Time is a strange thing. You don’t really notice it, you are not aware of its flow in the background. It goes on, uninterrupted, at its own pace. You measure your life in events that you experience, chunks that glue together in your mind as memories, but not really on a timeline. You wake up in the morning, drink your coffee, smoke a cigarette, drive to work, do your 8 hour chore and then drive back home, maybe have a beer or two and go to bed. Repeat. And then it’s Tuesday afternoon, in December. It’s been a long day, full with annoying people doing stupid shit and saying even more stupid shit. You are driving back, one more dot among the thousands driving in the same direction on the highway. It’s dark, and raining heavily. It’s not even rain, it’s that disgusting combination of rain and snow, that just makes you even more depressed. You are not really paying attention, you’ve driven this route so many times, it is reflex by now. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice something. The truck in the right lane suddenly moves left. It’s a glitch in the monotony of the flow of cars, unexpected by your reflex of driving. So you notice it. Your brain focuses in an instant. And this is when time does its strange thing. It brakes pace. It slows to a crawl. Tick. Everything is now in slow-motion. The wipers are almost standing still, and you can see the rain drops as they slowly shoot towards the window. It is almost mesmerizing. The truck is very slowly veering to the left. It probably tries to avoid a car in front of it. You wonder what could have happened to freak the driver out so? There is a car in the lane to your right. A mini-van. One of those cars you immediately think of belonging to a family, with too many children. You always wondered if you would ever have to buy such a car. They are so ugly. It hasn’t noticed the truck swerving yet. You already realize that there is a high chance it will get hit. The car next to you starts swerving too. Very slowly, it starts moving left, into your lane. It must have finally noticed the truck pulling close, and got scared. Tick. By this time, your body is already starting to tense up, knowing something dramatic is about to happen. ‘Amazing how fast the unconscious works’, you think to yourself. You take notice of your speed. It is more than it should be, given the weather conditions. You know this, but you give yourself the excuse that everyone else is doing it too. Bad excuse, you realize. The mini-van next to you has pulled too hard to the left. With the road surface as slippery as it is, it loses grip to the back wheels and starts slowly drifting. It will end up in your lane. Through the side window, you see the face of the other driver. His expression is a mix of fear, panic and concentration. He obviously lost control of the car, and he knows it. But he is still fighting. You wonder what must be going through his head right now? Is he thinking about his wife? His kids? His own life? Maybe nothing at all? You will hit the mini-van. You are driving too fast, and it is too close. All the calculations your brain made, considering all the variables in front of you, gave the same result. It is unavoidable. Tick. The mini-van is now right in front of you. It is perpendicular to you, in the middle of the lane. Your car is closing in on it, very slowly. Centimeters away now. Unavoidable. You look at the other driver, just as he shifts his eyes at you. He catches your gaze and looks straight at you. Eye contact. You can see the fear in his eyes. He is afraid of dying, of losing everything. He is afraid for his family. You just now realize what is happening. Until now it has been a slow motion movie, you just seem to look at. Never really sinked in that you are one of the actors. It is happening to you. The realization is overwhelming. Is this really it? This morning, when you woke up, shuffled to the kitchen and turned on the coffee machine, you didn’t think that it would be your last morning. Would you have done things differently , had you known? Would you have been nicer to that colleague you can’t stand? Would you have asked out that one person you were dreaming of ever since you met them? Doesn’t matter anymore, does it? As your car touches the mini-van, you cramp up. Your hands are squeezing the wheel. Your muscles tense up. You start feeling the force of the impact, slowly moving in a big wave through the car. You lurch forward, the seatbelt starting to cut into your skin. The panels creak and pop, plastic starts to break into small pieces, at the weak points. The windshield shatters in a spiderweb, small shards flying outward. Your head swings forward, unable to hold back the inertia. As it moves towards the wheel, you see the small panel in front of the airbag crack open. You are too close to the wheel, you think. This will hurt. It is unavoidable. Tick.


The cold mist of morning dew lay like a blanket over Birmingham Alabama's Five Points District. The perpetual *wet* that clung to the air was exacerbated by the early morning sun, having just risen, had not yet been able to warm the air to an agreeable temperature. The ancient brick buildings stood sentinel over the city’s most historic and well known hub of commerce. Blurry headlights attached to blurry vehicles approached the Five Points intersection from all five directions, one by one they would all wait their turn under the stoplight. This grand arbiter would spew forth color coated permission to the cars below. Green, yellow, red...green...yellow...red. An automobile ballet with no perceivable middle or end in sight. At the base of the Charles, Louisman, & Greening building, D'Andre stood just outside a locked, brass-handled door with his hands tucked into his arm pits. Carefully pacing back and forth just enough to stay warm, and not enough to sweat through his interview clothes, he was anxious to get inside, *if* this building ever opened. Birmingham was uncharacteristically cold this December morning and D'Andre was growing jealous of those cruising past him who could afford a car with heat, or even just a car really. A middle aged woman finally appeared on the other side of the door with a large keyring, she held one eye's gaze on finding the right key, and the other on sizing up the threat or intention of the man standing out in the cold morning. D'Andre took a few steps back to give the woman some breathing room. Having been black his whole life; D'Andre knew the importance of the bubble of personal space you afford to strangers was especially true for him. To many times throughout his life had people misinterpreted his intentions, casting sinister shadows across the face of a man whose only crime was being born black and not especially handsome, well...not his *only* crime. After a turn of the key and a mechanical *click*, the business-casually dressed middle aged woman opened the door and welcomed D'Andre inside with a greeting about as warm as his own nose. The buildings massive foyer struck D'Andre as a mix between a large bank and a small airport. The woman retreated across the marble floor and behind a reception desk where she took a seat and gave D'Andre a forced *'May I help you?'* smile, without ever actual having had said it. “Hello, Good morning.” D'Andre's deep voice echoed straight up at the vaulted ceilings, “I uh, I have an appointment this morning to meet with a Mr. Donnatee.” “I'm sorry, there is nobody here by that name.” The woman's face contorted comically sour, “Unless of course, you are referring to Mr. Dinaughty? She offered. “Yes, that would be him.” D'Andre felt a sharp sting of displacement from this woman’s words, the pristine floors, the air of superiority, everything around him screamed 'OUT CROWD'. A decade ago, D'Andre would not have hesitated to take this white bitch down a peg, today however, he had too much to lose. “Have a seat and someone will be out shortly.” she said and motioned toward the leather clad sitting area next to the coffee station against the west wall. D'Andre did as he was told and lowered himself into the couch gently as if not to rock a boat. Several minutes passed and D'Andre was becoming keenly aware of how quiet this lobby was. The nearby coffee smelled of freshly brewed Veranda Blend and became increasingly temping. D'Andre had learned to ween himself off coffee from all those years of being threatened with ulcers from Dr. Lippman, the prison's medical ward's main physician. “Mr. Washington?” spoke a light skinned woman holding a clip board who had appeared from a set of large wooden double doors on other side of the coffee station. D'Andre turned his head to see who had called his name. Their eyes met and he stood quickly, subconsciously eager to please this beautiful young woman. Although both were black, they clearly never ran the same circles. D'Andre knew for every shade lighter your skin was; another dollar was added to your cultural capitol. “Follow me please.” She said and turned to lead him back through the double doors. D'Andre was grateful for her polite smile but now he was not sure their eyes actually met after all. He followed her closely down a wide carpeted hallway adorned on both sides with large beaming portraits of old puffy white men. After two left turns they arrived at the door of Mr. Dinaughty's office. The light-skinned assistant rapped twice on the mahogany, turned and left the way they had come. Upon the door opening, D'Andre was met by a tall gray-haired man in a suit that fit far better than D'Andre's did. Mr. Dinaughty's trendy eyeglasses and current haircut gave off a youthful energy for a man who was clearly in his late fifties. “Come in Mr. Washington!” The man spoke loudly through an exuberant smile. They two men exchanged a handshake that was, due to Mr. Dinaughty's ardor, near violent. “Sit! Sit!” he cried. D'Andre took his seat and scanned the walls of the scarce office, few personal objects and no art to speak off. “So,” Mr. Dinaughty stated matter-of-factly while his eyes scanned some papers on the desk in front of him. “Looking for some work are we?” “Yessir”. “Well, well, well, well, well....looks like your P.O. is Paul Houser? Fine man, that Paul. Did he mention he and I attended college together? “Oh, Yessir”. “I suppose he still does that crazy 'eyebrow' thing when he gets real serious, huh?” “Oh, Yessir, he does indeed.” Mr. Dinaughty let out a short, hard laugh. “Well, well, well, well, well...says here on your application that you are applying for the job of marketing assistant?” “Yessir, that is correct. I spent two years studying communications and marketing at Jefferson State Community College. That is, uh, where I obtained my associates degree.” People where always stricken with surprise to learn D'Andre was a college grad, considering his somewhat inarticulate speech. “Mr. Washington” Dinaughty spoke slower now, “You see...positions in our marketing department are just are not the type of job we offer to felons. It-its a matter of policy, you can understand that right?” Dinaughty lifted his palms up, showing that his hands were empty and, in fact, not holding the pen that writes policy. “Look, Sir,” D'Andre said quickly, striving hard to hold back a ghetto edge from his voice. “I'm not looking to run up in here and start calling the shots, all I'm looking for is a chance to prove that I am worthy of a legitimate career, that I'm capable of being the man my sons see me as. Now, I am worth more than those 12 years the state stole from me. I can prove to be an asset, I'm just looking for that chance, that’s all.” D'Andre had no way of knowing just how little his passionate plea would advance his cause. Long before he ever woke up this morning, the cogs of commerce and economic determinism had conspired against his plight. A Black ex-con doing anything other than mopping floors is just *'not best for business'* as Dinaughty would latter put it. At the end of the interview, D'Andre was ultimately offered a job. An hour later, after being fitted for a custodial uniform, D'Andre set out again into the cold streets towards the small building attached to the courthouse, to tell his probation office the*good news*.


I hadn't written anything in a long time. This story came out of a conversation I had with someone in my life that hates their job. I had recently watched American Psycho, and this was the combination of thoughts between the two moments. “Pizza for none” It was as dark as the city could be that night. The lights of the buildings shone down on the street, the cars lighting up what they pointed at, and the street lamps hovered their halos above the sidewalk; it was still dark . Nobody pays much attention to a pizza delivery person, and tonight was no exception. People continually bumped into him as if he wasn’t there. He wasn’t a small person either. At around 6 feet, he stood above many of the people on the sidewalk that night. His hat was pulled down, covering his face and revealing the familiar company logo. There was not much of a chill this night, but the delivery man still wore a long sleeved shirt under his polo, as well as gloves to match. Not everyone was warm blooded in this town. He continued his way down the sidewalk with his head down, as if he was accepting that he was just a “nobody.” This was his hope at least. He found the building he was looking for and stood outside. He saw the buzzer box to call up to the apartment, but didn’t use it. He just waited. Ten minutes went by before someone made their way out of the building. He made his way to the door as they came out, holding it courteously as they exited, then made his way inside. Nobody questions the pizza guy. Two flights of steps later, he was in the correct hallway. He had never been in this building, but had a vague familiarity of where he was. He had studied this complex. There was a calmness creeping over him as he walked down the hall, but there was an anxious excitement accompanying the feeling. This was the moment he had waited for. He approached the door, held the warm bag up high, and knocked. Karen heard the knock from her couch, where she was enjoying watching the local NFL team maintain a minor lead for once. It was rare she had anyone come by at this hour. She stood up and made her way to the door. Looking out the peep hole, she could see the pizza bag, which covered the face of the person who knocked, and the hat which displayed the well known chain’s logo. She hadn’t ordered a pizza. “Who is it?” she asked through the still closed door. “I have a pizza for Karen,” she heard in response. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t order a pizza” she announced, confused already by the interaction. “The note says ‘To Karen, enjoy a slice of my love,’” the delivery driver chuckled. Though slightly repulsed by the cuteness, she appreciated the fact that her boyfriend was sending her dinner from out of town, and as a surprise! “One second,” she said, as she reached for the lock. She opened the door and saw mostly the bag, which was held up at eye level. She noticed, shortly after, the pistol pointed at her from below the bag. “Don’t make a sound,” he said, pointing he gun discreetly into her lower torso. “Keep your hands at your side and quietly back inside the apartment.” He followed her inside and the crept backwards, arms stiffly at her side. A look of terror washed over her face as she did. He knew she would not recognize him, yet, but that she would likely follow every command he gave. “Lie on the ground, face down, with your hands on your head,” he commanded. He watched carefully as she did what she was told, then turned and latched the front door behind him. “I’m going to tie your hands,” he warned her, before removing two pieces of silk fabric and two thick, leather, straps from the bag with the pizza. Soon, her arms were locked behind her back, and another piece was tied around her head, obscuring her vision. A fourth piece of cloth was removed from the bag, along with a sock. The sock was wadded into a ball and placed in her mouth; it was secured in place with the cloth wrapped around her head and mouth. She was now completely helpless. The delivery man made his way to the windows, closing all of the curtains to the outside world; he did not want to be spied upon while he worked. After securing the windows, he made his way to her mostly-bound self, and picked her and dragged her to the couch. She was sat down carefully. He produced two more leather straps and two more pieces of cloth from the bag. As he had done with her hands, he wrapped the cloth around her ankles before securing them with the straps. She would not be going anywhere without his help. “I’m going to remove your gag,” he told her, “and if you make a sound when not prompted, you will feel a sense of immediate regret.” She nodded with understanding. “I want you to tell me where you keep your valuables,” he stated, as he removed her gag. “I’m not here to hurt you, but I am going to be leaving here with some of your things.” “The bedroom,” she responded, with a shake to her voice. “I have jewelry in the box on my dresser. Please take it all, just don’t hurt me.” Her voice pleaded with a tone unfamiliar to her day to day life. She was a manager; she was a person of power. People feared her and respected her. She was not used to having anything less than the upper hand. A combination of fear and anger had swept over her from the moment she saw the pistol. “How dare he do this to me,” she thought. “Don’t move,” she heard him say, before replacing what she thought felt like a sock in her mouth. She thought of the ways she could possibly escape on her own, and realized quickly that she had little hope. She could hear him in her bedroom now, violating her possessions. She loved her jewelry, and was hoping he wouldn’t notice the compartment on the side of the box which held her grandmothers ring. The sentimental and literal values were likely similar, though she hadn’t had it appraised. Her heart beat with ferocity as she felt his footsteps vibrate the floor closer and closer again. “Cash,” he said, with a cold emptiness. “Where is it?” She thought about not responding. She thought about lying. She thought about the nice bonus check she had recently cashed out and kept with her emergency cash in the shoebox in her closet. “I don’t have anything else than what is in my purse,” she responded, after he removed the gag once again. “Please take it, it isn’t much, and leave.” She felt him lean in, closer and closer, to the point that she could feel the warmth of his face next to hers. “I wouldn’t play games,” the driver whispered to her. He asked her again, and she told him about the shoebox. She felt the dampness sock around her mouth as he forced it back inside and once again tied the gag. In the bedroom, the driver had already taken a few pieces of jewelry from the box, but it was cash he was really hoping for. He didn’t want to raise suspicions. People would notice if all of her jewelry was missing, but would likely not know about any cash she had stashed away. He pulled down the box and opened it up. “Jackpot,” he thought to himself, as he looked at the stack of bills. He knew she had cash here, as she had once mentioned that she kept an emergency fund. “I’m sure she never expected her ‘emergency’ to be so close to home” he chuckled. He took the box with him out of the room, placing the small pile of jewelry he had left on the bed into the box first. The box went into the pizza bag, where there was no pizza on this night. He took a look at her, tied up on the couch, and saw that she was behaving quite well. This was going very well. He turned his head in the opposite direction of the bedroom and saw the kitchen. Part two of his plan was here. Karen heard him rustle in the bag he brought before wandering off to the kitchen. “At least there isn’t anything of value for him in there” she thought, hoping he would just leave now that he had her money. She could faintly make out the sound of a glass being removed from a cabinet, followed by a bottle placed on the counter. “Sure, make yourself at home,” she thought with irritation. She was keeping to the anger as much as she could, as she was well aware that he may come for her body next. The idea was upsetting, so she pushed it aside. She felt him approaching from across the room once again. “Drink this,” he calmly demanded. She felt a straw placed into her mouth, replacing the sock he had just removed. Tequila?? She slowly drank. It was mixed with the grapefruit juice from her fridge, but it was mixed very heavily in favor of the Tequila. The straw was not removed her mouth until she was done with the glass. She was no stranger to drinks, but did not typically drink them this quickly. She felt a momentary nausea, but felt it was best to fight it. She was starting to worry this was the first step into her being assaulted. “I want my mom,” was her following thought. He pulled the drink away from her after she finished it. He could see the fear and confusion, even through her blindfold. “I’m going to have you drink more,” he told her, “and if you do as I say you will continue to be kept safe.” A few moments later he returned from the kitchen with another similar drink. She did as she was told once again. “The drinks are to make your memory of my robbery hazy,” he told her. She believed it. Karen was starting to feel the drinks already. He had fed her three strong drinks already, and was getting another. She wasn’t a lightweight, but she was going to be on her way to being drunk very soon. “Whatever gets him out the door,” she thought. “Even if he gets me blackout drunk, I will remember the little bit I have,” she mused. “He will not be getting away with this as easy as he hopes.” He knew how much she needed to drink before she started to lose her control. This wasn’t the first time she had drank in his presence, but she wasn’t aware of this. “One more should do it,” he thought, heading back to the kitchen. He had a plan, and every step thus far had gone to perfection. He was going to get away with this, he knew it. He approached her with her final drink. This was it. This was when he got to have real fun. The revenge already tasted sweet. He smiled as she sipped down the last drink. She winced forcing it all down. It was time. He placed the gag back in her mouth, tied it tight, and reached for her blindfold. She moved back, slightly startled, but relaxed as she seemed to realize she was going to see again. She would not stay relaxed long, though the alcohol would help his cause. As she felt the delivery man remove the blindfold, she acknowledged the idea that this was bad. If he was going to be casual with his identity, she might not be walking away. He did explain the drinks were to mess with her memory, and she wouldn’t be having these thoughts in the state she was reaching if she hadn’t been thinking them for the past hour, if it had been that long. Her eyes adjusted to the light as the blindfold dropped. When the blindfold dropped, so did her stomach. “Hello Karen,” Jason spoke calmly. He saw by her eyes that she recognized him immediately, once he had removed the hat with the fake, shaggy hair. He didn’t know how quickly she would be processing through the inebriation, but knew it didn’t matter, as he was planning to explain it all. “How perfectly cliche” he muttered, before addressing her. Karen knew Jason right away. She had fired him months ago, but he had left without problem. She knew, as well as he did, that she had been less than kind to him. “A disgruntled employee,” she thought to herself, “how is this really happening?” “You made my life hell,” he stated to her, with a fire now burning in his eyes. “I trusted you. We trusted you, and you continually shit on us behind our backs.” This moment was perfect. “I’m not going to draw this out more than it will be naturally, but I am going to humiliate you tonight,” he said to her. “Its time for a shower.” She watched in horror as he removed a knife from his back pocket. “Was this it? Will my cutthroat corporate ways be my undoing? What is he going to do to me?” Thoughts raced, as quickly as they could as the alcohol continued to process. He leaned forward, and started to cut away at her blouse. This was what she dreaded. Nobody should have to experience a sexual assault, and she never thought it would be her. Her hands were still bound, as were her legs, and soon these binds were the only articles overing her body besides the blindfold. She noticed a pile of clothing next to her now shredded outfit. “Why did he bring me a change of clothes?” Her head was starting to spin. The drinks were hitting her harder now. “Follow me,” Jason said, as he lifted her off the couch and led her to her bathroom. Jason had always been attracted to Karen, and seeing her bound, gagged, and being led naked across her apartment gave him a strong level of arousal. He was sure she was speculating, but rape was not something he was capable of. He wanted her to be afraid though, so he had no intention of clearing this up. He sat her down on the toilet and started the shower. As the water heated up, he wandered back into the previous room to gather the pile of non-torn clothes. He tossed them on the floor near the shower, and turned back towards Karen. He helped her stand back up, and motioned towards the shower. “Time to wash away your sins,” he said to her. Karen was having a hard time standing between the restraints and the drinks. “Jason will be regretting this,” she thought to herself, as he stood her up in the shower. The warm water danced off of her as she stood underneath the spray; this was the only thing she could do with her arms bound. “I’m going to remove your arm restraints so you can shower proper,” he told her, “if you try anything, I will hurt you.” She didn’t doubt this. She knew from working with Jason that he was smart. She also knew that he was a little bit nuts. He removed the restraints and the cloth beneath each one. Her hands were free again. It was good to have them back, though she was not in any pain from them. With the cloth wrapped around her wrists first, she didn’t even have marks from the binds on her skin. She watched him toss the straps to the floor. “Grab the body wash,” he said, looking at her intently. She reached down to grab the bottle from the corner. “Lather your hands and start cleaning.” She opened the bottle and emptied some of its contents into her hand. She leaned forward to place the bottle back down when she felt his hands grab her her head. She was falling backwards now. She hit her head on the edge of the tub with an audible “crack.” Darkness. Jason watched as she started to bleed from the laceration in her skull. She was no longer moving, nor would she move again. He removed her gag and leg restraints. He left the bathroom with everything besides her set of clean clothes, and placed everything he had brought with him into the pizza bag. He walked back to the bathroom and took one more look at her, lying in the tub with streaks of red washing down the drain as the shower continued to run. “Well done,” he thought. He made his way to the door, putting his hat with the fake hair back on and turned low. He grabbed the pizza bag, peered through the peep hole into the hall, then opened the door. A quick glance out the door showed the hall to be empty. He turned the lock on the inside before shutting the door behind him. Nobody noticed the pizza man as he left the building. Nobody noticed the pizza man as he disappeared down the street. The newspaper said she had been in the shower for two days before they found her. Her boyfriend became worried after not hearing back from her. She hadn’t been showing up to work. Karen was found in the tub, with the water still running. The tequila on the counter told the story. The autopsy confirmed the story. The story would go that she had a few too many drinks, slipped in the shower, and had a massive head injury as a result. She would be missed by many (though not really). “There is no suspicion of foul play.


"Fuck that. I won't do this to myself, won't do it to someone else, ever again." he said to himself after breaking up with her. She was beautiful but that's all there was to it. Facial features and curves can only take you so far. He knew it was a bad idea from the start, and he knew he should have ended it sooner. Years pass and everything changes. Severe mental health issues delay graduation. What a wild white knuckle ride that was. Deep depression, mania, depression again, repeat. Suicide sounded so comforting for so long. This is a different world for him now. Full of people who only understand him through his label: Bipolar. He forgets about the girl but he cannot forget about the way it feels to have someone special. Someone who really loves you and accepts you for who you are. He craves intimacy. Not the variety you find between the sheets. Just the little things: The soft warmth of kissing someone on the cheek. Falling asleep on the couch while you're watching a movie. The sweet smell of her hair. The first hug at the end of a long day. Holding hands in the chilly fall air. He's pretty stable these days... but the cravings are getting worse and worse. Visions of standing in the kitchen with her, flirting while he cooks. Listening to her stories. Exchanging fascinating ideas. Sitting in silence. The years roll by faster and faster. Where is she? Who is she? Is she even out there? Should he look for her, or just stay put and be patient? Nobody knows. But some day, the wait will be over. Hands on the nape of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. The first one. It's pure bliss. Three seconds of heaven, then prolonged eye contact, and a warm smile. Giggling while making out in the park like a pair of teenagers. Waking up next to her while she's sleeping, and thinking: "I still can't believe it." Associating songs with her. Movies. Books. Starbucks drinks. And it will just as good as he remembered it to be. No - even better. The wait is painful but it will be worth it. For her. Whoever she is.


“Hey Phil. Running a bit late are we?”, said the newest guard to join the watch and also Phil's successor. “Just wanted to take one last stroll around the block Frank.”, he replied as all 8 of his legs struggled to pull his old body to the top of the headboard. Once up, he closed his many eyes and took a deep breathe. The cool nights air filling his lungs like it had countless times before. “Any web breaches tonight?”, he asked. His eyes still closed as he recalled the first time he stood here. He was now old, almost 2 years of age, and was ready to step aside and let a younger and quicker spider take his post. “Nope.”, Frank replied. “I suspect that your webs will out last us all.”. He turned his gaze to his friend and smiled, only getting a slight smirk in return. Frank was unsure how to approach tonight. This was the last night that Phil would be on watch with him. The older and more experienced arachnid had been his mentor and friend for an entire month, saying goodbye would be difficult. Phil must have been feeling some sadness about this all as well. But this was to be a night of celebration. A night the all spiders wait their entire lives for. “Are you excited for the jump?”, he asked. “Excited?” asked Phil. “I don't think excited is the right word.” “What? Why? I've been dreaming about my jump since I was young and hate that I have to wait a whole year before I get to meet Anansi.” “Yes, well I guess feelings change the closer one gets to the end of their life.”, he said. He opened his eyes and submerged them in his surroundings. He was going to miss this view. Deep down Phil didn't want to jump. The ancient tradition that once seemed so honourable and poetic was now a cruel reminder of a life wasted. “I can't believe what I'm hearing.”, snapped Frank. “This is borderline blasphemy Phil. The book is very clear as to what happens when we reach the age of..”, he started but was interrupted by Phil. “I know, I know. I'm not saying that I won't jump, what would i do with my life now anyway. All I'm saying is that maybe there is nothing waiting for me on the other side. Have you ever wondered why it is that we even protect the humans from mosquitoes while they sleep? I've spent every night up here thinking about such questions without ever coming to an answer.”, he ranted. Looking over to his friend he could tell that he was talking into deaf ears. Frank was fresh out of the academy and had unbreakable faith in Anansi, the spider God, and her promise of a life in paradise to those who protect the humans. “Phil”, Frank said in semi stern, semi gentle voice. “You need to have faith. You've reached the end of your time here and should be looking forward to eternity with Anansi. All you need is faith.”, he preached as he placed 3 of his arms onto the old man's back. “Now how much longer until the jump?, he asked. Phil sighed. There was no point in fighting. No point in arguing. “Anytime now.”, he answered. “The air is dry tonight so he should be opening his mouth soon.” “And when he does?” “When he does I will leap from this headboard and into my warm, moist grave.” “And into Anansi's arms my friend.”, giving him a loving pat of the back before removing his arms. They both sat there in silence until the moment was upon them. Phil closed his eyes and took one last breathe. “My only regret in life is that it took a lifetime to realize I have regret.”, he mumbled before jumping into the darkness. The same darkness that took his predecessor and the same darkness that will eventually take his successor.


I still think about that night. The night that keeps me awake during the late hours. The night for which, I have questioned my sanity. The night I could not prevent. Here is a piece of my journal from 18 years ago, which I wrote during therapy. I tell the story as it happened, because even then, I was unable to accept the harsh truth. It was a Wednesday night when my parents and my older sister decided to leave my brother and I by ourselves at home, as Allan and I did not enjoy dinner at our aunt's. I was 12, old enough to take care of him and myself. My brother is only six years old, so I don’t take much of what he says very seriously. 8:00pm - It was middle of winter, all of the light outside was gone. I remember everything was fine, it was just him and I playing video games. No violent ones, as my parents forbade me from playing those around him. It was my brother’s turn to play, so I took a break to go to the washroom and to get a glass of water. What I was about to see did not scare me. I did not think much of it. It might sound somewhat funny, but there was a cat in the house. We did not own a cat. It was a black cat. I thought its eyes were shut, but upon further inspection I realized that its eyes were actually missing. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary since I had seen some cats like that at our local shelter. It must have been the neighbor's cat. I snapped my fingers to get its attention, and it quickly came over to sniff my hand. I fed it some water and a piece of old baloney that my dad was supposed to throw away, but he never got to it. Such a forgetful man, it’s like we are not even related. Suddenly, I heard my brother Allan scream, which startled the cat. The noise that came out of the cat's mouth was, *morbid* . Nothing like I've heard before, I just, I cannot explain it. I ran back to my bedroom where I had left my brother. But, on the way something stopped me. As I was about to enter the bedroom, I see my brother curled up in the corner at the end of the hallway. *“Daniel, don’t open the door. Don’t open the door.”* His voice filled with fear, and tears run down his innocent face. I ask him what’s the matter and why he screamed so loudly, to which he replies *"I didn’t.”* Like I mentioned before, he’s just a child, a kid, to me just a baby still. So I figured he was making all of that up, but why? He’s never like that, he’s a good child. As I was about to tell him to come over to comfort him, I heard a loud bang come from the bedroom. The door was locked. It sounded like there was someone, or something inside that was throwing all of our stuff around. I was extremely pissed, because just that morning our mother had ordered us to clean up the room. I silently went up to my brother and told him to remain quiet, and to follow me. We quietly went into our father’s office, where there was a phone. We got in and locked the door. I grabbed the phone and dialed my mom’s cellphone. *“Yes honey, is everything okay?”* I told her somebody had broken into the house, and that we were in dad’s office and had locked the door. *“Honey, listen to me and be very quiet. Turn off the lights in the room, lock yourself and Allan in the closet and cover up with whatever you can find in there, okay? We’re on our way there and so are the cops.”* I told her I understood, and followed just as she said. In the darkness of the closet, Allan starts to hum and I tell him to be quiet, and explain the situation to him. He does not say anything else and remains quiet for a while. *“Daniel?”* Allan asked me in the most concerned voice ever *“Yes?”* I answered back expecting him to ask me something silly. *“Are you not worried about Allan?”* My whole body froze and I so badly wanted to cry. To run, to scream, to disappear. *“Are you?”* he asked once again. *“Daniel, don't you care?”* That was not my brother. I could not bring myself to look at him. I was afraid that if I did, I would not see Allan anymore. I stood up and walked out, trying my hardest not to look at him. I turned on the lights, and let myself out of the office. I stood for what seemed like an eternity in front of the door. My bedroom’s door. It was unlocked. As I opened it, I saw my beloved brother’s lifeless body on the floor. My parents and the police arrived just a few minutes later. I can still remember the sound of my mother crying to the sight of my brother. It is simply something I will never forget. I can't. No matter how many pills I take, I still wake up to the sound of her crying. The police report says that my brother was horribly bruised all over his back, arms and legs. As if he had been thrown around for hours. And his eyes... his eyes.... I don't want to write about it. You can only imagine. My parents were never the same after that, and neither was my sister...neither was I. We all grew apart. Now, at the age of 30 I still have no idea of what happened that night. Was it something not from this world? Did I hallucinate seeing Allan? Oh, and if you’re wondering about the eyeless cat, after my parents arrived I never saw it again. My parents divorced just a few years after what happened. I stayed with mom, and my sister went with our father. My father though, blames me for what happened. I was only a kid. My sister moved away to another city, and we are still in contact. She calls me up regularly to see how I'm doing. She also tells me about a reoccurring dream she's been having. It’s always the same. She tells me that she sees me locked in the closet, and that next to me is a strange, demonic looking figure. I never told anyone about what “Allan” said to me.


It came to me like a dream, when she told me she loved me. Not a convincing dream, but a lucid dream. I was aware of the untruth she was telling me. I had been in love before, so this wasn’t new. My last love, Emma, had truly loved me. We had truly loved each other. It was glorious for a while, but after some time it became serene and beautiful. Like being dropped from an infinite height on a gorgeous cerulean day. When you realize you’re falling, it’s a rush unlike anything else. But once you realize the ground isn’t getting any closer to you, you just sort of revel and relax. You look around, enjoy the act of falling, and before long it turns into something you come to expect. You expect to still be falling when you wake up each day and sigh with contentment knowing you’ll be falling still after you go to sleep. You don’t get bored of it by any means, but you do get used to it. It was this comfortable falling that I thought would last forever. Yes, I am myself in this analogy, but what about Emma? Was she the sky I so admired? Another skydiver with whom I would fall forever? The ground I was falling toward, but never reaching? The clouds, beautifully floating with me in the same sky? Was I a guest in her space? No. There was a codependence. We needed each other. We gave each other purpose. I didn’t know for a while, even though I had been contemplating this metaphor for some time. It took her death for me to realize her role. She wasn’t the ground, she wasn’t the clouds or the sky or another skydiver. No, Emma (and by extension, love) was the gravity. She was the source of my thrilling and comfortable experience which kept me forever falling. When my gravity died, I came to an abrupt and painful halt. I stopped falling. I was stuck. I had nothing coming my way and everything behind me. I was as lost as a man could be. Now the ground and the sky and the clouds all mocked me. They were not falling with me anymore. I was utterly alone. The difference between Emma and Molly, the woman whom I have been with for a few years now, was that I was still stuck after Molly told me she loved me. I didn’t start falling again. I felt no different. The salvation which I had hoped was within her was nowhere to be found. I knew it was with Emma and it would never be with Molly. I couldn’t reciprocate that love. She was not my gravity. So I didn’t say it back. Instead I looked over my shoulder, back at her crying eyes. She was telling me she loved me, over and over again. She was begging me to step off of the ledge, but I couldn’t. I needed to fall again. I needed to be with Emma. So I jumped.


The aperture hissed shut behind him. The grey expanse ahead yawned ominously. It was not, perhaps, the most appealing of views, but it was one that he had been waiting to see for a long time. He had always wanted to be standing at this very spot, at this very moment. Since his earliest memories, he had been building his way to this moment. As a child, he stared into the inky black sky above his home, night after night, his eyes seeking for a glimpse of the Moon. Whether a radiant white orb lighting the night, or a mere sliver of light in the dark, he could sit and stare for hours. But it was not the part that you could see that fascinated him. No, it was not the cheerful white face of the man in the moon that captured his attention, night after night. It was the man’s twin, lurking in the shadow of his bright brother, hidden from the sight of the Earth. He took a hesitant step on to the highest rung of the ladder attached to the lander. He was still a young man when the first images of the dark side of the Moon were published by the Russian Academy of Sciences, in 1960. Photographed from orbit, it was the first glimpse humankind had had of the far side of the Earth’s companion. Some years later, the astronauts of Apollo 8 had been the first humans to look on the area from orbit with their naked eyes. He had pored over the photographs. They called to him, a tantalizing glimpse at a totally unknown region, invisible for all of human history up to this point. He took a second step, to the next rung of the ladder. He very nearly hadn’t been here. He had lobbied hard to be on the mission, and for his landing site to be here, on the far side of the Moon. NASA had been reluctant. Added risk, they said, for no real gain. Added cost. They had wanted him to remain on Earth, observing remotely, and they had wanted the landing to be near the first landing site, on the Earth side of the moon. But that would not have been enough. He took a third step, to the last rung of the ladder. There were many reasons to explore the far side of the Moon. It was geologically very different to the near side. Where one was a tapestry of smooth basaltic lava formations, the far side was riddled with hundreds of tiny impact craters, rugged and battered by celestial impacts. None of that had been very important to him, however. All of that could be measured from automated satellites and rovers. No, his reason for wanting to explore the dark side of the Moon was far more personal. He took a final step, releasing his grip on the lander and landing on the Moon with a soft thud, touching boots to lunar soil for the first time. Nothing should stay hidden forever. That was his drive. His calling. That was why he had built his entire life to this point, his endless arguments for the mission to this location. Photographs from orbit were one thing. Automatons exploring the Moon were another. But there was no match for human feet treading unknown land. You could not know the truth of a place until you walked its shores. He took a hesitant step forward. He was starting to feel it now. His strength was fading, and he was not finished yet. He willed himself to continue. An old man can’t be an astronaut, they had said. And it had been difficult. The physical ordeal of merely getting to this point had been debilitating. The mental strain of constantly being afraid, at any moment, that he was going to fail, and it would all have been for nothing. He took another step forward. He felt better, momentarily. He wasn’t an old man here. Now he was just a child again, staring up at the moon, wondering what lay hidden from view. This was what it had all been for. This moment. He stopped walking, and, with some difficulty in the bulky space suit, he lay down. The light gravity made it easier not to fall. He reached up to his helmet with shaking fingers. Some men were buried. Some men were cremated. He released his helmet seal.


It was the year 2022, and things had never been safer. As part of the new Global Initiative, every citizen of the world (above the age of 16) carried a gun with them everywhere they went. A few years back everyone decided that the only way to combat the spontaneous outbursts of senseless violence was to neutralize the threat on the spot. It became a part of every school's curriculum, and there were globally mandated courses for the adults: how to safely handle a gun, how to use it effectively, how to make smart decisions in a moment of crisis. And here I stand, one of the last few people on Earth, because it all got shot to shit. At its inception, the new Initiative was hailed for its proactive and responsible measures. Of course, there were a few bad apples that tried to ruin it for everyone, but they were subdued swiftly by their surrounding peers, their intended victims. After a few years the number of wild outlaws and cowardly terrorists dropped down to zero. Person on person crime was virtually non-existent. The wicked were weeded out and only the righteous remained. At least, that's what it felt like to the Average Mohammed. It should be mentioned that the gun sellers played their part well when this peace between Citizens came to be. Since they were able to provide arms for every person, they didn't need to be involved with seedy groups and smugglers to inflate their profits, according to their public statements. But business was still booming for them in other areas. Yes, war still raged on, mostly over land and resources, but that was considered "normal". The Earth's population all agreed on one thing, that war just couldn't be avoided. But still, people felt safer than ever before. They weren't afraid to go to crowded places: malls, theaters, red light districts. The children were completely well guarded in their schools too. Everyone knew that they had each other's backs in their local communities. But then people started getting careless. Some stopped carrying their guns, because they felt sure they were surrounded by other responsible people who would be more useful in a crisis. Others, now with no common enemy in their personal lives, became mistrustful of all those around them, developing itchy trigger fingers at the slightest hint of suspicious actions. Some people said it was the temperature that day, some say it was the fear of dwindling resources, but in July of 2022, a New American shot an unarmed neighbor who he "suspected of planning a terrorist attack". It was the first shot fired, between Civilians, in over 3 years. There was an investigation, there were people who called for the shooter to have his gun taken away, and then there was the shooter himself. He finally admitted "I only shot him because he was just SUCH an ASSHOLE." Something changed in the air that day. People suddenly started whispering. Was the shooter actually the asshole in this scenario? What did the victim do that made him an asshole? After all, the Global Initiative to arm the planet was only meant to thwart terrorists and madmen. But what about assholes? They still existed in their little pockets of society, they were still affecting the lives of the general populace in a negative way. The consensus was that the next step needed to be taken, to rid the world of all the assholes. But how to do that? Most assholes had groups of people, maybe friends or family, that would vouch for them in an Asshole Inquiry. Should it be put to some sort of utilitarian Global Vote? Everyone vote on each other, if they're an asshole or not, and anyone with more votes leaning towards asshole would be "handled". Well, who would do the "handling"? It seemed logically that anyone willing to execute an asshole for being an asshole, might just be an asshole as well. So the whole idea was scrapped. It turned out that some of those pardoned assholes were bad apples in hiding; now that the rules had changed over the past few years, they started to see opportunity where they saw weakness in the social structure. It started slowly. A robbery of an unarmed Civilian here. A banker murdered in a dark alley there. We all pretended to be calm about it, but to our most trusted circles we knew something big was coming. It's hard to figure out how it all happened, but it was like if the historic "shot heard round the world" happened 9 billion times.......


It had been a week since the humans had moved to a new house. Cookie looked longingly out of the second story window at her own reflection. She was a small cat, the runt of the litter – but fierce enough to survive. She had glistening black fur with a patch of white under her chin. Her eyes were as green as the fields of grass she often dreamed of. Her old life at the old place had been easy, there were few cats to contend territory with. The humans looked after her well enough, even that stupid old German shepherd had his uses distracting the boy from wanting her affection. Her fur bristled for a moment as she surveyed the road outside. It was dimly illuminated by the orange glow of a street light, something stirred, but not enough to warrant alert. The humans were in bed. Soon she thought, her quarantine would be over. “I bet they put butter on my paws so that I come back again” she mused. Again, something moved. As she narrowed her vision, pupils taking over the rest of her eye, it was then she saw him. She watched transfixed. The hulking mass of feline perfection strutted from between a bin and the wall. He walked slowly, alertly but with an air of confidence. “This must be the leader” Cookie surmised. He moved forward, checking left and right from the exit of the driveway. Cookie wagged her tail unconsciously, knocking over a glass from the window ledge to the floor. The window was cracked open slightly. He will have heard. He must have heard… She saw him looking upward and it hit her like a snowball to the face. She felt the sting of terror between her eyes and froze. The cats face was just as hulking as the rest of him, Piercing dark eyes looked back at her as she uncontrollably started shaking. This was no normal cat. His face contorted for a second, he let out a low meow, a warning – and darted off into the night. For a few days after, Cookie felt in a state of anxiety as the end of her quarantine came closer. “I’ll just avoid him – I’ll stay behind my house, in the garden and climb trees. He won’t come into the humans territory” she hoped. “What are you looking glum about princess?” she heard behind her. “Bruce, your ever improvising ways of sneaking up on me will get you a claw in the eye, you stupid dog!” she hissed. “Fine, be that way – the humans are letting you out soon aren’t they? You see that massive cat outside? I can’t wait to bite its tail!” Bruce and Cookie had come to an agreement some time ago. Bruce was the boys favourite, it was both his best friend and childhood companion. Cookie was a stray in the eyes of the humans, but to her, she’d just picked the family that gave her the best food. She was the little girls pet. The initial period of their union was fraught with skirmishes. The dog was a hulking mass himself. Had a major issue with other dogs. If it was female, he wanted carnal relations. If it was male, it was on his territory. So was the nature of the dog. Cookie quickly realised if he really wanted to, he could easily rip her head off, but what he didn’t like was having his nose clawed. They decided to cohabit, it was easier that way, for both them and the humans. “You really are backwards, dog.” She sneered. “That cat would make you into mincemeat” “Oh yeah? You think so? It may be big, but it’s only a cat – I would annihilate him” – the air of confidence slightly shaken. She turned and walked to the door. This was it. The humans were ready to let her loose. She was thankful that no longer did she have to use the box of gravel to go to the toilet. She was dignified after all, and leaving her business for the humans to clear up was unbecoming of a cat of her stature.


I have often thought of this moment. I don't know how this is possible. At first, I thought I was dreaming. But I am not. I am here. I pinched myself, slapped my face and tried to yell myself awake as I stumbled through the woods leading to this house. I recognize this house. How can this be? I can't be here. This is not possible. But I am here. My leg confirms this, the familiar ache of a foot broken 15 years ago both comforting and alarming. It is May 24, 1988. My mom, the best person I know, dies tonight. More accurately, she is killed by a drunk driver. The driver comes around a bend in the road on the wrong side, causing a head on collision. My mom and her friend are killed. The driver has not a scratch on him. There is 10 year old me, begging her to not go on this ride with her friend. I remember, 28 years ago, having a bad feeling about her leaving. I remember begging her not go. I remember her assurances all would be well, Rob, and that she'd be home shortly. How often have I missed her? Every day of my life. I've never been mad at her. Never once have I raged against her for leaving. It's not her fault. The driver of the truck? That's a different story. I hated him for years at the same time I grieved for my mother. He went to prison and I made the decision to stop following his story at some point as a teenager. I do get the urge to look him up now but have resisted. What's there to know, to say? Nothing he could say would change the past and I have no need nor desire for an apology. But here I am. From my trek through the forest, I have been able to interact with this world. I have come to the edge of the property and I can see my young self and my mom...there she is, so beautiful and young and ALIVE! I can see her! I know that all I need to do is yell out, get their attention, delay her from departing for even two minutes and everything will change. That's how this works, right? I draw a deep breath and open my mouth to yell out...and I cannot. My voice dies before I can give warning or alert to my presence. For I have held a life I helped create in my arms. I was there for her birth. I loved her from the moment my wife told me she was pregnant and growing inside her. I taught her to laugh, to walk, to play. She has fallen asleep in my arms countless times, moments I would not give back the universe. I will not - cannot - give her back. How many times have I wished my mom could meet my daughter? I know they would love one another. Every time I think of this, I grieve anew. If I yell, if I say just one word, to catch the attention of the little boy and his mother, I can right a grevious wrong. I can spare him years of heartache. I can spare her the pain she endured. But the cost. The cost would be another life, the best thing I have ever done. The best person I know now. If I call out, I undo the chain of events that brings her into the world. I undo her first steps, her first words. I undo her. There, the mother...my mom...reaches over and kisses my forehead. I know, I remember, I have seconds before she pulls away. This is the last time I will ever see her. The injuries she suffered were too great to allow her children to see her, I will be later told. Besides, they said, she wouldn't recognize you due to the extensive damage to her brain. I see the little boy nod. I can't see his tears but I know they are there. I know he is feeling scared. He knows she should not go but her assurances have calmed him. I have but one more moment to act. They've started the motorcycle. There, she waves at him. At me. They are pulling away. I have seconds to act. I must act. But, my child, my daughter. I cannot act. What choice is this? What impossible force has brought me here to make this decision? Was there ever a choice? I stand here, tears in my eyes, as my mother rides away. Edit: a few more details and flow. Author's comment: every day, I see my mom in my daughter. I've often thought about, "If I could go back and change things, would I?" This story is my answer.


The Disappearance of Gabbie This is a true story of how my friend disappeared. This story begins in 2010 when I started high school. Elementary school had been problematic for me. I was stuck with the same group of uninteresting and somewhat displeasing personalities. People liked me, but I had few friends and wasn’t very social. What friends I did have where a bit of a hassle, as these friendships were very one sided with me just listening to what they had to say so I wouldn’t feel lonely. High school promised new adventures and a better environment for my growth. I was getting away from the stale personalities that had surrounded me for the past 8 years and leaving the more annoying of my friends behind. The school itself seemed promising and exciting! To an extent this was true, but I was still a sad, lonely little teen with little social skills. I still found myself in friendships that felt empty and awkward. Then I met her. In my grade 9 music class I met a girl named Gabbie. She was a shy nerdy girl who played clarinet just like me. From day 1 I could tell she had a crush on me, and despite my desire for a girlfriend, I wasn’t really interested in her. High school continued, and our friendship grew, until grade 11 when we became best friends. We shared a lot of classes so we went everywhere together. She introduced me to Doctor Who and we played Dungeons and Dragons. I was desperate for a girlfriend or a date or something, anything to make me feel less lonely. I was aware of my desperation and I knew that it wasn’t healthy because that attitude would lead me into an unfulfilling relationship that would do more harm than good. But then there was Gabbie. She understood me, she introduced me to so many interesting things and listened to what I had to say. The person I was looking for was sitting right in front of me and was waiting for me to love them back. Our relationship began awkwardly, but we quickly fell deeply in love. She became my emotional support where I had none. You see, my family is sort of an empty shell, at least for me. My parents may be my parents, but I don’t feel I can approach them about my troubles and they have little interest in what goes on in my life. This was the reason I felt so alone up until that point. But now I had someone to be there for me and couldn’t be happier. However, I became more aware of this problem as we continued dating. When I visited her place and saw how she acted around her sister and father and his girlfriend, it was so different from the way my family interacted. It felt right. One day I even jokingly asked if I could live with them. 2012 turned into 2013 and in January I got a concussion from horsing around with my friends and had to stay home from school for a couple weeks. I could tell she was worried about me. She suffered from depression and had starting taking medication when we start dating. I worried about her and the effects the medication had on her. On top of that, she had recently found out she was allergic to diary and glutton. Overall, not a very good time for either of us. Nevertheless, I did my best to show her my love and try to take care of her. The problem was despite having dated for 3 months she had still not fully opened up to me. She had some trust issues and kept most of her worries to herself. I knew she was doing this and wanted to help her, but she remained distant. But in trying to get her to open up, I was devoting myself more and more to her, and she wasn’t doing the same. Unknown to me, the relationship was becoming one-sided and was headed for disaster. I began to worry that she didn’t really love me, that I was doing something wrong. I kept these worries to myself and they began to build and build. One night I snapped. I had invited her and some friends over to hang out as I recovered from my concussion. One of my friends was getting a little too friendly with her and I was getting frustrated, but didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to do, so I just left. In my own house, I stormed off and hid, leaving my friends to wonder what had happened. They became concerned and called my mom who came to investigate. All I wanted to do was see Gabbie and talk with her; my mother wasn’t going to help me. My mom got Gabbie to talk to me and I told her I needed to know that she loved me, she said “of course”, but at that point it was too late. I don’t remember much of what happened next and there are certain things which are a complete mystery. We tried to talk it out, but neither of us could say what we wanted to say. I hid from her and she got angry at me. My only line of support had turned against me but I continued to hide from her, which drove us further and further apart. I made some feeble attempts to try and talk with her, but that only made things worse. I was hurting her even though all I wanted to was help her. I was advised by the school guidance counselor to stop talking to her and to forget her. It was over. That year was the worst year of my life. I needed that support more than ever, but it was now working against me. My parents tried to help me, but they only made things worse. I became severely depressed and felt unwanted and alone. If it weren’t for my other friend, I probably never would have made it. All through the rest of high school she stayed on the back of my mind. I hoped beyond hope that somehow something would let me at least talk to Gabbie again. Even if I couldn’t do that, I just wanted to make sure she would be alright. I learned that before we had started dating she had tried to commit suicide. This only made me worry more. We didn’t have to date again, if only we could be friends. If only I could make her see how much she meant to me. While this was happening, she began to change. She dyed her hair, she got piercings and gained some weight. It seemed the shy but feisty girl I had fallen in love with had gone. Whenever I heard her and her friends talking, they always sounded so negative and depressing. Somehow I made it through grade 11. Grade 12 was better, but I still could not be around her. I often fantasized what I would say to her if I could go back in time before we broke up, before all this started. I just wanted to let her know how much she meant to me. When the summer of 2014 rolled around, I told myself that I would never see her again. I was gone most of the summer for cadet training, home for 2 weeks, then it was off to university far away from my hometown. She would go somewhere else and I would be forced to forget her. Goodbye Gabbie. University has been the best thing that has happened to me yet. I should point out that the major reason I am not still suffering from depression or something similar is that I am an optimist. I’m always looking on the bright side of life and I find it exhilarating to be alive! This became more apparent in university. In first year, life seemed amazing! School wasn’t too hard, I made lots of friends and built up my social skills, and I went to parties. It seemed like my life had completely turned around. For the most part I was care-free. But Gabbie still haunted me. Since about the start of 2014 I had been searching for someone else to love. This search became more successful in university, but Gabbie remained my first and only girlfriend. And so she sat at the back of my mind and reminded me what it felt like to truly love someone and mocked my at my futile attempts to talk to girls. That being said, in my search to get her off my mind, I analyzed our relationship with more mature eyes and found that it probably wouldn’t have worked anyways. Because she was an introvert and so shy, we may have been deeply in love, but the actually relationship wasn’t all that great. I realized there was more she could have done to move it from a friendship to a relationship. As summer approached, my friend introduced me to another girl. She was vibrant, full of life and adventurous, all things I wanted more of in my life. I made sure to myself that this was no going to fill the hole Gabbie had left. This new relationship was going to be different. I was going to learn from my experiences with Gabbie. However, in some ways this new girl and Gabbie were the same. They both were unwilling to open their hearts. Gabbie arose from the depths of my mind to haunt me again. The new girl tried to help me, but she had some issues of her own which made it hard. This new relationship was an improvement and gave me lots of self-confidence, but there was no love. Fortunately, I was able to end the relationship gently and we have remained friends, although don’t get the opportunity to talk much. At this point, I was fed up with Gabbie. She was the only thing that was holding me back. She was getting in the way of my future relationships and haunting me in my darkest hours, and she wasn’t even around. I was doing this to myself through her. Although I knew that, I couldn’t make her go away. She was the only thing holding me back from having a good life. I needed to sort this out once and for all. But then I was reminded of the full effect she had on me. I needed to see her face. I needed to face it head-on and confront my fears. I couldn’t meet with her, I was too far away and it would only end in disaster. Thankfully we live in the age of the internet. However, at the mere sight of her Facebook profile picture, I began to panic. I tried many times, but could bring myself to look at her for more than a couple seconds. I tried messaging her closest friend, hoping she would understand that I didn’t want this to continue, that this was for the best of both me and her. I didn’t want to put her though anymore hardship. All I said was “HI” but her friend never replied to the message. Life kept moving around me and I was forced to leave my darkest secret unresolved. I have matured greatly since high school, and so has my goals for a relationship. No longer will I jump at any girl that shows interest in me (only to somehow screw it up); I want something meaningful. I want to date someone that is confident and capable that I can lean on if I need to. Someone who is steady so I can feed off their steadiness but no rely on them as my sole pillar of support. I want to find someone passionate and insightful. These criteria maybe a bit close-minded, but I am not, I am willing to let the chips fall where they may. I have more confidence and I am quite charming. So once again I seek to free myself of Gabbie. Although I recognized her as the one thing holding me back, I can’t hate her; she’s only human. Besides, it’s me that is doing this to myself. The other night I decided to face my fears again. I was going to see what Gabbie was up to, and let that be the first step in letting go for good. I looked her up on Facebook on my phone, as I did a couple months before. Nothing. What? Nothing?! That impossible! There is no Gabbie, or Gabby, or Gabe that I was looking for! What about her friends, surely they have her in their friend lists? Nothing! Her sister, maybe she got new friends. Nothing from her sister! Even a Google search only turns up old Prezi presentations of hers from back in high school. She’s gone! Like completely disappeared! That impossible? What if she committed suicide? Please don’t let that be the case! Anything but that! But there is nothing of the sort in her friends feed. There are still pictures of her from back in high school, but otherwise, she is gone. I texted my friends, the one who had helped me through those dark times. The one who had been there when she couldn’t. Nothing. He had lost contact with her. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep very well that night. It continued to bug me the next night. I continued my search. No one just disappears, not from the internet. Did she block me? Is it possible to complete remove yourself from Facebook to one person? Searching on my laptop didn’t help, even when I checked her parent’s pages. I found myself on her friends Friend list. There were a couple of categories, maybe that will help narrow the search. I check the “university” tab, I know they go to the same school. Nothing. Wait. I see a familiar face, but the name doesn’t match up. Let me explain one thing. Gabbie’s friend, whose Facebook profile I was currently snooping, had never known her father; she was a test-tube baby. In protest to this, she had changed her last name from her father’s to her mothers. Gabbie’s parent had split up, so I considered she might do the same. Sure enough, this familiar face had the same last name as Gabbie’s mother. But the first name was that of a male. It’s worth a shot! Sure enough, it was her, or him rather. He had completely changed and was even growing some stubble, but this had definitely once been Gabbie. This was a completely different person who even seemed happy about themselves. I was shocked. I didn’t know what to think. I knew she had been sort of a tom-boy, that was what I liked about her, but I never thought she would go and become a he. My shock wore off and everything began to settle in. I realized that I was alright with this. Actually, it suited him. I felt a bond with this person. It felt like if we were to ever meet – if we assume they were a new person – that we could get along. We might even get along better than me and Gabbie. But I was also right knowing that I may never get that chance. This new person probably had a satisfying life of their own. They had been freed of their past self and was living the life they wanted to live. Gabbie was gone. Gabbie was no more. Since she had started changing just after we broke up, you could say that sort of when it happened. That was how I had felt before and it had helped me cope – thinking that Gabbie wasn’t Gabbie anymore. But now it was true. It had actually happened. Gabbie had disappeared. I still wish I could go back and see Gabbie one more time. I would let her know what she meant to me and that she was such a wonderful person that was capable of so much. Most importantly, I would get the chance to say goodbye. I think I wanted that most of all. This now has the added realism of being that last time I could talk to Gabbie. Because after that, the shy but beautiful girl I feel in love with in high school would disappear. Not long has passed since I discovered Gabbie’s disappearance, so I’m not totally sure if I have made my peace or not. But I hope that in telling this story I will find that peace. I am seeking out professional help to make sure that I am the best person I can be, but this is a huge step in the right direction. Best of luck to this new person which has just recently been brought into the world. Thank you for everything Gabbie, goodbye.


Zee, a young simple farmer keeps his own counsel, newly wed with a young babe. The crops have been good the last few years, but the omens for this season have been dark. Muza the mayor has been looking for blood and money, ever since the new railway is coming through town. First he bought from those that would sell, then he terrorised those that wouldn't. Zee is the last farm left, and Muza can almost taste his prize. Zee took his chances, his pride drowning out the pleas of his wife. Toko and Dario, the meanest henchmen for miles flank Muza when he finally arrives at the farm. He knows Zee won't sell, he even was hoping for it. Zee let's his shotgun ring out, but he is a no good shot, that or he doesn't have the guts to plug them. He didn't know what was coming, and before he knows it he is out of bullets. Toko wastes no time with a beating that leaves Zee unable to walk while Dario brings out his wife and kid, waving the golden deed to the land in his hands. First the farm burns to the ground, and Muza licks his lips before snapping the little ones neck. Toko and Dario laugh at the cries of the young bride, while they have their way with her before Muza blows her brains out all over Zee. Unable to move, a whimpering witness to the evil. They break his hands, ribs and legs blinded by his blood, everything goes dark. He awakens weeks later in a teepee, thanks to an old shaman, last survivor of a long forgotten tribe. Damned from death, Zee is reborn from a coma back into hell. If he could he would end his life himself. His hands heal, and his ribs, and the cold festering of revenge builds like the snows of winter gather, Zees rage grows. More than death, Muza must suffer. The shamans hatchets are deadly and Zee is as quick with them as a viper. But he must travel far and wide for weapons to take on Muzas boys. At the end of the world he finds the gunseller, and for a bargain he gains himself some of the last remaining six shooters. Zee learns to shoot. Anger and a fire of endless zeal to right the wrong. And like death from the grave, his wrath is all consuming. The fight is bloody. Toko is Zees first target, and after hacking off his hands and feet, he leaves him be. He might live, Zee hopes so. Dario is burried alive in ant hill, begging for a swift death, which he doesn't get. Zees unquenchable thirst for revenge grows stronger every moment. Twenty of Muzas guards go down before he gets a scratch, and he hardly feels the bullet in his shoulder while his rage endures. Face to face Zee and Muza square off. A final duel to end the pain. Shots fire and both are quick. Muza inflames Zee further, with taunts of his dead wife. Dropping his six shooter Zee let's a hatchet fly, catching Muza in the chest. He approaches slow and giving the hatchet a twist goes to work.


I had barely a chance to enter my chamber before my peace was befouled by his presence. He stood before me, silent, eyeing my person as a stray, starved to a quiet, brooding lust for my essence. I was piturbed, to say the least. For what reason does this creature have to disrupt my own solitude for its own selfish desire of my soul. " Be mindful demon", I said to him. " Be not so careless in encroahing my dwellings". Addressing him directly brought forth no response. I was dreadfully unaroused by his intrusion as wished only for a restful bout of sleep. I abruptly stepped around him, undoing my trousers and removing my shoes in process. Still as a breathless sigh, he turned himself about to maintain a strong gaze enamoured with the prospect of my soul. I unfastoned my tie and removed my shirt, donned my evening blouse and, once more, faced this rude abomination seeking to unnerve my character. " You can stand there if you like", the annoyance in my voice was was masked with an apathetic tone. " Be forewarned, though. Any attempt to molest my wellbeing, be it through an attempt to possess or infiltrate my dreams, will be taken as an affront to my patience and courtesy. I will not stand for it in the least and you will suffer the consequence if you do". A light faded from his eyes and no longer seemed envisioned with the prospect of comsuming my breath. He slacked his form and began to fade away. I granted him one last nod in his departure," I bid you goodnight , sir", and snuffed my lamp.


Ch. 1 "Come on honey, you are going to be late for work." Oh that voice, that sweet tender voice of my wife, why must you disturb me from my sleep? I had fun last night, at her mother's celebrating my wife's 23rd birthday. Now it's wake up and be at work at a certain time. Time this, time that. It is frustrating, allow me to work when I want to work, and if I don't work, don't pay me. Simple as that. I drag myself out of the bed and get ready for work. I work as a networking engineer in Buffalo, New York, pays well enough and my wife also works so money is not that big of a deal. I kiss my beautiful wife goodbye she whispers, "Goodbye Peter." I whisper back, "Goodbye my darling, we will go out for dinner once I get back." Work was boring as usual, just the routine same old same old. I leave work and forgot my keys up 5 levels. Quickly go get them and I enter my red 06' Chevrolet Monte Carlo. Pull out of the car garage. God it is just all the same, everyday routine, routine, routine. Except as I pull out into the street I notice a little kid standing there on the sidewalk. Maybe 5 or 6 no parent near by, I assume there has to be a parent around and leave him be so if there is a parent, the parent doesn't accuse me of a child molester. I drive and look back, he just stares at me, my car, am I going too fast? I look at him curiously for some time. The screech, the screams and the smell of gasoline, oh no. Everything goes black. I fade in, I am loaded onto a stretcher, the paramedics are asking me questions but I cannot respond. Everything goes black, will I be fine? I don't know I let the darkness wash over me. Ch. 2 "I know, doctor, but it has been 11 years the medical improvements have been amazing, absolutely wonderful. Stop saying that he has a slim chance of waking up, he is strong enough to wait that long." Oh that voice, I suddenly say, "I know the truth." Suddenly my wife jumps up, she is full of tears and shouts, "Oh Peter! I knew you could!" She hugs me tight the doctor rushes back, absolutely astonished. The doctor says he will be back in a bit so I can be with my wife. It feels so good to have her in my embrace, she has aged a tiny bit but yet still astonishingly beautiful. "11 years, Peter. So much has happened it will be scary for you but I will always be here for you. What were you saying about truth? It was the first thing you said when you woke up." I respond, "I will tell you later, let's get out of this hospital for now. It is amazing to see you once again." The doctor says I am good to leave and I check out. I step outside, the doctor told me it is July 3, 2026. So much has changed, the Buffalo I used to know has undergone quite the change. There are more major skyscrapers now, though everything isn't white and clean as people might have thought back in 2015. The best I could describe is an updated Tokyo. My wife tells me to get in the car, I notice no steering wheel, guess automated cars really were the future. "It's almost curfew, honey let's just get home and I can tell you all about what has happened in these 11 years." Curfew? What? It is almost 10:00, last time I checked in 2015 there was never such thing as a curfew in Buffalo. I think my wife will be more shocked than I am right now when I tell her "The truth"... Author's Edit: First story I have sat down and actually created, there is huge plans for the short story. Probably plan on creating one a day, 2-3 chapters each for about 4 or 5 total parts. I will just have to see how it all turns out.


I sit at a fully crowded coffee shop in the midst of the holiday rush. There is Christmas music and joy in the air and I had a rather pleasant chat with the employee who took my order. I have my "nice mask" on today, which is not really a fake identity as much as it is my true unmasked self. Without all the drama, stress and countless responsibilities that come with the everyday package that is young adulthood. I consider all my "personas"so to speak, a part of who I am. Little imaginary people that strike my consciousness awake and fill me up with an overwhelming dose of fresh ideas (bad and good ones, that is). It has been occurring to me a lot lately how people perceive other individuals and project themselves to the world. No matter what we do, even while being in the middle of the most intimate or vulnerable moment possible, as long as we are in the presence of another we are not being our complete, authentic selves. Faces, masks, personalities, be that as it may, they are all a part of us. There is no such thing as being "fake"or "not your true self", for the reason that if somebody is committed to be the definition of those things, those too become a part of who he/she is and will be in the future. It is not necessarily a good thing, the fact that we'd have to eventually accept that being two faced is how most humans interact with their environment, although I have come to realize that it is inevitable. Allegedly there are several sides to having multiple personas and quite frankly we become better people by periodically "acting" in front of others or in situations where we don't want to become a vulnerable, bare target. I believe it is due pure survival instinct; the sheer need to address to others that there is absolutely nothing bothering you, that you are indifferent to how others may view what you express or the way you behave. Bad figures, good figures. There is no being in this world that has never been selfish about their life, engaging in the process of survival until their last breath. Rudeness, evil, kindness, the ability to care for others, all oozing from the same dark place that is existence and its many faces.


It was a whisper, brushing against my brain like sandpaper. *I freed you* I opened my eyes to nothing but darkness. *I freed you from their misery* I was laying on grass. I felt the blades tickling my palms as I pushed myself up and swept my head from side to side. Darkness still. *From their filth* It practically spat that last word. I stood and tried to get my bearings, but it was impossible in the blackness. *Let there be light* Like the dawn of a new day, light spread from the horizon and bathed the world in a warm glow. I looked around in awe. There were hundreds – no thousands – of us. Hundreds of thousands. All standing in the largest field of the greenest grass and the bluest waters I had ever seen. It spread from horizon to horizon, and standing on it were more people than I could possibly imagine. *Look to your brothers and sisters* I made eye contact with the closest person to me, an overweight woman with greasy hair and nervous hands. I saw the same fear and confusion on her face that must have been painted on my own and I knew that she could hear the same voice I heard. Or rather, that the same voice was intruding her thoughts and she was hearing what I was hearing. *You are the chosen ones* *The righteous few* *The worthy* I felt shivers run through me and a cold sweat take hold. What was happening? And then I heard a gasp, and then another one, and then a wave of sharp inhales swept the land. People were all looking up and pointing. I tilted my head back and choked on my own breath as vertigo took hold. I felt nauseous. *They're like ants* They looked like ants. I felt like I was standing on the belly of a 747 at 30,000 feet over New York. The city sprawled above us, skyscrapers hanging over us like stalactites in a cave of steel and concrete, people and cars racing across its inverted surface. *Scurrying about without purpose* *Without meaning* *Trapped in a prison of their own arrogance* I felt the disgust in the voice. The anger. I felt sick to my stomach. *I saved you* *I brought you here* *To my creation* I looked back at the spectacular beauty that surrounded us and realized that this land felt alien. It was too pure, too clean. Too manufactured. *To build a new world* *A better world* *And like a phoenix* *Rising from the ashes* Fire engulfed the sky and the city was instantly ablaze. Their screams rose in a deathly wail and filled our silence. I looked away, trying to shut them out. I looked at the lady with the nervous hands. She had them clasped in front of her as she looked up, a wicked grin spread across her face, her wide eyes glimmering hungrily in the dancing flames. *So too will you* *Cleanse your past* *In the fire of their sin* I looked back up at the sky and felt the heat wash over my face. Sweat ran from my brow and mixed with my tears as I watched in silent agony as the old world burned.


It scared the shit out of me. I was 12, riding my bike home from school when a big dog jumped out in front of me on the sidewalk. I don't really remember how I did it, exactly, but I remember thinking, "No! Why now? I was going to bike all over with Billy until SUNDOWN!" In the midst of thinking that, I realized I was taking a very long time to hit the ground. I tried to look around and found that I could not move my head. 'I must be dead,' I thought, 'Or paralyzed, maybe'. Being paralyzed wouldn't be so bad. At least I'd be able to see mom and dad and my sister again. My head and my body wouldn't move, but my eyes could shift a little. I glanced in as many directions as possible and saw Billy next to me on his bike. Billy's bike was the coolest one in the neighborhood. It had seven speeds. Seven! I couldn't imagine riding a bike with seven speeds. I often thought that everything but the sidewalk must turn into a giant blur when Billy skidded around corners and flew down hills. I sometimes wondered how Billy was able to go slow enough to stay with the pack when we rode around the neighborhood. 'He must have really good control of that thing'. I would think. Billy's face wasn't moving. Actually, none of Billy's anything was moving. His mouth and eyes were stuck open in a kind of shock and awe. He was standing up on his pedals about ten feet away from me on the road. He was upside down, too. Or rather, he looked upside down. It wasn't until now that I noticed I was upside down. I was suspended in mid-air with my feet pointing to the sky. I could see my bike and the dog below me. The dog had the bewildered look on its face that dogs get when they realize something uncomfortable is happening to them and they have no earthly idea why or how it could have possibly taken place without them seeing it coming. The dog was standing weird, like it was halfway from lying down and standing up but couldn't make up its mind. It didn't look right. I thought it must be impossible for anyone to stand that way. It was like someone had pressed pause on a movie. We were in the movie, and we couldn't move again until someone pressed play. 'Maybe I am in a movie,' I thought, 'maybe this whole time I've been alive it's really just part of a movie!' at first I thought this was cool, but then I thought about how movies end before everyone's life is finished. If that happened, I might not get to ever see mom and dad or my sister again. That was no good. 'Please don't be a movie,' I thought. I looked back over at Billy to see if I could recognize him from any movies I'd watched. He didn't look like an actor, but something strange in front of Billy caught the corner of my eye. A shiny, metal thing was there. I knew it was shiny because it was reflecting the sun straight at me. I tried to move my eyes some more to get a better view, but it was no good. Whatever it was was just out of sight. It was definitely much bigger than Billy. The way it was shaped made it seem like it was just the tip of something; like there was a whole bunch more of it just outside my view. I squinted and strained to try and see more. I caught a glimpse of something round just underneath the shiny metal part. My heart dropped. It was a car. The round thing was a tire, and the shiny metal part was a hood. I tried to open my mouth and shout at Billy, but nothing happened. My whole face and body were stuck except for my eyes. I tried blinking. I could remember some morse code from boy scouts, but Billy never went to boy scouts. I figured it was worth a shot. Billy didn't blink back. He just kept staring at me with that shock-and-awe-gaping-mouth he had been since somebody pressed pause. 'pause' I thought, 'Don't un-press pause, whoever you are!' I thought this as hard as I could, hoping that maybe the people watching tv would be able to hear me. 'Do it for Billy!' I thought loudly, 'Save him!'. Then another idea struck me, 'Press rewind! Press rewind and I can tell him what's coming!' Nothing happened. I tried thinking to Billy: 'Billy! Billy look out! Look in front of you Billy! Look out for the car!' Billy's face stayed the same. I had no idea if he could hear me. If he could, he wasn't trying to think anything back. I wondered if he could hear me but didn't know how to reply, so I tried explaining it to him. It didn't take long before I thought about how stupid an idea that was. I stopped trying to do anything and just hung there for a bit, wondering why no one had ever pressed pause before. 'This is like the longest movie ever,' I thought. Then I thought about how I was twelve, and how no movie was twelve years long ever. 'That would be such a waste of time,' I thought. Nope, a twelve year movie didn't make any sense. It was too silly. And I was much too old for silly ideas. But then I had an idea that was not so silly. I thought about the feeling I had right before everything paused. I wanted everything to pause. I had wished for it, and it had happened. I looked at Billy, and tried wishing for everything to rewind. Nothing happened. I wondered what would happen if I wished for everything to play again. I wondered if I would be able to shout to Billy in time for him to move. I didn't like it, but I knew this was the only chance Billy had. All I could do was think about playing time again or we would be stuck like this forever. That would get pretty boring. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. I thought about playing time. I kept my eyes closed and balled my hands into fists. I could hear screeching tires and a honking horn. I opened my mouth to call for Billy. But just as I was about to shout, I hit the sidewalk with a crack. There was a sickening sound of splintering glass and crunching metal.


The sea is something to admire from a distance so they tell us. I watch from a fence on a hill about 50 feet away. Images surround me of what lies below. Creatures that can breathe underwater and die on land. Sounds more like aliens than something we eat. The sun shimmers across it, guards standing around. Nobody really knows the origin of the job to protect the ocean. Nobody really questions it. One day I find a guard just off from his position. A hole in the fence. The cameras will catch me but I have enough time to run and see for myself the creatures alive that lay underneath and not just cooked beyond recognition. I take speed and alarms go off around me. A few gunshots go off, whether they were warning shots I don't know the sirens drown out anything around me. I get closer and closer as the guards gain on me. Until finally.. I look into the depths of an empty blue void. I lean down and touch the surface. It electrocutes me. My hand spasms back in shock as the guards grab me and inject me with something that makes me fall asleep. I wake up in a cell surrounded by other prisoners. The institution is not a normal holding cell, more of a place to keep secrets by the "higher" ones. I realise I won't be leaving this place. Whatever food they claim to serve us from the deep below isn't what they claim. The fact a whole society believes something can live underwater is baffling enough, but to think not everyone questions it is somehow worse. The food is probably to control us or keep us relaxed enough not to check it out. Some of us are immune. Tests will go on here to find something that can affect us just as well as the ones who aren't immune. Log entry #3 out... Not that anyone will get this.. At least number 1 and 2 should.


On a dark and rainy night, the ancient 1980's Panel van, streaked down a narrow stoned walled road. The wheels juddered on the uneven badly maintained surface. "If we hurry we might- just- make it." said Fred concentrating hard. “Slow down Fred! It’s not safe! said Daphne. “We don’t want to be late for the Christmas Party”. said Fred. “Ristmas Party?!” said Scooby Doo waking up. “You betcha” said Fred. "I got a call on my iPhone, a couple of hours ago when you were sleeping – should be some real groovy music, and great food! “Rime rI'm Sold!” said Scooby Flashing red lights were on the ground ahead. “That’s strange” said Velma, what are flashing lights doing on the ground?” “RAILWAY CROSSING LIGHTS!” Said Shaggy- “they’ve been knocked over!” “And that means…” said Fred apprehensively – and while breaking heavily... “A TRAIN!” shouted Daphne. The van drifted to the right and then span out of control – looking like it was going to miss the back of the train altogether – however it struck the side of a stone wall and smashed into the side of the caboose, coming to an unlikely stop embedded firmly inside the speeding caboose. “Looks like we’re going to be REALLY late now said Daphne, - “the main act was supposed to start playing in 10 minutes. “I think we have bigger things to worry about” said Fred as he turned off the van’s engine as its wheels spun uselessly, suspended by ancient train wreckage. “Let’s get out of here!” said Shaggy – “I think this place is about to fall apart!” The whole gang quickly got out of the van and entered the adjoining carriage. As Velma closed the door behind them the mangled wreckage of the caboose and the mystery machine behind them twisted off the track and exploded in a fire ball of petrol and strangely magical effects. “I’m gonna miss that van” said Fred sadly. The Storage Carriage: Using her torch Daphne found a strange toggle switch on the wall which lit what appeared to be a green gas lamp in the middle of the carriage. This carriage seemed to be a storeroom for many strange products. Shelves of what appeared to be novelty jumping chocolate frogs jittered in their packets, brown cardboard boxes filled with multi coloured jelly beans lined one wall. “This is not so bad” said scraggy, opening a packet of jelly beans “Mmm Relly Reans” said Scooby eating some beans. Then suddenly both Scooby and shaggy stopped eating- their faces started turning green. “Zoinks! – some of those beans don’t taste to good Scooby!” “Rorrible” said Scooby – quickly scraping at is tongue with his paws. “I don’t think they make jelly beans here like they do at home” said shaggy “those last ones tasted like EARWAX!” Scooby turned around knocking over packets of chocolate frogs with his tail – they hopped around the small space. “Jinkies!” said Daphne – Let’s get out of here” “I agree” said Fred as a chocolate frog threatened to climb up his left nostril– Into the next carriage! The gang rushed into the next carriage surprising the sitting passengers. “The passengers were first surprised and suspicious”. “Who are you” said a young boy with bleached white hair. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to disapperate inside a train?” “Risaperate?” said Scooby “And magical talking creatures should be locked in the caboose” – said the white haired boy “Wait… WHERE ARE YOUR WANDS!?” he shouted – pointing a wand at them. “Sorry” said Fred “we don’t have wands we’re not part of your Halloween party” “MUGGLES!” said the white haired boy. “I thought I could smell their foul stench!” “Really?” said Velma screwing up her nose– “this carriage is full of teenage boys and you think we smell?” “Yes”, said Daphne “ That’s not very nice, we’ve just been in a horrible car accident, and why are you being so mean to us, – who are you anyway?” A cruel smile slowly spread over the face of the white haired boy, which was copied in the faces of his surrounding passengers. He spoke slowly and arrogantly – “My – name is Draco Malfoy- and this will be the. Last. Thing. You. Ever. See” He pointed a wand at the gang and shouted “CRUCIO!” A bright red flash exploded from the wand passing closely over Fred’s shoulder. “Zoinks!” said Scooby and Shaggy together as they rushed out of the door into the next carriage. They fell over each other and ended up on a heap on the floor. “WHAT’s GOING ON HERE?!” said a girl with long curly hair. “We’re taking care of some of your Mud Blood friends” snarled Draco Malfoy. “Go and sit down Malfoy before I unleash a spell that makes eyes explode – I’ve just been studying it” said the girl slowly and darkly”. “You can have them” snarled Draco – “Just keep the door closed to keep the smell in.” The girl raised her wand and Draco slammed the door shut quickly. “Thanks for that” said Daphne “that kid looked dangerous!” “Don’t worry about him” said the girl tossing her hair – “We’ll look after you” “My name is Hermione – and this is Harry and Ron” “Good to meet” you said Fred – “Regsactly” said Scooby who was hugging shaggy as they shook with fear” Ron held out a packet of Jelly beans politely – “Jelly Bean?” Shaggy and Scooby’s faces both turned green – “Ro tanks” said Scooby “I don’t think those agree with us!” said Shaggy. “Suit yourself” shrugged Ron eating a black bean. Harry was looking at the ground looking worried. “I suppose you’ve heard of me – I’m Harry Potter- my parents were killed by Voldemort” he said sadly. “Roldermort?” said Scooby “Voldemort” corrected Harry” “Ah Rolldermort” said Scooby” “No that’s Voldemort not ROLdemort” said Hermione. Fred looked confused “Let’s just call him ‘the guy we can’t name'” “Funny you should say that” began Ron… Suddenly the train whistle blew and the train braked slowly – “We’ve arrived” said Hermione – “you can come with us – but hurry! We can’t be late!” Harry, Ron and Hermione left the train followed by the gang. “These are all kids!” said Shaggy “I think we’re crashed a school train!” “Perhaps we can get some help from the school” said Velma as they followed Hermione. “This place isn’t even listed on my google maps- perhaps I need to update my phone” said Velma. “Wi-Fi is REALLY weak here too” said Daphne sadly Daphne looked up from her phone and saw the words “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry” on an ancient looking sign. “Ew” said Daphne and tweeted: “Crashed Car and now at Hogwarts.