There were streamers and noisemakers, singing and dancing, the crowd counting down the final seconds until they rang in a brand new year. Ella had never been allowed to stay up to join the New Years Eve celebration before, she had always been shuffled off to bed with the promise that maybe next year she would be old enough. Not this year, this year she had argued her case and to her surprise, her parents had agreed. This year would be the year that sweet, little Ella would experience what she had only dreamed of. She imagined a whimsical night filled with bright lights, glittering dresses, everyone laughing and joyful; she could barely contain her excitement at the mere thought of observing it all. Breathing it in, committing every detail to memory. If only Ella had known that the night she had been waiting for would never arrive, that her entire world would be turned upside down, everything she knew, changed forever. It was December 31st, it was one of those dreadfully deceitful days where you look out the window and see your previously gloomy gray world has been transformed into a bright, sunny wonderland. Only to find that when you step out your front door, the bitter cold slaps you in the face and steals your breath. Ella did not care, today was the day she officially became a member of the "big kids" group, no longer a baby to be teased about her early bedtime. She was determined to have the best day, even if she had to help with the cleaning, it was for the party which meant she would not complain. She hummed one happy song after another as she went about her tasks, giving it her best effort. She was glowing with pride as her mother praised what a wonderful job she had done.  And late in the afternoon, when every surface gleamed and not a speck of dirt could be found, Ella was released from her chores to go upstairs and rest before getting herself ready for the night ahead. She had just settled down onto her bed with her latest library pick, when she heard her mother's phone ring. There was no crash, no explosion, no violent, earth-quaking sign to hint at the events that were currently unfolding. Ella had given her mother's phone call no more than a passing thought before returning to her reading. It was only when her mother called her and her siblings downstairs that she would begin to understand something was not right. Filing down the stairs behind her older brother and sister, it was immediately apparent that whatever their mother had just been told had devastated her. She stood in front of the living room window, broken, something Ella had not witnessed in her short life. Trying to hold herself together to relay the tragic news to her sweet babies, to find a way to explain what she herself could not understand. She embraced her children, breathed them in, trying to gather up her courage. She could see their questioning faces, the fear in their eyes, they may not know what was happening yet but they knew it wasn't good. Several times she started to speak and nearly choked on the words she wasn't sure she could bring herself to say. Quietly, she began to tell them that their father had been in an accident, that he was hurt very badly and he would not be coming home, not today and not ever again. In the hours that followed, Ella would learn that it wasn't an accident that had stolen her father, it was not some unfair twist of fate, it was a methodical, calculated act that had torn her life apart. She would also learn, that her father was not the only one who would not be returning home that day, there would be a total of 259 lives cut terribly short when it was all said and done. A lone bomber, a single perpetrator, an act of domestic terrorism, that's what the news kept saying. Ella didn't know what a perpetrator was, had no idea what an act of domestic terrorism meant. It was all so confusing, her young mind trying to make sense of adult things that adults couldn't even understand. Why would anyone do this? Why did they want to hurt my daddy? She asked these questions over and over again, to any adult that would listen. They kept saying the same things, that the man who did this wasn't trying to just hurt one person, they wanted to hurt as many people as possible, that it wasn't about anything her father had done, that it wasn't really about him at all. To Ella, that didn't make any sense, how could it not be about her daddy? He was the most important person in her life, she could not understand what any of it meant. Her mother did not want them watching the news, she said they were too young to see and hear what the news was reporting but since almost every channel was reporting on what had happened, her mother told them not to turn on the tv at all. When she could Ella would turn the tv on with the volume off and try to quickly absorb as much as she could before shutting it off to avoid getting caught. The news said the man was 43 years old, a father of 2 children, that he had worked as a custodian in the building, that he had been planning and preparing for this for months. Months. That seemed like an eternity to Ella. The entire country was watching what happened, trying to understand what had led this man to commit this terrible crime. In the days and weeks that followed the bombing, reporters would camp out on the lawns of some of the known victims families, bombarding them with questions every time they opened the door. It almost felt like they were the ones who had done something wrong, prisoners in their own home. Ella's mother kept the windows covered, the doors locked, she could barely get out of bed her grief was so consuming. The police had come, like they always did on the tv show when something bad happened. They said how sorry they were for their loss, how much they wish something like this had never happened, wondering if it could have been avoided. She heard her mother ask about the man responsible, they said they couldn't give her anymore information than the news had reported, that it was an ongoing investigation and they would provide answers as soon as they could. Her mother raged at the police, saying she didn't understand why they couldn't tell her anything, that man was dead too. They repeated their condolences and made a quick exit. It had been five days since the bombing, since the world as Ella knew it, had been forever changed. The news showed pictures of the man and his family, played video of reporters trying to get a comment from his wife or asking his children if they missed him. It all made Ella sick, she wanted to be angry at them, the wife and kids of the man who killed her father, but she couldn't. In her heart, she just knew that they were hurting too and that they hadn't done anything wrong. Her mother did not want to hear this, she wanted them to be held accountable, someone should have to be held accountable she would yell, to no one at all. Thirteen days had passed before there was any report about why this man, this father, husband, had decided to carry out this plan of mass murder. The answers came in the form of an external hard drive, discovered in a storage unit rented by the family. The man had recorded a video and then tucked it away to be found only after he had left this world, leaving heartbreak and destruction behind. The video showed a hollow man, spouting his hate and contempt for a world that he believed owed him more than he was given. A man convinced that everything bad or wrong in his life was someone else's fault, he'd been dealt a bad hand and he wasn't going to take it. He showed no remorse, no hesitancy as he spoke, in great detail, about his plans and preparations. He did not apologize for the hell he was going to put his wife and children through, he did not acknowledge them at all. It was obvious to all who watched that he cared about no one but himself, he saw the success of others and not only coveted it but would sacrifice himself to destroy them.  Never again would anyone look down on him, he would no longer be made to feel inferior. This was his moment of glory and he was going to take out as many people as he could. Months spent attempting to build devices that would wreak the most havoc, acquiring knowledge of his weapon and his hunting ground, all leading up to the day when he would walk into that building and unleash hell on earth, what he called The Reckoning. Ella recounted this story many times throughout her life, watching tragedy unfold before her young eyes. She remembers every detail of that day, the clothing she wore, the smell of cleaning solution used to scrub the kitchen floor, the moment she was told that her father would not be coming home. She didn't realize it then but that was the day she lost both of her parents to the same monster. Her father was physically taken, her mother was a different story entirely. Ella would swear that she actually saw the light leaving her mothers eyes, like someone had flipped a switch and her whole world had gone dark. Her mother had always been energetic, optimistic, she made the best of every situation but after that day, that woman was gone. She tried for a while, after the initial shock wore off, but it was just beyond her reach. As time went on, she sunk further into her grief, she could not see beyond her pain and went looking for a way to forget. And forget is exactly what she did, forgot to take care of her children, forgot to take care of herself, forgot everything she could until there was nothing left to forget. The children tried to hang on, they didn't want to lose their mother, but she was already gone. Eventually, when they couldn't hide it any longer, they called for help. When the police arrived, they shuddered at what they found. Three malnourished, dirty, cold children who had been abandoned by the only parent they had left. They couldn't recall the last time they had seen their mother or the last time they had food in the house. Their story could have gotten worse, they could have been separated, shoved into opposite corners of the foster care system never to return to each other but luckily, that wasn't how their story went. Ella and her siblings were in foster care for a total of fifteen days before they were released into the care of their mother's sister. She lived on the opposite side of the country and was unaware of just how bad the situation had gotten. Apologizing over and over for not coming to check on them, for not calling more or demanding their mother let her talk to them to make sure they were ok. She would spend years trying to make it up to them, in any way she could. Money was not something they would have a lot of growing up, their aunt and uncle were not wealthy people. They were hard workers and they loved the kids with a fierce and unwavering devotion. Ella often wonders what life would have been like if the events of that horrible day had never happened or if her mother had somehow managed to pull herself out of the dark and love her children. Maybe there would have been another event that had led to a similar outcome or something even worse. There's no way to know, life is an inexplicable mystery that no one has yet to figure out. Tragedy has a ripple effect, there may have been 259 bodies laying lifeless that day but the total number of casualties is truly immeasurable. Unfortunately, all too often, history is made by extreme acts that are rooted in pure evil. Children are forced to witness the worst this world has to offer and somehow overcome all of that without being weighed down by the choices of those who came before. We are not responsible for the actions of our fathers but we are often held accountable for them regardless.


Dear Diary,

Today was really annoying, my friend was being a jerk. Also, I started this diary because other than my mom I have no one to talk to but she’s busy with work. Anyways, jack was really pissing me off. Today at lunch he said I’m a right-footed player with two left feet. Everyone laughed at me, and so did Claire. I really like Claire but now she probably thinks I’m a joke cause of jack. I should tell him but what if he gets upset at me, or I hurt his feelings. Well I’m going to try tomorrow so he doesn’t do it again. That’s all for today diary, thanks for listening to me Evan stares at his diary, nodding his head as he reads it over, reassuring himself of his feelings. trying to get the courage to speak up to his friend tomorrow. He dives into bed after and hugs his blanket for comfort, the boy rolls back and forth in bed as he smiles and giggles. He lets out a sigh and whispers “Claire” under his breath. Both hands swiftly rush to his face, covering his mouth. His eyes sprung open, in shock. He giggles and then throws his blanket over his face and falls asleep. The morning wakes, and the boy does two takes on the clock before realizing he is one hour behind, he forgot to set an alarm. he springs out of bed and then runs to his mom’s room, lifting the blinds, he sees the school bus already outside his house, the last kid strolling into the bus. “No” Evan yells He scrambles to his room packing all his books, from his desk into his bag, then ransacks his wardrobe looking for a good outfit. Settling for a plain gray shirt and some Nike blue shorts, his next target is the washroom. Forcing his way through the heaps of clothes all over the floor, he escapes his mess of a room and now is stuck staring at the empty bottle of toothpaste. He squeezes as hard as he can until he realizes there’s not enough in there for him to get out. He steps out of the washroom and glances between his room and his mom’s room.

Scissors

Evan thinks, finally he settles for his mom’s room because there was no way he was finding his scissors in the state of his room. With the bottle of toothpaste in his hand, he makes his way into his mom’s room eyes scampering around looking for scissors. Target found, he jumps onto her bed and reaches for the scissors on the stool his mom places the night lamp on. He grabs the scissors, but his hand knocks the light lamp down, but he reacts swiftly, while still on the bed he catches the lamp just before it hits the floor but nicks his finger with the scissors. He takes a deep breath, then another one, and another. He places the lamp back on the stool, walks slowly to his washroom, and cuts open the toothpaste. The cut is truly unmerciful, as it burns and torments Evan while he brushes his teeth. He slaps a bandage on it grabs his bag and heads for the door. He checks the time before leaving,

I can still make it in time if I run

Evan thought. He speeds walks down his driveway then clutches both straps of his backpack and starts a light pace. The bag bounces and he grip it tighter to keep it stable as he runs, but the strap rips his bandage and digs into his cut. He cringes in pain with his eyes closed and misses his footing on the sidewalk causing him to fall. His swift reactions save him again or do they as he catches himself with his hands before headbutting the concrete sidewalk, but now his wrists are hurting enough for him to forget his cut finger. His eyes begin tearing up as he stares at the sidewalk face close enough to kiss it. “Hey are you okay,” Claire says. “Yea I’m fine,” Evan says as he pushes himself back up, and dusts his pants. “Why were you running,” Claire asks “I didn’t want to be late” Evan replies with his head down, hiding his face as his eyes begin tearing up again. “Well let’s go,” Claire asserts Evan looks up and sees Claire already jogging, he clutches both straps again, and although the pain is still there from his cut and his wrist, he doesn’t seem to care too much about it now. They arrive at school with 5 minutes to spare. “I’m gonna run to the washroom,” says Evan. “All right, I’ll see you in class” Claire responds Upon entering he looks around and knocks on the stall to make sure he’s the only one. He lets out a big breath and begins gasping for air. After all, he was keeping up with a cross-country star all the way from his house. He takes off his bag and turns around facing his back to the washroom mirrors. It’s drenched in sweat; he quickly takes it off and puts it under the hand dryer while hoping no one would walk in. His shirt dries quickly, and he slips it back on, then his wrist starts to hurt again, just when he’s all clear.

Something is off

Evan thinks as he feels his wrists up, but he isn’t referring to his wrists. He stares blankly at the washroom walls, for over a minute then it hits him.

Where are the urinals  he thinks, as he connects the dots? He picks his bag up swiftly, and his wrist makes sure they let him know that they are not okay, as they begin sending waves of pain, he heads for the door but then hears two girls’ voices. Evan ditches the speed walk makes a 180, and dashes for the washroom stall. He stands on the seat of the toilet while squatting down so nobody sees his shoes, the girls giggle then just wash their hands and head out quickly. The bell rings, and the school announcements begin playing. The feeling of utter disappointment and defeat penetrates Evan’s mind as he squeezes the cut on his fingers trying his hardest to hold back his tears as he realizes all his efforts were in vain, but the pain isn’t enough as he begins sobbing in the stall. he tries to stop but it just causes him to cry harder. Evan walks into class well after the announcements were finished, he had to make sure he didn’t look like he was crying. “Glad you could spare some time for us, why don’t you go grab a late slip,” Mr. Porter says. No response Evan puts his bag on his desk and heads for the office to grab his first-ever late slip. He returns swiftly to class and a note is left on his desk. He grabs it quickly, it reads

Are you okay,

Evan glances over to Jack, his friend, and shoots him a thumbs up. Confusion is written all over Jack’s face as he responds also with a thumbs up. Dear Diary, I am currently in class right now and everyone thinks I’m taking notes but I wanted to write cause I am having a reallllllllyyyyyyy bad time. Seriously, my hand is hurting a lot, and it’s been a bad day I mean yesterday was bad but today is the worse day. I thought jack noticed something was wrong but apparently not so I don’t know who left that note. I mean it could have been claire. No way she only spoke to me for a while today probably cause I was hurt too. And I could barely keep up with her when we ran she probably thinks I have two left legs, as well. And then I think her friend was also one of the girls in the washroom, her laugh is the exact same and she keeps looking at me and whispering in Claire's ear. My chest is really hurting it feels like I can’t breathe what if claire thinks I’m a weirdo. I feel nauseous. the bell rings and Evan’s journal time is cut short. While the other kids are grabbing their lunch packs, Evan tries to approach Jack, but his attention is on his other friends as he rushes to see what they got for lunch. Evan doesn’t give up though, today’s been all about persevering and he isn’t about to back out just yet. “Jack” Evan calls. Jack makes a 180 turn to greet his friend. He waves him over to come to sit down with the others but Evan isn’t all that interested in a giant table with 9 other kids. All he wishes is to tell his friend what a horrible day it’s been. So, he keeps his feet planted on the ground, and Jack approaches him. “Hey, you eating with us right,” Jack says as he high-fives Evan. Evan bites his tongue as the high five not only felt like someone had taken a hammer and dropped it from a ladder onto his wrists, but the high five was loud enough to get everyone’s attention. Evan’s chest tightens more, his vision a little blurry, and breathing seems much more difficult. His lips are held shut, as his brain struggles to find words to put a sentence together. Their eyes are all on him, and his chest squeezes harder. “I-, um, ca-can we just sit together?” Evan stutters. His brain is in full meltdown now. “Ca- ca-ca-ca-can we just sit together? what are you g-” mark yells, but his words are interrupted by Jack’s lunch pack. Although Jack isn’t the best at deciphering people’s feelings when he does put two and two together and figures out something’s wrong, he never fails to do what he thinks is right, which is where his popularity stems from. Mark gets up and grabs the lunch packs ready to hurl it back but when he makes eye contact with Jack, he instantly knew his place. “Shut up,” Jack says before Mark gets a chance to speak.  While everyone’s distracted by Jack and mark, Evan uses the opportunity to sneak out and when Jack turns his head Evan’s gone. Evan paces down the hall with teary eyes and blurry vision. He gasps for air as his chest tightens and tightens with each step he makes. He aims for the washroom but as he gets there, he sees groups of kids entering the washroom, and he doesn’t want anyone to see him. He starts making a dash down the halls, as he needs to get somewhere where he feels safe, he trips. His hands react first again going to catch him, but Claire reacts faster as she catches him by his right bicep and Evan catches his other side with his left leg, taking one big step. Evan’s chest squeezes even harder this time the boy is visible gasping for air and taking long empty breaths, and Claire tugs his arms and drags him along with her. “Come,” she says. She takes him down the hall and into the stairwell where she opens the door. He’s hesitant, as recess hasn’t started yet, but she reaches her hand out and he softly grabs it and they both head outside together. The air is much cooler outside, and the boy’s chest slowly loosens but it is still tight enough for worry. Claire lays down on the cool pavement, and she taps the open space to her right signaling Evan to come to lie as well. He follows suit, lying down next to her. he tries to speak but he doesn’t know what he’s feeling or how to even say what is feeling, and his chest tightens. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything it happens to me too, and my mom and I just usually lay outside when it does. It’s okay, okay?” Claire says “Okay,” Evan says as tears streamline down his face and his chest finally let go of the tight hold.


Three-fingered Jack Garcia. That’s me. Most lawmen and evil guys call me Three-Fingers. I am the most feared anti-hero on the planet. And the most popular. I was created by my former friend, writer Horace Lovestreet III. Horace is an Old West aficionado. He keeps a vintage Colt .45 in his desk. He pulls it out occasionally, hoping for inspiration that never comes. It all began one rainy night in Los Angeles. Horace was finishing a bottle of Jim Beam Bourbon, wondering how he would make a living now that the writing thing clearly wasn't working out. There was little protection against me in Horace's inebriated state, infiltrating the creative portion of his brain and putting ideas into that head. ‘Western’ was the first idea. “Bounty Hunter’ was the second. ‘Anti-Hero' was the third – a protagonist who, when necessary, would do things a typical 'good guy' wouldn't do, like fatally shoot a defenseless bad guy out of revenge and to collect the reward money. Three-fingered Jack Garcia was born that night, and, with my help, the outline of the first novel sprung, fully formed, into Horace Lovestreet’s Bourbon-soaked consciousness: A Price on Their Heads. Horace and I couldn’t have Jack Garcia just all of a sudden arbitrarily decide to become a bounty hunter, we had to give him some motivation. So we gave him a fiancé, Linda Sue Darlinquez, who was beautiful, wonderful, and engaged to marry Jack. One night, three bad guys broke into the Darlinquez farmhouse, killed Linda Sue's Parents, dragged Linda Sue outside, repeatedly raped and sodomized her, and left her to die after burning the Darlinquez farmhouse to the ground and stealing every penny they had. Bastards! On the pages, I sprang into action. I got two six guns and tracked the three perpetrators down. We had it out in a blazing gunfight on a hot, dusty day on the streets of Laredo. They had a three-to-one advantage, but it was no contest as they had no way of knowing they were dealing with an up-and-coming anti-hero. Two fingers on my left hand got blown away during the gunfight. Thus, I became Three-fingered Jack Garcia. You can call me Three-fingers. The bounty I was paid for bringing the three banditos to frontier justice was both unexpected and substantial. It led Horace and I to decide on my new career: Bounty hunter, but only for the bad guys who deserved it. That led to the second book, Echoes, from Linda Sue . It turns out the three hombres who attacked the Darlinquez farmhouse that night were part of a much larger gang, most of whom had a price on their heads. The second book was spent with me tracking down and killing every member of that gang. My fans became legion. The movie was a huge success. The third book started with me being rich, fat, happy, and semi-retired. I didn't like the direction Horace was going with it at all. It seemed like he was introducing a young character as my protégé. I waited until he spent a night with Jim Beam and persuaded his brain to change the story to where I would offer my services to a deserving widow or family who had been terribly wronged by bad guys who now had a price on their heads. The title was Once More for Linda Sue. Just when you think it will never end and things will last forever, you find that forces outside your control are making changes that may have nothing to do with your goals or desires. That's what was happening to me, Three-fingered Jack Garcia. Horace's publisher was furious and called him onto the carpet for a meeting. The room was full of publishing executives and movie producers. Nobody was smiling. The publisher swung a copy of Once More for Linda Sue like a sword. “What the fuck is this? We agreed that Three-fingers takes on a younger protege, and we use this book to promote the young gunslinger and move Three-fingers into the background.” “I couldn’t do it,” Horace replied. “I felt Jack had one more good story left in him. Maybe more.” Attaboy, Horace! Give 'em hell! "Oh, you did, did you? Well, let me tell you something, Horace. The movie people aren't interested in this story like it is now. They're not interested in Three-fingers anymore, either. There’s only one way to regain their financial backing.” "I'm not bringing the protégé back. That's off the table." “Who said anything about bringing the protégé back?” “Then what do the movie people want?” “Three-fingered Jack must die at the end of Once More for Linda Sue . Then you start a whole new trilogy with a brand-new anti-hero.” Horace thought for a minute and nodded. "I can see that happening,” Horace said to the publisher. “In fact, I think I can write a great dramatic scene around Three Fingers' demise.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had inspired Horace, a writer of marginal talent at best whose career was going nowhere, to create the greatest anti-hero in the history of the annals of the Western genre. Namely, me. I had given him story ideas that made him rich and famous and now, because some Hollywood suits thought they knew better, he was prepared to kill me off, dump me to the side of the literary scrap heap like yesterday’s garbage. The good news was on the way home from the publisher's meeting, Horace stopped at the liquor store for a bottle of Jim Beam Bourbon. There was still hope. Horace was finishing the final scene of Once More for Linda Sue , where Three-fingers dies in a hail of bullets, ambushed by a half-dozen desperados. Horace was also working hard on the bottle of Jim Beam. I must admit his writing had improved dramatically since starting the Three-fingers series. The final scene was emotional and dramatic. It actually made me a little misty. But I had work to do. The bottle of Jim Beam was nearly empty. It was time for me to enter Horace’s Bourbon-soaked brain. The idea I planted into Horace’s brain was simple: What if he killed himself just as he typed ‘THE END’ of the Three-fingered Jack Garcia trilogy? The stories would become immortal. They would live forever, right beside Three-fingers. I saw the idea gradually taking hold in Horace’s mind. Horace opened the desk drawer. He slowly pulled out the antique Colt .45. He checked it. Loaded. He held the muzzle of the revolver to his temple and pulled the trigger. He died instantly with a smile on his face, That’s the last thing I remember.


Lightning Strikes “Extreme heat advisory is in effect until 9pm this evening here in the Valley of the Sun. Whenever possible stay indoors. The elderly and those with breathing difficulties should avoid going outdoors if possible. Stay tuned to this station for more advisories.” Gravel crunched under the tires of Freddy Jansen’s tow truck as he pulled up to the office of King’s Auto Parts Yard. He shifted the truck’s transmission into park, took his cell phone out of the front pocket of his work overalls, and dismissed the heat alert. The past twenty-four hours were like a dream swirling around in his mind: the storm, the girl, and those big brown eyes that betrayed her outward confidence. He tried to clear his head and concentrate on business. Hopefully, he would find a new hood for Miranda’s van out on his buddy Alonso’s auto parts yard.

King’s Auto Parts and Pull Auto Parts Station started here in the front yard of the little stucco house that now served as the office. Alonso Sr. was stationed nearby in his Army Air Corps days, and after the war ended he thought he would rather face the heat in the desert than go back to Queens and shovel snow in the winter. After marrying a local girl they began growing a business and a family; both from the tiny stucco home. After the birth of the fourth child – all girld – Mrs. King, who was known to have a fiery temper at times, demanded her husband build a larger home on the back part of the property beneath the shade of the cottonwood trees that grew by the creek. When her husband suggested waiting another year she took the shotgun from behind the counter, walked out front to the WWII staff car that sat beside the drive up to the property emblazoned with the word KINGS and shot it full of holes stopping to reload twice. She then calmly brought the gun back inside handing it to her husband and announcing “Thought I saw a rattlesnake.” The next day a crew began digging the foundation for the new house. Six months after moving into the new home Alonso Jr. was born. Both Kings were extremely happy.

 	Freddy ducked in through the front door of the business, quickly closing the door to keep the cool air in. Alonso sat behind the counter, a computer screen flickering in front of him although he seemed oblivious to the rows of auto part listings displayed. A wisp of thick blonde hair had fallen across his forehead just above deepset, blue eyes. One hand propped under his chin, fingers lightly tapping on his cheekbone. “Hey, ‘Lonso, you awake there, buddy?” Freddy teased.

“Oh, hey, Freddy,” he answered in a dazed voice as he stood to greet his long-time friend. At six feet tall he should have been taller than Freddy, but the dropped floor behind the counter made the two men appear the same height. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” he replied. “Yeah, I can see that,” he said while following Alonso’s gaze out the big front window to the tall saguaro by the fence.

“My mother planted that cactus there when she moved into this little house with my father in 1948. It was just a pup then, maybe a foot tall. Now look at how tall it stands. Cactus wrens build nests in its arms, Gila woodpeckers drill holes in the body to raise families out of the sun, and its flowers provide food for the birds and insects from all around. People think the desert is a dry, dead place but even here in the hot summer days there is beauty and life,” he pronounced boldly. Freddy walked over to the counter to stand in front of his friend. They had known each other since college days at NAU. He had been best man at his wedding, a godfather to his son, and a shoulder to lean on when his wife was killed in a car wreck 6 years earlier. He had seen Alonso in many moods, but this one was new. “And why are you waxing poetic on this hot, hellish day in the desert?” he asked. “I’m in love,” he said innocuously as if he’d just said, “It’s hot today.” Then he said it louder and more firmly, “Freddy, my friend, I’m in love!” “That’s great!” Freddy answered reaching over the counter to give his pal a slap on the shoulder. “When can I meet her?” “Don’t know,” Alonso answered matter-of-factly.

Freddy stared at his friend trying to understand what was going on with him. “Suppose you back up to the beginning and bring me up to the “don’t know” part a little better informed.” Taking a big sip of his iced coffee Alonso began his tale. “You remember when I had you watch the shop for me back in April so I could go to Texas for the eclipse?” “Sure, I do, but you weren’t gone long enough to meet a girl and fall in love. You were only gone 3 days,” Freddy answered. “Yeah, well, I was, and I did. I just didn’t know it at the time,” Alonso sighed. “My original plan was to run out the 10 to Kerrville, sleep in the back of my truck, and then be right in the path of totality the next day for the big show. Then hop back on the10 and head back home. My plan was working well up till about the time I got to Van Horn when a geocaching buddy of mine messaged me to see if I could take over hosting his eclipse event in Llano,” his voice less dreamy now as he recalled the details of the trip. Freddy was not a geocacher, nor did he understand why anyone would be, but he was becoming interested in the idea that geocaching could lead to finding love. “Go on,” he prodded “So of course I shifted gears and made a left turn at the Junction exit and headed up to the thriving metropolis of Llano, TX – population somewhere around 3,000 but on the eclipse weekend swelling to more than twice that. I found the spot and started talking to folks milling around at ground zero until I had about 20 geocachers there from all over the country. One couple had even brought a pop-up shade tent to share. Most brought chairs and blankets as well as coolers. Since I was playing host until my buddy got there, I tried to talk with everyone, but when I walked up to this one brunette and introduced myself as Nroadz, my caching name, she gave me a strange look. “That’s a unique name,” she said while giving me a look like I had spoken to her in a foreign language, Alonso recalled. Freddy understood that feeling. When Alonso started talking about his geocaching adventures with his buddies it was a bit like a foreign language to him too. But that hobby and those friends kept him sane after Lisa died, so he put up with it. “And let me guess. You looked into her eyes, then she looked into yours, and bam it was love!” “No, nothing like that,” Alonso replied, “I told her that we were a geocaching group but that she was welcome to enjoy the eclipse with us. Then I explained a bit about geocaching and invited her to hike to an actual geocache about a quarter mile away with a group of us. She signed the cache; we talked some more on the way back. By then Quarke was there to take over host duties so I found a place for my quilt and stretched out to watch the big show. The weathermen had predicted clouds, but they were wrong. It was a perfect day. While I was helping take the tent down later, I had a chance to give her my email address in case she wanted to know more about caching.” By now, Freddy knew it wasn’t going to be a simple story. “So, you meet a hot girl and instead of getting her name and phone number or getting hers, you tell her your name is Nroadz and you give her your email address? Buddy, you need a good wingman. You’ve been out of the game too long.” “Maybe I have been out of the game, as you say. I just wasn’t thinking about her in that way at the time,” Alonso patiently answered. “A week later she emailed and said she was going to be in Flagstaff in a few weeks and asked how to find geocaches in the area. I told her I was going to be there on the 27 th with a group doing a CITO. I explained how geocachers would meet at a trailhead and as we hike the trail looking for caches, we carry bags to pick up litter along the way. She said that sounded fine, and I gave her the coordinates for the trailhead. Then I told her how to sign up and get her account to get credit for her finds. She said OK and that was that until the 27 th . That day, my friend, that day my world turned upside down,” a wistfully smiling Alonso added. Freddy smiled too. He hadn’t seen his buddy look so happy in a very long time –just about 6 years. “And then? She was there? She said she really just used the geocaching as an excuse to meet you again, and the two of you spent hours walking in the woods and planning your future together? Am I right?” Freddy jokingly asked

“We spent a couple of hours on the trail finding caches and talking about birds,” Alonso answered. “Birds?” Freddy asked trying to keep a straight face. “Yeah, birds. It’s pretty interesting actually. Samantha, Sam to her friends, works for Fish and Wildlife traveling around the country doing ornithological studies,” Alonso explained. “You know there’s a lot we can learn about what’s happening in our environment by paying attention to birds’ habits and the changes in them,” he added. Freddy let out a deep sigh. He could see this was going to take a while, but what the heck. It’s too hot to be outside, he thought. “Did the bird lady get around to talking about bees along the way?” Alonso gave his friend a smart look. “No, but she did stumble over a log trying to watch some bird up in a pine tree. And that’s when it happened,” he announced with great enthusiasm. “What happened?” Freddy asked his curiosity now aroused. “Lightning, my friend,” Alonso said softly, and Freddy noticed that dreamy look on his face again. “I reached out to help her and when our hands touched…. I can’t explain it any other way. It was like this strong electrical current surging up my arm and through my body. Man, it was not like anything I can explain because nothing like that has ever happened to me. I looked at her to see if she felt the same, but she was looking away at another bird and saying something about nests and elevations. I figured it was just my imagination, so I played it cool for the rest of the hike. When we got back to the trailhead she left with a girlfriend before I could say goodbye. I figured that was that until I got her email that night.”

Alonso put his phone on the counter in front of Freddy and opened his email page where Freddy could read, “Sorry I had to run off after the hike. Had to get my gf back to her car so she could get home. Enjoyed the hike and the caching. Hope my bird talk wasn’t too much. BTW I had the strangest feeling when you helped me up over that log on the trail. Do you know what I mean? Hope I don’t sound too bold, but I would like to talk with you about that. I would like to talk with you about a lot of things I think.” Freddy looked up at Alonso behind the counter. He was standing there with the biggest grin on his face. “Frankly, I was stunned. As you said, my friend, it has been a long time. I wasn’t sure what to say or exactly what to do. I just responded with my phone number. And I waited.” “Waited? You waited by the phone like a teenage girl with a crush on the star quarterback?” Freddy was finding it hard to hold his tongue. On the one hand, he wanted to give him a hard time for not taking control of the situation. The girl was obviously interested. On the other hand, he had to remember that in the 6 years since Lisa died there had been no one. Alonso was still in love with the love of his life. He got that. But even she wouldn’t want him to live his life alone. He’s a good guy and he certainly deserves to be happy, but it’s starting to look like he will need some help. “You know I’m here for you if you need a little help getting up your courage.” Alonso grinned and taking his phone back he switched over to the texting app. “She called the next night from Socorro, New Mexico. We talked for 3 hours. The next day we started texting as well as calling,” he explained and turned the phone to Freddy again scrolling through what seemed like endless pages of texts, all of it scrolling by too quickly to read. Freddy winced a bit when he asked, “So where does she live? I mean you meet her in Texas, you see her in Flagstaff, she calls you from New Mexico. Does this woman actually have a home somewhere? Hopefully here in Arizona which would simplify matters a lot.” “I told you; she works for Fish and Wildlife. She travels around to refuges all across the country in a motorhome. She lives on the road, I guess you could say,” he answered. “This week she’s in Port Aransas, Texas checking out the Whooping Crane population.” Freddy tapped his fingers on the counter trying to decide how to say what he was thinking. He decided on the direct approach. “My friend, you need to go to her. Fly, drive, Hell, take a train if you have to! But you need to go to her. Don’t let this chance at love, at real happiness, slip away from you. You need to look her in the eye and reach for her hand and feel that lightning again.” Freddy was really excited for his friend now and he could see the excitement playing into this friend’s eyes. “She said she was heading to Wheeler Refuge in Alabama tomorrow and had a week to travel so she might route through New Orleans.” “Perfect,” Freddy almost yelled. Call her, or text her, or whatever you want to do, but tell her you’ll meet her in New Orleans. Get on the phone. Get yourself a plane ticket.” Taking out his own phone Freddy tapped his texting app. “My cousin Micki has an Air BNB in the French Quarter. I’ll reserve it for you.” He was smiling almost as big as Alonso as he typed.

Alonso hit send on the text to Sam then looked up at Freddy. “Hey, did you come over to pick up those parts for the 2016 Ford Transit Connect?”

Freddy shook his head,”Yeah, almost forgot what I came in for,” as he continued to type. “Sorry, Buddy, can’t get the breather regulator. At least not in Phoenix. I’ll look at some out of state suppliers tomorrow. Make that when I get back from New Orleans,” Alonso answered with a grin. “Not a problem,” Freddy answered as he read the reply from his cousin. Just then the computer on Alonso’s desk shrieked. SEVERE HEAT WARNING ISSUED FOR ALL OF PINAL COUNTY. EXPECTED HIGHS OF 110 DEGREES OR MORE WITH A POSSIBILITY OF AFTERNOON THUNDERSTORMS. INDIVIDUALS WITH BREATHING ISSUES ARE WARNED TO REMAIN INDOORS.


Dennis Preen scowled as he got out of his Audi. The noxious blanket from the paper mill covered the town today, giving him a banger of a headache. The prickly summer heat didn’t help matters. He could feel his armpits seeping the second he emerged from the civilized comfort of the car’s air conditioning. He paused only to retrieve his briefcase from the trunk before stomping up the hill, shading his eyes from the cresting sun.              He saw the old man’s bald red skull bobbing in time with an unheard melody through the sweat stinging his eyes and the fog on his glasses. “Mr. Karron, I presume?”              The old man tossed another shovelful up on the excavated pile and laboriously pulled himself out of the grave. He stared at Preen warily, not extending a callused hand, but merely nodding.              Preen took his hand back, gratefully. “I’m Dennis Preen, from Preen Casualty & Life. I spoke to your wife.”              Karron spit.

             Preen pulled off his spectacles, wiped them with a handkerchief, wiped each eye, then put the cloth back in his coat pocket and the glasses back on his face. It did no good for his respectability; his remaining hair was wet and plastered to his scalp, giving him the look of a cornered defendant. “Do you think we could talk inside?” * * *              Preen took the glass of lemonade gratefully, despite it being pink and tart and pulpy. Kulkarni and Grayson had arrived, easing his anxiety somewhat. Karron sat like a stone in the recliner, not blinking.

             Preen gulped and began. “Well, gentlemen, it’s good to be together at last.” Kulkarni looked down at his feet, Grayson looked at his watch, and Karron kept up his gargoyle act. “These are unprecedented times, gentlemen, unprecedented indeed.”              No one spoke.              Preen resumed. “You, Dr. Kulkarni, are in the business of saving lives. You, Dr. Grayson, are responsible for recording and looking into why lives were lost. And you, Mr. Karron, handle the mortal remains once lives have been lost. Me? Why, I simply manage the financial risk of a life being lost.”              “It’s a small town, Preen. We all know each other. Get on with it,” Grayson grumbled.              Preen pursed his lips. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. “Unprecedented times means unprecedented risk. Dr. Kulkarni, what’s your practice’s revenue look like year-over-year, without that government subsidy?”              Kulkarni swallowed. “Down 54%.”              “When the subsidy stops, how will you pay your medical school bills?”              Kulkarni looked away.              “Dr. Grayson, surely one man’s feast is another’s famine. How’s your caseload this year versus last?”

             “Up 230%.”              “And from your impatience, may we presume the county isn’t augmenting your staff accordingly?”              Grayson leaned forward, eyes blazing like the Ancient Mariner. “You’re damned right they aren’t! They keep saying there’s nobody to augment with. Every county’s in the same boat. ‘Just make do for now.’ I’m sixty-seven, for God’s sake!”              “And Mr. Karron…”, Preen smiled gently, “Why was our town’s funeral director digging a grave by hand today?”              “You know why,” Karron said, his voice guttural.

             “I do indeed. It’s because in a time when so many can no longer work, so few will work, isn’t that right?”              Karron nodded ruefully.              “As for me, life insurance payouts are up fourfold this year. Fourfold! Policy pricing hasn’t been able to keep up---'unprecedented events’---and so a 132-year-old insurance firm with the best reputation in the state is on the verge of financial collapse. It can’t go on, gentlemen, it mustn’t go on!”              Grayson stood up. “What are you going to do about it, Denny? Another miracle cure? It’s been done!”              Preen sighed. “I’m going to manage the risk, Doug. And help you do the same.”              “Aww, hell, I can just retire. I don’t need this crap.”              “Do you have enough to retire on, Doug? Crypto took a bath this year. You sold the boat. How long will the proceeds last you? I know the Coroner’s Office doesn’t pay in the big leagues, Doug, but three divorces in you need major league pay. Am I wrong?”

             Grayson sat down.              “Financial ruin, gentlemen. We are all facing it, right now. Dr. Kulkarni has done the math; it’s why he’s here. I’ve shown you the equations for Dr. Grayson, it’s why he hasn’t left. As for Mr. Karron, it’s not about what he stands to lose, but what he stands to gain.”              Karron’s eyebrow pitched. “What do you mean?”              “What proportion of business have you had to turn away for the lack of a crematorium, Mr. Karron.”              “A fair bit. But I don’t have the help anyway.”              “If you had the equipment and the staff to man it, at present volumes what would the effect on your annual revenue be?”              Karron rubbed his dirty jaw. “Well, I don’t know. Probably triple.”              “Triple!” Preen smiled. “That’d pay for a front loader to dig some graves, wouldn’t it?”              Karron ruminated.              “This is America, gentlemen. The Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave. What did our forefathers do when faced with unprecedented circumstances? Why, they rose to the occasion---they innovated . And so shall we.”              Preen scanned their faces. He smiled. He had them. He had them!              “Dr. Kulkarni, what does the federal government pay for each confirmed diagnosis in our present regrettable circumstance?”              “$28,000.”              “And if the diagnosis happened to be of influenza, how much would you get then?”              “Well, just the normal Medicare/Medicaid or private insurance reimbursable rate of course.”              “And in the case of a patient’s unfortunate demise, who confirms that they were, ahem, so fortunately afflicted?”              Dr. Kulkarni pointed at Dr. Grayson.              “Quite so,” Preen said. “Similarly, in the case of an unfortunate death with a favorable diagnosis, we insurance providers get a sizable offset, courtesy of dear old Uncle Sam and the American taxpayer, failing which, our industry would collapse under the weight of excess deaths.”              Karron raised his hand.              “Yes, Mr. Karron?”              “Where do I fit in? It doesn’t matter to me what killed a man, so long as the body comes to me.”              “Ahh, yes, Mr. Karron, that is so. But let me ask you this, prevailing upon your superior knowledge of corpse disposal methods: has anyone ever exhumed a pile of ash in order to verify cause of death?”              Karron scoffed. “Of course not….”              “Then you gentlemen get my point, and why Mr. Karron’s participation in this endeavor is so crucial. As for his reward, that sparkling new crematorium, we are going to fund it by sharing the proceeds from maximizing our eligibility for those federal funds I just spoke of.”              Grayson shook his head. “So let me see if I follow: we’re going to fake the cause of death…”              Preen held up an open palm. “…liberally diagnose in accordance with the uncertainty inherent in medical practice and the inaccuracy of testing methods….”              “…and rake in a bunch of cash accordingly. Then what?”              Preen smiled. “Then we share the wealth across the system, gentlemen. Equally.”              Kulkarni frowned. “The math doesn’t add up. There isn’t going to be enough cash to spread to meaningfully address the financial burden to all of us, much less to pay for a crematorium. Not in a town of this size, anyway, and in a bigger area there’d be more folks to cut in. No way. It won’t work.”              Preen leaned back in his chair. “Well, I’m sorry, gentlemen. You disappoint me. You’ve forgotten a very important player in this effort, one with deep pockets and a strong financial incentive to ensure that the excess corpses from excess deaths do not long remain on this mortal coil.” With a theatrical flourish, he produced his smartphone from his jacket pocket, pressed a button, and turned the screen to face them.              Kulkarni gasped. “I know her! She’s on CNBC all the time. I can’t make it through a shift without one of her reps pushing something on me.”              “Dr. Kulkarni,” the silky voice purred from thousands of miles away,  “Can we count on your support?”              The men in the know looked sheepishly at each other, each performing the cost/benefit analysis in his own way, to the tune of his own conscience, and each nodded solemnly in turn, as finally did Mr. Preen.              And that, Dear Reader, is how the bone orchard received its bumper crop in the Year of Our Lord two thousand and twenty-one, one small town at a time, as Goethe himself warned us so many decades prior would be the case.


It was dawn, and the sun was just about to rise. The wintery dew, over the leaves, made it look much more beautiful than it really should have been and the lake just reflected the reddish glow of the sunlight. “ Don’t you think it is beautiful? The morning sunlight and us, together, apart from the mayhem of mankind?” Emma sighed. “ Boy, you can be so poetic and philosophical, that it can nearly knock someone off guard if one was not used to it already,” Arthur said in amazement. They were both holding hands, sitting quietly near the lake and speaking nothing. Arthur made an attempt to get up, but Emma pulled him down by his sleeves and spoke, “You do not move until I ask you to.” “Sure, I will pee in the lake then, and hope that it adds warmth and more colour to the water, probably a much better golden tint!” Arthur commented sarcastically and pulled his hand free of Emma’s grip. “Very well then, you are permitted, get going, young man, the plants need some water. I hope you pee enough to help them quench their thirst.”

Arthur ran and came back a few minutes later. “How about we get back into the shade and then think of what we have to eat through the day. I mean we could fish for one, or maybe you know pluck down wild berries that we don’t know about, but can read from a book?” “Sure!” ⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪ They were in the woods when they heard the dry leaves rustling behind them. Arthur turned with sheer alertness, but Emma was pretty casual about all this. She carelessly spoke, “ Don’t worry Arthur, that was probably the sound of other campers searching for food, nothing else.”

“No Emma, it isn’t. If it was so, then the rustling shouldn’t have stopped as soon as I turned. There is something that doesn’t want us here. “Don’t be paranoid, It can be anyth…” Emma was hushed by Arthur. There was a sound of crunching gravel behind them. Arthur went for his shoe and pulled out a camping knife. Emma was too surprised to say anything, so Arthur used the silence to study the sounds. The thing, whatever it was, started to sound close to them. The woods were of no help. The sound started to echo around them and it became impossible to guess the correct direction. Emma now started to freak out. She asked in a low, trembling whisper, “Any Idea what it can be?” “Honestly, not at all. But I am guessing it is nothing humane, so better to stay alert always.” Arthur answered with a slight doubt. The sound now was quicker. It felt like a hoofbeat. Emma stepped front, “ Arthur, I will not let anything happen to you. Whatever it is, will have to fight me first to get to you. I have lost enough, and now, no one. You are the closest thing I have to a family.” “What do you mean that I am the closest thing to a family to you?” Arthur asked baffled. “Not now. It is not the time. We have to save you.” “Save me? No, I have to save you! I love you, Emma like I have loved no one else.” Arthur begged Emma. This time it was Emma, who was thrown off guard. The thing was very close to them and was running. Arthur threw the knife at the most random direction just out of frustration and fell to his feet immediately. It was too much for him to take in in such a short span. He could see Emma rushing to his side. His vision was blurred, but he could make out a burly brownish figure coming close to them. And his eyes closed. ⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪ When Arthur finally woke up, it was dark outside. He could see a cave ceiling over him. He was still dizzy from the fall. He tried to get up, but his legs felt like jelly and butterflies were racing in his stomach. He wrapped himself with a white cotton sheet close to him and moved out. He was in a different place than he remembered. He paced slowly for a while and soon figured out that he was in a very dense part of the forest and that he was too weak to run away on his own.

He walked back toward the cave and found Emma sitting on the rock just outside the entrance. He tried to shout her name, but all it came out was a feeble squeak, but Emma heard that nevertheless. She walked toward him with a wide smile on her face. Arthur tried to smile back, but even his face muscles were exhausted. Emma hugged him and he felt a sudden surge of energy through him and he felt better. He tried to speak, but Emma hushed him silent. Emma seemed to glow from a mysterious light that came from within her. “You did great, oh brave one. What you saw in the forest was my mother as a deer. I have been doing this for a while now. I befriend strongmen like yourself and then bring them to this part of the forest. You see, this is my final resting place. My only last wish was to find a man who could bear the curse of a spirit’s love. My curse was to watch my mother set her hand on my lover and she was the deer you saw.” Arthur was too amazed to say anything so all he could do was to nod along. Emma held his hand and all he could sense was a delicate touch, just like snow. He tried to hold her closer but she seemed to dissolve into the air. “Emma, please I love you. Don’t leave, not now. Please.” Arthur cried and tried to hold her, but all was futile. Emma shed a tear and touched Arthur’s face. “My mother is Nyx, brave one. She cursed me that I will lose all men I fall in love with, but she never said about this part, or maybe I never heard,” She said with a weak chuckle, “I always was too depressed thinking about myself, but what I never realised that this part was going to be even more painful. Brave one, I love you too. Hail and farewell, dearly beloved.” And then she dissolved into a faint light of blue. ⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪⧪ Arthur was sitting by the lake, reminiscing the last moments of his time with Emma. He was looking at the lake, reflecting the peaceful moon. Arthur could not help but think about the last time he held her, and… He lay down on the cold grass and closed his eyes, and then he was in his lightest dream, just as Emma, floating into eternal peace.


The young girl had never given much thought into how she would die, but being pummeled by a torrent of water and propelling into a dark sea did not seem so terrible. Still, she watched as the small boat descended slowly over the aggressive stream below. The water forced its way relentlessly from the side of the larger ship, curving like a wretched arch and not entering the sea until it spanned past eight feet. The smaller boat dangled above this deluge and continued to lower in a deliberate and slow manner. The boat’s leisurely fall compared to the stream’s reckless force was comical, especially since it would mean sure death once they met.

Then, an added bonus. A second small boat swung into view and began to lower from the larger ship. This new vessel dropped at a more rapid pace and fell in line directly above the first. The young girl grinned as she pictured this new boat striking the one below, launching it into the torrent and throwing it into the frigid maelstrom of sea. But suddenly, both boats stopped lowering. They froze like two ice crystals dangling above concrete, prepared to shatter at any moment. A person from the first small boat disengaged an oar and waved it around, clearly in intense conversation with the other passengers. The riders bagan to move around the small boat like a swarm of confused ants. One of them forced the oar into the side of the large ship, causing their vessel to lurch slightly outward. This was practiced several times until the smaller ship began to sway ten feet from the larger ship’s side. The young girl blinked, and then suddenly the boat was released from its holds and plummeting into the inky turbulence below. Surely, this would be the end.

But the boat landed peacefully away from the violent, spewing stream. It glided to peaceful water against a backdrop of similar boats, all making their way into the darkness. The young girl sighed and looked back toward the larger ship, which was now at a violent angle. The front of the ship had gone completely underwater, causing its back to reach skyward. Its lights flickered off. Seven minutes later, it snapped in two.

____________ As if the last two and a half hours had not dragged, the remaining twenty minutes crawled by relentlessly. Finally, the Titanic was completely submerged. The landscape that had been a whirlwind of movement and chaos suddenly became like a still oil painting. Black water and inky sky were almost indistinguishable in the silence.

The scenery was rapidly replaced by chrome plates. Voices cheered, a few people clapped. Someone nearby dropped his bag of popcorn from the elation.

The young girl cheered not from excitement but from relief. Finally she and her parents could move on to the next part of vacation- the more exciting one.

Every year on their tour of the Great Disasters, her parents insist they visit the Titanic . The girl’s father, an engineer, inevitably breaks into fits of laughter every time the once “state-of-the-art” machinery begins to fail.

“A double bottom and watertight bulkhead compartments...give me a break!” He’ll switch to a mocking tone and cackle, “There’s no way that water could pour from compartment to compartment since we made the dividing walls only a few feet tall! People used to be so ignorant. ”

Just like every year, the girl’s mother would pretend to be embarrassed by his outbursts. As an old-world historian, her mother is expected to act in a serious manner when visiting significant events. Nevertheless, she would look at her husband endearingly as she sipped on a cosmopolitan. “Don’t laugh too loudly,” she’ll purr, “Those people on the boat might just hear you.”

The little girl rolled her eyes, just like she does every year. Adults always say dumb things. Of course the people below them could not hear them. The time barques were soundproof. They camouflaged with the sky like any other boring plane. A boy at school told her once that the time barques made a red outline in the sky above the visited event, but the girl did not believe him. As if the men who signed the United States Constitution wouldn’t notice the red outlines every time there was an elementary field trip? As if Europeans wouldn't notice the red outlines whenever medical students visited the time of the black death? Or all those hippies did not notice the red outlines whenever teenagers came for the concert? And really, that scandal at Watergate would not have happened if everyone back then could see the red outlines above the hotel. What a giveaway. No, the time bargues were completely unnoticeable. It was one thing the little girl was sure of. The little girl’s stomach lurches as the time barque takes off. Pink liquid from her mother’s glass sloshes and lands on the girl’s dress. Although this dress was her favorite orange satin, the little girl did not let it phase her. They were on her way to her favorite part of vacation.

____________ It was always spectacular, in a way, to watch the chrome plates disappear to reveal pure sky expanding all around like an ever-growing dream. Whether it revealed silver-greys or floral-blues, it sent a thrill through the little girl. Anticipation of what is to come.

The time barque shifted position to reveal the landscape below. A bustling city, filled with lively activity from the ant-like people in the one way-streets below. These small specks of residents dashed in and out of lavish villas and elegant houses, they visited stylish taverns and cafes, artisan shops and small factories. The young girl could spot even more of them in the luxurious amphitheatre and open-air squares. Over a hundred acres of buzzing, vibrant, yet ignorant life enclosed by a thick outer wall.

The vessel lowered even closer to the city, causing the toy-sized people and buildings to enlarge. It rotated slowly over the lively world below, offering the passengers a glimpse of all its corners. The young girl could now pick out particular residents, some walking around entirely mosaiced courtyards. Others gathering around vats that the girl previously learned produced fish sauce- how primitive. Others were sitting at outdoor tables, eating songbirds, fish, sea urchins, shellfish and pork.

Then the little girl's favorite came into view- the graffiti. Children crouched near the bottom of the city walls drawing sick-and-rectangle animals. Adults inscribed what the little girl knew now to be various transactions, the sale receipts of slaves and goods. The funniest one to the girl was etched onto the side of a building: Epaphra glaber es- “Oh, Epaphras, thou art bald”. The time barque continued to rotate and the little girl picked out a piece of graffiti she hadn’t learned before. She turned to her mother for a translation.

“The smallest evil, if neglected, will reach the greatest proportions.” ____________ The little girl once heard an adult say that while a pessimist complains about the wind, the optimist expects it to change, and the realist adjusts its sails. Certainly the realists would not have been aboard the great ship on her last vacation stop- those fools could have adjusted their imaginary sails and moved away from the iceberg. The same goes for the residents of her current vacation stop. The wind here was the greatest factor. Usually it blew in the opposite direction, but today of all days, it blew directly toward them from the direction of the great Mount Vestivus. No, the residents of this city were not realists at all, or they would have adjusted their imaginary sails after that disastrous earthquake sixteen years before. The earthquake that offered a warning rumble of the catastrophe to come. Yet people still flocked to the shores of the Bay of Naples and the city was crowded on the day the winds blew in the wrong direction.

The time barque changed position once again to show how the sky arced heavenward as the greatest basilica cupola . In the glamourous center rose the sun, marking the start of noon. As if on cue, a giant mushroom of ash and pumice rocks appeared above the great volcano. Unforgiving debris rocketed hundreds of feet into the air and rained down onto the city. The little girl clapped wildly as the people rushed out of buildings and factories, dashing for one of the seven city gates. The smart ones would leave their weak, old, and young friends behind. Yet, as the girl knew, people of the past were much too stupid to be selfish. As the ash hailed down, it filled courtyards and blocked doorways. The girl could see the stupid rashly resolving to shelter in place, barracading themselves under roofs that were piling up with pumice. Her father handed her a bag of popcorn as the first of the inferior roofs collapsed inward. The buildings seemed to rock back and forth as still more people scrambled about, tying pillows on their heads tied down with cloths.

The city below seemed to be covering itself with a thick gray blanket. Pumice covered the fish sauce vats, blocked out the graffiti. Through the vessel’s window, the girl could see specks of ash dancing about. She thought again about the boy who told her the time barques created a red outline in the sky. Well, she knew for sure the people below would only be able to see grey death above. The hail continued to spew from Mount Vestivus, it was relentless and unending- and the girl knew it would be for another 18 hours. ____________ The sun blooms in the distance, yellow petals blossoming into a new day. It would be beautiful, that is if anyone below could see it. Impenetrable ash clouds continue to stomp on the city of ants below. The gold and white and blue colors are barricaded by debris and pumice.

The little girl, refreshed after a brief nap in the sleeping chambers, grins as the new dawn approaches. The world below is silent, as if in the wake of a snowstorm. Just at the moment a first-time visitor might think this is the moment the city was officially emptied of life- a door is pushed open. Thirteen people dash into the dust. Other groups also emerge, about 80 survivors scrambling in the streets. But it is the thirteen that the girl enjoys best.

She can almost taste their hope as they evade still-falling pumice and nimbly dance over the buried mounds of their dead neighbors. The ragtag group finds their way to what used to be a fruit orchard. Once vibrant and abundant trees were now broken and laden with grey. The little girl knows that the group can see the city gates in the near distance. They have almost made it out. She leans closer to the window to make out two small boys holding hands. A mother holding a baby. An older man with shaking, arthritic-like hands moving in a protective way around two others. It is time.

Tremendously, the volcano’s cone collapsed in the distance. In a beautiful wave, boiling mud and ash bucket down at 100mph. The steaming wave tumbles down past the city gates, over the amphitheatre and villas. Before the thirteen survivors have a chance to move, they too are crushed.

____________ Every time she has to return home from vacation, the little girl feels a knot of dread tie in her stomach. As she follows her parents through their home’s front door, she reminds herself of what her father tells her each time they return. “Don’t cry because it's over, smile because it happened”

She heads into her bedroom and hurls her suitcase onto her large bed. With a sigh, she opens the latch and begins to unload its contents. School begins again tomorrow, and the girl will need her clothes washed before then. She pulls out the orange satin dress and remembers the stain left by her mother’s alcohol in the time barque. The girl recalls that at the moment, she had not been upset. She had just been excited to travel to Pompeii, she had been ready for their time barque to appear in their next destination.

The little girl moves into the hallway and opens the closet that held the stain remover. It is on the tallest shelf, so she has to stand on tiptoes to reach it. When she closes the door, the window beyond catches her eye. Almost in a trance, the girl walks closer and peers outward.

The sky is dappled with white clouds, it is blue and bright and soft all at once. She can see a large bird moving in the distance, moving fast as if to flee. To flee? The girl squints, studies the clouds. The clouds are all different shades of white- some almost clear, some thick, some… red? She rubs a hand over her eyes and looks again. It is there after all- a faint red outline of what has to be a time barque. The world goes black.


{content warning: sexual themes, language, mild gore} The lounge is warm, air thick with liquor and sweat. Dim light illuminates the lingering customers, laughing and conversing pleasantly. It is around 5am and we are about to close in a couple of hours. With no other clients booked for the rest of the night, I begin gathering my things. Dried blood stains my white button down shirt and perfectly matches my maroon tie. It happened much earlier in the night, but management suggests we don’t change unless our next guests ask us to. I untuck my shirt and lift it to see thin cuts along my abdomen, not as bad as the blood would suggest. I catch a whiff of cigarette smoke. Sure enough, Mr. Marcellus slides in through the front door, meeting my gaze with a smirk. He is on the older side, hair grey and slick back but his face mostly free of wrinkles. He’s a snide little man, who chooses his words with the utmost caution. He never drinks, he’s never grabby, and he knows what he wants. And he has enough money to buy a small country. I catch a glimpse of his limo pulling away from the street, its wheels lurching on the muddy asphalt. It seems today he has given me a break and decided to switch hosts for the evening. I watch as he is led deeper into the lounge by Elosie, sporting a smile that never fails to brighten the entire room. She has no idea what she’s in for.

I step outside the lounge just to be hit with frigid coldness. A slight breeze stirs my hair, I notice it is slightly snowing. I cover my nose with my hand and breathe into it, fighting the chill. It is still dark outside, by this time in summer light would’ve already started pooling into the sky. Shit it’s cold, I need to get inside. I stride across the sidewalk, careful to avoid frozen over puddles. A single street light reveals the corner ATM, small bugs swarming around the light. Today is Monday, the day I get paid. I wasn’t about to let the weather disturb my weekly routine. You see, at the Golden Souls Entertainment Club, you don’t exactly know how much you made for the week, as most of your salary comes from tips. So every Monday is like scratching a lottery ticket off for me. I quickly punch my pin into the machine and stare at the screen, watching the little loading symbol, antsy from the cold.

Holy shit.

Wow. That’s a lot. Fucking hell, who tipped so well? I finish with the ATM and rush to my car, locking my doors before resting on the steering wheel. My mind searches my memories of the past week, for anything that stood out. Was I particularly good at being a footstool for Mr. Vargas? Did Mr. Dawson enjoy my dancing a little more than usual this time? No no, they wouldn’t do this, not just to come back a week later for the same thing. My clients have all kinds of bizarre demands, they start to blend together at some point. Then it hit me. Last Wednesday a woman came in with a masquerade mask and told us to call her Orchid. Miss Orchid said she was completely new to this whole thing but she had money she wanted to spend on something “different.” She also said she wanted someone experienced, someone who knows what they’re doing. I offered to be her host and she accepted, requesting a private room. Timid and soft spoken, she didn’t ask for much, just a fresh bowl of strawberries and to be read Shakespear by me.

“You mean naked?” I had said, fully taken back by the innocence of her request. “Oh no that won’t be necessary, thank you.”

I assumed she was looking for love, someone to take care of her. She probably had a bastard of a husband, slimy and corrupt. Maybe he had even cheated on her. But she was in this now, with nowhere to go. She dare not sacrifice her filthy rich lifestyle where frankly anything was possible with enough cash. So, divorce being out of the question, she turns to Golden Souls like most do- seeking excitement in their bland and repetitive lives. It becomes an addiction, after you realize that you can get these people to do whatever you want. Of course, we as workers have a right to refuse anything, but most don’t. Most become numb to the sentiment, accepting the harsh reality that those with money are the ones in power and that working at Golden Souls was a very literal way of feeling that concept. Everyone has their own stories, their own lives, but one thing we all have in common is that we’re struggling financially, so why not abuse the system for a better life? The cost didn’t matter. And in Orchid’s case, the cost barely outweighed the benefit. I almost felt like I was stealing her money- if she truly was the one who tipped so much. Who else would it have been? - The next time I saw Orchid that Wednesday around 9pm. I started my shift cleaning the bar when she came in without an appointment, asking if I was free. I led her to that same private room, wondering if she would be brave enough to ask for more this time. She was wearing a silky green dress that clung to her body and illuminated her deep brown skin. With her was a considerably large purse, matching green and lined with scales. She was sporting the same black feathered mask and wore simple but sparkling jewelry. I quietly closed the door of the room and took a seat on the puffy soft sheets, trying to catch her eye. She silently sat next to me and to my surprise slipped off the mask to reveal the face of a young woman.

“Michael, I have a question” Her voice was smooth and sweet, trickling with allure. “Anything” “What do you know about Jasper Gardiner” What? I leaned back, staring at her for a couple of seconds. “I’m sorry miss, I’m not allowed to discuss other clients,” I shook my head, still recoiling from the question.

She hummed and sucked in her breath before reaching over to place her purse on her lap and began searching inside of it. “Special Agent Rosa Ford, please Mr. Sosa, tell me what you know about Jasper Gardiner” She extended a badge out for me to see with ‘FBI’ reading in big blue letters. Fear crept up my throat and I felt my heart drum in my ears. I hesitated before answering her and realized my body was stiff as a board. She wasn’t here for me, not like I did anything illegal.

“Well Mr. Gardiner is one of our frequent guests… he comes in about every Saturday and Sunday. He’s usually here with what I would assume to be his friends- Mr. Haynes and Mrs. Parsons, you know the congresswoman. They’re into some pretty weird stuff like-” “I don’t need to hear about that.” She waved her hand and I noticed she was jotting notes down on a notepad, “Have you overheard anything suspicious? Anything about sending or receiving money?”

“Oh they usually don’t ask for me, you should be talking to Ingrid, she acts as a waiter for them…” “Would it be possible for you to take over for her?” “What? Why would I do that?” “You see Mr. Sosa, We initially thought Mr. Gardiner was involved in some insider trading but now we think it’s much deeper, we’re talking drug and possibly human trafficking. We need someone to pick up his conversations, they could be key evidence in the case. Ingrid is a single mom with children to feed at home, we didn’t want to impose on her. But you, a psychology grad student, can do us a great service. All you would need to do is wear a wire and linger around them, nothing dangerous. And we could compensate you… greatly… for your-” “No, no I’ll do it. For free. I want to help. Just, don’t pay me” I blurted out, briefly taken back by my impulse. This felt really shady, especially for legal law enforcement, but I’ve done shadier. Much shadier. - "Okay so the tap is on now, you don't have to do anything. It'll pick up anything you can hear with your own ears, so be aware of that." Agent Ford and I stand close together in our cleaning supplies closet, she is messing with the wires and adjusting them so they don't show at all. She smells like vanilla and coconuts, maybe I'll ask her to get a drink with me after this is all done. "Michael?" "Yeah?" "Why are you here? Smart guy like you- I could find a place for you in the bureau, if it's money you need." "It's temporary. I graduate soon and I promise you I won't look back. Maybe I'll take you up on that job offer though." She chuckled warmly, placing a thin device into my suit pocket. "I just don't know how you do it, how you let yourself be... well degraded like that. I hope I'm not offending you at all I'm just... astonished." "Oh no, please, I get it. The way I look at it is that we're all workers of the Golden Soul. You ever read The Jungle?" "Yeah, in high school." "Well it's like that." "Right, well, good luck out there. I'll see you soon" - I approached the table with Mr. Gardiner. He was on the larger side and wore a linen shirt that was slightly see-through. You’d think with near infinite money all these people would dress better. He had a big hearty laugh, the type that’s contagious, but every time I heard it my stomach lurched. His companions were the same, a short and energetic salesman and of course the aging, bitter, congresswoman.

“Welcome back to Golden Souls! I’ll be your host for this evening, anything I can get for you all to start?”

Mr. Gardiner’s face dropped and he stared at me with irritation, “Where’s Ingrid.”

“She is out sick today” I told her I'll work in her place and give her the full compensation, who would say no? “I’ll be taking care of you all if that’s alright” “Spin around for us, would you?” Mrs. Parsons said with a chuckle but the gentlemen were not amused. Mr. Gardiner tossed me a dismayed glance, “Fine, Veer, search him.”  Two bodyguards were on me in an instant. Where the fuck did they come from? They shoved me to the wall and began feeling my suit with efficiency. My heart dropped. One felt my collar, fingertips brushing the wiretap underneath it. Our eyes met with mutual understanding. Out of breath, I let my head drop to the wall behind me as the bodyguards released me and took to Mr. Gardiner. One leaned over to whisper something in his ear. - “Was it worth it? Huh? Just to become another cog in their machine? Worthless. You’re Worthless!” Mr. Gardiner screamed, spit flying from his mouth. I was on the freezing asphalt of the parking lot, groaning and writhing with pain. I coughed up blood, fresh red on the melting and dirty piles of snow. My head was spinning and felt stomach acid crawling its way up my throat. “Just finish the job,” Mr. Gardiner departed into his cushy town car, the door slamming. Hands grabbed me by the collar and propped me up against the wall. Eyes closed, I felt the cold barrel pressed onto my temple.  “Wait, please, you don’t have to do this” “Sorry man,” a deep voice resonated in my chest, “You’re my next paycheck.”


For as long as she could remember, Agatha hated the dark. It was cold. It was bitter. It was unforgiving. Even sitting still in the dark room, illuminated only by the crescent moon, made Agatha feel like she was writhing in her own skin. As her impatience grew with each passing second, she chewed her lip.

The bright red numbers on the digital clock by her bed made a ticking

sound every time they changed, and Agatha kept track of every minute. This time, her attempt would work.

When the time was right, Agatha would get out of bed and leave her room. Careful to avoid squeaky floorboards, she’d crawl down the stairs and skip the 7th step, because that one always creaked when someone stepped on it. Then, she’d slip out into the night through the back door.

Agatha’s knee bounced with anticipation as she waited for the right moment.

Now! As the minute changed, she sprang up out of her bed, tiptoed across the room, and gently opened the door. If only her parents didn’t have such an odd obsession with black furniture, maybe Agatha could’ve seen something in the dark. She stepped into the hall and felt her way around the house. Turning the corner and walking down the stairs, Agatha descended. Thirteen, twelve, eleven. Agatha shuffled around as she went down the stairs, stepping left and right, only putting pressure on the parts of the stairs that she knew were silent. Creeaak. Agatha froze. She’d forgotten to skip the 7th step. She bit her lip and slowly lifted her foot, resulting in another loud creeaak .

After quickly stepping down the rest of the stairs, Agatha turned. It seemed no one had woken up. She sighed in relief. Making sure she went unheard, Agatha crept through the kitchen and pushed the back door open. A strong gust of freezing air blew into the house, and she quickly shut the door behind her as she stepped outside. Across the yard, her eyes found her target: the ladder that her father had left leaning against the shed the night before. She crept across the yard, the icy air stabbing away at her face. She reached the shed and placed a cold hand on the ladder. Almost there . With both hands, Agatha lifted the ladder and pulled it off the wall. “You know it’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be out here.” Agatha sharply inhaled at the sound of a voice. She turned around and sighed. Standing there in a puffy black jacket was Eve. Eve was, well, Eve. She fit the perfect stereotype of the nosy younger sister, and, coincidentally, was also the one sibling Agatha was most afraid of waking up. “Well, neither should you,” Agatha said. Eve rolled her eyes. “Just come back inside, come on. It’s too late for this.”

“No, I can’t!” Agatha continued dragging the ladder along through the grass. “I have to do this now. I’ve never gotten this close before. You know I always get caught. As soon as I’m done, I’ll come right back down.” Eve sighed. “If I help you move the stupid ladder, will you promise to come back into the house immediately after?” Agatha nodded. The two of them hauled the ladder across the yard and propped it up against the house’s wall, fully extending it. Agatha could hardly contain her excitement. Today, she’d finally do it. Eve helped hold the ladder in place as Agatha began the slow climb up to the roof. One, two, three, four. Agatha ascended each step. Five, six, seven, eight. Up, up, up. Higher and higher still. Agatha kept climbing until she finally felt her hand touch the tiles of the rooftop. She’d done it!

Agatha pulled herself up, her feet dangling off the roof. She looked around, seeing houses, trees, and mountains for miles all around. As the sky slowly got lighter, every little detail of the suburban neighborhood around them became more and more vivid. “Alright, you happy now?” Eve said, exasperated. “Come back down.” “Are you kidding? Not yet!” Agatha could hardly contain how eager she was. She chewed her lip so hard the skin ripped, though she was so excited she couldn’t even taste any blood. “We made a deal, Agatha!” “Just a few more minutes! I have to see it at least once!” Eve sighed. “Fine! But I’m not going back inside until you do, so if Mom and Dad wake up and find me out here, you are the one who’s getting in trouble.” Eve sat on the ground. “Suit yourself!” Agatha rested her head in her hands and continued to admire the mountains off in the distance. Just a few minutes and the sun would come up. She’d finally see it. Her parents would’ve killed her if they knew she was up on the roof this early. The sky began to lighten, turning from navy blue to shades of lavender and orange. “Time’s up, Agatha! Come on, seriously!” Eve stomped her foot impatiently. “This isn’t safe!” Agatha’s heart soared as she saw sunlight beginning to spill over the distant mountains. The sun! She jumped to her feet as the warm sunlight began to touch her toes. Agatha felt warmth pervade through her ankles as the sunlight spread. Agatha had never felt like this before. Could this really have been what the sun felt like? The heat slowly traveled up to her knees.

“Agatha, get down here, now ! In a few minutes, you’ll— ugh!” she sighed. “I’m gonna wake up Mom and Dad!” But Agatha could barely even hear. The sunlight was so warm . It was so comforting. It was so forgiving. The warmth traveled up to her waist, then through her arms. Like a blanket, she was soon totally enveloped in soft golden light. She shut her eyes. Why didn’t her parents ever let her go out after sunrise? This was wonderful. She wanted to stay like this forever. Like a statue, Agatha refused to move. Why would she ever want to? “Agatha, no !” Eve began climbing up the ladder as fast as she could. The dark may have been scary and dull and boring, but it was the only place where their family could be safe. Eve made it up the ladder and screamed. She was too late. Her older sister had already turned to stone.


"Growing apart?" His voice was panicked. "W-w-w-what do you mean by that, Gabi? Are we... growing apart?" It felt as if he was right next to her when the words were delivered over the phone. Ironic, she thought. "No, I mean," She sighed. How come he could be so easy to talk to and so difficult at the same time? "I mean we're just at a disadvantage right now." "Disadvantage?" "Yeah," A dropped moment of silence. "Look, I meant what I said two weeks ago..." "It doesn't feel like it." "Well, you can't blame me for this? I didn't know whenever you kissed me that two weeks later we'd be separated for who knows how long." "Again." She was perplexed by this answer. "Ben, what..." "Again," it was aggressive now, his tone was shifting uneasily and she started to breathe heavier. Her mind raced to the ideas of last semester. It's true, they had been separated twice before, but then it wasn't by force. Or perhaps, maybe it was. She had sworn him off like someone who had quit smoking. Cold turkey. The boy was bad for her. She knew it, everybody knew it. He was deep, a description that not many people got in her book. Why she liked that depth she never knew. It was purposeful, not accidental. It was the same characteristic that simultaneously enthralled and infuriated her. It broke her heart, she's realized that now. She thought that his depth was exclusive to her, that it only went as deep as she wanted it to. A well, a pit, a black hole. She should have known better. His depth reached far beyond herself. And for that, she was scared. Rumors spread like weeds around her cracked and blistering heart. Stories came out of the walls. Her ? But she's my friend, how could you be talking to her, too? All the while I was falling deeper and deeper into you and you were trying to catch someone else? How could you... "I'm sorry, I overreacted," he finally whimpered. She hadn't realized a minute of silence had enveloped them. "I'm just so afraid of losing you." The words pounded inside of her but her memories held her captive. She bit her lip. She shouldn't have said it but, "Really?" The question came out ruder than she had planned. She imagined the look in his face whenever he heard this. "Gabi," he whispered. "Are you, are you a-a-a-actually asking me that right now?" "Yes, I am!" She couldn't help the fury now. "Why would you even doubt it? I-I-I was stupid, I know that now. Do you still not trust me?" His disbelief made her shaky. "I, I don't know..." Silence, disappointment, heaviness. "I guess," she finally squeaked. Her eyes got wet, but she blinked back tears. No, you will not cry over him... "Ben, I was just saying... "Growing apart doesn't change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side..." I didn't think this would lead to... I don't know, I didn't think me saying that would come to this conversation." He laughed sadly. An oxymoron. A favorite of his. "What is this conversation... a break-up?" She bit her lip again. "I don't even feel like we got started." "Maybe there's a reason for that." She was afraid what he would think if she said that. And then her lips formed the words and she just said it. Now a full and anxious quietness shaped her emotions. She stood up. She had to move. Leaning into every word he said was plunging her deeper and deeper. Climbing out of the well. We're climbing out. "Maybe there is." Her heart sank. Why did it sink? Was she waiting for him to say no, to fight for her, to make her believe that he loved her? Why? Why, when she was climbing out did his submission make her want to jump back in? "I don't know maybe this was a bad idea," "Do you really think that?" she asked with a pungency she hadn't expected. "No," he denied romantically. "I have never regretted the night we spent together." "Neither have I," the words rushed out of her before she had a second to proofread them. Two breaths. Again he felt much closer than he was. She wished his arms were there. She missed that sensation of feeling safe and secure and isolated from any kind of danger. Why him? She didn't know. Why he could make her feel that way, she couldn't explain. Maybe their roots had entangled. "I will tell you as many times as I need to that, I-I-I-I'm sorry for everything in the past..." "Oh, Ben.. I know.." "No, I don't think you do. I am truly, truly sorry. I never knew how much pain I caused you, a-a-a-and the idea of that pain makes me feel so much more for you. You have been nothing but a good friend to me and I have found myself helpless to thoughts of you, it's like..." She took a breath, listening to his words made her weak. "It's like part of me is missing when I can't talk to you. I can't see you or touch you or be close to you. Everything you do gives light to me. It's intoxicating." Now she felt herself sitting in the well again. Roots tangled freely. "Gosh, I'm sorry, that's probably not helping your move to friend-zone me." She laughed but it was brittle. She was still infatuated with thinking about what he just said. "Are you in love with me." It wasn't a question, she didn't ask it like a question. In fact, it was a pure impulse; the thought as if a jewel dug up by an old miner whose coal mine would soon explode. "Uh-" he couldn't believe she asked him that, and in such a way he didn't feel capable of answering. "Because you act like it. And I'm afraid that I'm in love with that." Now his chest was throbbing with the mechanical fury of his heart. What was she saying? "I'm afraid I'm in love with love." The recognition felt like a sunset on a mountain. She was out of the well now, perhaps still sitting next to it, but nevertheless free. "Can you, e-e-explain that?" "Yeah," she was suddenly confident. "I love the idea that you're in love with me. It's quite selfish actually, if I have to be honest. In fact, it kills me how badly in love I am with just the sound of your voice telling me that you're in love with me" "But, I never..." "Is that terrible? It is!" She interrupted him insanely. Confidence turned to self-frustration in a second. "Have I been, all this time, in love with the simple idea that you might be in love with me? If you dropped me right now, would I miss you or just the attention that you give me? I don't know, Ben, and that drives me absolutely crazy trying to figure it out. I'm too deep, I'm too entangled." He tried to hear the words as she said them but the rate at which she was speaking began to blow him away. Slowly, he pieced together the reality she was conveying. "Hey," he said so softly it knifed her. "Can you not beat yourself up, please? Another realization. She loved the way he caught her world as it was crashing down. "You are not at fault here. Okay? No one is. If that's how you feel about me then that's how you feel. I can't change that and to some degree, you can't either." For a moment it felt as if they were laying in a green field on a summer night looking at the stars. She relished in the fantasy. "I think what we have is something really different." The phrasing made her laugh. Yeah, that's for sure. "And I say that because... I-I-I never thought that you would take a second chance on me. You didn't have to. But you did." Why did she? She recalled how it felt to be ignored by him, to see other people with him, to feel the icy chill of his presence whenever it was necessary he be in the same room as her. She could have continued the stalemate if she had felt that the man on the other side of the wall had given up... but oddly, it always felt like a long, purposeful silence. Every glance, every wayward look that got cast between them, being met with casual, polite excuses, held a punch. It was utterly perplexing. And whenever they had opened the gates and the words came flooding in, the relief or maybe even the risk, was electrifying. Her brain still questioned every time she reveled in his presence. Her cold and chained up heart still wanted to reach out through the prison bars but her mind, the guard, would swat away the grasping hands. It was not a shock whenever she grabbed his hand in a movie theatre that he had let go of it softly and said, "no, let's... let's not." However, it was no surprise that whenever he let her into his apartment and no one was there that the couch and his body soon became a permanent fixture. They had been starving themselves for so long. Every kiss felt like the first. Every breath was enticing. She was disgusted with herself and how badly she wanted him close to her. Months later, her disgust had forced her to flee from him, her hunger hidden again with the excuses and shamings of herself. And then, that night. They stood together, frozen with cold, on top of a watch tower, left open for tourists and dumb kids like them to explore. The thought of themselves as 'dumb kids' made her smile. They sat there, looking at stars and clouds that passed by the moon. Her knees pulled up to her chest, they gently fell against his own. And he looked at her then. His eyes so dark, so deep, so easy to fall into. He asked if he could hold her hand and the image of their fingers interlocked and the white fog of their breath felt poetic. That image alone made her say, "why not?" Had she known that two weeks later a major pandemic would separate them and force her to think about all of these moments, would she still have looked at him, and with hunger in her eyes say, "why not?" She didn't know the answer. And that plagued her. "Gabi?" His voice awakened her from the slouched position she had taken up, half-drooling and squinting at the lamp next to her bed. "oh, sorry," she managed to say. "I didn't know I..." She yawned and heard him laugh. "It's alright, I knew you fell asleep like 5 minutes ago. Wow did you hear anything I said?" "No," she admitted and laughed at herself. "Yeah, I didn't either," he chuckled and sighed a pleasant sigh. "I was just thinking about everything and I guess it just put me to sleep..." "Well, it is late too, sweetheart." She smiled at his voice. "But hey, before you go, can I read you this quote I found today?" "Oh yeah, of course. You know me and quotes." "Growing apart doesn't change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I'm glad for that..." Hmm, she'd never heard it before. But instantly she felt as if it applied to them. Their friendship was different like that. She thought it over in her mind, and softly asked with veiled fear, "Growing apart?"