“MAGDALEN, Peter.” The name on the card glittered in the fresh sunlight of a new day. Amber opened the file and ran her finger over the mugshot and felt the connection. Another client. Another day. Another twenty-four hours. ** I saw him standing in the middle of a crowded shopping square, neatly dressed but staring around the place like he was confused and afraid. He seemed lost and dazed, but no-one approached him to help. I could see the thoughts running through his head. Why is no-one helping him? Why didn’t anyone see him? What was wrong with the world? Why did he suddenly feel empty? After watching him suffer for a little while more, just to get the gauge of him, I approached. “You look like you could use a friend right now,” I said softly, standing beside him. “What?” He turned to look at me. Peter Magdalen. “No, thanks. I’m just a bit lost is all.” “Then let me help you.” “I don’t need your help.” He became defensive. They usually did. I checked my watch. Time was already ticking. I’d used up my first hour observing him so I could help him better. Before I could say another word, Peter marched away from me. So, naturally, I followed him. After all, I was on a time budget. After twenty-four hours, he wouldn’t pass. I followed him for another hour, listening to his ramblings. His train of thought was a wreck, crashing here and there, trying to figure out exactly what was missing. He wasn’t stable enough to know, not just yet. He needed to be calm. He walked without purpose, but fast, his thin-soled shoes barely making a sound on the hot concrete. I watched him walk towards the busy intersection he hadn’t seen. I watched cars whizzing past at seventy miles per hour. I watched as he stepped out, and then realised, and stepped back. “ARGH! FUCK!” I stepped beside him. “What the fuck?! Jesus… I don’t need to die today!” he breathed, clutching his chest. Then, he froze. “Wait.” Still, I said nothing. He looked down after a moment and frowned, but then shook his head, dismissing the thought entirely. “Hot day, huh?” I asked, with a glance up to the cloudless, sunny sky. Peter gave a vague nod and smiled at me. “Yeah, sure is…” he sighed, leaning against the traffic light post. It was almost instinctive that he would want to keep his virtually unprotected feet from burning. It always happened. His girlfriend Georgia usually nagged him for it, but he had okay feet. He frowned again, looking down. He stood normally. Something wasn’t right. “Not as hot as it usually is, though,” I offered up politely. “Did you follow me from the square?” Peter was defensive again. “You got me.” “Why?” “Because, Peter, I’m making sure you’re alright.” “Wait… how do you know my name?!” “Have you noticed anything, Peter? Anything odd? Anything strange?” I asked gently. I wanted to touch him, but to do that would risk taking him over early. “I…” he thought, but I could feel his reluctance to admit anything. “No. No, nothing out of the ordinary.” He gave a no-committal shrug to demonstrate just how blasé he actually was, but I knew he was worrying about what he’d noticed. No-one on the planet could ignore such things. “Anyway, whoever you are –“ “Amber.” “Amber… alright… please leave me alone. Please. Go away. It’s creepy.” He glared at me and, as the crossing light turned green, he practically ran across the street. Cases like this usually annoyed me, but I hadn’t had one for a while. I’d helped enough people let go quite easily, given we’d just overseen a pandemic. Peter was a welcome challenge. It did get a little bit tiring when my wristwatch read ’13:42.09’, meaning just over thirteen and a half hours left to get this guy to calm the hell down and listen to me. It also meant I’d spent twelve hours tailing him to make sure he didn’t go super nova on anyone. The hours I’d tailed him were permeated with him rounding on me and barking at me to stop following him, but I altered my appearance slightly to make him comfortable. A stooped posture made me shorter, a pair of sunglasses and some obnoxiously-chewed gum threw him for a penny too. But when he arrived home, I had to be myself again. Because he was about to have an incredibly transformative experience – the only one perhaps that could wake him up properly. “Girls! I’m home!” Peter stepped through his open front door and grinned, his arms outstretched. He waited for his girls to run to him, but they never did. Georgia never came to greet him with her usual kiss, and Harriet never came with her attack hug and her cry of ‘Daddy!’. Neither of them came. “Girls? Daddy’s home! Georgia? Harry?!” I followed him in, silent footsteps. He’d need me soon enough. “Girls?! Hello!” He’d found them, sitting in the living room on the sofa. Both of them were crying. “Girls? Georgie? Harry?” he kneeled down in front of them and took a hand each. “Girls?! What’s going on?” he waited, but neither of them acknowledged him. “What did I do? Have I done something? Please, speak to me?!” Behind him, on the coffee table, Georgia’s phone rang. She reached past Peter and picked it up. “Hey, mum,” Georgia whispered, her eyes wet with tears. She didn’t look at Peter at all. Neither did Harriet. “Yeah… no, I’ve got her. Yeah… mum… c-can you come over? Mum? N-no…” Georgia descended into tears. “Mum, Peter’s dead.” The coldness that gripped the room then was palpable, and I had to act fast. I sat down in the armchair next to Harriet. “Peter? Look at me, Peter.” I kept my tone gentle and even. Peter looked at me, his eyes betraying every single thought in his head. “D-dead?” he breathed. He didn’t listen to the rest of Georgia’s conversation with her mother. “I’m… I died? I’m dead? What?” Panic rose in him. I fought the urge to touch him. “I died?! What?! How?! How did I die?! Is this some prank?! Some fucking awful prank because – because why?! Because Bella told you I was cheating with her?!” Peter took Georgia’s face, but the woman didn’t flinch. “Georgia?! GEORGIA! HARRIET! NO!” He began to cry when he realised his girls couldn’t hear or see him. Harriet cried into her mother’s lap. I let him cry on them, because he needed it. Eventually, after another half-hour, he turned to me. The question that he couldn’t form repeated over in his mind. “Peter, come outside with me. The energy here is being drained by you. Come outside. Let them both rebalance.” I stood and walked to the door, which I walked straight through. Peter followed, realising now that he wasn’t constrained by walls and doors. “How… how can I be dead when I’m still here?” “Notice, Peter. Notice it and look at yourself.” Peter bit his lip, his hand moving to his chest automatically. “I noticed. My heart wasn’t racing when that car almost hit me.” “That car did hit you, Peter. It was the feeling of it passing through you which startled you.” “And… and the ground… the pavement should have been too hot to stand still on… but it wasn’t. It was cold.” “Because your skin is now impermeable by the elements.” I nodded at him sagely as he reeled off his feelings. But there was still that seed in his mind that he didn’t ask me outright about. “Peter, my name is Amber, and I’m a Guide. Your time on this earth is done, and it’s time for you to let go.” “How can I let go when I won’t get to see my little girl grow up?!” Peter hissed at me. I smiled softly. “Because there are other things that need you now more than she does. As cruel as that may sound, if you don’t let go, you won’t be able to pass through. And if you don’t pass through, when she eventually dies herself – and Georgia, of course – neither of them will be able to find you.” “But why couldn’t they see me?” Peter whispered. “I was right there…” “You are dead, Peter.” “I always thought Georgie was my soulmate…” “She is your soulmate.” I turned to him properly and held out my hands, offering him some soothing light. He reached over and took it, not touching me still. “You died prematurely, Peter. Which is why I’m here.” “So… so I shouldn’t have died?” “No. You were killed, Peter. By someone who had intent to kill you. Bella, her name is. She intended for you to die because she couldn’t have you. She hit you with her car and then she burned it out. There were drugs involved, which heightened her intentions… but that’s by the by – you’re here because when a soul leaves its body prematurely, it clings to the Earth because it is confused.” “So… I’m a confused soul?” Peter scratched his head, but at least his thoughts were slowing down. “Yes. You are a confused soul. Because your life path was a lot longer.” I gave him a smile and sighed. “Peter, you were murdered. And you need to come to terms with that before you can move on. And you have to move on.” Peter could only nod. Understandably, he was a little put out, but we still had plenty of time to help him make peace and let go of his old life. “So… so I need to say goodbye now?” he asked after a moment, watching his family from outside the house. I shook my head. “No. Not yet, not to them. We can come back later and they can be your final goodbye.” Peter nodded. “I… I can’t be dead… there was so much I needed to do… I mean, I didn’t do much, did I? I only really had Harry… that was it…” he palmed his face. “I could have done so much more…” “Let’s go and see someone special, shall we?” I offered him my arm, and he took it. The world around us changed in a snap. We left the wide-open space of the garden, and arrived in a packed corridor, filled with students milling around, heading to lesson with the usual rush a teenager has. Peter stared around, but one particular group of boys came into focus. A young girl was trying to collect dropped books from the floor, but each time she stood with them in her arms, she’d had them slapped out of her hands again. Her energy was at a low ebb as she reached down again for the books. The group of boys around her catcalled at her and jeered at her, calling her some horrible names. Peter blushed deeply, more out of shame than anything else. “That’s me,” he whispered. “Oh God, that’s me… wait – that’s ME! How –“ “Peter, you’re dead. You have access to your entire timeline now.” I gave him a smile. “One single action changed your life path. I want you to see it.” I nodded towards the group, watching as a fifteen-year-old Peter stepped forward and crouched down, picking the books up for the girl. “Leslie Jones,” Peter whispered. “She was the school’s bully victim… Everyone hated her, but I never understood why deep down.” I touched Peter’s arm, and a rush of thoughts fed into his head. I don’t know why I’m still here. I might as well kill myself tonight. No-one will fucking miss me. Everyone hates me. Even my own mother can’t bear the sight of me. I watched as Peter stood with the books and turned to his friends. “What are you doing, Maggie?” the leader, Jason, asked. Peter clutched the books and stood in front of Leslie. “I think it’s enough now. She’s upset. It’s not funny anymore. It’s cruel.” His voice shook. The thoughts feeding into Peter’s head changed. He’s standing up for me. I’ll pay for that. God, I can’t wait for this to be over. “She was going to kill herself?” Peter asked beside me. I nodded. He continued to watch as Jason aimed a punch at Peter and then left, spitting on him. Peter turned to Leslie and helped her up, putting her books in her bag. He took her bag from her and carried it for her. “See, Peter, that act led to Leslie going home and believing that someone out there cared. She confronted her mother about why she hated her, and learned that her mother didn’t hate her at all – she just didn’t understand why her daughter was so reclusive. That chat empowered her to get through school, and she actually went on to become one of the best doctors in the world for cancer treatment and diagnosis. You did that, Peter.” Peter stared at me. “Oh…” was all he could manage. He licked his lips. To prove my point, I took him to see Leslie, who was at the present moment embroiled in a rather tense game of Boggle with her son, daughter and husband. Lining the walls, plenty of awards and plaques bearing her name. All of them accolades for her work in science. “See?” “I do…” Peter shook his head. “I mean, alright, I helped one person! One. But the rest?” “Alright. Let’s go and visit another person.” I took him to the same packed shopping square I’d found him in, although the day was wet and dreary. Peter aged twenty crossed our path and headed past a homeless man to get into a coffee shop. He kept looking out of the window to the homeless man who sat getting wetter and wetter. Shortly after, Peter emerged with two hot drinks in hand, and a bag with food. He stopped next to the homeless man and handed him the coffee and the food, and then a ten-pound note. “And?” Peter asked me, sighing. “One homeless guy in the fifty times a month I go to that coffee shop.” “Watch.” The homeless man stayed there, enjoyed his food and drink, his heart glowing with the kindness. Whereas the man faced another few days on the streets trying to make another few pounds, Peter’s kind donation had given him enough to rent a room at the local homeless shelter. The man, armed with the prospect of a hot shower and a meal and a proper bed, conducted a job search with the employment volunteer than night and ended up landing an interview the next day. And he got the job, too. He was able to afford a small studio apartment and got on his feet properly in three months. “So if I hadn’t given him the money… he wouldn’t have had that job?” I nodded. “Because that job was fleeting, and the man- Willis, his name – had those skills. You helped him with a coffee, a meal and a tenner.” Peter sighed again, and pressed his lips together. “I can do this all day, Peter.” And indeed, we did do it. For the remaining hours I had left with him, I showed him past and present the people he’d helped. All the small acts of kindness he’d given, and how they’d suffered the butterfly effect and become something far greater. His death had been untimely, and I’d shown him why his death had happened. Peter’s one single bad action had led to his death. He’d met Bella in University, and she’d fallen in love with him quickly. He hadn’t returned it, though, because he’d fallen in love with Georgia. Georgia was the girl he knew he’d marry. They’d lost their virginity to each other after six months of dating, and when they were together the world was right. The world was good. Bella didn’t like it at all, and even though she did everything in her power to break them up, Peter and Georgia married shortly after leaving Uni. Bella was incensed, but she’d remained friends with him because she still had hope that he’d choose her. And he never did. He still held her in his life, but when Harriet was born, it was the nail in the coffin. The day Harriet was born, Bella had invited Peter to a party in the hopes that she could make him cheat on Georgia and that Georgia would ‘conveniently’ find out. But Peter chose to be at the birth of his baby girl instead. Bella went off the rails. She turned to drugs that night, and fell down the rabbit hole of cocaine and heroin. In the end, after seeing Peter dropping Harriet off at nursery for the day, Bella had taken a couple of lines of cocaine and had sought Peter out in a stolen car. She’d made her resolve. He’d die. And he did. Watching his death play out sobered him, and Peter’s soul relaxed. “I think I want to go and spend some time with my family,” he said softly. I checked my wristwatch and smiled. “You’ve two hours with them, and then it’ll be time to go.” Peter nodded. “Which bit first?” “Our wedding… and then the birth… and then I want to just be with them.” A wedding and a birth later, I spent time outside as Peter spent time with his family. Harriet picked up on his energy and stopped crying. “I love you, Harry. I love you Georgia.” “Daddy says he loves us, mummy,” Harriet said softly. “Daddy loves us very much. He’ll always be here, darling.” “Always,” said Peter, as he placed a kiss on their heads. He turned to me, and nodded. I took his hand and lifted him up into the light.


 River of Knowledge Wet, cold, tired, and hungry. These feeling I could name. They were solvable and temporary. The emotions swirling inside were less tamable. Embarrassed was just the base line. I was in way over my head, and being surrounded by other people only added to my misery. I’m not sure anything would have been different; it might have been a lot worst had I been alone. But I was used to being alone. It was how I preferred these times. Alas, the population for this adventure far exceeded solo, and I found myself struggling with a near emergency and wresting the inner turmoil that arose from it. I knew setting out on this particular trial that it was well traveled and I would not experience the solitude I normally had on my frequent backpacking trips. I also knew it was a long hike in, and known for steep inclines and declines. Roller-coasters as it were.  That was the main reason I picked it. 10 miles in, following along the Big Sur River, I came to see if I was physically capable of managing not only the distance, but the elevation gain/loss. I consider myself an experienced backpacking and avid hiker. Very familiar with my gear, set up, break down, pack weight and supplies. The farthest distance I had done up until this point was 8 miles in. Most of the time I do 3-4 miles in to a designated trail camp with individual sites. This was different. It is a first come first serve dispersed “camp ground”. I put camp ground in air quotes, because it really is just a flat place along the river where you find anywhere you can to lay down amongst the others all vying for the same thing. -------------------------------------------------------------- The trees speak in very soft voices. Almost imperceivable. To hear them, a person must not only quiet their outward self, they must quiet the soul within.  What the trees say to the soul is profoundly relevant and meaningful, giving wisdom and guidance to whatever life situation you find yourself in. The trees stand tall, firm, and are incredibly generous with their knowledge and ability to lend strength. Help is like the oxygen they release. It doesn’t take them much effort at all, it’s just something they do, naturally. This is the reason I go out on my adventures. To find and achieve solitude, quiet, stillness, and the peace that comes when my soul communicates with the tree’s soul. Upon my return, each and every time, I come back refreshed, restored, centered, and ready to embrace and engage with life once again. ------------------------------------------------------------- This was not the case during or after this particular adventure. It started out as all the others do. I arrived fairly early, paid and parked, and began loading my pack onto my back, checking the straps, zippers, ties, balance and making sure my shoes and socks were secured to my feet properly. I had everything I needed for an overnight, so I stopped for a brief 5 min meditation calling in fun and safety, and then began by putting one foot in front of the other and continued doing that for many miles and many hours. My pack was heavy, my legs were tired, the view was spectacular. I could see out over the ridge line, across the valley and all the way to the Pacific Ocean sparkling blue in the morning sunlight. Other hikers, some with overnight packs on, some just day packs, and a few runners passed me, I held slow and steady as is my trademark speed. The only speed I have. Stopping for a brief trail snack, I was passed by a few more people and this was the point in which I felt the start of worry setting in. The ups and downs of the terrain, the fact that I wasn’t even half way yet, and knowing my destination was first come first serve, and with the amount of people who were all heading to the same spot as me, a lot faster, brought up a growing concern that by the time I got there, there would be no more space to set up a tent. This was also a new trail and destination so I had only YouTube videos and paper maps to guide me as in what to expect. I took a few deep breaths and tried to focus on the reason I was here. Commune with nature and hear the trees. One in foot in front of the other, I put a few more miles behind me and pressed on. The day pressed on as well. The sun reached a high point and the heat of the day brought out sweat and an even slower pace. This increased my anxiety and lowered my ability to calm my soul and hear the message nature had in store for me. Still, I moved forward. Camp was now only a few more miles, and the sun was heading low with a quickness towards the horizon. My legs felt like two concrete pillars, my shoulders ached, I was hungry and smelled faintly like mountain goat. There was the “camp site”! I made it! Almost. The river, swollen from the recent heavy rains, was between me and resting in my tent. People lined the shoreline on the other side, safe and sound. No bridge. Just a deep swift moving wide body of water. My mind was as fatigued as my body. I had never forded a river such as this and had no clue what was in store. Mustering up all my bravery, I stepped in. Slowly, as the cold water pushed my legs, tested my resolve and drenched everything from waste down, I plotted through and touched dry land on the opposite shore. Dropping my pack, thankful to be unburdened, I dumped my gear out, set up camp within arm’s reach of other camps, crawled inside my sleeping bag and closed my eyes. I knew my body was hungry, and I had brought a meal, but that required boiling water, and I just didn’t have the mental energy for that. All I managed to do was open a pack of tuna and eat it. As the sun left the sky, darkness set in, a few lone stars appeared and I dozed off. Very aware of how close the other backpackers were, and that I was far away from stillness, exhaustion and a mild dread of what the morning would bring set in as a restless sleep carried me until dawn. First light, noise of many others breaking down and packing up, roused me. Groggily I emerged and started heating water for my coffee. I felt many eyes, and try as I might to ignore and just carry on with my business, the close proximity of the others was making me very claustrophobic. I drank my coffee, ate a handful of beef jerky and mixed nuts, loaded up and felt weak beneath the weight of it all.

First steps of the 10-mile journey began with the treacherous river crossing. No choice. I had to get back. Short legs, heavy pack, swift water, cold slippery stones, faces of others and their well-meaning unsolicited advice; I was almost to the dry bank, a few more steps… down I went! Pack and all, drench and being swept downstream. Only thought was to point my feet down stream and keep my head up. A large rock braced and saved me from being dragged very far. I clung to it like a frog for dear life as two very kind women started calling out, “it’s going to be ok! We got you!!” With their help I scrambled and clawed my way to dry land. Taking a breath and inventory, realizing how many faces were looking concerningly at me, I felt slightly in shock and didn’t know exactly what to do next. The two women, sweet as can be, hovered over me peppering me with advice and concern. I just sat there. The reality of what I had to do next slowly washed over me. -------------------------------------------------------------- I’m soaking, and so is all my stuff, which has added a considerably amount of weight to an already heavy pack. There’s 10 miles of rough incline/decline terrain ahead of me, and I have no privacy to sort out these swirling emotions of failure, panic, and regret. I wait. I wait some more. I dry out a little. The crowd thins out as they finally decide I’m not going to die and they can get on with their day. This is what strength and determination look like. I strap on my pack, secure my belts and zippers, check my soggy shoes and socks, then one foot in front of the other. Continue for many miles and many hours. I pause for a snack break here and there, feel my resolve faltering, gather myself, call my energy back to focus on the task at hand, as one foot in front of the other maintains a slow and steady pace. -------------------------------------------------------------- As I collapsed at the car and burst into tears, I knew I had not heard a single word the trees had to say. I felt little to no stillness and between the crowd and falling in the river most of the fun had been taken out of my adventure. The fun had been replaced with something different. A deep sense of fortitude. A physical capability that can only shine when there is no other choice. It must. A reliability upon myself, and an understanding of my limits and how I handle and adapt when those limits are exceeded. I did not achieve the quietness of soul that is needed to hear the trees. I did achieve the adversity to be able to hear the depths of myself.


I was up at 6.00am as usual ready for my morning run. Standing at the kitchen sink looking out at the back garden, the lawn covered in a film of dew, I downed a glass of warm lemon water, strapped my water bottle to my waist, did some stretches on the bench outside and set off. The forest track was a short walk down the road, our house one of four in a semicircle at the end of the cul de sac.

The forest was in deep shade, the sun not yet high enough to filter through the canopy, the branches were dripping from the early morning dew and as I started my run on the leaf strewn damp path I felt icy drops on my bare shoulders, it was chilly but I would soon warm up as my circulation warmed me. I loved my morning run through the forest and fields beyond and preferred to run solo. I ran a few times with a companion but didn’t enjoy the company of another person puffing beside me or the idle chatter that would inevitably take place between us. I recall one of my friends who was also a keen jogger remarking that they were surprised that I didn’t run with an ipod and earphones in my ears which seemed to be the go to requirement for joggers. To me listening to music or story’s could be done at home or in the car and train to relieve the monotony of the journey. Early morning sounds of birds and insects and my own rhythmic breathing was my orchestra.

The track twisted its way through the forest and now that the sun was higher shafts of light created pathways of light creating stage like spotlights on the track and the small grassy clearings. In one of them I saw a group of rabbits enjoying the fresh grass and a lone deer in the shadows. I reached a fork in the track and decided, for a change, that I would take the one that I normally ignored, I had heard that some logging and clearing had taken place and was curious to see what that was all about, new housing estates were popping up like mushrooms and I wondered whether this clearing was the precursor to a new development.

It was a Sunday and no work was taking place. I stopped and looked at the once alive forest and mighty trees now lying down in rows of logs and waiting to be carved up and made into slabs of wood for furniture and floors, their insides exposed and naked all their branches now small stumps along the length of each tree. The bright yellow machinery looked alien and was scattered over the site of fallen trees, the area was roped off with yellow and black tape. A sign warned that only authorised persons were allowed on the site. Two crows sat on one of the logs cawing as if in mourning for the fallen forest and as if in unison with the crows the familiar sounds of insects and birds had fallen silent.

Half hidden in the trees behind the devastation I glimpsed a small log cottage, my curiosity got the better of me. I skirted the clearing and came in behind fighting my way over fallen branches and through vines to the cabin. Moss and lichen was growing on the outside log walls and on the slate roof, many slates had broken and shards were scattered around the building. The windows were covered in spider webs and creepers that had started to take possession of the small cabin. A small deck of rotting and broken planks ran along the front of the cabin and an old bench stood next to the door which in its day was painted blue judging by the glimpses of peeling paintwork that could still be seen. A rusty hasp and staple hung loosely from the slightly ajar door. Climbing up the rotting steps to the deck and minding my footing at the same time I reached the door. ‘Anyone there?’ I asked, feeling a bit stupid for thinking that this wreck would have an occupant.

I pushed the door gently, somewhat afraid of what I might find inside.

To my surprise the inside was swept clean and the floorboards were all in good order. In front of me there was a passageway leading off the front room and I tentatively made my way down the short passage calling as I went ‘anybody here?’

I went into the first of two rooms leading off the passage. A rusty iron bed stood under the window, woven spider webs draped from the corner of the ceiling and window, a perfect trap for insects seeking the light from the lone window. A wooden crucifix hanging crookedly over the bed was the only other item in the room. This room was not as well kept as the front room and my running shoes left prints in the dust covering the floor. The opposite room was a different story. The floor was swept clean but the window was boarded up, only slits of light came through to give the room some light. A large picture in a gilded frame was leaning against the wall and as I looked around I noticed a number of other paintings, some with dust sheets draped over them lined around the wall. I bent down to take a look at the one closest to me, I couldn’t see much but in the low light there was it looked like an old masterpiece much in the style of Claude Monet, I moved closer to the picture but the light was not good enough for me to see the picture clearly, let alone discern any signature on the painting, but I pondered, I knew that worldwide many famous artworks had been stolen and never recovered, could this and the others lining the wall be some of the lost masterpieces. My eyes were adjusting to the light and now I could clearly see light coming through the gaps in the floorboards near the area behind the door. I could see that it was a trapdoor as I bent to see if I could open it I felt someone behind me. Suddenly I was grabbed by the shoulders and a cloth placed over my nose. I awoke shivering, the only light in the room was coming through the cracks in the door facing me. I was propped up on what appeared to be an old leather settee. My head was aching and the cable ties around my hands and ankles were digging into my skin. I tried to get loose but had no strength to struggle, I tried to take stock of where I was and how I got here. My mind was fuzzy and I felt totally disoriented. I remembered the log cabin and the cloth over my face. I was shivering with cold and fear of the unknown. How long had I been here? I noticed for the first time that my running shoes were missing but I still had my socks on. My running shorts and T-shirt the only other clothes on me.

I called out weakly, my throat was dry and I had to swallow several times to get my vocal chords to work. Silence. I tried again but was too weak to waste energy, I leaned into the soft leather and tried to collect my thoughts and must have dozed off. I was awakened by a bright torch shining into my eyes. ‘You awake’ the gruff voice questioned. ‘Can you hear me?’ the voice pushed me on the shoulder. ‘Yes’ I said ‘who are you’. ‘Never mind, I am going to release your hands so that you can drink some water. Do not talk to me, just drink the water and shut up.’ I spilled water down my front as I hungrily drank the cool liquid.’ That's’ enough, give me your hands.’ I lashed out but the voice grabbed my wrists and thrust them onto my lap as he tied them up. ‘You will sleep now’ he said with a chuckle. I could hear another voice whispering something to him and then they were gone. The door slammed and I heard the bolt slide into place. I could hear voices on the other side of the door and was straining to hear what was being said. ‘We’ve got to move fast and clear this place today.’

I was aware of being carried on a stretcher with a blanket over my head, ‘Shit’ I heard a man’s voice ‘this guy is heavy’ ‘shut up’ the other voice said. I felt myself being lifted higher and worked out that I was being loaded into the back of a vehicle, I was on a gurney and the blanket on my face had slipped enough for me to see that I was being loaded into the back of an ambulance. The vehicle took off with a jolt and after a few minutes of rough road the vehicle turned and the ride was smoother, the sirens were now blaring as I felt the ambulance travelling at high speed. I was confused, had I been in an accident? I tried to recall what had happened to me. I remember being tied up and the voice, the same one loading me into the ambulance. The large Monet painting, and the others stacked against the wall, was that a dream?

I tried to speak, I could feel that there was someone beside me. I caught a whiff of perfume or powder, it was a woman. A hand on my chest. ‘Don’t try to speak, we are nearly there.’ A soft Irish accent I thought as I once again fell asleep. I am staring up at a moving ceiling and rows of lights, ‘he is not injured, just shocked. ER 2 and we’ll have a good look’ a jumble of words and orders were being said by the medical team, my mind spinning in confusion.  I am propped up on white pillows, a tube in my arm. My wife Cynthia sits beside me holding my hand ‘Hello Love, how are you feeling.’ I smile at her. ‘What has happened to me, the last I remember is that I went for my usual run, ended up in a log cabin in the forest and now here I am in a hospital, what is going on?’ ‘You were found alone in an ambulance outside the hospital’s emergency department, luckily you had your ‘dog tag’ on so they could identify you and contact me. You hadn’t been checked in by the paramedics and had just been left there. They have examined you and given you something to settle you down, apart from bruising on your wrists and ankles there does not appear to be anything wrong with you.’ ‘Except for a bloody sore head’ I replied. The police want to question you but there does not seem to be any crime except for a stolen ambulance which was used to transport you to hospital. You have been missing for most of the day and I was getting worried when you didn’t get home this afternoon but thought that perhaps you had taken a change of clothing and showered at the club and met up with some of your mates. You will remember that I had a breakfast meeting with Cindy and needed to take an early train so I wasn’t far behind you when you left for your run. The police have asked if you wouldn’t mind going in to the station sometime tomorrow to answer questions’ ‘I need to talk to them now, I was held captive in a cabin in the forest and the weird thing was that there were large paintings in one of the rooms that looked like old masterpieces. This could be a hideout for a gang of thieves.’ Cynthia smiled, ‘you must be imagining this.’ ‘But what about my wrists, look at them and my ankles, bruised.’ I gave the police a detailed statement that same evening, they told me that they knew of the cabin in the forest, it used to be a haven for druggies but had been cleared out of them some years ago, a developer had purchased the parcel of land with the cabin and was now developing it for a housing estate, the cabin was the property of the developer they said and needed to get permission or a warrant to search and follow up on my statement. A few days later I was curious to know the result of the police investigation and called the assigned constable. He told me that they had gained access to the cabin, it had been cleared by the developer as a site office, the cellar had also been cleaned to be used for storage, there was no trace of any other activity and they were unable to proceed except to record my claimed kidnapping.


“Jet Pee Nong, what the hell is that?” asked the walk-in customer. “That, my friend, is the name of a magnificent hotel in a brilliant resort, on the holiday you’ve been dreaming of,” answered the overly keen sales agent at Rickets Travel Bureau. “I noticed the ‘deal of a century’, you’ve been plugging on social media recently. Tell me more.” “You are in luck. We only had one spot available, and it had been booked,” said the young man with the bright yellow blazer with the over-sized letters, RTB, plastered over the breast pocket. Below the logo was a pin screaming ‘Jethro’. “I was in luck, but it had been booked?” “Yes, tragedy in the customer’s family. She had to cancel. So, it’s yours, just give me your card and I’ll get on with booking it for you,” Jethro beamed. Nigel Peters scratched his chin, “I’ve never been to Thailand before, what’s it like?” “Oh, you’ll love it. It will be hot, the beaches are clean, the food is to die for… And Thai ladies are beautiful, say no more,” RTB Jethro was getting on Nigel’s nerves. He considered the reason he was there in the first place, he needed a break. “Okay, book it.” “Splendid decision, Mr Peters, you fly out Wednesday from Heathrow. Have a lovely holiday.” Nigel settled himself in the middle seat in the central aisle and half-way back of the Thai Airways Jumbo. “There’s always one, and he is always next to me,” Nigel mumbled to himself as a scruffy younger man tried stuffing his over-large holdall in the crammed overhead container. “Sorry mate, they buggered my ticket, panic all around,” he said squeezing next to Nigel. Pulling his jacket free of his neighbour as he sat. “You’re here now, enjoy the flight,” Nigel sneered, making it clear he wanted no further conversation. A man was waiting at Suvarnabhumi Airport with a small sign boasting, ‘Mr Peter’, hand-written in black marker pen. “But I’m Peter,” an elderly man stated. “No, sir, I meet Mr Nigel Peter,” said the mini-bus driver. “Excuse me, are you looking for me?” asked Nigel, looking at the clipboard and seeing 'Peters'.

Nigel was directed to his seat on the bus. The mini-bus took no time in becoming snarled in Bangkok’s infamous traffic. “Hello again, mate,” Nigel heard from behind. “Yes, hi, you again, it seems we are destined to sit together.” “Where are you going? I’m going to the beach, I deserve sand and sea after what I’ve been through,” said the scruffy man. “Me too,” Nigel said, dreading the next question. “Are you going to Hua Hin?” “Oh, God,” Nigel breathed as he studied the overhead vinyl. “Yes, I think that’s what it’s called.” The mini-bus pulled up outside a newly painted building, ‘Jed Pee Nong Hotel’ in foot-high letters hung above the entrance. “Don’t tell me we’re both staying here?” thought Nigel. “This way, gentlemen,” said a young receptionist, pointing to the front desk. The driver lugged the luggage to the hotel’s trolly. “Can I see your passports please,” she smiled. Nigel rushed his document out of his pocket, hoping to escape his travelling companion. “Thank you, Mr Peters. And yours, Mr Jackson?” she looked as Mr Jackson searched his pockets and then his small shoulder bag. Mr Peters was getting used to studying ceilings, plane, bus and now the fresh paint of the hotel foyer. “No problem sir, the police station is over the road,” she pointed, “I’ll report it missing. Here’s your key.” “Where’s my key?” asked Nigel. “Oh, we only give one key per room,” she answered. The men looked at each other, then at her. “What?” yelled Nigel. “I’ve got you down as a couple? That’s what the agent told us,” she said. “Oh, no, I had to sit next to him on the plane, shared the bus with him, there is no way I’m sharing a room!”

The girl busied herself with a huge ledger, “We are full tonight, but, tomorrow lunchtime we will have a room free?”

Mr Jackson shrugged okay. Mr Peters did not, as they trudged to the lift. “You have got to be kidding me!” as Nigel saw the double bed. “Which side do you want? I prefer to sleep near the window. If that’s okay with you. Oh, can you keep your noise down, I need to nap,” called Mr Jackson to Nigel’s fast disappearing back as he stormed back to reception. “I am sorry, sir, but…” she started. “Where can I get a drink?” fumed Nigel. A folding map was handed to him, with bars, and restaurants circled. Nigel marched in the sea's direction and hopefully cold beer. After sampling some strong Thai beer, he got chatting with a few friendly bar girls. The beers soon changed to shots of local whisky. Nigel had calmed down and was enjoying himself with one young lady. They agreed to meet up the following day. “My God, it’s gone one o’clock,” slurred Nigel as he staggered back towards his hotel. “Can I have my key, please?” he said, proud that he didn’t appear as drunk as he felt. “The key is with… um, your friend, sir,” the receptionist from earlier reported. “Let me in, Mr Jackson,” Nigel spoke to the door. “Come on, hurry, I need a pee,” he asked louder. No answer, no sound from inside, Nigel’s firmly crossed legs made it to the WC in reception. “Have you got a spare key, please,” said a much relived Mr Peters. “Yes, sir, I can let you in. He must be a sound sleeper.” The room door pushed back, and the lights flicked on. “Where is he?” asked the puzzled receptionist. “Where are my bags? My passport!” An instantly sober guest opened the wardrobe, then the bathroom even looked under the bed. “Please sir, accompany me to the police station, we must report this. At least then, you will have the bed to yourself,” smiled the girl. No smile joined her across the road. A furious snarl marched back after spending an hour with the bored night officer. “Why did I have to keep repeating myself, as he scribbled notes?” whined Nigel. “His English is not so good, you were speaking too fast,” said the girl. “So, all this is my fault?” “No, sir, please take the hotel key and have a good night,” she offered, thankfully her shift had ended. A hammering woke Nigel at eight o’clock, “Sorry, sir, but you didn’t answer your room phone,” said the receptionist standing next to a police officer. “I unplugged the phone, as I wanted a full sleep!” said Nigel as he glared at his visitors. “Do you mind if I come in,” the officer strode to the coffee table and sat down, pulling the other chair back for Nigel. “What now?” “I need you to prove who you are, sir,” said the stern man in the brown uniform. “I haven’t got my passport, as you well know,” glared Nigel, pulling his wallet from the trousers he had slept in. The police officer held out his hand, Nigel passed the wallet over. “No credit cards? No driving licence? No cash?” “What? Give it here,” stormed Nigel, snatching it back. The empty wallet hit the far wall. The receptionist’s eyes widened. Her ears glowed at English terms she was unused to. “Calm down, sir. You had better accompany me across the road,” said the officer, hand on his pistol. Nigel slumped to his knees, head in hands, “Christ Almighty,” he wailed as he was guided to the police station. After a lengthy telephone conversation with the British Embassy and proving who he was, he could enjoy the rest of his stay in Thailand. A friend sent him cash via PayPal, making life easier with cash in his pocket. Nigel loved the Thai food, he enjoyed watching monkeys steal fruit, he even saw a dolphin when he took an interesting boat ride as part of a trip to the nearby mountain. His guide was the young lady he met his first night. They were getting on as if they’d known each other for years. On his third day in Hua Hin, he relaxed in a deck chair on the beach; he unfolded the Bangkok Post. “What,” instantly he sat up, as a headline on an inside page jumped at him, like a cold fish’s revenge. He felt the slap across the cheeks. “RTB owner found dead in her home!” For a reason only known to him, he looked all around him, as he read, “Well-known travel agent and business owner, Mrs Eastman, was found battered to death in her bedroom. Her husband, Mr Eastman’s whereabouts were unknown.”  Nigel cringed behind the newspaper, suspecting Mr Eastman could watch him. He carried on reading the report aloud, “Young sales assistant, Mr Jethro Jenks, is helping police with their enquiries. Mr Eastman is known to have boarded a flight to Bangkok. ‘We lost track of him there’, said a detective headed the case,” Nigel folded the paper gently on his thighs, as a voice he recognised, shouted from behind, “Keep your noise down, I’m trying to nap.” The END


In A Cloud of Solids “A man once spoke of a story pertaining to the Wizard against the machine. He would sit up in his castle, making paintings that he supposedly, considers to be prophecies. Graphic images of a small pixel, a dot, remaining unmovable in a prodigious city as the humans around it began to get ripped apart by a storm so random that the apples that they were eating didn’t leave the air. I seen the pictures myself, I seen the deep reds of the blood, the dark grays of the night, and the speck of white that if you really don’t focus on, seems more like a shimmer of light.” Syrian said, peering over an oak round table, at Jeremy. Jeremy, astonished by the tellings of Syrian, smiled widely, spewing his excitement through his legs, and gleefully kicking and wobbling in his seat. “Jeremy, when are you turning ten might I ask” Syrian says. “I will be turning ten on the next week. My mother’s gonna take me to see the horses with pop” Jeremy replies. “How would you like to go to the gallery with me after, to see the wonderful drawings that all the new artists are making.” “AH THAT SOUNDS WONDERFUL. Can we see some of the paintings that the man you spoke of made?” “Perhaps. I’ll have to check with him, he likes to remain anonymous” Syrian says as the sound of loud creaks graze sharply past their ears. A man enters the pub, draped in the blackest black. One with no reflection, one that if you lost focus in your eyes for even a second, would come off as a shadow to the broad daylight of the outside. His apparel is similar to a grim reaper. Hood on, with no visible face, cloak thick and long enough to mask his legs, making him seem ghoulish. He only catches the gaze of Syrian and Jeremy, hovering over to their table. Chills tickle and ensnare Jeremy’s neck, making him whimper and cry, so he hugs Syrian tightly, and ducks himself in Syrian’s arms. The mystery creature does nothing upon reaching Syrian’s table, only gazing through his own abyss at the hard wood of the table. Syrian, in a casual manner, with his eyes avoiding the creature’s gaze, reaches to scratch his chin, giving it an itch with his hooked index finger. “what are you scared of Jeremy?” Syrian said, and as if it were a dream, the ghoul simply vanished into thin air. Jeremy was trembling in Syrian’s arms, with the erratic waves of tears splashing from his eyes.

“Why are you not scared of that man Syrian?” “You believe in god, right Jeremy?” “Yes” “Then why would God allow something to happen to you in the warmth of his presence. We were always safe you see, the sun never moved, it’s warmth was only interrupted.”

Jeremy dried his eyes with the cloth of his shirt, sniffling. “I’m feeling much less cold now Syrian.”

“Good. Now let’s wait for your mother. Uncle Syrian has some things to do tonight.”

Eventually, noon fell, and Jeremy’s mother came for him and took him home. Syrian left and went home. It takes him hours to get home because he lives out of the city, and it’s always raining in his area. Dark and gloomy. Syrian lives in the remnants of a castle with his relative, Cuzz. Cuzz is an artist, He sells paintings and tells tales under the guise of a Bard so that he may earn enough money to get his castle rebuilt. Cuzz used to be a very famous artist, with the ability to predict the future with his paintings. One day, a mob came, blaming him for showing them the truth and believing him to be a sorcerer, they destroyed his castle. Leaving him in ruins with only his art. The castle makes for poor shelter, with the only things standing are the broken high walls and the door, but no roof; easy for rain to flood them in. During the night, Syrian watched Cuzz paint under the tarp of their tent, with Cuzz’s thick white beard and one oversized eye making him seem like an old senile man in a trance. “are you creating more art that you can tell tales of old man.” Syrian asks. “I am creating a very special piece, one that must be seen by everybody big and large, rich and poor. Perfect.”

Syrian stares at the canvas, puzzled at its simplicity, for it’s just an apple in a blank space. “How is an apple special, I mean, that’s all there is to it. An apple with no background isn’t it.”

Cuzz lifts his paintbrush off the canvas, pausing for a moment. “Tell me. Do you feel when it gets breezy, or when it gets cold or hot Syrian. Has that changed?”

“No, it hasn’t. I am very skilled at unfeeling. It must be this damn weather we live in. I wish I could brush this rain off.” Syrian says.

“yet you still do not like the rain, it makes you feel cold, an unshakeable feeling. Think of the apple that way. It takes up all of the picture because it is the focus. It is a simple object that somehow finds a way to absorb the empty space around it and feed its own importance. But there is still a border, the canvas is not never ending. It still cannot be the greatest thing in any room it enters.”

“Are you saying that the rain is limited? Or that my weakness is the weather, you speak in riddles sometimes. Now that I think about it. If it’s always raining. How do you get your paintings into the city?” “He, you’re just imagining things. Go to sleep Syrian.” Cuzz says. Syrian drifts off to sleep and Cuzz continues to paint the apple, flicking his brush about in swift motions like a shadow imperfectly mimicking his original form, never once wasting an ounce of paint. That is, until he gets to the borders of the apple. He strokes perfectly with just enough paint, yet a drop still splashed on his shoe, a red drop. He tried to wipe the smudge off but it only spread around and expanded, frustrating him deeply and making him panic. In sudden fear and anger, He destroyed the apple painting, tearing it to pieces and lied down trembling. Mumbling to himself about Jeremy. The next morning, Syrian awoke with his usual optimal energy, but he noticed something rather interesting today. The rain had finally stopped, there was no more dripping water on his tarp. He cheerfully jogged into the town to meet with Jeremy, who was with his mother outside of the pub talking to a strange man with Ginger hair and a green beard. The man gave Jeremy an apple and, upon noticing Syrian, scurried away quickly. Jeremy seemed excited to see Syrian, wrapping him tightly in his arms, and they happily walked into the pub with Jeremy on Syrian’s shoulders.

“So How was your sleep Jeremy. Fun?” Syrian said “Why yes Uncle Syrian, I had a wonderful dream about a puddle that I got to splash in with you and Grandpa Cuzz.”

“Ha Jeremy, you know I don’t really like water all that much, thank god the raining finally stopped around my house.” “Oh but this puddle was special, it always showed the reflection of a big globed ball with green and blues on it no matter how much I stepped in it. It was magical”

“Is that right Jeremy, interesting dream.” Syrian stared at the apple Jeremy was given, as he hasn’t taken a bite out of it yet. His eyes were almost entranced by its golden red, it’s swooning colors.

“Hey Jeremy, can I have that apple?” Syrian asked. “Sure Uncle, a strange man gave it to me today, but I don’t really like apples.” Jeremy said, reaching his hand out with the apple. Syrian caresses the apple in the palm of his hands, like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and he takes a huge bite out of its base, soaking up its juices with his tongue and licking his lips for the escaping liquids. He then notices something outside of the pub window, the man with the green beard and ginger hair is staring at a puddle in the middle of the road and simply shedding tears and roaring his loudest, yet he is ignored by everyone on the street. He seems angry at the water for not showing him what he wants but instead showing him a reflection of a creature with no face. He then drifts his angry gaze from the puddle to Syrian. “Uncle Syrian” Jeremy says, puzzled by Syrian’s frozen face. “Uncle Syrian is there something you see out there?” Syrian then starts to shudder, as he suddenly feels extremely chilly even with the sun outside. He looks back at the apple, which lost its golden shine, and now seems a rotten green, and takes another bite, bigger and using his teeth to crunch its stem.

Everyone then, in the glory of God and his warmth, blinked at the same time, and opened their eyes to the see the wrath of the Devil and his hell. A storm ripped through the town so suddenly that Syrian’s apple never hit the table. It destroyed every building and grew the more it ate anything it touched. Cuzz, waking up suddenly with a violent gasp. Looked at his shoe, and seeing that the smudge was no longer there, sobbed heavily. The storm ate everything it wanted and grew until it could not no more.

Once the dust settled, everything was gone, everything except a crying little boy and a fading shadow in a cloud of Solids. Particles swiveled in the nothingness, Jeremy trembling on the ground; refusing to look up for fear that everything he’s ever loved is gone. A man in a mysterious tan cloak drags his feet through the ruins, beaming his shadow over Jeremy’s coiled being. “You’re alive...My goodness” he said. Jeremy, shivering, peers up at the man, recognizing his voice. “Grandpa?” “Yes Jeremy, I apologize. This is unfortunately what comes from a battle between the wizard and the machine.”


Mike's POV "Oh, I'm sorry", I said as I bend down to pick up the pile of documents and files that lay in the ground. I looked at the person opposite of me, scrambling to get the documents in a stack. I noticed he looked like a new worker in the office. His face was slightly red and had black rimmed glasses. A distinct perfume smell was coming from him. He muttered a quick "sorry" and rushed towards the door. Strange, I thought. "Hey guys, did you notice the IT department has a new guy?” Remi asked, her eyes twinkling. "Stop crushing on every new guys Remi", Orson stated. "Sucks that you are not into guys", Remi shot back, sticking out her tongue. "Yeah, I crashed with him on the way here.” I said. "He seems fine" "Fine?! He looks amazing. I heard he is good at his work too. All the girls seem to be talking about him." "Stop fantasizing Remi" "Oh shut up Or. A girl can dream."(Or is the short for Orson) "Let's finish this and have a drink today. I have invited others too.” I said. "I think I'll pass.", Or said. "Oh come on. It'll be fun.” Remi said. "Your definition of fun and mine are different." "Please. Just this time", I said. "You guys always say that." "Please. You can go back home early if you want" "Fine but only this time.” Remi finally agreed. (At the restaurant) "Cheers" Clinking of glasses is heard. "I swear this is one of the best places to drink.” Matt said. “Yeah dude", Corey replied. "The workload has been increased so much these days.” Jamie said. "Yeah, we need more people to recruit", Deffanie said. "Guys, guys", a loud voice belonging to indigo was heard. "This is Alder. He is new and works in IT department." All eyes were on him and he instantly turned a bit red. He looked at us with slightly wide eyes and smiled. We said our introductions and started chatting with him. "Are you an Asian?” Corey asked. "Yes, actually I am half Chinese." "Do you like the office so far?” I asked. Alder stared at me and blinked for a second. He cleared his throat and said, "It’s a nice working place." "What do you like doing during free time?" "I like playing computer games." "We should totally do that. I like it too." I asked him a bunch of questions until Or intervened. "Let's go grab more drink.", Or said. I nodded and we went to the counter. "Will you stop scaring that kid.", Or scolded. "What? I'm just trying to feel him welcomed." "You are overdoing it. You are making him nervous by asking too many questions" "Fine, I'll stop it." I admit I can go overboard sometimes. We had a blast that night. We even ended up dancing and singing. By the time we decided to go home, we were pretty drunk. At least I was. Remi, Or and I booked a cab. We were saying our goodbyes to others when Indigo came to us. "Hey, uh, is it okay if we come with you guys? My brother was supposed to pick us Alder and I but he couldn't make it.", she explained. We agreed. So, Or sat in the front while the rest four of us sat at the back, a bit squeezed. I was between Alder and the cab door. While Remi and Indigo were talking, I noticed Alder becoming red. I didn't know if it was because the cab was hot or he drank too much. "Hey, why are you becoming so red?” I asked and raised my hand to touch his forehead. "Are you sick?" He instantly ducked his head. "I-It's hot here" I rolled the windows down and instantly felt the cold wind rush at my cheeks. "So, where do you live?” I asked. Sue me for my inability to keep my mouth shut for a long time. "Merlin road" "That's far" Alder shrugged. "I have been trying to convince him to find a room", Indigo butted. "I can't leave my aunt alone", Alder defended. "She also has her sons.” Indigo shot back. "You can live with us", Or offered. "Who are we?” Indigo asked. "Or and I", I replied. Indigo narrowed her eyes. "Are you guys dating?” she asked. "No!" Or cried. "I'm straight" I laughed. "No Indigo. We just move in a house to save the cost of the rent." "Oh" There was a silence for a few moments. "I think it is a good idea. It would be a lot easier if you move with them." "I don't know. I'll have to think", Alder hesitated. "Take your time", I said. "By the way, there is a new ice cream shop opened around the corner... " "No. We are not going there now", Or stated firmly, cutting me. "But..." "No" We continued arguing back and forth until we reached our places. (Few days later) "Mike, Alder agreed to move in with you guys. Is it okay if he moves in today?” Indigo asked. "Yeah, sure. No problem." "Alright. See you in the evening." Later that evening, Remi, Or, Indigo and I helped Alder move his stuffs and arrange them. After sometime, everyone left except for Alder, Or and I. "I am going to bed.", Or announced. "What about dinner?” I asked. Or waved off and headed towards his room. “I’ll cook today”, I said. “I can help”, Alder offered. “Nah, it’s fine. You can go and familiarize with the rooms”, I said. I finally finished cooking and called Alder. He did not respond. I went to call him from his room. I saw that he was holding a drawing paper. I couldn’t see what was drawn. Beside him, a flower key ring was laid. I looked at the key ring and felt oddly familiar. Alder turned back and swiftly rolled the paper. “Hey”, he said. “Dinner’s ready. I came to call you.” “Okay” We went to the kitchen and started eating. “What was on the paper?” I asked, trying to a start a conversation. “No one” “Where did you get that key ring from?” “Someone who was close to me gave it” I frowned. “Have we met before?” He didn’t respond, just continued eating. I found it weird but didn’t comment. I got up to wash the dishes after I finished eating. “I’ll do it”, Alder offered. “It’s fine, I’ll manage. It’s your first day here.” I continued washing the dishes. In the middle, an apron was tied to my waist. I was taken aback and stood straight. His fingers touched my waist, giving me goose bumps. Then, his hands trailed upwards and tied the laces in my neck. The tingling sensations in my neck heightened. I knew this touch. I kept the plate in the sink and turned around. I gazed into his brown eyes. “Bud”, I whispered. He smiled. We had tears in our eyes. Few seconds passed and we were still staring at each other with big smiles on our faces. I broke the eye contact and hugged me. “I am so sorry I didn’t recognize you”, I said. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” He shrugged and sat on the counter. I let out a small laugh. “Your habit for sitting on counter top hasn’t gone?” I asked amused. “Nope”, he gave a dazzling smile. I finished the dishes and went where he sat. I lightly traced his face with my fingers. He closed his eyes and took a sharp breath. “Do you miss me?” I asked. “I couldn’t forget you.” he replied. I took his hand and covered it with mine. “I missed you too.” I leaned for a kiss. “Wait!” I paused and looked at him. “I think it’s too early.” “But we have already waited for 9 years already.” I reminded. He shook his head. “I think we shouldn’t rush. Unwillingly, I nodded but kissed him on the forehead. (Next day) “Dude, wake up. We are going to be late.” I woke up with Or screaming at me. I looked at the time and instantly panicked. I was late. I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed the breakfast. “Where is Bu-Alder?” I asked. “I woke him up. He should have been here” “I’ll call him again”, I said and headed towards his room. As I entered his room I saw he was fast asleep. I gazed at him for a few seconds thinking how handsome he looked until I remembered what I was here for. “Bud, wake up”, I said, softly shaking him. He stirred. “Come on. We are going to be late.” He woke up and rushed to the bathroom. I smiled softly and turned towards the door. My eyes caught a folded paper. Curious, I unfolded the paper and saw a portrait of mine. It’s actually pretty good, I thought. (After a few days) I was getting ready to go home after finishing my office work when I felt Remi squint her eyes and looked at me. “What?” I asked. “You seem close to that IT guy”, she said, “He is my roommate and my friend.” “Or is also your roommate and your friend. He doesn’t look like ‘just a friend’. “And how do can you say that?” “Women intuition” I shrugged off. “I expected you to come clean yourself.”, Or spoke. I raised a brow. “I came in the kitchen to drink some water that night. I saw quiet an interesting sight.” Dammit. At the exact moment Bud came in. Double dammit. He saw us and gave a polite smile. He made his way to Denise. “Wait a minute”, Remi called, She stepped in and brought Bud at us. “We were discussing about Mike and you. Is there something going on between you guys?” This was Remi, blunt as usual. Bud turned red and looked at me. “There isn’t anything to discuss”, I said. “Mind explaining what happened in the kitchen?”, Or butted in. Bud looked confused. “He meant the first day you moved in”. I offered. “He saw us” “I think it’s fine to tell them.” he spoke, softly. “I did want to tell you guys but Bud wanted to keep this a secret. We are exes, more specifically high school sweethearts.” “But aren’t exes supposed to be rude and unreasonable?” Remi asked. “You watch too much TV”, Or stated. “Anyways, we started dating in grade 9 for a year until Bud’s parents found out. They didn’t allow same sex dating. So, we decided to mutually break up for some time. Shortly after that, his parents moved out. They changed their contacts too and social medias weren’t much used at that time. Hence, I lost all the contacts with him.” I said. “I don’t understand how people can be so homophobic”, Or muttered. “Yeah, live and let live”, Remi added. “The past is past”, I said. “It’s seems quiet unbelievable though.” Bud said. I looked at him and smile. “You better believe it now”, I whispered and kissed him on the lips. I could hear Or and Remi hooting and felt few people staring at us. I could feel Bud was heating up and the reason of him coming here was long forgotten.


Ayanda wakes to the buzzing at her left ear. She attempts to swat in that direction, and her hand hits a bed-fellow. Retrieving the empty bottle from between the sheets, she stretches and cautiously open both eyes. The angry sounds of the wind of the previous night made way for high-rising clouds. The sun peeking below, is burning the tips of her toes. The buzzing returns, and this time her aim is spot-on. She angrily tosses the stained pillow to the side and swing her legs from the bed. She reaches for her gown, and silently hopes she did not take nude selfies again. Opening the blinds, she can see the valley is covered in yellow and orange ribbons. After one month in this place, this is only the second time nature is in a flamboyant mood. She is scanning the landscape as the coffee starts to brew. Looking through the kitchen window, a very different scene intrigues her. Tree roots are overturned. Branches are strewn over the pathway to the garden. And the wall of the fishpond gave way under the pressure. The front driveway is covered in debris and dead fish. The sight of two old lizards on top of the garage roof, signals the temperature. She is definitely changing her plan for the day. After a quick shower, and a few responses to emails, she locates her camera. Scrolling through the last pictures, she smiles. As she deletes the evidence of her one-woman party, she calculates the days left on this journey. The only time she feels excited about this mission, is when she adjusts her lens on this camera, and is witness to the creation of unfading memories. Lying on her stomach, the cool of the floor was soothing. The light from the wide window is too bright, but then suddenly she is able to capture the flight of a mosquito. It is flying dangerously close to the spider web, but safely reaches the side of the television set. Instantly adjusting the lens, she is able to see the bent body and wide tentacles, which are moving around the surface. The taste of disappointment results in a quick flight towards the roof. Looking at the image, she sees that she only captured parts of the back legs. Her position is making her nauseous. She steps out onto the balcony. The air chokes her with force. She runs to the bathroom as the convulsions shakes her and drained the fluids from her body. Closing all the blinds, she curses her decision not to pack a fan. She feels the bite of the mosquito on her left foot and lazily makes a motion. And then darkness surrounds her. Ayanda jumps up in fear. Looking at the clock, she can see that she was asleep for about three hours. Her back aches, as she lifts herself from the damp floor. The cool of the water glass reminds her that the heat is receding. Then a loud bang! The glass falls to the floor. Then another loud bang! She read about the ‘The loud voice of God’ in the Valley Magazine. But this thunder is definitely a shout from God! It is the most awesome phenomenon, and one she knows everyone in her profession always wanted to capture. But unlike the other elements of nature, thunder cannot be captured through sight, or its effect on other matter. She grabs a left-over sandwich from the fridge and reclaim her spot on the floor. She hears the wind picking up speed outside, and opens the blinds. Dark clouds are climbing over the East View mountains. Their approach is fast and heavy. She grabs her camera, and as if to sense her joy, they change direction. They start to move to the north and as the grey mountain is released, it appears to take a breath and then swell out again, and shake off the effects of the choking clouds. The sound of another thunderstorm is a big surprise. In her sight she still has clearing skies. And then she turns to the left. A huge cloud is forming on top of Riverview Mountain. And as it is gathering wind and speed, it soon deposits loud icy drops of hail against the windows. Just before it passes, it releases water so clear, that she feels as if she is inside a waterfall. Her camera cannot click fast enough. And then it decides to move on. The silence is almost ominous. She waits there in front of the window until she hears the sound of the black-billed magpie signalling that the storm has passed. Reaching for the switch, she is instantly irritated. The storm caused a power outage. Luckily, the geyser is still working. Running a bath, she lights some candles. She found a battery-operated radio when she arrived. She retrieves it now from the bedroom. Slipping into the lavender foam, the sounds of The Crusaders caress her tense body. She wakes to a beautiful, calm and sunny day. Adding salt to a boiled egg, she decides that it is safe to take a walk towards the stream she so adores. It is an underground stream, and only reveals itself for ten metres at the base of the vineyard. When it reaches the last line of vines, it goes underground again, to moisturize the roots which produce the rich Chardonnay. She is mesmerized by the view which stretches all the way to the peninsula. She is focusing so hard on getting the perfect angle, that she does not see the newly exposed root. As the ground reaches up to meet her face, she closes her eyes. This is not the first time that she will return to the cottage in such a condition. And then she sees the crack on the side of her camera. Crawling to where it landed, she investigates the damage. Nothing else is loose or appears to be damaged. But the crack on the tube adapter is worrying her. Suddenly darkness surrounds her. A mist crept up on her. Looking around, she realizes that she cannot see her path back to the cottage. If she goes in the wrong direction, she may end up quite far down the mountain. She is also not sure if it is a passing mist or the prelude to a storm. Ayanda read many books about the weather in these mountains. She remembers that the mist is always described as something which normally passes quickly. The advice given is to remain in one position, preferably seated, until it has passed. It is never safe to move, especially if you are unfamiliar with the terrain. She also knows that she is not the waiting type. Securing the camera in its bag, she takes a sip from her water bottle and sits down. Perhaps it is a good idea to stay put. The mist is thicker now. She is not even able to see the stream, or the root which caused her fall. The cold travels through her clothes. It moves over her scalp. Then it caresses her fingers, leaving them stiff and swollen. She closes her eyes. The wet which rises from the ground is numbing her feet. And then her patience is gone! She puts both hands on the muddy ground and lift herself to a standing position. And, what do you know? The mist is gone. The shine of the peninsula in the distance is brighter, and the stream is continuing its journey undeterred. The path to the cottage is clear, and the walk back has never been faster. Ayanda is uploading the images, when her eye catches one sent to her by the helicopter crew. She missed the trip to the mountain earlier in the month. What she sees now in front of her, is almost unbelievable. In the picture, the crew is facing the camera. They are standing with their back to the valley, covered by dark clouds. The same picture is on their website’s home page, with the caption ‘ We fly above the storm’ . Something in the background holds her attention. There, in the distance she can make out the roof of the cottage. If this picture is authentic, it means that, if she can get to the top of that mountain, she will be able to take pictures of a storm, as it crosses over the valley. And she will be on top of the storm! She browses the website for more pictures and finds further confirmation that being on the outside of the storm, is indeed possible. She runs to the balcony, and looks up at the sky. All is quiet, and the sky is the brightest blue. She packs the camera, loads extra batteries and slips on a pair of sneakers. The hike should take an hour, but if she jogs, she can certainly make it in half that time. She reaches the top forty minutes later. With sweat running down her arms and legs, and her chest threatening to explode, she turns around. And there it is. She is standing on the highest peak, on the top of this valley, lush with life. In the distance, the cottage looks forlorn. Taking off her backpack, she stretches her arms, and screams as loud as she can. And then she sees it. From the East View mountain, a dangerous-looking cloud formation is approaching the valley. She steadies the tripod, adjusts the lens, and click the ‘Record’ button. She sits down. Here on this majestic mountain, high above the valley, almost touching the sky, she is witness to a most amazing experience. This storm which can rattle windows, roofs and the weakest of human minds is about to be humbled. This raging energy is about to be subdued by nature’s very own laws. The wind is picking up. Even from this distance, she can feel the wind strengthening with every distance captured. Within minutes the valley is covered in a grey blanket. She can see the sparks of lightning speeding up the pace of the storm. She is holding onto the tripod as the wind declares its power over the trees. Rain starts to pour down. In this moment she realizes that she, Ayanda Gaul, is sitting on the highest mountain peak, the sole witness of an experience others can only imagine. She feels exhilaration, and so completely part of the abundance of nature’s power and strength. And as the storm refuses to follow a familiar path, and chooses to focus on her, she raises her arms, and fully accept the deadly embrace.


It was a warm and clear afternoon, or at least barely afternoon anymore as the sun was still in the sky but was due to set in a little while, on the day of the Mid Summer Fireworks Festival. On the day of the Fireworks Festival, there was music and dancing, games, food, and every year the whole mid summer event ended with a grandiose Fireworks Display on the Riverfront. A mother and father brought their young daughter to the Festival. "You know, Hanabi, this Festival is where your mommy and daddy first met!" Said the mother. "Really, Mommy??" Said the little girl. "Really, honey." Said the father, looking at his wife. 5 years earlier... 'Red Lanterns lined the streets, Acrobats put on a show for spectators, the sound of drums, shamisens, and reed flutes permeated the air. 20 year old Kentaro stood by a maple tree eating Pork Buns while waiting for a group of his friends when a beautiful woman in an extravagant red Kimono walked up to him. The woman winked at him and walked past, gesturing towards him with his finger. Kentaro, too entranced with her beauty to think clearly, followed her. The woman weaved through buildings, then through the Pine Trees and Bamboo Thickets, and Kentaro followed. The beautiful woman in the red Kimono stopped behind a shrine to the spirits surrounded by a small grove of Maple Trees. Kentaro followed her to the back of the shrine. She grabbed onto his hand with one hand, gently grabbed his shoulder with the other, and closed her eyes and ever so slightly leaned in for a kiss. Kentaro closed his eyes too, and then he also leaned in for a kiss, but unbeknownst to Kentaro, as soon as he had closed his eyes, the beautiful woman in an extravagant red Kimono had literally vanished in a puff of smoke. Kentaro had waited a moment, no kiss, then another moment, no kiss, then yet another moment and still no kiss. Confused, Kentaro opened his eyes to see what the problem was, and saw a Fox Spirit rolling around on the ground laughing in front of a grove of trees. "A Fox Spirit? I followed a Fox Spirit to this Shrine? Kentaro muttered to himself. The Fox Spirit stopped laughing at the poor boy, got up on it's feet, and then turned into a ball of light and sped off into the woods. Kentaro kicked a nearby rock on the ground in frustration and embarrassment. "I can never let my friends find out about how I got tricked like this. They'll never let me hear the end of it.... and to top it off, I don't even know where I am or how to get back to the Festival..." he muttered to himself. Kentaro walked around the Shrine and started down the street leading back to the Fireworks Festival when a Girl about Kentaro's age walked out of the house across the street in Festival Robes. Kentaro then shyly crossed the street and said to the girl "Excuse me ma'am, but I seem to have gotten lost on my way to the Fireworks Festival. May I please walk with you if you're going there?" "Oh, sure! That's no problem for me! My Dad is selling Takoyaki at the Festival!" The girl said with a giggle. So the Girl lead the way to the Fireworks Festival chatting with Kentaro, while Kentaro followed, happy to have someone to show him where to go. When they got to the Fireworks Festival entrance, Kentaro turned to the girl and said "Say, I don't believe I've caught your name yet. My name is Kentaro, and you are?" The Girl giggled "My name is Minako. Nice to meet you!" "Nice to meet you too. Would you like to meet my friends, Minako?" Kentaro said. "I'd be thrilled to, Kentaro!" Minako said. So Kentaro escorted Minako to where his friends were waiting for him. A male voice from the maple tree by the shaved ice stand said "Hey Kentaro, you're only just barely on time!" "Hi. Shinichi, I just...got lost." Shinichi shrugged. Ryo said "Hey, Kentaro, who's that girl?" Kentaro turned to Minako and said "This is Minako. We met on the way over here." "Nice to meet you, Ryo. Nice to meet you Shinichi, Hikari. Hey, my Dad has a Takoyaki shop close by, would you like to meet him?" Minako said cheerfully. "Sounds good, I'm hungry." Ryo said. "Typical Ryo, always thinking about food!" Shinichi said with a snark. "Hey!" Ryo shouted. "Anyway I think me and Hikari will go to the Koi Pond instead." Shinichi said. "Alright then." Kentaro said. He then turned to Minako. "Lead the way, my lady!" Minako lead Kentaro and Ryo to the shop where her Father sold Takoyaki. "Hi, Minako. Who's your friend? Said her father. "Hi Dad, this is my friend Kentaro!" Minako answered cheerfully. "Nice to meet you, I'm Chou. Can I help you tonight?" Asked the Shopkeeper. "Yeah, I'll have a bite!" Kentaro said, paying for his food. "Coming right up!" Chou said. And so, Kentaro, Minako, Shinichi, Hikari and Ryo ate street food, played Festival games, and watched the miniature shrine Parade leading up to the Fireworks display. Before the Fireworks display, Shinichi, Hikari and Ryo took a number of steps back by a nearby Pine Tree so that Kentaro and Minako could be sitting on the grass alone together. The full moon hung low on the horizon. Bright, bold explosions of Red, White, Yellow, Blue, Green purple and Pink adorned the night sky in a dazzling array of shapes and sizes. Kentaro had found himself and Minako so absorbed in the Fireworks display in the night sky that they were both absentmindedly holding hands and blushed. Later that night, when Kentaro got to his bedroom for the night, he slumped into his bed not sure whether he was tired, or lovestruck, or both. Meanwhile, when Minako got to her room for the night, she slumped into her bed not sure whether she was tired, or lovestruck, or both.' The Father and Mother smiled as their young daughter looked up at the pretty colors in the sky in amazement.


***TRIGGER WARNING: Allusion to rape.

"Where the field kisses the forest, Where the rats build their nest,

My pretty ones pin their wrists, Preferring this

Over pale fists That groped and choked their breath," I murmured these lines as my steps fell in line with Jacob's.

Jacob stopped at the last verse, eyes wide and flashing in moonlight.

"You make that up?"

I shook my head and nudged to continue forward. "No. Mama would say 'em, hours before we started our work with the sun. I used to think it was for her own comfort, hiccuping up her tears when she thought no one was awake. Now I think she knew I was up. That she wanted me to know how to find them."

We skirted the edge of the almost ripe wheat plants, wavering but persisting like flies trying to bite at a smacking hand. The quilt of trees started not too far from where we were, and if I could I would rush into its embrace, exposing my stockings as my skirt flared up behind me.

"Very well could be," Jacob said,"but what would you think she might want you to find them for?"

His tone was all dodgy and I knew now that he only agreed to come with me because I would've went without him, not because he agreed I should go.

"Jacob, if there's something you want to say to me, say it straight. That's why I fancy you. 'Cause you tell me the truth exactly how it's on your mind, no matter which way it comes out. But you've been dressing up your words with me lately and I can't handle." "I'm sorry Em," Jacob said. "Be a bit careful about brushing up against the wheat though, will you? It ain't a windy night and we don't know who could be paying close attention."

I scooted further away from the shadowy stalks.

"All I was trying to ask," Jacob said, "is what you expect from going out to where your sisters are buried. Even if it's just for comfort, I understand. Just say that and I'll calm down." My tingling feet were pressing so deeply down, I thought I might cement myself in the ground if I carried on the way I was walking. I had forced him to ask a question I couldn't say the truth of. How could I when all I had is a knotted ball of short pieces of thread? My mother's poem, my body growing, the master noticing, inviting me to work in the house where "things are nicer, and you'll like it." Who could sew a dress from this? I brushed into a different type of plant now: the leaves of the trees of the forest. I gazed up into the moon before going in, like the mistresses gazing at their pale faces in the mirror before setting out the house. Does the moon feel abashed for being beautiful? Feel intruded on by the eyes of watching men? I interlaced my fingers into Jacob's and entered the brush, and told him, honest, "I don't know. Ma believed they chose to die as babies rather than suffer the touch of-" "Yeah," Jacob said.

"If their spirits had that wisdom, maybe they'll have a wisdom for me too. I must find them Jacob. I don't," and I hiccupped and all the numbness I had built in my mind was poked through. "I can't have him on my body," I said in my pouring tears. "Maybe it'd be better to d-" but I couldn't finish.

Jacob used his palms to cup up my tears and he pressed his nose down against mine. "Emeline, I'll take you to them. We just can't risk being heard, please."

I managed to shut myself up.

"Guess we're looking for a rat nest?" "Guess so," I said.

The forest remained silent except for our steps and the bugs that weren't shy of the cool air. Mama's poem said "where the field kisses the forest," so instead of going any deeper into the trees we stayed searching along the forest's entrance.  I don't know how long it was as I scoured the ground for piles of sticks built up in a

mound that rats could live under, when Jacob said, "Up."

Things weren't clear in the dark, but as I blinked at where he was pointing I could make out a sort of hump on the branch of a fallen tree. " Sisters," I whispered, coming up to the tree and falling to my knees. I scratched the leaves off the ground, hands longing for a familial presence. Did Mama leave some marker? Did she ever come and visit them out here? My fingers traced something indented. It was a stone, and it was flat. Clumsily scratched into it were etchings I couldn't make out in the dark and wouldn't have been able to read if they were words. "She even marked it with a gravestone." I shouldn't have been surprised, and now knew I was right for letting Ma's song guide me here. "Sisters, do you hear me? What is your advice for me? Mama told me the first of you came out with breath, and you were the most beautiful baby with the fiercest eyes. The next of you came out stillborn and close-eyed but gorgeous with bashful wisdom. It may be my fifteenth year and my body is starting to fill in and this curse is twisting my face in ways I didn't ask for. I didn't do anything for Master to notice me. I only wanna have kids with Jacob and no one else. My spirit didn't decide death like yours did before I grew up this much. What do I do? What do I do?" I pressed my ears against the cold stone, trying to hear their voices come through. Did they understand this English forced upon my people? Was I too stupid to deserve a response? "Sisters, please. Please talk to me. I don't know what to do."

"Em," a voice to the side of me screeched into my ears. "They aren't alive. They can't respond to you." "Quiet," I hissed. "I am with my sisters." I crouched there, ears imprinted on the stone. I pleaded my case, I played the naive younger sister role desperately, praying for them to take pity. They inherited stubbornness from their father, who got shot trying to escape his chains.

Eternity in the forest is like being ant-sized and traversing upon a winter quilt, patterns changing but still so helplessly lost. I would stay all night even while already my brain felt as if it was dozing. Or I would wait until my body seeped through the rock and dirt. Maybe the obvious answer was death.

"Sister?" I looked up, blurry eyed. Two shapes sat on the side of the rat mound on the fallen tree in front of me.

"Can you see us yet?" they asked together.

I couldn't discern their features or tell of their age. But I heard twin voices, one beautifully fiery and the other bashfully wise.

My heart embraced their voices, falling

into it as I did into Mama's hugs. "Y-yes," I stuttered. I had been so vocal when they weren't responding, but at their first words I was shut up.

"You are a pretty one, like us," said the one to the right.

"And he has no right to touch you," said the one on the left. "But your life gets to know great love, and yet must know great pain." "Your life is precious," the twins said together, agreeing.

"So what do I do?" I pressed.

One of the twins tilted their heads to me, and I caught a glimpse of her piercing look as dawn's first light peeked in.

My other sister bowed her head and her eyelashes.

They turned and looked behind them towards the direction of the horizon,

then down at the rats' nest. "No," I sobbed. "Please tell me."

The shapes of my sisters hopped down from the tree, and I could feel the kiss on my forehead. "I can't-" I choked. "Please, I can't figure this out alone."

"You ain't alone Em." It took me a while to process that Jacob had come to sit beside me and hold me. "Can you believe my sisters?" I asked him. "They came and wouldn't answer my one question!"

"I'm sorry," Jacob said. "We'll have to work as a team and figure this out."

"How?"

"Maybe, maybe we could leave. I've been hearing rumors that Samuel, he's missing from the neighbor's plantation. Or you could pretend to get sick, shave your head or something. But maybe not, maybe they'll hurt you." Jacob shook his head. His body shook with anger. "I just know if he lays his hands on you I'll strangle him."

Jacob was smart. If I could make myself not pretty, would that be enough? Did my sisters answer my pleas after all? A whirlwind of reflections and hypotheticals swished through my mind, my hand clasped firmly into Jacob's. I tried

to intertwine my intuition into his intelligence. His soul was warm as it whispered to mine, and I felt my sisters giggling in their hiding place, until the forest's quilt unraveled suddenly.

A voice- not mine, not my sisters', not Jacob's- spoke. "Who exactly you think you gonna strangle, boy?"


It was Christmas morning and Nancy was woken up by her boyfriend. She rubbed her eyes and looked into his, wide with excitement as though he had been awake for hours.

“It’s going to be a beautiful day today.” “Is today a special day?” Nancy teased. “Yes, it’s Saturday. The best day of the week. Football is on, full English in a bit, some drinks later.” “Anything else?” Jude looked curiously at her, thought for a moment, and replied with a simple

not that I can think of . He was, however, running over a plan in his mind. “It’s Christmas Day, darling.” “Today? Well of course it is!” Jude laughed and cuddled his girlfriend, kissing the hand in which he hoped to place a ring on that day. He’d had a feeling it was going to snow, and he couldn’t think of anything more romantic than proposing on a snowy day. The two had been together for almost five years, and Nancy had been his rock after the accident, nearly a year ago. He didn’t remember it and didn’t want to remember it. It had affected Nancy too, and for a long time she would become frustrated with him, herself, the situation. Jude had felt as though she had taken up a mother figure and longed for the days that they would be equals again. But eventually, when he was out of the wheelchair and back to living a life as close to normal as possible, their relationship had restarted. Days spent together seemed to pass by without Jude even noticing, and he wanted to spend as many of those days married to Nancy as he could. She’d never given up on him. Nancy handed Jude his breakfast and swept her dark hair away from her face. Her eyes were so tired. Sometimes he worried about her. “You going to watch the first game with me?” he asked. “No football on today, babe. We can watch a film instead, if you like.” “No football? Why?” “It’s Christmas Day.” Nancy kissed her boyfriend on the head and sat down to begin her food. She looked outside and saw snow trickling down, starting to settle on their grass. It reminded her of the first Christmas that the couple had spent in their cottage, and she sighed at how she had let the garden get so out of hand. Then, she smiled to herself thinking about how Jude had tried to put the star on the top of their tree, gotten his foot stuck in the lights and fallen from his chair, taking the tree down with him. She didn’t think she had ever laughed so much in her life. But while thinking about it, she realised her cheeks had become wet with tears. “What are you thinking about?” Jude asked, noticing his girlfriend’s eyes begin to glaze over. “Nothing, I just love when it snows.” “Me too.” Once breakfast had finished, Jude had decided that this was going to be his moment. Nancy cleaned the plates and he hurried to the living room to turn on their record player. She had always said that

Songbird

was their song, as Jude had put on his

Fleetwood Mac  CD in the car when he drove them to their first date. He hadn’t remembered that being his favourite song, but whenever she played it, he’d say it felt like listening to it for the first time again. He put the vinyl in, got down on one knee and waited. Being a simple person, he’d known that this was the kind of proposal Nancy would have wanted. She walked in and tilted her head, as if she had been expecting it. “Surprised?” Jude asked. “Very,” she smiled. Jude proposed and Nancy said yes. The couple had sat and hugged, cried, and talked about their dreams for the wedding and life afterwards. She had told Jude the ring was a little small, unfortunately, and needed to be adjusted. The day was passing by and mainly consisted of watching films. They tended to watch the same ones every Christmas. As this year was only the two of them, they weren’t going to bother with a full roast, but Nancy had said it was tradition and decided to try her best at one. She was a good cook as she had gotten a lot of practice from cooking for Jude since his accident. He tended to set the smoke alarm off nowadays. Nancy was busy carving the turkey and Jude had decided that this would be the perfect moment to catch her off guard. She was flustered, as she tended to get in the kitchen. While she was distracted, Jude picked up two champagne glasses, put a ring in one and filled them both up with Buck’s Fizz. Nancy dished up the meal and the two sat and admired her work, with

Songbird

playing on the record player in the background. Jude knew how much Nancy loved this song. “I’ve been drinking all day! I’m taking my time with this one.” “Come on, Nance. We’ve got to get started on the real stuff soon, that bottle of champagne over there looks pretty fancy. When did you buy that?” “You bought it. But yes, I am excited to get a glass of that down me. Oh, go on then!” Nancy giggled and drank the contents of her glass in one go. When she put the glass back on the table, she noticed the ring. She frowned, and then she smiled, and then her eyes began to glisten once again with tears. “Will you marry me?” The two sat and talked about their future, sipping on champagne. Nancy didn’t place the ring on her finger. Having spent the afternoon drinking and watching anything they could find on the television, Jude turned to his girlfriend and told her it had been the most perfect Christmas he could have asked for. Just the two of them together was always how he liked it, and it wouldn’t be too long, he considered, until their Christmas Day would be spent exhausted from wrapping their children’s presents and waking up at the crack of dawn. He’d envisioned them to have three, two boys and one girl. They’d all have to watch the football with them – he’d finally convinced Nancy that it was entertaining, and she was even beginning to celebrate goals. They’d been to a few games together. There was one in particular he remembered, right before his accident, where they had gone away for his birthday and Nancy had surprised him with Barcelona versus Real Madrid tickets. They’d drank beer all day long in a local bar and ate tapas for dinner, slept in a cheap hotel and spent three nights having the time of their lives. He thought that, perhaps, when they eventually had children, they’d be able to do things like this again. But for now, just still being here with her was enough. Jude realised he’d been daydreaming. “Tired yet?” Nancy asked, stroking his hair and they lay next to each other on the sofa. The snow had settled completely now and the lit fireplace in their small living room was keeping them warm. They sipped on the remainder of their champagne. Nancy was feeling her head begin to spin, and she knew was drunk.

“Not really. There’s something I want to talk to you about first.” Jude picked up Nancy’s hand and looked her directly in the eyes. Hers fell straight down to her lap. “Nance?” She burst into tears. “Nancy?” “I can’t keep pretending.” “Pretending?” A sinking feeling formed from the pit of Jude’s stomach, although he didn’t know why. “I know what you’re going to ask me. I know the song you’re going to play. I know the ring you’re going to take out of the small red box you keep on you at all times. I know every detail of the future we are going to talk about having afterwards. The dog you want, the three children, how you want to watch football with them, and how you will teach them to cook so you don’t have to watch me struggle in the kitchen anymore. We’ve had the conservation five times today.” Nancy’s voice was full of pity, but the firm undertones were deafening. “I don’t quite know what you mean.” Tears began to fall from Jude’s eyes, and he attempted to piece together what had happened that day. The pieces were always missing. Nancy never put the ring on as a way of giving Jude something to look forward to every morning. He had been proposing to her every day since his accident. The blow from the crash had caused Jude to suffer from memory loss, which was beginning to increase in severity day by day. Focusing on their future together was a coping mechanism, in some sense for the both of them, that Jude was unable to have children anymore, as a result of his injuries. Nancy had taken care of him every day and was hopeful that their optimism would eventually bring him back to her. Nancy and Jude went to bed late that night. They’d hugged and they’d cried, and although confused, Jude was more in love with his girlfriend than ever before. The next morning, Nancy opened her eyes to see his, wide with excitement, telling her it going to be a beautiful day.