Somewhere within a distant mountain sat a dragon atop a pile of gold. This was not a scary dragon, with rows of razor sharp teeth and talons the size of full grown men. This dragon had claws which it could at best use to scratch the scales behind its pointy ears, and while it did have sharp teeth, it had developed a liking for vegetarian options, particularly bounties of fruits and steamed root vegetables. It liked to add in the occasional pot roast or succulent grilled chicken, but on the whole it preferred the colorful, leafy kind of food. This dragon was named Sam, and his mountain was Etenmoot in the north of a green land. The halls in which it basked were grandiose, with thick columns supporting vaulted ceilings and little walkways criss-crossing from place to place. Now, you may say you’ve never seen such a mountain, much less one filled with gold and jewels. Well, you’d be right. But Etenmoot was not a mountain like many others. In a bygone age, dwarves - yes, dwarves! had trudged along those walkways and carved out these great halls. There had been parties of mythical magnificence thrown here. Now, dwarves have long since left the world to an unknown fate, and Sam had stumbled upon this ancient city while exploring the mountain range for homes.

“Pure serendipity,” said Edward - his dragon-friend. The serendipity meant Sam had lived a long, fruitful life. Dragons can live for thousands of years, and in those years a village had sprung up in the valley below Sam’s abode. For some time, Sam had watched its people mingle about their days, building a mill upon the river, clearing out little bits of forest for their crops. Not being particularly hungry, Sam never thought to approach them. However, one day a strong breeze was blowing up from the valley, and the scent of freshly baked garlic asparagus and sweet potatoes wafted up to the entrance of his cave.

“My, what an enchanting aroma!” Sam said, and he felt hunger gnaw at him. Without thinking, he unfurled his wings and glided down to the village.

Chaos ensued, for even though Sam was perfectly pleasant, the sight of his giant body descending from the mountains was enough to make even the most lion-hearted man panic. He soon found himself staring down about sixty men with an assortment of pitchforks, swords, and bows, none of which would have hurt him in the slightest.

“Dragon!” cried the largest of the men, who also wore a golden circlet on his head.

Sam raised his eyebrows and said, “Wait! I mean you no harm.”

Surprised to find that a dragon could speak their language, the villagers paused and looked to their leader. “What do you want?” he asked suspiciously.

Abashed, Sam said, “Something smelled good down here, such that I have never smelled before.”

“What would that be? The scent of humans?”

Sam shook his large head. “No, no… something roasted on a fire.”

The leader looked to his men. “Was anyone preparing for the feast tonight?”

One man raised a trembling hand. “My wife was making asparagus and sweet potatoes.” “Bring them here,” barked the leader.

“Now, now, there’s no need for that tone,” reproached Sam.

Soon, a woman came out of a little hut bearing a tray of sizzling food. As soon as the steam hit Sam’s wide nose, he smiled and said, “Yes, that’s it! So this is called asparagus and sweet potatoes?”

“Yes it is,” said the leader. “Now, if we relent to give you this food, will you leave us forever?”

“Oh I would not dream of taking it from you,” said Sam. He used his claws to dig at the scales on his underbelly, from which a shower of gold coins fell to the ground. The villagers gaped and Sam said, “I would be happy to pay for it, and for your friendship, if you’d like.”

“Friendship?” said the leader haughtily. “No village I have ever heard of has become friends with a dragon.”

“Yes,” said Sam sadly. “My fellow dragons do not like the warmth this far south-” a cold breeze made the men shiver, “-but I find it tolerable. Besides, the dwarven gold deposit is something I could not deny.”

“Gold?”

“Well yes; where do you think all of this came from?” asked Sam, gesturing at the glittering stuff underneath him. “It gets caught in my scales a lot… Quite a bother, actually.”

Perhaps it was a mark of the strength of this man that he did not immediately raise his men to raid the cave, for they most certainly would have been destroyed in the fight, but instead chose to extend his hand and said, “I am William, and this is the village Stera, our home. We would be delighted to make your acquaintance.”

Sam gingerly extended a single talon and shook William’s tiny hand. The villagers gave him the food in exchange for the heap of gold, and so the relationship was bound.

Now of course, as with all relationships there are moments of hardship, but for the most part Sam was able to watch the village prosper over the years into a large city. It had survived wars in which kings had implored Sam to rain fire down upon their enemies, which he did not do, and there had been many attempts by thieves to get the gold from Sam’s cave. However, the path to the cave’s entrance was treacherous at best, and so only three men had ever survived to see the dwarven city, and none held their ground if Sam so much as looked at them.

Now the time had come for the next in William’s line to lead the city, which was now the capital of a kingdom. Sam had learned a lot about men in his centuries watching over the people of Stera, and most of it had made him sad, for the gold that Sam hoarded in his mountain was no longer of great intrigue to him. Even for a dragon, he was getting old, and he knew the time would come soon where he would return north to die with his kind.

The gold in his mountain would have doubled the wealth of the nation below, but he had deliberately stopped himself from giving them great sums, instead choosing to let them have little trickles of gold in exchange for things like roast vegetables, for he knew that above all, greed festered in the hearts of humans.

He had seen every new king be crowned, and tomorrow he would see it again, and every last one had asked for a large chunk of gold. Some disguised it by saying they wanted no more, but none refused and all held Sam in great regard for his wealth.

What was he to do? His friend Edward had visited again just a week prior and had advised him to bring the gold northward to their dragon-home, where it could be enjoyed by all dragons, young and old alike, who coveted shiny things. But how was Sam to carry it? Even after centuries of giving it remained sizable enough for him to sleep on as a rounded mattress.

“Trust me,” Edward had said, “the men down there don’t deserve this gold.”

But he offered no solution to the problem of carrying it hundreds of miles north, so Sam bade his friend goodbye and returned to pondering his dilemma.

The people of Stera relied on the gold from Sam to continue their lives, so would it really be wrong to give it all to them? Perhaps not, but he was no longer convinced of their altruism as he had been during the days of William the First. When the village had little more than a few paddocks of animals and some rows of crops, there was no harm which could afoul the hearts of the men who resided there. Yet after centuries of wars and expansion, Sam had seen the kings of Stera destroy villages all over the countryside, enveloping them into their land. Did he really want to fuel the fire of war?

Sam flew down from his cave on the next day to see King Richard crowned. A special place had been made for him in what was called the Hall of Dragons. It was made of white stone and had pillars as tall as those in the dwarven city. Sam sat in his usual seat, hundreds of civilians craning their necks to see over the armor of tall soldiers as the king walked down a long carpet. His father, now quite old, sat upon the throne with the crown in his hands.

Trumpets played a hopeful melody, and the old King, helped to his feet by his top advisors, placed the crown upon his kneeling son’s head.

There was some speech about honor, valor, and humility. Sam had heard many such speeches and was trying not to fall asleep. As was custom, the new King came up to him after the ceremony and bowed deeply, and for this Sam was obligated to bestow upon them several hundred gold coins from his scales as a present.

His eyes met Richard’s, and he caught himself in the moment looking at a young man with tenacity, and a will to do what was right. This gave him pause, for he had been so used to kings having the veiled greed in their gaze as they looked upon the rich dragon. It seemed that Richard lacked this trait.

The dragon did not stay for the evening’s revelries; he took his large ration of his favorite foods back up to his cave and enjoyed them in silence. It wasn’t until later that night, when sleep was just beginning to wash over him, that he was awoken by a ringing sound on the rock. Sam stood on his haunches, recognizing the sound as boots upon stone, and he thought that once again some robber had come to quarrel over his lot. He used one of his claws to push a button on the right side of the hall. By the ingenuity of dwarves, sparks lit several hundred lanterns along the walls and on the ceiling in quick succession, bathing the hall in a warm yellow glow only amplified by the pile of gold.

Sam’s eyes searched for the intruder for a while. He was looking near the shadowy edges of the room - near all the pillars and stairwells. That was where criminals usually lingered, after all. However, a light at the center quickly drew his gaze. Before him, to his great surprise, stood King Richard, a torch in one hand and his other raised in a gesture of peace.

He wasn’t wearing any kingly clothes - just a black coat over dark trousers and climbing boots. He bowed to Sam and said, “Please, excuse my interruption.”

“Never before has a King of Stera come here,” said Sam dubiously. “The way is dangerous.”

Richard shrugged. “I spent my early years climbing everything I could get my hands on, away from my mother’s prying eyes, of course.”

“I was under the assumption that Kings are usually well-guarded. How did you slip away?”

“It was not easy. I had to wait until the zenith of the night’s darkness, and fortunately it’s a new moon and the stars are veiled by clouds.”

The next question was perhaps the most pertinent to Sam. “Why have you come, Richard?”

“I know what you think,” said Richard candidly, putting down his free hand. “You think I am here for your gold - that I come to beseech upon you a case of charity.”

“Yes, that is what I think,” said Sam. “Or at least, I do not think you are here to clear away my empty trays of food.”

Richard smiled. “You are right on the second count, but I am not here to seek your gold. In fact, I am here to be rid of it.”

“Oh?” Sam’s heart thudded under his hard scales.

Nodding, Richard said, “Indeed. I have studied dragons for many years. They are not common in this part of the country. I was under the impression that most of your kind live in the far, far north, past the glaciers of ice and the frozen mountains which render our kind at an impasse.”

“That is correct,” said Sam. “Naradhas, we call it. The cold quells the fires of young dragons and steels the hearts of the elders until it is time for them to pass on.”

“And I have also studied all the records of your residence here,” said Richard. “You are getting quite old for a dragon, are you not?”

“Old, but still spry,” said Sam.

Richard gave a dry laugh and said, “Indeed.” “What does this have to do with the gold?”

“Quite simply, I know you must be wondering what to do with it, for in this century or the next your life will end, and with it will end any protection upon this wealth. The way may be dangerous for us now, but I’m sure once the first man comes back with a bag full of gold unperturbed by your death, then hordes of others will attempt it. I fear for that day, for I know what men can be when greed drives them. I have seen it in my father and his father…” He looked at a loss for words, but then added, “I have spent my entire adult life trying to make Stera a rich kingdom, independent of your influence.”

“But your family still accepted my gifts,” said Sam.

“Of course, and I will too, if you do not accept my proposal, but know that I succeeded.” A glint of pride lined Richard’s blue eyes. “We do not need your charity to thrive as a kingdom anymore - not that we don’t appreciate it.”

“So that means-”

“That means, my dear dragon, that you are free of any burden to help us,” said Richard proudly.

Sam frowned, his teeth showing at the front of his mouth. To be sure, he did not know how to feel about this information, for while the issue of his gold had been troubling him for a while, he had grown used to this relationship with Stera, where he showered them with occasional gold and they gave to him the best food he could ask for. To hear that it was no longer necessary hurt him in some way, but he quickly put on a smile and said, “I am happy for you. That can’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t, and as I said, if you choose to continue your gift-giving I will gladly accept, but know that it will only be used to further the opulence of already gilded halls, which I hardly think is a noble cause.”

“You mentioned you had a proposal,” said Sam. “What is it?”

“Ah, yes,” Richard grinned. “Now, I want you to be with your family when you… are in the last stages of your life.

So, I propose you take whatever gold and jewels there are here and melt them.”

“Melt them?” repeated Sam, tilting his head.

“The world knows no fire hotter than dragon-fire. It can melt even jewels. So, before you go, use your fire to melt all the gold in this city. Make it run through the halls and through any crevices in the rock. Then, smash these columns as you leave.” Richard pointed to the columns around the chamber. “It is sure to bring the rocks down upon this treasure.”

“How can my last act in this city, which I have seen grow from such humble beginnings, be of violence?” asked Sam. He did not want to destroy much of anything these days.

“It must be,” said Richard. “I will inform the citizens of Stera that it was a quake which destroyed the hall, and that you took your leave with me in private. It may be a little difficult for them to understand how a dragon secured a private meeting with me, but I can convince them of it. I will tell them the truth; that you have moved on to live with your kind as you… prepare for your next journey. Years will pass as men try to ascend the mountain. Decades will pass before they learn the wealth they seek lies behind solid rock, and still more will pass before our mining tools are good enough to break through to any new veins of gold you have created here. I may not even be king anymore, then.”

“But if they still find my- ah,” said Sam, finally understanding. “You wish for them to find it slowly, and with decades of hard work behind it.”

“I have been over the plan in my head many times,” said Richard. “It’s sure to work.”

Sam looked past the young king now and envisioned that home he hadn’t seen in over a thousand years. He could almost feel the comforting chill of that ice on his scales again. He turned back to Richard and said, “You are wise beyond your years, young man. I accept your offer, and am glad to have had the opportunity to know you.”

Richard bowed deeply. “It is I who should be grateful to you, Sam. Without you, this kingdom would not be what it is now.”

“Then I will take my leave in the early morning,” said Sam. “No sense in lingering on goodbyes.”

“Goodbye then, noble dragon.”

“Goodbye, Richard.”

And so the king made his way back down to his people, still cloaked against prying eyes, and in the wee hours of the morning, as dawn was just creeping over the horizon, Stera felt the ground shake as Sam slipped out of Etenmoot, unfurling his wings and beginning the long, humble flight northward, to his home.


It was two days before the biggest holiday at the infamous company. The team at the Allis Company came all together to meet up at the sixth floor to discuss what they should do this year. Everyone was there, except Mr. Sams. He was the owner of the company, but he was far too strict. He loathed April Fools’ more than anyone. That didn't stop the huge company from creating the biggest prank of the year that will soon be on every social media platform. Little did the company know things will go down fall from there. "Let's burn this place for the prank!" said one employee. "No, no let's junk this whole place with food!" said another employee. "Silence everyone!" yelled Mr. Sams secretary, Ms. Amy. Everyone silenced at her voice. No one wanted her there, but she knew about the pranks every year. The employees missed the last secretary, Mallie Mill. She was quirky, fun, and created the best pranks, but Mr. Sams fired her because he got bored. "How about we mess up this whole building, and I know what you all are thinking, Ms. Amy we already did that, so we are going to put a spin to that," she paused for water, "we are going to put up embarrassing pictures of Mr. Sams all over the office." Everyone silenced for a while because they knew that if they would criticize Ms. Amy’s ideas, she would fire them. "Damn it everyone, don't be afraid speak up!" Ms. Amy said furiously. "That's a horrible idea, we've done something like that a couple years ago," an employee named Jack said. "Yeah Jack's right we need something that no one will forget that is so lame, plus Mr. Sams doesn't even have any embarrassing pictures!" an employee said. Everyone started talking about how Ms. Amy’s idea was horrible. They weren't wrong, that idea is so simple, and Mr. Sams has only one face he does all day, which employees call the grumpy face. Every year it was harder to make up an idea, which sounds a bit intriguing. The company’s building is ginormous and has seventy floors, but only half the floors get used. They could practically do anything, right? "Ok, ok I get it the idea is basic and not that fun, but I have to let you guys trust me, I have embarrassing pictures of Mr. Sams," Ms. Amy said. No one listened to her and they kept on jabbing on how that was a horrible idea. Ms. Amy on the other hand was furious with this. "Next person who speaks gets fired, and I mean it!" Ms. Amy gasped for air, "we will be doing my idea no questions." She exited the large room. "Let her burn in hell," a quiet employee muttered. "Her ideas are the worst. Now we have to trash the whole a** building that is like what, five hundred feet tall," Jack held up five fingers and rounded his fingers to make a zero, "she's insane!" After a long time of trash talking, everyone exited the insanely huge dark grey colored room. Everyone went home wondering how they are going to impress the world with this prank. For Ms. Amy on the other hand, she was far too excited and was too eager to start this prank. In fact, she was too eager, she called Mr. Sams. "Hello Sams," Ms. Amy said in a seductive voice. "What do you want Martha I have to finish this paperwork for some guy in Tokyo," said Mr. Sams in an annoyed voice. "You better start talking nice to me or I might reconsider the Bahamas next weekend." "Oh, you can reconsider all right. My wife will be more than happy to accompany me." "That gold-digging b*tch," Ms. Amy muttered. "Don't call her that," Mr. Sams gritted his teeth. "Hmmmm what are you going to do, fire me!" Ms. Amy laughed evilly. Ms. Amy cleared her throat, "So when are you going to show me out in public?" "I told you the other day, I'm working on that," Mr. Sams said in a slight tone of fear, something he barley shows. "You're taking too long, hurry up or I’ll ruin you." Mr. Sams ended the call. The next morning, barley anyone was awake. Ms. Amy sent an email last night to tell everyone to be there by five which was far too early for most employees. She also told everyone to meet her at the same boring room from yesterday. "It's so early I forgot why we are even here," one tired employee said sarcastically and some people in the room chuckled. For Ms. Amy, she was not tired at all. In fact, she spent all night preparing for today to start the prank. She had the most important thing for the prank with her. The pictures. She treated those pictures like they were her baby, her prized position, the only thing that she valued. But why? What do these pictures have in store for her? "I know everyone is tired, but it is very important we set up these floors perfectly and that is why I split everyone in groups and decided who and what you all do on each floor." Ms. Amy said cheerfully. "Yay, great, so excited to see this amazing plan of yours," someone said annoyed and brave. Ms. Amy ignored that person, she was far too busy and excited to care for the sarcasm in their voice. "Ella, Tom, Riley, and Dale you four go to floor numero uno and dump the place, oh and don't forget the silly string, here...," Ms. Amy said and continued to tell everyone where they should go and do. "This is going perfectly so far," Ms. Amy said once she was alone in her room. She let out one of those evil laughs she did when she was being sneaky. Her plan was going perfectly, way too well. The employees on the twenty floors didn't know that she has been planning this for months. They also didn't know they were being used as bait. Ms. Amy was thrilled and called Mr. Sams wife, Noor. "Ahhhh hello Noor, long time no speak," Ms. Amy said confidently. "What the hell do you want Martha, I have a party to go to make this quick," Mr. Sams wife, Noor said. "No hello? I missed you, you know and while you're at it say hi to Mathew for me." "You are going to make me a murderer Martha, just tell me what the hell you want so I don't have to hear your god-awful voice." "Don't worry Noor, this will probably be the last call you will ever have with me before you go psycho on me, so take care, send all my love to Mathew." "You bi-." Ms. Amy ended the call satisfied with herself. Ms. Amy’s office phone rang. "Hello Ms. Amy, a guest by the name Andrew Garcia is here for you, he says it's urgent," Ms. Amy's secretary said. "Let him come to me, I'm in my office." Ms. Amy's door knocked. "Come in!" "Martha Amy looking good, looking good," a tall handsome man with dark colored hair and dark eyes named Andrew Garcia said. "Oh, stop it Garcia you know I can never leave the house looking like someone like Noor." "You are too much, and I love it." Andrew Garcia grabbed Ms. Amy by the wrist with his enormous hand and pulled her up for a long kiss. Andrew pulled back and licked his dark pink lips. "Strawberry chapstick?" "Your favoriteeee," Ms. Amy said happily. "I would love to investigate the many amazing tastes of you Martha Amy, but we need to get to business, shall we?" "Of course, Andrew," Ms. Amy pouted. Andrew put down his huge black bag on Ms. Amy’s desk and grabbed a record player and recordings out. "Ahhh Andrew you are so old fashioned for a man that is only forty-six." Andrew chuckled. He looked younger than forty-six. He had a tired face, but his many beautiful features made him at most thirty-five. Some might say he had procedures done to his face, but it was just his natural features. Andrew paused before he put the recording in the record player. "Are you positive you should do this Martha, people around the world will see the infamous Allis Company turn into the worst possible mess." "Andrew we've gone over this, I'm positive and remember our deal?" Ms. Amy looked at Andrew's lips and licked hers. Andrew let out a sigh and placed the recording into the record player. After thirty minutes, Ms. Amy and Andrew Garcia finished hearing the recordings and discussing which ones are worth keeping and which ones are not worth keeping. "For doing a great job, I think you deserve a real treat," Ms. Amy said sneakily. "Look Martha, the only thing I really want is my cash," Andrew said in a rough and annoyed voice. "Fine, fine let us keep this professional but my offer is still up," Ms. Amy pulled down her sleeve. "Have a nice day Martha," Andrew Garcia said anxiously and left her room and exited the office. The building was busy, and Ms. Amy was preparing all day for the grand plan. Every floor took hours to complete and the employees had to get it perfect for live television. Some floors were bigger than others, but they all had that boring mood to it with the bland beige floors and dark grey walls. The interior of the Allis Company looked like an awful mess after the employees trashed it. Some might think a five-year-old runned the company. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I am proud of all of you," Ms. Amy said looking around the huge mess in the first floor. Everyone on the floor rolled their eyes. "Well, there are some things I need to go over now." First, be here by six and I am expecting all of you. Second don't do anything embarrassing on live television, and you all might hate me but I need you guys to act like you like me. Third, don't mess anything up. Fourth, don't talk unless me or Mr. Sams allows you to. Lastly and most importantly, have fun." "Does that mean we have a day off tomorrow," a hopeful employee asked. "Absolutely not, after the LA television crew leave, I expect you all to clean your office and return to work. The janitors will clean up this horrid mess." You are all dismissed, thank you for helping." After everyone left, Ms. Amy called Andrew Garcia. "Helllooooo Andrew," Ms. Amy said cheerfully. "Hola Martha, is there anything you need?" Andrew Garcia knew exactly what she needed. "I need you to come to the office, I'm preparing." Andrew sighed, "Ok then, I'm coming, but I can't stay there for long I have to finish this important project." "Oh don't you worry, it'll be quicker than a hiccup." Andrew ended the call and hurried to the office building. He didn't want to be a part of this mischievous plan that Ms. Amy has prepared for months. Ever since his own company decreased in stocks and he lost money, he had no choice other than to agree to the offering that Ms. Amy explained to him. If he helped her with the alarming plan, she would help him bring his company back on the market. Andrew Garcia hated drama or ruining a big image on a company which is something he had to face years ago. Andrew used the key Ms. Amy gave him for the office and opened the door. He went to the elevator and started going up to Ms. Amy's office. Knock, knock. Ms. Amy jumped out of her chair and walked to the door with her slender legs. "Andrew Garcia! Aw rub that smug look off your face your money is coming soon," Ms. Amy said sneakily. "Let's just get this over with, shall we?" Ms. Amy sighed and flipped her long blonde extensions out of her skinny pale face. She knew that many people didn't like her, but she hoped that Andrew Garcia would at least show some appreciation for her. She wanted to be loved and cared for, but that was something she never showed so she turned into what many people like to call her as an “evil witch”. Ms. Amy pulled out the recordings and papers. Andrew and Ms. Amy got to work by hanging up the pictures on the dark grey walls on the first, second, and third floors, placing a thick white paper on top. The idea was to remove those thick white papers once the cameras started rolling. Andrew Garcia placed the recording around the same floors. The idea for the recordings was to play them using a recording Ms. Amy would use. The plan was mischievous and rude, but Ms. Amy knew what would come out of it, a load some of money and a new name. After an hour of setting up, they met on the bottom floor. "This is just... perfect," Ms. Amy said happily. "Yeah I need to go now I'm expecting my money soon," Andrew Garcia said aggravated. "Stop being tense Garcia, you're going to come on the top because of me," Ms. Amy put her small hands on his chest. "Martha please, I have a wife and kids." "That's not what you said last week," Ms. Amy sang. Andrew Garcia shrugged off Ms. Amy's hands and walked out the door. The next day, everyone was prepared. Employees were standing on five floors anxious and excited. It wasn't the same kind of excitement like every year, but the laughter of the floors brought delight. Ms. Amy was far too excited and bossed around the camera crew at one point. The plan had no mistakes and that encouraged Ms. Amy that this horrid plan was going to turn in a successful one. “Alrighty, we are going to start filming! Is everyone ready?” a brunette female that is a part of the film crew said. “No not yet,” Mr. Sams said as he was walking to his spot. “You’re late,” Ms. Amy whispered once Mr. Sams was next to her. “3, 2, 1 we’re live!” the director said. “Hello this is the Allis Company, I’m Martha Amy, I’m the secretary of Mathew Sams,” Ms. Amy said enthusiastically. “For today, we will be showing everyone at home a tour of the new office. We have changed everything, and this will be the permanent design of the new interior,” Mr. Sams said trying to sound interested. It was obvious this was a prank for all the viewers at home, but the internet enjoyed this every year. Mr. Sams wasn’t quite sure what the prank was, but he knew it involved a huge mess. He hated being unorganized and dirty, so this prank was something he wasn’t excited about. The camera followed Ms. Amy and Mr. Sams to the mess around the rooms with large business-like tables and many chairs. “This is how most rooms will look like. Paper is the new trend folks so keep that in mind while seeing these awesome rooms!” Ms. Amy said. The rooms were covered in food, paper, and trash which looked very unprofessional. Ms. Amy and Mr. Sams continued showing the first floor with Ms. Amy mostly talking and Mr. Sams adding side comments. Ms. Amy felt like starting the plan was far too early so she waited until they got to the second floor. After, showing some of the second floor, Ms. Amy believed it was time to show the pictures and play the recordings. “Now I would like to show everyone the most important part of this amazing tour,” Ms. Amy said thrilled. She pulled down the thick white papers around the dark grey walls and everyone gasped. They were pictures of her and Mr. Sams kissing, and doing things Mr. Sams would say were “unprofessional and unholy”. No one expected this, but many people have suspected Mr. Sams and his secretary had an affair. Mr. Sams was wordless, and his face turned as red as a tomato. Ms. Amy started the recordings that played of Mr. Sams telling her how much he enjoyed her in his bed and asking her if she wanted to stay with him forever. The LA camera crew on the other hand, were puzzled if this was part of the prank or real, but it didn’t matter to them, they would get attention over this. “I- uh I-, turn that piece of sh*t off and take down those d*mn pictures down!” Mr. Sams said furiously trying to remove the surrounding images on the walls. Ms. Amy laughed her witch laugh, “Since you wouldn’t tell the whole world our affair, I had to do it because apparently I’m the man of the relationship.” Ms. Amy was delighted, and she even had the nerves to give Mr. Sams a peck on his cheek. “April Fools’ everyone, and you too Mathew, your whole company is a joke,” Ms. Amy said walking off. After a couple days, other companies turned their heads away from the Allis Company and Ms. Amy started her company using some of Mr. Sams money for it. She was successful. Mr. Sams was furious and tried fixing the company, but his affair with his secretary and the pictures Ms. Amy showed, were far too unprofessional to many companies. Mr. Sams decided he couldn’t lose his huge company and entered Ms. Amy’s company. “Hello Martha, miss me?” Mr. Sams said sneakily. “Mathew, what are you doing here?” Ms. Amy was confused because Mr. Sams hadn’t spoken a word to her since April Fools’. “I decided to take revenge.” Mr. Sams pulled out his knife from his pocket and hid it behind him. “What do you me-.” He stabbed Martha Amy. “That’s for ruining me and my company."


What my mother had told me that day remained an unshakeable pillar of my life long after she was gone. “You can never, never tell anyone”, she emphasized in a gentle voice. We were leaving the park at sunset, and her face was bright and loving that day, a memory of us I would go back to now and then. “And you can’t use it again. Promise me. I’m sorry things have to be this way”, she had added. We never spoke about it again and I went on having a normal, relatively blissful childhood and adolescence. Sometimes during tests at school, it occurred to me that I could just stop time, browse books, cheat off of my colleagues to make the perfect paper for myself, and then get back to reality and into academic success. I thought about stealing and then pausing time just enough to cover all my tracks. I made elaborate plans about all the ways I could be richer, smarter, and more successful if only I’d use my ability from time to time. But I promised I wouldn’t. When I met Nikki, I knew immediately she was someone I wanted to be with. She was beautiful, insightful, and warm. At that moment, I was obsessed with the American show The Office, and we met in the corniest way, at a sitcom pub trivia. It was really sweet, and we started a relationship three months after that night. I had a wonderful spring, high on the sweet optimism that comes with feeling in love. Things went fantastic for more than a year, and all this happened by just being a regular guy; time flowed just as fast for me as it did for other people. I felt so lucky. I introduced Nikki to my dad and my aunt, whom I was close to. They both loved her, stressing how happy they were for me, adding that my mother would have been so proud of me. I was in my early 20s when she lost the fight to cancer, but I had made peace with her sickness and held a lot of love for her. The one thing that remained unresolved was that she was the only person who knew my secret - the whole story of what had happened to me. I had a vague memory of a wonderful, long afternoon at the park. I must have run for ages through and around the leafy grove sheltering the playground. The climbing walls, the lookout towers, the sand pit – they were all props for my imagination. My mother was reading her book on a bench, a big sunhat covering her head. A moment of serene, uncomplicated childhood happiness. I don’t remember what happened next; every time I try to think about it, my mind freezes. I remember starting to feel sweaty. Tired. Frightened; terrified later. My mother was just reading her book and I’d sob, later wail next to her. Eternities would pass and she would not turn the page. The next thing I remember is her holding me with teary, worried eyes, reassuring me, squeezing me in her arms. And then asking me to promise I’d never do that again. When Nikki suggested moving in together, just one thing was holding me back - my occasional enjoyment of gambling. I had a good job, so of course I was playing money I could to spare. After a more substantial win, I’d force myself to take a break and invest in something else for a little while. I wouldn’t linger in a casino after taking a bigger loss but rather call it “not my day” and move on. I’d schedule my indulgences, which made me feel in control of my guilty pleasure.

Predictably - in hindsight - the satisfaction eventually stopped being enough. One thing that changed is that I met Jimmy and Rufus, two truly-odd guys who introduced me to their underground poker network. The nights playing there were unique, full of surprises, the mix of people lured there really bizarre. Some players looked like real gentlemen, most likely rich conservatives who could not take the shame of their family finding out about their little hobby. They played alright but had moments when their fingers just couldn’t resist betting a huge amount after having folded a few hands. I took one of these guys’ fancy watches at some point. Some folks looked utterly broke, a hunger to win in their eyes. I found out the hard way they were the most dangerous players. I tried not to speak much during games, even though people would get drunk and in each other’s faces. Jimmy and Rufus would try to haze me, and tell people how they rescued me from the slot machines. Later in the night, they’d cuss at each other loudly, and I would try to cash in the distraction of the table and bluff boldly. One of those nights, I found myself experiencing the panic of a very tense moment. At first, I was happy, ecstatic - I was finally going to propose to Nikki. And since I had a couple of hours to kill, I reckoned a quick game of poker couldn’t hurt - it might as well be my last one. But with happiness often comes foolishness, and in a moment of impulsivity, I found myself raising the bet by tossing the engagement ring into the pot. The two gentlemen in expensive suits changed their countenance - they had taken notice of how lavish and expensive the ring was. Rufus and Jimmy also realised it and soon enough everybody was deep into their cards, eyeing up the sparkling piece of jewellery I had planned to give to Nikki that evening. I was about to lose the hand. I had perhaps thought that playing the ring would be like getting a sign from the universe that our marriage was meant to be. Or that the fear of near-losing the engagement, symbolically and literally, would only make me want it more. Instead, I was sweating heavily under my shirt, waiting for the dealer to put down the last card, imagining my savings of two years end up in Jimmy’s clammy hands. He’d most likely pawn the ring and lose the money within a month. I got wasted afterward and hours passed in a haze. I went outside of the basement to puke in the alley. It was still dark, but I had a vague feeling, like a taste in my mouth, that the sun was about to rise. I took my phone to check the time in disbelief. Twelve missed calls from Nikki; of course, we had dinner plans. I had picked a romantic, intimate restaurant to pop the question at. I imagined her waiting for me all alone in a beautiful dress, trying to keep herself from staring at the entrance door or at her phone. Being annoyed at first, ordering herself a cocktail. Getting worried after an hour, even more so after two. She had sent me many messages, some of them paragraphs long. I was too intoxicated to make out much of the blurry screen. I felt sad, sorry. So, in another stupid, impulsive moment, I decided to follow Jimmy and get back the ring. I didn’t have a plan while walking behind him. He was moving slowly, in a drunken stumble. After a few minutes, he turned around in a narrow alley close to the canal. Startled, he muttered something and stepped towards me. Without any warning, a pain stronger than anything I had ever felt before nearly knocked me to the ground. I closed my eyes, surrendering. When I opened them, Jimmy was just standing there, one drip of saliva in the corner of his mouth as he was just about to press his lips back together. A definitive, all-encompassing silence struck my ears. Even the darkness felt thicker. I stepped forward to make sure I wasn’t under the spell too. No, I had cast the spell. And I had broken my mother’s promise. I opened Jimmy’s jacket and found the ring in his inner pocket, along with a couple of hundreds folded negligently. I hesitated to take them. It felt strange, unnatural to touch this human being in this state. His body was all vulnerable, petrified in front of my eyes. I left the bills; my fingers didn’t want to linger. I stuffed the ring deep into my pocket and put myself in a natural position, a few steps away from him. Now I could just give Jimmy some drunk excuse and leave quickly. He’d think the ring fell out of his pocket, and I could rush home and make things up to Nikki. I rehearsed what I was going to say, and sought out the quickest way out of that alley. My heart was pounding, and I was ready to unfreeze time. But nothing happened. I stood still and waited, imagining all my thoughts focused on putting time back into motion. But nothing happened. I began thinking of my mom, asking her to help me. To forgive me for breaking my word. To turn things back to normal. But nothing happened. I started walking home, away from the canal and into the main streets. If Jimmy ever confronted me about the ring, I’d mock him about getting so wasted and I’d walk away. Yeah, it was an airtight plan - it’s not like he could go around and tell people that one moment I was in the alley with him and the next I vanished from in front of his eyes. I’d go to sleep, get back to reality in the morning, and sort everything out. On the main road, the entire world was holding its breath. I fought hard to keep my cool. I was like an alien walking through a museum documenting 21st-century London. All cars were stuck in place, people minding their own lives completely frozen as if sitting for a painting. In the blink of an eye, they could all spring back to life, filling the vacuum with engines roaring, radio, and late-night chatter in front of the pub. I’d always thought I’d find such a moment of silence, of shelter from the undeniable passing of time, comforting, healing. I’d longed secretly for it my entire life. But walking down the streets, the only heartbeat in a world stopped cold, an immense burden was weighing on my chest. Like in a dream, I started remembering what my mother had explained to me. “It’s a great gift, a wonder. It can make the difference between misery and bliss, between life and death. It can make you feel like the world is in the palm of your hand. It’s what makes it so tempting”, she sighed. She then looked down, light leaving her face for a moment. “Once you freeze time, you can’t just unfreeze it. Time simply picks a moment to carry on. Could be days, weeks – and nothing changes, Tony. You just wander, the world in a light sleep. Years, decades could pass.” She teared up, holding my hand. “There was no way to tell.” I felt a knot in my throat. I turned more vigilant with my surroundings, making sure time wouldn’t just move and have a car run me over. I began running, panting, thinking if I could just make it home, somewhere safe, somewhere I could collect my thoughts, everything would be normal again. In front of my house, a man was blocking the entrance, with one of his feet already outside, his body pushing against the door. I had to squeeze between him and the wall, fighting hard not to touch his inanimate body. I looked at his face from up close and gazed into his brown hollow eyes under stuffy dark eyebrows. A cold shiver crawled up my back. Upstairs, I jumped into a steaming shower. I tried to wash myself off the spell, off the memory of the night.

Back in my room, I put the dormant clock next to my pillow, ensuring it would be the first thing I saw when I woke up. I laid down and imagined the light of sunrise warming my cheeks, the hand of the clock happily ticking away again. But I couldn’t rest. The exhaustion started to wear off, but my body never drifted away into sleep. I stared at the light green ceiling, my mind consuming itself. I went through all my memories, dreams, fears, remote corners of my mind. I felt I could suddenly remember everything, like I could just rewind through the motions of my life. I waited more, and more, my eyes glued upward in a moment that stretched infinitely, but the clock remained still at 5.35 am.

Eventually, I got out of bed and decided I mustn’t despair. The situation was out of my control, and it would be sane to make the best of it, with caution. I crafted a letter for Nikki apologizing, explaining everything. Everything except my secret. I cleaned my apartment. Read books from cover to cover. Put all my affairs in order. There was no way to tell how much time had passed, so I found myself often counting one Mississippi, two Mississippi , …, to create an inner sense of time. For what I can only guess was five weeks, I kept on doing safe things that would make my life after unpausing so much better. Learning, working, creating. I missed the sun. I never slept, ate or drank, but my body didn’t seem to care. I was always careful not to put myself in a position to get arrested or into trouble if everybody suddenly woke up. One night, in a dark corner of a bus station, I saw a man trying to harass a woman. I grabbed his body by the handle of his backpack and shoved his face on the ground. I walked away, revolted. It occurred to me that freezing time was the biggest gamble I could make. And just like with gambling, I felt compelled to risk more. I started stealing things, my heart pounding, expecting time to resume in an epic moment of karma. I was ready to get out of there; planned beforehand so the crimes could not be traced back to me. I broke into houses in the posh part of the city, and spent time in their swimming pools and jacuzzi, laid on their comfortable mattresses. I kept myself away from people. One night, I broke into the National Aquarium and jumped in the penguin water tank. I couldn’t tell if I was breathing or not. I swam around, staring at those wonderful creatures I’d always found so cute. For a moment, I felt happy. But despite my best efforts to remain contained and grounded, the more time my mind passed in that void, my thoughts became riskier, my inner world lonelier. Walking through familiar places, all I saw was a cruel photograph of a life I used to have. Even Nikki was starting to feel like a stranger. I broke into her home; she was frozen on her sofa, watching a show with the lights off; her phone, and a bottle of wine on the coffee table. I cuddled next to her. I couldn’t dare touch her, violate her trust. I just stood there, sometimes talking to myself, sometimes crying, sometimes ruminating over lies I could tell her about how I ended up inside her flat. One time, I put on a T-shirt of hers, its smell of her shampoo making me sob, and tried to hug myself. Having Nikki’s ghostly company helped for a while. I’d go outside, try to get back into my hobbies or work, and then come back to her place, and sit next to her like we were watching a movie together. Were things going to be the same ever again? Things will, but you won’t, a thought in my mother’s voice responded. I felt angry at her for not having warned me better. Maybe she had hoped I would forget all about it, that it would be safer for me that way. Or maybe no matter what, it was inevitable for me to fall onto this path. I wondered if she had frozen time herself when she’d heard her diagnostic, make sure she could say she lived before it was time to go. My mind became more fragile. I’d go on top of buildings and scream my lungs out in the void, no sound ever returning to my ears. I couldn’t let go of the feeble hope that time would move on once again. If I did, I worried something in me would shatter uncontrollably, and I would do unspeakable things. Or kill myself, if it was even possible to die. I felt decades had passed, my life in solitude accounting now more than my life as just another human being on Earth. I had waited more to start living than I’d actually lived. After a while, I broke down completely and isolated myself in Nikki’s tiny bathroom. I crouched down with the lights turned off and rested my head against the tub. My memories had long become too painful to go through. I started voiding my mind. Waiting. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. The sink faucet was leaking, the dripping sound of water piercing my eardrum like a Chinese water torture. Five Mississippi, six Mississippi, … with each count my forehead lightly bumping into the cold marble - the smallest movement to remind the universe I was still there. Nine Mississippi, ten Mississippi… * “Tony, what are you doing here?!” … two hundred thousand and twenty-seven Mississippi… “What happened to you?! Your head is bleeding.” A pair of warm hands grabbed me gently. Their perfume swept through me, like an electric impulse, a reverberation of a long-forgotten memory. “Tony, come up with me, let’s get you to a hospital. Poor thing, you must have been lying here for hours.”


Penelope tosses and turns throughout the night because of some many reasons such as there is dirt touching her, the room is hot or freezing, and/or her muscles are very irritable. Suddenly, her alarm is buzzing and she just lays there, but it starts to irritate her because it keeps getting louder. So, she gets up to throw it across the room. Then, she slowly goes to get her clothes and towel for a shower, in which she takes like 30 minutes because she really just wants to be in the bed still. She gets out and transforms her hair trying to make her appearance a little better because she is very self-conscious. She then struggles to find something to eat, but then she settles for cereal. All of sudden it's 7:20 so she has to leave for school. She gets to school and sits in her car waiting for her ex that parks right next to get into the school because she is afraid to see him face to face. So, her first class is Algebra 2, in which she just sits in and does random stuff on her computer and occasionally looks up at what the teacher is doing because she understands math quickly. Her second class is Chemistry, in which she sits in the back and tries to figure out what the teacher is trying to demonstrate. Her third class which is Health Science is her favorite class because her classmates actually talk to her and she gets to learn the skills to be a future nurse. Now, her fourth class is just study hall, where she just sits there wondering if she should study, take a nap, or just to do something random. Then, at 1:20 the bell rings and she is ready to get to her car so she can roll her windows down and blare her music going home down the back roads. Driving home is her favorite time of the day because she feels happy for a moment. Then, she gets home and tries to lay down, but then remembers that she has to be at work in 30 minutes so she rushes to get ready and leaves. She sits in her car til it's time to clock in because she really wants to rest her eyes. She finally has to go clock in and then as soon as she gets in there they hand her a headset to take orders. She starts to take orders and already somebody has come through with a bad attitude and it really just ruins her day. Then, she finally gets a break that flies by because why not. She comes back into a huge mess because they just had a lot of orders come through, so she has to jump in and try to get everything back in order. She is just so ready to go home, but her manager just keeps doing other things and she just keeps saying "Hey, it's a lot of minutes past 10". Then, the manager finally says she can go so she literally runs out of the store to her car and flies home. She gets home and thinks about eating dinner, but she doesn't because she is too tired. She gets a shower and goes to lay down, then she remembers that she forgot to give a mom a hug goodnight. She tosses and turns throughout the night for many reasons. Suddenly, her alarm is buzzing and she just lays there, but it starts to irritate her because it keeps getting louder. So, she gets up to throw it across the room. Then, she slowly goes to get her clothes and towel for a shower, in which she takes like 30 minutes because she really just wants to be in the bed still. She gets out and transforms her hair trying to make her appearance a little better because she is very self-conscious. She then struggles to find something to eat, but then she settles for cereal. All of sudden it's 7:20 so she has to leave for school. She gets to school and sits in her car waiting for her ex that parks right next to get into the school because she is afraid to see him face to face. So, her first class is Algebra 2, in which she just sits in and does random stuff on her computer and occasionally looks up at what the teacher is doing because she understands math quickly. Her second class is Chemistry, in which she sits in the back and tries to figure out what the teacher is trying to demonstrate. Her third class which is Health Science is her favorite class because her classmates actually talk to her and she gets to learn the skills to be a future nurse. Now, her fourth class is just study hall, where she just sits there wondering if she should study, take a nap, or just to do something random. Then, at 1:20 the bell rings and she is ready to get to her car so she can roll her windows down and blare her music going home down the back roads. All of a sudden she remembers that it might be Thursday, when she has guard practice, which is not as fun as she thought it would be and her mom says she doesn’t need to do so she could work more. At practice she is thinking about so many things besides what she should be doing. Then, of course she keeps messing up and not remembering the work. Then, it is 3:30 and she gets to go home and try to lay down. She gets home and gets a call to come to a hospice center because her aunt is in there. She gets home around 9:00 p.m. She is really needing to study for three tests she has the next day, but she is so tired and hungry. She’s hungry so she tries to get something to eat, but her father had tried and failed at cooking some spaghetti. So, she just gave up and went to lay in the bed, but she couldn’t fall asleep. Suddenly, her alarm is buzzing and she just lays there.


Why on earth did he decide it was a good idea to invite the man over to make him dinner? He didn’t know how to cook! Well, actually that was not entirely true, what he did not know how to do was cook something that was edible – or even something that was not worthy of being labeled a biological hazard – but that did not mean that he did not know how to stir things. He would like to think he was capable of that at least, but frankly Charlie doubted there were very many recipes that were made entirely by the act of stirring things over the stove. But he really, really wanted William to like him, so of course he made the foolish decision. So there he was, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the old cookbook his mother had given him years ago that had remained unopened due to the fact that it frightened him finally laying open on the countertop, a carrot in one hand and a bundle of beans in the other. He was sure that the carrot would so something if he did… something to it, but unfortunately it seemed as if the thing to do some of had escaped him. The glossary in the back of the book did little to help, and thrice cleaning his boxy glasses did very little to uncover anything in the way of an answer, and so it was made very apparent that this one and only option was to make things up as he went and just hope for the best. But really, how hard could it be? All he needed to do was chop up some vegetables into shapes that made them smaller. That would be so easy that he was sure he would be able to laugh at his own trepidation once everything went swimmingly and he was able to boast of his absolute success. An absolute success that he had yet to achieve, however, as he needed to pause the act of both slicing and dicing when one of the aforementioned dicing slices decided it was very appropriate to acquaint itself with his finger instead of the carrot it was supposed to be severing. Okay, that was just one little setback. Barely anything, really. With the addition of a plaster upon his finger and a determination to ignore that it was throbbing uncomfortably, and a carrot that was thoroughly washed – he wanted to woo the man, he did not want to somehow accidentally invoke some sort of long forgotten blood magic he didn’t know about by mistake – he carried on. He was determined to not let his mood dip just because he made one silly little slip up. There was always going to be something that goes wrong, that is just the inevitable outcome of literally any situation ever, so he would like to think this was just getting it out of the way early. Was it a little foolishly optimistic? Maybe, but one could fault Charlie for wanting to be optimistic. He wanted things to go well, so it was only fair that he was going to be looking out for any little sign that he could convince himself was a sign of good luck regardless of whether there was any real truth to the matter. The rest of the ordeal, however, seemed very much prepared to do any and everything in its capacity to test the bounds of this optimism, however. Admittedly, it was not too much of a surprise to think that the act of chopping vegetables was actually one of the easiest parts of the cooking process. This included the act of flicking through the cookbook to try and find something to make that didn’t make him feel dizzy from the act of merely imagining making something. It seemed much of the process in the book did not align well with his own. The book specified precision and exact while he had very much just accepted that he was running off of hoping for the best and the reassurance that came when things he did didn’t immediately ruin the overall scent of the things he tossed a little haphazardly into the pan. Slices of meat definitely did end up with both herbs and spices on it, and he thought that counted as an absolute win. He just had to hope that they were actually the correct herbs and spices, or at the very least the things he substituted – who can afford saffron nowadays? – would actually work as suitable substitutions for the things he did not have. Additionally, there were definitely vegetables doing things that they would not have been doing had he not started to, well, do things to them so he assumed this would have to be the correct thing for them to be doing. Even if it was beginning to smell a little like there was enough garlic to deter even the most curious vampire, he could at least claim he was cooking something that was good for the blood, as if that was something that people normally claim when cooking for people. Despite everything, Charlie was sure that he had managed to make something that was at least mostly decent and more than a little edible. Really, he was quite proud of himself for the effort he went to in his cooking, and he secretly – the worst kept secret in the world – hoped that William would be suitably impressed by his effort and so would declare his undying love to him there and then. Even if it meant he might need to learn to cook, he would find that tolerable if it meant his attempted courtship was complete and total success. He had just set the meal to simmer over the heat, keeping it warm and all that, when there was a knock on the door. With a flurry of excitedly nervous and nervously excited butterflies in his stomach and swirling his lungs, he paused only briefly to straighten his appearance in the mirror as he passed before granting his partner entrance. So caught up as he was in greeting William, who he had no qualms about informing looked perfectly charming in his greatcoat, and the typical sharing of pleasantries that he had rather forgotten he had left the meal on the stove. In fact, he would most likely have entirely missed it if the world itself decided this was the perfect time to go and end, as he was far too smitten to notice all that much of anything. Unfortunately. Devastatingly, these good and wholesome vibes lasted for as long as it took William, glancing towards the kitchen, to ask the perfectly reasonable question of, “Is that smoke?”


“I’m confused…” said the man with jet black hair and frown lines around his mouth.

“What’s there to be confused about?” asked the cat with fire for eyes and stars for teeth.

“Am I dead? Is this…heaven? Or am I somewhere…else?”

“Where do you think you are?” mused the cat, licking its paw. With each stroke of its tongue, the fur underneath changed colors, shimmering between shades of black and blue and purple and pink and all other colors the man had seen.

“What happened to me?” He was getting frustrated - the frown lines around his mouth deepened and his brow furrowed to match.

“You tell me. I was here. Then, you came.”

“I was driving. I had to get to work. I was running late. I was trying to change the radio station from that awful, rock music that my son always played when he took the car. The car ahead of me kept swerving in and out of the lines, so I was trying to be quick but the dial was jammed.”

“Such a silly thing, isn’t it? To worry about music?” The cat’s voice changed. It sounded like the man’s son.

“Did I hit someone? Is that why I’m here? Am I in a coma? Is this one of those dreams people have when they’re on the operating table during surgery?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was here. Then, you came.”

“Where am I? Why do you sound like Theo?” The man’s voice was getting desperate, almost pleading.

“Who’s Theo?” asked the cat, grinning, exposing a mouth full of night sky.

“My son! My son’s name is Theodore. My wife’s name is Scarlett. My name is… My name is…” He ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to think of his name, pulling the strands as his hands moved slowly.

“Your name is?” The cat was laughing. With each chuckle, the flames in its eyes bounced.

“I can’t remember… Why can’t I remember my name? What’s going on?” The desperation was turning into fear. He started pacing.

“I remember your name. I remember everything about you.” The cat sounded like Scarlett, and it stepped towards the man, weaving between his legs.

“Stop that! Stop doing that!” He jumped away from the cat, swatting it with his foot.

“Stop doing what?” The cat smirked at the man, leaning back on its hind legs, exposing a belly made of flowers.

“What are you? Where am I? What’s happening to me?” The man sank, burying his face in his hands to catch the tears that were beginning to fall.

“Oh now,” chastised the cat as it cocked its head at the sobbing man, “You shouldn’t cry. This isn’t really the place.”

“What place is this then?” the words from the man echoed, stirring the flowers on the cat’s belly.

“I suppose you could say… this place is here. You were there. And now you’re here.” The cat’s tail swished, pointing off into the distance then back to the man. “You’re not making any sense! Stop talking in riddles!”

“You’re the one asking questions. If you don’t like the answers, perhaps you should stop.” The cat stretched upward, and, as it did, it grew.

“Just tell me what happened!” shouted the man as he stood, pointing his finger menacingly at the cat.

“You were driving to work. You were trying to change the radio station, but the dial was jammed. The car in front of you was swerving,” yawned the cat, who now stood eye-level with the man.

“Then what? Did I die? Am I dead?” The man was frantic now. His tear-soaked cheeks shined as he spoke.

“What else do you remember?” The cat’s fur was changing again, a rainbow of colors gently shifting.

“I remember the car was swerving. I was trying to pay attention. Then…”

“Then?”

“Then the dial unjammed… The station changed. Turned to static…” “And then?” goaded the cat.

“Then I looked down - just long enough to read the numbers. Not even a second. And when I looked back up, the car was standing still. The light was red. I slammed my brakes… I don’t think I stopped in time. I remember a sound… something crunching.”

“Go on.”

“Then, I was here.”

The cat’s face broke into another skylit smile. The flames rolled back, replaced by Scarlett’s hazel-brown irises.

“Yes,” Theo’s voice said, “Then you were here.”

“I’m dead…” The man’s face dropped as the realization sank into his jaw.

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” comforted Scarlett’s voice, “It’s over now.” The cat’s eyes rolled again, this time turning jet black.

“If I’m dead… does that make you… I thought you would be different….”

“Were you expecting a bearded-man? Or perhaps something hairless with wings?” The cat sounded like the man’s father.

“I don’t know… I don’t know what I was expecting.”

“Yes, you didn’t spend much time thinking about this moment, did you?”

“Are you God?” All the anger and desperation and fear had left the man’s voice.

“I don’t know what I am.” The cat put its paws to its face and pulled. As the fur and skin stretched, the features became more human - not quite male or female, but not quite animal, either.

“What happens now? Are you taking me… somewhere?” The words were slow, reverent.

“We can go anywhere you’d like.” The cat was still changing, morphing and twisting. Paws turning into hands. Ears shrinking into its head.

“I was a good man. I should go to the good place,” asserted the still-nameless man, straightening his back and staring down the creature transforming in front of him.

“How do you know you aren’t already here?” This voice was new, unfamiliar to the man but comforting in a way he couldn’t understand.

“Because this isn’t right… This isn’t what it’s supposed to look like.” The man gestured to the expanse around them - black, void, motionless.

“What is it supposed to look like?”

“It’s supposed to be… It’s supposed to be beautiful. I’m supposed to know people here…” “You don’t know me?” The creature standing before the man turned its head, which now resembled his own, though the rest of its body was still phasing.

“I don’t know what you are, but I’ve never seen anything like you.”

“You don’t even know who you are. How do you know I’m not just someone you’ve forgotten?”

“My name is… Joseph,” the words were uncertain, so he repeated himself, “My name is Joseph. My son is Theodore. My wife is Scarlett.”

“And I am?” Standing before Joseph, a slightly distorted mirror-image of himself stood - sprouting hair in all the same places and speaking in an echo of his own voice. “You are… You’re something else. You’re not a someone.”

“Why, that’s an awfully rude thing to say!” asserted the man who looked and sounded sort-of like Joseph.

“Where am I? Is this Hell?” Joseph started stepping backwards, the fear returning.

“I’ve already told you,” the man said, starting to sound bored. “You said I’m here. But where is here?”

“It’s where you are,” laughed the man.

“What happens now?”

“What do you want to happen? What’s supposed to happen?” The tone of the words was mocking.

“I’m supposed to go to the good place.” Joseph had stopped retreating, placing as much distance as possible between him and the shadow of himself.

“And, again, how do you know you aren’t already here?” The man turned his back to Joseph, spreading his arms. The black started to melt away. Joseph looked around and found he was standing in his house. The walls held the same photographs. He could hear Scarlett and Theo in the living room, discussing something playing on the television. He touched the table beside him, the one standing in the entryway containing a dish of keys and a notepad with a “to-do” list scribbled on it. It was solid under his fingers.

“Is this what you were expecting?” asked the man as he turned to face Joseph again.

“I don’t understand…”

Joseph walked in the direction of the voices in the living room and found his wife and son sitting side-by-side on the couch, smiling at each other. He tried to call out to them, but they couldn’t hear him.

“This isn’t right!” he shouted, waving his arms and trying to get their attention.

“Oh, it’s not?” purred the man. He was starting to change again.

“I was a good man!” yelled Joseph as the walls started to shift around him.

“So you’ve said.” The man’s arms shortened. His fingers curled into paws. His face began to draw inwards.

Joseph reached out to his wife and son, but his fingers slipped through. They weren’t real. Along the edges of the floor, fire started to erupt. It engulfed the room, swallowing everything. He tried to run, but he was surrounded. The heat from the flames burned against his face. Smoke choked him and clouded his eyes. As the fire drew nearer and nearer to his feet, he could see the silhouette of the cat standing across from him, unphased.

“Is this right?” taunted the cat. The flames clung to its fur like beads of water.

“Get me out of here!” wailed Joseph, coughing and sputtering. The ceiling started to fall, and the burning pieces crashed.

“As you wish….”

Suddenly, the fire was gone. Joseph was standing in the black expanse again, and the cat was licking its paws.

“Now,” started the cat with a serious tone, “Where would you like to go?”

“I just want to go back ,” Joseph moaned, sitting down in exhaustion.

“Back? The house burnt down. I don’t see why you would want to go back there.”

“I want to go back. Back to the car. Back to my wife. Back to my son.” He was starting to cry again, and the cat jumped into his lap, nuzzling against his chest.

“You can’t go back. You’re here now,” it said, rolling over and motioning for Joseph to pet the flowers on its belly.

“I did the right things. I was a good person. A good man. A good husband. A good father.” He knotted his fingers in the stems of the flowers, stroking upwards and massaging the petals of the blooms, staring off into the distance.

“Who are you trying to convince?” purred the cat, who sounded like Scarlett again.

“I don’t know.” Joseph continued to explore the flowers on the cat’s belly. As he rubbed, more started to grow between his fingers.

“Do you believe you are owed something in death?” The cat touched its paws to Joseph’s arm, flexing its claws against his skin.

“I thought it mattered. I thought being a good person mattered. ”

“What makes you think it didn’t?”

“Because it was supposed to be more than this!” exclaimed Joseph, tightening his grip around the flower stems, uprooting them.

The cat yowled in pain, digging its claws into Joseph’s arm. He flung it away and stood, marching towards the animal.

“It was supposed to be more than this! More than a cat, or whatever you are, talking to me in riddles and showing me things! More than a black room! I wasn’t supposed to be alone!” With each threatening thud of his feet, the cat cowered and hissed. As it opened its mouth, a growl roared from its throat.

“It is a foolish thing to believe one’s good deeds are nothing more than currency exchanged for comforts and luxuries in death,” hissed a voice from the void as the cat continued to growl and bare its fangs.

Joseph stopped and looked around, trying to find the source of the sound, and the cat lunged for his chest. As its claws met skin, they grew, digging deeper and deeper. Joseph wrapped his hands around its neck, trying to pry the cat off of him, but the harder he pulled, the stronger it held on.

“You are here, and you can’t even appreciate it. What makes you believe you would appreciate something else? If you were given a mansion made of gold and fine silks and riches, would you feel satisfied? Or would you still want more? Perhaps someone to share it with? Had you died and landed naked in a field of friends and relatives, would you cry out for a blanket? If you found yourself in a den of demons, branding you with hot iron and pouring fire in your mouth, would you dream of an afterlife made of black? Void of screams and pain?” asked the voice as Joseph struggled with the cat on his chest.

“I… just… thought… it… mattered…” he stammered over the howling cat, yelling into the black.

“And you believe were granted the authority to say it didn’t because your expectations, your childish imaginings of the afterlife, were wrong?” The sound bellowed, surrounding Joseph and reverberating in his ears.

He fell under the weight of the cat, which had grown three sizes, oozing over him like tar. “You, like all the others, lived your life under the assumption that ‘good’ and ‘bad’ were simply units of measurement, and as long as you accumulated more of one than the other, you would be praised in death, like a war hero or a saint. You never once stopped to consider the quality of your ‘good’ deeds - they were all the same to you.”

The cat chewed into Joseph’s neck, spitting out bits of skin and muscle as its teeth moved. He squirmed and writhed underneath the monster, his face twisting and contorting in agony. Blood filled his mouth as he tried to scream. “You may have been a ‘good’ man, Joseph, but you did nothing to deserve the eternity you imagined. You were selfish. Blind to the suffering of others. Indifferent to the struggles of those beneath you. You were given all the tools to lead a successful life, but you wasted them. You settled. You chose to live an average life. You were a good man, but you never tried to be a great man. And now, you stand here, dissatisfied with what you see because you think you deserved more , but you don’t even know what ‘more’ looks like. No one gets slighted in death - they simply overestimated the value of their life.” The words echoed, clapping like thunder.

The cat slackened against Joseph. The claws buried in his chest retracted. The fangs in his neck loosened. He pushed the dead weight of the cat off of him and sat up to examine the damage, but there was none. He was whole.

The cat sprung back to life, smiling as it faced Joseph.

“Tell me,” his father’s voice insisted, “What do you consider to be the best thing you’ve ever done?”

Stunned, Joseph stared into the cat’s eyes, into the flames, and said, “I don’t know.”

“Then, I suppose you should do away with your notions of what you believe you deserve.” The cat was gentle again, rolling on its back playfully as its fur shimmered. “Do they miss me?” he asked, dropping his head between his knees.

“That’s the first question you’ve asked that doesn’t revolve around you,” Theodore’s voice answered. “Are they hurting?” He was defeated.

“They will miss you, until they don’t. And they will hurt, until they don’t.”

“Will I see them?”

“Do you think it’s wise for the mourning to see the object of their grief?”

“Is this… it? Is this….all there is? Is this what forever will look like?”

“This is where you are.”

“Will I ever go anywhere else?” “You are here. The cat walked to face Joseph as it spoke, “And if you were supposed to be somewhere else, you would be there.”

“I’m dead… And I’m here. With you.”

“There are worse things.”

“I want to go back.”

“You can’t.”

“I want to change everything. I want to do better. ” “Dead men usually do.”

“I want to sleep .” He was tired, and he had nothing else to ask.

“Then, I think you should go to sleep,” said the cat softly, surveying the drained man with pity.

So, the cat with flames for eyes and stars for teeth and a night sky in its mouth and flowers on its belly, who changed colors and spoke in familiar and unfamiliar voices and showed Joseph beautiful and terrifying things, laid down and closed its eyes, merging into the black as it sighed in relief.

Joseph, the good man with jet black hair and frown lines around his mouth, who missed his wife and son and thought he deserved more in death than he ever aspired to have, having finally made peace with what he had been given, also laid down and closed his eyes, sighing in exasperation and acceptance, and reaching out to graze the cat’s warm fur just before being swallowed as well.


Cynthia and Leilani Had been friends for a long time Before Leilani got sick. The two best friends live in California now in LA. Sitting down on the beach white sand

Looking at the sunset. Cynthia and Leilani are both going to turn 18. But Cynthia’s birthday is Tomorrow and Leilani Turns 18 in the next two days.     “Are you ready to be an Adult?” said Leilani, “not yet even though I am turning 18 tomorrow I am not ready yet”, said Cynthia. “Well, I am going to turn 18 after you. What you need is a girl day tomorrow and do some of our favorite things.”Said Leilani. “I think that's what I need, I can’t believe tomorrow is almost here”, Said Cynthia. “Look what a beautiful Sunset so pink and Orange. Well, it's time for me to go home. My mother is probably waiting for me and tomorrow I am going to my brother's grave.” said Leilani then Cynthia left to go home she noticed that her mom and dad weren’t there and left a note on the Pantry Door. “Dear Cynthia, I didn’t expect you to come home early. Your Mom and I had to get a few things for a party. We are not expected to be back until 11 at night and your sister is in bed. Not to worry you can call us anytime you want and do not let Leilani in the house or if she asks to come over tell her no okay. Also, we got your favorite snacks, ``Love Mom and Dad.” Cynthia Went to her room and started to text Leilani if she wanted to come over. Leilani asked her mom if she can go and her mother said yes that she can go but to be careful. Leilani heads over to Cynthia's house.         “So where are your parents?”Said Leilani. “I don’t know if they said that they were going to get things for a party”, said Cynthia. “I am guessing it's your party. Your parents are throwing you a party I am guessing”, Said Leliani Excited. “Yes and won’t be back until 11 at night. It's barely 9. You can stay the night if you want to” said Cynthia “sure!!” said Leilani. Soon Later Cynthia went to sleep and woke up in a dream. It was a fancy house and she was in a bright royal red dress and she saw her family and hundreds of people at her party. And Leilani was there. And Cynthia’s parents came up to Cynthia's with a crown and a rose gold stash that says happy 20th Birthday!! “I am not 20”, Said Cynthia. “Yes you are”, Said Cynthia's dad putting on her crown. And her mother putting on her stash “you are never leaving us Baby Girl you will be trapped forever” said her mother smiling. Then I walked away. Then Leilani came up to Cynthia. “My parents are acting freaky. I wonder why and I am not 20” said Cynthia. “Well yeah, you are 20 what do you mean that you're not”, Said Leliani Confused. “Yesterday we were looking at the sunset and you were telling me if I was ready to be an adult I was 17 I am not 20,” said Cynthia.     “That was two years ago Cynthia, that was the past, you're not a little kid anymore that was then this is now,” said Leilani. “This must be a dream,” Cynthia Whispered “Excuse me,” said Leilani. Cynthia walks away and bumps into her parents. “Mom dad this is weird. I am 18 there is no way two years past I must go” said Cynthia, frightened. “No you won't, you are to go nowhere,” said Cynthia’s father. Her mother Snaps her fingers, all the guests are gone and it's complete darkness. “Why don't you accept us?” said Cynthia’s Mother. “You're not my parents,” said Cynthia. “Ok then we will set you back in time you are now 8 years old,” said Cynthia Mother then snaps her fingers.

     Cynthia is 8 wearing tutus and bows, Leilani has her brother and her parents look young. Cynthia is looking around and notices she is young and is looking for ways to escape. Cynthia hears a voice “Hurry time is running out you need to find a white portal to bring you home, If you run out of time you might not exist and no one will remember you so hurry” said the voice. “A Portal” she whispered. To herself. Then she sees her little sister. And her dad just got home “Cynthia can you come here real quick” said Cynthia’s mother. Cynthia goes downstairs hoping her parents are not evil. “Cynthia, can you help me with the dishes?” said Cynthia’s Mother. “Cynthia will you now be nice,” said Cynthia’s mother “what do you mean mother I been nice,” said Cynthia pretending nothing happened. “You know Cynthia I am very proud of you, you are now being responsible for your actions,” said Cynthia’s mother.     “Mom, can I go to Lelanis and derricks  later.” said Cynthia “sure I will have Naila to keep an eye on you so you won't escape,” said Cynthia’s mother. “Mom what do you mean I love it where I am. Trust me I will be back,” said Cynthia  “Ok get ready you will see Leilani in a bit okay I will drive you over there,” said Cynthia’s Mother. Cynthia goes to her room and looks very different then what she had because she is 8. Once she hits 4 then she will no longer exist so she better hurry and find a pink sunset. Soon later Cynthia's mom was about to take her to Leilani. “So Cynthia your birthday is coming up in June right,” said Cynthia’s mother “yes mom 9 years old,” said Cynthia “what do you want,” said Cynthia’s Mother “well I know that you will give me a purse and a bracelet,” said Cynthia. “Wait, how do you know that unless you're from the Future,” said Cynthia’s Mother. “Don't take me to the past, I am from here” Said Cynthia.    Her mother snaps her fingers now she is 6 years old she sent her back two years back. “Your Task to get Home.. watch the sunset for 10 mins then you will be back home,” said the voice. Soon Cynthia is called Leilani I mean Leilani is also six years old but she doesn't have a phone and uses her mom's instead. Cynthia was going to ask her mother if they can go to the beach and watch the sunset but Cynthia couldn’t tell her mother or else she will send her back 2 years back. But Cynthia needs to get home.    “Hey Naila can Leilani and I go to the beach to watch the sunset,” said Cynthia “sure is your mom okay,” said Naila “yes she is she's the one that's going to be with us,” said Cynthia Lying. “Ok i will have her over in an hour,” said Naila. Talking on the phone. “Wait, can I talk to Leilani real quick?” said Cynthia, stopping her from hanging up. “You can't, she is busy. She is Available in 10 mins okay. “Hey kiddo, how are you doing?” said Cynthia’s father. “Good, I am going with Leilani's mom to the beach,” said Cynthia. “Okay is your mom okay with you going, too young to be out before 5,” said Cynthia’s Father “yes mom is okay,” said Cynthia then she hears a phone run to get it and it's Leilani? “Hey Leilani,” said Cynthia. “Sorry I don't have long,” said Leilani. “You're not going to believe this but I am from the future,” Cynthia said slowly “no you not prove it what will happen next,” said Leilani. “Okay derrick is going in your room at 3 2 1,” said Cynthia “hey sis can I borrow Mom's phone real quick thanks,” said derrick. Leilani is in shock then puts the phone to her ears. “You are from the future then where is the real Cynthia?” said Leilani.  “Hold on, it's me. I am the real one. My mom sent me back in time and to go back to the future I need to see the sunset” said Cynthia. “Well that's awful why is she doing this, "said Leilani questioning “because I am trying to escape I can’t stay for long if I do I will no longer exist it's like a curse she wants to get rid of me,” said Cynthia angry. “Okay well the sun sets in 30 mins let's go watch it,” said Leilani.

    Meanwhile, Cynthia’s Mother gets a call from Naila, Leilani's Mother. Cynthia’s mother picks it up. “Oh hey naila how are you?” said Cynthia’s mother.

“Well thank you, I appreciate Watching my kid at the beach watching the sunset, it's beautiful,” said Naila “I didn't, wait did Cynthia call you? No one is with them,” said Cynthia Mother. Cynthia and Naila rush to the beach. To see their kids. The sun starts to go down in 5 mins Cynthia needs to watch it going down in. in order to return home. “CYNTHIA” her mother yells. “Mom, sorry we lied but I need to get home and you won’t let me so I am going back to the future and you can stop me,” said Cynthia. “Oh yes I can,” said Cynthia's mother then snaps her fingers Now Cynthia is 4 years old now she has to find a way out or else she will never exist. The next time her mother snaps her fingers that is it Cynthia will no longer exist so she better hurry.   “How can I be able to escape if she is going to keep finding me?” said Cynthia to herself frustrated. Cynthia doesn’t know what to do. She looks at the time and it is 6:00pm only 2 hours until sunset. She can’t tell no one what she is up to because it will lead back to her mother. Cynthia was cleaning her room. She was looking outside her window it's barely 6:30pm. Cynthia's mother called Naila to let Leilani come over so she can finally trap Cynthia and keep her from leaving. “So do you want me to go to Cynthia’s Room? What should I tell her?” said Leilani to Cynthia's Mother. “Well I am taking you both somewhere special and you tell her that,” said Cynthia’s Mother. “Ok,” said Leilani as she went upstairs. “Hey Cynthia, we are going somewhere with your mom. She said it's something special” said Leilani. “Well ok but I wanted to go to the beach. Can you tell her that? ''said Cynthia. “Okay,” said Leilani she goes to her mother's room. She sees a bunch of pictures of Cynthia Older. Leilani remembers when Cynthia was 8 and told her she is from the future her mother sees Leilani and Leilani turns back and sees Cynthia's mother “your not really Cynthia's Mom you're from the future too I must tell Cynthia''Said Leilani “No your not” said Cynthia’s mother then snaps her fingers now she teleported to a dark room her and Cynthia tied up but there is a little window Cynthia is faced away from. From looking at the sunset.     “Cynthia, if you accept me as your mother, I can take away all this. You won’t be miserable, you will love your life, `` Cynthia's Mother said, convincing her. “No, I will never be going home, not with you,” said Cynthia. Cynthia turned her chair as she was tied up looking at the sunset going down. Cynthia starts to disappear little by little “Now you will no longer exist any Last words” Said Cynthia’s mother. Cynthia didn't say anything, she was watching the sunset from her chair as saying goodbye. Then she vanishes. “There it's done we don’t have to see Cynthia again, she untied Leilani. “Sorry you had to see that,” said Cynthia's mother “why would you do that to Cynthia she was my friend bring her back,” said Leilani. “No, by tomorrow you won't remember,” said Cynthia's mother. Leilani starts crying her friend is gone all of a sudden Cynthia comes back to life. “Cynthia,” said Leilani Hugging her. “I am now going home,” said Cynthia, crying in happiness. “Why don’t you stay? You can live with me,” said Leilani, begging her. “I can’t but don’t worry, we are still friends okay we are both 18 I will see you in a bit,” said Cynthia. “Will I be able to remember this?” said Leilani “I don’t know if you don’t tell my mom in the present I don’t want to be trap again ok?” said Cynthia than a white portal taking her home opens up “see you in a bit?” said Cynthia looking back “goodbye!” said Leilani. Cynthia goes into the portal then wakes up from her dream. She wakes up in a hospital “oh Cynthia you're awake you were not waking up you been asleep for a week. And you had no heartbeat but thank goodness everything is good.” said Cynthia’s mother “can I now go home” said Cynthia “yeah first tell me what you were dreaming about you were having a nightmare” said her mother. Cynthia wasn’t going to say anything but her mom is not like that “you were trying to harm me. And I was going back to my younger ages” said Cynthia “Cynthia that was just a dream it's okay” said Her mother then reached out to hug her “I will never let go okay I love you so much” mother said hugging her.


Instant Theatre-Just Add Coffee I looked at the ad three times. Each time I looked at it put the newspaper down, but something kept drawing me back to it: Westchester theatre seeks actors, directors, and playwrights for a 24-hour Marathon . I always wanted to write a play. While I’d seen these marathons promoted in Off-Off-Broadway theatres, I always told myself this wasn’t for me. And it was too much of a hassle to get downtown. Now, this would be in Westchester, where I live. What was I afraid of? Only that: a)    I would never be able to write a play, overnight. b)   I would have my worst fear, that I have no talent, confirmed. c)    I would suffer abject humiliation, and as a result… d)   …I would never be able to leave my house in the light of day again And yet I still want to move forward and try and write a play, so I leaped into action. Not really. I procrastinated. When my wife told me that the shelf paper in the kitchen cabinets did not need to be changed, again I was out of excuses. I pulled up the theatre’s online application form, answered a few brief questions, and I was done. Although I don’t see how answering “Who is your favorite character from Harry Potter?” tells anybody anything. Not having read the books or seen any of the movies, I googled Harry Potter. I picked Prof. Severus Snape, only because he was played by Alan Rickman. I still didn’t know who the character was and prayed to God that no one would ask me about it. Still, there was a very good chance that I wouldn’t be accepted which meant I wouldn’t have to face my fear of failure. But, alas, three days later, while girding myself for rejection, I received an e-mail instructing me to show up at the theatre on the following Friday at 7:00. While part of me was excited, most of me felt the way I did when I received the notice from my draft board telling me to report for my army physical. At least, I told myself, I wouldn’t be nearly naked this time-it would just feel that way. The way the Marathon works is that people apply as either a playwright, actor, or director. They meet at the theatre at 7 pm on a Friday evening. No one knows each other. The organizer randomly puts people in small groups consisting of a playwright, a director, and actors. After an hour-long “getting to know you” period, the playwright goes off and writes. They have until 7:00 the next morning to complete a 10-minute play. The director and actors show up the next morning and are given the scripts to work on until showtime-7 pm that night. If I can’t produce anything, the people on my team will be screwed, and my fear of failure will be realized. No pressure. I’ve always been intrigued by these projects. They appeal to my sense of needing a deadline in order to write anything, my lack of commitment to any long-term project, and my abject boredom with anything I’ve ever created seconds after its completion. That Friday, I expected a large turnout of experienced theatre-makers and was prepared to be intimidated, which I hoped would fuel my resolve, and jump-start my creativity. Instead, I walked into the cavernous theatre to find fourteen other people representing various levels of experience, age, and ethnicity. The theatre’s Education Coordinator was a young energetic woman named Tracey. Tracey had the personality of a governor’s press secretary who believed in all of her boss’ bullshit as she waxed rhapsodic about her theatre. She engaged us all in exercises to help us get to know each other, so we could all get an idea about everyone’s personality, and how people expressed themselves. During the exercises I found myself making mental notes like, “She would be interesting,” “I like his accent,” and, “If you stick me with her, I’ll kill myself.” But I did get an idea of the talent in the group. When the pairings were announced, I was partnered with a director, Eloise, who had never directed before but is a playwright — so there was a real possibility that my play would be rewritten and badly directed. The actors were two young women from Brooklyn, Lisa, and Paula, in their early 30s. The four of us repaired to a quiet spot to talk. As for the two actors, I soon learned that English was not their first language (French and Portuguese). They’d been in the states for less than two years, but their English was just fine, and the women seemed to have a rapport with one another. We all shared a bit about our experiences in the theatre and how we work, and then we all left the theatre; the actors and director to sleep, and me to write. By the time I got home and had a quick dinner, it was 10 pm. I had nine hours to write the play and send it on to the director. There was a time in my life when being up all night was no big deal. (There was also a time in my life when I did cocaine every weekend but that wasn’t happening tonight. Also, I believe my dealer is now the social director for a cruise line, so I wouldn’t know where to score). But now, it’s a big deal. I didn’t dare fall asleep as there was no guarantee I’d get up in time to write the play. So fueled with caffeine, I proceeded. 11:00 Panic had already set in, and I made an aborted attempt to retrofit a play I tried to write years ago that had been languishing in a folder. 12:00 I realized why it was still in the folder-it was terrible. 1:00 AM   Rejected the idea of a zombie psychotherapist and vampire patient. 2:00 AM   I actually get a good idea for a ten-minute play. Thinking about the rapport between Lisa and Paula I stumbled onto a premise: A woman asks a close friend to seduce her husband. (Trust me it’s funny, and it has a twist). 4:00 AM I pushed “Send.” Truth be told, I wasn’t sure the play was ready, but my fatigue had rendered any further revision pointless. As Lorne Michaels once said about Saturday Night Live, “The show doesn’t go on because it’s ready; it goes on because it’s 11:30.” The next day I made it to the theatre an hour before the show. Eloise rushed up to me to ask if she could change a particular word. I don’t remember which word — but the meaning was the same and, for some reason, it was easier for the actor to say, so I agreed. Truth be told, at that point I would have agreed to a request that they perform the play speaking Aramaic. Eloise also explained that there were some cultural references she had to translate for the actors. I didn’t stop to ask whether it’s because the references were quintessentially American, or because they were born out of pop culture from thirty years ago. One thing I learned from this was when writing for younger actors don’t assume they’ll know anything about Hill Street Blues . Did I really need a reminder of how much older I was than any of these folks? I guess I did. The plays went on at 7 pm as promised and as with most projects like this, to varying degrees of success. I felt sorry for some of the “actors” (intentional quotes) who, from their expressions, looked as if they had just landed on the stage from Neptune; or the ones who, even with scripts in their hands were incapable of saying their lines. The actors in my play (because let’s face it, that’s what I was really interested in) did a really good job, as did the director. Much to my surprise, as I watched, I realized I might have a viable, ten-minute play. Would I do this again? Maybe. Or maybe I should sit down and without any outside deadline to move me, try to write another play. But first I think the bathtub needs grouting.