Is it supposed to stop?  I should have left several hours ago, when I wanted to. But as always, I let the duty, or perhaps my presumption of duty, cause me to disregard by instincts. I make the usual assumption that if the weather was that bad, they’d let us know. Tell us, me, to go home. Looking out the window, I can see the snow piling up on the roof of the car, swirling around the parking lot, now a white desert. I’m used to being alone here, I’m a night watchman, security guard they call us, but I’ve yet to figure out why. I don’t know what there is to guard. I spend the night primarily monitoring a number of screens that display areas of the building. They might as well be images painted on the screen for all the changes I see. Come to think of it, the only thing I’ve ever seen out of the ordinary was an animal one night.  Thought it was an animal.  It was a big rat, or maybe a raccoon. It had big eyes that seemed to glow. It looked right into the camera, as if it knew I was there. I walk around the building every few hours, just to have something to do. Sitting all night makes it so I can’t sleep. I don’t know why, but I get these cramps that makes me have to get up and walk them off. Then I’m up and know from experience, I won’t be able to fall back asleep. Nothing to do then but watch the world go by, and that just bores me. It’s the season where there’s not much to do outside, so I start to feel claustrophobic feelings.

I don’t have any hobbies really. Don’t have the patience for it. Tried doing puzzles but it makes no sense. Putting all those pieces together to get a picture you just take a part after all that work, and put back in the box like you never did a thing. Less stressful ways to waste time. Andy the day guy, says he glues his to cardboard. He’s got one hanging on the wall. The humidity made it curl, a few of the pieces fell off, and it now looks like its got something like small pox scars. It’s still snowing. Not the little flakes, but the big wet ones. The kind of snow that kills people. Tomorrow there will be a story about people who had heart attacks from shoveling. Then they go on to tell you how to shovel, so you don’t have a heart attack yourself. Seems like maybe it would do more good if they told you about how to shovel, before it snowed, but then that’s why I don’t watch much what goes on. It just makes me angry. If the snow keeps up, I might be stuck here. Happened once before a few years ago, seems like a few years ago anyway. It’s OK, can be bored here as well as home. At least I get overtime here. I get up every so often and walk around, exercise keeps me awake. They keep most of the doors here locked. I, to tell the truth, don’t really know what they do here. None of my business really. I had to take a course when I first got hired on how to deal with emergencies. They never said what kind, but how I was supposed to call the fire department, or police, but only after I called this one supervisor guy who I never met. Saw him once, I think. Seemed kind of strange, but then it’s none of my business how the place is run, or what they do.

I try the doors every night just to see. They are always locked. Tonight it was different though. The last door before you get to the end of the hall, was open. I didn’t know if I should go in, but then it was different than before. A light was on, I could see it from under the door. Usually when I turn the knob, nothing. This one turned all the way. I heard the click of the slide come out of the jamb; surprised me.

I didn’t know if I should go in to see, or just pretend nothing was different. I guess I got curious. I always wondered what went on here. It’s like it has something secret, or I wouldn’t be here protecting what ever it is.

I pushed the door open and there was nothing in the room. No desk, no chair, no file cabinets, no pictures. There was nothing in this room. There was a door towards the back though. I didn’t know if I should see about it, but it was curious. I moved slowly towards it. I wondered if there were any cameras in the room. I looked around but didn’t see any.

I tried to turn the handle on the door, and it turned. I didn’t know if I should open it or not, but I couldn’t not look; I’d come that far. The room, or whatever it was, was dark. I thought it was maybe a closet for storage or something like that. I felt the wall for a light switch. The blocks were cold, and then I felt it. This box sticking out by itself. I felt the switch and pushed it up. The room seemed to blink at me, like when the overhead lights in the hall first come on. Several times I could see something, then nothing, and then something again. The color was blue, and then the next time this iridescent pink, like a florescent tube flamingo I’d seen once. The room finally stopped changing and turned a weird purple and seemed to breath. The light would grow in brightness, then settle back, then come back bright again. Not start and stop like, but slowly, like it was growing and then shrinking. I didn’t know if I should turn off the light, close the door and forget all about it, or wait and see what was going to happen. Then this music starts to play. It was the sound of violins, but more like the sound was coming through an organ. It too seemed to grow and shrink with the light. Like it was alive.

I just stood watching the light grow and fade along with the music for what seemed like hours, and yet only seconds. The room from what I could see, was also empty. There was a door on the other side of the room, like the one I was standing in. I was afraid to go into the room. I don’t know why. The light and music seemed to make me feel like I wasn’t really there, like I wasn’t really me.

I’ve heard about those out of body experiences people have, where they are outside themselves watching themselves. It was like that except I wasn’t outside myself, the room was me and I was the room. I could feel the light pulsating through me along with the music. I’d grow faint and then as if I was given a different brain, I started thinking of things I not only didn’t understand but had no reason to.

The theory of relativity, string theory, distant galaxies, even infinity, all made sense. I could see how they worked, what they meant, and then they would grow foggy and I was left with only the wonder.

When the light was at its peak, the music, and my thoughts one, I felt as though I no longer had a body. I was lighter than air, lighter than a thought, and then as the light subsided, I could feel my body return,  settle back down. I wanted to leave, and I didn’t.

I thought about waiting until the next peak and then thinking about what was happening. Finding the answer so that I would know the answers to all of life’s questions about life, the universe, and how it worked. But then I realized when I came back down, I wouldn’t understand what I’d learned. I didn’t know what to do, but knew I either had to leave, or maybe I never would. For some reason I thought of the snow and could feel what it was like being a snow flake. I could feel myself falling, changing shape, becoming something beautiful, and then becoming something feared, dreaded, ugly.

I found myself looking into the sky. It was like being in one of those globes where everything is swirling around. It was then I heard the voice.

“Are you alright? What you doing out here? You’ll freeze to death. Come on, let me help you. You must have fallen. Were you trying to shovel the walk? That’s not your responsibility. You shouldn’t do that, you could have been hurt, even died.” Her words kept swirling around me as I attempted to remember where I was, what I was doing, how I came to be inside this globe, looking up at the snow falling to the beat of her heart. Then she opened the door at the far side of the room. I could see someone sitting at a desk before a number of screens with what looked like pictures of rooms and hallways painted on them. It was snowing. Not the little flakes, but the big wet ones.


The wind howled through the twisted, gnarled branches of the ancient trees that encircled the abandoned mansion. As it blew, it whispered secrets of the past, casting eerie shadows on the crumbling facade of the once-grand estate. Alex, Maya, and Jake, united by their fascination with the macabre, stood before the mansion, their breaths visible in the chilly autumn air. They were drawn to the decaying mansion, rumored to be a place of unspeakable horror and secrets. With trepidation, the trio pushed the creaking front door open, which groaned in protest as it swung open. The air inside was thick with a palpable sense of dread, as if the house was alive with malevolent energy. They navigated the long, winding hallways, their footsteps echoing through the hollow chambers as they searched for any sign of the mansion's secrets. Finally, they stumbled upon the door to the room of mirrors, which was hidden behind a tapestry stained with age. With a mixture of excitement and apprehension, Alex pushed open the door, revealing a room that seemed frozen in time. The mirrors reflected images of a bygone era, and the musty air was thick with the scent of antiquity. The room was filled with a sense of otherworldly beauty and mystery as if it was a portal to a long-forgotten time. The room was a disorienting labyrinth of mirrors that stretched from floor to ceiling, the glass surfaces clouded with a mysterious mist. Maya's analytical gaze was drawn to the mirrors' unusual frames—ornate and sinister, adorned with grotesque carvings that seemed to depict twisted faces contorted in agony. Jake, the skeptic of the group, couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as he stared at the mirrors. The reflections staring back at him were grotesque and distorted, and he couldn't shake off the feeling that they were watching him. They seemed to move independently, mimicking their every move with an unsettling delay, as if they were alive and had a will of their own. As they ventured deeper into the room, the temperature dropped, and the air grew heavy with an ominous hum. The shadows cast by the mirrors danced along the walls, taking on shapes that seemed to defy the laws of physics. The hairs on the back of Jake's neck stood on end, and he couldn't help but wonder what kind of evil force was at work in this room. As they stepped further into the room, a growing sense of unease began to gnaw at the group's collective subconscious. However, Alex, the thrill-seeker of the group, was undeterred and urged them forward with an infectious excitement that was palpable. He was oblivious to the potential danger ahead, driven only by his insatiable hunger for adventure. On the other hand, Maya couldn't shake the feeling that the mirrors held more than just distorted reflections. She noticed subtle movements within the glass, figures that seemed to shift and sway on the periphery of their vision, just beyond the reach of clear sight. Her intuition told her that something ominous lurked in the shadows, waiting to pounce. Initially, the room was a spectacle of the bizarre and began to transform before their very eyes. The mirrors no longer merely reflected reality; they seemed to have a life of their own, pulling the trio into alternate dimensions that twisted and warped like a fever dream. Every step they took was a journey into the unknown, where time unfolded in chaotic patterns, and reality was distorted beyond recognition. In one mirror, Alex saw a version of himself trapped in a never-ending loop of despair, the reflection's eyes filled with a haunting plea for an escape. Maya witnessed shadows of figures lurking in the mirrors—specters of the mansion's tormented past, their faces contorted in eternal anguish, screeching at her for help. Jake, who had always been the most skeptical of the group, felt a sudden chill run down his spine as he sensed a cold hand grazing his shoulder. He turned around, but there was nothing to be seen except the eerie emptiness of the room. Though he tried to dismiss the sensation as a byproduct of the foreboding atmosphere, he couldn't help but rub his arms, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. As the trio ventured further into the room of mirrors, the atmosphere grew ever more ominous. The reflections in the mirrors turned into grotesque visions, twisting their features into horrifying masks. The trio found themselves trapped in a disorienting maze, with the mirrors multiplying and distorting reality until it became increasingly difficult to distinguish between what was real and what was not. Suddenly, the lights went out, plunging the room into an impenetrable darkness. Panic set in as the friends groped blindly through the void, their heightened senses barely able to make out the faintest sounds. Whispers, almost inaudible at first, grew into a deafening cacophony of disembodied voices speaking in a language that had long been forgotten. Then, as suddenly as the darkness had descended, the lights flickered back to life. What they saw before them chilled them to the very core. The once-filled mirrors now held nothing but an abyss of emptiness. The grotesque carvings on the frames twisted into expressions of malevolent glee, sending shivers down their spines. The room was silent, except for the sound of the group's heavy breathing. Suddenly, a low, guttural growl echoed through the room, causing the temperature to drop drastically, and the air became icy cold. The group shivered in fear as Maya's breath formed visible puffs in the frigid air. As they huddled together, the spectral figures, once confined to the mirrors, now materialized around them. Their translucent, ghastly forms cast long, eerie shadows on the mist-covered floor. The group was frozen in terror as the figures floated closer, their faces twisted in anger and contempt. An ancient, guttural voice spoke from the abyss, filling the room with a sense of dread. "You trespassed into the realm of the forgotten. Now, you shall become one with the mirrors." The voice was so old and deep that the group could feel the vibrations in their bones, and they knew that they were in grave danger. Desperation gripped the friends as they searched frantically for an escape. The room seemed to be closing in on them, and the mirrors multiplied until there was no discernable exit. Panic set in, and Alex, Maya, and Jake felt the weight of an evil presence bearing down on them, suffocating them. In a final, desperate act, Maya's gaze locked onto a particular mirror with an ornate, demonic frame. In that reflection, she saw a sigil - a symbol of protection etched into the glass. Drawing upon her knowledge of the occult, she whispered an incantation, her voice cutting through the oppressive silence. The sigil glowed faintly as Maya's chant grew more robust, and the evil presence seemed to falter. The group watched in amazement as the mirrors cracked and shattered, freeing them from their prison. The shards of glass tinkled as they fell to the ground, and the room was filled with relief and liberation. The mirrors in the room trembled violently, causing the entire chamber to shudder as if struck by an unseen and evil force. The shadows previously enshrouded the room quickly dissipated, and the temperature began to rise slowly, dispelling the icy chill that once had permeated the air. The malevolent growling that had filled the room soon subsided, giving way to an eerie, echoing howl that seemed to be coming from the depths of the abyss within the mirrors. As the three friends stumbled out of the room, they were left shaken and battered by their harrowing experiences. The once-decayed corridors of the mansion now stretched before them, devoid of the supernatural horrors that had recently unfolded within. As they looked back at the ominous structure, its secrets still hidden behind boarded-up windows, the room of mirrors now appeared to be a dormant chamber of nightmares, resonating with the residual whispers of forgotten souls. Over the following days, the friends tried to rationalize their experiences. Still, each night, they were haunted by fleeting glimpses of distorted reflections and the malevolent growls that lingered in their nightmares. The room of mirrors had left an indelible impression on their psyches, a haunting reminder that some secrets are better left undisturbed. The abandoned mansion, a silent and eerie witness to their ordeal, stood as a testament to the fragile boundary between the tangible and the supernatural. Its shattered windows and sagging roof concealed the horrors that lay within, waiting for the next unsuspecting souls to cross its threshold and awaken the evil forces that lurked in the shadows of the room of mirrors.


“So, what’s it going to be Mr Jones?” His finger hovered over the innocuous green knob. Superconscious of all the eyes staring at him. Unblinking. Some wide with expectation, others narrowed as though suspicious. He didn’t look at them, no matter how hard they bored into the back of his neck. He only had eyes for the button in front of him. The size and shape of a Tunnock’s tea cake, but green – and inedible of course. Plastic. Everything here was plastic. Even the potted ferns in the reception area he’d entered three hours ago, were plastic. Horrible. Milo Jones was old enough to remember when there’d been more greenery. The real stuff. Not this manufactured shite that never changed with the seasons. Never wilted, rotted, or carried the aroma of nature, of reality. Nothing was real anymore. Milo Jones, aged 103 – though you might mistake him for a spritely seventy-something if you passed him in the street. Saw him collecting dropped debris and garbage. Watched how he shook his strong fist at the drivers and passengers in AirSlides when they lowered their windows to dump rubbish. Tramped around and between and over the enormous heaps of the country’s waste. For the number of people left on the planet, they created an astounding amount of crap, Milo cursed. The reason it became fucked-up, Milo expounded loudly and belligerently, was because of the biggest fucked-up race of incompetent primates that ever walked the Earth. Don’t you go blaming God! He yelled at the placard-wearing-end-of-the-world-human-billboard-God-botherers. God had no part in this – as though Milo had ever believed in a supernatural, omniscient deity. God did not make you shit in your own backyard! Throughout his lifetime, Milo Jones had been arrested, imprisoned, and hospitalised more times than he cared to remember. Milo had been accused of being a conspiracy theorist. A scrounger. A tramp. A crackpot. But when the Arks left – with the planet’s ‘top politicians, top economists, top entrepreneurs, top educators’ – Top! Top! Fucking top! shrieked Milo from his rooftop, there had followed an eerie kind of stillness in the media, on the streets; everywhere. I told you so, didn’t cut it anymore. Being proved correct in his predictions was no consolation to the demise of a whole planet. He’d scoured through decades of warnings, final warnings, imminent disaster, the disaster. He had written and talked to anyone within his radar, and beyond. Unfortunately, he concluded, humans were still apes with sticks. Sticks with which to beat each other senseless or into submission. Meanwhile, the plastic had mounted. No one. Not a single person had resolved the issue and the chokehold on the environment had finally throttled the last wonderful life out of it. Earth’s arteries were clogged as surely as an ageing, obese, doughnut-obsessed, pie-infatuated oldster with atherosclerosis. The fucked-up, incompetent apes that remained here – including Milo Jones, were truly living on borrowed time. After The Evacuation, when planet Earth’s best and brightest had fucked off to find pastures new, Milo had expected things to settle into some semblance of normality. Had imagined that the lack of super-industrialists would finally curb the ceaseless drive towards self-destruction. Hoped, with every centimetre of his grubby being, that the plants and animals would proliferate and expand beyond the countryside. He recalled an image he had discovered during his period of research, animals in towns and cities. There were no people. It had been a planetary-wide pandemic, and to Milo’s eyes, it had seemed glorious. He giggled at the idea of goats around the bar in a Welsh village, of deer in the stock exchange and swans at the checkout in Tesco. He pasted his cardboard walls with found magazine images of plants and animals until he lived in a green box dappled with every kind of creature. But it had not come to pass. Milo’s rantings, pleadings, and physical assaults on businesses had done less than if he’d taken a piss in the Pacific Ocean. People being what they are, regardless of status, quickly set about grinding the wheels of productivity again, churning out tonnes of carbon dioxide, ammonia, methanol, sulphuric acid, styrene, hydrochloric acid and more into the atmosphere. Sewage, animal waste, human waste, nitrogen, phosphorous, pharmaceuticals, and pesticides into the rivers. And plastic! What is wrong with these people? Milo shrieked from street corners. Can’t you see you’re killing us! Then they started with their altered realities. Better than Life games, Sim-u-Love. VR headsets were old hat, they said. We can make it realer than real, they said. We’ll take care of your every physical need whilst you live the life you deserve. That’s what they actually said in the adverts – you can live the life you deserve! Ha! Who says they deserve it? Everyone who contemplates such crap needs shooting. Everyone who whines about what they deserve whilst driving the latest plastic bloody AirSlide and lobbing plastic wrappers out of the window and consuming everything plastic and eating off plastic plates with plastic cutlery wearing plastic clothing watching plastic programmes on their plastic monitors and, and, and… Milo blinked. Finger still hovering there. He curled it into his palm and sat back and stared. There was an almost identical button next to this green one. The other was white. The room was cliché clinical white. Plastic walls. Plastic table. Plastic buttons. “Mr Jones.” “Eh.” He’d forgotten they were there. “Mr Jones, you do understand why you are here, don’t you?” Oh, he remembered alright. Milo had made quite a name for himself on the streets. Cracked Crusader, Chicken Little, The Doom Monger, Solo Jones, were just some of the sobriquets with which he had been labelled. Milo knew that if you courted controversy, one could find oneself in a difficult situation. And here he was. The remaining ‘top’ scientists, developers, visionaries – they were the crackpots, not him, had developed something so amazing, it would blow your socks off, they said. Milo said he didn’t wear socks. They had devised a way to alter reality, they said. They could literally flip a switch and have things return to a time the button pusher chooses, they said. Milo had been given this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Milo was the oldest man on the planet, he could remember stuff. He could remember what it was like before. Milo Jones had been chosen to change the world. These men and women had reached a similar conclusion about the planet as Milo but from a different and circumspect route. One button would fold and recreate time, thus shoving the here and now back to there and then. The other button would annihilate the world’s population. Just the people, they said. You can live on a green planet where the plastic’s all gone, they said. Or you can remove all human life. “So, what’s it going to be Mr Jones?” Milo said, “And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,     In the sun born over and over,          I ran my heedless ways,” * Milo pressed the button. The End *Milo quotes from Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas.


“Let’s try another one, Cleo. True or false: I once bumped into Dwayne Johnson in a diner,” I said, trying to keep my expression inscrutable. “Who’s Dwayne Johnson?” Cleo asked, craning her neck toward me, shifting beneath the full-coverage cloak the hairdresser had ceremoniously held out for her, easing her in one arm at a time. I sighed heavily from my seat in the reception area, watching tufts of my friend’s thick blonde hair drift to the ground as the stylist maneuvered her head back into position and resumed her measured clipping. It seemed a pointless ritual, though I’d never say as much to Cleo. What she did with her hair was irrelevant; she would stop men – and women – in their tracks regardless. I would have killed for hair like hers; mine was nothing but mousy brown wisps that I’d long given up on. Unlike her, even if I did make an effort I remained invisible – always the bridesmaid never the bride. Today I’d made a half-hearted attempt to be presentable and gathered up my drab locks in what I thought could pass as a fashionable messy ponytail. Before we’d left our apartment, Cleo had given me a quick once over and praised me for a “good try.” “Seriously, Cleo? Don’t you remember me saying how I accidentally bumped into him, and a posse of bodyguards suddenly materialized, as if I, of all people, would dare jump ‘The Rock’…” I did those irritating quote mark things with my first and second fingers. “It was the closest I ever came to brushing shoulders with a Hollywood star – literally…” “Oh yeah, The Rock...” Cleo said distractedly as the hairdresser motioned for her to tilt her chin down. “Stay still,” she warned, placing one hand atop Cleo’s head, steadying it, then added, “It would be a shame to lose it all.” Gaze fixed on the floor, Cleo continued, “Too bad you didn’t manage to seduce The Rock with your charm. If you’d snagged him, then maybe you wouldn’t be obsessed with winning this cheesy TV show.” The stylist released her grip; freed, Cleo looked up and smirked, her green eyes flashing beneath the fluorescent lighting. Its metallic glare made me look pale and washed out, but she seemed even more radiant than usual, if that were possible. “Cleo,” I groaned. “This is for both of us. Wouldn’t you like to win $50,000 and do all that traveling you’ve been talking about? Paris, Tokyo, the Maldives…

Know Thy Partner  is nowhere near as bad as all that

Bachelorette  trash that you watch. You’ve heard the saying ‘Know thyself’? It’s Platonic.” I glanced down at my carefully compiled list of questions – all based on what I’d thought were well-established facts about me; nothing too obscure or tricky. Clearly I’d been mistaken. The odds of convincing an audience of thousands that we were the most worthy couple – not just friends, but soulmates who knew each other inside and out – were not in our favor. So far, out of ten, we’d scored a whopping zero. “So, that was actually

‘True’ , though you’re right in saying I didn’t in fact ‘ score’  with The Rock. He’s not my type anyway,” I muttered. “Next question” — I took a deep breath — “What’s my favorite song?” I closed my eyes, mentally replaying “Crash” by The Dave Matthews Band, losing myself in it for a moment. The line

“I’m bare boned and crazy for you…”  got me every time. I’d first heard it as a teenager, full of raw, unadulterated lust – for Cleo, always for her, and forever unrequited. “Come on, you know this,” I urged, raising my voice above the whirr of blow dryers and hum of salon small talk. When my pleading met with yet another vacant stare, I prodded, “… and I had it on repeat for a full 24 hours that night you came over after Helen of Troy broke up with you…” “It was Helen Onasis ,” she cut in. She smiled, keeping her gaze trained on the generous-sized mirror in front of her. “So, I actually

do  know the answer to this one,” she said with a wink. “It’s the song that’s all about boys and their wet dreams – ‘You crash into me and I come into you’ – right?” she added pointedly. At that the middle-aged hairdresser paused mid-snip and glared at Cleo in the mirror, scissors suspended, lips pursed. My friend seemed oblivious to the reprimand, and to the power the woman wielded. It wasn't her usual stylist. As far as I could tell, this was a new one, or at least she’d never done Cleo’s hair any of the times that I’d accompanied her. She had a sinuous way of moving that made me more than a little uncomfortable – and, admittedly, envious. I’d watched as she’d ushered Cleo to the sink, draped a towel around Cleo’s delicate collarbone; at how she kneaded the shampoo into her scalp, my friend willingly surrendering to her touch. Already this stranger had something over me: I’d never managed to get that close to Cleo – she’d told me from the start I wasn’t anything like her type. An awkward silence ensued, and I felt my cheeks flush in embarrassment. I buried my face in one of the well-thumbed

New You!  magazines littering the table, idly flipping through page after page of overly made-up, pouty-faced models with ornately sculpted hair. A sudden disquiet gnawed at me: at the imposter I was in this inner sanctum of beauty with my no-name jeans, scuffed shoes, colorless hair. The moment passed, the hairdresser back to her rhythmic snipping, putting the finishing touches on Cleo’s new look. “You finally got one right!” I exclaimed a little too enthusiastically. “We’ve only been friends for, what, over a decade, and you actually know one piece of trivia about me? Amazing,” I said, dripping sarcasm, yet still entertaining the fantasy that maybe she did harbor some deeper understanding of me after so many years. That maybe we could make a convincing couple – if only just for show. “I’m tired of this,” Cleo said wearily, as the hairdresser smoothed out her freshly washed and cut hair, deftly drying it with a brush in one hand, blow dryer in the other. “Do you really think anyone is going to care about the three dead people you’d most like to invite to dinner or your most precious childhood memory? I’m sure we can just fake our way through it—” “No!” I blurted. “I mean, we don’t need to fake it, do we?” I grabbed my list of questions. “We haven’t even done half of these… You know me better than this. Let’s keep practicing—” “Nah, I’m done, hon. Hey, what do you think of my hair?” she said, flicking it over her shoulder and striking a coy pose. Before I could answer she stood up abruptly and untied her cloak, letting it spill onto the floor as the hairdresser watched, her gaze unflinching. I thought of the countless times I’d picked up after Cleo in the apartment we shared: the dirty clothing carelessly strewn on the floor, the half-filled coffee cups left to stew, the tabloid magazines splayed across the kitchen table… It was always me who cleaned up. I heaved myself up from my seat and plucked the discarded cape from the floor, then passed it to the hairdresser, who stood, stoical, waiting for me. “Sorry about that; it’s just how she is…” I mumbled as Cleo unabashedly sashayed across the salon, admiring herself from every angle, drawing looks from the everyday, bland clientele. No one could ever hold a candle to golden-haired Cleo. The stylist gripped my wrist suddenly, pulling me so close that I could feel the warmth of her breath on my face. Then, she reached into her pocket and placed something in my palm. It was an appointment card for the salon: “METAMORPHOSIS” it said on the front in bold typeface, the name “THEA” printed beneath it. I turned it over to find a barely legible handwritten message. I brought it closer to my face, trying to decipher the script, the hairdresser eyeing me intently. It said, simply:

“You must lose to win.” “Sorry…” I muttered, turning the card over in my hand. “What am I supposed to do with this?” She released my wrist and draped the lifeless smock over my arm, flecks of Cleo’s wet hair still clinging to the fabric. Without a word, the stylist nodded, grabbed a broom, and started a methodical sweep of the mess of trimmings that had accumulated throughout the day – a cocktail of black, brown, blonde and gray shades heaped in an unsavory pile, like an offering to some despised god. I watched her brush the debris into a dustpan and shake the offcuts into the waste bin, just as Cleo sidled up next to me, her catwalk complete. “You ready to pay?” she crowed, jolting me from my reverie. Not so much a question as a statement. It was the usual run of events: we went out, she got what she wanted, I paid, we left. And so the wheel turned. Cleo left me by the cash register while she disappeared to retrieve her coat. The cape I carried on my arm seemed heavier now. Deadweight. Still puzzling over the card in my hand, I looked around the salon, at the women gathered like supplicants in hopes of transformation. But what did they seek? To feel better about themselves, turn back time, feed their vanity, please their partners, or maybe, just to escape. To be somewhere – or someone – else. The question burned: what was I doing here?

I couldn’t find Thea among the gaggle of stylists busily primping and trimming and dyeing. My arm ached; I needed to get rid of this thing and find out what I was supposed to do. “Excuse me,” I said to the lady at the cash register, gripped by a sudden sense of urgency. I had to do this before Cleo reappeared. “I need to pay for my friend’s haircut; it was Thea who did it – can you get her for me?” “Do you mean Tina?” she asked, her voice tinged with annoyance. “She’s just over there finishing off those highlights.” She pointed to a red-haired girl who couldn’t have been older than seventeen. “No, I’m sure it was Thea,” I said, stealing a glance at the card in my hand, but all I got in return was a hollow stare. “Anyway, it was a wash and cut…” “That’ll be $50 then,” she said blankly, just as the phone rang. “Good afternoon, Metamorphosis,” she answered. “How can I help you…?” Cleo emerged. She lumbered toward me, an affected smile on her face, her vintage coat hanging limply on her frame, her blonde hair sagging over her shoulders, its luster gone. Maybe hair is just hair after all , I thought. My arm felt leaden.

Lose to win , a voice entreated. Before Cleo could reach me, I shed her cloak. It pooled and spread on the floor among the stray clumps of dead ends. “How will you be paying?” the lady called, but I had already taken flight.


I could not believe what I saw. It has been ten years, and I still cannot believe it. No one else will probably ever believe me either. The incident plagues me to this day, and I firmly believe it will for the rest of my life. Let me introduce myself. My name is Harold and I was just your ordinary house cat. Once full of life and vigor, I now spend my days, lurking through the remnants of a burned down barn in the dell, remembering. I went from a carefree cat to a troubled feline, destined for a life of being constantly haunted of the how and the why it all happened. Always wondering, why was I left behind. It was not always like this though. The lovely old couple that takes care of me found me as a kitten out in their barn. Abandoned. The rest of my litter and my mother gone. They told me that I was probably something they refer to as a “runt.” The man was a farmer, and his wife, a lovely homemaker. Every day she would fill a saucer of milk for me and put out a bowl of food. I would take a nap on the bed while she would clean and run errands. When I got bored of that I would chase the mice out of the kitchen. It was a farm house after all. They were there, and someone had to take care of them.

After dinner, when they would sit in the living room by the fireplace, listening to the radio, talking about the day, each working on their own little projects. I would chase balls of yarn around the room as the farmer’s wife tried to knit while the farmer would sneak me scraps of food in between the pages of the book he was reading. This would go on until the wife caught him. She would scold the farmer, they would pack up their stuff, and would head to bed for the night. Once they were all tucked in, I would climb up onto the foot of the bed and make myself comfortable. The next day, it would start all over again. I was living the life. Then one week, the old couples’ son came home for a visit. He brought his wife and baby with him. It was scary at first, but it was not long before I took a liking to this small human. She would throw things for me to chase. And, as it turns out, we both liked to play in the yarn basket. At meal times she dropped so many scraps from the table. I was eating like a king. The son and his wife were great too. They were always ready to pet me and offer me a lap to lounge upon. I was starting to hope that they would stay forever. That is, until that fateful day occurred. The old couple had left to town for the evening. Something about a church function. To this day, I still do not know what that is. I was left in the house with the son and his family. The son and his wife went into the kitchen to make lunch, leaving me in the living room with their child. We were happily playing with the basket of yarn, which had become our habit. She would through the yarn and I would chase and tackle it. She would crawl over, grab the yarn, and do it again. This had been going on for a good ten minutes when she threw it into the fire. At first, I was disappointed as this meant that our game was now over. I had learned the hard way as a kitten to not get too close to the fire. My singed tail served as a reminder of that for weeks. I saw that ball of yarn go into the fire and knew it was unreachable for me and I hoped that this child knew that it would be unreachable for her as well. I turned around and began to walk away, looking for something new to occupy my time. All of the sudden the room felt significantly warmer. I tuned around to look at the fire and was shocked to see that it had grown and was starting to leave the fireplace. It had never done this before. The fire seemed to have climbed along the tail of yarn leading out of the fireplace. It had climbed all the way to the basket of yarn and had set it aflame as well. I let out a loud meow and the child began to cry. Both of her parents ran into the room. They saw what was happening and began to yell. Almost simultaneously, the son grabbed his wife as his wife grabbed the child. I remember the son saying, “we need to get out, now!” They rushed out of the house. This is when all chaos ensued. And where my new life of hopeless abandonment began. It did not strike me as important at the time, but, as I reminisce, it seems to me to be an important detail to the story. When her mother picked her up, the child had a doll in her hand that her grandmother had made for her that morning to play with. It was a nurse and it was made of fresh hay. The child loved it. Why is this important? Well, as the family rushed out of the house, which was quickly becoming more engulfed in flames by the second, doll in hand, they ran pass the cow pen. The one of the cows caught the scent of the fresh hay that the doll was made out of. Apparently had to have it. He bust out of the pen and started to follow the family. The other cows looked up at the sound of the pen being busted open. When they looked up, they saw the flames coming out of the house. They got scared and followed the first cow. Pandemonium was beginning to arise. Now, while I was the only animal that the old couple had inside, they had several animals outside. And not just the cows. One such animal was the old coonhound. No longer able to go hunting, his job was to look after the cows. This old dog was in the barn when he heard the cows get out of their pen. When he stuck his head out of the barn door, he saw the cows breaking out. He turned to see what had happened and saw the house in flames. The old hound began to bark. He ran in the same direction as everyone else. I am not sure whether it was to try and round up the cows or to get away from the flames, but I am pretty sure it was a mixture of both. All of the dog’s barking got the attention of the barn cat who had been chasing a mouse in the barn. Apparently, this mouse had gone unnoticed in the house as I was playing with the child, and was able to sneak out into the barn with a hunk of cheese from the kitchen. This barn cat was an experienced hunter though. He was not going to let the mouse get away a second time. I had always admired him for that.  I believe he was about to finish the job when he heard the dog barking. He ran, spooked, out of the barn as well, mouse with cheese in mouth. The mouse dropped the cheese in all of the commotion as the cat ran off with it in the direction of everyone else. This image has been burned into my brain forever. The air around me is filling with smoke, curtains and beams were starting to fall. But all I can see is that cheese, standing alone. The cheese stands alone. Just like me. Left behind. Forgotten. Standing alone. It is getting nearly impossible to breathe. I begin to cough and it snaps me back into reality. I am able to find my way to the door and run out of the house. I try to run after the family, but I had inhaled so much smoke. I did my best to follow the path they took, wheezing the entire way. In a few minutes I see them in the distance. I continue to crawl along, trying to get to them. I attempt to meow, but I cannot. It turns out, the smoke had done irreversible damage to my lungs. I see the old couple come racing up to where the son, his family, and all of the animals have congregated. “Oh my goodness!  Is everyone okay?” the old woman asks. “What happened?” the farmer demanded, “did everyone get out?” “Everyone is okay. Everyone made it out. We are all here,” the son said. He begins to explain to what happened. There is a problem though. Everyone was not all there. I was not there. Apparently, it did not matter though. After the son finished telling the old couple what had happened, they all hugged and drove off in the car. A couple of days later, the farmer showed up with a big truck. I felt a pang of hope rise up in me. He had returned for me. All of the other animals were loaded up into the truck. I tried to make my way to the farmer from my hiding spot. But I was still weak, it was a struggle. I figured it would be okay. He would look for me, right? I was wrong. Once the last cow was loaded up, the farmer drove off. He did not even look for me. Again, like the cheese, I stood alone. I never saw any of them again. I slunk back to my hiding spot. Over time, I regained my strength. I returned back to the burned remnants of the barn. It was all that was left of the only home that I ever knew. Now, day after day I lurk around. I think. I hunt mice. I think some more. I keep going over that day in my head. How could they forget me? Why would they leave me behind? Do they miss me? Why did they never come back? These questions haunt me day in and day out. I have accepted the fact that I will probably never know. All I know is that, now, I stand alone.


Matilda was in a joyous mood as she looked out across the vast dew covered field. She sang and danced as she thought of the task at hand, planting five acres of petunias. Her favorite colors were violet, orange, pink, red and yellow, and the job she had been given was monumental for one person so she decided she would need help. Sitting on the ground with her legs crossed, fingers interlaced and laying in her lap, she closed her eyes and began to recite the poem that would summon the Woodland fairies. “Oh Woodland fairies far and wide, Please hurry now to my side. I need your help to complete the task, Heed me now again I ask”. As she sat and waited with her eyes shut tight the breeze picked up and the sweet smell of grass invaded her senses. Suddenly, the feather light touch of the fairies brushed her skin and she opened her eyes. There in front of her were her small friends, Lily, Sam, Cherie, Edmund, and Jamie.

“Hi, you guys, it’s been a year and once again I need your help only this year we have five acres to plant. Are you ready”? The fairies leapt upward flapping their wings and circled Matilda’s head in delight. Their wee little voices yelled “yes” in unison which delighted “Mati”, the name the fairies had given her the first year she summoned them. Mati loved the fairies and every season they helped her with the flowers. Earlier in the week she had set about the business of making the seeds available to each of them. “I have made five piles of seeds, these here are the seeds for the orange flowers they will be planted in the northeast quadrant of the field, the seeds for the yellow ones will be in the northwest, the violet in the southeast and the pink ones in the southwest corner. Right in the middle will be the seeds for the deep red flowers. Everyone has a small shoulder sack to carry the seeds and I will carry the hose and do the watering. Sound good”? “Yes” they yelled! “Okay, let’s grab a sack and get started”, Mati said delighted. Lily took one sack and filled it with the seeds for the orange flowers, Sam would plant the yellow flower seeds, Cherie the violet, Edmund the pink, and Jamie would plant the deep red flower seeds. The task was labor intense and would take a good deal of time and the fairies would be hungry before the end of the day so Mati set out a small table with five little chairs and a platter of freshly picked fruit sliced to accommodate their little hands. She set a wee glass at each place and a picture filled with water graced the middle of the table. The fairies quickly readied the field for planting with furrows dug in each section and as they started to plant the seeds when the wind began to blow. It picked up the seeds and scattered them across the field mixing them together making it impossible to separate since all the seeds look the same. Matilda stood at the side of the field with the watering hose in hand, her eyes wide with horror and mouth hanging open. “Oh no” she said “what will I do”? “It’s okay Mati, the seeds will still grow just not the way you wanted, instead there will be one field with many colors of flowers mixed together”. “But the flower colors must be separated, that’s the job I was given. What will the town’s people think when they see that this is what has happened”?  Mati hung her head and tears filled her eyes, she had failed and would probably never get to plant flowers again. She hurried from the field and ran home, sobbing all the way.  Later that night when the lights were out and the people had gone to bed the fairies decided to help Mati and fix all but one section of the field, the center section, they would leave as it is. Hurrying, to beat the morning light, the fairies used their magic. Swirling their wands in the air the seeds began to float upward separating over each quadrant of the field, yellow to the yellow area, orange to orange until they were all separated and planted. In the center plot the seeds remained scattered together and would grow as one, nobody would know the difference until the flowers bloomed in a few weeks. When they had finished they sat at the table and ate their fruit, drank their water and finally left the field to go back to the Woodlands. Mati would be surprised at harvest time since they had not told her what they were going to do. As the weeks passed, Matilda was still depressed and sad because she just knew her job would end and there was nothing she could do about it. At night she would cry herself to sleep and in the day she would weed, worrying about her problem, which really wasn’t a problem at all but she didn’t know. The plants grew and the buds popped out revealing it was getting close to harvest time.

“Oh bother” Matilda said as she hurried out to the flower beds but when she crested the hill and saw the blossoms her eyes widened in delight. There before her were all the flowers, they had been separated into colors except for the center area where the scattered seeds grew together, as one. They had blossomed into a rainbow of colors; pink and white flowers, violet and black flowers, red and yellow flowers a beautiful array never before seen. She was laughing, singing, crying and dancing with happiness when she noticed the fairies had returned and were hovering over the center plot. “They are so beautiful, thank you for all you have done and for your help”. “Remember this lesson Mati, all the colors are beautiful. Perhaps your job is safe and the people in your town will remember what you have shown them on this day, May 1 st ”. Matilda picked the flowers and filled her basket with all the colors in the field. When she had finished she took them to town and showed them to the people who loved them all and decided to make this May Day the best day ever, it would be forever known as Mati’s Day. She did not lose her job and every year there was a mixed plot of seeds that showcased the multi colored Petunias.

The fairies came back to help each year until one year Mati did not return and nobody else in town knew of her secret planters or of the poem used to call the fairies. Still, the flowers were planted each year in the spring and May 1 st was celebrated with grand festivities; the fairies, well they watched from the edge of the Woodlands and remembered with delight their only human friend, Mati.


Amidst the snow-capped Himalayas is unveiled a place of pristine heavenly beauty that is none other than Kashmir. The reason why this place intrigues me so much is – Just as the spectacular beauty it showcases in its lush green valleys, glaciers, and Mughal-era gardens so are the zeal and spirit of its residents. They have a burning desire to achieve the unfathomable. One such girl was Tara, who hailed from Srinagar, the capital of Kashmir. A 23 year old, smart and sensible with a good sense of humor was the darling of her parents. As she was born to them at a relatively older age, they pampered her and made sure she never had complaints. So, she was home-schooled and then went on to complete her bachelor's and master's from a prestigious university in Kashmir. So in a literal sense, ‘Life in a Nutshell’ to Tara just meant – ‘Home’ and ‘University’.          All through her teenage years, Tara watched the neighborhood kids and university classmates indulge in fun and frolic. She had all the luxuries that she dreamt of, but soon she realized materialistic things could only get her momentary pleasure. Since then, every dusk and dawn, her parents would find her sitting quietly by the window, deeply lost in thoughts. Day by day, her parents grew more concerned about her this behavior. Nobody knew how much Tara longed for a chance to go out and explore the world on her own. That’s when she received an offer letter to work for a world-famous software company in Mumbai. She was thrilled on seeing this. Her parents were both happy and distressed at the same time; happy because they hadn’t seen their daughter so cheerful in a long while and sad as they knew she would be going miles away from them. And so the day had come when she was leaving her house for the first time with lots of goals to accomplish. She took her parents’ blessings and bid them farewell before boarding the flight. Her next destination was ‘The City of Dreams – Mumbai!!’            Tara still couldn’t believe that she had started a new chapter of her life as she gazed at those tall skyscrapers. The Queen’s Necklace – ‘The Marine Drive’ fascinated her the most while viewing from the plane. She didn’t want to miss out on anything this time. Although the next few months were hectic for her as she hustled between home and office, she did make sure to take out some time on weekends to hang out with colleagues or do solo travel. She was enjoying life to the fullest and her parents were contented. Time flew and Tara was transforming into a true Mumbaikar! Everything was going smoothly except for one night, at around 9 pm, just when Tara got back from the office all exhausted, she suddenly felt a sharp, cramping pain in her lower back and left side. She had never experienced such sort of terrible pain before. She used to stay all by herself in a 1 BHK apartment. Hence there was nobody to help her. Neither did she have any emergency medicines in hand. She suddenly collapsed onto the floor but was still conscious. She felt suffocated and started gasping. It was that time of the year when the bitter cold would force you to stay indoors and that’s when Tara had to go through all this. She suddenly remembered her parents and started weeping. The clock struck 10 and there were still no signs of the pain-reducing. Tara lay there sobbing in pain for nearly 2 hours, rolling to and fro on her carpet. Suddenly, in that silence, her phone buzzed displaying a new message, but what caught her attention was the wallpaper and not the message. It said in big words – ‘The Pain – It will leave once it has finished teaching you’. She didn’t know exactly why she had to go through so much suffering alone. But now she accepted this as a challenge and decided to get rid of it, come what may!            She didn’t want to be a burden to anybody so late in the night. Hence, she mustered up the courage and rose to her feet, grabbed her trench coat, and walked out of her building, her head held high. Chilly winds were blowing at the speed of 39-46 mph. There was not a soul on the streets and there was Tara, struggling to walk against these strong gushing winds desperately in search of a clinic or hospital. Despite the temperature being awfully low that night, the chilly breeze gave some relief to the burning pain that she felt down her spine. A few cars passed, but sadly none stopped by to offer help. This gave her all the more willpower to fight this alone. Soon after she had crossed two lanes and headed for the third, she spotted a gentleman stepping out of his clinic and locking the front door. Her heart knew no bounds. Suddenly, all her grief just seemed to disappear. She somehow managed to reach that spot and the doctor, at once knew what she was suffering from. So he took her inside, gave her a shot of Dexona to relieve the spasms, and advised her to get an ultrasound done the very next morning. He was all praises for her as he couldn’t believe she made it here on her own, although in so much pain. The next morning, as told, she got her scan done and the reports revealed she had multiple stones in her left kidney. The good thing was she didn’t require any surgery and it was self-treatable, provided taken good care of.            Now that she was at ease, she decided to take a day off from work and contemplate last night’s incident. She didn’t want her parents to worry too much and so kept it to herself. All this time, she had just heard that people may even turn into warriors if tough times demand so. Somehow, she couldn’t believe that she had it in her as well. This definitely was no easy feat. But if she compared this intensity of pain to the measure that cancer patients and injured soldiers suffered from, then it was almost negligible. She thought of her old parents and the love they bestowed upon her since childhood. She felt guilty for leaving them alone and having come so far. She burst out into tears and it seemed as if all her grief was being washed off. Her heart was so full of ambition all this while that there was barely any space for compassion in there. Now that her heart felt lighter, she was relieved. She set up a new agenda with altogether a different perspective. The next day she gave her resignation letter at the office and in 2 weeks’ time, she was packing her bags to return to her hometown.            Back home, she was welcomed like a queen and she too felt overjoyed seeing that smile on her parents’ faces. She also took them on a mini-vacation to do house-boating in the beautiful Dal Lake. After getting back, she decided to start working on her agenda. Within a short span, she began volunteering 4 days every fortnight in a nearby hospital. In the meanwhile, she was also working on her startup idea of building a healthcare platform that assisted with home-based health care. Although she started off a bit late, still as said – ‘Better Late than Never. Tara was now leading a peaceful and contented life and there was no safer heaven to be in than with her loved ones!


Tris cast a probing look at the entryway a few yards in front of her. To any other person, the red haze emanating from the caged lights on either side of the expansive ingress served as an eerie repellent; the chasm of darkness beyond, a dissuasion from closer inspection.

Her  heartbeat quickened as she took in the depth of the dark, the untouched look of the natural stone walls. Everything in her trilled in anticipation of slick palms, cool, dark depths—the familiar unknown.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Tris squinted against waning sunlight, at the perfect angle in the sky to at create an eclipse around a broad-shouldered human with light eyes and a worried look as he passed Tris a harness. It was packed with the silver shine of a tightly wound thermal blanket, a small flashlight, a lighter, fire starters, and other charms.

“I will be absolutely fine.” Tris eyed the pack, well intentioned and completely useless. She grimaced, pushing the harness back infinitesimally and quickly turning to another human with a bright smile and her own doubts.

“Tris, have you ever thought that these things might be traps set by some evil, trying to pull you away from us?” The bright smile flipped off in a moment, concerned brown eyes set earnestly in a pleasant, sun-sweetened face.

“‘Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.’” Tris smiled wryly, though she hoped it came across as a comfort, rather than a chide.

Tris surveyed the klatsch of people, each representing a piece of her and currently present to wish her luck in what some of them viewed as a folly and others saw as bravery—another deep dive into places few dared venture. She felt each pair of eyes on her, and, regardless of their view on her sanity, an air of morbid curiosity seeped from most of them. Their gaze was a constraint that she would be free from once she delved into the mystery beyond. The darkness beckoned to her as the babble of a brook to those seeking respite.

She breathed the leaden air, closing her eyes to begin to focus on her task. To be challenged and wholly

met , to be heeded and allowed to explore in her own power—each lungful of air and tick in time and space it represented cleared their judgement. Tris opened her eyes, mind clear and calm. Her skin, eyes, hair—all were radiant with light that could be felt rather than truly seen. Her footsteps were sure and unhurried, resolute, as she approached the darkness. She did not turn to see who stayed to watch.

On the wall outside of the darkness, Tris took a mallet from her belt along with a peculiar screw stretching into an eyelet on one end. She efficiently clocked the top of the eyelet twice, pummeling the sharp end into the wall between two stones, then twisting to create notches that would catch the threads. She attached a carabiner with the end of a length of rope to the eyelet and made sure the rope let out smoothly from her belt as she moved into the deep. The lifeline pulled easily away from her as she fingered the edges of the sarsen inside of the cavern. The edges of the rock whispered back to her in a solemn tone, wholly unintelligible. Further down the dark, rocks pattered onto the pathway.

The walls of the cave changed from the natural, though wind-polished, stone to sharp, rough earth in a matter of minutes. The solidity of the ground changed as well, the clay floor sliding to limestone half steps as the walls closed in subtly around her. Tris stomped in some places, lips upturning as the floor gave way and she slid feet, sometimes yards, into the depths. She bent to the shape of the cairn, the walls and ceiling now twisting irregularly to produce odd and narrow spaces in the stone.

The quiet pressed in on her ears until it wasn’t silence any longer. The rocks held voices like before, all at once dissonant and too quiet to understand, but perfectly evident nonetheless. Tris’ pace quickened as she realized she could understand more with each step deeper into the depths hidden by stone. Ahead of her, small stones pattered into the pathway.

“What are you?” The words slipped from Tris’ mouth faster than her mind could stop her.

“Fire and flame. And what are you?” The rich voice emanated from the same rocks around her.

“Careful and sure.” Her words again came unbidden.

“Are you sure?”

She bit her lip, wryly noting that her hesitance negated her answer. She stared at her surroundings, focusing with extra caution on a small fissure at her feet.

She stepped carefully through the narrow openings, placing her feet with delicate assuredness. A sure wrong step in this tight place could be better than one placed without confidence. One small decision could be the difference between fates.

“I know what you are.” The deep voice came stronger from the rock.

“Am I… careful? Sure? That’s what I’ve said, anyway.”

“No. You are stubborn, calculating. You are a shrew, digging deep into places that ought not be delved.”

“Hmm, no. But I implore you to try again.” Tris smiled through her words, the presence of the darkness pressing close, exploring her shape even as she contorted again to make her way through a large gouge in the stone.

The voice spoke again, but far off, and Tris quickened her pace to catch the words in their energy, “…to... me.”

 	“Let me ask a question…” Tris’ voice echoed in a larger chamber, startling herself.

“Anything.” The voice breathed back gently.

“Tell me who you are?”

“I am impulsive and aggressive. I am self-serving.” The low voice spoke matter-of-factly.

“Yet you’re… dependable. Expressive. Kind?” Tris matched the energy.

The energy settled into a companionable silence.

“I can shape what you are.” The deep voice emanated once more from in front of Tris, far enough away to quicken her steps once again.

Tris shook her head, “Only should I choose.” She ducked into a smaller space, then inched her way through a tube to hear the even voice. The line on her belt tugged at her impatiently as she moved from the tight tube to the next small path. Tris sighed, untying the next bit of line to connect to the current one and back to the carabiner at her hip. She could hear the voice ahead of her, softly.

“I’m retying my line,” Tris called to the…

What am I talking to again?

The light around Tris’ body dimmed as she tied off the line back to her carabiner. A deeper darkness crept across Tris’ boots as she slid her body through the slight openings in rocks. She breathed heavier than she had been.

“You’re slow. Are you going to give up?” The voice observed and asked without inflection.

“Hell no. I have to prove them wrong.” Tris stumbled over a low ledge in the stone floor. Her hands groped at imaginary supports as she tipped forward onto the hard, jagged floor of an open cavern. Tris hissed, pushing onto her butt, and touching her knees and shins where they smarted. Cool liquid from hot skin lubricated her fingertips. Tris stared into the darkness, eyes wide shut against the expansive room and the being across from her.

The being glowed in infrared, red under black, like cooling lava, and flowed outward, darkness engulfing darkness as it perceived Tris’ presence. Small rocks pattered onto the stone floor. Tris’ eyes had yet to adjust to the change in their lighting, and she sat utterly blind in the darkness as she sifted through supplies at her waist by touch. She touched the nylon of the small first aid kit, tugging at the zipper, before she felt the distinctive edge of the carabiner she used for her lifeline holding it firmly in place. She unhitched the carabiner, momentarily setting it beside her, before sifting through the small nylon pouch for gauze and a Neosporin packet.

“I know what you are.”

Tris froze as she noted the difference in the origin of the voice.

This time, the voice was much closer and tinged with something Tris was having trouble placing. “And I have told you what I am. It’s my turn.” The voice whispered through the air next to Tris’ ear, sending a shiver down her spine. She heard a slight scraping noise at her side.

“Your turn? For what?” Tris whispered back, the second darkness creeping up her collarbone and closing around her throat.

“More.” The voice sounded from behind her, back where she had tripped against the ridge in the floor. Tris placed her hand at her side to grab the carabiner and started. She moved her hand back and forth over the space next to her for a moment before she realized what she had heard as the voice had passed her.

Her throat was tight as she jumped to her feet and spun. “No!” Her voice was too loud, echoing around the cavern. Then the sound morphed. A deafening noise rent the air as the pathway collapsed, sending a whoosh of air into Tris’ face. Tris felt the patter of several small rocks against her legs as the debris settled in front of her. All at once, the voices of doubt and caution of the gaggle echoed through the cavern, taunting as they matched the final reverberations from the fallen rocks. Tris stilled with the ebb of the sound, until the blackness around her and the silence within her threatened to do away with her completely. Another moment, and the pitch shifted. "No." She set her jaw and moved forward, slowly climbing a mound of rubble from the pathway’s roof. She began to silently unpack the stones.


Milk Run Somedays, I really enjoy these so-called ‘Milk Runs’ to the Mars colonies. A Ten-hour flight there and back with an overnight layover at one of the luxury hotels under the dome. Easy peasy job; even a cadet could do it in their sleep. I made my run, delivered the twenty-four tons of cargo at the spaceport, and had a nice dinner at the little café overlooking the city. Life was good. The Martian government was doing a great job building more domed cities to make it feel more pleasant now like Earth used to be before overcrowding became a problem. I had to laugh; I love those commercials that say, “getaway for the weekend, only twelve hours away and enjoy a leisurely weekend under the dome, and have a picnic under a real tree with real birds flying overhead and a freshwater swimming pool, and water parks.” Ah, what a beautiful view they show on the news vid feed. Hell, it makes me want to move here permanently. I just finished my morning breakfast, and the space weather news was saying something about an apparent macro-sized proton star that may be moving through our solar system this week. Ugh, I love it when they say ‘May Be’ or ‘quite possibly could.’ It usually means they are not sure what they are seeing, just wanting to add some drama to space travel. Add a little excitement for the newbies, lol. Well, it’s time to get going. Maybe if I get lucky, I can get some cargo to pick up to return home with and have a nice payday. People back home love to buy Mars Made items. I must admit that most of the Mars Made artwork is pretty awesome. Being here on Mars seems to bring out the creative side in others. I was lucky to pick up ten tons of ore to take back home, and four tons of Mars Made clothing and manufacturing goods. Heck, I might make more on the return trip. Yes, I might be fortunate indeed. Back on the ship now, doing all the preflight checks. I see a flashing message from the spaceport. I tap the screen to read the news. “New Message from Jezero Spaceport to all outgoing ships: Be ADVISED: Some minor gravitational anomalies have been detected by our survey satellites between Mars and the asteroid belt. BE ADVISED:” Ok, so I need to make a slight gravitational adjustment for the flight home—no big deal. Thirty minutes later, I get another message: “BE ADVISED: Phobos orbit has been altered by the gravitational anomaly. Advise course correction by twelve degrees positive and three degrees negative on the Z axis for flights to Earth. BE ADVISED:” Ok, Done, let’s go already. I want to get home while I’m still young, you know. I make the adjustments, and I get the green light to go from Jezero spaceport. Alright then, let’s go home, I said into the microphone. A voice said through the comm set, “CREST21, you are cleared for takeoff. Good Luck and Good Flying. Jezero Spaceport out.” About time, I muttered to myself. Jeez, three hours sitting and waiting for them to clear me to go home. Jeez! Launch. I never get tired of that sudden jolt of raw power during a launch. I switch the display to the rear camera view. Watching the city getting smaller and smaller, and then the planet’s curvature getting smaller. What a view. So far, so good. No problems. I might take a nap; I still have ten hours of flight to go. I check all my instrumentation. Everything looks good. The flight plan looks good. Right on course for Houston One spaceport. I check once more for gravitational drift. Everything is in the ‘green.’ I’m good to go. I head to the galley and grab a bite and a cup of coffee. I wake up suddenly, and the screen is filled with the image of the Earth. I am confused. Did I fall asleep the entire ten hours? Suddenly alarms start going off, warning me of incorrect approach angle and descent speed. I quickly made the adjustments needed. I listen to the comm set. Funny, I don’t hear anything. I switch to Lunar one base signal. Nothing. I tried New Delphi, but nothing. Ok, now I’m starting to get worried. If I can’t get my radio working, I can’t land. I did a scan on all emergency transponders. Nothing. What the hell is going on? Did something fry my radio while I was out? I look for my coffee cup. Where the hell is it? I noticed a blinking light on my navigational system. I touched it to open the navigational computer. The computer said: A course correction was adjusted due to a micro-singularity explosion caused by a collision with a macro brown dwarf star. A possible temporal discontinuity may be experienced. Do what?? I had to rerun it three times, just to be precise. Ok, now what am I going to do? I sat there for a few moments, letting all this information sink in. Computer, what is the current Earth time? The computer replied, “Based on ship time or solar earth time?” Say what? Now I am confused. “Computer, is there a difference between ship time and Solar Earth time?” The computer answered, “Yes. There are five hundred years, three months, and eleven days difference.” I sat up, leaning forward to the computer, and asked, “Which is behind?” but I already knew the answer. The computer answered, “Earth solar time is earlier than ship time by five hundred years.” The computer stated, “According to Space Travel Law established over three hundred years ago, ship time, you are not allowed to land on Earth or make contact with anyone from Earth. You are ordered to impose a self-destruct protocol to prevent any timeline contamination or paradoxical event. Self-destruct procedure is clearly outlined in the event of a temporal displacement. The self-destruct protocol has been initialized. Please press---” Computer off! I shouted. What the hell! I thought. I will not blow myself up today or any day if I can help. Damn it! Not happening. I lean forward and say, “Computer, is there anywhere on Earth I can land and live without affecting the timeline? The computer quickly responded, “Inside a volcano would not affect the timeline. However, it is doubtful you would survive.” Dammit, computer, I don’t want to die! I want to live! Is there any other alternative to this scenario? The computer promptly responded, “Recreate the event, and reversing your flight plan should place you within your former timeline.” Well, you’re no help, computer. No way I can recreate a micro singularity collision with a macro-sized brown dwarf star! Computer, are there any other alternatives to this scenario? The computer replied, “Working, working, working, working.” The computer answered, “You have enough food, air, and fuel to travel up to four-point eight light years in any direction. However, there are no known habitable planets within your life support range”. “Computer, that is so NOT helpful.” The computer responded, “This is why Self-destruct protocol is required.” Computer, can I ignore that protocol? The computer responded, “Yes, you can ignore it; however, I cannot. Once you begin your descent, I will initiate a self-destruct.” My mind was racing now. I damn sure didn’t want to die, and the sound of drifting through space till I die did not sound appealing either. There had to be a way out of this scenario. I get up from the command console and head to the galley. As I head down the corridor, I think this will probably be my last supper. I might as well enjoy it. I ordered a steak with a loaded baked potato and a glass of red wine for my last meal. As I’m eating, my mind drifts. I know it’s not an authentic steak from a cow, it’s not a real potato dug up from the dirt, and I know it’s not a real glass of wine made from pressed grapes. It’s all synthesized from a computer program using power from the engines. Eating this food got me thinking. The early terra-formers had problems with food supplies. They didn’t have the fuel or space to carry perishable foods, and that’s how the food replicators came to be, and then the synthesizers became the standard on all space-capable ships. Granted, a synthesized part wasn’t as reliable as a manufactured part, but still, they were good enough to get a job done. That’s it! All I need to do is replicate the circuit boards and modules that contain the self-destruct protocols and replace them in the main computer. HA! I had a plan! I started pouring over all the manuals for the ship’s main computer interface. I bet I read every day for almost a month till I found a loophole. The self-destruct protocol was in one module in the navigational array system. Just one! Upon further reading, I found the new protocol module could be replaced by the previous version, which the synthesizer could replicate by an override command. However, there was one tiny catch. It would have to be done under a complete system shutdown to replace that module. Full system shutdown! No power, no life support, no lights, nothing. The estimated time for replacement, and complete reboot, is three hours. Three hours in the dark, no heat, no circulating air. No lights. No Air. No Heat. Ok, now, how can I do this faster? What all do I need to ensure I can get this done and land? I need a self-sustaining portable light, air to breathe, and a quicker way to replace that module. I frantically searched the upgrade and replacement manuals and found I could replicate the entire board and remove and reinstall it in less than three minutes. My GOD, I had it! I could do this! Ok, today is the day. I replicated everything I felt I would need to replace one little module. I sat down at the central console and initiated a complete system shutdown. The computer went through all the system checks for a shutdown, and I turned on my lights and got my screwdriver bits ready to remove the system board. Complete system shut down. Man, it was strange not hearing the hum of the ship engines and air circulation. Within five minutes, I had the board replaced. I reached over and turned off the light unit I had made. My God, it was beautiful! The Earth was glowing with its own radiance. Almost no city lights on the planet. No clutter of satellites in orbit. It was peaceful, serene, and beautiful. I sat there for about ten minutes, gazing at the planet and burning that image into my mind. Ok, time to go. I got to find a new place to live. I pressed the system start button. Praying everything came back up correctly. After five minutes, the computer came on. It was running through all its diagnostics and full system status. Then came the question of the full engine start sequence. YES, I thought, omg, yes. Yes, computer, full engine start, please. Thank God! I can feel the engines powering up! The navigational computer is showing no destination entered. I click on manual flight mode. The computer speaks and says, “Automatic navigational control has been turned off. Navigational beacons can not be found. Would you like assistance with manual descent?” “yes, please,” I respond. “Computer, can you give an approximate date based upon historical data for the planet below?”. The computer replied, “Working. The estimated date for North America based upon archived data is circa eighteen eighty-two, March twenty-first.” Wow, just after the civil war. So, I need to find a place with fresh water, not close to people, not too cold, and not too hot. It has to be pretty secluded, with plenty of wildlife. Jeez, I wish now I had more attention in history classes. “Computer, where can I land that has few people, close to a freshwater lake, not too cold in winter, and not too hot in summer, fairly secluded, with ample wild like for hunting for food?” The computer responded with, “Working. Several hundred Pacific islands are uninhabited, with plenty of freshwater lakes and abundant aquatic life. New Zealand would be an ideal location meeting all your requirements.” From what I recalled, New Zealand was an excellent vacation place, but too many mountains. I didn’t want to live like a hermit. I decided to do my own manual search, starting near what I knew to be Texas. As I zoomed in around the Texas coast, the Lake Charles area in Louisiana was looking better and better. Moving closer, I found a place near a decent-sized lake near the center of Texas, but not too close to Dallas. I wanted to avoid the railways. I had the computer overlay the current metropolitan areas of Texas with the visual map of Texas on the screen. I found a place that would be reasonably secluded for the next three hundred years. I had the computer do a complete background search on the location. I just smiled when I read the report. The area was supposedly ‘haunted’ by spirits, according to the local Indian legends. Perfect. It looks like I found my new home. I was going to live near what would become a state park some three hundred years in the future. As I made my descent, I saw a lot of beautiful land. Lakes, rivers, cliffsides, lots of woodlands, and lots of open farmlands. This would be perfect. The nearest settlements were a reasonable distance away by horse, over a day’s ride in all directions. Perfect. I found a clearing close to a small river with cliffsides nearby. I had the computer check for future settlements, and the computer found none. So, I landed. My first night was amazing. Clear skies, clean, fresh air. Almost intoxicating. I saw lots of wildlife near the river at night. Yes, this was a good site. After a week, I decided it was time to find a way to hide my ship. Too bad I didn’t spend the extra credits to buy a cloak. I never thought I would need one. I wasn’t dealing with the different militant factions, I didn’t sell contraband goods, and I wasn’t a pirate. Now I need to hide my ship. Man, this was turning out to be more complicated than I expected. I had three choices. One, just dig in and get it done. Two, just walk away and leave no trace, or three, move to some mountain area, and live like a hermit. The following week, I spent my time looking at options for housing, where to build it, and how to hide the ship. I didn’t want to dismantle my ship, just in case I might need to get away for some reason. I had the computer search the database to see if there was a way to build a droid to help with the heavy lifting. The computer found four options. Man, this was getting out of hand. I had the computer build two droids, two loaders, and one excavator. I had decided to make my house on top of the cliffside out of stone and wood. Build a stairway to the river, then halfway down the cliffside, to the left of the house, excavate room for a hanger for the ship.  The hanger was the primary task at hand. It took almost a month to excavate the hanger and transport the rock to the top of the cliff for the house. I had to make two more droids for that. Once the hanger was up to specifications, I moved the ship inside and had the droids seal the entrance. It was now only accessible by the stairway and hidden by a holographic doorway. The droids worked day and night building the hanger and then the house. By mid-summer, everything was finished. I hid the loaders, the excavator, and three of the four droids in the ship’s cargo bay. I finally decided to see what all I had in the cargo bay. When I opened one of the crates for the ore, I just had to laugh. Gold. Gold ore. Somehow, whatever happened to send me back in time, turned the ore into gold. Now, it looks like I don’t have to worry about anything. Now I can buy five hundred acres of this land and not even have to worry about it. Hell, I might even buy the whole state. Hahahaha. Oh well, so much for maintaining the timeline. Life is good.


      The barely legal tinted Challenger made everyone in the vicinity anxious. Not-so-subtle glances and obvious peeks were shot in the car’s direction from miscellaneous windows and partially open doors.             Despite all this, Asura walked confidentially to the car. His smile glistened through his hairy and unkempt face as he entered the car.             Not a single smile was present on the faces of the officers, all of whom were strongly against Asura’s release. He had been locked up for 2 years on some petty theft charges.             With each confined day, Asura taunted the other inmates and even cops about the day that he would be free. He chanted. He sang. He yelled. Anyway he could remind people he was only here temporarily, he did. Word about his release became a nation-wide controversy and many people thought it was dangerous and stupid to give Asura a second chance to living among normal civilians. “Deranged”  is what they called him. “Monster” “Inhumane.” He had thought patterns not even seen in psych wards. He seemed to only act on intrusive thoughts. He was respected out of fear. Fear of the lengths of his very-real delusion.             The driver revved the engine disturbingly loud and sped off joining the road at an illegal speed. Releasing someone like Asura may as well been the same as releasing Joker into the city. But they had no Bat-Man.             “Where we goin?” Asura asked ignoring the car’s seatbelt

beep, beep, beep, beep . “Where would you like to go?” Amon asked as he looked back on the road.             “Let’s get sumna eat?”             “Food?” Amon asked humorously.             “You think they were

chefin’

it up for me and my felon friends every night?”              Amon didn’t appreciate Asura’s sarcasm.             “You didn’t have friends in there.” He replied to scratch the

petty-itch . “But I know you well, so I know exactly where to take you.” “Better not be McDonalds or some crap?” Asura grunted with an attitude. Asura straightened in his chair. He liked to carry himself like he was better than everyone else. He liked to dress meticulously. To pick up Asura, he wore tan joggers that matched perfectly with his Balenciaga’s. A crisp, white shirt with Japanese-style art. The fresh length of his braids hung out of the edges of his white durag. “Is it at a bar? I could really use a drink.” Asura suggested. “Not tonight. Every bar in the city is going to be waiting for you to walk in. News of your release has reached every TV.” Amon explained. “Tonight, we’ll be going somewhere no one is going to touch me, spill a drink on me, or poke at my temper. However, if someone

does  force me to the extent, I

will

shoot them in the left eye.” A smile creeped on Asura’s furry face.             Asura was out of the car quickly. He leaned hard, stretching his abdomen before approaching the diner.             One by one, heads began to turn. Amon swaggered in. He picked a booth he liked in the middle of the restaurant and slid into his seat. All eyes shifted to the waitress who walked out from the back to approach the lovely new guests. Her legs quaked and lips quivered as she slowly attempted to make her way to the table. Amon read her nametag as she got closer. “Evening, Dorothy.” He greeted her. “It’s my friend’s first time here.” “What’s y’all’s best options?” Asura interrupted. Dorothy was frozen. “Well, our breakfast is most popular.” She said still with a dry throat. “That includes our four-stack waffles or pancakes, three strips of bacon, two sausage links, and scrambled eggs.” Her voice was shaking and cracking. “I’ll take that.” Amon said eagerly. Dorothy struggled but found her voice again. “Wh—which one?” She asked. “Oh, those were all separate?” Asura asked with a laugh. “I’ll take all of them, baby. If it’s the most popular, I gotta see for myself, don’t I?” Dorothy turned quickly. “Such a sweetheart.” “And gorgeous too.” Dorothy pushed the doors open and almost stumbled into the kitchen. She stayed back there until the food was ready. Then after getting herself as mentally prepared as her worries would let her, she brought all three plates out to the drooling man. “Anything else I can get you?” “Did I say a strawberry shake too?” Asura asked her. “I don’t remember. You?” Dorothy’s gut

screamed.  “I—I’ll get it for you right away.” She turned and darted. “You’re so kind, thank.” He called after her. She came out quickly with a large strawberry shake and sat it and the top of the table. Asura was starting his second plate. “Your service has been more than great; you have a good night.” Amon told her. Lightheaded, she turned around and headed to the back. “So, I was thinking.” Amon whispered to Amon. “Did we make the best decisions when we did what we did?’ Asura stuffed a bacon strip in his mouth and picked up his last waffle, folding it in half. He dipped it in his shake and took a big chomp. His eyes rolled back in satisfaction. “Huh?” He said and chugged what was left of his waffle-crumb filled shake. Asura wiped the corners of his mouth, stood up, and headed for the door. One of the chefs pushed past Dorothy peeking through the kitchen door. “Excuse me, you can’t leave un—” He had only taken one step out before he stopped talking. The ringing in everyone’s ears stopped, their eyes turned to the front doors. Amon had done a one-eighty and stood there, arm up with his gun in hand. The chef laid in a puddle of his own blood with his left eye missing. Dorothy was in shock. She stared at the empty middle table and slowly made her way over to it. Not only were the plates stacked neatly, but under it were two small stacks of money. She picked up first stack and realized it was the exact charge for the food. Then she picked up the second stack and it was the exact change for a twenty percent tip.

            “Any plans for tomorrow?” Amon asked Asura.             “Why the hell would I have plans? I don’t even know what day tomorrow—”             “Our birthday.” Amon interrupted.             “Oh.”             There was a brief pause.             “Oh!” Asura continued. “In that case, we should visit our friend, James.” “James?” Amon repeated with disgust. “I’m sure he knows I just got out. We should surprise him. Ya know, in memory of our

being , or whatever.” Amon could smell the violence Asura was suggesting. And he was up for it. “OK, we’ll visit him in the morning.” He replied. “Let’s get a motel for some sleep though.” Captain had personally driven to the diner to witness the atrocity that happened

directly  because of a decision that was made just three hours prior. His phone and radio had been going off nonstop and he had been in contact with almost everyone in his call log within minutes. He breathed deeply over and over and over again. He was able to create a small calm space in his mind to think clearly. He dialed a number from memory. It rang twice. “Captain Barry? It’s too early for—“ “Mary, you still in the hospital?” Captain interrupted. “I’m grabbing my stuff to go home now. Why?” “I need a favor. Can you get me some information before you leave?” “There’s an open investigation, you have clearance to come in and get most of that information yourself.” “I’m

too  far and have no time to make it there tonight. I just need you to check some records for me. Can you help me? Please?” There was a pause followed by a deep sigh. “Thank you.” He said. “ What do you need?”  She said seconds later. “I need information on the man that released just hours ago, you know which one.” “ OK .” Minutes passed and Captain spent anxious seconds pacing and biting on the nail on his thumb. He held the phone pinched in between his ear and shoulder, listening to the typing of keys, and ruffling of papers. “ That’s weird.”  Mary said under her breath. “What is it?” A couple seconds of typing and clicking. “ Tomorrow, July twenty-third, is his birthday. Captain was stunned. “That’s strange. Why would they let him out a day before his birthday ?” Mary complained.

“That just doesn’t

feel right.”             “OK, Mary listen. I need an immediate update on his last psych examination. I need to know when the last time his brain was examined.”             The typing speed doubled and fought audibly back and forth with the violent clicking.             Then it all stopped. Mary was reading. She was making Captain jittery.             “Oh, this is bad. It has been stated that Asura, for sure, has developed a fully functioning personality he now acknowledges in his own reality. He physically

sees

and interacts with this new personality.” Captain grabbed his phone and held it against his ear with his hand. “He was found referencing an

Amon  when speaking to himself and tried hard to hide it from others.” Captain was already running back to his car. “Does it quote anything he said? Any examples of the things he used to say to

Amon ?” His phone was pinched in between his ear and shoulder again and the car’s engine roared to life. “Unfortunately, he did a good enough job keeping his conversation quiet. A name was the only thing a few of the guards were able to get.” “He wasn’t

talking . He was planning! He knows exactly what he’s doing next. And whatever it is, I don’t think we’ll find out in time to stop him. We just have to be ready to chase whatever trail he leaves.” “So, I wasn’t supposed to do this.”

Mary started.

“But I read some of the older records not pertaining to the case, and I found out something creepy.” “What?” Captain asked, speeding left and right through the other vehicles on the road. “Asura was supposed to be a twin, but his brother died in the womb. Only one was born successfully.”

She stuttered. “ He killed the other one just weeks before birth .  Only

Asura  was ever born. I need to throw up.” Captain immediately hung up and dialed another number from memory. The phone rang and rang and rang and rang. No one picked up. “Requesting

immediate

backup.” He said into his radio.             The motel room was as spotless as when Amon had checked into the night before. He exited the room and entered the driver’s seat of the car.             “Ready to visit James?” He asked.             The first rays of the sun had just began to touch the sky. “Finally, some action.” Asura replied. When Amon pulled into the neighborhood an hour and a half later, he stopped at the house with the Benz and Tahoe in front. Asura picked the lock on the front door while Amon made sure to keep an eye out. Passed the kitchen on the right and living room on the left. At the end of a short hall, Asura slammed his palm on the door, pushing the frame off the hinges and dropping to a loud

wham! “James!” He shouted too excitedly. James jolted, and as soon as his eyes adjusted, he sprung reached for his nightstand. A fist reached his face first, breaking of bones in his nose and knocking out a couple teeth. “Did you tell someone, James?” Asura asked with blood on the knuckles of his hands. The woman in his bed screamed and fell off the bed with a loud

thud!

Then she proceeded to run out of the room. James denied all accusations and pleaded for his life. “People are

talking , James. Amon

knows . And Amon is

always  right.” “Asura! Please! I was your therapist! I’m legally not allowed to—” Asura stopped listening sent a hard backhand. /There was a distant crashing sound followed by rushed, loud footsteps. A few cops flew into the opened room. The fist cop was immediately snatched and, in that same second, placed on the floor with a broken neck. A bullet entered the next cop’s right ear and perfectly out the left. There was another single gunshot, but the last man heard two bodies hitting the floor behind him. The last man was Captain. And everything happened so fast, by the time he looked back at James, the man was kicking violently in the bed with a sheet tied around his neck with the ends of the sheet around the bed posts. He took one step forward and the cold barrel of a gun kissed his temple.

“Drop the gun.” Asura ordered him. He stared as the body in front of him flipped and flopped. James hands had been zip-tied behind his back, making an escape impossible. “Drop the gun.”  Asura repeated. Captain took notice that he held the gun up with his right hand and placed his left hand was behind his back. But he knew Asura couldn’t be

hiding  another weapon. He knew he was being held at gunpoint by Amon. Captain lowered his gun to the floor slowly, dropping it beside one of his dead officers and standing back up even slower. “Listen, Amon, we can help you.” He suggested. Amon froze. “Captain, do you need backup?”  His walkie shouted. His eyes met Amon’s. Slowly Captain moved his hand up to his walkie. “Cap, we’re coming in—” “Stand down.” He commanded. “Wait for my order.” Amon lowered his gun and stood right in front of Captain. He studied his face for a second. Thick mustache with a terrible attempt at a beard. He looked weak. Weak, but desperate to show his importance. His

value , if he even had any. Amon looked at the ceiling and let out a dramatic and judgmental chuckle. He lowered his sight back to Captain and stopped smiling. “How are you here?” Asura barked. “My

friend  James told you, huh?” “Asura. Introduce me to Amon.” Captain was sweating. Yet cold. The blood in his nose had begun to pool but he knew better. He desperately attempted reasoning with Asura in hopes to at least stall long enough for backup to arrive. He could already hear the beautiful ring of sirens in the far, far distance. “I wanna meet Amon.” He repeated. “I’ve heard so much about him.” “I don’t care what you’ve heard about me.” Amon replied. “Your opinion has no importance.” Before Captain could offer a reply, Asura began to speak. “You here to arrest me again?” He questioned. His eyes pierced through to Captain’s. From Captain’s perspective, Asura’s eyes were dark. So dark, they seemed hollow and deep with emptiness. Like something else had fully taken over. Asura was not gone, but he wasn’t there either. Like a body stripped of its soul. He could no longer tell who he was talking to. Staring at. But whichever one it was lifted the gun and swung it, slamming it against his temple. He felt like his eyeballs shattered. And for that split second before his vision faded to black, through the slits of his almost-closed eyelids, he could’ve sworn he could see two separate people standing in front of him. Captain’s eyes opened and he gasped and grasped along the bedsheets wrapped around his body. Multiple hands grabbed him forcing him back down. He struggled and struggled and let out a bone chilling scream. “No, no Captain. Relax, you’re fine. Open your eyes.” Captain recognized the voice. He stopped struggling and his eyes opened slowly. He squinted and blinked as his eyes got used to the light. When his pupils adjusted, he realized that he was in a hospital. On a hospital bed. Beside him were two officers and his wife. He was confused and felt distant. He felt like he was the only one lost in the room. “Baby.” He whispered weakly to his wife. “Why are we here in the hospital? Are you OK?” She stared at him and cried. She bawled her eyes out until she could finally speak. “You were in a coma.” She replied between disrupted beaths. “Coma?” He repeated, shocked. “What? For how long?” She didn’t answer. She just cried and cried more. Captain looked at the officers. “A couple months.” One said. “ Four  months.” The other one added. “Four! Months?” Captain asked. “Asura? Did we catch him? Tell me we had the whole house and neighborhood surrounded. There’s no way they got away. Not from so close.” Neither cop was eager to respond. “What happened?” He asked finally. Another hesitant second. “Since his release, he hasn’t slowed down. People are beginning to

despise  local police. They want him caught on some

real  charges this time.” Captain closed his eyes hard. “Besides the witnessed and surveillance footage of the diner murder, a couple other things have happened since then too. The problem is just

finding him .” Captain felt a chill fly up his spine. Something strangely felt familiar. The air seemed heavy and almost-tense. He recognized the feeling. And it was growing. Getting closer and closer. He struggled to breathe properly and felt the heaviest layer of fear he had ever felt in his life. It was a strong feeling of evil as he had once felt months before. “Baby?” His wife stated. “Baby, what’s wrong? Someone get the nurse

now .” One officer rushed out of the room and returned seconds later with a nurse following behind. The nurse closed the door behind him and turned around, facing Captain. “Hello Captain Barry.” Captain had heard that voice before. It belonged to the same

person  that put him into a four-month coma. He looked at the nurse and immediately was completely submerged under the heaviness he felt. Still, he was unable to tell which one of was standing in front of him, but he was certain he was staring at the face of Death.