The doctor was staring at the meatball sitting in front of him. His flesh was loose, the belly was perfectly round and squishy, but it definitely had a little elasticity to give an extra level of pleasure to the person who would tap on it. The doctor didn't touch him, but his long experience told him all that. He knew his patient was an overweight guy who didn't even seem to care about it. He came here for acute knee pain. Who would say to him that his obesity is the root of his problems? But the fluffy man was not at all ashamed of his bad habits of eating a whole ocean at a time. " Do you know it's not at all good to be that fat?" "Hey, it's not my fault. I have become like that, because of this world." " Eh! Stop lying. Look, I'm a doctor and I know you eat too much and don't exercise. So..." "You don't believe me!" "Try to understand, you have to reduce your BMI if you want to live healthily" " I didn't think I'll share this information with anyone. But, guess I don't have any choice now. Do you want to know Why I'm fat? Well, let me tell you a story first." "Don't waste my time." " I'll only tell the necessary parts. This is a story of three people. Not very long ago the world wasn't like this---------- "Not very long ago people used to live a happy normal life. But suddenly everything changed. Science fiction writers have predicted and described many kinds of apocalypse in their fiction. Starting from omnipotent A.I. taking over the world to the self-destruction of the sun. Nuclear holocaust and zombies had been used as morning walk! But these nonsense bunch of fictional stories are useless and nothing compared to the problem what people are facing now. This kind of apocalypse was never ever imagined. As a result of this destructive apocalypse, people are now unable to use lifts. They can't walk properly, eat properly, sit properly. This ultimate phenomenon destroyed our lifestyle. And the main problem we're facing is....." "Cut it out, Steve. We all know what this is. In fact, look at me!" Steve looked at the poor potato lying on the couch, scratching his head. No, wait! It wasn't a potato! It was his friend Paul! His body is completely round. His head was completely sunk inside his tremendous belly. Hands and legs were kinda like big sized cucumbers and his fingers were comparable with big round and juicy grapes. He had been transformed into a huge potato. "Umm, sorry about that Paul.", he said softly. It all started almost a year ago. The government of 'Ekta' ordered and forced all the farmers to cultivate a special genotype of potato. It should have been an over-productive type, in fact, it was. But, after people started to eat those potatoes, soon they also started to turn into potato-like species themselves! A group of young scientists started working in order to find out a way to cope with it. "Steve, what should we do know? All of our co-workers have been turned into potatoes. Even me! Soon I even won't be able to ta....." "Oh no, Paul!" "We're doomed, now it's only you and me.", Stated Nick, pro gamer, the fattest person in that room. Of course, his belly was nothing big in front of Paul's. But once Paul used to be the thinnest member of their group. TAN. TAN. TAN. TAN.! They were startled by the sudden sound. It was their Auto Surveillance System's Alarm. That meant it had found something. They rushed to the control room. "Marvelous! We finally found one of the parliament members" "Let's go and talk. It's highly likely the government was involved in this crisis" They at once rushed to the detected spot. Even Paul was going rolling his body. But they didn't get what they expected. The parliament member was also turned out to be a potato himself! "So, the government wasn't involved?" "How can we know that Steve?" They searched the empty house only to waste time. "Hey Nick, look what I found!", He had a file in his hand. "It reads: the government received the formula of hybrid potato from a legendary creature called 'the Jamba'. " "What do you mean by 'the Jamba'!? So, wasn't it scientific warfare?" "I don't know, but, if we want to stop it, we have to touch all the bases." "So, where can we find that so called Jamba?" "No data. But I'm sure we can find more information in the library." They headed to the library. In the meantime, Paul totally lost his sanity and started to try to slam Nick and Steve. It is also needed to be mentioned that, the strange syndrome not only turned people in potatoes but also affected the thinking process. The person who's effected used to get an instinct of killing people by slamming them. "Whoa, Paul!" "Hey, Nick, let's hide in that house, with that fat body, there's no way he will be able to enter." They entered an abandoned house breaking the front door with a heavy kick. But they were wrong. Paul was fat but also quite elastic. He managed to enter and kept following them. "He is coming, Steve! He is coming! " Steve had eyes. He also saw that creature coming. ''Head to the stairs!" They ran upstairs at a furious speed. This time it was successful. Paul could not climb the stairs because of his excessive weight. "That was close.", sighed Nick. "We're safe, but we need to get out of here." Steve started to look around the house. "I think, there is a private library here." "That's good luck, but it's highly unlikely that we'll find out anything about the Jamba here." "Found it!" "Impossible!", Nick didn't believe what he just heard. "It's possible that the house owner was a fan of legends." "You mean apex legends?" "It's not a funny idiot! The world is at stake and you're talking about games!" "My bad." Reading the book they found, they found out the place where the Jamba used to live. "Steve, listen to me, we need to run faster than super Mario and even sonic if we want to reach the mount Takara today." "Stop talking about games. Lemme think a bit." During the first few months of the apocalypse, all the vehicles had been destroyed. So that was out of the question. But remaining out of the base wasn't at all safe. They already knew higher places were least likely to be attacked. "I have an idea, Steve." "If it's about games then no thanks." "Trust me, you'll like it." Soon the pair were heading towards mount Takara. How? Well, they were running on Paul's round body causing him to roll. They were running backward in order to progress forward. The idea was perfect. They soon reached mount, Takara. The mountain had a big dark cave. Nothing could be seen inside. "Jamba! We're here to talk with you. We have a little business to settle." A bright light started to come out of the cave. They could see a humongous shadow on the farthest wall of the cave. It was almost 20 meters long. It looked like a fat dragon with relatively small wings. The shadow looked creepy. They were trembling with fear. And, when the monster came out, they were shocked to discover, the great Jamba, was, actually, a chicken! It was indeed a regular-sized chicken, but the shadow was tremendous because of the angle from which they were watching it. "Greetings my friends. What do you want from me?" "You turned all the people into potatoes. We request you to make everything normal again, or.." "We'll fry and eat you!" "Shut up Nick! .... I'm begging, do forgive my fellow friend for his rudeness." "Nah don't worry, I'm not at all angry. Actually, the government of Ekta asked me to solve the malnutrition problem. And that's why I decided to solve the problem once and for all by making them overweight" "I see. But, our government didn't mean anything like this. I beg you please make everything normal again." "That's not possible." "If you don't do what we say, we're sure having a grilled chicken with soya sauce today..." Steve shoots a killing look at Nick's eyes making him quiet once again. "Isn't there any way?" " I'm afraid there's a way but you can't do that." "Just tell us." "If I have to undo the formula, I'll need to do the chicken dance. But I can't do that unless someone defeats me in the Competition." "What kind of competition?" "You'll gonna have to defeat me in eating competition." Both friends burst into laughter. Steve sure was a master class scientist. But he also was well known for his massive eating habits. And as the competitor was just a 1 feet tall chicken, it wasn't even a competition! "You don't need to be worried. Let's do this." "Okay, don't say I didn't warn ya!" Soon two 1000 litter boxes filled with noodles were visible before them. "I don't think we'll need that much." "Oh!, I don't think so!", The small chicken started to evolve and turned into a big fat elephant with a relatively small nose! "H-hey!, That's cheating!" "I warned you before!" Nick was afraid and didn't know what to do. But he saw a grin on Steve's face. "Noodles are my favorite! I always wanted to eat as much as I want. But never could because of a shortage of money. I finally got my chance!", He said to himself, "if I don't win I'll still be able to enjoy the noodles!" "Hey! Why are you laughing!?" "Don't worry, Nick. I've got this!" Soon the competition began. Both the contestants were eating like they hadn't eaten for years. 2 bowls, 3 bowls...21 bowls, 22 bowls....67 bowls...none of them showed any sign of withdrawal. 346 bowl, Steve was getting fatter and fluffier with every bowl he devoured. 543 bowl, Steve started to get difficulties. But he continued nevertheless.657 bowl, the elephant was already 6 bowls ahead. But the competition was far from over. "You can do it, Steve, the fate of humanity depends on you!" 768 bowl, the elephant also having trouble now; though he is already 21 bowls ahead. Steve had become a giant football by then. With every bowl, it was getting harder and harder. "Do it, Steve!" The competition turned insane. Both of them were running out of energy. They were having trouble continuing. Steve had eliminated the difference between them. Both of them were eating 974 number bowl. But suddenly the elephant burst, scattering millions of ultra-fat chickens everywhere. That watermelon like chickens had ridiculously small wings and almost no neck. Looking like fluffy watermelons. "I can't believe I'm lost!", Stated Jamba. "Oh well, I'll keep my promise." The Jamba or Jambas started to do the chicken dance in order to reverse everything. ---------------------- Jamba kept his promise. Thus once again, everything became normal. He also altered the memory of the people so that no one remembers the facts.." "And what's the connection of it with your obesity?" "I'm Steve." " Stop joking. You think I'm going to buy this ridiculous story?" " I'm serious!" " What do you think, I'm a clown?! This story has to be a lie. It has so many plot holes. it's impossible for a person to eat that much. And people turning into potatoes; what it has to do with vehicles?! You don't even know how to lie properly." " I'm not lying. It's true. Believe me!" "Yeah, I'm sorry. I was wrong. Obesity isn't the biggest problem you have. Don't worry. I'm recommending you a good psychologist. " "Okay. You won't trust me. I think I don't have any choice left. Here you go. Eat it.", He picked up a boiled potato from a tiffin box he was carrying. The doctor received it and started to devour it without hesitation. "Don't think I believe you. I'm just hungry that is why I accepted the treat. In fact, your ridiculous story made me hungry!." As soon as he swallowed the potato. He turned into a huge fluffy potato himself! Moral: Never eat potatoes from strangers! ***. ***. ***


It had happened my dream interview with a firm in Northern Island. They want me and I want to work for them. Being a diligent person, plan your journey to get to the interview at two pm on Tuesday. The easiest way is to get the underground from Brixton to Tottenham Hale, catch the Stanstead express to Stanstead, then catch the Easy Jet flight to Belfast by Easy Jet. What could be easier? The week before had my suit cleaned at the local dry cleaners, then got out the cotton wool and a little bit of water. Spent an hour bulling my shoes until they were like mirrors. I could see myself in the reflection. Even bought a new tie. I had a timetable written out from the bus from Loughborough Road to Brixton Tube station, to arrival at Stanstead Airport for my flight. What could go wrong? Kissed my wife goodbye and left home at seven am on Tuesday morning. The council had found a leak in the heating system, and dug up all of the paths over night had a detour to get to the bus stop. Arrived at the bus stop. The monitor showed that the bus was due. The bus arrived and drove straight past. The next bus is due in two minutes, the bus arrives, and the bus driver does not open the doors to let me on, I bang on the doors and shout to no avail the bus driver just ignores me. A minute later the next bus arrives, it stops lets me on and I pay using my Oyster Card. Five minutes later arrive at Brixton tube station, would have been faster walking. Dodging a few buskers and beggars, run down the stairs to Brixton tube station, put my Oyster card on to the reader, does not open, not enough funds. Run to the ticket machines and buy a ticket to Tottenham Hale. Through the barriers down the escalator and onto the tube train sitting in the station. An announcement comes through the speaker the train has a problem. Jump off of this tube train and go to the other platform where there is no train. After a wait of five minutes, a train arrives. The tannoy announces the first train will be on the other platform. Run back to the other train, we leave the station at last. Thirty-five minutes later arrive at Tottenham Hale, run to the station to catch the Stanstead Express, buy a ticket, run to the platform to watch the guard blow his whistle and the train leaves the station. Next train due in an hour. My timetable allowed for a long wait at Stanstead Airport, but that time is now diminishing. Should just catch the flight. An hour later the Stanstead Express arrives, it goes well, no delays, maybe my luck is changing. We arrive at Stanstead Airport. Sprint through the airport get to the check in for Easy Jet. There is a problem with my ticket, the credit card has not fully cleared, need to buy another ticket. My flight is now full and you must catch the next flight at 3:20 pm. My head is in my hands. I call the company that am going to see and explain to HR better known as Human Remains what has happened today. The lady seems to be quite used to these problems. She says, ‘that is no problem, we will book you into the Premiere Inn at Belfast International Airport. ’Thank you,’ I reply thinking they may have cancelled the interview. Time passes quite quickly at Stanstead Airport the Easy Jet flight arrives and we all board the flight; it departs on time. My luck is changing. The flight lands at Belfast, amazed expected to ditch in the Irish Sea, but no everything went well. Walk to Premiere Inn at Belfast International Airport. My luck is changing. ‘What is your name sir?’ ‘John Stevens’ ‘Sorry you do not have a booking here, and we are full tonight. My head goes into my hands, can today get any worse? ‘Sir you said your name is John Stevens’ ‘Yes, that is me.’ ‘Let me check the other bookings in Northern Island and see if I can find you.’ Stand patiently while the woman checks the system. Praying that she can find me. ‘You are booked into Premiere Inn in the Titanic Quarter; you can catch a taxi there it will be about thirty pounds,’ the receptionist replies. ‘Thank you where is the nearest ATM please’ ‘Oh, there is one outside, just go out of the main exit and you will find it on the left. Walk out of the airport building and turn left. There in front of me is the ATM. I put my debit card into the ATM. It accepts the card, starts doing its standard checks of the card to verify it. Then switches off. The screen displays. Sorry not in service. There is no information on the ATM who to contact if you have a problem. Run inside the Premiere Inn and ask the receptionist, ‘the ATM has just eaten my debit card how do I get it back please?’ The receptionist smiles nicely, it is a bank that is just down the road. Its about half a mile away, turn left out of here and keep going straight. It is Danske Bank. But it is now past five o’clock and the bank will be shut, it would be best if you waited until the engineer comes out.’ This day could not get any worse. My head is in my hands with disbelief. I borrow a chair from Premiere Inn and sit outside by the ATM. Lots of people come up to the ATM and look at the out of service message and walk away shaking their head. At seven o’clock an engineer arrives at the ATM. After explaining my predicament, the engineer gives me my debit card back. Then waits by the machine while I take out one hundred pounds. A taxi drives past, I wave at it and it stops. Negotiate a fare to get to the Premiere Inn Titanic Quarter, agree a fare of twenty-five pounds. At last, arrive at my hotel, tomorrow, interview, good nights sleep tonight after this day of disasters. The next morning wake up at seven am, get up do my exercises, shower then go for breakfast. Go for the full breakfast the best start for the day. Sit relaxed eating my breakfast, put the fried egg on to my fork. A waitress walks past me and bumps my arm, knocking the fried egg off of my fork and onto my tie. Disaster, my only tie. The waitress panics and tries to get the egg off of my tie making it worse. New tie and shirt required, before my interview at ten o’clock. The hotel offers to pay for a new tie and shirt. Then supply me with a taxi to take me to the local shopping centre and then to my interview. At ten am on Wednesday, my interview starts. By eleven o’clock have been offered the position, and a chance to bring my wife to Northern Island to find a place to live


A long time ago I left my hometown Caracas to live in the countryside and now I have returned. Over forty years passed and, although the city looks the same, many an old building has been demolished and a new one built, others have been just renovated giving them a nicer look. I was enjoying my recent retirement and since I had nothing better to do but sightsee, I decided to take a long walk from Chacaito , where I was residing at the moment to Petare, almost nine kilometers, something that I did almost daily during my preteen years, while living in the same area. It was still early in the morning. That almost magical time between school at seven and work at nine. The weather was just delicious. Cool with a slow and steady breeze blowing in my face, keeping the temperature at nineteen Celsius. Wonderful! Businesses were getting ready to open and most eateries on both sides of the avenue were doing business at a fast clip. People ate standing or seated on stools. Very few tables were occupied because breakfast before work is a quick bite and coffee. I was walking at a leisure pace, enjoying the view. Buildings, either new or renovated, with shiny glass colored facades, gave my stroll an iridescent quality that made me stop, take a deep breath, and, wham! I was struck by a smell I had not perceived since childhood. I turned my head this and that way, searching for the origin of such a wonderful enticing smell. There! At the corner of Miranda avenue and La Joya street. Oh, God. I was taken back to maybe fifty years ago when I was ten, maybe less, walking hand in hand with my mom, and smelled something wonderful. She had parked the car two blocks away and we were walking to specifically this panadería right here in the very same corner to have a snack and buy sweetbreads to eat at home with the rest of the family. I took another deep breath. I just had to. Sííí . Gosh, I loved that smell. I clearly remembered all of it. My memory of that long-gone day became so clear that I felt my mother’s warm hand holding mine as we crossed the street, walked up four steps up, and entered the bakery. Today I did the same, minus the hand-holding part. I crossed the Joya street and stood in front of the rounded corner building that housed the very same panadería . What a time trip. I have to tell you. The smell coming from it almost overpowered my senses, it was mouth-watering, appetizing, scrumptious, luscious, enjoyable, palatable, delightful, to just say a few adjectives. I climbed the same old, worn four steps, and entered a renovated business with shiny steel and glass counters. There was a queue to order, another to pay and a third to pick up the goods. No chairs, no tables. Just a marble counter along one wall for people to eat their goodies and drink their beverages standing up. Everybody seemed short of time. Customers were in a hurry, employees were hurrying, two cashiers hurriedly worked the cash register machines and payment terminals. I just stood in the middle of that little chaos, taking it all in, at ease. French baguettes. Italian bread. Sweet milk bread. Peasant bread. Sourbread. Sandwich bread. Croissants. Flatbread. Fruit bread. Hamburger and hot-dog buns. Whole grain bread. Bagels. Then, our typical bread and pastries, like a quesadilla , which is nothing like the Mexican quesadilla , our is a sweet soft star-shaped thin bun, with a sweet cheesy mixture on top, and, what I consider the king of all sweetbreads, el golfeado , a typical Venezuelan roll filled with grated white cheese soaked in dark sugarcane syrup, that tastes like glory in heaven. To tell you the truth, I didn’t know what to choose. As usual in my life, unless I have to meet somebody for coffee or breakfast, never leave home without the day’s most important meal in my belly. To choose in that mouth-watering environment felt like sinning gluttony. I reckon I spent almost twenty minutes just looking at all that bread, letting the smell impregnate my clothes, my taste-buds, and my mind. Finally, I decided to have lunch at half-past eight in the morning. I selected a golfeado with queso de mano , a soft fresh layered cheese lightly salted, and a cachito , a half-moon of rolled dough filled with shredded ham. Large coffee with milk completed my order. I was given a paper ticket to pay my order with, stood in the payment queue for almost five minutes, paid, and was given a ticket to pick up my consumption, that was given to me in two plastic plates and a plastic cup filled to the rim with piping hot coffee. I made a line to a free spot on the counter to set down my meal. The hot coffee was burning my fingertips and in the haste to put down the cup I splashed some of it on the marble. Whew. What an ordeal. After wiping my hands in my pants, there were no paper napkins available because the owners of the panadería were cheap merchants, I munched first on my golfeado with queso de mano on top. Took several long minutes of slow chewing intermingled with hums and sighs of pure joy, washed down with a not so memorable coffee. For a few seconds, I considered asking for a doggie bag to carry my cachito home, but it was still warm and its smell wafted enticingly up to my nose so I decided, then and there, that if I have already committed the gluttony sin, I might as well continue to do so. I took a large bite of the cachito . Felt something crunch and, let me tell you, that is not something that should happen in a soft bread filled with shredded ham, it’s not even normal. I froze and kept my mouth closed, motionless. With a trembling hand and a queasy stomach, I looked at the bitten cachito in my hand. Half a cockroach was stuck inside it… Gluttony. I knew, in that very precise moment, with the other half of the cockroach inside my mouth, that I was paying for my gluttony sin. My real breakfast and my very early lunch were spewed right there, where the X marks the spot.


“Where are we going, Daniel?” “The only place we can after what you did.” “…You know it was an accident, right?” “Yes, yes. And I promised not to tell anyone. As we discussed. ” “Boy… holding him is kind of…could you pick up the foot there?” “I’m not touching anything. I’m helping you out, Max. Besides, you’re stronger than me, aren’t you? A big, tough brute? Surely this can’t be your first-” “- Stop it! Of course it is. I don’t- I wouldn’t-” “Don’t tell me you’re about to cry.” “I’m not. I’m just tired and I don’t know where we’re going and oh my god I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” “It isn’t me you need to be apologizing to, Maxie.” “…Why are you here anyway?” “Why am I here? Well, well, Maxie, you have some nerve. Can’t a fellow take a walk around the campgrounds before dinner?” “We were just meant to be shooting at… the squirrels. You know that, don’t you Daniel? I know we weren’t supposed to but… oh god, he’s a lot.” “How long has he been dead?” “Dead…” “He’s dead, isn’t he?” “Yes…” “Well, how long?” “Maybe…half an hour? Before you came.” “Half an hour, damn it Maxie. You really sat on the lawn for an hour with his body slumped over there, where anyone could see?” “I didn’t know what to do .” “You really didn’t mean to, did you?” “Of course not!” “Why do you say ‘of course not?’ Is it so unreasonable to think you might have had something against him?” “I just…I don’t know what happened. I thought I heard something, saw something even, and then- then…Bernard was my friend .” “People do strange things sometimes. Even to friends. Or so I hear. I wouldn’t know, would I?” “Dan.” “My name is Daniel.” “Daniel. I know we weren’t the nicest to you. t’s- when we said those things about you…” “Yes?” “We were just playing around, you know.” “…I don’t think you were.” “No, I mean, I guess I can’t talk for the others- ahh! watch, there’s a root there, almost got me, watch for it- but sometimes when we see something we don’t understand, we act…wrong, at first. You know.” “What is it…that you don’t understand?” “Well, uhm. It’s. Like just these little things, I guess. Maybe rumors. Brendan said you talked in your sleep, but it wasn’t like normal words and your eyes were open.” “Brendan is an idiot.” “Ha. Yeah… that’s true, isn’t it?…I guess there’s also things like that feather you’ve got around your neck.” “What about it?” “Henry tried to touch it and you were all weird about it.” “Henry should have asked, shouldn’t he?” “Well, yeah, but-” “Have you ever had something precious to you, Max? Something that you liked to keep close, like a secret?” “I don’t like it much when anyone else touches my drum set, I guess.” “Well, this is like that. Except much, much more.” “Hhhh… man, I feel like I need to rest a little. What’d’you mean, it’s more?” “This, Maxie, is a talisman. It’s the feather of a barn owl. Do you know anything about barn owls, Max?” “No. They the ones with the white faces?” “We had a bunch of barn owls back where I come from. You learn things, if you listen to them long enough. If you know how to listen. Most people don’t. I was alone a lot as a boy, you know.” “Sorry.” “I did not say lonely. I said alone.” “Is there a difference?” “Oh yes, Max. During this time, the owls showed me many things.” “I don’t really like owls, much. There was this story my gramma told me and in it whenever someone saw an owl it meant something bad. Like they were gonna die or something. It was messed up. Plus they sound kind of spooky.” “They are hard to understand and so you think them…wrong?” “Um. I guess. You got me. Are we close yet?” “We are. Come this way. You can stop a little here, but then we’ve got to keep going.” “You think they’ll wonder where we’ve gone?” “They won’t. … You are awfully silent now, Max.” “Yeah. I guess I was just thinking…am I doing the right thing? I feel like I should tell someone. Maybe we should just go back to the camp and-” “And what good would that do? Your friend would still be dead and you would be taken away.” “I just feel so… heavy. Like there’s a pile of rocks building up in the bottom of my stomach. And I don’t know if…even if I never get caught for it, will I ever stop thinking about it? Will the rocks ever clear away, or will they just pile higher and higher? Wh… why are you smiling at me like that?” “You are a good person, Max.” “I don’t-” “Yes. You are a good person, and I like you. And that is why I am helping you, Max.” “I really do appreciate it, but I don’t understand where this place is? What makes it different from any old place in the woods? Couldn’t we dig a hole?” “We could, Maxie. But if we never want your friend to be found, there are better ways. Better places. I know these woods well, Max. I’ve been here many times before. I know the twists and turns of the drying creek, I know the change of the seasons, the approach of an animal. I know the places no one comes back from.” “…How close are we? It’s getting dark.” “Almost, Max. You can feel it, can’t you?” “It’s kind of hard…to breathe a little bit.” “Yes. That’s natural when approaching the veil.” “The what? What’s that there, a cave?” “If you want.” “I don’t like it. It doesn’t feel right.” “Oh Max. Don’t be so judgmental.” “Do I just… put him in there? Like…that? Oh that’s weird. Daniel, will he be- that’s not a normal cave is it? If I put him in there, will he be-?” “Gone? Isn’t that what you wanted?” “It’s not…what’s that noise? It sounds like, oh god, it sounds like f-feathers. A lot of them. Oh my god. They’re here, aren’t they? The owls. They’re here.” “There, there Maxie. Don’t panic. As long as you don’t look up, you’ll be fine. A lot of people disappear in these woods.” “You… you?” “What about me, Maxie?” “Those others… from camp. It wasn’t- you didn’t, you weren’t the one who-?” “The one who what? We’ve been over this, Max. Sometimes things just… disappear.” “I want… I want to go back.” “I’m afraid that’s not possible.” “I’m bigger than you. I could-” “Now, Max. You and I are friends now, wouldn’t you say that? We share the most important of things; we share secrets. Only friends share precious things with one another. So I am going to share something precious with you right now, something of my very own.” “…Don’t. I don’t….” ‘Would you like to touch the feather, Max?”


The snow falls gently, as if it has all the time in the world. It covers everything in it’s white mask, disguising the trees, the rocks, the mountains, the whole world. The tiny crystals blend together, a whole being and separate entities. Some crystalize against the window, and I can see their individual shapes, how gorgeous and different each and every one are until there’s enough in the layer to make it one big frost. One could stand there forever, basking in the morning glow against the snow, hot tea in hand as the smell wafts up, feeling warmer knowing how cold it must be outside. My beautiful brown kitten, Puff, comes and rubs up against my leg, breaking my focus.

“Well, hello there handsome,” I whisper to him, picking him up. I turn him so that he’s looking out the window too, and I sigh “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Been awhile since you’ve seen snow hasn’t it?” my mom asks, coming up behind me

“Yeah, I forgot how gorgeous it is,” I respond

“Bet you’ll be surprised by how cold it is too then,” my mom laughs “you being so used to that california heat.” “I’m sure it’ll be a surprise.” “Excited to go out today?” my mom asks “do a little sledding, a little skating, maybe a snowball fight?” Skating. Right. “Oh, yeah. It’s been a while.” I tell her, staring at the ice

“See you in a bit!” she calls as she walks out of the room

It’s been years since I’ve skated. In fact, it’s been years since I’ve stepped on ice. The thought sends a shudder down my spine, chills me to my core. I can feel the anxiety rising, and the possibility of an impending panic attack coming on. I take deep breaths as I walk to the kitchen to grab a glass of water to calm myself down.

“Wassup, loser.” my older brother, Brantley greets me as he comes into the kitchen “When’d you get in?” “What a nice greeting.” I say “Hello to you too, dear brother. How are you? How is school? How’s that girl of yours?” “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I just thought I was getting a couple more hours of peace.” I make a face at him “My delay ended up taking less time than I thought, so I got in at about one last night.”

“Well, that’s a shame.”

“Oh, shut up.”

A few hours later we all head outside. The snowflakes land gently on my eyelashes and the cold bites my nose. I pull my jacket up a bit.

“Awe, is Hollywood finding it a bit cold out here?” Brantley knocks into me a little as he walks by. He has his skates flung over his shoulder and is holding a stick in his hand. Instead of responding, I choose to grab a handful of snow and rub it in his face. “Hey!” he yells, dropping his stuff. “Get over here!” I take off and he chases me. I run around the trees in the yard, trying to lose him, giggling as I go. I feel like a little kid again, running through the trees with my siblings and cousins, playing a game of pretend where we’re fighting against some near-omniscient foe, holding powers of another world.

Suddenly I’m face first in the snow.

“Ha-ha!” Brantley calls as I get up, propping one foot on a tree stump and doing a heroic pose. “I have prevailed!” I wipe the snow off my face and stand up. “Now I’m going to be all wet.” “Should’ve thought of that before you pushed snow in my face. You seem to forget that I am now bigger than you, and that you and Ceila can no longer team up on me-” his face falls as he realizes what he’s said “Crap. I’m sorry.” My lip quivers, but I bite down on it to stop myself from crying “N-no. It’s okay. You don’t- We shouldn’t… I-” I sigh “We shouldn’t have to dance around talking about it so much. You shouldn’t have to watch what you say.” “Really?” “Really.” “Oh, uh okay.” he looks taken back “So those therapy sessions… they’ve been working then?” “Yeah. At least, I think so. It’s… it’s better now. At least a little. I came here, didn’t I?” “That’s true. Should we get going?”

“Sure.” Together, we walk back to where everyone else is. I take in the sights. It’s stopped snowing and now it just glitters, undisturbed until we walk on it.

“Hey! Look!” Brantley calls excitedly “Check it out, it’s still here!”

“What’s still- oh!” I see him standing beside an old oak tree, bare and gray now that it’s winter. Hanging from one of the branches is an old tire swing. The trunk of the tree has wooden planks nailed to it. At partway up, there it is. The old treehouse. We had found it before, many years ago. We spent hours in it, playing games and hanging out. “I can’t believe it’s still here.” I murmur, placing my hand against the trunk.

“Yeah, I haven’t seen it in years, and I come out way more often than you.” he looks around “Guess I haven’t ran through the trees in a while.”

“Yeah,” I give a small laugh and look around “me either.”

We spend the day in the snow. Sledding down the hills, being pulled on a tube behind the quad, snowmobiling over mounds of snow. It’s complete nostalgia. It’s as if I’ve time traveled back to a different life. I love my life in California, my job, my friends, the heat, but this place, these experiences will always hold a special place in my heart. Everything feels as it once were. At least almost everything.

It’s near dark before we head over to the fire. Everyone else is already there, eating hot dogs and roasting marshmallows.

“Hey Hollywood!” one of my cousins call. Evidently, Brantley had shared that very endearing nickname with the family. “Gonna join us for a game of shinny after supper?”

Anxiety begins to rise in me, but I remember what my therapist said. Feet on the ground, anchored. Deep breaths, still breathing, still alive. Face your fears. “Sure, why not?”

Everyone’s lacing up their skates. I’m sitting on a log, people all around me, chattering amounts themselves. All I can hear is the rushing of blood in my head. I stare down at my skates. The ice is not in front of me, I can see the edges of it at the edge of my vision.

Before I know what’s happening, I’m gone. I vaguely hear people yelling behind me, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I just need to get away. From them, from the ice, from her. I hazardly run through the trees, knocking into branches, snow piling on top of me. I don’t even bother to wipe it up. Suddenly, I’m at the trunk of the old oak- and I’m climbing the wooden ladder into the house, not even considering how dangerous it may be. I huddle in the corner, the adrenaline wearing off. “I’m sorry.” I whisper “I’m so so sorry.” We were all obsessed with skating. We loved it. Celia was like a dancer on skates. She could fly through the air, defying gravity. Spin so fast that she became a blur. Brantley and I preferred hockey. The quick motion, the adrenaline rush. He was better than me, but I was catching up. I could’ve probably played for a university. I dreamt of playing for the Canadian women’s Olympic hockey team.

I was 14, Celia was 15 and Brantley was 17. We were at the cabin. It was getting warmer, but not too warm. Everyone else was sleeping. Celia and I snuck out late at night to go skating. We wanted to be under the stars. She loved the stars. She was telling me about this boy that she liked, and how excited she was for their first date when we got home. We laced up our skates. She got on the ice first.

“Watch this!” She called out. She began skating. Fast, so fast. Closer and closer to the middle, like a spiral. She was going faster than I had ever seen her go before. At the middle, she jumped up and spun in the air. She made three full spins before coming down. The ice cracked beneath her as she hit it. She looked up, and I saw the fear in her face as the ice broke. She fell in. I ran towards her as fast as I could. I tripped when I was close to her, and I broke the ice more, falling in behind her. I tried to turn myself around, kicking desperately to get up. My skate connected with something. I was drowning, dying, I couldn’t figure out which way was up.

I woke up to sirens and bright lights, a mask over my mouth and nose and a strangers face hovering over mine.

Apparently, Brantley just so happened to see me fall in as he was getting water in the kitchen. He screamed for our parents as he ran outside in nothing but Star Wars boxer shorts. I remember because he had gotten them for Christmas that year in a pack. He jumped in, bare chested, and grabbed me, pulled me up. He later said that I was so cold that I had turned blue. He thought I was dead. My parents and everyone else in the cabin came out too. They didn’t know that Celi was under too. They only saw me. Only knew that I was there. They were so panicked, so stressed, that they didn’t realize that I wouldn’t go out by myself. It wasn’t until my uncle asked where she was, after the ambulance had been called, that it occurred to them. My brother and dad almost jumped in. They had to be physically restrained. My aunt, an EMT, told them that they couldn’t go in, that they didn’t know where she was and they may only cause her to sink deeper. They didn’t care. They wanted to save her.

Half an hour later, she was fished out. The people who got her out said that she was dead before they realized that she was in there, that there was no saving her, that it wasn’t their fault.

Which, of course it wasn’t. It was mine.

Sure, we both wanted to be out there. It was even her idea.

But when she was pulled up, there was a gash on her forehead. Something had hit her. I had hit her. My skate had hit her head and knocked her out. If I hadn’t been so stupid, had gone for help instead of running to the water, she might’ve still been here, alive. There were so many things that she never got to do. Never went on her first date, had her first kiss, her first love. She wanted to be a doctor. Get married and have kids. Travel the world. Climb Mt. Everest, see the pyramids, go to the top of the effiel tower. She had her whole life in front of her. I killed her, and she never go to do any of that stuff, never got to experience life. And it’s all my fault.

“Lila?” I hear the soft voice of my brother outside of the treehouse “are you up there?”

I sniff, but don’t answer. I just want to be alone.

“I know that you’re there. If you don’t come down, I’m coming up.”

I still don’t answer, hoping that he’ll just leave. A moment later I hear the creaking of wood as he climbs up. He sits beside me, and puts his arm around my shoulder.

“It’s not your fault.” He tells me firmly This time I respond “Yes it is. I did it. I killed her.” “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes I did!” I sit up, now angry “I didn’t go inside to get help. I skated over to the water, tripped and fell in, and I kicked her in the head! The gash was there. She might’ve lived if it weren’t for me!”

Now he’s angry “Damn it Lila, you have to stop blaming yourself!”

“I blame myself because it’s my fault! I-“ “No! Shut up!” He yells “did you push her into the water? Did you purposely kick her to kill her? No! If anything it was my fault- you were unconscious, and I was too stupid to realize that you would go out alone!”

“Brantley, it wasn’t your fault.” “I know. But it took a long time for me to realize that. And it’s still hard. Sometimes I still think that I could’ve done more, saved her too.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I know.”

We sit in silence for a while. Suddenly he stands up and extends his hand.

“Come on.” He says

I look at him, perplexed “Where are we going?”

“Just come on. Trust me.” So I do. We walk slowly through the woods, past the trees. Brantley leads me. I have no idea where we’re going. We emerge from a path, and we’re in front of the lake.

“No.” I say “no way.”

“Lil, listen. After Celia died, I felt… broken.” He takes a deep breath “I couldn’t even function sometimes. It felt like I was dying too. I guess you’d understand that, huh?”

I nod. I do know how that feels. “Anyways,” he continues “it took me a while- less than you- but still. The way that I even kind of got back to being myself was by doing the things that I loved, like skating. I know that I wasn’t there for the whole thing. I know that you experienced it, the whole thing. I know that it’s different for you. You were there, under the ice. But now you need to come back on it.” He steps on and holds out his hand “come onto the ice with me.” I take a deep breath, and grab his hand. I close my eyes, and, ever so slowly, I step down onto the ice.


Raziel looked down at the knife in his hand. It looked worn. It looked plain, an old antler jammed onto the end of that blade, another way to squeeze out every drop of blood. It looked shabby, a tool near the end of its usefulness. It looked like damnation not salvation. Raziel had lead Shing, Eyla and their two daughters out the Wolves’ village in the dark of the night. They found the small boat hidden on the beach. Raziel and Shing paddled them out past the breakers and within twenty minutes they had hoisted the small sail. By the time the sun spread its sparkling rays across the sea, the refugees could no longer see Wolf Island. They caught a nice wind that sailed them across the channel in less than a day. When they reached the coast of Pacifica, Shing and Eyla took the girls up to the tree line while Raziel did his best to hide the boat. He had just finished taking down the mast when he noticed the blood red sail of the Wolves’ long boat on the horizon. His heart dropped to his stomach and exploded into a swarm of wasps. Their time was running out. They moved quickly through forest and found the old hunting cabin. Eyla burst into tears causing the girls to cry, causing Shing and Raziel to cry. They entered a sobbing motley crew clinging to one another. The cabin was the size of a barn, nestled between the folds of a large hill directly behind it. Next to a neatly made bed they found a basket of dried foods, warm clothing and that damned knife. A low whistle from the rafters snapped Raziel back to the now. The new plan was to take the knife, avoid the Wolves, find and bring back help. It was a lie. No help could make it back in time even if it was found. The unspoken reason for Raziel to run was to get rid of the knife. If any run-away thrall was found with a weapon it was a death sentence for all the adults. And for two little girls with no one to look out for them, it would not be good; it would be very far from good.

If Raziel could get far enough away, the others could be spared. He would still be killed horrifically but hopefully his friends would only be severely punished. That was the rosiest of options left. He hadn’t asked for any followers, but how do you say no to a young couple praying for their children to be free? He heard the whistle again. Raziel closed his fist around the knife and stepped out of the cabin. A white mist hung low to the ground, blurring the bottoms of the trees, limiting visibility. The beginnings of snowflakes drifted in the wind adding to the distractions. Maybe there was some hope after all. The first corner he turned killed that hope. One of the Wolves was already at the cabin, peering in through a crack in the wood. Raziel couldn’t see what the big, hairy man was seeing but he knew that Eyla and the girls had been discovered. Maybe if he could silence this man, keep him from alerting the pack it would buy them the time they so desperately needed. Raziel had never killed a man before but he was pretty sure talking his way out of this was out of the question. He switched the grip he had on the knife, like he knew what he was doing. Raziel swallowed (gulped) and began to creep toward the Wolf. Every footstep crashed like a boulder off a thousand foot cliff, every breath roared like the winds of a storm. The distance between himself and his target stretched for miles, so much time to be spotted, so many mistakes already made. He could turn around and run for it. They would probably be okay inside, probably? He swallowed hard again and began to look around for any other option. He was losing his cool, about to bolt when the Wolf turned. Without thinking Raziel clamped one hand over the man’s mouth. The man stopped struggling once he felt the knife tip dig into his belly. Raziel looked into his eyes, dark and wide under a heavy brow. He recognized this Wolf from his village. He was cruel to the thralls, despite or because of his own lowly status. A man looking to make a name for himself. Talking was definitely out of the question. The more Raziel hesitated the less his advantage became. The fear left the Wolf’s eyes, replaced with a smug confidence that this lowly coward could not kill him. The man reached for his own knife. Raziel shook his head vigorously NO, NO, NO he pleaded silently. The Wolf, true to his nature bit the hand over his mouth. Raziel pulled back. The Wolf opened his mouth to howl. Raziel plunged the knife into the Wolf’s gut. He felt something pop under the blade as it found vital organs. Instead of pulling it out Raziel pushed it down unzipping the belly like he was unzipping a jacket that was two sizes too small. He stepped back and stared. The Wolf also stared, his eyes disbelieving, his hands clutching to keep his insides inside. There are times in every person’s life where we stand outside of ourselves, seeing a traumatic event unfolding without emotion. This was one of those times for Raziel. Specifically when the Wolf’s internal temperature met the forest’s rapidly declining external temperature. Steam poured from the wound like a ghost, floating up toward the heavens. Raziel wasn’t particularly religious, but this would make even the most arrogant atheist run scared for church. This along with the blood and smell overwhelmed him. Raziel doubled over retching just as a blade sliced the space where his head had been. The blade thumped into the cabin, stalling the hatchet it was attached to. Raziel slid around and surged up, his mouth drooling bile, the knife stabbed in between the third and fourth rib of his assailant. This new Wolf was dead before he hit the ground. Raziel stood there, his mouth gasping like a fish, the stomach acid still burning the back of his throat, the blood freezing the knife in his fist and tears streaming down his face, not exactly the look of a brave warrior. “Raziel”, he heard his name from above. He looked up to see Shing staring down from the cabin’s overhang. “What have you done?” he whispered with urgency. “Run, please, run!” Raziel ran into the mist. His heart was racing; he could feel his pulse thumping in his temples as he fled blindly through the forest. The manacle on his wrist banged against bone causing him to lose focus and almost run head long into the gnarled trunk of a wicked looking tree. He stopped to try and regain some semblance of composure. That’s when the first howl rose through the trees behind him. Raziel’s blood turned to ice water, He bolted like the scared rabbit he was. Another howl floated in from left, followed by another from his right. The nail in the coffin came when he heard a howl coming from somewhere ahead of him. He cried out in frustrated fear as he ran for his life and the lives of his friends. Still yelling he burst through the trees into a large clearing. He shut his mouth abruptly, his bawling seeming sacrilege here. The clearing was a perfect circle; the trees all lined up without a single branch going over an unseen border, as if in respect or… fear. Even the mist held at the edge of the clearing, swirling like a shark amongst the trees. In the center of the clearing was a large half buried boulder. He moved forward, looking around. Floating menacingly just beyond the trees he saw pair of yellow eyes. Raziel stopped and stared and those eyes stared back. The eyes moved forward and a black nose appeared in the mist. Beneath the nose, a snarling snout with long fangs. Beneath the fangs another Wolf’s face appeared. It looked much like the two Raziel had left for dead at the cabin. Heavy brows and beard under the cowl of a real Sea Wolf’s head and hide. Raziel had often wondered why, if these people honored the Sea Wolves so much as to name themselves after them did they hunt them to extinction then parade around in their skins. He doubted he’d ever know as this one before him had not come to talk. There was movement from the corner of Raziel’s eye and he saw another pair of eyes to the right and another pair to the right of that and another to the right of that. They had surrounded him. Four men that played at being wolves stepped into the clearing. No attack came. They simply stood and stared, each at an equal distance from the other. Raziel had seen this before. He was no longer prey. They knew about the bodies, of course they did. Raziel had been elevated in status from a simple hunt to a man worthy of respect. They lined up to challenge this dangerous killer of their kin. Raziel’s death would mean status and they would not diminish that status by attacking him all at once. He was sick of the role they had forced him to play. Sick he had been forced into their bloody way of life but mostly, he just sick of being afraid all the time. If you want blood, you got it. He strode toward the first man on the left. Much violence ensued. After it was over, minutes or hours later time no longer mattered, Raziel stood close to where he had started. The Wolves lay in heaps connected by streaks of red across the trampled snow. Raziel stood gazing at the boulder but only seeing the flashes of what had just occurred. Muted screams, the knife slashing, stabbing and cutting his victims and with each cut a new furrow was carved into his own soul. He wondered how much was left. Then from deep in the forest ahead of him, Thump. Thump. Raziel’s head snapped up. He looked around. Thump. Thump. Raziel scrambled up the boulder for a better view. Thump. Thump. Raziel peered into the forest in front of him and saw a tiny red dot. It grew as it flew toward him. Escaping the mist the dot became a little red bird bouncing across the air. Raziel had to dodge left to avoid being struck between the eyes. The bird paid him no mind as it soared by, disappearing to the woods behind him. The silence that followed was deafening. Nothing moved, not even the air. Thump. Thump.  All hell broke loose. The forest before Raziel exploded with a murder of crows following the little red bird. They screeched and cawed as they flew by. Raziel had to throw himself on the boulder to keep from being swept away in the flurry of beady eyes and black feathers. On the ground below him all manner of beast surged like flood waters around his island boulder. From field mice to elk, all ignored the man clinging to the boulder in their haste to flee. When it was over, feathers and tufts of fur floated through the air. Something bad was coming. Thump. Thump. Then the sound of trees limbs snapping, high tree limbs snapping and falling to the earth. Thump. Thump. Thump. A huge moccasin fell into the clearing like a thousand year oak crashing down followed by another earth rumbling shoe. Raziel looked up, past the pillar like legs, past massive torso and neck and looked into the face of a bear? Raziel shook the cob webs from his brain and looked again. I was a man, bearded and dark eyed wearing skins of a cave bear. The giant pulled a sword bigger then he was from behind his back. He raised this broad sword (perhaps the broadest sword ever) above his head, the tip aimed down to skewer the little man on the rock. All Raziel could do was gape up at his impending doom, too petrified to move. “RRRRAAAAAHHHHHHH!” The giant bellowed his easy victory and stabbed down. Part of Raziel was ready for it, for everything to be over, but the other part, the part that had won each part of this day dodged rolled Raziel off the rock just as the blade came crashing down. The boulder screamed when the blade impaled it. Sparks flew as the stone and iron became one. The mighty sword stopped halfway up its blade and stuck fast. The giant pulled back on the sword, but it did not budge. A flash of panic swept over his face, quickly replaced by rage. He heaved back again with the same result. The giant began to bellow and shriek as he tried to free the blade. “RRRRAAAAAHHHHHHH!” The roar became less intimidating and more pathetic. The beast of a man now had both hands wrapped around the hilt, straining with all his considerable power. His face had turned purple, his eyes bulged. The boulder actually began to lift from its half buried state. Dirt poured from sides that hadn’t been exposed to light in a thousand years, colorless insects scurried for cover. Raziel stood a safe distance away watching with awe. He stood staring at giant’s dismay. He could have easily swatted Raziel down like a fly, crushing him without the weapon, but the giant wanted his sword. Instead of running (which seemed pointless now) Raziel contemplated being a giant boy raised in the violent world of the Wolves. His only purpose would have been to fight, to become the Wolves’ battering ram. He would have been praised when he won, shunned and beaten when he lost. The giant would come to be dependent on the only constant in his life, his sword, his one friend. What would happen if he could no longer win every fight? He would be banished, sent out to face the world alone without his sword. “RRRRAAA…ughhhh” The giant’s roar ended in a gurgled whimper, his mighty hands fell from the sword’s hilt, his arms dropped like felled trees to hang limply at his sides. He went to his knees. Raziel uncurled his fingers from the knife; the top layers of frozen skin were ripped away. He felt nothing and dropped the knife to the snow. He walked toward the giant without looking back. He stopped just out of reach from the big man. Raziel tilted his head to study the giant’s face. Something had popped inside the man’s head. His right eye was the solid red of burst blood vessels, the right side of his face drooped, foamy drool drained from the corner of his mouth. Raziel stepped closer. The giant's left eye streamed tears. Raziel reached out and put a reassuring hand on his would be murderer’s shoulder. The giant let out a tiny whimper. Raziel cradled the giant’s head; he murmured an old prayer and tried to soothe. When the giant began to fall Raziel guided him down to the snowy ground. He laid the massive head in his lap. The giant’s breath became ragged, his left eye rolled back and his huge chest stopped moving. Raziel closed the dead man’s eyes and began to weep. He wept for the giant, murdered by fear disguised as rage. He wept for himself, a murderer by rage disguised as fear. He wept for his friends. He wept for the man he had hopped he was and wasn’t. He may have wept until spring if he hadn’t felt the giant’s head move from his lap. He looked up and saw the face of a Wolf. Raziel did not resist as the Wolf took the giant away from him. He looked over the huge body to see five more Wolves had also appeared from the forest. He looked each man in the eye, some stared back blankly, some in curiosity. One slightly nodded his head at Raziel. Then as one they lifted the giant’s body and disappeared back into the forest. Raziel sat there. His adrenaline was gone. He felt more beaten than ever before. He couldn’t take anymore but there is always more. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. Raziel sighed, rose to his feet and turned to face whatever was next. This Wolf was the second biggest man Raziel had ever seen. His headdress’ eyes were ruby against a steely grey fur. The man’s eyes were dark and world-weary; his beard matched the color of his headdress. The Alpha. Without thinking (something he was becoming good at) Raziel stabbed at him with a now knifeless fist. The Alpha caught the fist and twisted it back to reveal the manacle clamped to Raziel’s wrist. The Alpha reached to his waist and produced a key. He stabbed the key into the lock, his eyes locked into Raziel’s. The manacle dropped to the snow much like the knife and like the knife it was left there to rust. The Alpha turned and walked away. Raziel finally began to lose consciousness. As the world faded away he could hear his friends rushing to his side. -Time, a need for heroes and people’s greed have all embellished Raziel’ s story into legend, the legend into lies and the lies into religion. One story had Raziel slaying scores of actual wolf-men with a magical sword pulled from a stone. Another left out the boat entirely and had Raziel walking across the seas carrying his followers upon his broad shoulders. Once a story is told it belongs to the people for better or worse. But you and I know what really happened on that snowy day so long ago…probably.


The first rule was to never stop time.    You weren't selected to join unless you had impeccable morals. The power we held was...incredible.    There's seventeen of us, at least so I'm told, scattered around the world. I've only met Rashim, the one who recruited me. That was seven years ago...or was it eight?    “Dr. Melrois, room seven has the pneumonia case. Young child.”    “Thank you, Evi,” I said as I picked up the clipboard.    I had established this clinic in Suriname as part of Doctors Without Borders.    “Hallo, ik ben docter Melrois. Laten we eens naar de patiënt kijken.” I said when I entered the room.    It took me a few minutes to understand their broken Dutch to learn what had happened. I ran through the proper exam steps and ordered x-rays. I took them to the front desk to sign forms when a man staggered in, blood dripping from his head.    “Nurse, take over please,” I said grabbing a handful of gauze from behind the desk.    This wasn't the first time something like this had happened at our small clinic.    “Sir, take a seat, let me stop the bleeding,” I said as I pressed gauze against the wounds. “Evi, could you get me the triage kit?”    The bleeding stopped after a few moments so I prepared for sutures.    “You wanna to tell me what happened?” I asked.    The man reached up and gently grabbed my wrist.    “Sean...” he whispered.    Rashim? I hadn't recognized him.    “What are you doing here?” I hissed.    He said nothing. I recognized the signs of blunt force trauma on his body.    He pointed down the hall.    “Evi, I'm taking him to room six, please bring me a suture kit and some ice,”    I hefted him up and tried not to run down the hall with him over my shoulder, Evi close behind.    Once inside I asked my nurse to leave and closed the door.    Working quickly, I cleaned the wound, numbed it, and began sewing it together. I normally didn't work that fast but I instinctively knew something was wrong.    “Don't tell me you got scratched by a howler monkey,” I began.    “It was actually a white faced saki—a big one.” He smirked.    “What happened?” I asked as I finished my knot and applied iodine to the wound area.    “You know the first rule? Well, I never told you what happens when you stop time. It's addicting, more than anything you'd ever know.” Rashim began,    “What are you telling me? You got hurt from..from an addiction?”    “No, it's what's inside the time freeze.”    “Inside? You never told me—”    “The wolves—beasts that hunt you! But only when you freeze time.”    Realization hit me as I glanced at the door. Was something waiting for us?    “Are we in danger now?”    “No, they can only hunt when you use the amulet.”    “So they aren't hunting you now?”    I watched him shake his head. I could only assume he was telling the truth. I paused time once during training.    Well, and that other time to save that patient from bleeding to death.    “Can we stop them?” I asked.    Rashish stared at the wall, a distant look in his eyes.    “The others...there's only three of us left.” Rashish whispered.    He rose and started to leave. I followed him    “What do you mean? The other time stoppers?” I begged.    “I tried to warn them. But Jerome, he was doing it too much. They're all...doing it.”    Rashish winced his eyes shut as tears rolled down his cheeks. He pushed through the door and walked outside, walking towards the street where scooters zipped by.    I could see what would happen. If pausing time was addicting, I had no idea how to treat it.    “Let me hide your amulet for now.” I offered, stepping close.    “What? Now?”    I saw his eyes go wide and my stomach knotted. He was not able to control his addiction.    “Or else you'll die?” I decided to make it as urgent as possible.    “No no no, you can't. I need it to protect myself.”    I tried to snatch the necklace but he was faster, my hand closing over his, as he activated it.    It felt like falling into deep snow as time stopped.    I looked around and saw Rashish's expression.    “It's all I have. You can't take it.” He whined as he flinched way.    I was reaching for my amulet when I heard them.    Wolves.    They rushed out of the surrounding alleys and bushes, a deep snarl coupled with a chuffing laugh. Their forms were incomplete, they were wolves, but they seemed out of focus. Their bodies were lithe, gray forms, with fragmented after images breaking away from them, like reflections between two mirrors.    “Run!” Rashim commanded as he rose to fight.    I tried to pick up a rock to throw but my hand passed through it.    Panic hit me hard as I faced seven rushing forms. I backed up and ran into Rashish, and we toppled down in a pile. I closed my hand over my amulet in a desperate attempt and let the power activate.    Time resumed.    The scooters on the street resumed their motion, along with the wind blowing and the leaves moving. Underneath me, Rashish started laughing.    I rolled off him as the rush hit me.    Clarity of thought washed over my mind and I saw things come into focus I had never thought of. Why my girlfriend liked me. Why the government never had enough money. I could comprehend the weather patterns and sense each person who drove by.    A gentle hand rested on my shoulder.    “Now do you understand?” Rahish smiled.    He struggled to pull something out of his pocket before he grabbed my hand and dropped a collection of amulets into it. Slowly, he pulled his off his neck and gave it to me.    “I have the clarity now, but it'll wear off.”    “What do I—”    “Take them to Sam, he'll know what to do. That's your mission now.”


(Write a post-apocalyptic story that features zombies.) Today the headline read, “Social Media is full of unsubstantiated reports of Zombie sightings! The news has gone viral and soft focus blurry videos have flooded all platforms!” Wowser! Do I need to worry? Today I discovered that I am unique among my modern generation in that I have no idea what a “Zombie” really is. I had a vague thought that any mindless creature might be a zombie but then I went to do some research. Wow, what an eye opener when I googled zombies! I had no idea! They have very defined and specific characteristics. I’m currently examining all of my friends and neighbors to see if any are zombies. “They are slow moving!“ Hmm? Let’s see. Mr. George, our neighbor to the south, is slow moving but he has been our neighbor for years. I don’t think he is a zombie. “Do not eat each other, they live on live flesh.“ Well that eliminates Mrs. Riley, our neighbor to the north, she’s a loud and demonstrative vegetarian, always trying to push her agenda on everyone else. She is for sure not a Zombie. “Don’t swim but can remain underwater for long periods.” I can eliminate myself and four of my friends as we love to swim, often racing one another out to the floating raft, we are definitely not Zombies! But, hmm? My husband says he can swim but I have never seen him in water deeper than his knees except the time our sons tipped over the canoe, we all laughed except my husband and he went into total panic. Hmm? Maybe he is a Zombie! I begin to see that this can be a long drawn out process, to screen everyone I know or who lives nearby. Unless they can be identified on sight or by smell or even taste, I must read on. I need to know more. Ye Gods, Read this….. “A zombie, according to pop culture and folklore, is usually either a reawakened corpse with a ravenous appetite or someone bitten by another zombie infected with a “zombie virus.” Zombies are usually portrayed as strong but robotic beings with rotting flesh. Their only mission is to feed.” Got that bit off a search engine. Another bit about the origins of Zombies is in Haiti. Ancient times. Bad vibes. Evil…….Yikes! Ok that is really helpful.

I sit here on my porch steps, on my busy street and watch the people pass by.

I see no one with rotting flesh. Imagine the smell….it must be a “dead” giveaway! Maybe this whole rumor that there are Zombies about and we need to be vigilant and protect ourselves is just scare tactics to keep the folks in line, the sheep quiet and paying taxes and just shutting up. I have no idea but I plan to talk with some neighborhood kids. They seem to know all about zombies, vampires, aliens and the like. They seem to have no idea about how to express real emotion or have any real empathy but they sure know about violent evil. It would seem to me, if I’m getting the gist of this, we should be able to recognize one on sight. And if there are questions, the rotting flesh smell should cinch the deal.

Then just KILL IT! Hmmm? I wonder how you kill one? After I check out everyone I can see in the library, to be sure there are no apparent zombies, I find dusty books full of lore, and new books full of movie and TV plots and scenarios involving these slow stinky creatures.

I filter the information into brief headings.

HOW TO KILL ZOMBIES, “Decapitation.“ You must destroy their brains. The surest way is simply cutting off the total head with a chainsaw, machete, or samurai sword. You must be thorough, anything less than 100 percent severance just isn't good enough. “Bludgeoning.“ A blunt object, for example, a baseball bat to a brick, used with suitable force to the cranium will destroy the brain. But be careful you must get up close and personal for this to be effective. “Burning.“ Or try burning! The next best thing is a Molotov cocktail--just make sure the zombies are far enough away so they'll be reduced to ashes before they can shamble after you. “Exploding.“ A solid technique, but one that requires explosives in one form or another. Make your way to a military storehouse or a morally dubious pawn shop and acquire a rocket launcher. Then shoot, load, and give it a second hit to make sure. ~~~~~ Ok now, I feel well armed with information and so I collect my weapons to do my civic duty. I am a female type person so I needed to decide on how to arm myself. Chainsaw would be too heavy and bulky, but a machete felt really good.

Next I loaded four bricks into my backpack. I hoped to drop the bricks down from above them or heave the bricks from a safe distance. Not close to the smell. Also in my backpack a sealed water bottle full of petrol, and some strips of old rags shirts. My lighter and matches to be sure I could get ignition. And finally, I was disappointed I could not manage a rocket launcher but I did pack five railroad flares and a cylinder of gas with a weed burner attached. I doubt the latter would work but the flares burn long and very very hot. Can you imagine the smell of burning rotting flesh? ~~~~~ It was a little past midnight and I was deep in sleep when a racket began in the alley behind my home. Knuckling the sleep out of my eyes and grabbing my backpack and machete I charged down the back terrace and into the common area. Fog had rolled in and visibility was poor but I charged in swinging. I was hoping not to need the fire. There was screaming and screeching and otherworldly noises and when I was done, Mrs. Riley’s tabby cat and Mr.George’s big tomcat lay dead in the bushes. OMG, what have I done? It is the fault of social media! Holy Crap! I love animals, I think Zombies are not the only monsters out and about tonight.


I wanted something different; but this, this is an opportunity that is equal to a coin flip. It’s hard to make out anything clearly here. I couldn't tell you the color of a single particle here. Light gray and darker grays, that’s it. I wouldn't touch anything closest to black, that I've learned from a quite difficult situation. So to not be interacted with, is to not interact. An introvert’s wonderland, that would be the easiest way to describe this atmosphere. I've seen dark oceans reflecting an iron sky. Trees wickedly branched out, like roots underground. Almost as if they were planted upside down. Rodents, if you want to put a name on these shadowy figures, are all shapes and sizes. But, the hostility here is a different aspect. It's almost as if everything is blinded by the darker shades. Almost if the lighter figures purposely avoid the darker ones. Like pricks with their nose in the air. It’s a world with suppressed sounds. Meaning that not a single thing can hear you, nor you them. Scream as a shadowed figure passes inches in front of you. It’ll stroll on by like it was never bothered. Now if you cross a brighter lightened figure's path or if it connects with another, it's like watching a dog fight in the first person, but on mute. And from what I've seen the darker figures win these battles. No one can survive here. Not forever anyways. This place I gotta leave, but I'm stuck because of my curiosity. Watching and observing I'm stunned and intrigued by what is to come. What would interact with me? What could possibly see me in this dark world? Have I chosen to stay for a bit too long? How would I even leave? Am I completely alone here? What shade am I to the others? As I remain still I can watch the world around me crumble but advance at the same time. When I build the courage to go forward, I try to take leaps into this unknown world. Only to realize it's a small step after all my effort to advance. Being and staying aware, I've noticed I've been in the crossfire of somethings heading straight at me. As the blackness comes I calmly imagine myself erasing. So I clench my fists and start bracing myself for a fight. Like ive seen happen between everything else before me, I stood my ground. Battled for my position to remain here. Destroyed what I thought was going to change me and for what? To own a world of a pencil drawing? Or is it my curiosity letting me remain awake? All to witness a rebirth. Waiting for this sketch to become a great high definition movie. Darkness comes and swears it’ll comfort us. Holding us close with strong protective arms. So within it, we can only look up to the open skies or be deeply suffocated. What if the secret to surviving this cricket’s lullaby is to be willing to shine a light within my own darkness, make it submit to my inner light. Will I then be reborn as a hero? Or will my created darkness become a protective layer that I've fallen in love with? Bound so close to fight the light that this darkness becomes the softest velvet illumination. An imitation of what I thought would be a heavenly door to my own light. Only to fall deeper into a realm of darker shades consuming all that brilliantly illustrates a means to escape. Staying here for the time i have, the idea of time becomes a thing that is malleable. So over the process, distance and speed become immaterial as well. As I move forward or sit still, I watch as others meddle and amuse themselves in callous ways. I watch as the darkness is put down, even from myself. Yet when one is fully in the creative force, they learn. They learn from all energies to become one team instead of one being. I get it now, years in the darkness and I just now get it. I am here to help. I always was. I’m part of an interface. An interface of reality, a bridge of sorts, if you will. A messenger. It is because of the black space, that these lights it carries, allow us to see the guiding stars. So as certain lights remain static and stable, look at those lights as broken and warped fantasies of folks who’ve never been asked to lead something so complex. The darkness isn't emptiness as space, it's a quarantine, a “lockdown”. Until you learn how to have basic self and planetary care, you can't move forward. We’re taught our “fears” were a mere needed principle. With desire to take the power and to invade others, imprinted on us to act out as a barbarian. Those folks seeking power and fear alone are fortunate the awakened ones take an interest in providing assistance from afar. Instead of handpicking each and every light that is dim and dull, step away. Far, far, far away. See that darkness isn't as random as it seems. If you take every perspective and back all the way up. You’ll see it's linear. A simple goal we all have in common. To become a light we recognize for ourselves. The darkest of lights may think we’re contained, but the secret of the infinite is that it is an ever expanding series of the finite. We will cross each other only to retain power of freedom, or limitation, as a guideline until someone has constructed a new and fabricated idea for change. Someone to lead the pack. Everything has an offspring that will always seek opposition. So in the end, standing here at the edge of my darkness, I watch as lights blur out and others take over. An endless vessel of nonaligned and yet translucent shades of gray all on the same plane of existence. This is seeing it from my brightest, yet darkest, horizon.


My phone rang once more, and for a moment, I thought he would have changed his opinion, but when I looked at the screen, it was not him, it was Elena, the department's assistant. I picked up, and before I had time to say anything, she started to yell at me: "Where are you? They are waiting, you are late! I sent you like ten messages!" I looked at my phone. There were no messages. Then I remembered: my work phone. Elena kept yelling things I couldn't understand, maybe because she was speaking too fast or perhaps because I had not slept for thirty hours. My work phone was in my backpack, with no battery after a long weekend. "Elena, calm down. My phone is dead. Let me charge it," I told her. "You have no time to charge anything! You have to come here!" I connected the charger to the little black brick and pressed all the buttons of the phone frenetically, but before I could see any messages, she said: "They moved the interview. It was supposed to start ten minutes ago!" I froze. "Please hurry up," she said, "I will entertain them as much as possible." "On my way!" I said, and I hung up. I picked up my backpack and keys, and just before leaving my apartment, I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was bloated from all the crying; my eyes were red as two massive potatoes, and my hair... "Fuck it," I told myself. I opened the door and closed it carefully after me. That's how this story was about to go, no matter if I wanted it or not, so when I entered my car, I took a big breath and convinced myself about something: the universe could not be so cruel; something good would happen that day. I started the car on my way to work, and while driving, I thought about how I had reached this point in my life. Once upon a time, I was an International Product Manager. I did not sell, care for the marketing, or innovate any of the Company's products. I "just" managed. According to my development colleagues, my department was full of glorified secretaries whose only job was sending emails with the information provided by others, meeting clients at fancy restaurants, and calling everyone and anyone continuously. Looking from the outside, that was a fair description, but to be fair, the job was even better than that. I became an IPM after working for a few years in the same Company's development department. I used to be one of those invisible people who tested and made devices engineered by others a reality. I grew into an experienced team member and reached the point where it annoyed me to see the commercial teams lacking the knowledge and experience to sell what we were creating.

"We deserve better," said the product manager who worked on the same project as I did once in the laboratory. "We would benefit from someone with technical experience, someone like you."

I felt over the moon. Someone had looked at me and my job and thought I could do the job that would put me in front of customers, developers, and marketing people worldwide. "There is an opening, you know?" He continued, "I think you should apply." I think that was the first time anyone told me I could do something else at work, and I grabbed the chance as if my life depended on it. When he told me there was a vacancy, I focused all my attention on getting that job. I tailored my CV, sent my application to the responsible manager, prepared myself for all the imaginable questions, and waited... and waited... and then I waited a bit more until I got tired of waiting and called the recruiter in charge of the position. I was expecting he would tell me there had been delays or that he was about to schedule my interview, but instead, he told me that "I was too technical" for such a position. He also thanked me because since I had called, he didn't have to write an email telling me exactly that... "too technical." That day, instead of feeling defeated and keeping with my life, I decided to enroll in university to get a management degree. Elena, one of my friends at work, thought I was brave; my boyfriend at home did not understand why I wanted to return to university since I had gone through it already, got my engineering degree, and scored a full-time work for a high tech company, working in the development department. I was 23 then. "Why would you want to do something else if your job is already good? He said, "You will have less time for other things.. for us," he continued. But I did not care. I was determined to get what I wanted, and no one would stop me... despite "the Universe" not being kind to me. The classes happened between nine in the morning and four in the afternoon when I was supposed to be at work. My plan for success was to attend as many classes as possible and recover the work hours before and after my regular schedule. My manager was cool with it as long as I delivered my test results and reports on time. I had no car that year, so I moved around on foot or with public transportation. I did go to work by bus, but whenever I had to go earlier than seven in the morning or leave after eight in the evening, I had to ask a colleague to give me a lift. So, a "normal" day for me would be starting to work at six, leaving the office at eight, having a couple of hours of class, returning to work, and leaving the department around eight or nine in the evening. After that, I worked on the school assignments at home, met friends, and tried to sleep. Life was not easy, but I had a very clear goal in mind, so I did not mind. After one year, I could have been the face of any energy drink, not because I used them but because I was all over the place all the time. Multitasking should have been my middle name. I was crushing it at school and work, and then, something happened: a change of management in the Product Management department. It took less than two weeks for the new boss to decide he needed more "technical experience" in his department, and out of the blue, I got a call the day before a long weekend when I was supposed to visit my mother, on my birthday, with my boyfriend. They were inviting me for an interview the following week, in case I was interested.

I tried to keep it cool and accepted the proposal. The man on the other end of the line told me he would check the potential dates and times and would call me back. I left the office, happy as ever and ready for a long car trip, where I should be able to recover hours of conversation with my boyfriend and a weekend of quality time with friends and family. Unfortunately, my plans were better than the real deal: the weather throughout the whole trip was awful, my boyfriend was in a mood because I had not dedicated him time enough in the previous weeks, my mother was not happy with my decision to bring him along, and my friends were attacked by a severe flue case that killed our dinner and drinks plan. I spent the weekend with angry people, and the return was not better. After six hours of driving without stops, when we arrived around midnight at my boyfriend's place- two hours away from mine- he told me that the weekend had opened his eyes and he did not want to be with me anymore. I "slept" in his place with my eyes wide open until 4 a.m., when I recovered enough energy to get the hell out of there. I went to my place on time to have a shower and go to work, but as soon as the first person who entered the office told me "Good morning," I broke into tears, and my boss sent me home, afraid of the chaos my state of mind could cause across the team. So I returned to my apartment, crying non-stop and feeling my broken heart was about to jump out of my chest, and tried to sleep (again, with no success) on my sofa. A couple of hours later, I received Elena's call. That's why I returned to the factory instead of eating ice cream and cookies in my living room. I parked and ran to Elena's desk because, on my way out of the house, I had forgotten my phone and had no idea where I was supposed to go. As soon as she saw me, she gasped: "Gosh'" she said, "what happened to you?" "Long story," I replied, "where do I have to go?" "Human resources, main meeting room." I crossed the facilities running as if a lion was chasing me, and when I arrived at the meeting room, I found two men in their fifties, wearing suits and drinking coffee, who seemed to be having a pleasant conversation. When they saw me popping up on the door, I'm sure I was not what they were waiting for, but that was the best I could offer, so I immediately composed myself the best I could and said: "Gentlemen, my apologies. There was a misunderstanding, and I lost track of my agenda, but I am ready for the interview if that's ok with you." They looked at each other, their watches, and again at me. It was not clear to me if they had any other appointments, but I believe I made them curious with such an entrance, and I had my interview. They had read my curriculum, and I had good references from my colleagues. Despite having yet to finish my management degree, I had good notions of the business and a good eye for detail, something the new manager was looking for. It was evident that I was a good fit, so I asked the terrible question: "Which is the salary you offer?" The men looked at me as if I had insulted them, their wives, and all their relatives. "Salary?" replied the Human Resources manager. "That's not under discussion. You need to show first that you can do the job." "But, you said I would have more visibility and responsibility, so I guess I should have at least a raise to buy a couple of suits, right?" I asked, always with a nice smile. "You know," said the same man, "There are banks that can loan you money if you need to buy clothes." My smile vanished. I looked at him, his suit and his expensive leather shoes. I looked at my potential future manager, who wasn't smiling and seemed uncomfortable with that conversation. We had discussed everything by then. "Any other question?" asked the man. "No," I said, "I am not sure I am interested in the position if the conditions are the ones you mentioned. Thanks for the opportunity, though." I stood up, shook their hands, left the room, and walked calmly to Elena's desk in the other building. "So?" she yelled as soon as I crossed the door. "I don't think I will get it," I told her. "I'll go home now unless you need me for anything else around here." She nodded. She knew staying would be no good for me or anyone in a 5km radius. I needed sleep and sugar in significant quantities, independently of the order.

I returned to my apartment, to my sofa and my fridge. I managed to sleep, and the next day, with a better appearance and energy, I started my shift at eight in the morning as if nothing had happened. Shortly after, Elena called me to her desk, and when I entered her area, she pointed at our manager's office with the biggest smile. Our boss was speaking with the head of Product Management. I sat by her side and stuck my nose between the pages of the tools catalog she handed me until the office door opened. Our boss left immediately for another meeting, and the other manager stopped by my side. I stood up and, and he told me: "Would a fifteen percent raise convince you to join my team?"


Alex sat back in her chair with a frothy latte, her head slightly askew, looking at her sister across the table. Serena leaned forward in anticipation; her fingers tapped the underside of the table. Alex said nothing. After a few moments of silence, Serena slouched her shoulders and bit into her danish. “Forget it.” Alex leaned forward. “You don’t understand–” “I do!” Crumbs flew from Serena’s mouth. “You don’t .” The sternness in Alex’s voice made Serena soften a bit. “She’s my mother too. I know how she can be.” “You know how she can be. I know who she is .” “She has problems, like we all do.” Alex looked away, watching as a woman and her young daughter entered the cafe. The little girl followed closely behind her mother as she asked a question to the hostess. They were led to a nearby booth. The child climbed onto the cushioned bench and scooted over to make room for her mother who sat beside her. The woman grabbed the menu and held it between them. She pointed to an item, at which the little girl nodded in approval. Serena followed Alex’s gaze before turning her sights back to the situation at hand.

“Alex.” Alex was met with her sister’s begging face.

“It’s just a birthday party.” “Serena, I’m not going.” “Fine.” Serena grabbed the rest of her danish and scarfed it down.

“The whole family will be there; no one will miss me.” Serena didn’t respond immediately. She looked back at the mother and daughter in the booth. They were huddled together, the little girl enthralled with what the woman was saying. “I’ll miss you.” They both grinned at Serena’s saccharine statement. ‘If it’s ‘just a party,’ as you say, it shouldn’t make a difference if I’m there or not.” Serena threw herself back into her chair. “You’re so selfish.” “Anything else you wanted to talk about?” Serena didn’t answer. She stared at the ceiling as her eyes welled up. Alex scoffed in disbelief. “Oh my God.” “It’s fine, I get it. I just wanted everyone to be together." “I know, but I can’t.” “You won’t .” Alex didn’t respond; she flagged down the waitress and asked for the check.

“Well, I guess I’ll let you know how it goes.” Serena defeatedly grabbed her things and scooted her chair back. Alex remained seated as she watched Serena stand up. “Are you staying?” “For a little bit.” “Okay. Talk to you later” “Okay.” Serena walked a few feet towards the door before turning around. “Please just think about it.” Alex nodded in agreement, keeping her back to her sister. ************************************ “Happy Birthday, Sissy!” Mary threw one arm around Barbara in the entrance of the party hall–the other arm clutched a huge box with a bow.

The two embraced, joyfully lamenting how much time had passed since they’d seen each other.

“Thank you. You look beautiful.” Barbara ran her hands up and down the sequins on the back of Mary’s dress. Serena watched her mother and aunt from the bar. Barbara led Mary to the snack table and pointed to where Serena was sitting. “Open bar.”

Mary nodded with appreciation as she grabbed a toothpick full of cheese-stuffed olives. Barbara grabbed the gift from under Mary’s arm and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, babe. I’ll go put this with the rest.”

Serena watched as Mary chomped on the four olives she shoved into her mouth. She tip-toed over to her niece, giving her a hug and kiss. “How are you, beautiful!?” “I’m good.” Serena laughed as her aunt’s chin bumped against her neck while she chewed. “Where’s your sister?” Serena loosened her grip on Mary’s waist. “She’s busy with work.” Mary took a skeptical step back. “Not too busy for her mother’s birthday.” Serena shrugged weakly, Mary’s frowning face weighing her down. “She said she’ll try to make it.” Mary's smirk was indicative of her displeasure. “It’s her 50th.” “I know. She said she’d try.” Clearly disappointed, Mary turned and rested her forearms on the bar. “Could I please have a margarita?” “Sure thing.” The bartender promptly began working on her drink. “I should make it a double.” she mumbled to herself. “How’s school?” “It’s okay,” Serena peered at Mary’s side profile, watching her eyes follow the bartender from the dishwasher to a bottle of Patron.

“You’re studying Biology?” “Psychology.” Mary threw her head back. “Ah, right. It’s Tony that’s studying Biology. You two should hang out more. Both smart. Both getting your Master’s.” “Where’s Uncle John?” “He’ll be here soon; he had to work late.” Serena nodded, unsure if Mary could see from her periphery. They watched intently as Eric filled a margarita glass and garnished it with a lime. “Here you go–what’s your name?” “Mary, honey, what’s yours?” “Eric.” “Thank you, Eric.” Mary grabbed her drink and gave Eric a wink before turning to Serena. “I’m gonna say hi to your grandmother.” “Okay.” Serena smiled at her aunt as she walked towards the sea of guests. ***************************** Three hours into the party, everyone who was expected to be there had arrived, except for Alex. No one was less than two drinks along, including Serena. Her restless anxiety transformed into acceptance as she sipped her third glass of wine. She was not the bridge that would bring her mother and sister together, nor was she the bandaid to heal the wounds created between the two of them. Committed to no longer being invested in a reunion, she chatted up Tony’s mother, Aunt Sadie, expressing regret that Tony couldn’t make it.

“I wish we connected more, both of us being in grad school and whatnot.” She was aware that she was parroting Mary’s laments, but she meant it, at least in that moment. Sadie threw her arms up in defeat, a few drops of vodka spilling from her glass. “I know, he’s so busy with studying and his school friends. Don’t feel bad, I barely see him anymore and he’s my son.” Serena nodded that she understood and excused herself to go find her mom. Barbara was standing over her older sister Debby at one of the dining tables. “Ma!” Serena was drowned out by the music, but Barbara spotted her youngest scurrying towards her. She extended the arm that wasn’t holding a plate of salmon teriyaki. “Are you having fun?” Barbara wrapped her arm around Serena’s neck and kissed her on the cheek. “Yeah!” Serena spoke as loudly as she could while buried in her mother’s chest. “Are you?!” Barbara’s nose grazed the top of her daughter’s hair. “Yes, I am.” “Why aren’t you dancing?” Barbara sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe later.” Serena stood back to study her face for a few seconds. She pulled her mother’s plate close and grabbed a green bean, popping it into her mouth. Her mother smacked her on the butt as she twirled away towards the dance floor. Serena found Grandma Myra standing on the outskirts of the commotion, watching Aunt Mary and Uncle John drunkenly gyrate to the music. Their arms were entangled around one another, Debby’s legs rocking in place between her husband’s hips. They made seductive circles in place as she cradled his head in her palm.

Myra shook her head at Serena disapprovingly. “There’s just no need for that.” Serena chuckled with sympathy at her grandmother’s discomfort. Seeing your daughter behave so provocatively was surely uncomfortable, regardless of her age. The party hall adopted an axis as Serena took another sip from her glass. She felt someone grab her free hand – it was Uncle John. Meanwhile, Mary grabbed Myra. “Dance with me, Ma.” Serena and her grandmother were pulled into the rhythmic mass of relatives and family friends, both immediate and distant. Uncle John removed Serena’s glass from her grip and placed it on a nearby chair. He grabbed both her hands and spun her around.

“John!” Serena yelled as she became blinded by the strobe lights. Her eyes captured blurs of smiling faces and waving limbs. She commanded her feet to follow along and not lose balance. “Uncle John!” Serena pleaded this time. John slowed down but didn’t stop spinning until Serena was able to break free from his clutch. Swaying in place, she waited for her equilibrium to return. “You almost killed me.” Serena smacked her uncle’s arm.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, please forgive me for the pain I’ve caused.” John teased. Serena retrieved her drink from the chair. She sat down and watched the dancing continue.

John stepped in between Myra and Mary. “Do you mind?” Mary stepped aside, allowing her husband to take her place. Grandma Myra reluctantly gave John her hand–he immediately threw a hand on her waist, and expertly dipped her as though he were a ballroom dancer. “John!” John laughed and pulled Myra back up.

Serena put her glass to her lips to hide her amused smile; she didn’t want to give John any motivation to continue torturing people. As her eyes scanned the room, a familiar face was briefly illuminated by the spinning ball on the ceiling. It was Alex. Serena almost dropped her glass. Alex walked towards her. As she approached, her lips seemed to say “Hey,” but Serena couldn’t hear. She smiled up at her sister. “You came.” “What?” “You came!” Alex threw up her hands, “Yep..” Serena’s heart swelled with appreciation. The relief made her realize how tense she’d actually been that night. She pointed at the dining area where their mother was still eating with Debby. Alex nodded.

Serena pointed again, this time more eagerly. Alex put her hands out in front of her, palms toward her sister. She put an imaginary drink to her lips and made her way over to Eric. Serena watched their exchange in anticipation. After a few moments, Eric placed a Tequila Sunrise on the bar. Alex picked it up and raised it in Serena’s direction before taking a sip. Serena did the same with her wine. Alex let out a visible sigh and headed to the dinner tables. ************************* Barbara was sitting alone with another glass of wine when her glassy eyes locked with Alex’s. She set down her drink with a faint smile as Alex moved towards her. Alex took the seat next to her, setting her own drink down and resting a hand on her mother’s knee. Barbara laid her hand over her daughter’s, looking her over before pulling her into an embrace. Alex sat still in Barbara’s hug; one hand remaining on her mother’s knee, the other on the edge of her chair. Barbara eventually let her go, looking her up and down once again. Alex reached for her drink and took several large gulps. Barbara reached for Alex’s glass, but Alex pushed her mother’s hand away. She placed it to her lips again, this time taking a smaller sip. Barbara gently tapped Alex’s nose ring–it hadn’t been there the last time she’d seen her. She ran her hand down the highlights in Alex’s hair, and caressed the tattoo on her wrist. Alex removed her wrist from her mother’s grasp and picked up her drink again. Barbara didn’t intervene. She watched her daughter take a few small sips and set it back down. Aunt Debby exited the bathroom to see Alex in her seat next to Barbara. She walked up to her niece and squeezed her shoulder. They smiled at one another before Debby went to join the others in the dance hall.

Alex looked down at the shoes she’d bought for her mother several years ago. Barbara lifted both legs to show them off, making her chuckle. Alex averted her eyes to the elaborate golden decorations that adorned the walls. Barbara pointed at the absurdly large ‘5-0’ shaped balloons taped to a corner. Alex widened her eyes and raised her eyebrows. Barbara snickered at her reaction. Alex’s phone vibrated on the table. She picked it up and read a text that invoked an exasperated sigh. Barbara watched her hastily tap away at her phone before tossing it back onto the table. She placed her hand on Alex’s back, making small, fast circles. Alex closed her eyes and took several deep breaths; they were caresses her mother soothed her with as a child. When she opened her eyes, Barbara was crying. She reached out and wiped her mothers eyes. Barbara went for her wine glass, but Alex pushed her hand away. Barbara sat back and stared blankly at her daughter. Alex took their drinks and walked to the bathroom, pouring them both into the sink. Barbara sank into her chair and stared at the bland eggshell walls that peeked out between the sparkly birthday signs. Alex quietly sobbed behind the closed door for a few moments before gathering herself and returning to the dining room. She left the empty glasses on the back of the toilet. Barbara was slightly startled when she felt Alex’s hand graze her shoulder. She looked up at her oldest child. Alex scooped up the air around her mother, raising her arms above Barbara’s head. Barbara stood up, and the two entered the party together. They waltzed to the middle of the dance floor, interlocked hands in the air. Someone placed a party hat on Barbara’s head. She laughed, causing it to fall to the floor. She accidentally kicked it away as she danced. Alex and Barbara rested their forearms on each other’s shoulders, swaying in unison. The lights obscured their view. Alex followed her mother’s lead. Barbara followed her daughter’s as well.