He was feeling particularly miserable that day. Who wanted to get up before dawn for that appointment? What had the world turned into? It had been building over the years little by little, another rule, another regulation, another appointment. Who did these people think they were trying to control every single aspect of our lives? Where did it end?

Guzzling down his morning coffee he grimaced as the bitterness hit his empty stomach. What if he just decided not to go? Returning to the crumpled bed sheets that were no doubt still warm would be incredibly easy. Taking it one step further why not unplug the alarm clock and stop being at the mercy of schedules and society’s demands on him. He could live off the grid, fish for dinner, cook over an open fire. Looking around at his conveniences he admitted to himself it was just easier to stick a frozen dinner in the microwave and call it a night. Still dark after the dreaded appointment he stopped at the local 24 hour convenience store for some breakfast and beers as a little pick me up. He couldn’t drink at work, he knew that. There was the breathalyzer test just waiting to be used. Huh? What’s that smell? Have you been drinking? Step right over here for your test, sir. Let’s see. We just need your breath. No big deal, sir. Just your breath. The checkout line was a painful slow-motion nightmare. “Some convenience store,” he thought. What’s so convenient about waiting? He watched the incompetence of the cashier. That kid didn’t know his ass from his elbow. How did he even get the job? Must be the boss’s son or something. Who else would hire him? Finally his turn and the cashier looked at him angrily, stared at him right in the eye with contempt. Was he imagining it? Why did he deserve such a look when he was just standing there minding his own business? Probably his purchase of beer so early in the morning. The kid must think he’s on a bender drinking all night into the light of day. Getting into his car in the parking lot he put the beer in the back seat to save for later, unwrapped his egg sandwich, and started the car. A young woman walked past carrying milk and bread. She was attractive, too young for him, but a man can look. What’s the expression you can look but you can’t touch. Well, no one was going to stop him from looking and thinking, even imagining. She met his gaze. “Forget about it.” She surprised him by speaking, got in her sleek sports car and drove off. Was he that obvious? He thought he was playing it cool. “What a day,” he thought, although the day had barely started. Forcing down the dry eggs, thinking of the beer in the back seat, he started the drive to the office. It all started going to crap with that appointment, forcing him up and out at an unreasonable hour. Downhill ever since. Damn appointment. What did they want from him? What will they think of next? Finally arriving at work, he greeted his coworkers. “Good morning. Good morning.”  Making sure to acknowledge everyone as he passed through the maze of cubicles. What a group to be stuck working with day in and day out. “How’s the baby? Sleeping through the night?” Who cares about the baby honestly. Eight hours a day he had to keep up the niceties. “Looking good. Have you been working out? It shows.” Who was he kidding? No one there worked out. They were all out of shape. Standing at his desk he looked up to find the boss standing behind the glass wall upstairs looking down at him. Smiling, he did a fake salute and sat down. What a joke. The guy thinks he’s Mr. Hot Shit sitting at his desk looking down at his employees from his ivory tower. He sat watching them while he himself did what? Went online? Texted friends? “Get a real life,” he thought. Not to mention a haircut. Are you a man or a little boy? Who dressed you this morning? Mommy? Maybe get some clothes that actually fit. The day went from bad to worse. Was he imagining the dirty looks he was receiving from his coworkers? Not that he cared what those losers thought of him. He was there to do the bare minimum for his lousy paycheck. He was just another cog in the wheel, and a small one at that. Knowing he could easily be replaced by the next guy on the list, he crossed his T’s and dotted his I’s to keep the status quo. Showing up for the same shit show every day was easier than looking for a new one. Pushing papers around his desk throughout the day made him appear productive. The little cat nap went unnoticed during the closed door staff meeting that he was not invited to, and that shut eye got him through the midafternoon slump. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” he thought as the workers filed out of the conference room back to their work stations like good little boys and girls. Finally, the eight hours passed like they do day after day, week after week. Making it to quitting time was the object of the game. At 5:00 on the dot he logged off his computer and put the papers back in the folder where they would wait to be pushed around his desk the following day. He stood, ready to walk out when the manager approached him with a question. “Did you have your appointment with the Thinking Committee this morning?” How did she know that? They were not a matter of public record, those intrusive appointments. Who would believe society got to that point where he had to have his innermost thoughts out on display to be examined. Was he a criminal or a citizen? Hard to tell these days. Sitting in that straight back chair across from the guard took every drop of energy he had. The lack of a decent night’s sleep didn’t help matters. Did they set these appointments so early in the morning to aggravate the already frazzled public hoping to provoke a reaction?

“Yes, as a matter of fact I did.” He replied annoyed. “Well, you forgot to change your settings.” The manager continued. “Your thought bubble is set to public. You might want to switch it back to private.” She let that sink in and then continued. “And the boss would like to see you in his office. You know the way to Mr. Hot Shit’s office I assume?” She turned on her heel and walked away.


The images saved on my boyfriend's phone flashed in my mind, they were of a petite blonde woman lying seductively on a bed, as well as the photos I had taken of their conversation together. I pushed through the pain and continue to get ready for the dinner we had planned for tonight. There was no chance I was going to let him off the hook easy and do a clean breakup at home. I was going to attend the dinner and make him realise what he had lost. I picked up my red lipstick and pouting I applied it along my lips. I gave myself a reassuring smile with the lipstick still resting in my hand and my reflection in the mirror smiled back at me. Placing the lipstick on the dresser I seized my car keys and made my way downstairs. I climbed into the car and hit play on my favourite playlist. The car purred to life as I started the engine and put my foot down on the peddle.

Just as I arrived outside the restaurant the rain began to fall. I could hear the pitter-patter of the drops on the car roof as I sat in silence for a moment, before plucking up the courage to get out of the car and face the inevitable. Stepping out I shut the door and locked them then made my way to the entrance of the restaurant. I walked in and glanced around till I saw Kyle sitting at the far end table. Striding over I took my seat opposite him and a waitron made his way to our table filling my glass with the same wine Kyle had already started sipping. I sat there a while and let him ramble on about work and how the guys and him had a weekend away planned. After receiving no reaction from me he frowned, crease lines forming on the top of his forehead. "What's wrong babes," he asked as he took another sip of wine. I mustered up the courage to fake a smile and reply with "nothing". A waiter made his way to our table and we both placed our order. Once the waiter had headed off we continued with our conversation. As Kyle finished each sentence I just nodded in agreement. Nervousness stirred in my stomach and I wanted to dash the door. The waitron had finally arrived back with our plates of food and I picked at it with my fork as I puzzled on how to start the conversation that was tugging at the back of my mind. After a moment of silence I started out saying " Kyle, do you love me?" His expression confused "of course I do, I always have" he says and I want to scream I want to yell at him and tell him how he's a lier and how he took something beautiful and destroyed it all for another woman. I held my tongue and nodded. Another moment passed "Who's the blonde then?" I sneer. I reached into my bag and pull out my phone. I had sent the images late the night before to myself so that I had them as proof. I open the one where the women was laying on her back completely nude with one hand placed on her left bre**t and the other down where her c**t was while staring seductively at the person taking the photo. I slam the phone down on the table with a bit more force than I intended. Kyle's eyes glance from his glass of wine, to his food, then the phone, as he looks up at me the colour from his face drains to a sickly grey. He begins parting his lips as if he's wanting to say something then his lips harden in a stubborn line and anger fills his eyes. " What's this all about now Grace!" He demands as anger spits in his voice. "Don't you recognise her" I tease. Of course, he does, he had been seeing her now for almost six months behind my back. I swear I see a look of remorse flicker across his face but just as quick as I see it, it's gone once again. "You know things haven't been great between us, I get home from work and you complain that I don't help around the house enough, you are always too tired for s** and you seem to always have a problem with me going away for business or out with the boys. I needed some release Grace!" he spits out with anger flaring in his eyes. I am astounded, my mouth dry with a loss for words. I slowly take a breath in and calmly say "I work all day, I get home, cook and clean, I then have studies and on top of that I constantly run errands for you, I cancel plans to make sure I'm available to attend your work functions and I've been paying the rent and petrol all on my own yet while I've been doing all this you have been sleeping around, lying and sneaking out at all hours of the night!" I raise my voice higher than expected as it cracks and I feel tears stinging at the back of my eyes. I hope for a decent reply, a bit of regret or pain but instead, Kyle looks at me as if the blame is all on me. A blank expression on his face as his fists are clenched on the table. "I think we are done here Grace, no need to embarrass either one of us like this. I loved you but I don't feel that way anymore" those words cut through my heart leaving me feeling numb and bare like an open wound. I slowly stand and as I gather my bag and keys, realisation crosses over Kyle's face and he looks panicked like a dear that's just been faced with headlights. "I'm sorry Gracie I didn't mean that" he whimpers trying to reach for my hand but I had heard enough I knew now how he truly felt. His grand my wrist trying to usher me to sit back down, I yank it away and turn on my heels. I wasn't going to stick around to have my heart torn out anymore. I began walking away and I could hear him calling after me, I didn't glance back as I walked out into the rain.


There it stood, at the end of a dilapidated alleyway, silhouetted against a display of flickering, fluorescent lights, like a hidden treasure waiting to be uncovered. The temperature was unforgiving, and the wind relentless, but the shop emitted a warmth like no other. The streets encasing the rest of the city were bustling with holiday chaos, yet amongst it all, that singular street acted as the eye of the storm. Nadia wasn’t quite sure if it was the unique discovery that enticed her or if it was the awaited company that made her travels worthwhile, but that moment encompassed her with a surreal feeling of serenity. She would do everything in her power to hold onto it. Following the cracked sections of concrete as a guide, Nadia tiptoed carefully down the snow-dusted path, her cheeks blushed, nose numb, and glasses fogged. For the first time all month, she had begun to feel the Christmas spirit that everyone talks about. As she approached the welcome mat, Nadia hummed holiday tunes she hadn’t reminisced on in years.

Silver jingle bells greeted her upon entering the building, as well as a cheery clerk, but her ears were instantly deafened by the sight of him. He was everything and nothing she remembered him to be. Although bloodshot and strained, his artic blue eyes still pierced through her soul and spoke to her. His hair was disheveled and his clothes wrinkled, but it looked like he put whatever effort he could muster up into being presentable. His natural build was muscular, but even through his layers of undershirts and sweaters, it looked like he was starving. “Delvin- it’s so good to see… you look… how’s it been...” Struggling to find the right words to initiate a conversation that was long overdue, Nadia realized she was still standing in the entryway of the shop. Delvin had centered his focus on her from the second she walked in and was already pushing in his chair to meet her. As soon as he touched her shoulder and met her eyes, all discomfort and apprehension was cast away. “Nadia, my friend. Would you like something to eat? To drink? Actually, scratch that. I know just what you want.” She smirked; his voice reminded her of a forgotten comfort zone. Hidden behind the register, the clerk sprung up as the two neared, seemingly embarrassed by the way she was trying to eavesdrop. Among the dimmed lights, cozy atmosphere, and lack of customers, the girl had all but fallen asleep before some entertainment presented itself. With utmost confidence, Delvin ordered, “One hot chocolate for the lady, and-” Nadia peeped up at Delvin as she interrupted him, “Just make it the one- we’ll share. And don’t go light on the marshmallows.” Delvin reached in his pocket and repeatedly flipped through his wallet, as if the money he spent was simply misplaced in another compartment. Without hesitation, Nadia pulled out her own money, and dropped the remaining change in the tip jar. She pressed her lips together and exchanged a quick glance with Delvin, as if to say, “no trouble at all.” Through clenched teeth, Delvin’s humility quickly turned to that of alleviation because of the way Nadia so easily dismissed the incident. In just a few minutes, out came a candy cane striped mug with melted marshmallows to the brim and a sprinkle of cocoa on top. Nadia’s inner child overtook as she giddily carried the steaming chocolate to an isolated table nestled in the back corner of the shop. Pulling the second stool closer to her own, Nadia patted the seat for Delvin to join. Surrounded by nothing but four walls and empty tables, she could finally have her deserved time alone with a long, lost friend. Nadia wasted no time letting her drink cool; she closed her eyes in ecstasy as the rich chocolate coated her throat. She set the mug down a little too excitedly, spilling some over the sides. She licked the sticky marshmallow residue off the top of her lip. Delvin was never too keen on sweets, but she was insistent that he try. For as confident as Delvin was, he knew Nadia was abundantly more stubborn, so he didn’t try resisting. The two shared a brief moment of silence, euphoric over the sugar and reconciliation, until the high came crashing down like a wave. Intently and intensely, Nadia scoffed, “So tell me, Delvin. Why are you here?” Caught off guard by her quick change in demeanor, Delvin tilted his head to the side like a lost puppy dog.

One deep breath in, “...because, you know that’s not how friendships work, right? You don’t get to just up and leave and disappear like a videogame you got bored of playing, right?”

One deep breath out. All the pent up resentment and confusion Nadia was holding onto came bubbling up and out like an overflowing pot of boiling water. Delvin was slow to speak and careful to choose what he might say next. “What I did was beyond wrong. Abandoning you like that- I’ll never forgive myself. And I’m not sure what took me so long to come to my senses, but… I miss you, Nadia. You’re the only person that was ever there for me through thick and thin. I needed to see you again- to get a look at those dorky glasses you love, to hear your dirty jokes and innocent laugh, to feel that untouchable bond we shared since day one.” His apology would never mend the countless nights she spent chewing her fingers till they bled or the backlash so many had taken from her on account of him- but he was, at least, painfully sincere. She could tell by the twitching of his nose and by the way his ears were turning red. Nadia thought back on the first time they had ever met. …Ten years old, and her mom was still attempting to arrange friendships. Even though she was never the outgoing, girly-girl her mom had always dreamed of, Nadia had enough individuality to stand firm in her own skin, which meant she was more than content with existing in the solitude of her own room. When Delvin arrived, hiding behind his own mother’s leg, it was clear to her that neither of them wanted to indulge in their parents’ playdate fantasies. After some awkward icebreakers and uncalled for accusations, the two came to learn that they had quite a bit in common- most importantly, the fact that their parents wanted them to be something they weren’t. For Nadia, it was a princess-loving cheerleader, and, for Delvin, a musical prodigy like his father.

Not long after this discovery, the two were inseparable, creating memories and wrecking havoc everywhere they went. One evening while their mothers gossiped about the disappointments their children had become, Nadia and Delvin exchanged a Polly Pocket doll and a guitar pick to signify that they would never be what was expected of them, but instead, stay true to themselves…

The fond memory eased Nadia’s outburst. She mulled over it for a while, sipping her cocoa until she couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Do you remember the time we came back home with matching tattoos?” Delvin raised his eyebrows as he pulled down his sleeve to study his wrist, “Hm, well, tattoos tend to be permanent, so I’m wondering at what point you thought I may have forgotten...” Nadia playfully grabbed his arm and snorted, “Oh hush, you jerk. You knew what I meant.”

…They had already left the house on false pretenses, and being that Nadia was the responsible one of the two, she wondered how long it would take for the guardians to decode their forged story and notice the stolen car. Delvin was a competent driver, but that still didn’t account for the fact that he was license-less. Nadia’s worry, however, was short lived, as they cruised down the backroads, high on nothing but life. She wanted to bottle that lighthearted feeling up forever: the wind tangling her hair, the bass vibrating the floor, and the smell of farm animals permeating the car atmosphere. Then a lightbulb was lit; she knew just how to preserve the moment in the most permanent way she could. As she shrieked Delvin’s name, he slammed on the brakes, tailspinning to the center of the road and skidding to a stop.

The adrenaline only heightened Nadia’s excitement as she exclaimed, “We need matching tattoos. This instant.” When they returned home to infuriated parents who grounded them for the rest of their adolescent years, Nadia could do nothing but smile at her freshly inked skin: a car with angel wings…

It was now Delvin who felt the need to sip on the luke-warm chocolate as he dared to venture into dangerous territories.

“It really wasn’t until after highschool that you and I faded, you know.” Nadia began uncomfortably tapping her feet on the ground, prepared to correct him and also slightly offended by a word as nonchalant as “faded.” “A bit before that, actually. It was definitely near the end of senior year that I started pushing away…” …Ever since she was young, Nadia preferred to be antisocial, unless it meant time with Delvin. She eventually concluded that this was the reason he could convince her to leave the house, even if it meant being out of her comfort zone and in less than ideal situations. During their high school years, this usually meant unruly parties and taboo scenes for Delvin. This particular party was out of the ordinary in a few senses. Normally, Nadia would end up sneaking off by herself to an empty room, or taking care of Delvin once he had one too many drinks. This time, Delvin was insistent on Nadia letting loose and spending time with him. Much to her surprise, Nadia started enjoying the vodka punch drinks and the way they were making her anxieties vanish and her legs float. It was almost comparable to the way it felt in that car so long ago- just a bit more… artificial. When the dancing became tiresome, Delvin guided Nadia to a couch on the outskirts of the commotion. They talked about light topics and dark topics; they talked for what felt like minutes to what felt like hours. In the middle of one of Nadia’s slurred sentences, Delvin pressed his finger up to her lips. He held it there for a while, studying her features like she was a goddess sent from Heaven. He dragged his finger from her lip up to her forehead, pushing strands of hair behind her ear. The cheering and music coming from the crowd became inaudible; all she could do was feel his hand pull her in, his gentle lips lock with hers, and his chest rise and fall more and more rapidly. He might not have known it, but that was her first kiss, and he made it everything she wanted it to be. She stumbled to the bathroom through a sea of tipsy teenagers, unable to contain her grin. As she stood in front of the mirror, wiping smeared lip gloss off her cheeks, she thought about all of the things that she wanted to say to him when she got back; however, Nadia’s butterflies suffocated quickly when she returned to Delvin posed on that same couch with another girl. Although- it wasn’t the way he kissed her that would haunt Nadia- it was the fact that he wouldn’t remember a single second of it come morning…

“You never told me about that night, Nadia.” With a despondent smile, she rhetorically questioned, “Would it have made a difference?” Delvin clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, hoping it might form the right words. Nadia spoke up before he could figure them out. “That still wasn’t the last major encounter between us before you disappeared, though. I think you know what night I’m referring to…” …It had been days since Nadia heard from him- which wasn’t uncommon anymore, but this time her gut feeling seemed different. She wasn’t the type to show up unannounced, which made her question her entire identity as she kicked his door in. His apartment was littered with rotting garbage and weeks worth of dirty dishes and clothes. A cockroach scurried across her foot as she began desperately searching through rooms. Nadia almost overlooked Delvin completely as he curled up in the corner of his bathroom. She had never seen him so small. Falling to her knees in front of him, she was at a loss for what to do. Delvin was incoherently murmuring, tapping his fingers incessantly, and struggling to keep his head from banging into the toilet. Exposed from in between his toes was a needle, still dangling from the skin. Mortified, Nadia reached for her cellphone to call emergency services, but Delvin aggressively grabbed her ankle. “N-no. P-please. I’ll be o-o-okay.” His head was feverishly burning, but he was shivering like he had just taken an ice bath. Conflicted among mortality, instincts, and friendship, Nadia reluctantly made her obvious choice. They rode the night out together, and, even in his state of overdosed delirium, Nadia still didn’t leave his side…

Suddenly passionate and animated, Delvin implored, “That night is exactly the reason why I reached out to you, Nadia. I was in denial before, but I’m lost and alone.. I need help, and I need yours. You're the only one who has stuck by me, genuinely cared about me-“ Nadia pressed her fingers to his lips, like he had done to her so many years ago. In all the time they spent together, she had seen him beyond overwhelmed and at his lowest, but she had never seen him cry. His eyes began welling up, and his hands started to tremble. She knew in her heart that he was serious this time. “I want you to have this…” Delvin exposed a Polly Pocket doll from his pocket, and, instantaneously, Nadia giggled until it hurt. Then, along with Delvin, she began to cry. Knowing she had done the same thing with his guitar pick, she asked, “You really kept that thing all these years?” Delvin closed her hand around the doll. “...I could never bring myself to get rid of it. I didn’t want to risk breaking our bond… that doll stood for everything we used to be. Superstitious- I know- but listen to me. I’m checking myself into rehab tomorrow, and I don’t want you to give this back to me until I get out. Do you understand?” Nadia promised with every fiber of her being that she would support Delvin to the end. With the last two swigs of remaining cold chocolate, each of them toasted as a means of authenticating their vow. For a moment in time, Nadia started to believe that Christmas miracles did exist. All barriers broken down, they embraced, saying all that had to be said through their touch. Delvin gave Nadia one last wink as he exited the shop, determined to make things right once and for all. Nadia leaned back and closed her eyes, decompressing and relishing in the rekindled friendship and hopeful future Delvin was preparing for himself. She envisioned the new and old memories they could create and recreate when Delvin was substance free.

Then all at once, everything became quiet, so quiet that she could hear the ticks on her wrist watch, like a metronome… until a shrieking tire squeal followed by a violent crash interrupted them. It bellowed down the alleyway and shook the windows, the tables, and the ceramic mug still sitting in front of her. There were seconds of eerie silence afterwards before the blaring sirens commenced.

The clerk sounded frantic as she jolted up from behind the counter, running to the window. Nadia felt a pit form in her stomach that was rising to her throat, blocking her airway, choking her and preventing her from screaming. She refused to open her eyes because the darkness was the only thing keeping her from awakening to a devastating reality. Then her cellphone rang, forcing her to face the truth… When Nadia opened her eyes, she was alone. No panic-stricken clerk, no ambulance alarms or medics, no distraught bystanders. She unsteadily arose from the table, preparing to take one last walkthrough of the shop. Shattered glass remained scattered throughout, mold had overtaken most of the walls, and the floorboards were splintered and decayed. She passed by the counter and brushed the dust off the broken cash register, wondering how many times it served its purpose before giving up. When approaching the exit, she listened for the familiar jingle of bells.

The once welcoming door mat had become frayed and illegible, stained by hundreds of mud covered shoes. There was a paper still posted on the door: a notice of eviction, dated five years prior. Nadia looked up to see that the elegant string of lights had been replaced by obnoxious, neon caution tape. It was time. Clamping her fists together tightly over her possessions, Nadia squatted down at the entryway. She blamed the hesitation on being frozen; her hands were too numb to unclench. Once she found the courage to release, she revealed a Polly Pocket doll and a guitar pick. She lifted up the mat and tucked the items safely underneath.

Following the path out of the alleyway, she restored her original trail that had been coated by a thick layer of snow since her arrival. Nadia looked one more time over her shoulder; Delvin was standing on the welcome mat, winking goodbye. As she looked up to the sky, snowflakes melted on her cheeks. In a strangely liberating way, she knew Delvin and her tracks would soon be concealed forever.


I might as well start off telling you, I lost my eye in an unfortunate fork accident. When I was a kid, I use to flip my fork off the table by putting it on the edge of the table, and SLAMMING my palm on the end of it. If I had a quarter for everytime my Mother told me to stop, my first fake eye could have been glass! She never lets me forget that incident either. It's kinda her "go to" when I don't listen, even at my age. I'm older now, how much smarter remains to be seen. Coming in from the bar one night I stumbled up the porch steps, and stood for a moment. I opened the door, and collapsed in a chair. I was half drunk this night, sweating in that chair with the window open, letting in every drop of humidity there was. Not enough sense to close the windows, and turn on the air. I sat there dripping , sinking into my own sweat in the old chair. My fake eye started to itch. I began to rub my eye but it didn't help, it just made it itch more! So here I sit drunk, with an itchy eye. What should I do? Oh I Know! So, I popped it out, and laid it on the table. Now, I know I should have taken it off, and put it in saline. That's where it belonged. But you know how it is when you've been drinking. Believe me, I wish I had. About that time, a crow had landed on the window sill, and was eyeing me. He just sat there looking. Staring. I thought about closing the window. Drunk, that thought floated away. A second of clarity, I see the Crow again! "What are you looking at, I yell, as I reach down and toss a shoe at the damn thing. He keeps eyeing me. Turning his head from side to side, kinda sizing me up. He doesn't move. He just stares. Straight into my soul, searching for a bit to pull off. His eyes look like black holes boring into mine. The hair on my neck stands up, as I click the tab off another beer. I lazily drink that beer down, not taking my my eye of that Crow. He never took his eye off me. But he kept grinning. Like he knew a secret! The beer was warm, and I was tired. I stared at the crow some more til sleep over came my half drunken ass. I fell asleep in the chair with that bird eyeing me. It was the last thing I remember seeing. But I dreamed of that Crow. He was still in the window. Still laughing. Still grinning. I tossed, and turned. It was a very restless sleep. Grampa! Time to get up! Oh Lord... I'm still in that chair. My vision is half gone. Oh man. I look around for my eye. All I see are beer cans. Oh shit. I have to shake each can just to make sure. I don't think I would have put it there, but hey! I had to look. Nope! Just a tab in each can. I look down on the floor, I get on my hands and knees. Nope. Now I'm getting a bit anxious! I see the open window! And I remember the Crow! OMG!! I'm sure the damn bird has my glass eye. He's no longer there! Where is he!? I run to the window, and I see him. He's mocking me! He has a beady eye turned on me, and he's grinning an evil bird grin! Oh shit. What am I going to tell my wife?! I look at that Crow. I curse that crow. I thought unkind things about that Crow. I cursed him some more. Then I cursed him again. Then I turned my back on the hungry thief. I cursed him once more. So with no other option, I dug around in the drawer, and found the first plastic prosthetic eye I had made, and popped it in. I stood at the mirror, it was glaringly obvious! That DAMN bird I mutter as I walk away. I went down to breakfast. No one noticed! That kinda irritated me. Do you people even see me? Am I that old, that you just look through me now?! All right! So far so good. I was still angry at that damn Crow. Sneaky bird!! I was thinking of ways to repay my feathered friend all thru breakfast, as I crunched that bacon, I was thinking of that bird! Still a little angry at them for not noticing, I thought about them as I crunched my toast quiet loud! Later that afternoon my grandson wanted to play, and I agreed. He brought a box and opened it. There, amongst several marbles was my eye!! My beautiful glass eye! Hey! "That's mine" I said. Grampa you said we could trade! Wait. What? Yes! I asked you last night If we could make a trade, and you said yes!! I put two green cat eyes on your dresser!! OMG! The bird was mocking me because he saw me drunk, trading off my eye for two marbles!! And he laughed! That damn bird laughed. I had to get my eye back. My grandson was rolling it in his fingers. It was a beauty! A luscious shade of dark green. He didn't take his eyes off it. It was a fair trade! He wanted to keep it. It was the only one like it he had ever seen. It was his! Fair, and square! He gave his best two marbles for it! What did I have to trade a five year old? Just how much will it cost? He looked at me with deep blue eyes, searching my face for signs it was okay, that he could keep it. But I needed it. So I made the deal. It cost me a trip to Disney! But I got my eye. That bird? He still comes to the window to mock me. I feel he's justified.


Every night at midnight, the purple clouds appeared in the blushing sky. With their arrival, pink flower petals fell from their depths for a solid hour each night. With the rain came a knowledge of things beyond the average person’s ken, but such was not the case with Aoife. Even though she was sixty-four, she awaited the rain each night for she knew it held mystery and power able to change her life. This evening was no different. From the bedroom window, Aoife could hear the chirping of crickets and the see the pink petals floating across dew-filled air, heralding the midnight hour. In anticipation, she froze. The flimsy curtain billowed in the breeze, floating about her and mimicking the clouds. Bong…. Aoife heard the chime of the grandfather clock. Two more strokes and it was midnight. Aoife held her breath and peered at the sky, a fervent prayer on her lips. Despite her plea, only the crickets responded, seeming to mock her long-awaited desire for more. Disappointed, Aoife sighed. She was about to seek the solace of her bed when from the grounds below, a movement caught her eye in the darkness. She squinted, attempting to identify who or what it was, but any further movement eluded her. She closed the window, sure it had been an animal. The sound of a knock broke the silence. Startled, Aoife quickly pulled on her shawl, wrapping it around her shoulders.

Who the devil was here at such a late hour?

She made her way down the rickety staircase. A light rap on the heavy paneled doors came again. Pausing in front of the door and attempting to sound brave, Aoife asked, “Who goes there?” “Seamus. I’ve come a long way to see you.” A man’s voice, thick with Celtic brogue, responded. Aoife took three steps backward.

Who the devil was Seamus and what could he want with her?  Surely he did not expect a woman, all alone, to answer the door for a stranger. At an attempt at bravado, Aoife barked, “I don’t care who you are – be on your way, I’ve no need of you this night.” Quiet ensued for long minutes before the man spoke again, his voice oddly laced with humor. “Are you quite certain, Aoife? I’ve hear you’re longing for something new. I’m prepared this eventide to help you with such an endeavor.” At the continued silence, he added, “I assure you, another opportunity will not come beyond the light of dawn.” Surprise flickered across Aoife’s face. A million questions surfaced in her mind.

How did this stranger know her? What could he know about what she longed for? Enlightenment suddenly struck. The wondrous pink flower petals had surely sent this man, whomever he might be. Without further contemplation, she swung the door wide. Her face alight, Aoife studied the man standing before her. His hair was thick, a vibrant red, and his emerald eyes twinkled in the moonlight as he returned the look she gave him. He was tall, lean, and dressed immaculately in dark clothing and knee-high boots. He held a riding crop though there was no horse in sight. Aoife’s mind raced.

Was Seamus here to harm her or to help her?

There was only one way to know. “Well, come inside if you must,” Aoife said, moving aside so he could enter. “I’ll put the kettle on for tea.” “Oh, sweet Aoife, do you not have something a wee bit stronger? It’s been a tumultuous journey,” the stranger said, doffing his hat and laying it upon the table. Aoife eyed the man, but then nodded and pointed for him to take a seat at the table. If indeed the pink petals had sent him, she had no time to waste and would gift him with what his heart desired. From the cupboard, she pulled a bottle of amber-colored liquid and two glasses. She’d likely need a strong drink of whiskey, too. Placing the drink before him, she noticed the man still held the riding crop across his lap as if his life depended on it.  S he took a seat across from him and drank from her glass of whiskey, hoping it would steady her nerves and allay her fears. “Oh, but you’re a good woman, Aoife,” Seamus said with delight, following suit and drinking of the whiskey. Aoife studied him. While somewhat odd in appearance, he was attractive, and certainly charming, too. She cleared her throat. “About the pink petals, Mister Seamus….” “I insist you call me Seamus." He smiled, an engaging one full of mirth. "Indeed, Aoife, your time has come. The pink flower petals have favored you, and I am at your service.” “I’m not sure I understand. Whatever could you possibly do?” Aoife asked, perplexed. “Do you not know, Aoife?” Seamus said with a wink. “I am a goblin and ready to bring your desires to life.” He grew serious. “Ah, but I’m guessing you’ve not met a goblin before dearie.” Aoife shook her head. She had, of course, heard many a story about goblins, but nary one had ever made an appearance at her door before tonight. It was about damn time. Aoife drained her whiskey. “Well, I’m ready and have been for a very long time,” she said. “I like your spirit, Aoife,” Seamus said and drained his whiskey. He held his empty glass out, and Aoife served him ample more. Aoife’s heart lifted. Here was her chance. In sixty-four years, she’d lived mostly alone. Despite the fact she’d married at sixteen, she’d had to bury her husband ten years later. In ten years, he’d never proven to be more than a friend. She’d given birth to and raised three sons, but now they seldom spared time to visit. Her life had been lonely. She had only been comforted by the memory of a long lost love. How different things would have been had she married Paddy. Foolishly, she’d thought her husband could offer more. Finally, she’d been gifted the opportunity to recapture lost love. Aoife’s heart swelled with joy. She could be young again, with Paddy. She stood and smiled at Seamus. “Let’s get this thing done. I told you, I’m ready,” she urged. “Are you sure, Aoife? You will not be able to travel between the two worlds. Your children will no longer be able to see you. Your life will be completely different,” Seamus cautioned. Aoife’s smile turned to a scowl. “My sons aren’t around now! I’ve got my life to live, and I told you, I’m ready.” She could scarcely wait to be with Paddy again. Seamus stood and carefully lifted the riding crop. “All right, Aoife. If you’re absolutely, positively sure, I’ll give you your heart’s desire and make you young again. You’ll be wife to Paddy, your lost love.” His eyes grew more serious with the words. “May you be happy, Aoife.” With a wave of the riding crop, time changed in a pink-tinted flash. **** Aoife awoke to the crowing of roosters. The sun was breaking through the dingy curtains as she opened her eyes. Confused for only a moment, Aoife bolted upright in the bed. She remembered full and well where she was supposed to be. Looking down, she saw long strands of brown hair instead of gray ones. Joy filled her for she was young again. Still, this was not what she’d expected; she was all alone. Suddenly, Paddy burst through the door, his hair disheveled, his clothes rumpled and dirty. He was unshaven even though it was past dawn. It was obvious to any observer he’d likely slept in his clothes. “Aoife, the kids are hungry,” he barked, apparently irritated by her still being in bed. “Why aren’t you up?” “Paddy,” she stuttered. “I’m so happy to see you.” A smile lit Aoife’s face. Paddy spun about, glaring in disbelief. “Happy to see me, are you? Well, how about being happy to see your six hungry youngins in the next room! They’ve been awake and ready for breakfast since sunup!” He made no effort to disguise his irritation. “Of course, Paddy. I’ll see to it immediately.” Aoife smoothed her hair into a bun and threw the covers wide, growing suddenly self-conscious as she emerged from the bedsheets.

Six children? How in the world had that happened?

She blushed a bright red. She knew precisely how it had happened, but still, six children?! Obviously, they were still very much in love, so Paddy’s impatience must have stemmed from hunger. Aoife opened the door to find six bright-eyed, red-faced children between the ages of one and twelve. Small fingers tugged at her apron as she tied it around her waist. Tears streaked the faces of at least two children begging to be held. Not taking the time to address their individual needs, Aoife quickly lit the stove. It wouldn’t do to upset Paddy further. Despite the chaos, she smiled. She and Paddy would have this evening to reacquaint themselves. Aoife spent the day performing a variety of chores: cleaning, cooking, gardening, tending kids, and washing clothes. In addition, Paddy expected her help in the fields. Aoife assumed he’d decided to farm instead of helping with his father’s mercantile business. While it didn’t make much sense, Aoife reminded herself money wasn’t everything. The love she remembered with Paddy had been spectacular and would carry them through anything. Still, she couldn’t wait to sit down after supper and find out more about this life she found herself in. It was all somewhat unexpected. Later that evening, Aoife felt as though she had a moment to herself. The children had been fed, washed, and were now abed. She glanced at Paddy, who sat slowly rocking before the hearth, smoking his pipe and reading a book. He seemed oblivious to her presence. Aoife pushed stray hairs back from her face. She was sure she looked a fright. She was hot and tired after the busy day. She hurried outside where the air was cooler to gather her thoughts. Pulling the kerchief from her head, she dipped it in the water pail, using it to freshen up. She’d change for bed and then ask Paddy to sit down for a long, much anticipated conversation. Butterflies of anticipation filled her stomach at the thought. So as not to interrupt Paddy while reading, Aoife quietly reentered the house and moved to the bedroom. She changed into bed clothes and brushed her hair, deciding to leave it down. Paddy had always loved her long hair and stroked it affectionately. She couldn’t wait for him to show such affection and whisper sweet words of love again. Entering the room, she thought Paddy still read from his book, but on closer inspection, Aoife learned his head hung down as he snored softly. Paddy had fallen asleep, and Aoife's heart warmed at the sight. It had been an exhausting day. Still, there was much she needed to say to the man, so she must wake him. Aoife knelt before the rocking chair. “Paddy. Wake up. Please wake up, dear Paddy,” she said, lightly touching his knee. Paddy jumped, opened his eyes, and sputtered. “What’s wrong? Why’d you wake me?” He stood upright, dislodging Aoife’s hand from his knee. “Damn! How many times do I have to tell you not to wake me, woman?” he barked, clearly exasperated with her. Surprised by his anger, Aoife stood and studied him. This was not someone she remembered so fondly from youth. No, this was not the Paddy who had lingered in her memories for so long.

What kind of man had he become? “Paddy, I just want to talk,” Aoife said, lightly touching his arm in reassurance. “ Talk?  When you know how tired I am, Aoife?” He pried her fingers from his arm. “What is it now? What could you possibly want to talk about? This better be good, Aoife, because I’m tired of your nonsense.” Aoife stepped back, staring at Paddy in disbelief. Despite giving birth to six children, she knew she still made a pretty picture. She had believed their reunion would be more pleasant, especially in view of the six sleeping children they’d created together, but it seemed that time had not been a friend to them. Never had she been spoken to or disrespected in such a way. Aoife squinted at Paddy and poked his chest hard with her finger. “Who the devil do you think you’re talking to, Paddy McLeod? How dare you speak to me like that?! I’m your wife and the mother of your children - six children, that is! And while we’re talking, please explain why we’re working so hard on this farm instead of you helping with the mercantile business?” Paddy was clearly confused. “ Are you daft, woman?  We lost the store after Pa died five years ago. This farm is our only means of putting food on the table and a roof over our heads.

You’re talking nonsense! ” Still shaking his head, he headed to the bedroom. “I’m tired and going to bed. I’ll hear no more from you tonight, Aoife McLeod.” Shaken, Aoife sat in the rocking chair, staring into the fire. It blazed a pink hue, taunting and reminding her of the pink petals. She had truly believed the petals would bring her a new destiny. She’d been so hopeful but that hope was gone now. She didn’t know how long she sat there, but a dawning awareness filled her. Love was much more than butterflies in the stomach, affectionate strokes of the hair, and whispered, sweet words. She remembered the gravity she’d seen in Seamus’ eyes as he’d lifted the riding crop. He’d known full well she would learn her lesson too late. Deciding she needed something for courage to face tomorrow, Aoife went in search of whiskey. She found it hidden high in a cabinet and poured herself a generous measure. She wondered if one bottle would be enough. Sitting at the table, she downed a glass and poured another. The amber liquid burnt as it traveled through her body. Hopefully, it would warm the chill that had invaded her body.

Curse the bloody pink petals.

Never had she been in need of drink so badly before. **** Dawn was breaking and light streaming through the draperies when Aoife awoke, still groggy from the amount of alcohol she’d imbibed the previous night. The table was hard beneath her arms and head. She must have fallen asleep there instead of in the bedroom. Well, that was all well and good since she’d no desire to lay next to Paddy after their conversation - if one could call it that. Rubbing her eyes, Aoife wondered why the sound of roosters and crying children did not yet fill her ears. Looking about, she stared wide-eyed at her surroundings. Quickly loosening her bun, she found gray-streaked hair. Relief filled her. She was no longer at the farmhouse, no longer Paddy’s wife, and no longer young and mother of six. She was back at her home where she belonged. It must have all been a dream! Relieved, Aoife sank down in the chair. She could not wait to see her sons! Never would she have thought she’d be so happy to be sixty-four, living a mundane existence in an all-too familiar home while looking forward to seeing her children, but she was. Thank the heavens above it had been a dream - albeit a horrible dream, but still just a dream. Tears filled Aoife’s eyes. She had been so foolish. She would never make another wish and she would never give Paddy McLeod another thought as long as she lived. Her husband, God rest his soul, had always treated her with the care and affection, his respect all too obvious in all he said or did. She wanted to weep, so intense was the breath and scope of regret. Her husband must have loved her even though he didn’t stroke her hair or whisper sweet nothings in her ear. More to the point, she now realized she had loved him, too. The irony of the situation did not escape her. She’d learned her lesson and wouldn’t forget it. Life and love were much more than trivial, small things; they were the depth and dimension of years well-lived while shared with a comfortable friend. Love was respect and devotion, loyalty and friendship. Aoife sat at the table a long while. Perhaps she ought never to pick up the bottle again, she thought, stifling a laugh. She stood, and as she reached to put away the bottle of whiskey, she stopped abruptly. Before her, on the table, was not only her empty glass but another one, and beside it lay a man’s black hat. Aoife reached to lift the hat from the table and held it closer. She found bright, red strands of hair stuck to the dark material. Seamus, the goblin was real. Did that mean what she’d experienced had been real, too, and not a dream? Maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to damn the pink petals. If the magic petals had truly brought Seamus to her world and given her an opportunity to revisit a lost youth, at least they’d seen fit to restore her life when she’d realized her mistake. She’d never look at those pink petals that rained from the sky every night at midnight in the same wistful way again. They were far more powerful - and wiser – than she’d ever been. A loud knock sounded, and Aoife could hear laughter coming from the other side of the heavy doors. Cautiously, she made her way to the door and opened it. To her surprise, six men and women entered, laughing while each hugging and kissing Aoife in greeting. “Morning, Mum. What’s for breakfast?” they all shouted in unison. “We’re starving.”


I’ve only made one promise in my entire life. As time seamlessly goes by, the day and night losing their separation, dates evoking no emergency within me, and life slowly becoming devoid of any true meaning, I continue on because for some reason my soul feels obligated to uphold this promise. Pride doesn’t dictate how I operate and shame puts no fear in my heart. So why I’m inclined to remain true to my word is beyond me and it’s bothering me that I can’t get to the bottom of it. It snowed six inches two days ago. Being that it’s the middle of autumn in New England should cause some concern but nobody’s going to truly care about climate change until it’s irreversible. However, the clashing of seasons was an enamoring site to see. The way the white crystals were gracefully gliding through the rainbow-colored trees was a common showcase of nature strutting its elegance. It’s seventy degrees today and most of the snow has melted leaving a shiny gloss on the leaves that’ve gone back to their roots. I figured today was as good as any to rake them up. I didn’t own a rake, a leaf blower, or any device that could be used to either gather or disperse leaves. It’s one of those things I’ve never felt the need to do until this very moment. I live in a three-family apartment. I assume that someone has to have one, yet, it feels like I’d be a burden if I was to ask to use theirs. I’ve never interacted with either of my neighbors before. It’ll be weird if I go from never speaking to either of them to asking for something. ‘Hey I know we never talk but would you mind if I take advantage of your resources for nothing in return?’ See how awkward that is? Instead, I’ll just loan it from one of them without their knowing. Thankfully they both work day shifts so that gives me enough time to do what needs to be done without either of them knowing how it precisely got done. I went towards the upstairs apartment first, that way if she doesn’t have one I can walk down the steps in disappointment rather than annoyingly trudging up three flights of stairs. The door was locked. Why had I expected anything different? I have no clue. I tried my keys in the lock. Didn’t work. Why had I expected that to work? Again, I have no clue. Now, I could’ve just breached the door since this entire complex is made of bare minimum material but I thought it was excessive to break into her house for a rake. Especially for a rake I’m not sure is there. Downstairs I went and his door was unlocked. The unfamiliar smell of his apartment tickled my nose. It wasn’t musty by any means but it wasn’t pleasant. It was a strong, unidentifiable aroma that made the air feel thick as if it was telling me that I was an unwanted guest. The nerve of this apartment. The rake was by the door. I thought about roaming through the area to see the pieces of personality that one decorates their space of living with. Then I thought about finding something I had no business discovering in the first place, grabbed the rake, and left. A gust of wind knocked droplets onto my shoulders once I stepped on the porch. The fresh air made the inside of my body float with each inhale. The sun was smiling at everything it touched. A flock of birds temporarily painted the sky with their unique formations. I would’ve shed a tear at the scenery if I wasn’t accustomed to suppressing my emotions.

Typically when I’ve witnessed people rake their yards they’ll put all the loose leaves in a trash bag. That makes no sense to me. Nature shouldn’t be thrown away. What I planned on doing was raking them toward a tree and forming a neat ring of fiery colors. Just as I was about to begin, a sudden gray wave overcame me. The urge to complete this simple task was dwindling. I looked towards the sun and it seemed dim. My breathing was happening in unnaturally slow increments. I closed my eyes and remembered the one life-binding promise I made and it was as if those previous moments were erased. The sun was again jubilant and the air tasted refreshing. As a kid, every chore felt unnecessary and exhausting. Now, at my grown age, chores are meditative. Somehow organizing is calming when you do it on a whim. The soft metal of the rake massaging the leaves gave me a sense of nostalgia. I can hear pancakes sizzling on a stove. Graham crackers being scrunched up. Orange juice being poured…maybe I was feeling more hungry than nostalgic. As I was having a fantasy of breakfast to come, the rake got stuck on a bundle of leaves. I kept trying to force them to move, thinking they might’ve been frozen together and stubborn, but they wouldn’t budge. When I went to move the bunch by hand, something was glistening a few feet away. Hoping it’d be gold or a time capsule I walked over to the mystery. It was a spoon. Not just any spoon though. It was a silver spoon. You know that same silver spoon used as an analogy for people that allegedly had an easy upbringing. Also, the same spoon that feels the cold rush of milk on many mornings. The same spoon that is at times used as a drumstick on an anonymous surface. Not lost jewelry or recovered artifacts from the past. It was a spoon. I laughed a little because just like life, you can expect something grandiose from the unknown only to be given something so simple like a spoon. I put it in my pocket and continued raking. The one promise I made was to myself. After failing at so many of my aspirations, I wanted to give up on life. It’s mentally draining to continuously be unable to grasp your desires. I felt worthless. Happiness became more elusive. Smiling always felt forced. It reached the point where I’d sit in darkness for hours on end, forcing the inner monologue of my mind to be silent. Then one day, when I was on my way to the kitchen, I heard a commotion outside. I went to the window to see what was happening. A wolf was mauling a rabbit…Nah I’m just kidding. It was actually a bear…again, just kidding. A kid kept falling off of his skateboard and not just small falls, they were skin-harming kinds of falls. He just kept getting on and trying whatever trick he was trying to accomplish. I watched him fail dozens of times, one because I was bored and to see if he’d give up but he never did. How could a kid have more perseverance than me? I was jealous. So I promised myself to never allow my pessimism to dictate my life. I’ll never be able to completely eliminate those intrusive thoughts or that dark feeling that sometimes washes over me. However, I have enough willpower to stop it from totally encapsulating me. Still, it never made sense as to why a kid falling off of a skateboard was the catalyst for this promise. How could something so simple have that much of an impact on me? It doesn’t make sense. Life doesn’t make sense. These leaves don’t make any sense. I’ve been doing too much thinking and not enough raking. “Is that my rake?” I looked up from the colors of autumn to a familiar face of a stranger. “I don’t know too many people with a light blue rake so I just thought it might be mine.” “It is…” I didn’t know what else to say. “Did I leave it out?” “No. Your door was unlocked.” “…” “…” I didn’t know how to casually say I snuck into his house to borrow his rake. I knew this would be a weird conversation. “I was going to bring it back. I just didn’t have one and thought…you know…one of my neighbors must have one…so…” “So you stole one out of my house?” “Borrowed.”

“I always thought you were a little strange but I can’t argue with logic.” “Logic?” “Yea, what you did makes sense. I’d prefer if you didn’t do it again,” he laughed “but I’m not upset. Maybe next time you can ask me to use it.” “Right.” “Also maybe you can stick around and chat for a bit. This isn’t exactly how most first conversations go.” “Right.” I failed at doing a light laugh and made a weird noise instead. “Okay then. Just bring it back whenever you’re finished.” He went off into the apartment. That went better than I expected. I reached into my pocket to check what time it was because he shouldn’t have gotten home this early. The spoon was gone.


"Why did you give Gertrude the Baker a bat as a familiar?" Esmeralda asked, placing her pointed hat on her desk and leaning back in her chair. Her silvery curls spilled out, framing her sharply featured face. I shrugged and gave her my winning smile. "It was her arms," I said. "They were the flabbiest I'd ever seen and she wouldn't stop waving them around and shrieking in excitement. Boom. Bat familiar, perfect match." A column of swirling smoke rose from her pipe as she held it between her teeth. "It seems you didn't think about the fact that she is in the free-range child business, did you?" She said. "With that giant bat flopping all around it's scaring the kids away. She's only been able to lure two kids into her shack since then and they've been goth kids. Do you know how much extra work they require to prepare, removing all the piercings and so on?" "I'm sorry Miss Esmeralda," I murmured. "Next time I'll consider a puppy, or a predatory balloon." "By Hecate, I swear!" she replied, sparks flying from her pipe to mirror her frustration. "Puppies turn to slavering dogs, Float-a-chokes would eat her supply of brats. Last month you give nearly blind sorcerer a snake as a companion. He mistook it for his wand and got bit a week later." "Everyone makes mistakes," I said. "He had a problem with rats eating his potion ingredients. I thought it would help." " He died , Oswald," she snapped. "Familiars and Friends has been in business for over a thousand years, and this is the first time we've ever been sued. If I lose the company my grandfather founded, I'll banish you to one of Neptune's moons, I swear it! Now go clean the kennels before the next client comes in." I lowered my gaze and slunk out of her office. Okay, so maybe

some  of my matches have resulted in fires, businesses going under, and the occasional death - they all seemed like good ideas at the time. Perhaps they would have been better matches if it were not for the familiars being used in spells and their dark workings. They were seen as tools, little more. Maybe if they spent the time to become friends and communicate, things would turn out a little differently. Maybe that entire suburb wouldn't have been shifted into another dimension. With bucket and mop in hand I made my way through the stone and mortar halls, scrubbing down the pens and taking ample time to scratch a black cat behind the ears and dispense treats to the otherwise squirmy and neglected sorts. Through my patrols and scouring I finally came across a large door - the largest and heaviest of the lot. Runes of warning were carved into it, flashing red, and four massive locks kept it held shut. Even the faded streaks of blood and desperate claw marks pulling into it would frighten off most. But I couldn't help but smile as I entered, and before I could even put my keys away I was met with a deep and thunderous snarl like the coming of a great storm, a snarl that seemed to echo with the dark and ominous incantations. "Muckle!" I said throwing my arms wide. "Good to see you too!" The hellbeast crouched in the corner of the room, with a coat as black as coal and a single eye on the right side that smoldered red like the heart of flame itself. The other eye had been lost when he had eaten his first handler, and the next few didn't last so well either. But he and I always seemed to get along well enough. Cleaning up after Muckle, however, was about as easy as you would expect for a ravenous, strictly carnivorous, dog almost as large as a horse. He came to Familiars and Friends when he was just a puppy, and was thought to be some street mutt. It wasn't until he made a meal of Jasper the Beastmaster that they became suspicious of his true nature. Strangely enough, the scent of sulfur didn't give him away sooner. Muckle picked up a gnawed fragment of a ribcage and plodded over to me and dropped his offering at my feet, unleashing a gale of fetid breath as he tried to lick me. "Who didja bring me here," I asked. "Is that a bit of... old Samuel? How sweet of you, sharing with me." I gave him a good scratch behind the ears and rested my head against his muzzle. He was a gentle enough spirit once you got to know him, and put aside his history of devouring those who displeased him - and my love for him wasn't feigned. I think he knew it, too, with affectionate snarling and snapping when I drew near. I felt like he understood me, almost as much as I understood him. A sudden crackling filled the air, and a nasally voice spilled from the wooden speaker in the corner of the room. "Oswald, a new client has entered admissions," said Janice the secretary. "I'll be back soon," I said to muckle, giving him a pat on the snout before rushing out the door. I stashed my mop and bucket in the closest and paused by the window which opened into a room enchanted to look like a meadow where our bunnies hopped joyfully. We in the business called it the rabbitat. Okay, maybe only I called it that, but I couldn't deny my own cleverness. I focused more on my reflection in the window and made myself presentable before rushing off towards the entrance. I staggered in, winded, and finding a young lady sitting at the table. She seemed lost in her thoughts, absently twirling a lock of her long, saphire hair around her fingers. "Pleasure to meet you," I said, introducing myself. She stood and gave a faint curtsy, keeping her eyes down. "My name is Misty," he spoke softly. "I'm hoping you can help me find a proper familiar." "Tell me what it is that you do, and we'll find you what you need!" I said in my usual spiel. "well, I am an apprentice botanist, I spend a lot of time outdoors to find ingredients for potions for my masters," she said. "Anything that could help would be nice." I tapped by finger to my chin and nodded a few times as ideas flitted about my head like moths hypnotized by a lamp. "Well then," I said confident in my conclusions - as I always was. "Let's go on and find you a familiar!" I led Misty through the warrens and introduced her to a number of our more outdoorsy and mild familiars. "Meet Sir Stetchen! He's covered in dangerous needles, can burrow, and loves nature," I said, holding out a small hedgehog in cupped hands. "This one was bred for the spines to be venomous!" Her eyes soften and a faint smile pulled at her lips, which was the most of a reaction that I had gotten from her. I had thought for sure that the swarm of carnivorous butterflies would have been a good match - clearing away any insects from the herbs she thought, as well as handling any ungentlemanly gentlemen or enemies she may have earned. But instead, she sighed and moved along. If Sir Stetchen could get a reaction, however, maybe one of the other rodents could catch her attention. "How do you feel about... Bunnies?" I asked. Part of me felt as though it would be a poor choice, considering they might eat the plants she sought but surely he wouldn't be responsible for burning down a library this time. Damn, bunnies were too flammable for such little things, and some warlocks used far too many candles in their rituals. Misty shrugged. "It wouldn't hurt to meet them." "Excellent," I said as I lead her down the hall I had been cleaning earlier. "Maestro Llipa can turn into multiple rabbits when frightened, but always pulls back together after a few moments. Great amusement, but the cleanup can... can." I found the words knotting up in my throat as my eyes traced the pawprints that were sunk into the stone, leading to the splintered door that led into the rabbit. I looked through the window to find Muckle sitting there among the illusionary daisies, a tatter of white fluff hanging from his mouth, a contrast of his ebon coat. He let out one of his snarls and the glass of the window rattled and quaked as if it could break at any moment. "Let's ah... go back over there shall we?" I said with concerned joviality, but Misty stood planted firmly at the window. "He's... perfect," she said, her amber eyes growing wide. "I would have never guessed you to have a black shuck in your possession, considering... well, you know." I nodded knowingly because I did indeed know. I knew better than old Samuel and so many others who met their fate in Muckle's maw. Misty turned to me, brimming with excitement. It was the most emotion she had shown since they had met. "Bring the paperwork," she said, then crooked a beckoning finger towards Muckle, who bounded out of the door with such force that he slammed against the opposing wall, which brought a bright peal of laughter from Misty. "Come with me," I said, swallowing hard as I led them back towards the office. My quill swung back and forth, sending little flecks of black ink all hither and thither as I nervously eyed Muckle who had resigned himself to sitting in the corner, growling and staring straight ahead with his glaring red eye as he typically did in his kennel. He always seemed to favor corners. "Alright," I said as I pushed the vellum forward. "Sign and date here, here and... initials here... rune of binding and drop of blood there... Alright, by the power vested in me by Zavrael the Bitter Lord, I pronounce you Witch and Familiar." Misty craned her head back and beamed a smile at Muckle, who let out a snarl that would curdle milk. I could have warned her about that, maybe it would have changed her mind. But with my luck, it would turn out that she preferred her milk curdled, or devils forbid, was lactose intolerant. I didn't know if my sadness was because I knew that she was inevitably going to be eaten by the beast, or because Muckle was leaving. I had watched him grow from a small sulfurous whelp to the magnificent young shuck that he was now. Mop, feed, scoop the poop, mop, repeat. Unfortunately, none of the furry friends - or their poops - were as interesting as my dear friend. It felt like just yesterday he spilled out of the crate filled with straw and a deer carcass. The smell never quite improved, but our bond flourished. The familiar sound of static filled the air, and I picked up the bucket in preparation to head to admissions. But instead of Janice expected droning, Esmerelda's voice boomed overhead, taking me off guard. "Oswald to my office -

NOW !" I dropped my bucket in a strike of fear, and slowly made my way up the stairs, dread boiling in my guts like a cauldron full of poison. Esmerelda sat at her desk, pipe held so tightly in her teeth it seemed like she would bite through it as she sat blowing a column of sparkling red smoke. "The demon-damned

Black Shuck ?!" She snapped through her clenched teeth. "I thought that I had that thing put to sleep. You thought it was a brilliant idea to sign it off as a familiar? You're more of a fool than I thought." "She was fully aware of what Muckle is," I said defiantly. "He seemed to take quite a liking to her." Esmeralda rolled her eyes. "Of course he did. He was trying to get her guard down so he could eat her, no doubt!" I wrung my hands and furtively looked around her desk for a report. "Did he eat her?" I asked, not finding any such indication that he had. "Not yet, but it's only a matter of time! We'll have to close our doors for good when it happens." She reached into her desk and slammed a small bag of coins on the table with such force that a few bounced free and rolled across the floor. "Take this, it's your last pay. Get out of here before you do any more damage." I stared at the coin purse, taken by chill despite the warmth of my blushing cheeks. I had never felt so shamed, failing despite my best efforts. Everything felt I did felt like the right thing to do. Unable to find the proper words, I took my pay and tried to not look too pitiful as I reached for the escaped coins and left. She was right. It was a bad decision to sign Muckle up as a familiar. I walked the busy streets, bundles of parchments detailing my history and talents tucked under my arm. It was difficult to find work in the line of matchmaking and beast tending. Even more so when you left a swath of destruction in your wake. Screams roused me from my grousing, and I looked up to see a crowd of frantic faces as the people charged towards me with little disregard for the fact that they knocked me square on my back. Before I could even right myself, a massive presence bounded upon me. It's sharply clawed paws pinned my shoulders down and all I could see was a great maw of dagger like fangs opening before me. Sulfurous breath choked me, and I was fairly certain I could see the decaying remnants of a hand in the back of its throat. I always knew my death would involve getting eaten by a beast or monster, but I always suspected it would be in the line of duty, not being ripped apart in the streets. But the maw of fangs did not close around me. I craned my head around to see a solitary red eye glaring at me menacingly. "Muckle?" I asked incredulously. "Is that really you?" The beast let out a strange snarl that echoed with thunder and familiar incantations. I laughed and reached up to run my fingers through his coarse black fur. "It's lovely to see you, too!" "Sir? Sir, are you still alive?" asked a young woman running up to where I lay pinned. "Oh, I know you, you're the gentleman who helped me meet Muckle!" "Naturally," I said, beaming a smile at Misty who extended her hand to help me onto my feet. "He's been better at going after people, but I knew something was important when he bounded through the streets towards you. He didn't even stop to torment the children as he loves to do," She gave Muckle a pat on the back and returned my smile. "I can't thank you enough. With him as my familiar, I've gone about a change career." "I fear that has culminated in quite the same for me," I replied offhand. "But it brings me joy that he is helping you." Muckle let out a snarl and nuzzled Misty. "I've come to think of him more as my emotional support monster than a familiar," she said. "And then it made me realize, why don't I start a home for misplaced monsters and those who need them?" I looked at the two of them, Muckle seeming happier than I'd ever known, and Misty who moved and spoke with a newfound passion, rather than the haunting distance she kept before. "The only thing is that they tend to frighten and scare people away. It's been rather hard finding good help," she continued. My eyes grew wide and I looked around for my resume, finding a copy on the ground I lifted it up. It had gotten sullied and a little worse for wear from Muckle's tackle. However, it bore his pawprint in the middle. I handed the parchment to Misty, who chuckled. "It looks like you have quite the mark of recommendation," she said with a twinkle in her amber eyes. "Let's get started, I have some unhatched terrorantula eggs that will need a lot of care patience - and a loving parent once they hatch."


Schlumping a pile of books, trinkets and a very good cashmere twinset, she barged into Mrs.McGillicuddy’s always-open front door and wrenched aside the flimsy opening to my makeshift study. Shocked, I turned just in time to receive the full brunt of the load aimed at my head. Every gift I’d given her including the ruby ring without the stone. “.......... Don’t try to contact me ever again” she snapped. .............Don’t worry, I won’t” yelling as she left in high dudgeon. ● But I didn’t mean a word. She was Rosie, my fiancee and I adored her. ++++ Hans and Moshe my roommates were moving to Chicago for a job upgrade. Not being able to afford the apartment on my own and Rosie didn’t think we were yet ready for marriage,I had to move to something cheaper. Albert Fahrt clearly needed help. I owed that guy such a lot, and felt obligated to be there for him. I took his name in a moment of youthful bravado, masquerading as Albert Schweissfuss at Ellis Island and passing through Immigration to a new and bright future. Little did I know how fleeting are the streams of good luck. Nor how quickly they can evaporate . All immigrants have to work hard in the beginning, specially non English speakers. Fahrt took extra night classes and a daytime job as security guard. The uniform was ill fitting and the heavy shoes were so wide his feet looked cartoonish. Monotonous and grim his duties were standing for hours at a steel door to prevent unauthorized personnel from entering or walking around and around ugly factory buildings looking for anything suspicious. It wasn’t enough practice for his English, the thing that was holding him back. As much as I was working hard myself at studying law, I tried to help telling jokes. Having to explain the punch line to a German got tedious. The best way, and I recommend this method, was the films. Not too pricey, we’d have a great time afterward discussing the plot, the movie stars, Fahrt especially loved the organ. He was delighted with his progress and I was even happier. ++++ Comfortable and cheap with ensuite facilities stated the newspaper advert of Mrs. McGillicuddy’s attic in Bay Ridge Brooklyn It was one room with curtained toilet and shower. Kitchen facilities was a two burner hot plate. Two futons separated by a dresser completed the rest of the furnishings. The futon was too short for Fahrt. He complained nightly and loudly of the cold as his big bare feet splayed out from the bottom of the bed. I often wondered if his blood by the time it reached his extremities was underperforming. It did have a long way to travel.  Munrospun, my employer, was underwriting my night school classes. I was enrolled in law school with the intention and guarantee I would work to repay the debt. Generosity and opportunities were many for immigrants. Understandably this was a two way street. Fahrt and I both forged lasting friendships at work and never forgot to extend a hand to other newcomers. A cramped space under the stairs on the first floor became my study.A recent neighborhood garage sale produced a well used ink stained pine table, chair, a gooseneck lamp with a long cord snaking out into the hall to the nearest wall socket, and a three tier metal book shelf. All for four dollars, three fifty if the seller didn’t have to deliver. A refuge for quiet study it even had a flimsy door which partially closed due to the electrical cord. ++++ Fahrt’s arrival home minutes after Rosie’s departure was timely. We both went to the corner bar and got soused. Trying to cheer my misery, Fahrt began to tell jokes. “ what lies between fear and sex? Funf It was the way he doubled over in mirth that I found funny. As we staggered a little, only yards from home, I asked him for the title of the shortest book ever written: ”Two hundred years of German humor”. He didn’t flinch. However on seeing the soft wool twin set his face lit up. Too drunk to care, I nodded motioning to take it. He slept peacefully from then on with his big flippers encased in expensive cashmere bed socks. Aqua to match her eyes, I was forever tormented by the sight. Instead of draping Rosie’s magnificent bosom they were crowning the big lug’s ample feet. ::::::: The first signs my lucky streak was beginning to blow was the time Fahrt decided we should go to Germantown to partake of something called gemuetlich. Handkase mit musik was the chalkboard speciality, washed down with apfelwein. I can’t say it was as tasty as corned beef, cabbage and a pint of Guinness but he was happy with my faked delight. Ordering a second helping Fahrt looked enquiringly at me. Declining with a rueful grin, patting my tummy “Nein Danke ich bin full,”I lied. Meeting Rosie afterward we went to the moving pictures to see Gone With The Wind For some time Rosie had been chilly towards me. I sensed it and couldn’t understand. At the funeral I caught the suspicious glances of her Aunts who were steering her towards a toff. A debonair Harvard boy. I was no match for a Boston Brahmin “Faint heart never won fair lady” Yes, I hear you, but it’s only an empty saying . Rosie’s dad had died suddenly and she inherited a tidy nest egg. Her mother had died much earlier. She was a Catholic as was Rosie. Her dad was a lifelong agnostic. Accompanying Rosie to the funeral parlor was a big mistake. The place felt claustrophobic with a pervading smell of lemon scented beeswax and woodbine cigarettes. The banality of the service annoyed me. A place where no one uttered the word die. Evidently they bury you when you fall asleep.  Some poncey fellow asked if I didn’t agree the speaker was so beautiful in his remembrances: ...... “well I never heard so many words spewing from so little thought”. Rosie heard me. That was when the earth shook. Stomping out with me following like a scolded puppy, she turned ,her eyes quite cold: ..”......I’ll have to think things over Albert” she usually called me Al. Then she strode off into the crowded street. The slow walk home was the worst I had ever felt, even at my lowest on the immigrant ship. I had never imagined I could feel such lighthearted joy as when I first met Rosie. My run of good luck was spent and dragging me down were the ashes of my dreams. :::;; Two years later Albert Fahrt was speaking English well enough to get hired at a busy sports shop catering to outsize men. He was perfectly placed and had turned in his security guard badge and uniform for ever. We moved from Brooklyn . Fahrt and Weiss, the names were stenciled on our joint mailbox in a trendy midtown Manhattan apartment building. We gave them a polish with the sleeves of our fashionable summer weight linen blazers as we sauntered out into a bright early evening on the town Do I think of Rosie? Is there a chance we might reconcile? Who knows? Do I still care for her. Of course and that will never change.


Once a time there was a princess, who was sitting and looking out the windows of the castle at the winter’s first snowfall. The windows opened onto what just a few months ago had been a beautiful flower garden, humming with insects. Because the princess lived in a very distant land, I can’t tell you the names of the flowers and, unless you know much more than the average person, you wouldn’t recognize them either. At this point, it didn’t matter anyway, as only the brown stalks and a few drooping leaves remained. Now the snow was falling, for the first time in many months the view was clean and fresh, and the princess found it much more interesting to gaze out the window than attend to her tea and cake. The princess was the only child of the king and queen and the entire future of the kingdom depended on her. Inside the castle she was given everything she desired – the finest food and clothes, expensive gifts, private tutors who were the best in their fields. But she was never allowed to leave the castle. The princess would have traded everything she had to be allowed to run on the forest paths, smell the pine trees, and swim in the roaring river at the bottom of the garden. But all she could do was study in books about all the animals and plants she could see outside. The king and queen liked this as most of the people in the kingdom lived in the forest, depended on the animals and plants for food and clothing and made their houses out of wood – the princess was learning things that would help her understand and support her subjects better, without the risk of breaking her leg or running into an actual wolf or bear. Overhead, white geese had started flying south in V’s. The princess was reading a lot about geese these days – for instance, she had learned that the parents would often take turns at the front of the V so their children could fly more easily behind them. The hunters would not care about details like that – they would be busy shooting as many as possible in order to fill their larders for the winter. The princess tried to look carefully at each bird, hoping to remember what made it unique and look for its safe arrival in the spring, but even with her sharp eyes they all looked the same from this far away. Suddenly, a goose landed on the far side of the garden, skidded towards her on the snow across the lawn, and came to a stop on the stone path just outside the window. It was a young goose, its white plumage still mixed with muddy brown feathers, had been shot in the wing and was still alive. A hunter must have hit it far over on the far side of the river as the princess had not heard any sound and indeed no hunter would dare to shoot this close to the castle. The goose must have tried to carry on flying, slowly dropping and landing on the garden’s slope. As you may have guessed, the princess had for once been left completely alone with her tea and cake. The guardian who had been watching her had realized, as soon as the snow started to come down, that she had left her windows open and wanted to make sure to keep the weather out. The princess had been strictly warned about leaving the castle, but she knew the goose was likely to end up on the palace’s dinner table if anyone else found it and decided she had to save it. Unfortunately, the only door out into the garden was firmly locked, and the princess was not the type of person to use an expensive sugar bowl to break the window, so she ran into the next-door bathroom and wriggled in her finery out of a small, high window, dropping onto the snow-covered path outside. But as the princess looked around, she saw the goose was being carried off by a rust-coloured fox, tail high in the air, leaving a trail of the goose’s blood as it ran. The princess quickly followed, kicking off her tight slippers and running barefoot in her fluffy, lacy pink dress. The slope became even steeper as they approached the river and the princess half slid through a line of bare trees as the fox scampered between boulders and roots and turned sharply to the left just before arriving at the stream. At that moment, another fox darted from behind a tree, grabbed the goose out of the mouth of the first fox, and started running hard back uphill, leaving the castle to the left. The fox she had been following darted over the edge of the streambank, presumably disappearing into its burrow. “So this is what they call a wild goose chase,” thought the princess, “they are taking turns trying to confuse me”, but made a half-turn as sharply as she could and now started racing after the second fox that was carrying the goose uphill. By now, her feet were freezing cold, raw and bleeding from running across the cold, sharp stones. They had almost come to a road leading from the castle gates when a group of guards raced past – everyone was normally very attentive to the princess and they must have already realized she was missing. The fox, which had intended to cross the road into a larger area of forest, was forced instead to bank left again towards the castle and first tried to skate across an ice-covered pond that lay in its way. The ice was just starting to form, though, and wasn’t unable to support the weight of the fox, which fell through. It released its grip on the goose, which (thanks to its hollow bones, as the princess knew) skidded across the unbroken ice and came to rest at the foot of the castle wall. Now, the princess was also trapped outside the castle. As we have mentioned, she was much too well brought up to pick up a frozen rock and use it to break a window, and she couldn’t very easily climb back through the high bathroom window from the outside. Plus, she had just picked up a half-dead goose and, kind-hearted as she was, had also fished a half-frozen fox out of a pond. So the only option was to walk in her bloody bare feet right up to the castle gate. Once inside the portcullis, she instructed the guards to put the fox next to a warm fire and, once it had recovered, give it a chicken from the castle pantry that it could carry back to its mate and, very likely, a litter of little foxes in the burrow next to the river. She also asked for a large box so that she could carry the goose back to her room. As we know, the princess was granted whatever she wished inside the castle. Once back in her room, she lined the box with a blanket, placed it next to her own fire and fed it some oats, after which both the goose and the princess slept peacefully until the morning. You can imagine what a scolding she received from the king and the queen the next day. “You could have fallen into the river, broken your leg and drowned,” said the king. “Your dress is ruined, your shoes are lost, and your feet are a bloody mess,” said the queen. The princess was forced to agree that indoors was the safest place for her, and gave up hope of ever being allowed to enjoy the sunshine, fresh air, and a peaceful walk with more suitable shoes. Although they had been so brief, it was the princess’s exploits outside the castle walls that became the talk of the kingdom. Everyone knew she had caught a wild goose with her bare hands and outran not one but two foxes with her bare feet. From that day on, she was called the Winter Fox (an animal that was rarely seen in the far north of the kingdom in years of heavy snow) and everyone was sure that when her time came, the kingdom would flourish under the kindest and bravest ruler ever seen. The goose recovered from the cold, but its wing never healed and it never flew again. It dearly loved the princess who had saved it from the hunters, the palace kitchen, and the foxes and stayed in the princess’s room, reminding her of life outside the palace as she grew up. The goose itself had lived outside, knew what it was really like, and was happy to have a soft bed, a warm blanket, plenty of food, and no one shooting at it. But it still remembered and missed its family and let the princess know they were safe each time it saw them flying over the castle in the spring, when the flowers were starting to bloom, and in the winter when the snow was starting to fall.


In a isolated village deep down in the heart of the lushes jungle of Congo along the long river banks surround by trees and birds circling the crisp air the fresh smell of the rivers flowing. There was a young mischievous yet very intelligent young boy Yadidya was a dreamer and always aspired to live across the river. His father Jhon was a farmer he spent most of his labourer-es yet for fulling days on his stretches of land with garlic and ginger. He was a generally a happy man of 8 he always sang and danced, although he was a very religious man and had strong cultural believes. Yadidyas father Jhon always spent time educating his son on strong values and principles,But somehow Jhon knew his son had a curious and restless heart that was always yearning for more. Yadidya and his 3 elder brothers would go to the markets of Kinshasa it was 20km away from where they lived and farmed their goods, They would head down to town 3 times a week so they could sell the ginger and garlic to the streets vendors and restaurant owners the streets of Kinshasa were always noisy and full of business men and woman doing their best to sell off their goods. Yadidya was intrigued by how everyone use to barter and he wished he could be apart of the exciting, condensed and changeable environment . The market was vibrant the aroma in the air was filled with different types of food. The boy was inspired and so dreamed to be apart of all the excitement. Rhoda his mom was a seam mistress she had the most exquisite dress and suit designs for all occasions. Her dream was to be a well know famous designer who made garments for the rich and famous. ‘’Mama Mama’’ yelled Yadidya from the gate Rhoda stood up in absolute shock,’Whats wrong!’’ Rhoda screamed ‘’Please Mama make me a stylish suit’’. Out of frustration Rhoda smacked her son on his back ‘’óuch’’ ’said Yadidya ‘’Why did you do that’’’’ I thought something was wrong.How many times should I tell you about yelling at the gate’’.’’Sorry Mama but I need your help’’. Rhoda asked what is it for son. I’ve got an interview said Yadidya. Rhoda could not help but laugh. Yadidya how many times do you want me to tell you its not good to lie.I am not lying mama, please. Okay ,okay come show me what you have in mind. Yadidya and Rhoda sat down and looked through several catalogs of different designs he found one he liked. He stated imagining himself walking into the market with his yellow and blue window pane shirt, a big knotted red tie gleaming silk brocade and leather knit suspender and navy slacks. He started speaking to him self ’’Good morning I am Yadidyh Lar the most successful entrepreneur in the whole of Congo How do you do. Rhoda shock her head and wondered what her son was up to, she got to work After days of work Rhoda was done ‘’Yah, Yah’’ she yelled. ‘’Yes mama I'm coming ‘’he walked into her studio and he was completely frozen with excitement and enthusiasm. ‘’Thank you, Thank you Mama ‘’he gave his mom a hug and kiss with absolute gratitude Ýadidya I am warning you no stories ’I promise Mama ‘’he said. Rhoda knew he was up to something and wasn’t being truthful. John walked in ‘What is going on here!’Good Morning dad I have an interview ’What?’said John in complete disbelief he looked over at Rhoda.She shrugs her shoulders and smiles. Yadidya actually did not have a solid plan. His mom gave him some francs and of he went to town any way. His suit was well-tailored and striking. As he was in the taxi he was lost in his thoughts of whats to come he started doubting his own ability to get something out of it. The taxi had reached its finale destination lost and confused he just walked around look as prim as could be. In his walk of of confidence and conviction A strong and well-groomed man that looked like he didn’t belong in the hive of activity stopped him,’’Were did you get your suit I beg a pardon Good afternoon I am Mr Kalonji. How do yo do. ‘’ ‘’Very well sir I am Yaddiaha pleased to meet you,’’ ‘’What fine manners you have young man ‘’ ‘’Thank you sir ‘’said Yadidya.’’ Well, the suit sir I made it my self this is what I do for living to support my family’’. The man was taken aback by his skill and bravery. Mr Kalonji immediately invited the boy to his office so they could discuses business .Mr Kalonji was prominent business man he to had his hand in politics he was a very influential man tall dark and handsome, he looked as if he spent a lot of time working out. Mr kalonji had a intention to renew his vowels, it was a surprise for his wife of 20 years, so he was looking for a designer. It so happened they meet and he took liking to his suit. He just knew Yadidya was the right person for the job. Exhilarated and over the moon Yaddiya had even forgotten he couldn’t sew he had always helped and watched his mom get on with her work, but he no real knowledge of putting the garment together. For a moment Yadidya could hear his mom in his head ‘’Yadidya lies can get you into trouble. He choose to push his thoughts aside. They finally arrived at Mr Kalonjis majestic Mansion his the architecture of was precise and elegant. Yadidya had never seen some thing like it in his young life Yadidya could not help but ask if he could take a tour around Mr. Kalonji's house. Delighted and proud of hie abode he happily allowed the young man to explore. As they were walking Mr kalonji told Yadidya he had a surprise for his wife. I will need 30 suits and 40 of your most elegant dress Yaddiya just felt his tummy doing somersaults Never in his wildest dreams did he think this would be possible.’’ Will you be able to deliver’’ ‘’ Yes sir definitely without a problem”oh no what have I done’’ he thought I can not even ask Mama to help me. ‘’Is everything ok Yadidah?’’ Mr. Kalonji had noticed the boy had drifted away. Of they went to the dinning room were lunch was served the table was full of all sorts of treats he was overwhelmed and in complete euphoria. So tomorrow I need you to bring me your portfolio of work so I can see your work so I can decide on the style and design. He gave him some money to make his way home. Yaddiyas lies were catching up to him. He arrived home and Rhoda was sitting on her patio that’s what she did every late afternoon to let go of her days load, She looked up ad saw her son was worried about something ’’Yaa what seems to be the problem?’’ ‘’Nothing Mama I didn’t ever think working would be so difficult ‘ ’SO what did you do. ‘’ ‘’He took me around his mansion I also indulged in the best lunch ever. Sorry mama your cooking is still the best.’’ Rhoda was very confused but decide not to prop further. Everybody was winding down and getting ready for bed Yaa went to his room to think about his day his solution. Yadidya decide to take his mother portfolio and left very early in the morning before anybody spot him. ‘’Were is Yaa?’’ Jhon asked at the breakfast table’’ I don’t know ‘’ answered Rhoda’’ I’ll go and check on him’’. Rhoda got to his room and he wasn’t there “”I think he left for work ‘’ ’’Work”” exclaimed Jhon . Jhon shock hi head in dismay ‘’I don’t have a good feeling about this.’’ Good Morning Mr Kalonji how are you today. Very well and you? I see you have something for me Yes sir let me show you. Mr. Kalonji admired and loved everything his eyes saw. ‘’We shall begin today.’’ ‘’Today!’’ Yadidya said in shock Is their a problem Mr Kalonji asked ‘’ No sir I just cant believe you gave me the job’’. Yadidya took out is handkerchief to wipe his face. Off they went into town to source the best fabrics and materials that Yadidya would need to do his job, after a long day of shopping Mr. Kalonji asked Yadidyh to make him a shirt although he was experienced in measuring he walked toward his new work station confused and worried he sat down then pretend to be looking in his bag for something’’ oh no’’ ‘’Whats wrong ?’’ asked Mr. Kalonji ‘’I left my work glasses.’’ ‘’ Very well then we have had a tier some day anyway I will get my chauffeur to drop you off at home.’’ Yadidya was so happy about the gesture that he had forgotten that Mr kalonji would now know were he lived. As the sun was setting in the village of Kasi cows begin guided home, the chickens heading to their pens and the air was full of, the smell of traditional food. Rhoda was sitting outside on her patio she enjoyed doing that every evening with her tea and a book. A strong black car caught her attention it was rare seeing a vehicle like that in there neighborhood. To her surprise Her son steeped out of the vehicle and thanked the driver Yadidya’’ What on earth were you doing in that car’’ ‘’Good evening mama that was Mr Kalonjis driver my new boss Rhoda shock her head ’’ I hope you not getting yourself into trouble’’. Yadidya smiled nervously’’ of course not mama’’. Yadiday ran to his room his reality had dawned on him what was he going to do.The thought of asking his mom to play along crossed his mind again but how would he even convince her. He tossed and turned all night the break between night and day had approached the silence in the air was so comforting yet daunting the morning cold hit him through his blanket something he had never felt before. He just lay in his bed and didn’t move a muscle. He could hear the call to wake from the roosters the cows heading to the fields to go graze. Mama warned me about this what will I do now he felt so parallelized by his thoughts.Rhoda was shocked to find Yaa fast asleep ‘’Yaa, Yaa its noon and you still in bed” ‘’’I am not feeling well’’ ‘’ Mama Whats wrong’’ ‘’ my head and body hurts’’.’’ I will bring you some tea you should feel better.’’ Nightfall had approached, Jhon was surprised to see Yaddiya at the dinner table. While the family enjoyed their meal and each other's company, there was a knock at the door. ‘’I wonder who could that be ‘’said Jhon’’ And to whom do I owe the pleasure’’ ‘’ Mr. Kalonji ‘’’ Yaddiya could hear the man’s voice, he so wished the chair could swallow him. ‘’I am Yaddhas boos he did not arrive at work today We have a very big project to start ‘’ Curious and puzzled Jhon asked him, ‘’ what project ‘’ ‘’I have a wedding coming up and we agreed he would be responsible for making the garments’’ Jhon gasped ‘’Yaddiya garments ‘’ ‘’Yes sir your son told me was a designer’’ furious and amused he welcomed the gentlemen in. Take a sit Jhon called Rhoda and Yadidya and introduced his wife Jhon narrated the story to Rhoda.She laughed what? ‘’Yaa what have you done’’ ‘’ I am so sorry mama I was not thinking’’ ‘’But what have I told you about lies’’ ‘’Yes mama I am in trouble now’’ Rhoda and Jhon ashamed and embarrassed apologized to Mr kalonji for their misleading behavior. Mr. Kalonji was angry, ‘’I have a wedding it is in a months me I decided to take Yaddiya because of the suit he was wearing and the portfolio of work he had brought me. It was breathtaking. I must say your son, is very intelligent and his confidence is what took me.’’ Mr. Kalonji if its any cancellation I can take the job. The portfolio and the suit you saw him wearing were made by me. Relieved. Mr. Kalonji accepted the offer. Mr. Kalonji walked over to Yadidya,” Son lies are not good li you could have put your family in serious trouble’’ ‘’ I am sorry Sir I have learned my lesson.’’ Mr kalonji laughed I must say it was very silly of me to have believed you could have made all those garments like the old saying goes every thing happens for a reason Although Yaddiya had lied he managed to unknowingly get his mom her dream job. He learned his lesson luckily for him, but lies got him out of trouble.  The End