I couldn’t control the f-bombs exploding from my mouth. I was in deep doo-doo. I took a seat in front of Liebling’s desk after closing the door. He sat and just stared at me for a few minutes before shaking his head and saying. “Benny, Benny, we always knew you were a loose cannon, but we knew you cared about the patients and had good judgment… until now. Everything I said in the reception area is true. Fortunately, so far, the only complaints we have received have been from Mrs. Grinchley. If you’re lucky, no other people will come forward. I’ve told Mrs G, I will discipline you. You’re losing your last week of vacation. Don’t ever pull something like that again. You could lose your medical license at the very least. Now that we have that out of the way, tell me how it felt skating down those long hallways? You’re lucky the Er docs are good sports. They put in a good word for you and said they had lots of fun. No ICU nurse felt that you endangered any patient and a few giggled as they were interviewed. The video might make a good end of the year presentation for the graduating class. You’re lucky that I have a good sense of humor and have a son with Tourette’s.” Tourette’s? What? Oh my God! I have Tourette’s! It makes total sense. After all these years of f-bombs and tics, I never put it together.  I was so stunned, I just nodded and left the office. The day passed quickly. I couldn’t wait until I shared the news with the boys. I have Tourette’s and we are home free! To my surprise, Teddy just laughed and said: “What else is new?” I was puzzled and asked: “What do you mean?” Teddy shrugged his shoulders and said: “After reading my first psych text, I knew you were a textbook case. What was the point of telling you? It wouldn’t change anything. You’ve always used it to your advantage. It probably helped you skate Scott free this time as well.” Teddy didn’t know the extent of it until a few weeks later. I was paid several hundred dollars by the residency program for the videotape and voted resident of the year. Pretty f-in good!