I shouldn’t be here . It’s the stubborn thought that hasn’t left my mind for the past month.

One month since the family of my dreams caught a glimpse of me outside their window and invited me inside. Bram, Lori, and Nell. Bram, with his strong and gentle fatherly spirit. Lori, who’s made me dinner every single night. And Nell. With her auburn hair and sea-green eyes that make me feel like she can see right through me, with the shy smile that sends my heart racing.

I’ve been trying, I really have, but it’s become evident that I don’t belong here.

These three are two good for me, even Nell. Especially Nell. It’s been a good month, but I can’t keep dragging them down like this. The freezing streets are calling me back to where I came from, the deepest shadows in the corner of that dark alley.

Like I told myself when I first looked through a certain window, into this house: there’s two worlds. The inside world, warm with a yellow glow, and the outside, dark with a perpetual chill.

I belong to one of them, and it’s not the first.

I realized it when I came back here after running off for the third time. It wasn’t actually running off—I was just making my weekly visit to the five windows around town, the ones that I keep returning to as a reminder of my old life—but I wasn’t about to tell Bram that. He would pity me. I didn’t want pity. So I hesitated when I opened the door to find him leaning against the wall, giving me a once-over. “Where did you go this time?” “Nowhere,” I mumbled. His eyes came to rest on my tattered hunter-green windbreaker over my shoulders. I hadn’t realized I’d put it on. “That jacket must be special to you, if you’re still wearing it in that condition.” I nodded. The look in his eyes was begging me to explain where I kept going, why I kept bringing the torn windbreaker with me, what had brought me here in the first place, but I had no intention of doing so.

He wouldn’t understand. None of them would. And I didn’t want them to abandon me like everyone else had, which they would surely do if they knew just how broken I was.

Bram sighed at my lack of elaboration. “You’re not planning on telling me anything, are you, kid?” I shook my head slightly. He put a hand on my shoulder, but I could read past the facade. He was disappointed. In me. Anyone would be—I’m me. That’s when it started. Soon, despite their kindness, I found myself drowning in my secrets, drowning in my past. I can’t escape the feeling. Which is why I have to get out. I ease myself to my feet, careful not to make too much noise. I could be sleeping on the plush bed in my room, but I’ve gotten too used to the floor. The sinking of the mattress only worsens that drowning feeling. I find the tiny notepad and pencil I keep in my drawer and scribble out a quick note. I’m sorry, and I know this is abrupt, but I have to leave. It’s nothing against you all—this has been the best month of my life. It’s me. I know I’ve been nothing but a burden, and I’m really sorry about that, too. Don’t worry—by the time you read this, I’ll be gone. Thank you for your hospitality, and for being like the family I never had. I’ll miss you all, but it’s better this way.

Sincerely, Caleb Murphy

I take a deep breath.

No second thoughts. I fold the note, grab my windbreaker and my tennis shoes, and set the note on the kitchen counter on my way out. A gust of wind greets me the moment I step out the door, but the familiarity doesn’t bring a smile to my face.

I have to find somewhere to go. Not my old house, the one with all of the painful memories. I can’t go back there. The alley. The one where I had a week’s worth of canned food stored up, at least before the Nelsons took me in.

I set off at a steady jog. Something weighted in my pocket bounces with every step, and I pause to see what it is.

A few loose coins. Lori gave them to me only weeks ago. “For allowance,” she said. I raised my eyebrow. “I didn’t do anything.” “You helped me with dishes,” Nell said with a grin, tucking her auburn hair behind her ear. “And helped me with dinner,” Lori said, dropping the change into my pocket.

“You shouldn’t pay me for that. You’re letting me live in your house, for goodness’ sakes!” I protested.

“You’re part of the family now, Caleb,” Lori said, turning to leave. “And don’t even think about trying to give that back!” she called over her shoulder. Nell gave me a soft smile after she’d left. “What?” I asked, tucking my clammy palms into my pockets. She shook her head. “I don’t get you.” “There’s not much to get.” She tilted her head. “I don’t know. Something tells me there’s more to you than meets the eye.” I didn’t have a response. “How’d you end up on the streets, anyways?” “It’s complicated.” “I have time. Unless that was your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it, in which case we can change the topic.” “Second option.”

Nell, of all people, didn’t need to know about my troubled past. How even the people who were supposed to love me left me in the dust. Nell shrugged. “Alright. But if you ever need someone to talk to who isn’t Mom or Dad, you’ve got me.” I glanced at her gratefully. “Thanks, Nell.” She smiled. “No problem. I’m just hoping one day you’ll tell me your story, Caleb Murphy.” Nell won’t get that story anytime soon, or ever, considering I’m not going back.

When I find my alley, my stash of food is gone. A curse slips out under my breath as I slide my father’s windbreaker over my shoulders. I’m going to have to get more, and it would be best to do it before I’m weak from hunger.

It’s not like I had any other plans for tonight.

There’s a supermarket a few blocks down, one that I’ve made midnight visits to so many times I’ve lost count. I can take a pot and some canned soup, and maybe a lighter to warm it up.

I sigh. Just like the old days. Not a prospect I’m excited about, but better than going back to the Nelsons, disappointing them, and being abandoned again. I reach the supermarket in less than fifteen minutes, but immediately duck back into the shadows when I see the scene outside the back entrance.

A group of five. They look about my age, but the clothes, tattoos, and constant frowns give me the feeling that they would gladly rip my head off if given the chance. I risk a peek around the building. From the boy crouching in front of the door, fiddling with the handle, it looks like they have the same mission as me: get in, grab what we need, and get out with nobody the wiser. This just got a whole lot more complicated. I’ll be fine , I tell myself as my stomach turns. I’ve dealt with worse. All I have to do is follow them in unnoticed and lose myself among the tall shelves until they’re gone.

Easy.

The group finally unlocks the door and, glancing around warily, slips inside. I dart out from my hiding place and make it through right before the door closes. It makes too much noise for comfort and I wince before ducking into the nearest aisle. I can hear the whispers of the others on the aisle next to me. “I told you to shut the door quietly!” one hisses. “I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before!” “Exactly why you shouldn’t have come! This isn’t amateur hour!” “Guys,” a third voice cut in. “Let’s just get the stuff and get out of here.” Now’s my chance. I make my way across the store, to the canned food aisle. Darting between aisles, unseen, unheard by the five who are only paces away at times.

I’ll be fine. Just grab the soup and go.

I pause in front of the cans, breathing heavily. I’m out of practice after a month with the Nelsons. I fight the image of Nell’s sea-green eyes as I reach for some Campbell’s tomato soup. Always good, basically never expires. Perfect for a night—no, for the rest of my life—out on the streets. “Hey!” The shout comes from behind me and I whirl around. One of the boys is standing face-to-face with me, barely two steps away and brandishing what looks like some kind of pipe. I swallow hard and bolt, leaving the soup behind. “Get him!” someone yells.

My feet pound harder, but it’s no use. Two of them appear in front of me and two cover the aisle to my right, leaving me no option but to spin and head back towards where I was.

I don’t even take a full step before running head-on into the one with the pipe. He doesn’t budge as I stumble back, head pounding from the collision. I lock eyes with him and he gives a wicked grin. “Trying to steal from our supplier, are you?” I don’t respond and he lands a punch on my jaw. I step back, one hand reaching up to my face. There’ll be a bruise there tomorrow, for sure. If I even live to see tomorrow. The boy must guess what I’m thinking, because he adjusts his grip on his pipe. “Lights out.” I don’t have time to brace for the hit that comes when he swings his pipe. It connects full-force with my stomach, knocking the air out of me. More hits come, from all directions and all of my attackers, and I drop to the tile floor with a groan. A coppery tang coats my tongue and I can smell blood, but I don’t know where it’s coming from.

Everything hurts as hit after hit lands on my curled body. I can’t do anything but clench my eyes and just wait it out. Something sharp pierces my side and I yelp. “You idiot!” one of them hisses, the beating momentarily stopped. I barely manage to roll onto my stomach, protecting my more vulnerable side.

“I don’t know what happened! There must’ve been a nail in my pipe or something.” “Now we’re going to have to clean this up! If we leave him here with a stab wound someone’ll trace it back to us!” Someone kicks me, the same spot the nail or whatever it was went in, and I groan. “Get up, boy.” I don’t respond. I can’t move. Another kick. “I said get up!” A soft moan is all I have in response. He huffs out a frustrated breath. “Fine. We’ll just drop him in the middle of the woods or something. I don’t think anyone would care if we killed him, but better safe than sorry when it comes to murder. He’ll die in the woods, anyway, in this condition.” Rough hands grab me and drag me outside, where one of them slings me over his shoulder. I can’t even muster the energy to groan. Everything hurts, and I can feel a warm wetness spreading from the wound in my side. Whatever stabbed me was much more than a simple nail. They jog for a few miles, into the cover of the trees, and drop me there, then leave. I can’t move, can’t open my eyes. Nell . I miss her, right about now. But it’s for the better, I manage to convince myself. They’re better off without me.

Footsteps interrupt my thoughts as my consciousness begins to fade.

“Caleb!” I try to raise my head, try to pry my eyes open, but I can’t. The pain overtakes me and my world goes black. I jolt awake, chest heaving, wild eyes darting around. How am I alive? The footsteps, before blacking out. The shout.

Someone found me. “He’s alive!” a voice shouts. Frantic, I try to sit up, but hands hold me down.

“Where am I? What happened?” “Easy, easy. Take a breath. You’re okay.” I fight harder. “No—I need to—” “Hey. Lay down. You’re hurt.” My gaze finally comes to rest on my savior and my eyes widen. “Nell?” I whisper hoarsely. “There you go. Relax. You’re okay.” She eases me back down onto the couch.

I’m back in the Nelson’s living room.

“No,” I rasp. “I have to go.” “I read your note,” she says quietly. I nod. “I have to go,” I repeat. “No, you don’t.” “I’m nothing but a burden.” I gesture weakly at the bandages around my torso to prove my point. “Do you really think that?” Nell asks. Bram bursts into the room before I can respond.

“Thank goodness,” he mutters, crouching next to Nell. “How are you feeling?” I shrug, wincing. “Good enough to leave, if that’s what you’re asking.” He shakes his head slowly. “I can’t believe you, kid.” I don’t say anything. “Caleb,” Nell starts, “you’re part of the family. We like having you here. We need you here.” Her eyes lock on mine, pleading with me to understand. Something tells me she’s saying more with that look than she did out loud. Bram nods. “She’s right, you know. And you’re not going anywhere in your condition, anyways.” I gingerly trace a finger along the bandage at my side. “How long was I out?” “Two days.” “Two days?!” I try to sit up again, but Nell holds me down. “You’ve been taking care of me for two days?” “Of course.” “Why?” “How many times do I have to tell you this? You’re one of us. We’re not just going to leave you to die in the woods.” “You should’ve.” “Wrong. And you’re gonna have to get that attitude out of your head, kid, because you’re not going anywhere.” I open my mouth to protest, but stop. They want me.

They saved my life.

And they weren’t planning on abandoning me anytime soon, not like everyone else.

“Okay,” I whispered. Bram grinned and Nell gave me her trademark smile.

“Let me get you some water.” Bram stood and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Nell and I alone.

“I’m glad you’re staying,” she said softly. “Yeah, me too.” “Why did you go?” I shrug. “None of you know where I came from and I figured if you did…you’d kick me out anyways.” “We would never. Unless you’re secretly one of Mrs. Patty’s kids, in which case you’re free to go, but you’re too nice to be one of them.” A grin tugs at my lips. “Thanks.” Nell just nods. “It’s true.” A few beats of silence.

“Mom should be home soon,” Nell finally said. “She was out getting groceries.” My eyes widen as a thought strikes me.

“My windbreaker,” I say. Nell raises an eyebrow. “Where is it?” I sit up, and this time Nell doesn’t stop me. “I don’t know,” she responds. “You weren’t wearing it when you got back.” It’s probably torn to shreds somewhere in the middle of the woods, or in the streets I used to call my prison.

The one material thing I had left from my old life. Gone.

In a way, it makes sense. I’m not going back to my past now—Nell and Bram and Lori made sure of that. It’s only fitting for the constant reminder of where I came from to be gone. But I’ll miss it. “I’m sorry, Caleb,” Nell says quietly. “I know it meant a lot to you.” “It’s fine. Really,” I add when I catch the look she gives me. “It was mostly a reminder of where I came from—where I belonged. But I guess I belong here now, so…it’s okay.” Nell smiles. “I would love to hear that story you keep refusing to tell me sometime.” “You will,” I promise. “And you’re not leaving again?” I shake my head.

This is my home now.


"We have plenty of time." The voice called out from behind, a throaty, chilling voice that was just as out of breath as I was, choking up on the dust that flew into their mouth as we ran. My feet pounded the floor, scraping at the rocks and sand in this torturous desert as I feel my heart ramming into my ribs, my body begging for me to stop but I won't. I breathe out, leaning forward and jumping over a rock here and there, running past into the mini village that lay settled between two abnormal canyon rocks. You'd occasionally hear the townspeople yell, "Hey!" or, "Running is proh-" but I couldn't care to zone into their words much less than to stop running. Because the woman behind me was one made from an engine so powerful she could keep running for miles, literally. I turn a sharp left, skidding on the floor and flailing my arms around before regaining balance and sprinting off, cutting into an alley with walls coated in an ugly white, clothes shattered on lines above and around the floor as I desperately try not to entangle my feet into them, but there was one thing that I had noticed past my harsh breath and the slamming of my feet. There was no longer an echo of my thudding, and as I slow to a stop I allow myself to regain my breath, hacking and coughing up dust and whatever else my dry throat can offer as I lean against a wall, looking back to find that no one was there. And it was awfully quiet too... A little too quiet. I inhale, holding my breath as the sound of the bustling town plays in the background, the shifting clothes in the almost non-existent wind rustling against my ear as I scan the environment. The scene was god awful too. Shattered pottery and glass had scattered all over the floor alongside soil and plants that hadn't been watered for near days. The only sound I could hear was my heart, that was still hammering at my chest as my hand trails up to grip the fabric that hid my torso, slumping my back against the wall as I squint, falling down onto the surface as I still wheeze for air, closing my eyes and feeling the beads of sweat slide down my fair skin. I could still hear her. She wasn't here, at least not that I can see, but she was here. The shift in her movements due to not being oiled for days, the way her breath trailed down people's ears after an unsuccessful heist. The way her eyes burned holes in your head when she was angry, clenching her mechanical fists before closing her eyes and tilting her head up, smiling to herself and fixing her hair. And if you're wondering, she was angry. Very angry, and angry at me. A nearby pot shatters on the floor next to me, and as I open my eyes I feel the air leave my lungs as a powerful blow is dealt into my stomach, causing me to hunch over with wide and terrified eyes as I fall onto my side, clutching my stomach and gritting my teeth to keep me from screaming out. So she can't hear me, right? "Plenty of time that I won't be wasting on anyone at the likes of you." I open my eyes slowly, my vision divided into two and slowly blurring into normality, my back pressed against the shards on the floor as I grunt, trying to sit up but it was useless. She brings her hand down onto my shoulder, drilling me into the floor and being held there, as she leans down. She was still so young... the same girl I knew back at high school down near the docks of "River Side". Though she changed. Her hair was short and ruffed, as if been cut by a child in the middle of a tantrum that she knows how to style well, though she wasn't all skin, as a large patch of metallic skin conceals half of her face reaching from her right eye to the corner of her left jaw. Her eyes were a sharp yellow, like those of a bald eagle as her brows knit together in the most unearthly irritated expression. Her lips parted to breathe softly as she cracks that same old grin I recognise from years ago. Back when she was still human. "You offend me, Hexen." She speaks soft and slow, an edge embedded in her tone as she lets go of my shoulder, only to bring it up and connect her knuckles down onto the side of my face. The blow sends me straight to the wall again, feeling as my side hits the concrete wall before I roll back down onto it again, causing me to gasp out, my mouth hanging wide open as she walks back over, gripping my face and lifting me up close to hers, growling through gritted teeth. "Give me the amulet." I stare up at her, feeling the blood tickle my lips down to my neck as I crack a smile, earning another sadistic blow to the face as I let out a loud groan, hearing her stand up as I rub my jaw, fixing it straight and massaging the pain, spitting specks of blood onto the floor as if it would make it look anywhere near prettier. "I don't want to hurt you but you are making it rather difficult not to." She begins, running her hands through her hair as she turns back around me. She was tall, a black, denim jacket lazily thrown over her shoulders as a ripped, black shirt is shown underneath, as if she'd gone through hell and back. And she did. She wore monstrous boots, spikes jutting out from near every angle around the brim edges of the shoe, the laces winding up to the top and back around from the length. Her jeans were ripped, and not the type of ripped you'd buy from a store, they were ripped, long gashes slashed from her knee to her ankle, exposing the metal beneath or the skin, depending on where you looked. She was a mess, and she was losing her patience fast too. "We both know what you will do with that damn amulet." I spit at her foot, and she simply smiles, bringing her hands together and breathing in slowly. "It's for the best, give me the amulet." "I'm not giving you the blasted amulet, chase me all you want I won't hand it over to you." I stand my ground, trying to haul myself up but ending up using the wall and ledges as support, leaning back against the surface with an obvious limp. "It'll be easier to retrieve it from you if you were dead, but dead is not the state I want to leave you behind with." "Oh, but near dying is fine?" I tease, grimacing as she lets out a small chuckle from the empty joke. "Dying state is perfect." She finally repeats, "Stop being so stubborn Hex. We both know that this is for the best, and one of the only ways to stop the machine. I'm not the bad guy Hexen, we just need to blow it up and we can only do that if your naïve hands toss it over." "You will blow the ENTIRE WORLD if you choose to do that." I yell. "SO WHAT?" She yells back, and the atmosphere grows silent, tension crawling through the air as she begins walking over to me, her fists clenched together and her jaw tensed. "You'd rather breath dust, ash, and smoke for the rest of your life? You'll be dead before you even reach 30." She leans her face closer towards mine, speaking slowly between gritted teeth as I feel myself sink further into the wall. She gently grips my face again, before tightening the grasp as I squirm against the wall, my hand diving down into my pocket and clasping around the gem. "I don't have a death wish, Mox." I breathe, and she tilts her head, her eyes wide and her face unmoving. "Oh, but it's a shame that I do then, isn't it?" She smiles, and her hand connects to my arm fast enough to make my heart lunge up to my throat, cracking the wall as I feel my arm embed in the wall, and it takes all I have not to yell out in front of her, but I wish used to this sort of stuff. "Give it up Hex." She says, a newfound solemn tone to her voice now as her fingers work down to clasp my hand, and though I didn't notice, I was holding my breath, watching her every move as I feel her fingers slip into my palm, gently lifting the amulet out of my grasp, before taking a step back and nodding at me, before turning on her heal and flinging the amulet around her fingers, "We were never going to make it."


*SHATTER* And a ball comes flying in. There is a faint sound of children egging each other on to grab the ball in this dusty, dull, crumby house, one that hasn't been properly lived in for maybe 20 years. "You get it!" Shouts one kid. "No. Devan should get it! He threw it!" Yells another. "You kicked it! And you broke their window!" The running feet at a fast pace begin to slow down and abruptly stop at the creaky porch window. A head pops through the broken window, peaking into the dilapidated house. Not only did the window shatter, but the pane is coming off the wall. The boy looks around, but cannot see much of the house. The natural light is being blocked by the old, residued windows so there is no luck seeing anything from outside. "Go in Devan!" A voice shouts. "No! This place gives me the creeps!" "Do you see the ball?" "Notta! That thing is gone." Says the peaking child. "Go in and look for it." Says a voice beside him while he engages a sour face. "What are you afraid of? Spiders? This place is empty." The boy acknowledges that it is empty and without turning to his friend he says, "Come with me then." His friend begins to shake then states, "I'm game. You first. You threw it first before I kicked it." The first boy begins to crawl through the window- "You're not even going to knock first?! That's so disrespectful!" Yells one of the kids outside. He ignores their outburst. He is already mostly inside and there's no turning back from here. He takes a couple steps then hears a rough creak in the floor and immediately stops. He turns around and sees his friend staring at him through the window with a blank face and says, "You coming or what?" He turns back around and sees a portrait of.. The house? There's a portrait of the house on the wall and a mirror beside it. And this is strange, in the portrait the windows are all mirrors. Concept art? He inspects the fancy mirror and it's frame while the wallpaper behind it is quite obviously aged. He hears a rough creak behind him and says to his friend, "Bout time. Look at this. it's the only other thing in this house besides me that isn't gross looking." He chuckles while looking at his friend Ross's reflection. "It's just a crumby old mirror." The other kid states. He and his friend look around for the ball for a few moments and they decide that it's no use, they've checked all possible areas where the ball could have reasonably landed. That. And the house is starting to give Devan the creeps. He checks down a hall and flips a light switch that is extremely reluctant at first, but gives and provides electricity. When the light comes on there is nothing but webs all along the walls and the ceiling. (Gross.) He thinks to himself and looks around for the ball. He looks to the end of the hall and notices another long human sized mirror. This one is surrounded by webs and seems a bit more aged like the rest of the house.. And.. the Ball! It's directly beneath the mirror. He quickly grabs it and begins to stand while the floor creaks again. As he stands straight up the floor begins to give and he hears, "The shadows! They course! Awaken brothers!" "AHHHH," He screams as he runs out of the hallway, forgetting the ball in his hands for a moment and trips on an exposed plank in the ground. He immediately begins to tremble as he then hears laughter. Children laughing. His friends are looking at him from outside, cutting up as if they are all just playing a prank on him. He blushes of embarrassment and grabs his ball and runs to the window and scolds, "That's not funny! I could seriously hurt myself!" And he looks to his friend. "And where the hell did you go?! You just left me in there?" They all go silent and his friend looks at him and says, "What'ya mean?" "Devan just cussed. I'm telling Mrs. Maxwell." "You left me all alone. You come with me, I went into the hallway and you just left? What kind of friend are you?" "Devan..." "No, don't give me that. You're a wuss." He says. "You're a big ole' wuss." "Devan, what are you talking about? Ross didn't go in with you." One of the kids pleaded. They all looked at him in silence. "What do you mean?" Ross looks at him and says, "You told me to leave, you said get out after I called the mirror 'crumby.' Remember?" "No?! When did I say that? I never said that." "We all heard you. You were very mean to him, you chased him out of the house and he almost hurt himself falling out of the window." "That's why we decided to mess with you. That's why we yelled, 'We're telling your brother.' Because we knew it would get you running." "That's not what I heard." Devan remarks. "What you mean? What'd you hear?" One of the kids in the back asks. "I heard something about shadows, and awaken my brothers." Devan nervously states. Immediately after saying that the house begins to shake, He begins to climb through the window, but the sill collapses under his weight and he falls to the ground. He panics and immediately jumps up and when he goes to jump out there is no window, no opening, there is a frame, a frame with a mirror. The mirror from before. "What.." A creak from behind alerts him and he immediately twists to see what's there and it's his friend, Ross. "Wait. When did you-" "The shadow," A terrifyingly familiar voice that is nowhere near the sound of his friend utters to him, "The shadow has awakened. You. Boy. You have set us back on our course. It's time to-" "AHHH" The child screams as he dashes to the door only to find.. There is no door, but another mirror. This one is door sized and surrounded with more webs. He bangs on the mirror and attempts to shatter it. "What are you doing?" His friend inquires. It's Ross. In Ross's voice. "What do you mean? I'm getting out of here. This place is haunted, it's, it's gross and we need to leave!" "But.. The ball." Ross states. "Forget the ball! Something strange is happening and we need to leave!" He begins to lash out at his friend, but Ross appears to be unfazed. "Ross? Are.. Are you ok?" He asks with genuine concern. "I feel better than ever." He rebuttals in the most monotone voice with the most blank face he's ever seen his friend make. "Well.. Well, we need to get out of here. This place isn't safe." He says to his friend. "Ok." Ross plainly states. He begins rushing around the dusty, almost empty living room, "There was a door here, but now all I see are mirrors." He looks around and begins to retrace his steps, he's still wondering how Ross got in there with him and what happened to the window. When the window collapsed did he hit his head? Maybe he fell through he floor and the basement has a similar layout to the living room. Come to think of it, the whole room is different now. (maybe I did hit my head) he thinks to himself as he slowly approaches the stairs. "Ross, Come on!" As he begins his journey up the staircase. There is still an unsettling feeling to all of this, Where did Ross come from? He was the only one in the house, they all said it. Even though he saw him come into the house.. No.. He heard him come it earlier. They all mess with each other so it's probably just another prank. Very distasteful and how he's bumped his head, could have cut himself on the glass if they weren't careful. *CRUNCH* A sudden startle at the bottoms of his feet. He immediately looks down and notices the glass of a large, stair sized mirror has cracked beneath him. There are cracks all throughout it and millions of trillions of pieces of glass stuck to his shoes. (odd) he thinks to himself. Why is there a mirror in the stairs? Is this another prank? What's the deal? He makes it to the top of the stairs and opens a door and he sees a long room full of webs. It's the hallway, except at the end of the hall there is a broken mirror. A sad sight honestly. It was in great shape before and now it's shattered with a large ball imprint in the bottom quadrant of it, he inspects for a moment: "Did we do this?" He says aloud to himself. A hand rests on his shoulder with an unsettling touch. He turns around and anxiously screams, he backs away panicking again, and falls back onto the floor and pushes himself away from the monstrosity before him. He hits the end of the hallway, it's the mirror, broken with a ball shaped gash right where his head leans upon as he runs out of space to keep backing. What is before him is a humanoid spider Ross. It has several spider eyes and a hefty collection of fuzzy legs. It slowly creeps toward him, "What's wrong, friend? Don't you recognize me? I'm like you. I breath, I eat, I play, we are much more alike than you think." "You're a freak!" He yells as he kicks at the spider Ross. It grabs his leg as he squirms and looks at the bottoms of his shoes. There sticks millions of trillions of pieces of broken glass. The spider Ross calmly lets go and says, "Are you hurt? That's a lot of glass." Devan yells again, "Get away from me you freak!" The spider Ross asks, "Freak? How so?" "Have you seen yourself? You're disgusting. Take a look in the mirror you beast!" Devan screeches loudly while he violently tears the mirror off the wall and shows it to the spider Ross. "I'm. A. Monster?" He asks with an immediate shot of depression in his voice. "But, We're friends. I thought. I thought we could play some more together." Spider Ross responds. "No! EWW! get away!" He yells as he bashes the spider Ross over the head and scrams around. "The shadows! They course! Awaken brothers!" He hears behind him as he darts out of the hallway and begins running, yelling, eyes closed, panicking for the life of him, he stumbles once again on the loose floor board and rolls around the creaky floor. He shoots up and leaps for the window. *SLAM* As he falls out of the broken, glass-less window and pops his head up he notices all of his friends surrounding him. He gets up and looks around as a couple of them chuckle. "That's not funny! I could have seriously hurt myself!" He scolds them as if he's been through this before. "And where the hell is Ross? Why did he abandon me like that?" "Devan just cussed. I'm telling Mrs. Maxwell." "Ross?" One kid inquires. "He went in looking for you?" "What?.." Devan's heart drops. "He did?" "Yeah! He walked out saying you told him to leave, but then he heard you screaming so he dashed back in there looking for you! You didn't see him?" "No! Which way did he go?!" Devan asks expressingly. "I'm not sure, but don't go back in. You'll hurt yourself." says one kid. "Forget that! There's monsters in there. We need to save him. We need to-" While he's talking he turns around to go back through the window, except there is no window.. just a mirror, facing him, outside of the old, dusty, decrepit house. He stares at the mirror, inspects the entire frame up and down and looks at the wall surrounding it in total astonishment. He sees movement on the mirror and looks behind his own reflection to see Ross, standing there with a bored face staring blankly at him. "What are you doing?" "Ross." Devan states refusing to turn around and remains looking at the reflection of the two of them. "Why do you keep looking at that crumby old mirror?" He asks. "It's the only thing here that doesn't look... ...You know what?" He ponders. "What?" Asks Ross as Devan turns around. "Forget the ball. Let's go play with something else." He says to Ross. "What if someone's home? You're not even going to knock first? What a wuss." Ross aggressively says. "You first. You kicked it in." "But you threw it!" Devan looks at him, gives him a light shove while Ross responds with one of his own and the two of them walk away from the mysterious house. Together. "Who puts a mirror on their front porch anyway?" Is heard at a far enough distance from the house to be faint and disputable as to who actually said it.


Within days of having gained his powers. Quake has begun wreaking havoc upon the inhabitants of Centurion city. Assaulting banks, science facilities, and police stations. He's killing anyone who get's in his way. Quake has been declared an enemy of the public. A military response is brewing alongside the fear of the public, and for good reason. Surge, the cities mysterious protector has been nowhere to be seen since the villainous Quake's appearance. Speaking softly over the off sync beeping of the heart and oxygen monitors shoved on top of the dresser next to him. Peter Mayfield leans forward nudging his friend saying. “Ed...hey, Ed? You finally with me buddy?” “What? Ugh. Where am I?” Edgar says lifting his upper body up with his arms. Still shaky. Ed lowers himself back down onto the white cot that reeks of disinfectant. Peter stands from the side of the cot where he had been sitting. Scratching his head nervously. He paces around to the other side where a metal stand rests with a full I.V. attached running a thin tube down into Edgar's arm. Peter rubs his hands together saying. “Okay. So. When we lost contact the second time. I sped off to find you, but you were in pretty bad shape. Whatever hit you, broke two ribs and cracked your skull like a melon.” “So that's why I feel like I got hit by a car.” “Did you?” Asks a tall woman dressed in scrubs striding through the doorway. Edgar flashes Peter a very disapproving glance saying. “What did you tell her?” Clearing her throat, she pushes her stylish glasses up the bridge of her nose. “She...is right here. And can answer for herself. Thank you very much. Oh, and I believe I'm the one who patched up that head of yours. So try to be a little nicer.” “So...that's Daisy.” Peter sheepishly says. Glancing angrily between the two of them, Edgar asks. “So, Daisy. What do you know?” “You don't remember me? Do you? You saved me from my apartment building three weeks ago. I was so sure I was going to die trapped by all that fire on the fifth floor. Then you pop up. Literally out of nowhere like some sort of comic book or movie. You swept me up and within a second I was standing outside with the firemen. I know how fast you can run, and how strong you can be. I know you're Surge.” Thinking twice about being so harsh to her. Edgar takes a deep calming breath, puts his hand out to her and smiles. “Well, Daisy. I guess the secrets out, so you might as well keep it for me.” Wincing behind his broken ribs he shakes her hand then asks. “Peter, what's happened while I've been out?” Twiddling his fingers together. Peter nervously looks at Daisy for approval but with a shrug of her shoulders he decides to clear his throat and mumble the answer. Frustrated Edgar asks. “Come on? I mean...how long was I out for?” “Okay a lot has happened. Just remember to take it easy. You're still healing.” Daisy blurts out while checking the bandage on the back of Edgar's head. Peter scratches his head and chuckles saying. “You've been out for five days.” “Five days...” Edgar mumbles to himself then says. “Tell me. Everything that's happened.” “So. That guy Marcus. Or Quake? Whatever his name choice is. His body was mutated by the same type of radiation emitted by that strange purple gas. You were plain old lucky the suit material I used somehow kept the mutation from occurring in you a second time. At least that's my current theory. You could have also gained an immunity to it...I suppose you could have an exposure limit and the mutation could be stimulated to occur twice?” Daisy slaps Peter on the back of the head. “What are you doing? What is that? That's not helpful. Fill him in.” Confused, Peter looks about laughing and says. “Sorry. So much has happened. So much to discover. Anyways. She's right. Sorry. So, that Quake guy. He's been nonstop assaulting the city. He's even managed to get the Red Lights gang on his side. I'm telling you Ed. Whoever this guy was before. Is gone. He's gone completely mad with power. He's killed so many police they've become afraid to respond to his attacks. The news says the military is supposed to be coming in any day now. We're about to deal with martial law.” Noticing a television in the far corner of the room tucked away inside a closet filled with boxes. Edgar blinks three times in quick succession. The television turns onto a static filled channel with the first blink. The second and third blinks flip through channels. Stopping on a live news reporter from a helicopter flying overhead the edge of Centurion city. Resting in the sky somewhere between a power facility and the local prison. The camera moves away from the reporter, down to the ground below. Taking a second to focus the lens shows Quake sticking strange metal rods around a crater in the ground. A few unmarked black sedans sit down the hill just a ways. Red lights shining over the crater, the gang members wait patiently toting their guns in protection of their newfound leader. With a heavy sigh, Edgar grunts pushing himself up out of the cot. He swings his legs to the side and stretches out saying. “Ugh. I can't just lay around knowing he's out there terrorizing everyone. It's my fault he's become this way.” Horrible piercing pains radiates from the two broken ribs on the right side of his body. Difficult to ignore it he takes a few beats to fully sit up. The throbbing crack in his skull shoots needles into his eyes. Standing up with a little stumble Edgar sits back down. Daisy places her hands onto Edgar's shoulders and rests him back into the bed saying. “Unfortunately for you. I don't think you'll be going out there just yet.” “Seriously. It's okay let the military handle this in a few days.” Peter says chiming in. Determination strikes Edgar's facial features. His eyes narrow like that of a hunting predator and says. “No. No. I can't just let him get away with acting like this, and whatever he's doing. I bet it has something to do with the gas.” Forcing himself back up against his bodies desire for rest. Edgar swings his legs from the cot and stands. Focusing his breathing, he sends surges of electrical energy from his chest outward throughout every limb. Clenching his hands in fists Edgar exhales deeply saying. “Where's my suit? I'm going.” Peter points outward down the hall and into the living room of his house. “It's in the bathroom across the hall. But, Ed?” Walking between both Daisy and Peter, Edgar looks back at his friend. Peter continues saying. “Be careful. I'll go boot the computers up.” Confused and concerned Daisy gives Peter a light shove. “You're just going to let him go fight in this condition? What's wrong with you?” Peter sighs watching Edgar stride down the hall into the bathroom and says. “He's going out there no matter how we feel about it. Least I can do is be ready to help.” Feeling hopeless. Daisy sits down on the cot as Peter leaves the room. Going downstairs, Peter starts the variety of computers and police scanners they managed to scrounge up together. Edgar really was a wiz when it came to electronics, and his powers just made things easier for him. Peter was always a little tech savvy, but Ed puts him to shame. This setup can calculate spikes in the electrical grids, tune in on police frequencies and more. Getting everything ready, Peter puts a virtual reality headset on. The custom program streamlined important data directly into the visors feed. Edgar dressed head to toe in his sleek green suit with yellow accents looks over his new helmet. The golden visor made of a thicker material to keep it from cracking and a reinforced metal plate wrapping around the skull note the major differences. Sliding it on, Edgar notices its a perfect fit. The cushions wrap around his ears sealing his head inside without diminishing his ability to hear. Peter definitely has a way of crafting armor that Edgar appreciates. Stepping out of the bathroom, Ed catches sight of the distraught Daisy on the cot. Snapping his fingers together Ed shoots a little bolt of static electricity her way. Zapping her fingers she pulls her hand back in shock and stares at him. With a big smile Edgar flashes her a thumbs up saying. “Hey. No need to worry. I'll be back in a jiffy.” Leaving the house. Edgar steps outside and takes a deep breath of the evening air. Charging himself up. Electricity flows up and down his body. Arcs spring off around to the ground around him in a circular pattern as he kneels down into himself in a runners stance at the start of a race. Tapping his helmet opens the communication system and Edgar asks. “Peter? Give me the fastest route to Marcus.” Static fills the line for a beat, then Peter replies. “Sending route now.” As the guidance system opens a small map with a detailed route in the corner of his visor. Edgar is already on the highway leaping onto a power line and grinding along the electricity arcing between his feet and it. Speeding along as a green blur, Edgar switches power lines to one heading out to the prison. Stopping short of the Red Lights gang and their cars at the bottom of the hill. Edgar zooms in with his visor, surveying the area before approaching. Quake pierces the ground with the sixth and final metal rod and each device actives. The tops shift open revealing mysterious purple lights emanating trace amounts of gas. Collecting the atomic structuring of random debris from sand, dirt, rocks, and gravel around himself. Quake levitates feet off the ground and floats into the center of the metal rods. Holding his hands out with a pulse of energy. A harmonic chorus of tones echo from each rod. After a few seconds, a wave of energy bursts forth disrupting all electronics within the area. The nearby power facility shuts down causing blackouts across the edge of Centurion city including the prison. Charging himself up, Edgar sends a full body surge of electricity into his suit. The root menu pops up on the side screen of his visor. Sifting through a series of boot menus the system restarts. Noticing the helicopter plummeting toward the ground as it's systems fail to restart. Edgar summons energy from the palms of his hands. Converting into an unsteady stream of lightning with a little focus the beams arc into the helicopter and it's blades. It dips and swings to the side as both turbines kick up and the helicopter regains control just a few hundred feet off the ground. This sends the news caster flying from the open door. Edgar zips over past the Red Lights thugs standing on the hill then leaps from one of their cars into the air. Catching the woman, Edgar spins around a few times to slow his descent and touches down in the field far away from the commotion. Setting her down, Edgar winces holding his right side for a moment then straightens up and pulls the ventilator from his belt saying. “Have a nice flight? Ma'am. I'm going to need you to head toward the prison. They have a landing pad where your crew can pick you up.” Clicking the mask in place against his visor and the sides of his helmet. Edgar gives her a thumbs up dashing off toward Quake as she mumbles. “Thank...you.” The communications system reboots, passing through a series of checks before giving the green light. Static fills Edgar's ear for a beat, then Peter says. “Are you there? Ed? Comms are back. Do you read?” Stopping a few bus lengths away from Quake floating in the center of the six strange devices. Edgar says. “Yeah. I'm here buddy. Whatever he's built, they released an e.m.p. Over.” “Ed. You've got to stop him. Whatever made that crater. Well. I think it might be the source of the gas. The monitors we placed all over the city are going nuts, specifically in your area.” Members of the Red Lights gang notice Edgar on top of the hill near Quake. Positioning themselves defensively behind open car doors and trunks they open fire. Focusing his breathing. Edgar surges electricity through his arms into the copper wire lining the inside of his gauntlets. Manifesting an electromagnetic field Edgar redirects the bullets around him into the ground at his feet. Holding his hands together powers a bolt of lightning straight into the engine block of one of the cars. Hitting it with enough force the gas tank explodes forcing the car onto it's side. Dodging the car and it's explosion. The Red Lights gang starts to disperse, most dropping their guns in the act of running away. Edgar stretches his hands outward with lightning flowing from each finger tip. The individual bolts flying off shift into a paper thin tendrils that gives a shock of incentive to the remaining gang members. Some pile into the remaining cars and peel out, others just run away. Shifting his attention back to Quake. Edgar notices him clapping. Staring right at him, Quake says. “Well. If it isn't the fairy. I thought that punch killed you.” Floating down from in between the metal rods he lands gently and releases his mental hold on the debris gravitating to him. Walking toward Edgar. Quake's lifeless gray eyes look to the sky then he glances to the crater behind him. Cracking his knuckles. “Guess. I'll just have to see how many hits it takes.” Stretching his hamstrings and loosening up. Edgar speaks through his ventilator, calmly breathing through every word. “You don't have to do this. We don't have to fight. We both want the same thing. Right? We both want to know where the gas comes from. Marcus, let me help you.” With a violent twitch, Quake screams. “Do not. Do not say that name!” Lunging forward in attempt to tackle him. Quake falls to the ground grabbing onto the afterimage of Edgar. Fully charged with electricity surging from his chest into every limb. Edgar puts Quake into a full nelson hold saying. “Calm down. Don't make me hurt you. Work with me here Marcus.” Tripping himself. Quake falls to the ground on top of Edgar elbowing him in the ribs on his right side. Gasping for breath Ed lets go. Grabbing at his side in pain Edgar rolls away as Quake does the same. Both men stand facing the other. Lifting his hands Quake summons a cloud of debris from all around and sends it flying at Edgar. Short on breath, Ed turns the valve on his oxygen up. With every breath the electrical stimulation sends shivers up and down his body. Placing his hands up defensively brings forth an energy shield redirecting the debris like the bullets through trace amounts of metal. Less effective then with bullets, Ed only protects himself from the largest chunks flying through the cloud. Quake leaps in the moment the cloud disperses swinging wildly at Edgar. Dodging easily at first. Edgar gets slower with every breath and movement. Even with the increased oxygen his years of neglecting a physical routine are coming back to haunt him. Dipping underneath one punch Edgar stops an incoming knee with his hands, he leans up and backwards away from another hook and steps back. Stepping to the side away from a lunging punch Ed trips up in the grass and slips right into an uppercut that sends him flying into the air. Chipping a few teeth as they clack together. Edgar shakes the incoming darkness away and does a back flip landing on the ground closer to the power facility. Lights flickering in the distance of the facility signals power returning to the grid as Quake flies through the air toward Edgar. Taking a martial stance that must have come from somewhere in his youth. Edgar grabs Quakes incoming fist and flips him through the air slamming him into the ground. Angrier then before. Quake screams closing his fist around some invisible object as a large chunk of earth tears itself from the ground. Waving his hand the boulder simultaneously flies toward Edgar. Barely dodging Ed speeds off to the side as Quake levitates from the ground. Dashing at each other. Quake sends rock after rock at Ed forcing him into one spot. Then with a final blast of dirt in front of his visor. Quake punches Edgar so hard in the ribs it sends a shockwave out kicking up dust all around the two. Within a beat Ed is sent flying from the impact hundreds of feet back into the power facility. Tearing through the steel fence, Ed skids against the road and bounces punching a hole in the concrete wall of the facility landing somewhere inside. Laughing Quake turns his attention back to the metal rods. Having completed their task of extracting a meteorite directly from the depths of the crater. Levitating in place among the six rods the meteorite sparkles with strange purple crystals. Small pours along the surface continuously release the purple gas into the air around it. With a devilish smile and grin, Quake runs his hands along its surface saying. “We're about to get very close. You and I.”


“Ugh, Jack is being quite the nightmare today. Poor kid, though,” said Christine. “Poor kid?” replied Hellen. “I was helping Jessica find the right crayons for her drawing, but before she could make a choice Jack grabbed the whole bunch of them and flung them out the window. Not only that, but when I asked him to bring them back he launched the cello tape after them. Don’t you go poor kidding him.” They looked over at the mats next to the wall, where the children were fast asleep after a messy and exhausting lunch. Jack was at the far end, curled up in a ball, his thumb in his mouth and a frown on his face. It reminded Christine of herself at that age. She’d gone through something very similar to what he was going through now. “I think there’s something up at home,” she said, looking at Hellen again, who was now lifting her mug up to her lips. “When his mother picked him up yesterday afternoon, it wasn’t in the usual car. And the man driving it wasn’t Mr. Grayson.” As she heard this, Hellen’s drink took a wrong turn and she began to have a coughing fit. She had managed to shut her mouth quite quickly, but a red dribble still managed to escape, sliding down her chin and splashing onto her white shirt. “Shit, Hellen, you’re bleeding! Are you OK?!” Hellen, who was still hacking and fighting to contain the contents of her mouth, both nodded and shook her head, confusing Christine and making her wonder very briefly whether her friend was having a stroke. “Yes, no, what? Yes you are bleeding? Or yes you’re OK? No what?” Eventually, Hellen gulped what was left in her mouth and was able to speak once again. “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s not blood. I’m drinking elderberry kombucha. That’s where the red came from.” “You’re drinking what?” “Elderberry kombucha,” she repeated. Christine imagined her face must look like little Diego’s when he was trying to put together one of the larger puzzles, the ones with 50 pieces. After enough seconds of silence, Hellen graced her with an explanation. “Elderberries are a highly nutritious berry. They contain a ton of vitamin C and B6, as well as iron,” she recited, the way she always did when she spoke about the food she ate. Nothing was ever just a piece of fruit. “I’ve been drinking this for the last two years and haven’t had a cold, the flu or anything like that in all that time.” Christine decided not to mention the two weeks Hellen had spent off sick the previous winter, nor the week she’d been ill the winter before that. “What about that other thing, that… cucaracha thing?” Hellen let out one of her well-practiced giggles of condescension. “You mean kombucha? It’s a fermented tea. It’s full of probiotics – great for the gut – and prevents arthritis and diabetes. My God, Chris, hadn’t you ever heard of any of this? What do you usually drink anyway?” “Cola or tap water during the week. White wine at the weekend.” Hellen’s eyes popped out in disbelief, as if her head were about to explode. Christine decided to test if it would. “Diet Cola, actually. No sugars, barely any calories, great for staying awake when you need to.” Hellen blinked emphatically several times, as if checking she was indeed awake and not in a dream. Time for the master stroke, thought Christine. She produced a bag of crisps from her lunch-box and proceeded to stuff her mouth with handfuls of the salt-and-vinegar snack, her gaze never leaving Hellen’s. “Jesus, Chris,” said Hellen, wrinkling her nose, “how on Earth are you still alive?” “What are you on about?” asked Christine. Or tried to, anyway. With the crisps still filling her cheeks, it sounded more like “Whargyu anabuff?” Tiny potato slivers, moist and gloopy, flew out of her mouth like flavoured confetti, leaving only a scent of vinegar behind. “I’m talking about the poison you’re putting into your body. I didn’t say anything about that breast of roast chicken you wolfed down earlier on, but it did not look organic, free-range or from a local farm to me. I’m pretty sure the peas were the GMO kind, given that radioactive green they exuded, and there’s nothing wholesome about that artificial ketchup you drowned it all in, no matter how many smiling farmers they stick on the label. It’s like you’re trying to kill yourself in the most disgusting way possible.” Christine decided to finish eating the crisps already in her mouth before replying, calmly licking off the flakes of vinegary salt from her greasy fingers. “That’s all great, Hellen, but you and I both know I barely can find the time to put my terrible cooking skills to use at home, what with my commute and my mother. What do you expect?” “It’s not that hard! Look at my lunch: a couple of handfuls of fresh, crunchy kale, some diced tomato – a greenish-orange one, mind you, not one of those bright red ones that look like they’ve been grown inside a nuclear plant –, some chopped avocado, onion slices pickled in French vinegar, chia seeds, extra virgin olive oil, freshly ground peppercorns and Himalayan salt. All organic and non-GMO, of course. And locally sourced.” “What, the French vinegar and Himalayan salt are local?” Hellen rolled her eyes. “OK, most of it, whatever. The point is, one day you’re going to regret putting all that rubbish into your body.” Christine shrugged her shoulders in the most indifferent way possible, emphasising her display of emotion by ramming another fistful of crisps into her mouth. Despite her sermon a minute earlier, Hellen chuckled at her friend’s reaction. Soon they were both giggling uncontrollably, trying to keep their volume to a minimum to avoid waking the children up. Not that it mattered much, though, for ten seconds later they were all woken up by the sound of a fist punching through the classroom door like it was made of wet cardboard. The teachers both jumped out of their seats simultaneously, while some of the children, who had also jerked awake in unison, were starting to moan and sob. While Hellen turned to calm the toddlers down, Christine stared at the hand sticking out through the new hole in the door. The skin on it was the colour of cement, mottled with dark splashes, but it flexed and writhed around as if made of ordinary flesh. Only three of the fingers on it seemed to have nails, the other two being covered in a jet black crust of inky blood, some of it still liquid enough to smear the sides of the hole in the door. As it had first punched through it, splinters had flown into the room and spread over the floor. One of them, at least an inch and a half long, had stabbed into the sickly skin just above one of the knuckles, but the owner didn’t seem to notice or care. After groping around blindly for several seconds, the hand disappeared back through the hole, only to reappear through a new one it made a few inches to the right of the first one. As it did, Christine heard a distant voice come in through door, as if from someone standing behind the aggressor. “Hey, Larry.” Punch. “Larry!” “Not now, Craig. I’m busy.” Punch. This second voice seemed to come from the owner of the hand. “Larry, listen to me, will you? Larry!” “What, what, what?!” Can’t you see I’m occupied trying to get through this door?” “I know you are. That’s what I want to talk to you about.” “What about it?” “Have you tried the handle?” “Have I–. You know, Craig, I actually haven’t. It’s seems like everyone usually locks themselves in when we arrive, so I’ve just gotten used to punching through doors without checking.” “I know, pal, I’m the same. But I just tried a door back there and it was unlocked. Give this one a go.” With terror filling her to the core, Christine saw the handle turn and the door swing open. Two figures stepped into the room, both at least six feet tall. They looked like they might have been in their mid twenties, but any semblance of life have been drained from their skin until it was a dull, overcast grey, with darker blotches as those on the punching hand. Their clothes had also gone the same way, their original colours long gone, bespattered with what Christine wanted to believe were strawberry stains. “Do I feel silly now,” chuckled the first one as he casually extracted the splinter from his finger. Tossing it over his shoulder, his eyes locked on Christine and a wolfish grin appeared on his face. He licked his cracked, icy blue lips and began to shuffle his way towards her, his feet dragging while he shoved desks and chairs aside carelessly, his pale eyes never losing sight of her. Once there was a clear path between them, his shuffle became a rushed stumble and Christine, who was paralysed by the utter horror of the situation, was unable to move away in time. The creature reached her and grabbed her by the shoulders, his remaining fingernails digging into her skin. The pain woke her up from her trance, but it was too late. She was in the hands of this monster, whose iron grip threatened to pull her arms out of her sockets. He opened his lopsided jaw, letting out a putrid smell from his slimy mouth. However, before he could take a bite, his companion stopped him. “Larry, no!” he shouted, pulling him back from her. His hands slipped away, but she could still feel the pressure on her shoulders. That was going to leave a bruise if she somehow managed not to get eaten by the pair of zombies. “What the hell, man?” said Larry. “Can’t a zombie eat in peace?” “Not her you can’t.” “What? Why not?” “Look at what she’s been eating!” They both looked down at the remains of Christine’s lunch, where a mix of congealed chicken and dry ketchup were topped by a sprinkle of soggy crisps. “It’s disgusting,” continued the one she guessed must be Craig, “she’s drowned everything in that chemical bomb they call ketchup. And look at those crisps. They look anything but natural. Heck, I bet you the chicken wasn’t even fed with non-GMO seeds.” “I’ll be honest with you, Craig. I don’t really care about that stuff.” He looked back up at Christine, whose sliver of hope disappeared before the hungry expression on his hideous face. He moved to grab her once again, but Craig pulled him back for the second time. “No! I’m telling you, you’ll be poisoning yourself!” Larry grunted in frustration. “Fine, whatever, you win!” He pushed her out of the way and approached the children behind here. “Are you trying to kill us, Larry?!” “I… what? Me? How?” “Were you about to eat those children?” “Yeah. Is there a problem?” “Is there– Of course there’s a problem, you idiot!” “Woah, woah, no need to go around insulting. You didn’t hear me insulting you.” Craig took a deep breath, letting out a slow stream of fetid air. “You’re right, Larry. That was uncalled for and I apologise. It’s just this whole hunting for survival thing can be quite stressful sometimes and we also need to check what exactly it is that we’re eating if possible and I just noticed this patch of dry skin next to my elbow and–” “Hey, hey, it’s OK, Craig, don’t worry. I get it. We’re under a lot of pressure here and everyone’s usually screaming and shouting at us wherever we go. And we’re hungry, always hungry, which doesn’t really help. It’s only natural that we lash out once in a while. We’re both calm once again, so don’t worry about it. I accept your apology.” “Thanks, Larry.” “Not a problem. Now,” he said, turning back again to the toddlers, “why can’t I tear these children apart with my teeth? Is it their diet again? I don’t think we can tell what they’ve been eating – actually, that one has a baby carrot stuck in his hair, we’ll leave him out if you don’t think it’s organic.” “No, no, it’s not about their feed, it’s about their age. They’re too young. We can’t go around eating cubs or they’ll never grow into adults. Before we know it, their population will be decimated.” “Deciwhat?” “Decimated. Their numbers will be reduced drastically and, if we aren’t careful, irreparably.” “Huh. I’d never thought about it that way.” “Neither had I until last year, when my eyes were opened to reality. Since then, I’ve always – ooooh, is that kombucha?” His white, lidless eyes had fallen on the bright drink in Hellen’s mug, still on the desk she’d been eating at. He picked it up in his gnarled fingers, swirled it around and put it under the slits where his nose used to be. The shaggy remains of his eyebrows rose in delight and he pressed the mug against his snowy lips. As he drank, a trickle of the sanguine liquid escaped through a puncture on his sagging cheek, making Christine feel ill. “Who’s the crazy one now, Craig? Look at you, drinking that insipid, lifeless thing. What’s wrong with a good swig of warm blood as it bubbles out of a freshly torn carotid?” “Nuh-uh,” interjected Craig, still savouring the drink. He swallowed it and held the mug out to Larry. “Try it. It’s alive too, you know? There’s live bacteria in it, great for the gut.” Christine couldn’t help but roll her eyes. As if one lecture on traditional Spanish drinks wasn’t enough for one day. Larry took the mug and peeked into it, one of his deathly eyes closed as he stared into at the beverage. “I don’t see anything alive in here.” “You can’t see them, they’re too small. But they’re there. Trust me. I’ve read – ooooh, look at that, hand-kneaded rye bread. You can tell it’s hand-kneaded because of the shape here, see?” Larry, who Christine was pretty sure couldn’t see, nodded his head and took a slurp of the drink. “This is quite good, actually.” “Told you. Whoever’s been eating this stuff is a clean eater. Closest thing to organic, GMO-free we’re likely to find. If only we could tell who–” Christine, surprised that he’d stopped talking, followed Craig’s gaze. He was leering at Hellen. Specifically, at the stains of kombucha on her crisp, white shirt. The two monsters looked at each other. They grinned.


The snowflakes felt like pellets hitting Alice’s face as she trudged through the snow trying to get home from school. Even Alice’s wool scarf couldn’t keep her warm in this blizzard. Her snow boots left prints in the fresh snow. She could even see some hail in the distance. Alice adjusted her beanie and continued walking. More like trudging. Once Alice got home she hung her soaking wet parka on a hook and walked into the kitchen where her mom was sitting drinking hot cocoa. The smell of freshly baked brownies filled the air. As Alice made her way to the dining table she noticed her mom had a painful look on her face. “Are you okay mother?” asked Alice in a worried tone. “There’s nothing for you to worry about hon.” her mother answered. As Alice bit into her gooey, melted, brownie, she noticed that her mom’s belly was bigger than usual. Normally Alice’s mother only ate the healthiest things like broccoli, salmon, and even cooked worms! That Alice thought, was disgusting. Maybe my mommy ate too many carbs and now she is fat! Thought Alice. Alice didn’t have the guts to ask her mom what happened, so Alice just washed her dish, put it in the dishwasher, cleaned her hands, and went upstairs. That night Alice couldn’t fall asleep because of the growling sound of the blizzard. She tossed and turned but couldn’t find a comfortable position. She could also hear the distant chatter of her mom and dad. It sounded as if Alice’s mom was shouting at Alice’s dad. 20 minutes passed by. Alice decided to think about the time she first went sledding to bring a smile back to her face. She liked to think about that moment whenever she needed help falling asleep or needed to calm down. It started off with her mom noticing that all of the good and sturdy sleds were sold out. Alice's mother bought the last sled at the store which was a small red sled made out of plastic that had cracked and rough edges. Later that day, Alice ran into the park with the biggest grin on her face. She found the steepest hill and climbed all the way up in her fluffy pink snow boots. There she stood at the top of the hill like a mountain lion standing at the peek gazing off into the distance. She took a deep breath in and exhaled steam like a dragon. She took a nice look around and then sat down in the sled and adjusted her position. It was still snowing dazzling snowflakes and the wind whipped through Alice's blondish strawberry colored hair. She pushed herself and the sled down a little and it was officially take off. Alice wasn't thinking about her troubles at school or how bad the sled was or how cold she was or even why her mom's belly was getting bigger. The one thought that was on Alice's mind was the how she felt free. With the wind through her hair and her nose getting redder from the cold, and even all of the snow that was collecting inside of her sled. There was no feeling like glossing down the hill feeling the nature surrounding you. There was nothing like it and nothing could compare. That was and will forever be Alice's most favorite memory and her happy place. Still even after that, Alice couldn’t fall asleep. Finally what seemed like hours later when she was about to doze off, she heard the loudest scream of her life. “I THINK I’M GOING INTO LABOR!” screamed Alice’s mom. She heard the distant rushing of her dad trying to find his phone so he could call 911. Alice pulled off the covers and ran downstairs. That’s why my mommy’s belly was so big. Thought Alice. It all makes sense now. 5 minutes later an ambulance arrived in front of their door. Alice’s dad had called Alice’s babysitter to watch her as Alice’s dad and mom went to the hospital. Alice’s mom got in the ambulance and drove away. “You are going to be a big sister!” said Annie, Alice’s babysitter. “I hope it’s a girl.” said Alice. “Whatever gender it is, you will be a loving, caring, old sister. Someday you will take care of him/her!” A couple hours later, Alice got a call from her dad saying she had a new baby sister! Alice screamed so loud and hard that a glass was knocked off the dining table. Another couple of hours later, her mom and dad were home. Alice got to hold the baby whose name was Sally. Dear Callie, Callie oh Callie i’m so glad we talked It was actually very fun when we took that walk You explained yourself without throwing a fit You were having a hard time and that was it I forgave you because what else would I do I’m just so happy that we are through Now you are there for me unlike before Cheers to more memories, memories and more I also listened while you talked, thank you for staying calm I just had to forgive you because after all, you are my mom Even though Alice's mom never told her she was going to have a sibling, it was a pretty amazing surprise. Alice now has an awesome mother, an incredible father, and the cutest little sister. Alice went outside to see if it was snowing but it had stopped. Something outside her front door was something magical, beautiful, and mysterious. That something was a Winter Wonderland.

The flurries in the air, dazzled like lights Sun was shining just as bright Wind whipped just like when making cream Or cupcake and cookie batter, you know what I mean Snow coated the grass and was as fluffy as the clouds Children played around while the moms watched, feeling proud THE END and remember that snow is as magical as you make it. Have an amazing winter and start of the new year!


Cairn tied his cart to the flatbed train car. Melanie tied hers alongside it. Her horse, Samwise, was enjoying a rest in the stable car, towards the front of the train.             “It’s an odd pilgrimage to make,” she said. Her bronze-coloured hand reached out for his.             Cairn, still unsure of their limits as a new couple, placed his pale hand in hers. “I suppose it’s important to remember why the world is the way it is. Why humanity had to change.”             They walked between the many carts of their tribe, heading for the front of the train. Other tribes had their own carts loaded up as they weaved between the dyed woods. Tracks to the platform stretched off through an endless sea of grasses, shrubs, and flowers.             “I want to be near the front,” said Melanie. “I want to see it rise over the horizon.”             “Think it will?” Cairn asked, talking of the monument to humanities hateful past.             “Everyone says it does.”             A car filled with stable booths for horses had Cairn looking for Samwise. Melanie took the nose of her beloved beast of burden in her hands and kissed the fine hair.             “Good boy. You can just relax with your new friends while we travel.”             “Better hurry up if you want good bunks,” said a young boy pushing past them to move to the front.             “Bunks?” Cairn asked. “Will it take that long to get there?”             “We’re heading to the other end of the country, Cairn. Did you think it would be a ten-minute trip?”             “I just hadn’t thought about having to sleep surrounded by strangers,” he said.             “Strangers and me,” Melanie said. She winked, her one open brown eye dazzling. She pulled him forwards. Shouts outside the train made them look back, but there was nothing but a sea of young faces. A tide of adolescent bodies pushed them forwards.             The smell of the road surrounded them. Horse fart, dirt, tree bark, body odour. Cairn wished he’d sold more of them his soaps on the way to the first station. Their clothes came in every possible variety of brown and green.             Entering the sleeping carriages, many of the bunks already had packs or clothing laid out on them. Claiming one meant finding an empty bed.             “Here,” said Melanie, her dreadlocks danced as she turned her head to look back at him. “This one.” The bed was empty of course, a lower bunk surrounded by others. She pulled him into the space where there were shelves. Each bunk had a box for the sleeper’s things. Painted arrows helpfully pointed at the bed the box belonged to.             “Where will I sleep?” Asked Cairn, looking at the taken beds all around.             “With me,” Melanie whispered in his ear.             He flushed from his forehead to the base of his neck. Something stirred below and he tried to deny it. She left gloves and he a scarf on the bed to reserve it.             They wove their way through the crowds that were searching for bunks. Many were likewise heading to the front of the train. Out of the windows Cairn saw grassland become deciduous forest spattered with redwoods.             The train tilted up, forcing everyone to check their balance. Conifers either side of the train became as common as the seasonal trees. After ten cars for sleeping, there seemed to be endless rows of seats all facing forwards, pews to worship the journey. Three seats either side of the aisle, ten per car. Overhead racks were already piled high with bags. Eager faces were pressed to the windows.             “Look at the blue feathers,” Cairn whispered. He pointed to the children of a tribe he’d never seen before. Pale skin seemed a common trait among them, blue eyes, and feathers from some giant bird poking from their hair. “They need my shampoo for sure.”             “The feathers are cool,” said Melanie. “Hello.” She waved as ears caught her words and heads turned to look at them.             “Shouldn’t we stay with our tribe?” Cairn asked.             “The whole point of this pilgrimage is to have us all mix with each other.” Melanie found them two empty seats and threw herself into one.             Sitting down by her, his chair sagged beneath him. “This is a relic of the old world, isn’t it?”             “Bits and pieces I presume,” said Melanie, barely listening as she looked out of the window.             The train leapt from coniferous forest, past cliffs and across a bridge. Drones swarmed over the bridge. A man hanging from a harness waved to the train as it passed.             Cairn’s stomach twisted as his eyes locked on to waves hundreds of metres below. Before he had the chance to adjust the water was gone and green branches were slapping the train again. Pine needles slid along the glass like fingers searching for purchase.             “I’m Melanie.” She held out her hand to shake that of the girl in the seat nearest the window.             “I’m Felicia,” said the girl wearing glasses and a green shirt. “I’m from Bluebell Valley, where are you from?”             “We’re from Starfall Ridge,” said Cairn’s girlfriend.             “What’s your name?” Felicia asked, looking at him.             “Cairn.”             “Nice to meet you both, and to talk to someone.” Felicia smiled with snow white teeth, showing her upper gums.             “I’ve been excited about this trip since I was five,” said Melanie. She had her back to Cairn, but he didn’t mind. Being surrounded by hundreds of new, noisy people, was agitating him.             “I know. It’s going to be amazing.” Felicia’s voice hit high notes Cairn didn’t know girls could after puberty. “Can I stick with you two? Everyone else I know vanished while I was tying up my horse and I couldn’t find them.”             “You have a horse? So do I, he’s called Samwise.”             “My horse is called Cynthia.”             “What colour is she?” Melanie asked.             “Jet with a lily-white line down one half of her nose. White mane.”             “Ooh, I think I saw her when I walked Samwise on.” Now Melanie’s voice was hitting those high notes as well.             On a mountain ridge, the train looked down over a winding river that surely met the mighty body of water they had crossed on the bridge. A ruin clung to the far bank of the river. Twisted, rusting metal reached for the sky. Birds nested in empty floors of the towers. Foliage carpeted the lower floors, working its way up over time.             Forest swallowed the broken city. Oaks, ash, birches. A heron flew alongside the train until the whooping of the rowdy passengers scared it away.             Woodland became grassland, then scrub. Bare earth stretched on and on.             “The world is still healing,” said Felicia.             “It will be for a long time,” agreed Melanie.             “The people of the old world had great nerve to desecrate the beauty of nature. Another generation and we might not be here.” The spectacled girl pushed freckled fingers through red-brown hair.             “And yet they are our ancestors. Without them, we wouldn’t be here. We owe them our lives.”             “They owe us a world,” said Felicia, bitterly.             “It’s not so bad now. We can breathe. We can eat. The last of them weren’t responsible for this. They were left to make the tough choices. They made us.” Melanie’s voice carried a tone of reverence. “Imagine having to look at the ruin of the world, facing extinction and admitting that you had to fundamentally alter your nature to ensure a future for your children. We are something more and less than they were. More peaceful. More resilient. Less violent.” Soothed by her words, Cairn’s lids were drooping. He woke in darkness, lying in Melanie’s lap. “Get up, sleepyhead, time to go to bed.” For a while her words filtered down into his mind through a fog. He was going to bed with her? It rang a bell, a distant bell.             Snoring surrounded them. Some were still whispering to each other, looking out of the windows. Blinds had been pulled down over glass. Teenagers slept with their heads against a reflective surface beyond which the stars gleamed.             Shivering, he tiptoed down the aisle towards the rear of the train. They had to step over boys and girls who were lying down between the seats because there was nowhere else.             The sleeping cart was busier. Every bunk had one or two in it. Most were snoring. Some lay awake, unable to sleep because of the endless noise from the rest.             Either side of their bed were sleeping boys and girls. That they had respected the sanctity of clothing reservation said something about remade humans, Cairn thought. There was no chance the people of the old world would choose the floor when there was a bed only saved by a scarf and gloves.             Wood creaked as they lay down together on the thin matrass. With her arm wrapped around him, Melanie fell asleep in moments. He lay awake. Outside the window were stars he’d never seen before. The rhythmic gah-ton gah-ton sound of the train welcomed him back into dreams of the girl behind him. Her warmth and the hand against his stomach made sleep irresistible.             “Cairn. CAIRN. Wake up.” Rude hands shook him. He groaned. “I can see it, Cairn. Come and look,” her voice had never irritated him so much. His dreams of her had been a perfect mix of soothing and erotic.             “What can you see?” He rubbed his eyes.             “That you were dreaming about me,” she said with laughter in her voice. “Good boy.”             He turned over onto his stomach, hoping no one else had heard her. Her beautiful voice wasn’t helping him recall the blood from his morning glory.             “Come on.” She rocked him with uncaring hands. “I want to see your face when you see it. We’re almost there.”             He rolled from the bed and yawned. Her hand waved him to the window next to her. Cairn stretched stiff muscles and tried to find the target of her pointing finger. Orange light bathed the world. Streaks of red had been painted across the sky. Pink clouds were few and far between.             An imposing silhouette peered over the horizon. A head and shoulders dwarfed everything that lay before them. Cairn’s mouth lay open as he tried to comprehend the scale of something visible from so far away.             “That’s what I wanted to see.” Melanie kissed him. “Felicia is waiting for us in the stables.” She walked away. He caught another glimpse of the huge statue before following her to the rear of the train.             “The Last Soldier,” Felicia squeeled.             “I know!” Melanie’s voice hurt Cairn’s head. He winced.             “Another hour, you think?” Asked the redhead.             “Maybe two, it’s that big,” said the curly raven-haired woman of his dreams.             “Is he always so talkative?” Asked their new friend, with a teasing smile.             “I can’t shut him up.” Melanie laughed. “Cynthia is beautiful.” Her brown hand rubbed the black horse’s nose. Somewhere behind them another horse snorted in derision. “You are, of course, just as beautiful, Sam.” She gave a glittering smile as she looked back at his stall.             In no mood to talk, overwhelmed by the smell of horse manure, he walked to the back of the train. In the east a familiar golden orb sat above the horizon. Ruins overrun by the wild showed the scars of the last war. A crater had become a lake. Rivers ran down old streets.             “Brutal, isn’t it.” A boy wearing an orange and clay coloured poncho turned towards Cairn. A swirling tattoo covered one side of his face and ran down his neck past his collar.             “I guess that’s why we are what we’ve become.” Cairn couldn’t say why he was drawn to look at his hands. He was searching for some intangible difference between him and the homo erectus that had been waging war with itself for millennia. They were the homo pax, the children of peace.             “I’ve read a lot about what they thought it would be like to change from them into us,” said the tattooed boy. “They thought they would be lessened, neutered or something. Finding peace wasn’t losing something. It is the greatest gift we’ve ever been given. We never have to worry about each other again.”             Cairn nodded, eyes glazing over as he thought about it. “I’m Cairn.” He held out his hand.             “Aled,” said the other boy, reaching to shake. More tattoos were revealed as his forearm slipped out from his cream-coloured sleeve. “Wow.”             The Last Soldier loomed as they drew closer. Rusty shoulders towered over the horizon. Something in the warrior’s arms aimed towards the sky. They knew from old world media that it was a gun.             There were no guns left. Every weapon in the continent had been used to make The Last Soldier. At most people had bows and arrows, or spears for hunting. Melanie and her family made both and sold them to hunters throughout the lands.             “I’d better find my tribe,” said Aled.             “I should do the same. Good to meet you.”             “And you.” When the boy bowed, his poncho flapped forwards. Melanie was with Samwise. “Where did you disappear to?” The stable still stank of manure but with a window open, it was bearable. Bog outside the window was becoming forest again.             “I made a friend.” He stroked the snorting horse, which nuzzled him in return.             “Nice, where are they?”             “He had to go and find his tribe.”             “Everyone’s heading to the front of the train. Someone said it’s downhill soon. We’ll get the best view of The Last Soldier. Soon we’ll be too close to appreciate it.”             “Isn’t it a monument to everything we’re not meant to be anymore?” He asked.             “Yes,” she sighed. “But it’s also the biggest monument left in the world.”             “I guess we’d better look at it then,” he said. “But if the train turns then we can see as well from the back as the front. The train is definitely turning.” He took her hand, determined to be the assertive one for once.             The train began to slow, heading downhill. The pockets on armour that neither of them recognised were large enough to home families. There was no face. Goggles and a helmet hid the soldier from its audience.             It was judging them. Either it mourned the end of the age of violence that humanity had barely survived, or thought them ridiculous for building it in the first place. Haunting was the only apt description of the thing which both was and wasn’t looking at them. It was the ghost of a fallen god.             Cairn guided Melanie to the back of the train. Among the carts of the many tribes. Alone, he held her hips and kissed her.             “We’re going to miss it,” she said, breathlessly.             “It’s right there.” He pointed over her shoulder.             Looming above them, many miles away, The Last Soldier held its vigil.             “Aren’t you going to look,” she asked, as he nuzzled at her neck.             “I’d rather look at you. It’s the past. Hopefully you’re my future.”             For once, she blushed. Melanie’s arms folded around them. They forgot the twice in a lifetime view. Kisses down her neck brought gasps from her. Fingers digging into his shoulders made him wince, dragging her hand down his back.             Her trembling hands fumbled with her buttons as he kissed his way down her chest. Her shirt fell away. Beaming with pride at the awestruck look on his face, she embraced him. “Your turn,” she whispered. Together they freed him of his long-sleeved T-shirt and lay down on their clothes.             “I’ve never,” Cairn said.             “I know.” Melanie smiled. “You’ll be great.” A horn blared.             They looked between the carts. The reimagined bones of an old-world station swallowed the train.             “Seriously, now!” Melanie frowned, reaching for her clothes.             “We’ll find somewhere later,” he said, eyes worshiping her body.             “Put some clothes on, quick.”             “I love you,” he said.             She paused, thrusting her hand down a sleeve. Bending down again, she kissed him. “I love you too.”             Sunlight burst through glass in every colour of the rainbow. Smiling as the carts changed from red to blue to yellow and so on, they kissed again. The Last Station was a sight to behold, especially when they did so hand in hand.


Rain pours down on the freeway. Even with the wipers on high, seeing is problematic. Kyle and Amy just got off work. They’re heading to their neighborhood bar and grill for happy hour and then dinner before heading home. Traffic has slowed, not to a standstill, but to the point that everyone is being cautious. They pull off at their exit when their phones sound a loud warning tone. Amy checks her phone to see what the warning concerns, hoping there isn’t a tornado in the area. Emergency Alert Oak Grove police department has activated an amber alert. The victim is 11-year-old Shannon Brewster. The suspects are unknown. The vehicle is a light-blue 2022 Honda Pilot license plate 6Y897E. Last seen heading east on JFK Drive. If observed, please call 911. Amy reads the alert out loud to Kyle. She looks over in the left turn lane and spots a vehicle fitting the description. The license plate is a match. She calls 911. “911 state your emergency.” “Yes, we have spotted the vehicle identified in the amber alert. It’s on the I-40 offramp at Tucker Street getting ready to head west.” “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll alert officers in that area.” “Wait, what should we do?” “Just go about your day, ma’am. The police will handle it.” Amy hangs up the phone and taps it on her leg. “Switch lanes, Kyle. I don’t want to let them out of our sight. I’m going to keep updating my Facebook status so people can keep the police informed while we tail them.” “That sounds like a plan if I ever heard one,” Kyle says as he throws on his blinker and forces his way over. Status update Friends and family, Kyle and I are following the kidnappers of Shannon Brewster. I will be updating my Facebook frequently with news regarding her whereabouts. Please keep the police informed as this matter progresses. ·

Rebecca Sikes - Be careful you guys. We love you! ·

Abby Palmer - You’re so brave. Let’s get that girl home safely! ·

Andy Biggs - Standing by. Be careful. ·

Anita Young - This is your mother. Let the police handle it! Mom, the police might never find her. We might be her only hope. Just stand by and keep the police informed. Status update The suspects jumped on I-180 heading north. They have picked up speed now that the rain has stopped but they are careful not to exceed the speed limit. More details to follow. ·

Andy Biggs - Calling 911now. ·

Abby Palmer - Stay with them guys. You got this! Status update We are now heading east on Martin Luther King Jr. Drive. They just turned north on Lynch. Status update They just pulled into an abandoned factory. We are keeping our distance. Posting photo now. ·

Anita Young - You guys are on the wrong side of town. People are found dead there all the time. You’ve done your part. Please, get out of there and come home. ·

Andy Biggs - I agree with your mom. Great job guys. I called 911. Cops are on their way. Kyle and Amy sit and stare at the derelict factory. “I just can’t leave her here,” Kyle says. “What if he does something to her before the cops get here? That poor girl has been through enough already.” “What do you want to do?” “There are some windows over on the side. If we climb up on those barrels, we should be able to see inside. We can keep an eye on her and make sure he doesn’t hurt her before the cops arrive.” Status update Kyle and I cannot leave that girl here by herself to suffer more trauma. We are going to keep an eye on her through the windows. If this man tries to hurt her before the police arrive, Kyle and I are going to do everything we can to stop him. ·

Anita Young - For Christ’s sake just leave!!! ·

Rebecca Sikes - You guys are such heroes. Please, don’t get caught. Kyle and Amy Scurry across the wide-open parking lot in front of the factory over to the side with the windows. Kyle helps Amy up onto a barrel and she peeks in. She gasps and dunks down, her face ghostly white with disbelief. “What is it,” Kyle asks, concerned, ready to run in there. “Child pornography. They’re taking pictures of little kids naked. There are a ton of them in there, all locked in cages. One was being photographed as a man yells at her, telling her what to do. Another is having make-up applied like she’s an adult. It’s creepy. God, I feel so bad for them, they look so scared. I have to get a picture of this for evidence.” Amy slowly stands up and looks in. She takes a few pictures and dunks back down. Status update Pictures posted. ·

Abby Palmer - OMG! Is that what I think it is? ·

Oscar Mills - Sorry I’m late to the party, but I have to advise you guys to get the hell out of there! ·

Andy Biggs - I’m going to update the police. They might want backup. Seriously guys, time to go! ·

Bert Young - Your mother is in hysterics, young lady. Get your butt home! “I Think it’s time for us to get out of here babe. We are way out of our league if these guys catch us.” Amy’s foot catches on the rim of the barrel as she gets down. The barrel is knocked over with a resounding crash as it bangs into other barrels. Kyle and Amy can hear the commotion inside and run for their car. They are halfway across the parking lot when gunfire erupts, and chunks of pavement are thrown into the air. They make it to the car, whip it around, and take off, a bullet shattering their back window. On their way out, police cars are on their way in. Status update Kyle and I are heading home. Our back windshield was shot out, but we are okay. Police were on their way in as we were leaving. Thank you all for your help! Amy’s photo of the porn-ring in action was a crucial piece of evidence to having everyone involved locked up. Kyle and Amy were recognized by the city for their bravery in assisting the police with shutting it down. During a dinner in their honor, each kid that was saved that night presented them with a flower, a hug, and a heartfelt thank you.


Click. Click. Click.

The ancient grandfather clock on the wall stirs you from your thoughts. It makes every minute loom over your head; feeling as though you are stuck in the clock yourself—trapped amongst the Roman numerals. Minutes go by in a flash. Hours tick by. You ball up your fists in anticipation.

In a moment of frustration, you look around you and time nearly stands still as you take in your surroundings. The smell of antique

books fills the air; your love of literature has colored your

childhood. You take a deep breath in. A whiff of the fresh apple pie in the oven hits your nose. Fragrant. Just the way you like it. People may mock you for your ‘old soul’ tendencies. But it’s your life. Books, baked goods, and a simple approach to life has kept drama and toxicity away from you.

Click. Click. Click.

The ticks from the clock distract you from your thoughts and you’re shaken back into reality.

Of course she’s not coming. Why would she? She has been absent for most of the 25 years of your life.

The “she” is your mom. You sigh and pick up your calendar lying across from you. June 26th, 2013. It’s only your birthday. No big deal. Only your 25th birthday. She had called to say she’d visit. You had cried and said you were going to show her your new apartment. And your fiance. He was new, too. He was going to be a surprise for your mother and you were going to talk about engagement plans all giddy like schoolgirls.

You wipe fresh tears away and cross the date off on the calendar with a bright, red marker. The red slashes through the date like a knife. Well, happy birthday to you. You head to bed.

    									 * * *

Bring! Bring!

Your phone rings with a sense of urgency. You roll out of bed and pick it up. You answer with a groggy “..hello?”

It’s her. Your mother. The one and only.

She had been MIA most of your life. She had left you and your father when you were only 5 years old, claiming that she had to “find herself,” and she wasn’t really “cut out” to be a mother. She disappeared—just like that. Then, last month, she left a long voice message about how sorry she was and how she’d try to make it up to you by visiting you. But she hadn’t remembered how old you were. Nor when your birthday was. She said she’d check into a hotel nearby and you could catch up. Pitiful that you believed her.

“How are you? I’m sorry I couldn’t come.”

“I’m alright.”

“Good.”

“So when?”

“When…?”

“When will you come? Or are you even going to?”

“About that…”

“Bye.”

You slam the phone down. The tears come again, but you push them back. 25 years of forgiving her and just accepting whatever excuse she threw. But not this time. Your anger nearly smokes out of your ears as you call her number back.

“Hello?”

“I’m DONE with it!”

“What’s going on?” “I’m SICK of this, did you FIND YOURSELF or whatever?? I’m 25 years old and I’m NOT going to just TAKE whatever LOUSY excuses you throw at me. You’re my MOTHER. WHY CAN’T YOU ACT LIKE IT?”

“...”

“No comment huh?”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“I really don’t know. Just know, I WILL figure out WHAT you’re up to.”

You slam the phone and take your face in your hands. Tears trickle down. In a mix of anger and sadness, you slam your face into your pillow.

Shortly after your mom had disappeared, your father was left alone to raise you. It was a tough journey. Then, you had gone off to college and gotten a job. You’d gotten older. You’d “moved out of the nest.”

But then, a sudden heart attack took him from your life, too. You had been left all alone. That hadn’t stopped you from gaining success with your career and saving up to secure your own apartment.

You quickly snap out of the backstory. You get dressed and throw your wallet, phone, and some snacks into a tote bag. It was time for a little road trip.

She sent out a letter when you were 14 years old. She made the mistake of including a return address. She had wanted to disappear, but that address was your key into discovering just what was going on.

You throw on a jacket and head to the car. She lived a few states down, in South Carolina. Since you lived in Delaware, it would take nearly 10 hours. But you are ready. Since she decided to call at 4 in the morning, you had time to book a train.

You put the pedal to the metal.

 							 * * *

You park the car and step out of it. Since it’d take almost the entire day to reach her, you were prepared to park your car overnight. Bag in hand, you arrive at the station.

You step onto the train. Out of your window, the first streaks of daylight bring light to the sky. You pull a book out of your bag and read as the train chugs along. Eventually, you fall into a deep sleep that lasts the duration of the quest. Truly, you had no idea what to expect. Besides the one letter you received from her 11 years ago, and the phone calls you’d exchanged with her starting from last month, you had no contact with her. She just didn’t want it. And you wanted nothing to do with her.

SSSh.

The train comes to a halt. It appears you’ve arrived. Bag in hand, you head to the station. You call a cab and hold your breath. It’s finally time to find out the truth. “Wait!”

The taxi remains glued to the road. A mother and daughter appear to be in dire need of a ride. You groan at first, but then you take another look at them. They are almost identical. The girl of about 6 years has her mother’s eyes, nose, and smile. It was like looking into two sides of a mirror. You move aside and let them sit next to you, and smile tiredly over the mother’s several thank-you’s.

The taxi departs the station. The mother and daughter got off an hour ago, their stop was to a beautiful brick house where a man welcomed them with happy arms. A family. Sounded foreign to you.

But now, you were at the address. Her address.

You squint at the house. It is run-down. It is almost abandoned. It is small, beat up-looking.

You thank the taxi driver and tip him, then you brace yourself.

You pound at the door.

It opens to reveal a tiny hallway. Scattered around it are bottles of every color and brand imaginable. Shards of glass are at your feet. Carefully, you step over them.

Ashtrays are gingerly placed on the windowsills. There are a few plants. But they are all dead and withered.

Then, a woman steps up to you. You look at her. She has your hair, but it is dirty and thinning. She has your eyes, but life is sucked out of them. She has your facial structure, but hers looks worn out and much older. She starts to cry.

You are startled. You realize, you are looking into a mirror.

But the mirror is cracked.