Cupid is striking hot!

Dear readers, Just when everyone thought we would be having a quiet summer, nope, it does not look that way, especially on Chestnut Way. Things are heating up. Majorly, actually. And folks, it’s guaranteed to be “hotter than July!” News has it that our “on-again-and-off-again lovebirds,” aka the mysterious Mr. M and the bright Ms. E, were caught in some kind of love triangle. Yes, you read that right! We all have taken notice of Mr. M’s ways: low key, speaks little, but a total party boy. Oh boy, the man can throw the loudest and most lavish parties at his mansion. If you have been lucky enough to attend one of them, you would know what we mean. Anyways, he seems to have been caught two nights ago with another woman, late in the evening. The two looked very close. But no one knows who she was. Ms. E was nowhere in sight. No one had seen the platinum blonde with bright neon-colored clothes anywhere close by. So, speculations have started…..obviously! This is what can be said for now. The new couple was seen leaving the Plaza hotel holding hands. It was close to two in the morning. Maplewood, being such a tight-knit community where everyone knows everyone, can be particularly explosive. We asked the staff of the hotel, and the bellman was the first to respond, “With all due respect, sir, I do not recall seeing these guests leaving our property last night.” At the reception, the same response. Even among the other hotel staff—and there were many—including the housekeeping service, no one seemed to know about this mysterious woman. It looked as if she appeared at the door, they got in a car that was waiting for them, and off they went. Oh snap! Things are heating up in Maplewood. Dear readers, Since our last column, no one has yet seen the mysterious woman who was seen leaving the Plaza a few days ago with Mr. M. We will now start referring to her as Ms. A. Ever since it happened, we have been asking about her. Some people who saw them leaving the hotel lobby said she was part of Mr. M’s entourage. They had dinner together, just the two of them, and they kept holding hands throughout the entire meal. He had ordered steak and she only had a salad. But the champagne, the Dom Perignon, kept pouring. Suddenly, the waiter got a sign that they were leaving. After that, it was a blur for everyone. Known for their loyalty to all their guests, the staff at the Plaza have been tight-lipped ever since. This was the only thing we know from them. Since the two were caught leaving the hotel late at night, there were not many people who could have possibly seen them. Upon some investigations, there are multiple sources that came forward with a version of the story. Maplewood is not such a big place after all! More soon! Mystery on Acord Street Dear readers, The saga continues in Maplewood. A young man driving by on the evening of the infamous night out confided that he had seen Mr. M having a heated argument with Ms. E in the park. This was a few hours before the incident. He was shouting at her and at some point, she slapped him and took off. He tried to run after her, but then gave up. Out of frustration, he was seen throwing his cap on the ground and walking to his car. Meanwhile, one of Ms. E’s neighbors said she had seen her leaving the next morning, with two big suitcases that she could barely carry. This made her wonder what she could have been carrying and what may have been inside. Then, she assumed she was leaving town after the scandal and heading to her parents' house in the Hamptons to cool off. They owned a beach property there. This may be the reason why a delivery man also said that Ms. E seemed to have vanished. He had tried to deliver a package at her home the day after the incident. He rang the bell several times and no one answered. Her housekeeper, who is generally the one who comes to the door, was nowhere in sight. So, he left the box by the door. At the local Starbucks, the owner would not say a word. When asked, he could only say, “This is none of my business, but the three seemed quite tight when they last came in here to get coffee.” No one else seems to have seen them, but he is adamant this happened shortly after the incident. So for now, all three seem to be missing in action and the lights at Mr. M’s mansion have been off. Have they suddenly left town? Look out for our next update, soon. When there is smoke… Dear readers, Just when we thought that the local news was only fake news, things are re-heating again. As the saying goes, “when there is smoke, there is fire!” We eventually caught up with Mr. M and he has been tight-lipped but with a smirk on his face. Ms. E. seems to be frequently going to the local bookstore, skipping the Starbucks, and looking contemplative. Meanwhile, Ms. A, whose identity has now been revealed to us, seems to be the life of every social event, almost as if she's enjoying this new attention. All of this leaves us to think, just as the local baker said, "I think Mr. M dropped something more than a muffin." Also overheard the librarian murmuring, “Books aren’t the only things checked out here!” Up to you to fill in the blanks on these comments. When there is a way… Dear readers, When there is a way, there is certainly a will...and perhaps a little thrill! Now, one might wonder if Ms. E's contemplative bookstore visits are more about chapter turning than just book learning. Or if Ms. A's newfound zest for social gatherings is a recipe for a story sweeter than any dessert the local baker could whip up. They say still waters run deep, so keep your eyes peeled and your imaginations running wild, because it looks like this tale is just getting started—and who knows what juicy details might tumble out next! What really happened on that fateful Friday night? Only time—and perhaps a few too many espressos—will tell. Until the next slice of scandal, keep your mugs full and your rumors spiced!


Alice ran her hand along the wall, the plaster was bumpy and cracked, paint flecked off revealing another layer behind. How many layers were there, who could say? Over four hundred years’ worth of paint, dirty handprints and memories embedded in these walls. A photograph hung on the wall, a couple posed stiffly for the camera, the man in a suit and the woman in what appeared to be a wedding dress. The man’s eyes seemed to be looking straight at her, or through her. She continued on up the stairs, the walls curved and bowed, not a single straight edge in the entire building. Black wooden beams accented against the greying white walls, frayed carpet and dusty curtains. She’d seen the advert for Peacock Farm online and had immediately fallen in love, with both the building and it’s story. From the small amount she’d been able to find about the place, she knew it was full of history and had housed many colourful characters. The monks who resided there when the house was a vicarage, the woman who had seven children and the desperately in love couple whose relationship ended in tragedy.

“It’s perfect”. Tony looked over at Alice wondering if she’d lost her mind, “There’s no central heating, no double glazing, that window is cracked, that one’s missing a piece of glass and there’s a door to a room half-way up the stairs with no landing”, Alice rolled her eyes at his melodramatic rant, sure the window was cracked but look at the view. The garden needed some work but beyond it was miles of glorious countryside, trees and rolling hills. She needed somewhere to write, and this place was full of inspiration.

“no, seriously, this house will kill me. I mean really?” he gestured over towards the door hanging strangely on the stair way, “just look, how am I meant to get in or out of that room without falling to my death?” “don’t go in that room then!” Alice was already wandering off to look around. The floor sloped downwards along the corridor and carried her round to the left. She pushed the door in front of her and it creaked open to reveal a room that had nothing but a large trunk standing in the centre. It appeared wooden and heavy, with metal trim and rivets. The clasp was shut and a padlock threaded through securing it. “Hey, I wonder if this trunk comes with the house!” she called through to Tony, ‘I wonder what’s inside’ she whispered to herself. Alice got no response, she popped her head back into the corridor to see Tony fiddling with the door on the stairs, “What are you doing Tony?” “It’s locked”, “Why do you care, you don’t want to go in there anyway!” she joined him at the door and gave the handle a wiggle, “I’ll go find the estate agent, I want to ask him about that trunk anyway”. The steps creaked and groaned as Alice made her way downstairs, and Tony could hear her footsteps along the old wooden floorboards towards the kitchen. He gave the handle another try but was startled by voices coming from a room behind him. “Hello?” this place gave him the creeps, he’d seen some of the information Alice had found. The little boy who drowned in the moat, the woman who killed her husband for having an affair and god knows how many other people who had died there. Tony ventured cautiously towards the room hoping to find another couple having a viewing, and praying they bought the place before Alice could. As Tony pushed open the door, he saw a long shadow silhouetted on the floor, “Hello” he said again, not wanting to startle them. The shadow moved across the floor and by the time Tony was inside, the room was empty. He frowned, his eyes darting around the space noticing only one way in or out. There was a fireplace on the far wall and a large wardrobe to the right, a faded pink curtain hung beside it. Tony pushed the curtain aside and was relieved to find it hid a door, the movement freed years of dust that danced in the light and tickled his nose and throat sending him into a fit of coughing.

“You Ok?” Tony squinted through the dust at Alice and gave her a bemused grunt. … “This is the trunk” Alice jangled the padlock to see if it was open, but it held fast, she looked up at the estate agent who started flipping through pages in his binder “There was no mention of it in the paperwork so I assume it stays with the house, not that there’s anyone left to claim it anyway” “Oh?” “the place has been empty for years, the neighbours would see the lights come on at night and people moving about but turns out the local kids like to play round here, there are rumours about the place being haunted and you know what kids are like” Tony didn’t like how casually he delivered this news, and he really didn’t like the unnerving smile on Alice’s face,

“We’ll take it” she announced, much to Tony’s dismay, “Great, shall we go down to the kitchen to talk details?” “Wait!” Alice and the estate agent both turned to look at Tony, eyebrows raised, “what about that other couple, they might want to make an offer?” he knew it was a long shot, when Alice wanted something no one stood in her way, but he had to try something to avoid being dragged into living in this decrepit old building. “Have you had any other offers?” Alice asked curiously, the estate agent shook his head and looked over at Tony questioningly, “We’ve had no other viewings or interest, the property has been on the market for nearly three years”. Tony glanced around nervously, “who else is here then?” he asked, afraid to hear the answer, “Only us. As I say we’ve had no other viewings” the estate agent was becoming agitated now. As far as he was concerned, he’d made the sale, now it was time to do the paperwork, make his commission and be done with this creepy old place. “Alice we can’t live here” Tony pulled her over to one side, “can you give us a minute?” The estate agent obliged, “I’ll be downstairs, I’ve just got to make a phone call to let my next clients know I’ll be late”. “Tony what’s going on, why are you being weird?” “Me weird? This place is weird! There were people up here, I heard them talking in that room” Alice frowned unconvinced, “Shh, listen” the pair listened as the low mumble of a man’s voice travelled down the hall, “What? That’s just the estate agent” Alice followed the voice, it lead her to the room next door, Tony stayed a couple of steps behind, scared to go back in the room, but equally scared to be left alone. She pushed open the door to find the room was empty, but the voice continued, clear as day. Tony jumped as Alice started laughing, “What’s so funny?” “Come here” she beckoned him over to the fireplace and crouched down with her head close to the opening, Tony joined her and could hear the estate agent’s voice coming up through the chimney, “Oh” “Yeah”, Alice rolled her eyes, “Come on, he’s clearly desperate to get out of here”. Tony felt a little daft and yet his fear was not gone. The dust from the curtains had settled and clogged up the cobwebs in the corner of the room. Tony’s shadow lay still across the floorboards,

“he’s not the only one”. … “Hey Alice, did we get a key for this room?” Tony asked as he carried another empty box down the creaky stairs, “Huh? Oh, check the tin on the kitchen table, the estate agent dropped it off, it has all the spare keys in”. Tony rooted around in the box, the keys had been labelled with little white paper tags, ‘garden shed’, ‘back door’, ‘Trunk’. Alice had been so excited to discover the mysterious trunk’s contents and had been a little disappointed to find nothing but a weird collection of women’s clothes, make-up and costume jewellery. Unfortunately, there was no tag labelled ‘stupid door halfway up the stairs’ and all the keys were accounted for. Tony grabbed a key labelled ‘workshop’ and went out to find some tools that he had deluded himself into thinking he would be capable of using to open the door. He wasn’t entirely sure which of the outbuildings was considered the ‘workshop’, but he wandered over to a rickety old structure and hoped for the best. He tried the key in the lock, jamming it into the mechanism. It wouldn’t turn, he tugged at the key, but it was firmly stuck. Tony cut his losses and turned back to the house, but there was a rustling from behind the shed that drew his attention. A shape darted out and across the lawn, a second shape followed only this one wasn’t quite so lucky. Tony grabbed the kid by the arm and held him firmly in place, “What do you think you are doing?”, “Sorry, we didn’t think anyone lived here”, the kid was young, probably about nine or ten, “Well we live here now, so no more snooping and make sure you tell all your little school friends no more playing around in the house” the kid nodded his head and Tony let him go, “We would never dare go in there anyway” the kid was wide eyed as he walked away, “the old man gives us the creeps”, “wait, what old man?” “The old man in the house” the kid was getting further away, desperate to leave before he got into any more trouble, “I thought you said no one lived here” the kid stopped, “they don’t” he disappeared through the hedge out of sight. … There was a lot to do before the place was going to be the home Alice had imagined, but she couldn’t wait to get started with her writing. Ideas had been sparking in her mind ever since they’d seen the place advertised, and she was desperate to get words down on paper. She made herself a nest, wiping off a dusty old table and pulling it over to a window, she took out her note pad and pen. She thought of a news article she had read about the couple that once lived in the house, they had been childhood sweethearts and no one believed anything could split them up. But one day the woman had killed her husband in an impassioned rage when she found another woman’s underwear under the bed. She had been so heart-broken she immediately killed herself. Immersed in the story Alice began to put pen to paper. As she searched her imagination, a loud thundering noise interrupted her thoughts. She rolled her eyes, of course Tony had decided that now was the time to start dragging around furniture. The noise stopped and she carried on, but within moments it started again. She stood up abruptly and stormed over to the bottom of the stairs. She saw Tony’s shadow flit across the hall, his footsteps moving along the upstairs corridor, “Tony!” she barked. Tony heard her shout and came running in from the garden, already on edge after his encounter with the kid. As Tony appeared in the kitchen doorway beside her, Alice jumped, her stomach lurched, her face paled and there was a loud thump upstairs. … It took a little while for the pair to pull themselves together, there had to be a logical explanation for everything. After a brief argument over who would go first, Anna tread slowly up the stairs wielding a hammer and nervously looked in each room for any sign of a rational answer. “Tony?” her voice quivered,

“Yeah?” “The trunk is gone” the pair looked over at the door on the stairs, a little white tag hung from a key that now sat in the lock. Anna slowly turned the handle, the mechanism clunked and with a gentle push the door creaked open ominously, leaving the pair bewildered. The half open door revealed a full-length mirror propped up against the far wall and a pile of clothes heaped beneath it. A necklace lay broken on the carpet, beads scattered and rolled across the floor. There was a gentle tapping as several escaped the room and cascaded down the stairs. Tony shuddered, “We’ve got to get out of here”, he started down the stairs but Alice was petrified in place, her eyes glued to the mirror, staring at her own reflection, or just beyond it. There was nothing more than a shadow, and yet she could see him so clearly, his decorated face smiling as he admired his new dress in the mirror. Alice turned to Tony, shaking “he didn’t do it” she said quietly, “he just wanted her to know”.


TW: Eating disorder, body dysmorphia. Have you ever read a horror story where the main character has a mirror that doesn't reflect what's standing in front of it? A mirror with a reflection that talks, or speaks, or walks, or moves on its own? Have you read anything like that? Surely you have.

And if you're anything like my mother or my best friend or her brother, I'll ask you this question, then perhaps you'll get a scared look in your eyes and you'll say: "But things like that don't really exist. It's great for fiction, and I once saw a scary short film on YouTube that was pretty good, but it's nothing more than that." Why will you look scared? The question I asked - it's a normal question, isn't it? Well, that's because you'll notice that as I'm asking you this question, I'm standing in front of a mirror. I have my back to it, but I know you're too curious not to look. And I know what you're seeing in there.

You'll stare at your reflection in the mirror as your voice trails off. That's okay - for some reason, it's a natural human reaction to look at yourself in a reflective piece of glass whenever you have the chance. Your eyes will drift away from mine, and you'll keep bringing them back until you can't anymore, and your gaze is lost in the mirror.

I know you will, because I do the same thing.

The mirror is across from the door that leads into my bedroom. Whenever I open the door, its brass knob cold in my hand, that mirror - and my own reflection in it - is the first thing I see. It’s so hard not to look at it. Even if I’m in a hurry, or if I was thinking about something else before, I still freeze in front of the glass. Every time.

I see the outfit I chose the night before, the one I put together painstakingly while listening to the song my classmates raved about in the group chat, lyrics so muffled I can barely understand them. I’ve never heard it before, and I don’t think I like it. But since I’m doing what I should be doing, it's a cozy atmosphere, one where I feel like I'm fitting right in. Though, when I look at my clothes in the mirror the next day, the coziness is gone. Instead, there's only wishful thinking. Thinking that they should have looked nice, but they don't.

I see little red spots on my forehead, relics of relentless hormones and cheap drugstore skincare that was supposed to be helpful. No amount of makeup will cover them up. Wearing makeup, in fact, makes me such a fraud that nowadays, with the mirror as my guide, I don't dare. One time I tried, and I looked into the mirror and saw a dried-up wheat husk. It sounds crazy, I know, but you have to think about the way the foundation caked on my dry skin, the wavering line that was meant to be eyeliner, the red spots peeking through like a child's messy coloring ... and when you look in my mirror through my eyes, you’ll see it too.

I see my schoolbag, loose and heavy, draped over one shoulder. It has seen better days. I didn’t choose it – Mom did. I was thirteen when she grabbed it off the shelf, held it up against me, and smiled. “Do you like this?” she asked, and I did. It looked like something a preppy, fresh-off-the-bus high school student – the one that all the seniors would baby – might carry. I saw a little metal grommet where I could attach a keychain. I’d put a photo there, I thought, pictures of me with friends or silly photoshopped pictures of me with celebrities that my friends and I would laugh about together. But I’m still waiting for that. The plainness and the wear and tear adds character, or so I thought when I saw my bag sitting on my shelf. But when I looked at its reflection in the mirror, it just seemed shabby. Strange.

I see that I forgot to exercise this week. Hold on – is that thought really coming from the mirror, or did I just happen to remember it right when I opened my bedroom door? I don’t like to work out, and I’m always hungry, and I can’t stop myself from eating a good cookie when Mom makes them to tempt me. But, come to think of it, I guess I should get back on my "routine." Maybe my clothes would fit better if I did, and I wouldn’t have to see them bulging out in all the wrong places. The scale says I’m underweight, but BMI is all a lie anyways. I don’t look underweight, and it’s better to be under than over, isn’t it? That’s what the other girls at school would say if I asked. They’d laugh while they said it, too, and that would be intended to make me feel better, but it wouldn’t work, for I'd still be hungry.

It’s safe to say that other people’s mirrors aren’t like mine. When they look in their mirrors, they don’t see wheat husks and tired eyes that were laughing just a moment ago and ugly sweaters that were bought at trendy stores. They see reality – they see themselves. Just themselves, just what other people see.

I have a friend who calls herself an “influencer.” I don’t know what that means exactly, but I do know that she’s pretty, pretty enough to call herself whatever she wants. She wears platform sneakers that would make me look like a tree trunk, and they make her look willowy and dainty and cute. She wears a little white skirt that would show too much of my veiny thighs to be attractive. She scrunches with her heels flat to the ground and holds her phone up over her face. Click. Her phone flash reflects off her mirror, adding an eerie, angelic glow to her photo. And voila, she’s beautiful. That’s all there is to it. So I’ve been told, but it has never been that easy for me.

I thought that when I saw myself in her mirror, I would look beautiful too. Because the reflection in my mirror at home, I think, isn’t reality. How could it be? How could I be so wrong about myself? But I was sadly disappointed. I only saw my reflection in passing, but it looked just the same as it did at home before I left. Sad, sorry, pathetic. Droopy and lame.

The mirror isn’t magic, not like the mirrors in horror stories. The problem is me. It must be.

But you see it too, don’t you? You have an idea of what you expect before you look in the mirror, but you don’t see it when you finally do look. Your reflection is all wrong. You’re shaped differently than you thought, and your clothes aren’t the same color, and your cheeks are waxy and sallow. Never, ever does a mirror work the opposite way, telling you you’re better than you really are. It's like mirrors have a secret plot to take over the world by making themselves superior to those who look in them.

Now the only question is, which one’s real – the mirror, or the reflection I think I should have seen? Will I ever find a mirror that tells me the truth about myself? That mirror - will it be someone's eyes, perhaps my best friend's, or Mom's, or a person that loves me?

Or ... my own?


‘More sugar?’ my uncle asked. A heaped spoon hovered threateningly.

‘No, no, no, thanks amo .’’ my hand preemptively splayed over the top of my full-to-the-brim glass tumbler, steaming my palm. A thick layer of sugar sand had settled at the bottom, resting expectantly under the crystal amber sea of gunpowder mint tea. Shay. Chay. Cha. Thee. Tea.

My father’s brother considered bartering with me, for just a moment, but there were other guests in peril of empty glasses. So he issued a disappointed ‘ Akh, habibi ’, with the slightest shake of his head, then moved along the chain of men and boys. We all sat either on cheap white plastic garden chairs or up-ended crates, decked with small cushions. Twenty men and boys assembled on my uncle’s roof, under the blanket of stars that coated the desert sky. Members of our direct family as well as more distant members from the wider tribe. Our clothes reflected 150 years of history and conflict. My father’s cousin, a Mufti, graced us with his presence. He wore an amamah - a kind of red fez, suffocated by a pure white turban. An Ottoman holdover. His body was shrouded in long, grey (or were they blue?) robes. My favourite uncle wore an old suit, a tan holdover from the mid-1980s with a deep scarlet paisley-patterned tie. He sported a thick black Saddam Hussein moustache, as was still the fashion for men of his age. My grandfather wore a white Egyptian cotton jalabiya , a black chequered keffiyeh held together with a black igal rope band, and a grey suit jacket as old as my father. He wore sandals without socks displaying his strong, manicured feet that put mine to shame.

I sat in my own small black jalabiya , a gift from one of the assembled family members, and an unnecessary pair of blue Levi’s denim jeans.

I carefully manoeuvred the full tumbler to the makeshift table in front of me, before a steaming became a burning, and turned my attention back to my Gameboy. Though the sound was off, my mind invented music to drown out the myriad conversations happening around the ring of chairs. Smatters of chatter on gossip, politics, religion and food. One group would lean in close across their chairs to whisper about this or that. Peals of laughter rang out as memories of childhood indiscretions were dug out of communal memory. One moustachioed cousin yelled across the circle to get the attention of another. The menthol smell of cigarettes, strong oud perfumes, fresh sweat and our sweet tea mingled in the lukewarm air of a Jordanian summer evening. A familiar smell of comfort.

‘Khalid, baba …’ my father called me by my name, reversing the relationship terms, as Arabs are wont to do. My mind registered his voice but Super Mario had my attention. ‘Khalid’, a note sterner and with a light touch on my arm. I gave a barely-audible sigh, turning to him while fluidly switching off my gameboy. The batteries were running low anyway. ‘Yes, baba ?’. Go down and ask your auntie Nida for the sweets. ‘Ok baba ’. I stood and put my Gameboy on the chair, as though reserving it. I eyed my tea quickly wondering whether I could chance a sip but it was still steaming hot so I hopped around the chair and went to the stairs.

Pounding down the stairs, my sandals slapped on the crumbling stonework like a fish escaping a net but landing on the boat. My auntie wasn’t in the kitchen but I paused to breathe the aromas of a hundred spices while I was there. I moved to the reception room and knocked lightly on the thick wooden door. Dozens of female voices thrummed in the room, an internal echo of what was happening above. There was music also and the buzzing of fans. They could not hear me. I opened the door ‘ Amti Nidat , I…’.

Two of the seated women had immediately reached for headscarves before realising it was me. A barely-there shift of mood from indignation to delight. I was the darling nephew, grandson or young cousin. I wasn’t a man. ‘Come here Khalid!’ my auntie Hala offered, beckoning with her hand.

‘Sorry amti , I’m looking for amti Nidat , I need to ask her for the sweets’. My eyes roved the room, trying to pick her out from the myriad faces. ‘Ok ok, she’s not in the room but Saida will help you. Saida. YA SAIDA.’ Without getting up she yelled for her daughter’s attention and received it. Saida paused laughing with another teenage cousin, ‘Yes mama ?’. ‘Go help Khalid with the sweets, yalla , quickly!’. ‘Ok mama.’

She quickly threw her white hijab around her head and expertly clasped it while rising and walking towards me. All in one expert motion. ‘ Yalla habibi , come with me.’

She took my hand and led me back to the kitchen.

‘ Ya Khalid, which sweets?’ she asked in the corridor. ‘You know, just the sweets.’ I responded, realising I didn’t know.

We entered the kitchen and she rapidly pulled trays from various crevices and cupboards. ‘ Ya’ani, we have ghraybeh , baglaweh , warbat , knafeh , gadayef… ’. Baglaweh. Baqlawah. Baklava.

‘Something of everything, please habibti .’ She smiled in return and took out a pan to begin heating some of the sweets. She was thin and tall for her age, equipped with long eyelashes, a disarming smile and a fiery temperament that could meander from honey-sweet to warlike-danger. When I was bored she would often play writing games or board games with me while talking over the latest Arabic music, films or books.

I think she felt my eyes on her head. She looked over her shoulder and flashed me a smile. I’d heard my father and hers joke - at least I hoped it was a joke - that we should be married one day. We were only separated by a few years but she was still older than me. Surely she would find a husband well before I was ready? The hints of a sizzle came from the pan as the knafeh cheese began to melt and the syrup boiled away. ‘Ok, we’re ready. Habibi, fetch me the plates’. I went to the cupboard with assorted plates. Not the fine plates used for more formal meals but the colourful, chipped ones, used for minor family occasions and I gathered together some of the larger plates. ‘ Bizzubt , exactly habibi those ones.’ She gently touched my shoulder in affirmation. I pulled the plates up and put them next to the frn ghaz . Gas cooker. Frn. Firin. Fournos. Forno. Oven. As she began loading, I reached for one of the triangles of warbat . Thick, sweet cream eager to leave folds of filo pastry and coated in pistachio dust and syrup. A nightmare of diabetes. And just within my grasp. Her hand lightly smacked mine away as she giggled. ‘ La ! Wait your turn. If you keep sneaking those sweets, you’ll get fat! Here, take this plate upstairs, yalla. ’ She thrust a large plate into my hands and ruffled my hair as I moved off. ‘ Akh , Saida!’ She must have had syrup in her hands; my hair remained in place.

I emerged from the stairs into a cool breeze. I hadn’t realised how warm it had been inside. The poor women in their traditional Palestinian thawb and abayah. I instinctively checked my forehead to see if I was sweating and nearly dropped the plate and, worse, myself. Down the stairs. But luckily I kept my balance. My chair remained unoccupied but for my Gameboy but my dad was smoking one of his Dunhill cigarettes now. He knew I hated the smell and the /+risk to his health, even at this age. So he would very rarely smoke in front of me. When he caught sight of me edging towards him with sweets, he quickly took another drag and stubbed the offending white stick on one of the many ashtrays, proper and makeshift, on the tables. When my eyes caught his, I rolled them and increased my pace.

‘ Baba , you said you wouldn’t! Saratan !’. Saratan. Áizhèng. Rak. Kanker. Cancer.

‘I know habibi, I know. It was just a little. I’ve just heard your great-uncle Radwan has died!’ ‘Oh?’ ‘You remember, you met him five years ago.’ ‘ Baba, how old do you think I am?’ He laughed as he picked up a couple of pieces of ghraybeh , a kind of shortbread.. ‘Take the sweets around ya Khalid.’

I moved around the circle of makeshift seats and the sweets began to disappear. When I had circled back to my chair, I put the plate in front of me and took my seat. There was a single piece of warbat left.

I reached out to pick it up but as quick as a hummingbird, the plate left the table. Saida picked up the plate. ‘Mmm Warbat, my favourite.’ She grinned as she lay another fully-loaded plate back on the table. She winked at me and turned to leave. I shook my head and reached out to the new plate. There was no more Warbat . I didn’t care. I picked up my tumbler of tea again and sipped warm happiness. This is Hub . Hub. Ài . Agape. Liebe. Amour. Love.


LET’S DRINK TO 2024, or PERHAPS NOT! Well you did take your time getting here 2024, we have waited twelve months. However I am glad you made it, and that I also made it, even though it was decidedly doubtful at times. Now you are here there are a few items left over from 2023 we need to clear up.  No, I am not one of those people getting the first of every month mixed up with New Year’s Eve. I am not here to make a New Year wish. For the most part those are normally people making wishes involving wealth, ostensibly for their self. I concede there is nothing new on that front. I am also perfectly aware that the first of any month is ‘White Rabbit’s Day’. It is only on the month of your birth  you actually can make a wish in which you are heard imploring ‘White Rabbit s to Come to Me’. The reason most of these wishes fail is the wisher has forgotten the acknowledgment of the White Rabbit has to be the first thing you say on that day. It’s a simple but common error. You should try and remember it for next month. Why this happens I have no idea. As I reside in an upstairs apartment, what I would do with a White Rabbit, if it ever did come, is thought provoking at the very least. Fortunately I can report it has never worked for me, thus it remains a problem averted. Be that as it may, while we can now safely ignore wishes for 2024, we cannot foist the same treatment onto the never ending New Year’s Resolutions, particularly the resolutions related to one’s body shape, smoking or vaping, chocolate consumption or being nice to your in laws. That is why I need to discuss 2023. If ever there has been a year where monumental failure of NY Resolutions exceeded the Gross Domestic Product of several Nations I cannot find it and I wish it would stop. Sorry, it was a slip of the tongue. Back to 2023, the year when shark attacks World- wide decreased but the number of sharks killed increased to over one million. Now that is something I do wish would stop, or at least get the balance right by increasing the number of attacks. Australians are doing their bit but for reasons unknown they were not swimming early morning or late afternoon as much as in previous years. Consequently their contribution suffered a downturn as these are a shark’s normal feeding times. Cigarette sales went up in 2023 while crocodile attacks were considerably down, which is ridiculous. A crocodile attacks a human when it ventures into its domain and becomes headline news while cigarettes and vapes kill hundreds the same week and do not rate a mention. Let the crocs loose I say. We need balance. How many broken resolutions related to giving up smoking? Countless, so no surprise it is the clubhouse leader in 2024 but unfortunately still under the 2023 resoluter’s (is that a word? Probably not but you know what I mean).) endeavors. For every giving up smoking resolution there is a taking up vaping commensurate figure. As most vapes are nicotine based I question the value of any attempt to give up smoking. Another’ I wish they would listen’ wasted. Number two on the Resolution is weight, not the gaining of but ridding oneself of the extra expansive flesh one has acquired during 2023. Well, if you are truthful you will find it was already there as a leftover from 2022 and contributed unfairly to the 2023 resolution failure numbers. If my body is any indication it will also be counted among the 2024 failures. You have to respect consistency. Alcohol consumption is a regular each year although it is more akin to seeing Pink Elephants than White Rabbits. Giving it up altogether rarely features, it is the “I’m cutting down on my consumption’ resolutions that are boosting the failure numbers. Unfortunately the most popular estimate of how much the resolution relates to by each person is confounded by, ‘alcohol will only be consumed on days ending in a Y’. I rest my case, someone must have spoken to my wife . How the next item ever received a mention astounds me. Giving up chocolate? Obviously a typo, everyone likes chocolate. I have never heard anyone say they do not like chocolate. For Heaven’s sake it is good for you, well dark chocolate is, and milk chocolate has to be better for you than chokos. Every food on this Earth is better for you than chokos. In fact giving up vegetables makes more sense than abstaining from chocolate. An obvious left over from2023 and  it is certainly not applicable in 2024 in our house. (Yes I will have one more piece thank you, only one though.) The last one on the list is being good to your In Laws. I applaud the thought, however I am not one hundred percent sure this resolution should specifically mention In Laws to be good to. Not the easiest assignment in many cases if restricted to those relatives.  I was always taught to be good to my Mother so I did not need to make a resolution to carry out that task. I cannot say the same about my Father and to be perfectly honest my first in laws, I am currently on my second foray into the In Law world, were kept some distance away on from me on New Year’s Eve due to my tendency towards  truth telling after my fourth Jack Daniels. So there we have it, the comparison of failures between 2023 and the estimates for 2024 relating to New Year’s Resolutions. Seriously I must point the finger at the statisticians here, particularly in relation to the subjects listed. I would have put chokos on top of the list and encouraged a World wide ban on growing the slimy things. That would be a very useful Resolution AND no doubt the most kept one of any year since records have been kept.  Oh they only go back to 2023. Another piece of chocolate please.


Woofred proudly sat beside his royal blue turd and waited for his master to return from work. The turd, or specifically its colour, was a bad omen in their house. His master, however, was a patient man and understood its colour and position in the middle of the lounge were beyond the dog’s control.            He sat a while on the sofa observing the now routine hubris of his dog and let out a sigh and reached for the phone. ‘They must have come through again’ he said without introduction. There was a pause as a rustled okay I’ll be right over ended the call.

‘What you have to realise’ said the owner of the rustled voice as he offered the man a piece of chewing gum, ‘is these doorways, passageways, whatever you wanna call them’ he sucked down a shot of saliva, ‘I can close them up, but eventually cracks form and things seep through again’. The man looked unconvinced. ‘You see’ he continued, talking through a second wave of spit, ‘it is in essence a portal… if we ripped the whole cover off, which we probably couldn’t do, mind, then whatever is on the other side would be able to come through unobstructed’ ‘Yes, I understand that’ said the man a little taken aback by the obviousness of his visitor’s comments. ‘but the doorway, was blocked by you, not 3 weeks ago… is he going to be okay?’ he said signally towards the dog. ‘I mean will this cause any long term damage? I mean, I don’t understand how something that large can fit through the doorway… it looks sealed.’            As if on cue, a giant blue fly landed on the table between them. The pair fell silent to watch the ungainly insect shuffle about the table. Ungainly it may have been, but its wings were not. They were of a perfectly woven golden lace and sat between them was what appeared to be the most enormous blue sapphire.            The light dancing off its back jolted a clumsy but delicate cobalt beam about the room. ‘What you have to realise’ said the visitor, bending down to the same level as the fly, ‘is this fly is just reacting to the change in environment, maybe searching for an ideal physical form? It didn’t enter this world or side , what have you, as a fly, but just became a fly once through the…’ But before he could say the word the reluctant owner of the portal brought the back of frying pan down hard onto the magnificent fly.  ‘What you have to realise’ said the man, ‘is when my dog eats these flies he shits blue for a week. He has no control, just goes anywhere and it’s getting worse... When I bought the place, they mentioned this portal but said it had been adequately blocked and shouldn’t cause me any issues and now you’re here for the third time in 6 weeks and the dog…’ ‘Sod your dog!’ shouted the visitor who quickly regained his composure. ‘I’m sorry… but from what I can tell this is a passageway to a category 2 spiritual realm… meaning that everything on that side of the portal is without matter… meaning anyone trying to come from that side to ours would by definition be able to fit through the smallest cracks in even the most professional seal.’ ‘So, you can’t seal the passageway completely?’ The visitor sighed and went to take a chair but reconsidered on seeing the large globule of sapphire goo running down its back. ‘Nothing of this kind can be done perfectly and it’ll always need repair... the issue is not whether they continue coming, it’s you and your dog massacring them the moment they cross over! We, or rather YOU, have no way of knowing who that fly was! That is why you have been asked now by the estate agent, the council and me to kindly put anything that comes through into a breathable container and drop it off at the local police station. Then it’s out of your hands, they will sort out who it is and where it needs to go back to…’

The man continued rinsing the back of his saucepan, poking the hard bits of blue shell-like sinew with a knife. ‘Look, I really don’t have time to…’ ‘Shhh’ The well patched small metal door in the corner of the kitchen began to vibrate. After 30 seconds or so the vibrations grew into a long protracted moan. The visitor, the man and his dog came together behind the safety of the kitchen table. Then from out of the seemingly well-sealed doorway, popped a tiny blue fly that promptly began to swell, and within moments, was something like the former size of clumsy creature still glued to the base of the pan. ‘Get a hold of that dog, we can’t lose another!’ But Woofred had already abandoned the safety of the table and was playfully swiping and yapping at the unsuspecting blue fly. ‘Stop him!’            But as the man made to take control of his dog, four more flies popped out of the sealed passageway and then shortly after another 6.‘This is what I meant… You don’t know who has come through! The flies on the underside of your pan and blended into your dog’s turd could have been anyone! Important spirits maybe! With other entities that would care when they go missing!’

It remained, for now, hard to tell what calibre of spirits were making their way across the threshold, but a steady stream of bugs had been coming through for a minute or so. Some of the bulbous insects were exploring the new world, but in equal measure many were desperately trying to get back through the portal, flying mindlessly into the sealed metal door. The rest were being savagely mauled by Woofred and a growing patch of blue mucus was beginning to pool about the feet of the men.

‘Stop the dog!’ bellowed the visitor. Turning to implore its owner for help. But the man was not ready to listen, himself saucepan in hand hammering the sapphire flies.


She pulls her shoulder length blond hair back into a ponytail held by a zebra print scrunchie and begins searching furiously through her room. Getting down on her knees, she peers under the bed and roots around with her arm. Sitting back on her feet, the girl lets out a frustrated grunt and springs quickly up to cross the room and open drawer after drawer after drawer of her dresser. Her efforts succeeding in producing nothing but more frustration the girl stands in the middle of her ransacked room. Her face changes from speculative to anger, and she marches into the hallway and down to a closed door. Balling her left hand into a fist she knocks rapidly on the door, but there is no answer. She pauses for a second and presses her ear to the door attempting to hear some movement inside the room. Failing to determine if the occupant of the room is currently at home, she resumes her knocking and accompanies it with shouting. “David! Open this door right now!” The girl shouts. Her shouts bring a woman from another part of the house who is dressed in tan slacks and white cotton blouse. She stops a few feet from the girl and watches the display with arms crossed and stern look on her face. Her blond hair is cut short in a pixie cut, and she holds a pair of spectacles in her left hand. “What are you doing Hannah?” The woman asks. Stopping her banging and shouting, Hannah turns and responds, “I’m trying to get David to come out and give me back my journal. I know that he took it out of my room.” “He’s not home. He is at baseball practice.” “Well, I’m going to beat the daylights out of him when he gets home.” “You will do no such thing. Family does not hit each other.” “I don’t care if we are family. He is always invading my privacy, and I’m tired of it mom,” the girl says stomping her foot. “You may not realize it now Hannah, but family is everything.” “Mom, this is ridiculous. He won’t stay out of my room. If he goes in there again, I’m going to make him pay.” Hannah responds standing and staring back defiantly. Tired of waiting for her mother to say anything Hannah asks, “Can I just get a lock for my room already?” “We’ll talk about it when your father gets home. Now stop banging on your brother’s door and clean your room and do your homework.” Defeated, Hannah passes by her mother and enters her room. Slamming the door, Hannah throws herself on the bed. Taking a pink covered pillow, she presses her face into it and screams. ************************************************************ Walking into the living room, Hannah pauses at the sound of two women arguing. One of them is her mother, and they are arguing in German. Hannah creeps closer to the kitchen entrance to listen. After several minutes, the two women cease arguing, and Hannah quickly walks over to flounce on the couch. An elderly woman enters the livngroom a moment later with white hair done in a loose bun wearing a light flower pattern dress. Seeing Hannah, the older woman smiles and says, “Hannah! My enkelin. How are you?” Rising from her seat, Hannah cross to greet the older woman with a hug saying, “I’m good Oma. How’re you?” Hugging the girl tightly, Oma responds, “I’m good.” “Why were you and mom fighting.” Steeping back from the girl with hands on her shoulders, Oma smiles and asks,” Were you spying on your mutter and me?” “I didn’t mean to. I heard you fighting when I came into the living room.” “Well, don’t you worry dear. Your mutter and I fight, but we always will love each other.” Oma says and turns to yell over her shoulder, “Isn’t that right Katie.” “Yes mutter,” Katie answers back from the kitchen. “Das ist gut. Hannah go tell your brother to come out and see me.” “I’m not talking to him, Oma.” “What? You’re not talking to your only brother? Tsk Tsk that’s a shame.” Oman says shaking her head. Entering from kitchen, Katie says,” I’ll get him mutter. Have a seat, and I’ll make us some coffee. Joe should be home in time for the program tonight.” “What program?” Hannah asks curiously. “The Berlin Wall is coming down today, dear.” “Oh,” Hannah comments. Then she asks, “Were you in Germany when it went up, Oma?” “Ja, I was not much older than you when they built it. Soon after, we came to the United States.” Oma sighs and her face settles into a sad expression. “What’s the matter Oma?” “Oh Hannah, I was just thinking about my sister. Her husband and she live in East Berlin. We haven’t seen or heard from them in many years.” “Oh! That’s terrible!” Hannah exclaims. “Yes, dear, it is.” Oma sighs again and says, “Well today the wall will fall.” ************************************************************  	Hannah and her family gather in the living room while the news plays on the television. Her father sits in his easy chair. He is a sturdy man with brown and gray short cropped hair and stubbled jaw. He wears a white undershirt and navy-blue work pants. He sips from a beer can that he sets on a television tray to his right. He smiles as her mother enters and places a large bowl of popcorn and a stack of paper bowls next to it on the coffee table. A young boy who until then was laying with chin cupped in his hand staring at the television, turns over and sits up next to the table. He starts scooping out popcorn with a paper bowl while Oma grabs a handful which she pops one by one into her mouth chewing slowly. Katie leaves the room to return with a pitcher of water and cups that she sets down on the table next to the bowls. Pouring herself a glass, she settles on the sofa between her mother and Hannah. She fills a bowl with popcorn which she hands to her daughter before getting herself one. The gathered family settles back to watch the news program on television. Television news anchors talk about the history of the Berlin Wall, and its construction after World War II. Several times during the program, Oma dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief as they tear up at the memory of those times. The rest of the family for their part quietly watch the precedings with unwavering attention until the young boy turns his head to say something to his Oma. “Did your sister really get trapped in East Berlin, Oma?” “Yes, David, before her husband and she could come to us, they had closed the border. Then the wall was built, and no one was allowed across.” “Wow,” the boy says in wide eyed wonderment.” Couldn’t your mom and dad do anything.” “No dear, there was nothing that we could do. Eventually, my parents decided that we should move here, and I had all but given up hope of ever seeing Sara again until now.” Katie interrupts with, “Let’s not start that again, mutter.” “Start what?” Hannah asks curiously. Katie and Oma exchange a look and then Katie says,” That’s what your Oma and I were arguing about earlier. She wants to travel to Germany to find her sister, but I don’t think that’s it a good idea.” “But Liebchen it would mean so much to me. I have missed Sara so.” “I know mutter, but your health isn’t that great.” “It’ll be fine Katie, and you can go with her.” Joe interjects. Before Katie can respond, David points and says,” Look they’ve started tearing it down.” The conversation forgotten the family turns their attention back to the television screen. The image shows people, everyday citizens of West Berlin and government forces with tools tearing at the wall. As large chunks of graffiti decorated bricks start to break away and fall to the ground, the people cheer, and Oma begins to cry in earnest. Without tearing his eyes away from the television, David reaches for more popcorn and knocks over a glass of water which splashes in Hannah’s lap. With a startled cry, Hannah jumps up from her seat exclaiming, “Look what you’ve done jerk.” “Gosh, Hannah, I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose.” David says defensively. “I don’t care,” Hannah says petulantly. She storms off towards the bedrooms yelling, “I wish I could build a wall to keep you out of my life!” The television program forgotten; the group sit there in awkward silence. David’s eyes fill with un-shed tears, and he springs up from the floor rushing towards the door. When he reaches it, he puts on his shoes and grabs the door handle. “Where are you going,” Joe asks. “I’m going to Patrick’s.” David says walking out the door and slamming it behind him. A few seconds later there is sound of a car braking loudly then a car door slamming. Katie is the first one to the door, and she pulls it open rushing through it followed by Joe. Joe does not even stop to put on his shoes. Oma rises more slowly and starts towards the door too when Hannah comes from the hallway. She follows her oma out the door. Outside is a chaotic site. Several of the neighbors have gather out in the road in front of their house. Hannah approaches the group and sees her parents on their knees while a middle-aged man in a suit stands nearby where a silver sedan sits. Her grandma makes it to the periphery of the crowd first, and her hand goes to her mouth. Hannah draws up behind her oma and peers through the crowd. On the ground between her parents, David lays. His bike a mangle mess lays nearby. Hannah mirrors her oma bringing her hand to her mouth in surprise. She stumbles towards her family with tears welling in her eyes. She too drops to her knees near her brother David. David lays quite still and quiet while the gathered crowd looks on with worried glances and whispered conversation. The motorist seems frozen in place, and his right hand rests on top of his sweaty brow. ************************************************************            Hannah stands in the kitchen toying idly with a yellow phone cord that trails behind connecting the handset in her hand with a wall mounted yellow phone cradle. A woman’s voice can be heard chattering excitedly through the phone while Hannah listens showing signs of obvious delight. Delight which turns to seriousness after a moment.            “Yes, I know Oma,” she says into the phone. Then after a moment, “I will.”            After another pause, she says reassuringly, “I will take care of everything. You and Mom just enjoy yourselves. Say hello to Aunt Sara for us.”            She listens for another moment pacing back towards the wall phone. Her father passes by heading towards the sink and washes his hands. Hands dirty with soil and grass clippings. Hannah smiles at her dad and gestures questioningly with the phone towards him, but he shakes his head no hurrying out of the kitchen.            “Ok, Oma, I love you. You have fun.” she says finally before hanging up the receiver.            Returning to the kitchen counter where a plate sits next to containers and a cutting board on which rests slices of red tomato, she begins constructing a couple of turkey, swiss and tomato sandwiches. Sandwiches slathered with mayonnaise which she slices in half diagonally. The halves she splits apart, puts on plates with a handful of potato chips thrown between them. Grabbing the plates, she makes her way into the living room.

           Her brother sits on the couch with a cast encased leg propped on the table. He smiles when she enters and shifts in his seat to make room for Hannah. Hannah sets down the two plates and goes back to the kitchen returning a moment later with cans of pop which she sets down on the table too.            “Looks great Hannah,” David says before reaching out to get his plate.            “Thanks, eat up. You need your strength.”            “Is Roger coming over today?” David asks between mouthfuls.            Giving him the side eye while chewing and swallowing her sandwich, Hannah asks,” Why do you ask about him?” Then elbowing him playfully in the ribs adds,” Did you read about that in my diary.”            Blushing, David says,” No, I saw you two talking outside yesterday.”            “Ok,” Hannah says with mock severity.” Well, he’s not coming over today. Today just the two of us are going to hang out.”            “That’s great.”            The young people settle back to enjoy their sandwiches and watch television. When particularly funny part happens, it causes David to laugh mid-drink and to cough and sputter when pop comes out his nose. Hannah starts laughing while clapping him on the back to help expel the pop that has gone down the wrong way before springing from the couch to go grab a towel. Once the mess is cleaned up, Hannah and David continue eating and watching their show.


 Saturday, April 6th 2024 “I came here to hide myself away. I have a new outlook on life… if that's what I can call this little world I have created for myself.

I moved to Luna Pier Michigan fifteen years ago. With hopes to just … exist… without pressure to perform, or to exceed anyone’s expectations. To learn how to forgive myself, if there is such a thing, and to rediscover my innocence, if any remains. I hope to find mercy, both to give and receive.  My life in New York City was fun and exciting at first, tantalizing even. I was full of lust and power, and became addicted to the high of them both. At first, I tried to stay. I hoped to blend in as one of the thousands of nameless faces that overpopulated the streets. Like cockroaches…. they are in New York…. Dirty, feasting on garbage, spreading disease, packing themselves into a tight dank space they call the city, running from the light… Honestly, I was no different. Worse maybe. But I digress.

The larger the city, the harder it is for me to refrain from my addictions and the madness they ignite. It's much easier for someone to vanish among thousands without many worrying over them compared to only fourteen hundred.

 Temptation literally stands at every intersection in NYC. So here I sit, in this tiny town, occupying this barstool, watching, listening, and waiting. I allow myself this pleasure. One evening a month to lavishly wine and dine, to lust, and be lusted after.. This much I can control, but anything more and I would relapse. Back in NYC, Joe used to say I was on the prowl…. Fucking Joe. Tonight however, I’m edgy. I have never seen so many individuals packed into this establishment, let alone the town. If the fire chief gets wind.. Oh wait… never mind, there he is now. Chief Micheal Weaver, in the flesh.”

“I can't believe people are still coming in despite the bridge being out. Gardners’ irritated with all the calls about where to park and detours. I can appreciate the town getting some extra funds coming in, but my guys and I ‘ill be the ones cleaning up the accidents on the roads when these yahoo’s head back home. Jesus! It’s just the moon going over the sun. All these people comin’ in for a two minute performance and then they’ll be out just as quick.”  Chief Mike finished his beer and leaned back in his chair. One of his lackey’s leaned in. “Your wife doesn't seem to complain about two minute performances!” The table erupts in laughter.

Two tables over a young couple chat. “Oh babe, wouldn’t it be romantic if you proposed during the eclipse…” Her man rolls his eyes. “Look just because you know I have the ring doesn't mean you can dictate how and when I ask.” She smiles and places her hand on his. “I'm just saying…”  “Disgusting. Sigh… The eclipse will be magnificent. I plan to watch it, if only from the safety of my home via NASA broadcast. I recall the 2017 eclipse and how it affected both myself and the others… odd… 1994 also comes to mind, before I… The way my mother, much like Chief over there, cared more about getting her shopping done than a rare celestial occurrence. People just piss me off. It’s becoming too much being here, and I’m nauseous.”

I watched Anecia from under a trucker hat in the far corner. At first, she appeared calm, and lost in her thoughts scribbling away in some book, occasionally scanning the room. I guessed she had come here with the intent to leave with someone. Sipping at my beer, I watched her play with one of the patrons. I knew he’d immediately struck out when he had a fruity drink placed in front of her, and began talking about himself. “Hey.” he said, with a wink and a nod. I’m Jack. I thought you looked like a chick with fine tastes so I got you top shelf tequila. I’m a lawyer.” She rolled her eyes and pretended to care about his sad attempt at impressing her, but then, Boom! Shot down, he hung his head in shame and walked quickly out with piss stained pants. It was a fun little game she played.

She checked out the bartender, a hot little rocker chick who appeared to come with extra spice. She didn't take any shit from the guys who hit on her, and moved behind the bar with ease. I wondered how she stayed calm while tending to this huge crowd, compared to her coworker who was dropping shot glasses and sloshing beer all over the counter while trying to keep up with demand.

  Anecia stood up and threw back the last of her drink, and slapped the bar. “Stacy, get my tab, I’m getting the fuck out of here.”  Obeying, Stacy cashed her out and slid the receipt forward to Anecia, purposeful cleavage on display.

“See you next week then gorgeous?“ Anecia scribbled her name, and smirked at Stacy, “If you’re lucky…. Or maybe you’ll be luckier if you don't see me.” She tucked her journal under her arm, and weaved between the crowd to the exit.

 I took one last bite of my burger, which in all honesty, was disgusting, despite having ordered it rare, threw a fifty on the table, and followed her out.

I trailed her until she reached the door of a tiny house.

I scoffed under my breath, “Seriously? This place? What a shit hole!” In seconds, her hands gripped my throat. I had no time to defend myself.

“Ahh sseee you h hhavent losst your ssense of inn..tu..it.ion.” “No intuition needed. I can smell your rot.” She squeezed tighter and everything went black.

 I came too, disorientated at first, and then surprised she let me live. A small brass lamp provided the only light in the room, and a vintage alarm clock displayed three O’clock in red digits. The shades were drawn and with thick velvet curtains were clothes pinned together over them. My clue that it must be P.M.

I was on a small sofa,my hands bound, and gagged with a cloth that tasted of my own vomit. The scent of mothballs wafted from the gold velour fabric of the cushions, a deterrent to mice. I know I am a grown man, but I hate mice. I distracted myself from the thought of them by logically devising a plan as to how I would behave when she came back for me, but I severely underestimated her timing. The door to the room nearly came off its hinges as she burst into the room.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Did you actually think you could go undetected? How many came with you, and who?” Her fists were balled and the vein in her neck throbbed. I didn't even fully blink and she was standing over me wielding a knife. “I should gut and hang you from the rafters like the swine you are!”  Muffled sounds vibrated in my throat and it burned from bile. Speaking with my eyes, I knew she could hear me, “You let me live for a reason. If you kill me now, you will go on with this pathetic life. You need something. You want it, you crave it. Go ahead, cut my throat. But you know it won't be a satisfying kill.” “You mother fucker!”  I underestimated her yet again. She plunged the blade into my shoulder. Ripping and pulling at what flesh remained. I thought I had finally pushed her over the edge and that my suffering would end. At least I would die by the hand of the Queen instead of slowly starving to death. “I commanded you to stay! All of you! I forbade any of you to follow me! I willfully abandoned all of you disgusting unworthy assholes for a reason. Yet here you are disobeying me and begging for more abuse. What could have possibly driven you to come all this way?

She pulled the blade from my chest, and with a twist of the wrist, held the knife at my throat. Blood oozed down my arm and into the cushions. I wanted to howl, to cry like a bitch, but I knew better. Anecia loved to play with her victims like a cat does a mouse… Goddamit. .. mice…

 No! If I was to die restrained, then I planned to restrain my agony just the same, and face this bitch with dignity. She raised her weapon and bore down. To my surprise, she slashed the wire that bound my hands, and removed the gag from my mouth.

“Explain yourself!” she demanded.

Stammering, I brought myself to my feet, took the shirt from my back and staunched my wounds.

“Well! Speak Dog! Before I repeal my mercy!” “You’re.. Mercy?” She raised the knife again. “Ok! Ok! I surrender. But when have I not done so with you Anecia?” I came to tell you that our time is now.”

She stood nose to nose with me, baring her teeth, “What the hell does that mean? “It means that our time is now. I’ve done some research. With a little fast planning and precise action at the moment of tomorrow’s eclipse we can still prevail. The legends and lore are true.” She didn't flinch. “Fucking liar. How dare you? You take me for an imbecile?” I, too, remained unflinching. I knew there was a 50/50 shot of the plan working. I didn't have much proof other than some archives from hundreds of years ago, but I had to take my chances and It started there. Facing down the most evil woman I knew. Not only by further antagonizing her ego, but to call her bluff.

If she didn't kill me with the assault, then I was right about her all along, and she never was our true messiah. I… We would have a chance at survival.

 I told her flat, “No. Not an imbecile. Just naive, ill equipped, and vengeful.” I didn't breathe. Neither did she. One blink was all I got. But it was enough. I had her attention.

Taking a breath of relief, I said, “ Ok then. First, a history lesson. Then, A little story, finally our plan.” After I showed her the archives and their authenticity, a plan was put into place. The solar eclipse of 2024 was not going to be the only extraordinary event on April 8. April, 8th, 2024 It's 1:11 p.m. I find it both invigorating, and dreadful that in two hours' time, at the totality of the eclipse, the citizens of this tiny town will not know what came over them. They will have never seen it coming. This time however, and despite what Joe believes, I am not naive, and I am well equipped.

 Until now, I thought that I would live forever in the shadows. If the legend is true, then both myself and the others like me will once again roam free under the sun. The archives say that when the eclipse is in its totality, and darkness falls, it is in that mi-nute window that the curse can be lifted, and once the light returns so will our souls. It's a dangerous leap of faith I take, for I hear the call of my demon within, aroused by the promise of massacre. I harness control, but I confess my worry that when at the height of the screams, and the sweet taste of blood upon my lips, that I will not succumb to my weakness. Joe’s information has offered me this fucked up sense of hope. A truth that until just yesterday, I believed was impossible and that of fantasy. Is it possible that the cover of the eclipse holds the cure? April 10nth, 2024 I Should record the events of that day .  We had my men (and three women) stationed in various buildings with the lights off. Almost everyone was gathered outside, so it made it easy. They stayed hidden, until at precisely 3:13 I gave my signal. The moment the moon shadowed the sun, and darkness fell, it allowed my hive to burst from their roosts to feast. The thousands gathered were too busy gaping up at the wide wonder to sense, let alone see, the danger my hundreds would bring. We had four minutes, but it was enough. My hive took down more than half. They pounced on their prey. Breaking necks, sucking, growling, and tearing away flesh, and feasting like a pride of lions would gorge themselves upon helpless zebras.

Dear Goddess, It was a thing of beauty, and yes, I partook. I searched out Jack, the jackass from the bar the other night. I purred in his ear. What magic! Oh.. my it just makes me want to kiss you.. To be close.. Can I be close… He was so hard. So stupid. And then I fucking ate him. He tasted like shit. It was then that I felt my demons hunger. She, no .. I’ll be honest. I.. wanted more. The scent of fear permeated the air. People were screaming and attempting to hide. Others gawked at the sky, or worse yet their phones, oblivious to the totality of peril around them. Some were being compelled to submit to sexual desires right there in the streets. A complete loss of sanity in its most beautiful form. Panic. It was at the height of my arousal that I first felt the pain in my chest. It felt as though my ribs were breaking one at a time. I grabbed my chest and tried to cry out, delusional from the high, but no words escaped. Only blood, and blackness were being ejected from my mouth in a violent attempt to rid my body of poison.

I am grateful for that moment. Without it, I would not have laid eyes on the grotesque display of the monsters all around me. The ones that I had created. I would not have witnessed the small boy clinging to his mothers side, crying and convulsing at all that he was seeing.

I fell to my back, and laid on the sidewalk. I thought for certain I would die at that moment. But I was wrong. Instead, I wept.

I wept at the devastation, and the carnage around me. I wept at the fear that both that boy and his mother felt. I wept for the dead, and the dying. I wept for those that I turned. I wept for myself, for the guilt and shame that I felt, and for the lack of love that I desired and needed my entire life. I wept for the redemption that I dreamed of, and I wept for the fear that I would not see it.  I was hysterical. Just then, with tears falling freely like they had not since I was a child, I turned my head to see a pair of eclipse glasses laying in the dust. Remembering my cause, I put them on and looked to the sky. Totality was over. Third contact had begun.

My… the hive… they hissed, and began to retreat back into the shadows. Those that lingered too long seemed to glow from within until they simply dissipated . Few stayed in the open, and those that did also appeared to have been sick and crying like myself. With balled fists, we closed our eyes, and held our hand over our hearts, waiting for the Earth to rid us from itself.

But nothing happened. We stood up, and we walked away.

April 11nth, 2024.

I took another day to reflect. The archives were true. I’m LIVING, walking proof.

Joe is gone. I knew from the start that he had no intention of helping me to rid myself of the disease, but rather to crown himself the new King. There were maybe ten? of us that were cured, and I do not know where they are now, nor do I have any intention of finding them. I only plan to learn to live again, and to choose the good. I know the day will come that I will face the reckoning with Joe and the others, and it will be a battle to the death. I’ve no definitive answer as to how the magic really works. The only thing that I can speculate, or dream, is this: Like the sun, I was once bright and hopeful, cheerful and warm, but the darkness moved over me. Like the moon, I lived in the night. Darkness was all around me, within me ,and it had become home. But the darkness within me was no comparison in magnitude as the moon is to the sun…. The dark to the light, like the evil next to the good. And the shadow moved over me, and slowly I saw the light grow.

I feel those that retreated had no light within, and they chose to remain the monsters they are, and those that lay there and endured the pain alongside me were never doomed to remain monsters.

Like the moon and the sun, the heart and the soul can also eclipse.


“I am a mystery to be solved.” The words whispered through his mind, echoing down the empty corridors of his thoughts. His gaze returned to her again and again. She was a completely average looking student with mousy brown hair that would never garner a second glance from most. In fact, he wasn’t sure he had seen anyone take notice of her these last few weeks. She was always reading a book, sitting in the same spot, dressed in the same style of vintage clothing that seemed all the rage in thrift stores these days. Why was she here all the time?

He ripped his eyes away from her, forcing himself to re-read the same passage again for the tenth time. At the end, he found he still hadn’t managed to absorb any of it. He growled without realizing it, only to be shushed by a passing student for being noisy. His thoughts raced in circles, knowing he would fail this test unless he could get back on task. Without conscious thought, his attention drifted to her once again. He saw her look up and lock eyes with him as if she had sensed him staring. It was an unsettling electric connection that neither seemed willing or able to break. Her eyes held a challenge in them, as if to say “Can you solve me?” As the tension grew, she finally closed her book and stood up. Without breaking eye contact he watched her back up into the aisle between the stacks and stretched out a hand crooking her finger, making it clear that she wished him to follow. The shadows seemed to envelop her as she continued to drift backwards. The last thing to disappear was her beckoning hand and then she was gone. He closed his book abruptly at this further distraction from his vitally important studying. He knew it would be impossible to concentrate with that beckoning image in his mind. He quickly decided that he should follow and get his answers so that he could put his mind at rest and regain his ability to focus. He stood and swiftly moved into the shadows that had consumed her image. As his eyes adjusted he saw a flap of her checkered skirt disappearing around the distant corner. He rushed to follow, trying to keep his footsteps quiet within the hushed atmosphere. As he reached the end and looked towards where she had gone he saw her shoe slip from view. The thrill of the chase was quickly replaced by a sense of victory as he knew she had gone down a dead end towards the windows of the library. He knew that the only thing down there was a small nook for displaying holiday decorations. He had her at last. This game of cat and mouse would end and her mystery would be answered. He wore a smirk on his face when he looked down the corridor and she wasn't there. The little minx was leading him on a game of hide and seek and she must have tucked herself away in the display area just out of sight. He popped his head around the corner saying “Gotcha!” and his confusion was palpable when he found it was empty. He looked behind him knowing there was no other way out. Perhaps, this was the mystery to be solved. He began searching the small nook for any clues that might explain her disappearance. He found worn scratches, faded with age along the back wall, which could indicate that it might slide. It took him several tries to find a section with enough grip on the surface to allow him to move the thin wall sideways. There seemed to be a hidden force attempting to push back and keep the wall from sliding open. Once he got his fingers in it was easier to push it open, but the force remained and he had to hold it there to see what secrets were revealed.

It was a thrilling discovery, a dark opening that seemed to beckon him forward with an irresistible invitation to his curious mind. With his studies forgotten, he once again lost himself to the thrill of the chase. He pulled out his cell phone and activated the flashlight, shining its pale glow into the yawning pit of the unknown before him. He shifted himself sideways through the narrow opening which seemed to hardly get much use and the panel slid quickly shut as soon as he released his hold upon it. The dust on the floor was thick and undisturbed, but elsewhere the air currents from his movement caused a swirling cloud to arise, assaulting his nose and reflecting the light from his phone. His quarry was still nowhere to be seen. She continued to elude him but he knew it wouldn't be for much longer. He would soon solve this mystery and his mind would be free of these obsessive thoughts once again. The space seemed to be a small storage area, forgotten by time and unused for decades. There was no point in looking at the shelves or the small boxes. He limited his searching to places that could fit the mystery girl. He looked behind a stack of boxes and on the far side of a cabinet. He even checked inside the cabinet in case it was empty enough for her to hide in. He found nothing. There was only one place left to check. An old steamer trunk with a rounded lid that looked like a pirate's chest stood before him. He could only imagine that it must have been used for a prop in some school musical. His heart was pounding as he reached for the lid with a shaky hand. He felt sure that this would be an appropriate moment for a jump scare. He steeled his nerves with the expectation that she would throw the lid open with a scream, lunging toward him in this darkened and dusty space, attempting to give him a heart attack. He licked his dry lips, leaning away from the chest as he reached to open it. He nearly felt disappointed when nothing happened. The lid opened on decaying leather straps, falling backwards with a bang. Inside was a dirty looking bag, riddled with moth holes. Could she be in there? It seemed unlikely, but he decided to take one step further and open the bag to look. The sight that greeted him filled him with nausea and a growing sense of horror. He stumbled backwards as if to put distance between himself and the contents of the bag. Inside, the off-white color of bone could be seen along with vintage clothing and a clump of mousy brown hair. How did she end up here? Who killed her? Why leave her in this place? One mystery has been solved, but new ones have blossomed in its place.


Why had I ever agreed to play this game of all games? Now what was I going to do? Let me back up to last night. There’s a group of us who get together in some combination or other to play table games every other Friday night. There aren’t any rules about which game or games we play or who we can invite. There isn’t a membership or anything like that; if you come you get to play. The numbers can run from four to more than a dozen, but it’s usually six or eight. Last night there were only five of us. Ted and Mary have been married for a year and half or so and got to know each other at these games nights. Laura and Ashleigh have been partners for more than ten years and, if we had membership rolls, would be charter members. I was invited by Laura and have been coming, off and on, since the second meeting. It’s a great group and I usually really enjoy myself. So here we were, the five us. Now, five isn’t the best number of people for some games so we ended up talking more than playing. Talking and drinking to be more accurate. I was hosting and had no idea so few would show, so there was more than enough wine for everyone. After trying a couple of different games and realizing none of them grabbed any of us, we switched to the oversized colouring book I kept around for those occasions when keeping hands busy kept conversation going. What I didn’t expect was for Ashleigh to suggest we play Truth or Dare while we worked on a medieval battle scene. After some humming and hawing, we all agreed. Even after agreeing to it, I figured it would mostly be an opportunity for us to embarrass each other by asking about stupid stuff we did in college or high school. In other words, I was fairly sure it would be mostly Truth with very little Dare. In the first round, everyone chose Truth. The four of them found out I had only used cocaine once, and it was in a doctor’s office, which seemed to disappoint them. The other truths that came out were similarly interesting but generally innocuous. I was the only un-partnered member of the group so I probably should have expected I’d get something relating to my continued state of singleness. I don’t know what Ted was expecting when he asked me how many dates I’d gone on over the past year but when I said “None,” he seemed taken aback and all four of them shared a significant look. There are many annoying things about being single but most of them relate less to singleness than to other people’s response to you being single. I had no idea these two couples were so interested in why I was single, to say nothing of why they wanted to “rectify the problem.” The third round started after I got back from using the bathroom and by then everyone was “well-oiled” as my Dad would have said, except me: I don’t drink. There was a bit of a different vibe in the room, the four of them making eye contact with each other but avoiding making eye contact with me. I sat down and asked, “Who goes next?” Laura asked Ted how many women he’d slept with before Mary. He answered nonchalantly with, “Six” and a shrug. Mary laughed. I began to wonder if this meant things were about to go down a path we might regret later. But then Ashleigh turned to me. “Why haven’t you dated anyone for a year?” she asked. I’m a pretty good sport when it comes to games. I’ve always felt if you aren’t going to enter fully into the game then don’t play. Watch from the sidelines and make snarky remarks until the players throw you out or read a book or play a different game but if you are going to play, then play. Ashleigh’s question was one I simply would not answer. I almost wrote “could not” answer but that’s not entirely true. I could physically answer the question but, even after a year, it was still too raw, too personal, too bloody painful to even think about, let alone talk to anyone else about. As I was going through this in my head, I realized everyone was waiting for my answer. “Well?” asked Ashleigh with an arched eyebrow. “It’s Truth or Dare. We’ve had lots of Truth, you wanna Dare?” slurred Mary. I was still silent, so they started a ragged chant of “Dare. Dare. Dare!” What could I do? I said, “Dare.” I think Ashleigh and Laura had been thinking about this for a while because they looked at each other for a second and Laura said, “You have to go to the train station tomorrow morning, get on the first train leaving the station, sit beside the first person you see, and get their phone number before the next stop.” My jaw dropped and I gaped at the four of them. I had expected something stupid like stand on my head and drink from a glass or something mildly salacious like kiss one of them. But this, this was awful. “Umm, I’m not so sure about this,” I said. “Look at me. I’m not a small person and you’ve all had opportunity to enjoy the fact that I’m intimidating sometimes, however that works. If I sit beside almost anyone and even say hello, I’ll probably get arrested.” “Well,” Tom said owlishly, “you probably should’ve thought of that before you decided to play.” He had me there. I cursed internally but did my best to put a happy, or at least neutral, look on my face. I hoped none of them would be in a state to remember any of this tomorrow. “Okay,” I said, “so who’s up next?” The rest of the round was all Truth and I couldn’t even muster the mental energy to try for revenge. After the round was over, everyone decided they may as well stay at my place and finish up the open bottles of wine and crash on the floor or wherever. I felt this was my best chance to get them so liquored up they’d never remember anything tomorrow, so I surreptitiously opened an extra bottle and got pouring. The next morning, despite the number of empty bottles, all four of them, dammit, were up, remembered, and wanted to take me to the train. Ugh! We all piled into Laura’s Subaru and headed to the train station. It was early. I wasn’t expecting a lot of people to be on the train but I didn’t know if this would make it better or worse. They dropped me off, made sure I had enough money for the round trip and said a cheery, “Bye! See you later! Can’t wait to find out what happens!” I caught the first train; there was only one person in the car. Attractively, if unconventionally, dressed even with, God forbid, crocs. Why had I never believed in love at first sight?


Part I: The Speech “Humans ruin everything. These were the last words my mother said to me. She said, ‘In all my years on this world only one thing has remained consistent: Humans ruin everything.’ She was right. They destroyed the land we shared in the name of their innovation. They fought with each other for ownership of something no one should own. They even took us from our homes & domesticated us so we could be their pets.

We were the lucky ones.

Others they hunted. They killed us for food; they killed us for sport. War & climate change & hunting & mass meat production & animal euthanasia & abuse & sports that break our bodies & vehicular animal slaughter & religious sacrifices & the clothes they wear & chemical warfare & animal currency & oil spills & veterinary impounds! Our blood is on their hands. Humans. Ruin. Everything. Humans ruin everything! It’s time we say enough is enough. It’s time we fight back. I know you may think we don’t stand a chance. That their technology is too great. You’re right. Individually, we don’t stand a chance. But we are not individuals. We are a collective. Members of different phyla & classes, yes, but we are one kingdom. One united animal kingdom. Together, we can make a difference. Together, we stand a chance. Which is why I come before you. In times like these, we need unity, not division. we need action, not peacekeeping. We need a leader.” For a moment cheers and indiscernible chants drowned out the speaker. “And I would be that leader!” The chants became more clear as the crowd’s individual shouts shifted to one phrase. “I need you! Your president of the United Animal Kingdom needs you!” At this remark, the noise became overwhelming for minutes. The speaker waited. Eventually silence fell over the crowd again, and he continued. “It is no longer time we fight amongst ourselves! It is no longer time we sit idly by our own abuse! It is time we fight back! They are strong, but we are many. We are in their homes, their places of business, their places of leisure. It is time we fight back!” The cheers washed over the crowd again. “It is time we go to war. Are you with me? Annelida & Nematoda?” There was a brief hesitation, then one section of the crowd lifted their voices. “Amphibians & Reptiles? Birds & Mammals?” This time there was no pause. A united shout came from the largest section of the crowd. “Crustaceans, Labiatae, Porifera, Cnideria, Mollusca & Chelicerates?” The remainder of the crowd rumbled in unison. Then all the crowd stamped and shouted again. The speaker relished in the chaos and waited. When it was silent, he spoke slower and quieter than before. “Humans ruin everything. Enough is enough. To war.” Part II: The Bond I remember everything. I remember where I was: the outdoor court at my school, underneath the basketball hoop with the torn net. I remember what I was wearing: my striped yellow shirt & denim shorts, white tennis shoes with laces undone & a blue baseball cap too big for my small head. I remember everything about the day when the speech played over the broadcast. Car radios, televisions, anything that could transmit audio, all a conduit for dissension. I remember when the chatter of the school principal over my PA system was interrupted by a piercing frequency. The frequency was underlaid by three abrupt, almost indiscernible words that changed the course of the world: humans ruin everything. The reaction was slow, then everything all at once. First no panic, just confusion. Children ceased play; teachers looked to each other for affirmation that they heard it too. Then something changed in the world around us, as the world around us turned its head to fight back. I heard it before I saw it. A soft buzz, like the sound of my dad’s electric razor. Louder, then louder, like the swarm of bees that chased me the summer before this one. Then the sharp trill from a teacher’s whistle as a horde of dogs, cats, and rodents reached the crest of the hill behind my schoolyard. Then I ran. I’d never owned an animal. I loved animals, but my parents said they did not want pets in the house. I always loved animals though. My parents initially objected when I told them I wanted to be vegetarian, but eventually they gave in. Whenever the school cafeteria gave me ham sandwiches I would only eat the bread. I took the deli slices off and put them in my pocket. Then at recess I went to the dumpsters behind the school and shared my leftovers with the stray dog who lived there. I ran into the school, through the hallways, and into my classroom where I crouched under my desk and listened. The sound of violence, barks and hisses and screams, broke through the walls.

Over the sounds from outside, I heard the pitter patter of feet trotting in the hallway. The steps grew louder as they approached the classroom, then they stopped. The door creaked and I regretted not checking it was shut. I heard short, shallow breaths, like sniffing. The intruder cast a monstrous shadow on the wall opposite me. I held my breath. The pitter patter continued, loud then quieter. I waited until the steps were far enough away, then I crawled toward the door. I eased the door open far enough to poke my head out. I heard a low growl that made the hair on my arm stand up. At the end of the hallway I saw a dog. The dog wasn’t growling at me. It wasn’t even looking at me. What was it growling at? Against my better judgment, I pushed my slim body out of the classroom and into the hallway. As I got closer, I recognized the merle coat of the stray dog from the dumpsters. He was standing in the doorway, blocking entry from other animals outside the doorway. A raccoon and two cats pawed and hissed at my protector, but he maintained his stance. One of the cats lunged at him first, then the other animals followed. I saw the flash of claws and heard the snap of teeth. It was over in an instant. A cat and a raccoon stumbled away, the other cat lay still. The dog turned and sauntered to me. I extended my hand, palm open. His tongue tickled my fingers when he licked my hand. “You saved me, buddy. Thank you.” When we made eye contact I got caught in the contrast of his eyes, one a warm brown, the other a piercing blue. Under his blue eye was a fresh cut. The bright red against the blue made me feel nauseous. “Come on, buddy, the nurse’s office isn’t far. We gotta get you cleaned up.” He put his head down and sighed, then licked at his leg. He’d been bit there too. “You’re really hurt. It’s okay, I’ll carry you.” He wasn’t too heavy. Being a stray kept him slim. He licked my face while I walked down the hall with him in my arms. When we got to the nurse’s office, supplies from medical kits were dumped on the ground and pillaged through. It looked like the year before when a hurricane hit. I found the disinfectant, a towel, and a bandage. “Sorry buddy, this might sting.” He blinked, unfazed. “Okay, here goes.” After I’d wrapped his leg in bandages, we sat in the nurse’s office for a while to let his leg heal. “The world is going to be different now. If humans and animals are fighting, there will be war everywhere.” Sadness ran over my body like winter’s cold. “We can’t stay here. No one will let a human and a dog be together as long as there’s war.” He rested his head on my lap and whimpered. “Don’t worry, boy. I’ll get us out of here.” My eyes drifted to the wall with a framed map of South Dakota, my home state. “I think you need a name. How about Dakota?” His ears perked up. “Don’t worry Dakota. I’ll get us out of here.” My eyes lingered on the map, and I remembered the trip my class took to the South Dakota Air and Space Museum the year before. I pet Dakota between his ears and his eyes flicked open and shut, fighting sleep. “I think I know a way to get us out of here, Dakota. Get some rest now, we’ll leave soon.” Part III: The Voyage We are drifting. I don’t know where we are. I don’t know where we are going. He says that it will be okay. I believe him. I’m not sure how long it’s been since we left.

It wasn’t meant to end this way, humans destroying the world, and the world destroying humans. We could have lived together peacefully. Maybe humans are to blame. That dog on the radio didn’t believe most of what it said, it only wanted to create division and seize power.

I can’t believe it worked. Animals everywhere bought into the lies, and now the world may never be the same. So long pale blue dot. The dog on the radio said that humans ruin everything, that all humans are bad. Maybe humans are to blame. But I don’t think they’re all bad. I think I found a good one. He says we’re going somewhere without war. He says that it will be okay. I believe him.