Mark woke up with his face half buried in his pillow, and before he even opened his eyes he was enveloped by panic. His pupils shot into the corner of his eyes and he looked up into a bleary ceiling, recognising his room. That much was good - he had returned home safe. He had gotten really drunk last night. He felt dehydrated, slow, confused; hangover was going to be the theme of the day. Yet seconds after he regained consciousness he felt something was missing. He swung around toward the middle of the bed and felt around it with his hand and arm. It was empty, except for his smartphone. His honour was not there; it was missing. “I knew it!” He thought. Hopefully his honour was in the kitchen or some other room, or maybe taking a shower in the bathroom. He really wanted to go and check, but he was hung over, so he remained in bed. He reburied his face in the pillow, with one eye closed on the fabric and another staring at the white cabinet next to his bed. He was frozen with worry; his body remained perfectly still. It was a great night; it sure started off great. All the boys showed up before the sun even set, the ones he saw often and the old dogs he hadn’t seen in a while. It was a balmy summer night, everyone was very happy to see each other, everyone was ready to party. It was the weekend, man, time for real men to show how much they didn’t care about this world. They cared about each other, they hugged and slapped each other’s backs, they recognised a brother in each other. Some started drinking early, and then others imitated them. Old Louis pulled out a cigarette and lit it, laughing and not giving a fuck. Everyone brought their honour along, of course. The honours strutted around the crowd, looking mighty good. They mingled and talked to each other, then to the boys. By the time the night fell and most people were on their second or third drink, it was impossible to track whose honour was talking to which man. Everything got blurry, it seemed, as though individuals melted away and fused into one undulating mass of spirit. And it was good to be in that mass, saying things you usually don’t say, things that your friends knew you would say anyways, without you having to say them, but whatever - it was good to vocalise those things. Every man clings to his honour. But you can’t cling to it too much - people will think you are stuck up, you think you are better than them. That’s why it’s imperative - and natural really - to let one’s honour loose at a party. Let it off the leash, so to speak, let it get lost in the crowd, let others talk to it, get to know it. It’s perfectly safe; what kind of an animal would hurt another man’s honour? It was in this zeal to show solidarity that Mark let his honour completely out of sight. It was chatting with Mark’s jiu-jitsu friends when he went to the bar to get another drink. Mark then walked to the other side of the patio and picked a conversation with Jimmy, who owns a pizza joint that everyone loves. He then talked to Val, the boxer. Man! That guy was talking some hilarious stuff about French women! And man! Marco suddenly remembered that he told Val how he once hired a French prostitute in Barcelona. Shit! Hopefully Val was too drunk to remember that conversation. Mark was certainly willing to forget. His memory became blurry after that. He took a cab to a street food joint where he clearly remembers hugging Jim for a little too long. They talked about racism for like half an hour, maybe even longer. It was a little raw, but Mark was not a racist, definitely not a racist, so he shouldn’t have anything to worry about. His concern finally grew to a point where it propelled him out of the bed. He trekked to the kitchen where he found a water jug and forced himself to take twenty gulps of water. He found a boiled egg from the day before, salted it abundantly, and ate it in three bites. It would help the hangover. He then checked the rooms of his apartment one by one. His honour was nowhere to be found. He crashed back into the bed and tried to devise a plan of action. He would have to go outside and look for it. About two hours later he went to the bathroom and took a long shower. He shampooed and soaped himself thoroughly, he rubbed his hair for a good several minutes. He brushed his teeth in the shower, too. It got the stinks out of his body, but as far as helping him feel sharper or stronger, it didn’t really help. And his honour was still missing. He put on some of his more decent, respectable clothes and walked out. Unlike his soul, the day was bright and lively, the city was bustling. It was good that everyone was so cheery, thought Mark, hopefully no one will notice him trudging around without his honor. He walked into a busy coffee shop and ordered a big black coffee. He must have drunk over seven beers last night, that’s a mountain of calories, so no breakfast for him today. Well, no lunch really, it was already two in the afternoon. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. As with most people, Mark and his honour shared one phone. Having separate phones and social media accounts for you and your honour was too duplicitous in their view; they both loathed the few people who did it. So the fact that the phone was on him obviously meant that he his honour had no phone on which to be buzzed. Not only that, Mark thought, but he had been drunk with access to social media without his honour present to keep him in check - this can bode no good. Who knows if he sent some horrifying drunk messages to some ex-girlfriend or other; the thought tortured him and he was afraid to check his chat history. He did check the group chat that had a lot of the buddies he saw last night. A few of the guys were talking about their hangover. They were all establishing that their honour got back home with them safely last night. But what was Mark to say? What would people think if they found out his honour was missing? After the coffee he walked out of the coffee shop and strolled up and down the leafy streets, thinking about what to do. The summer sunshine should clear his head, he should think of something then. He didn’t notice it but he must have been walking around for an hour, because the only thing that came to him eventually was a feeling of sickness. It might be an onset of a sun stroke, and besides, he was probably looking all lost and desperate. He went back home. He was now really starting to despair. How’s he supposed to go to work tomorrow without his honour? How was he supposed to do anything, really? One cannot go through life all alone, like a stray dog, without honour. The patio from last night transformed in his memory from a place of felicity to some infernal vortex that spirits away people’s honour like some evil, perverted kidnapper. The more he tried to recall details, the more he began to hate the place. His mental effort to figure out what happened to his dear honor only resulted in amplifying the terror building up in his chest. Finally, the fear pushed his meandering mind onto an idea. He figured it out. He was going to have to face the monster. The only thing to do, really, was to go back to the place and straight-up demand from whomever was working there to tell him who it was exactly who snatched his honour. He was going to have to be brave, to look the enemy dead in the eye. Thus it was that he ordered a cab, and when the sun had already become slanted and soft, set off to the patio. He found the place quiet, less than a third full. He sat at the bar and observed the waiter working there. The man had a black shirt, he was wiping the countertop with a white rag. Once he finished that he walked over to Mark and nodded at him respectfully. “What’s up, man?” he greeted Mark. “What are you having?” Mark looked at him carefully. He saw no signs of malicious intent, nothing in the way of insincerity. The man looked quite bored, in fact. Mark ordered an Asahi. He picked up the chilled glass jug and took a sip of the beer. It made him feel better. He took out his phone and checked the group chat again. No news; some of the boys posted some funny gifs, the regular fare. He then put his phone away and looked around the patio. He decided he would wait until something happens, until he sees a sign, a hint of where his honour had gone. He had been waiting a while when he noticed a table with several pretty women eating desert and taking photos of each other. How superficial, though Mark. He may have lost his honour, but at least he wasn’t the type of person to order a blueberry tart and take a photo of himself eating it. “Those girls over there really love your deserts,” he said to the waiter. “Yeah, haha!” The waiter got his point. “Say,” Mark continued. “Have you by any chance seen an honour walking around here today?” “An honour?” answered waiter. “It’s a bar, man, there’re honours buzzing around here all the time. You see people chatting them up, sometimes even roughin’ ‘em up a bit, smackin’ ‘em around, but all in good fun. Which particular honour are you looking for?” “Ah, never mind,” Mark waved the question off. The waiter went back to looking bored and fumbling with utensils around the ice box. “Hey man,” said Mark again after a while, then nodded at the waiter’s cigarette pack, “can I bum one of your cigarettes?” “Sure, man!” The waiter offered him the pack, then lit his cigarette. “If you want another just help yourself,” he then said, placing the pack on the counter top within Mark’s reach. He then walked away to replace a metal beer barrel under the counter, on the far end of the bar where the beer taps were located. Browder really appreciated the gesture. He got back to his beer and relished the cigarette. He was starting finally to calm down. He was even starting to feel a little inspired as he reminisced about the party last night. His memory of it was starting to turn for the better. Maybe after all it will be remembered by everyone as a great night. His honour probably got too drunk and fell asleep in the park somewhere. It will come back, and everything will be fine. It was in the midst of his reverie, as he was slouched on the bar, that he received a hearty slap on the back. He turned around in surprise, and what would you know! It was his honour! He looked perfectly fine, smiling at him with that generous and knowing smile Mark knew so well. His face was a little puffed up, but that was perfectly understandable considering the night he had. He was still wearing the same clothes as last night, casual khaki shorts and flipflops, and a breezy white shirt unbuttoned low. “There you are!” exclaimed Mark as he jumped off his stool. “Where in the world have you been! You had me worried sick!” They embraced each other. “What do you mean?” said the honour. “Man, you must have really gotten pissed. Don’t you remember me telling you that I was gonna crash in the overnight sauna? The one downstairs?” It was a rooftop patio. “I told you a needed a detox, that I need to freshen up.” “No, I don’t remember that!” Mark smiled and placed his palm in his forehead, “Silly me! Yes I did have a few too many last night.” “Ha-ha,” the honour laughed. “Didn’t we all. It was an epic party. I gotta tell you some stories!” The honour sat down on a stool next to Mark and they caught up merrily. Needless to say, all was forgiven between the two of them. They ordered another round of beers. Mark introduced his honour to the waiter; the waiter was happy to meet him. It gave Mark a great sense of relief to finally be able to introduce his honour to other people again. The honour had brought a plastic bag with him, and he took out of it a plastic plate of shrink-wrapped pineapple slices. “Have some of these,” he said, “They are still fresh and cold.” They ate the pineapple slices with relish and went over the stories of what had transpired last night. Honour insisted that it was in fact an excellent party. Many of the guys and many of the honours had told Mark’s honour that they hadn’t had that much fun in a while. Mark then up brought up his concerns; the few potential *faux-pas* moves he may have committed. He mentioned letting slip the story about the French prostitute to Val, and how he went real deep about racism with Jim. To his great relief, his honour merely laughed and pinched his neck cordially: “Dude, you worry way too much! You’re like the nicest guy out of all of us, and everyone knows it. Of course no one thinks any less of you! They don’t even remember what you told them, and now that I told *you* all the stuff I saw them do, you definitely have nothing to worry about.” The encouragement was so great that Mark finally gathered up the courage to check his chat histories, to see what exactly he texted to whom when he had been left drunk and without his honour with his phone. Again there was relief: he had texted neither his ex nor one of the three or four girls that had ghosted him and whom he texts when he loses all inhibition. The worst thing he did was going on the Instagram profile on an old male acquaintance and liking some ten to fifteen of his consecutive posts; this was excessive, but can be taken ironically, as a friendly joke. Once again his honour reassured him that no one will even notice. Once they finished the beers, Mark decided that they should leave, and he gestured the waiter for the bill. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Two beers for me is enough. I don’t want to lose you again, he-he!” “Yeah, let’s go home and watch some Netflix,” the honour said. “We’re definitely watching that show on Netflix tonight,” said Mark. “But first we are going to the hair salon. I need a haircut.” Mark left a generous tip for the waiter. The two then left the patio, whose memory was now fully redeemed for Mark. He would definitely recommend the place to his friends. In fact, he couldn’t wait to recommend it.


You see, there is this tunnel and it is starting to feel more like a labyrinth and that light, the supposed light at the end of the tunnel, it's never where you would expect. I wonder how I am to find my way when the directions change so often, and I am taunted by the thought of a short-cut. The corridors are thin, the old paint flaking off the walls. It's so cold. The dampness settles on your skin, the drips echoing in the distance reminding you of the horror you're in. You can call out all you want but nobody will hear you, this place doesn't exist after all. You’ve have walked for years, at some points reaching beyond the edge, feeling the sunshine and tasting the moisture in the fresh air. Yet only to be pulled back into the darkness wondering which way was which. That little taste of the outside gives you hope. Each turn and each direction leads to a different outcome, you begin to wonder how there is so many. The floor you find yourself again as the tunnels seem to enclose around you. The thought of taking one of those short cuts becomes almost too good to be true. Now is the time to remind yourself, the consequence. A deal with the devil, shake the thought or make the mistake. What haven't you tried? Have you been this way before? Disorientation holds you as the tunnels begin to change. It's happening again, when you look up expect to not recognise the tunnels. There will be more corridors and they’ll be leading in all different directions once again. The tunnel wears make-up. It's out to get you. So answer me this? How are you to get out of a place that doesn't exist, yet controls you so well? You don't understand, this run's deeper than your chemicals. This place has a hold, you don't get to leave because you solved a chemical. Cause and effect, effect and cause. This tunnel runs beyond your mental, beyond your physical. Beyond your control. At this point, it's dark in there but not all is lost. You look back to the solution you once found wandering these spindly lines a long time ago. Control. You realise the more you can control, the less the tunnel seems to hold onto you. Unfortunately, without realising it, you've wandered down a forbidden short-cut. At first you welcome, almost encourage the simple mistake. You know you should turn around while you can. You know where this goes, we've been here before. At some point, the patter of paws was sounded through-out the tunnels. United with a gift from the outside, a friend. Here, just for you, and you, for him. It's okay as he walks the tunnels with you, he doesn't feel that sort of despair but he's knows you need him. He'll never be far now. Even in the darkest parts his fur will be less than a reach out away. believe it or not he needs you just as much. It will still happen, the disorentation, the direction changing, the taste of the outside and taking a wrong turn here and there, but it will become easier. The labyrinth is like the universe, it will never get smaller. Always expanding. The more years you spend wandering, the more turns, directions and tunnels will exist in this place that doesn't exist. It will get lighter, it will get darker, the tunnels thinner and sometimes thicker. Some colder and some slightly warmer.


Across the river and through a windswept valley, lies a fork in the road. At the left path, one will find a forest- enchanted by mischievous spirits. Towards the right turn, a great mountain appears in view. At times we have no idea of which path to take. Yet, in the end, our hearts know where to go. Crossing the river is a tricky maneuver. After all, the water decides whether or not you can pass. With my raft held high over head, I trudge towards the rushing road. PLOP....SPLASH! The vessel lands in the river. With care, I unstrap the oars- one for each hand. Hopefully they are strong enough to handle the powerful current. I begin to find a rhythm in steering the craft. Slowly but surely, I will reach ashore. The water is cold and freezes my face on contact. Despite the discomfort, I must continue my trek. Rowing against the current is arduous. My arms grow tired. Alas, after another forty five minutes- I land ashore. There is no longer a need to keep the raft. So I drag the drenched craft towards a boulder. I then find another stone and place the rock onto the raft. The rope that I have on my person is more important for the remaining parts of my journey. I cannot forsake the brades by tying the raft to the boulder. With my vessel secure, I bid the river adieu. Should I return, I am unsure. However, I thank the current for allowing my safe passage. Walk five miles past the river, then you shall see a fork in the road. The left takes a traveler towards an enchanted forest. On the right, the wanderer will cross a more rugged terrain- boulders and stones adorn the path. After the rocky road stands a proud mountain. Surely a decision should be made easier if one knows what lays on each path- right? Well, even though one has an idea of what trials are ahead, they are still at a loss for how the path will converge. There are some who select a path that appears smooth; however, in reality, the trail is rugged and overwhelmed with hidden obstacles. Sometimes, it is better for others to stand firm in the decision that follows a path with clear challenges. After all, the fear of hardship is less when one knows that rough sailing lays ahead. For me, I take the path I feel more competent to complete. Though people may say: Go big or go home. I would rather be able to go home at the end of the day. When my journey is complete, I want to be able to see how far I have come and the accomplishments made. To choose a path smartly is to choose success. Of course, failure crosses many paths. One needs to be certain that their final act does not result in failure. That is the mark of regret- a burden which hangs heavy on broken hearts. Choose wisely.... The words ring through my ears like chimes dangling in the wind. The phrase stops me in my tracks. I look back and forth; left, right, left, right... Do I take the path with the forest or the trail through the mountain terrain? Either way, danger is inevitable. I have to decide which set of hardships will fare me better. To fail is not an option. Therefore, I must choose which path feels right. In my heart, I feel the blood pump through my veins. Listen: Thud.. thud....thud... Perhaps, listening to one's heart is a figure of speech. An answer cannot be found through the physical pulses. I give a wry smile that parts into a bout of laughter. Of course! Take the time to think but not damn myself by thinking too much. After all, being lost in thought is a dangerous thing- more dangerous than acting on impulse. Clear your mind.... That voice rings loud in my head. Again, it seems that I am not alone on this journey. All right, I confer. Inhale deep and exhale slowly- the process some refer to as meditation. As long as my mind is focused and calm, any actions that I take will be done with precision. The left path is mine. True, the great mountain is tempting. On the other hand, my heart knows where to go. With my spirit, I am able to find my way through this lifetime. I have to trust the idea that I am here with reason- my life is not in vain. Therefore, I am confident in my decision- combatting malicious spirits is a manageable task. The forest will be my home. Alas! Here I must take my leave. We meet many people in our lives- all along various points of intersection. For some chapters, we travel with the same companions that we have met before. On the other hand, there are sections in our lives in which our good old friends do not share a part in our journey. Yet, that does not mean we forsake our friends; rather, we learn through different interactions and experiences. We will remain friends as long as our hearts are true. When people create a bond, they share a spiritual link that cannot break. With that said, I pray you well friend on your journey. Shall we see each other again after I tarry through this forest? I am confident that the answer is: Yes. Until then, you must commit to your path. I must take my own. Let's stay true to ourselves and follow our hearts. For when we are lost, we will always have a compass. We just have to take a breath and pause. With a calm mind, the traveler can see the path that lays ahead. Despite the forks in the road, a wandering heart will know which way to go.


The beach is an oxymoronic location in times of peril. The horizon and the gentle waves create a soothing image, and the shoreline often serves as a sanctuary from the disorder of the world around. Lying on the beach listening to the rhythm of the current is a doorway to tranquility. In contrast, beaches will often serve as the site of brutality. Major battles will occur in the sands, and the outcome of those battles impacts the direction of the entire war. The waters of the beach hide predators both animal and human. The tides have washed blood off the sand for it to achieve sanctuary status. The shipwreck on the shore embodies this contradicting image. The exterior and the hull of the ship have suffered minimal damage, but the violence is hidden deep within the cabin. The surrounding sand and tide ignore this ship and choose to go about their routine. The ocean water flows around the ship and returns to the ocean unbothered. Sergeants Gil and Nilsen drive on the beach in a rusted jeep . They are soldiers for an army with little power outside of its bases. If raiders or other groups discovered their status, they would attack without remorse. The two of them do not wear the standard army uniform; instead, they both wear long pants and a t-shirt with sunglasses. Upon closer inspection, the high quality of their clothes would reveal that they do not have to fight for their survival unlike others. The sergeants step out of the vehicle onto the sand. Nilsen pulls out a small Geiger counter from the backseat while Gil picks up a rifle. Nilsen approaches the shipwreck geiger counter in hand. Gil follows closely behind him scanning the beach for any adversaries. The Geiger counter starts to ring as Nilsen gets closer to the ship; he climbs onto the boat for closer inspection. Gil walks around the boat to scan the perimeter. She hears rummaging and the Geiger counter’s beeps within the ship, but she does not hear any sign of a struggle. Nilsen stands over the side of the boat and looks at her. “Looks like four people lived here, a man and a woman who looked to be in their sixties and two men in their thirties. I found them all in the bedroom. There is no sign that they fought, but they had definitely been raided,” Nilsen leans over the hull. Behind him, Gil notices a translucent smoke in the air. When the smoke reaches the ground, she notices a slight blur in the sky that could’ve easily gone unnoticed. The blur moves close to Nilsen; Gil holds up the rifle and shoots at the blur. After the bullet makes contact with the blur, the invisibility wears off, and a man wearing a small jetpack becomes visible. He falls on the ground behind Nilsen who immediately stands on top of the assailant to keep him down. Gil jumps onto the deck and looks for other attackers. Nilsen holds the Geiger down to the man and watches it wildly beep. “Mieran tech. Tell me where you got it?” he says. “Screw you soldier boy,” the man grunts. Nilsen moves his hand to the man’s wound and presses on it. The man screams. “Did you come alone?” Nilsen removes his hand. “I am not telling you shit,” the man says. Nilsen moves off of the man and flips him over. Nilsen takes the jetpack off of the man to examine its computer. Nilsen leaves his foot on the man. “We got lucky,” Nilsen smiles at Gil, “They knew how to get it to fly and turn invisible, but they never learned how to erase the flight logs.” “Wait, what?!” the man on the ground screams. Nilsen looks at him. “We just found your base. If you tell us any information, we promise to go easy on you,” Nilsen says. “Okay, okay,” the man starts to squirm, “We have a small shack on the shore North of here. It is just two other guys there, Blake and Zach. Blake found the jetpacks at the edge of a small town far away here.” “Does this town have a name?” Nilsen asks. “I forgot!” the man yells. Nilsen nods at Gil; Gil shoots the man in the head. Nilsen and Gil walk away from the ship to their car. Gil drives while Nilsen navigates. They leave their vehicle a few miles away from the shack and walk the rest of the way armed with handguns. The shack is small and made of bricks with small entrances and exits around it. Before the war, this must’ve been a small beachside restaurant. Two men are sitting in small beach chairs outside the front looking at the waves. Gil and Nilsen crouch and slowly approach the shack. Neither of the men react as the soldiers circle around to the front. With sharp agility, the two soldiers wrap their arms around the men and hold their guns to the men’s head. The men start to shake and resist, but the arms pressed against their windpipes impedes their attempts. “We talked to your buddy down at the boat,” Nilsen ensures that both of them can hear it, “He said that Blake found the Mieran technology outside of a small town. First, which one of you is Blake?” “He is,” Zach points at the man Gil is holding. “Your buddy is a coward,” Gil says to Blake. “Screw you,” Blake says. “Boys, stop fighting. Blake please tell us the name of the town where you found the Mieran tech,” Nilsen says. “I told you already. I don’t know. I just found these jet packs lying on the edge of a lake,” Blake says. “Okay,” Nilsen nods at Gil, “We are done here.” The two soldiers pull the trigger and kill the men. They walk into the shack and find the other two jet packs lying close to the door. After a search for other technology, they find no other Mieran technology, but they find the results of several raids. They walk back to their car with the jetpacks. Sergeant Gil gets on the radio to communicate with their base. “Sergeants Gil and Nilsen reporting. We found the Mieran technology responsible for the raids on the beach that residents dubbed the ghost raids. They do not remember where they got the technology from. We are bringing the packs back to base for a full analysis of the flight logs.” Gil says. “Roger that, Sergeants Gil and Nilsen. We await your arrival,” the operator replies. The two drive away from the beach leaving the scene of carnage against the peaceful backdrop.


“No, because why would someone who isn’t tall enough to reach the 30th button even live on the 30th floor? Why not just live on the 10th floor or whatever?” Raymond asked “I think you’re missing the point dude, you got the answer right, why are you still heated?” responded Ian. “Because it doesn’t make any sense, why woul-” “I’m not going through this with you again, are we going to build this fire or what?” The conversation between the two young men echoed throughout the suburb around them as they stood around an empty fire pit on a particularly cold May night. Raymond was wearing khaki pants, white tennis shoes and a hoodie which bore his university’s logo, contrasting Ian’s outfit of basketball shorts, open-toed sandals and a t-shirt, all well worn. Directly next to the firepit was a wood pile, which consisted of logs, sticks and twigs, all of which came from the forest a few yards away from the fire pit. “It’s already pretty late, and it rained today, going to be pretty damn hard to get shit to light,” Raymond said. “It stopped raining at like, noon and we’re the only ones here, plenty of time to get it going before everyone else comes over.” Ian replied. Raymond consented, and the boys/men gathered sticks and leaves from the nearby wood pile. After a while, they had gathered a good amount, and placed them in the way they were taught in the middle of the fire pit, pushing in partially burnt pieces of wood from fires past to supplement their sticks, twigs and leaves. “Grab the cardboard,” Raymond said. Ian looked up from the pile, “Let’s try to get it going without it, like our ancestors of old.” “Fuck our ancestors, I’m cold,” his angered friend replied. Ian sighed, “Let’s just try it without the cardboard, and if we need it, we’ll use it, ok?” Raymond scoffed “Fine. I don’t know why I let you make all the decisions, it’s my house.” “But my cardboard,” replied Ian, smiling mockingly. Raymond promptly flipped him off, and they finished the preparations for the fire. Raymond moved towards the center of the teepee of sticks, lighter in hand. He angled the lighter so that it would light the tight bundle of flammable leaves in the center without knocking the makeshift creation over. “You got it?” asked Ian. “I got it. Wait one fucking second, will you?” responded the flame bearer. “Sorrrry” Ian said sarcastically, “Somebody’s in a mood tonight.” “It’s goddamn freezing out here, aren’t you cold?” Raymond asked as he attempted to cup the lighter’s flame from the wind. “Not particularly, no,” the summer-clad man replied. Raymond turned and looked at his friend, his eyes lingering on his feet, particularly on Ian’s toes, which glowed beet red in the lighter’s flame. “Why do you even want a fire, if you’re so warm?” inquired Raymond sarcastically. Ian smiled, “Why, all of mankind’s developments were spurred on by fire, my unlearned friend, without fire, no meat, without meat, no brain, no brain, no…..everything” he gestured to the world around him. “Still not sure what that has to do with me freezing my ass off trying to set some leaves on fire,” said Raymond. “Because man commanded fire, man commands the world, don’t you want to command the world, Ray?” Raymond rolled his eyes at his friend’s grandiosity, “you know, sometimes I feel like you just say stuff to sound smart.” “Not all that hard to do when compared to the company I keep” “Fuck off,” Raymond said, throwing the lighter at Ian, “and get the cardboard, this shit won’t light.” Ian furrowed his brow “Let me try, did you aim it at the pine needles?” Raymond ignored him, and began ripping up the empty box of a cake Ian’s family bought for his graduation days before. Simultaneously, Ian made his own attempt at getting the fire going, being able to successfully light some leaves on fire, but failed to spread the flame whatsoever. After several failed attempts, he stood back up, turned around, and was met with the sight of Raymond, who was looking at the cake box with a frown on his face. Ian sighed, “you’re right, we definitely need cardboard to get this lit.” Raymond, in a noticeably frustrated voice, said, “yeah, I’m not so sure we are going to be able to get this lit at all dude, let’s just use the fireplace on the deck, it will light in five seconds and there’s more room up there anyways.” “That thing can’t warm one person up, let alone all five of us. Just be patient, I’m sure I-, we can get it lit with the cardboard, that should burn up real nice,” said Ian. Raymond sighed, “Knock yourself out, I’m going to get some snacks ready for the rest of the guys” Raymond handed the cake box, now torn into several smaller pieces, to Ian, and retreated back into his house, briefly flooding the outside with artificial light, before plunging it back into darkness as he shut the door. Now alone in the night, Ian gazed around at his surroundings, his eyes drifting from the woods to Raymond’s father’s workbench, and finally to the empty firepit before him. He imagined what the fire would look like fully lit, with the ambers dancing in the air like fireflies, each log added to the flame jostling hundreds into the air, becoming indiscernible with the stars above, hanging suspended for a few moments before burning out, and falling back to earth. He imagined his friends sitting around the fire, their bodies warmed by it’s soft glow, its light illuminating their laughing faces as they drank whatever light beer or mixed drink they brought with them. Then, all of a sudden, Ian was thrust from his daydream, and the unlit fire once again laid before him, so he got to work. Before lighting the cardboard, Ian rebuilt the kindling, being careful to throw all sticks that were too wet back into the yard. After he constructed a mostly dry pyre of sticks, twigs and leaves, he held the lighter’s flame to the largest piece of torn box, and waited for the cardboard to burn bright. When it finally caught, he set the flaming refuse below his kindling, careful not to knock anything over. Finally, the flame began to spread, as the large piece of cardboard burnt bright, and Ian began to feel the familiar heat warming his face. “How’s it going?” asked Raymond as he approached the firepit carrying two cans of beer. “Pretty good, I think. The cardboard is burning nice, I just can’t get these sticks to light,” Ian replied, while feeding the last of his cardboard to the fire. Raymond tossed Ian one of the cans and opened his own. After taking a long sip, he smiled and said, “you know, if you can’t get it started with cardboard, I could try dumping some gas on it.” Ian grimaced, “dude, that would smell like shit and you’ll probably blow us both up, hell no.” Raymond chuckled, “it won’t smell that bad dude, plus, if it won’t get this fire started, literally nothing will.” Ian glanced at his creation, already diminishing in size, no more than a flicker of light hidden beneath a pile of sticks. He thought back to when his uncle taught him how to build a fire when he was a boy, and silently wished he paid more attention. “Alright man, whatever, just hurry up and grab it, I’ll try to keep this burning,” said Ian. Delighted, Raymond quickly walked around his house to enter his garage where, sitting beside his father’s Corvette, resided his item of interest. After picking up the gas canister, he poured the gas into a thick plastic cup he found nearby, remembering the time he once saw his cousin attempt a similar venture with a solo cup, only for the gasoline to eat clean through the cup in a matter of minutes. His cup filled, Raymond set the canister down, and walked back to the fire pit, careful not to spill any of his precious accelerant. Raymond walked up to the fire pit, watching as Ian steadily fed his small flame with leaves and dead pine needles, managing to just barely keep the small flame alight. “Move out of the way dude, I’m gonna toss it on,” said Raymond. Ian stood up and backed away from the fire, allowing his friend to quickly dump the gasoline on his meager flame. In an instant, the world turned orange, as the flame exploded in height and size, engulfing the entire fire pit for a moment, appearing as if the very ground was a lighter, and the fire was it’s flame. In the aftermath of the ignition, the air smelled of rotten eggs and the fire burned somewhat stronger than it had before. Ian quickly scrambled to provide the fire with more fuel, but was unable to get any of the pieces of bark, or larger sticks to catch, and the fire began to slowly fade. “Damn, I was sure that would do the trick. I guess it’s just too wet, sorry Ian. Help me out with the deck fireplace, will ya?” said Raymond Ian barely heard him, as he stared at his flame burn dimmer and dimmer, consuming what little flammable material remained, until it burnt out completely, and was reduced to nothing but a smoldering ember in the middle of a pit of ash. His mind empty, he turned his back on the fire pit and made his way up onto the deck. “If you could just light it for me when I turn the propane on, that would help a ton,” Raymond said, fiddling with a propane tank connected to the artificial fire pit centered in the middle of his deck. The fireplace was small, and consisted of a bowl of blue crystals, all fake, and a tube through which propane flows, allowing flames to spread along the surface of the crystals. It required no maintenance after lighting, able to burn for hours until the propane ran out, or it was manually switched off. The crystals were made out of burn resistant glass, which means they never needed to be replaced, as they would never burn or melt away. Ian robotically grabbed the lighter from the fireplace drawer and, when he heard the telltale hissing of the propane, moved the sparkwheel forward, and pulled the lighting trigger. There was an audible *snap* and the fire was lit, burning softly in the middle of the ocean of blue crystals. “There we go! Now *that’s* a fire,” said Raymond. The boys heard the sound of a car pulling into Raymond’s driveway, rumbling over the gravel and coming to rest in the grass front lawn. “Rick and the rest of them must be here, I’ll go say hi, put out some pillows for them,” said Raymond. Ian complied, grabbing four throw pillows from the nearby linen closet, arranging them on the couch surrounding the fireplace. After completing his task, he sat down on the couch, and gazed into the fireplace, the small, persistent flame dancing from crystal to crystal, basking his face in its glow. As he shifted his gaze from the fire down to his legs, which were completely unaffected by the fire’s meager heat, he realized for the first time that night that his feet were cold.


Dorothy enjoyed tea and television. Ever since she had retired, they were her chief pleasures. There was also her husband, Ralph, and she certainly loved him, but he complained about how loud she watched her shows and sometimes he would buy those hideous bagged teas at the supermarket, so she couldn't in good faith place him on the same level as a *Downton Abbey* or a first flush Darjeeling. He was more like a Keemun, dependable but much too familiar. Still, she couldn't complain about Ralph too much. It was through his hard work they'd been able to afford this house out in the countryside, and she enjoyed living here, away from the noise and commotion of the city. It was peaceful. She could steep her tea while listening to the birds and watching rabbits chase each other across the yard. Today was especially peaceful because Ralph was gone, which meant Dorothy could turn up the volume on the television as high as she liked. For now, the news was droning on about the Middle East, those kids who disappeared last year, and the upcoming election, but soon that broadcast would end and one of Dorothy's favourite shows would begin. Indeed, as soon as she heard the theme music she scooted to the living room and sat down in her chair. It was halfway through the episode when she heard it: a knocking on the door, followed by a voice: "Lettuce and peas!" The phrase repeated. Must be those local farmers trying to sell their overpriced *organic* vegetables, thought Dorothy, turning up the volume on the television. But still she heard it: "Lettuce and peas!" They sure are persistent, she thought. What an odd combination too. The banging on the door intensified. "Lettuce and peas!" "Lettuce and peas!" Dorothy settled more stubbornly into her chair. Now they were just being rude. And who goes door-to-door selling vegetables at this hour of the evening? "Lettuce and peas!" She would not budge. She would not deign to give them the satisfaction. People these days were so ill-mannered, and one mustn't oblige their impertinence: banging on the door, yelling… "Lettuce and—" Finally it was over, and Dorothy returned her full attention to her show. ## There were three of them: Mirabelle, her brother Oliver, and the little one the monster called Duncan. Mirabelle couldn't remember for how long they'd been trapped inside the monster's lair, but it seemed like forever. Oh, the things they had endured! But today was the day they would gain their freedom. Their tunnel was complete. They waited patiently until evening— And went: Through the tunnel—into the outdoors. It was disorienting at first, but they held hands and ran: anywhere: away from the lair! They saw a house in the distance and headed toward it. Suddenly they heard the monster behind. But he was far.


My knees are scraped and I have a headache. I hit a car backing out of the driveway my first time behind the wheel. I stub my toe on every corner. I burn my cereal. I still don’t know how to whistle. The closest I’ve been to talking to a girl was during a freshman lab experiment. That one blew up in my face in more ways than one. After failing time and time again in life, I finally realized I’m a hopeless case. So maybe I need some help. Some outside help. A trip to an alleged “witch doctor” seemed extreme at first, but I don’t have many options. Next thing I know the room is shaking and a white glow blinds me as I cover my eyes. Maybe I’m in too deep. A man of about 6 feet steps forward and my eyes feel glued to him. Piercing eyes and chiseled features stare back at me with a calm gaze. This guy was... different. “I heard you could use some help.” His voice was magnetic, and it didn’t take long for me to spill my entire story. He listened carefully and after a moment spoke in an almost uncaring voice. “I’m Michael. Just follow me and I’ll show you what’s up.” If only I knew who I had in front of me maybe I would’ve asked to end world hunger, or bring peace to the world. But I didn’t, and so we hit the bar. “You just gotta walk around like you’re the shit.” I blinked a few times. “What?” He smiled at me and responded. “Yeah, you just gotta imagine that everyone here is beneath you. Anything they could ever do is of complete insignificance compared to a being such as yourself.” I didn’t know if I could do that. I came from a household where you wouldn’t have a good time if you didn’t show respect to others. But I was here because I was desperate, and so I thought I’d give it a shot. A Black woman with curly hair and pretty eyes was my first challenge. I walked up as if nothing mattered and sat down in front of her. “You from around here?” She looked me up and down before responding. “No actually, me and my friends are in a band and we’re performing around here. Thought I’d check this place out.” This was going well. Now to follow Michael’s advice. With complete confidence, I looked her in the eyes and said “Do you think I care?” A second passed and her drink was thrown in my face before I knew it. As she stormed off I stumbled to the bathroom, dejected. Maybe I really was hopeless. No matter what I did, I’d never amount to anything and— My thoughts were interrupted by a warm body slamming into me as I turned the corner. “I’m so sorry! I’ve been having an absolutely horrible day.” I helped her up, a woman around 5’2 with freckles and fiery eyes. Her elbows were scraped, there was a hole in her jeans and she looked like she was barely holding herself together. “I know the feeling. Wanna talk about it?” It wasn’t what Michael told me to do, but somehow it felt right. Her eyes lit up and she dived into her story. We spent many hours in that bar, talking about our troubles and learning about each other. I never saw Michael again, and thought to myself how glad I was that I abandoned his advice. Michael, having returned to heaven and watching from above, smiled to himself and laughed. (got this prompt off instagram @ writing.prompt.


# 6. Maggie’s Revenge Herb Withers watched in horror as Jeremiah raised his hitherto unused pistol. The barrel was pointed right at Herb’s chest, and before there was any chance to react, a deafening thunderclap rocked him backward. He wondered for a brief, confusing moment if he had been struck by lightning, but the warm sensation flowing from his back said otherwise. Shock and confusion ran through him in waves as he tried to keep his balance on his horse. If he could just stay upright, maybe they could get him back to town and do something about it. Darkness surrounded the hill, closing in on all sides. He looked up at the ominous, bloated sky above him. “I just wanted to see that man hung.” Blood bubbled from his mouth as he said it, choking him and making the words barely audible. In a snap, any and all sensation was gone and he was floating midair next to his horse. Staring at him were two men, both with hangmen’s marks around their neck and one with a neat bullet hole in the middle of his head. “Where the hell am I?!” Otis, still in shock from the events unfolding, shrugged. “You’re dead, but I don’t know if that’s going to be a problem for long at the rate she’s going.” He pointed a finger toward Maggie who was already recovering from her run-in with the barrier and headed back toward the fray. The horsemen spun around wildly, drawing their guns. “What the hell have you done, Jeremiah?” asked Reggie, with more annoyance than anything. “I-I don’t know. It just—” Reggie cut off his explanation by shooting Jeremiah in the head. “NO!” shouted Jeremiah as he appeared midair. His hands stretched out, still trying to block the shot that had sent his body flying backward off his horse. The damp desert floor soaked up his blood greedily, happy for the extra moisture. “Jeremiah, you son of a bitch!” yelled Herb. “Why’d you go and shoot me like that for?!” “I-I don’t know what happened.” Jeremiah’s eyes were wide. “Am I dead?” Maggie streaked past them, trying to enjoy the newfound chaos in the spirit realm and pointed herself at Reggie’s right-hand lieutenant. He held a repeating rifle and had good positioning on the other two men. His name was Hugo, and Maggie shuddered at the idea of sharing a body with him even for a second. She swallowed her disgust and shot forward. Like before, there was the elastic pull and sudden disorientation. The first thing she noted was the sourness of Hugo’s breath and the soreness radiating from his lower back*.* Maggie counted herself lucky that she didn’t have to stay long. She raised the repeater, aiming for the man on Reggie’s left. Her first shot caught him in the shoulder, sending him spinning. He fell off his horse but wasn’t mortally wounded. Maggie spurred Hugo’s mount, riding over to finish the job, but a splintering pain took hold in her left arm. She hadn’t even heard the gunshot but knew it was Reggie that fired. Pain throbbed through the point of impact, just above Hugo’s elbow. Hot blood ran down his arm in a wave, coating his fingers in the sticky mortal substance. Maggie fought desperately to hold on to Hugo’s corporeal form and managed. She looked up and saw Reggie turned to the native man, still tied up on horseback. “Don’t go anywhere. Apparently, I’ve got some other business to attend to.” Rain fell heavy now, mixing with Hugo’s blood and running in small rivers down the hill. Lightning flashed, casting Reggie in shadows as he dismounted. The world spun around Maggie and her mind shook like an overworked muscle. Holding onto Hugo when he wasn’t dying was hard enough, but this was torture. She willed herself to stay and turned her head to look for Hugo’s pistol, lying on the ground a few feet away. “I wouldn’t do that if I was you.” Reggie had his pistol drawn, the black barrel a gaping maw. “You think that scares me?” It was strange to hear Hugo’s voice with her words. “Pull the trigger and be done with it.” Maggie wasn’t sure she had another possession in her, but she was sure as hell going to try. The edges of Hugo’s skin pushed at her like a thousand needles, trying desperately to shed the bodily invader. “I’m not done with you yet, Hugo*.*” She clenched his hands into fists, wincing at the pain in his left arm. “Now, the Hugo I know is a coward and would never try shit like this.” Reggie turned toward the Hangman’s Tree, then back to face her. “This is crazy, but I don’t see another solution. I’m not talking to Hugo, am I?” “You catch on quick.” Maggie spat blood. “You deserve everything you have coming.” Reggie cocked his head to the side. “Who is that in there? Someone we hung here before?” “Hard to keep track of the atrocities you’ve committed on this hill?” She crept her right fingers toward the gun. In a blinding flash, Reggie aimed his pistol and blew Hugo’s fingers off. Maggie cursed, screaming in pain. “Yeah, see, Hugo wouldn’t do a fool thing like that either. Sounds like I’m dealing with Maggie Brown.” Maggie made no effort to hide the pained smile she spread across Hugo’s face. “In the flesh, back for my revenge.” Reggie whistled. “Never thought I’d have to kill you twice, but today has already been quite the day. Reggie checked on the native man who still sat patiently on his horse. “Suppose you feel it’s wrong of us to be killing savages?” “Do you really need an answer to that?” “What was it I told you before? It’s just bad for business. That’s right, and it’s still true. I’m a man of dollars and cents, and these uncultured folk coming into our fine town aren’t good for my business, or the town for that matter.” Maggie felt control slipping away but pushed to hold on. The pistol was out of reach, but she didn’t want to give Reggie the satisfaction of winning again. The man deserved to die. Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie spied movement as the other man she had shot got slowly to his feet. “You alright over there, John?” asked Reggie. “Yeah, the pissant just winged me.” The man was wrapping a makeshift bandage around his shoulder. “Well, as it turns out, this pissant is none other than our good friend, Maggie Brown. You’ll remember her.” John walked over to get a better look. As he got closer, he stumbled and his eyes went wide. “You good?” asked Reggie, never letting the pistol barrel leave Maggie. John recovered, but Maggie could see the difference in his expression. “Yeah, think I’m just a little low on blood.” “Well, let’s finish our business quickly and get you back to town. We’ve lost enough good men to this bitch today.” Maggie smiled through the pain and blood. “Anything for you, Reggie.” “How sweet of you. Unfortunately, we’re in a bit of a hurry now, so I’m going to have to cut our little chit-chat short. I think I’ll send you back to where you belong. Any last words? Don’t think I gave you the chance last time.” John winked at her and dropped a hand to his pistol. Maggie smiled. “Yeah, payback is a bitch.” “Ain’t that the tru—” John raised his pistol and shot Reggie in the side of the head. The bullet passed clean through, sending a red spray into the growing wind. Reggie fell to his knees, mouth opening and closing slightly. In the same moment, John’s body shook violently, and his eyes were wide once more. “Oh god, what have I done? Reggie?!” Maggie didn’t wait for him to get his bearings she rolled to her pistol, picked it up with her good hand, and used the last of Hugo’s strength to fire it. The force of the pistol rocking back threatened to tear Hugo’s wounded arm off. Hot pain bloomed, but the shot hit. John dropped to the ground. Buzz saws ran down every inch of Hugo’s body, trying to forcibly cut Maggie out. The world blurred between the grey of the spirit realm and the churning darkness of a dying man’s last vision. Hugo was losing a lot of blood. Maggie took what remained of her resolve and stood. Waves of nausea and dizziness swept over her, but she stumbled toward the native man all the same. Each step was a marathon task. Hugo’s legs moved like they were dragging fifty-pound weights behind him. Maggie pulled a knife out of Hugo’s belt, wanting to cut the native man free, but dropped it through his bloody fingers. “Shit,” she muttered. It was hard to remember anything through the haze of agony that surrounded every movement. “Help us,” she managed in broken Shoshoni. “The dead are trapped.” The world went dark and a force shot Maggie from Hugo’s body. She caught a brief glimpse of the spirit world and the cavalcade of new arrivals. Then. she hit the barrier. Everything went white. # Epilogue Things were tense on Hangman’s Hill. With all the commotion, even the Dirt Nappers came up to see what was going on. As it turned out, letting bygones be bygones didn’t apply to the furious deceased faced with their murderer. Of course, no one could do anything to Reggie, but they sure tried. In the end, they settled on making his life a living hell, floating in a tight circle around him, wherever he went, the ghosts were a constant reminder of the sins he had committed in life. They took turns speaking to their deaths, repeating the stories to drive the man mad. Reggie never got so much as a moment’s rest. Otis and Adam sat on the edge of the commotion, wondering if anything would come out of their great experiment. The native man had been able to cut himself free, but whether from fear or self-preservation, rode off immediately. To say they felt disappointed was an understatement, and had it not been for the entertainment that was Reggie’s misery, they might have become Dirt Nappers themselves. “What do you think happened to her?” asked Adam one day as they watched white clouds passing by on the horizon. “She can’t be gone, right?” “I don’t think I know anything worthwhile about this place,” replied Otis. They had watched Maggie shoot out of Hugo with such force that it was impossible to discern her form. She had been a streak of light, careening toward the barrier. When she hit, her energy dissipated, and she wasn’t seen again. “Maybe she hit it so hard she got out.” Adam hoped it was true. “I hope so, too. Either way, we both saw the grin on her face when you possessed that man and shot Reggie in the head. I like to think that would have put her at peace no matter where she ended up.” Adam nodded. “I didn’t think I would, but I miss her.” “Me too, kid.” \ Weeks passed. The desert was implacable as always, but on the third week, a wind kicked up. Hoofbeats carried through the air as twenty riders appeared on the horizon. Every single soul that had been trapped on Hangman’s Hill came out to see who it was. At the lead of the riding party was the native man they had saved from certain death, and while Reggie and his men weren’t too happy about seeing him again, the rest of the group was elated. As the group approached, horses fanned out in all directions and men with bows and arrows stood sentinel along the edges of the hill. From the center of the pack, an old woman emerged, garbed in elaborate clothing decorated with beads and quills. Her hair hung in long braids that swayed in the wind as she approached the base of the hanging tree. She ran her hands over the carvings and muttered words to herself while the others looked away. Most stood outside the edge of the hill, instinctively knowing the boundary. It didn’t happen all at once. At first, there was a muted glow in the ground, like light reflecting off metal. The brightness grew, making its way to the sky. Otis felt warmth spreading through his ghostly limbs as the barrier above him dissipated. His spirit floated upward, not of his own accord, but he felt safety in the movement and didn’t fight it. He looked down and saw the other spirits experiencing something similar. Most were floating up toward the sky but several, like Reggie and his men, were earthbound. “What the hell is this?!” yelled Reggie. “As if Hell couldn’t get any worse.” His spirt grew dark until it was almost pitch black as a shadow. A pale horseman rode up from the edge of the hill, brandishing a shining scythe and approached those remaining on the ground. Otis looked away but heard the screams of terror from below. He focused his mind on the sensation surrounding his body and the overwhelming sense of safety he felt. In the distance, he saw Adam moving upwards as well. “All’s well that ends well then.” As he floated past the highest branch on Hangman’s Hill, he felt a familiar presence tugging at him. There were no words, but he knew the feeling of companionship and peace in the energy. “Rest well, Maggie.” Otis smiled and the world went white. # The End \ Thank you all for reading this story and for your kind words along the way.


"Hey." Jaime's tone was low, almost a mumble. The two men rarely made eye contact tonight, both of them stared longingly out the shuttered diner window. Nothing but darkened storefronts and neon signs advertising various goods were in view. "Erm... Hey. How'd you find me?" Erin looked disheveled, a telltale sign that his mental state was slipping away from him. He came here to be by himself, which seemed to contradict that he was already alone in his apartment prior. "I know you like their shakes, so... it made sense. I swung by your apartment first, but..." "Yeah?" It was almost like Erin was in a fog, half listening, half thinking. "Look, man. I know it's hard. I hate seeing you like this." Jaime braced his elbows on the table, his hands folded in a raised position over the surface. A shaky sigh left Erin's lips, condensing on the window. Droplets of water trickled down the window, the broken jukebox wasn't able to drown out the rain. "Erin, man... You can't keep going like this. You've been spiraling for weeks. I've seen you go through worse without so much as cryi-" "S-stop. Stop, okay?" Erin's voice cracked, his jaw clenched, his throat wavered with ragged breaths. "I haven't been through anything worse than this." Jaime hung his head, looking down at his legs beneath the table. Erin's milkshake sat there, completely melted. He'd been sitting there for hours. "You aren't sleeping again, are you?" He glanced up at the dark circles that seemingly grew to swallow Erin's eyes. Jaime put his hands down, laying his arms on the tabletop. The waitress came by, quietly setting down a cup of black coffee for Jaime. She knew the two of them well, or at least knew their regular orders. Jaime politely nodded in her direction before taking a sip, the girl looked distressed at the sight of Erin's sunken in face. Erin's head leaned against the cold glass, a dull, red neon light cast through the droplets into his cheek. Jaime snuck a peek at his phone. 4 AM. "Lemme take you home, dude. Being alone at your place can't be good for you." Jaime was trying, but he never was good at offering his help. Erin had been for him numerous times, and despite it not being his forte, he had to try. Erin tiredly set a crumpled wad of cash on the table, which his friend pushed back towards his hand. "I got this one, dude. Don't... don't worry." The two men stood, Jaime stood tall over Erin. The hollow looking male gathered his money and stuffed it back into his jacket pocket. "Erm... Thanks for letting me stay for a bit, Ava." He cleared his throat, following Jaime out to his transport. Jaime opened the door for his friend, firmly slamming it shut before climbing in on the driver's side. Melodic instrumentals played over the stereo, almost meshing with the low hum of the car powering on. Erin leaned his head back, slipping into a much needed slumber.


“India? Why are you moving to India?” “This job they offered me, I can’t turn it down.” “Why not? You are so talented! You could get a job here. You could get one anywhere!” “I’ve been looking for a job here, for 6 months! I can’t wait any longer” “But what about your family, they need you?” “My family is exactly why I’m going. My mother can’t get the treatment she needs here. The only way we can afford to fly her to the US to get her treatment is to use the money I’d make in this job. It’ll only be for 3 or 4 years.” “What if you go there and get sick? You’d have to wear a face mask at all times.” “I’ll be working in the lab most of the time anyway, where I wear a mask regardless. And I’ll be living on a company compound. It’s safe, I won’t get infected, and with this work, I might be able to actually end the infections.” “And, what about me? They don’t let anybody into India without a work permit, and I can’t get a job there. You expect us to have a relationship in VR over the internet? You know that’s not the same, it’s not real. I can’t wait for you here, rotting away.” “You don’t have to! There is a way you can come, I can bring someone, a plus one… if they’re my spouse.” “Are you fucking kidding me, Daniel? This is how you ask me to fucking marry you? After we’ve been together for three years you move to across the world and tell me if I want to see you for the next four years I have to marry you?” “Jess, no. That’s not how I meant it.” “Well, that’s how it sounds.” “Jess, I love you, and I was going to propose anyway before the job offer came along.” “Well, you didn’t.” “It’s all happening so fast, and my mom is getting worse every day. I don’t want to have to choose between her and you. She needs treatment, and the jobs in this doomed country, if I even had one, are never going to pay enough to help her, not quickly enough anyway.” “So what, you’re going to *guilt* me into marrying you by using your dying mother?” “She’s not dying, but she will die without treatment.” “So then yes, you are trying to guilt me into marrying you.” “No, Jess, I’m trying to make you understand *why* I need to take this job.” “Why can’t you take a job in the US, where here treatment actually needs to happen. Where there isn’t a deadly nanovirus that could wipe you out with one whiff?” “That’s exactly why. I can design nanobots that boost the immune system, which could kill the virus. The US doesn’t need that technology, they aren’t funding it. All they care about is AI, that’s where all the money is. *India* does need it, they need me, and they’re willing to pay for me and my wife to come to live there. “Well, Daniel, you don’t have a wife.” “Are you saying no? Jess, I love you, I want to marry you. You are amazing… you are the only thing that brings me joy in this world.” “Then don’t go.” “Jess, why won’t you come with me? Why won’t you marry me?” “Because you haven’t even really bloody asked me to! All you said was that if I wanted to see you then-” “Well, I’m asking you now. Will you marry me?” “Daniel…” “Jessica, I’m serious. Will you marry me?” “Yes Daniel, I will.” \ “Daniel?” “Yes, is this Aarav? You never usually call me outside of work hours, what’s up?” “Jessica, and Saanvi. They were driving to the museum, in the next compound over.” “Yes, they’d planned that last week, why are you calling?” “There was an accident. Their car was hit… it cracked the windshield, they weren’t wearing their masks.” “They always wear their masks when going between compounds, they know it’s not safe to-” “Daniel, Jessica wasn’t wearing her mask. She... breathed the air, breathed it for over 15 minutes before help arrived… They’re in quarantine now.” “Aarav, what are you saying, they’re infected? Why wouldn’t they be wearing their masks outside of the compounds?” “Daniel, I don’t know. Saanvi called me, her mask was on. She didn’t have a spare one. Jess forgot hers, they thought they would be fine. It’s such a short drive between compounds, the bubbles are so close together. “Aarav, is Jessica infected?” “Daniel, I don’t know. I’m with Priya, she was babysitting, Kiara and Diya. I haven’t told Kiara yet. I thought it would be better to hear it from her dad” \ “Jessica, Jess, it’s Daniel.” “Oh, Daniel, I’m so sorry. It was such a short drive. And the roads are so safe. I never imagined we’d have a crash.” “No Jess, it’s ok. I’m sorry. I should never have made you move here. If I’d just waited for another job, I-” “Daniel, no. You didn’t make me move here. We had to move here, for your Mother’s treatment. And I’ve been happier here than I ever was back in Ireland. And we had Kiara. Moving was the right decision, it’s been a wonderful four years.” “But Jess, I haven’t finished the cure yet. The nanobot immune boosters haven’t been able to destroy the nanovirus particles in patients. You’re going to, you’re going to d-” “Daniel, stop. You told me, you’re close. And the doctor said the medication they have will keep me alive for at least 2 years. You have plenty of time to finish your work. Now, put Kiara on, tell her mommy wants to talk to her.” … “Hi Mommy, when are you coming home?” “Hi Kiki, my dear. Mommy loves you, but she can’t come home until the doctor says so. So you be brave and take care of daddy until I get back. Ok?” “Ok Mommy, I love you too Mommy. \ “Hi, Daniel, how are you?” “Hi Mom, I’m doing fine. Been working a lot. Think, I’m close to a breakthrough.” “That’s great! And, how is Jess?” “She’s… not taking well to the meds the doctors are giving her. She’s, not doing well.” “Oh no Daniel… but I have faith it’ll all work out.” “Yeah…” “Daniel, I’m calling because of my operation.” “Oh right! How did it go?” “Well, it wasn’t much of an operation at all. The whole thing took about twenty minutes. They pushed me into this huge surgery machine, and well, I guess it cut me open, removed all the tumors, killed all the cancer cells, and put me back together.” “So, you’re… you’re ok?” “Yes! The doctor said the operation was a complete success. I’ll be back to my old self in a few months. He even said it would be safe to fly back home to Ireland.” “Oh my God mom, that’s such wonderful news!” “Yes, and we couldn’t have done it without you. Without your amazing job, I’d be dead as a doornail.” “I wish I’d never moved here. I should have waited for a job somewhere else. It took you 4 years to get treated if I’d known…” “Now Daniel, don’t go saying things like that. At the time the doctors thought I’d only last a year at most. How were you supposed to know? You know how doctors are, they always give people the worst-case scenario. I’m sure that’s what they’re doing with Jess, I bet she’ll hang in there more than long enough for you to finish your work and cure her. “Maybe you’re right Mom… thanks.” “Of course dear, love you.” “Love you too, Mom, bye!” “Bye Daniel, talk to you soon, and tell Kiara that Granny says hi!” “I will.” \ “Dad, it’s Daniel. I know it’s late, call me back when you can. I saw your messages on my home system. I’ve been working late hours at the lab. Call me back on the lab system if you can. The number is, 125-423-405-982-234” \ “Hi, Jess.” “Hi Danny, I love you.” “I love you too Jess, so much. And I’m so close with my work, just hang in there. It’ll only be a few more weeks, I can feel it.” “I know you can do it, Danny. And it’s Kiara’s 5th birthday next month, there’s no way I’m going to miss that.” “Ok. Just hang in there for me, please. I love you. Just.. don’t… don’t give up on me. I’ll get this done, I’ll save you.” “I know you will Danny, I love you.” \ “Hi Grandma, hi Grandpa!” “Hi Kiki!” “Hi Kiara! Look how big you’ve grown! How old are you now?” “5! Dad got me a drone for my birthday!” “A drone! Wow!” “I’m going to give you to daddy now.” “Ok, we love you!” “Kiara, thank them for the present they gave you.” “Thank you! Can I go play now?” “Yes, you can.” ... “Hi, Mom. Hi Dad. Sorry about Kiara not being very chatty. She just got off the phone with her mom, they talked for a long time, I barely got to talk to her at all really, I think Kiara’s a little tired of chatting now though.” “That’s ok son, how is Jess.” “She’s… she’s hanging in there, Dad…” “And the… your work?” “I feel like I’m so close. Could be a breakthrough any moment now.” “That’s, that’s great to hear” “Oh, wait a minute, that’s Jess’s doctor on the other line. Can I put you on hold for a minute? “Yes, of course.” ... “Hello, this is Daniel” “Hi Daniel, this is Dr. Anand. It’s about Jess. Do you have a moment?” “Yes, of course. We were just talking with her, what’s going on?” “I’m so sorry, she… she just passed.” “What, how? We were just talking to her?” “Her heart, it… it gave out. The muscles had deteriorated too far. She… passed not soon after she got off the call with you.” “Why can’t you give her a machine to pump the blood for her?” “Daniel, I’m sorry. The hospitals are so full. We didn’t get to her in time, she went brain dead.” “You are the best goddamn hospital in the country, she’s supposed to have 24-hour care. Where was the nurse?” “Jess, she… she told the nurse to leave the room while she was on the call. Told her to come back in an hour. By the time she came back…” “I have to go.” “Yes, Daniel. I understand.” ... “Mom… Dad… are you still there?” “Yes. What’s wrong? Daniel, it sounds like you’re crying?” “It’s… Jess… she, she just died.” “Daniel?” \ “Hi Aarav, listen, it’s not a good time.” “I get it, Daniel, you’re probably really tired from entertaining Kiara on her birthday all day.” “No, Aarav, it’s-” “We did it, Daniel! We did it!” “Did what?” “It worked! Last month’s patients. The last trial we ran. They have gone into complete remission. There’s no sign of the nanovirus in them at all. We cured them. Daniel, you saved Jess! Daniel? ...


It was a beautiful morning and the smell of fresh coffee and and bagels wafted through the air. She could also smell daffodils but couldn’t see it anywhere. Mia wondered, why don’t I see the daffodils? Where is this beautiful smell coming from? At first, when Mia woke up she had no clue where she was but it all started coming back to her. She vaguely remembered being in paradise retreat which is probably a fancy name for rehab. How did she get herself here? She always thought she was going to be one of those people who is going to be ultra-successful and here she was in a rehab a.k.a. Paradise retreat. Why can’t they just call things as is why do they have to give a politically correct name for everything? She saw piece of paper next to her which was presumably the program for the coming few days. This feels more like a jail then a retreat! 07:00 am – wake up to the smell of coffee 08:00 am – yoga 09:30 am – shower and get ready for group discussions 10:30 am – Group discussion Oh man! They also have group discussions she sighed aloud. She only knew these from whatever she saw in the movies where people sit in a circle and talk about things. Did she really have to do it? Mia was so engrossed in her thoughts that she almost forgot the strange things that she experienced the previous night. Shaking herself of the feeling she got ready to grab her breakfast and got into her yoga pants. She really enjoyed the yoga session. A lot more than she would ever want to ever acknowledge. Endorphins thanks to a good session made her glow and she was glad she made it to the session. Unfortunately her happy feeling did not last long, her room looked weirdly out of place. She constantly felt like someone was there but did not want it to be known that they are there. She decided to ignore the feeling and get to the shower. The hot water falling on the skin made her feel very relaxed. She couldn’t stop feeling excited about how great the shower felt. She did not want to spend too much time in the shower because she had to get ready for the group discussion soon. As soon as she got out of the shower and start dressing up in front of the mirror she noticed that her reflection was lagging behind her. She couldn’t stop herself from screaming really loudly. It was then she started screaming, she noticed that her reflection was blankly staring at her. This must have been the moment when she passed out. She opened eyes to see the kind lady in charge of the retreat. Mia started to explain what happened. “Let’s get to that a later time, you need to rest now, my girl” – said the lady with the softest and kindest voice Mia had ever heard. Mia thought, does this mean I get to skip that group discussion! Yay! It almost felt like the lady read her thoughts. She said, “Oh don’t you worry about your group discussion, we moved you to the evening batch. You perfectly all right now and you can go back and continue to rest in your room.” This was when Mia realised that she was in a different part of the retreat. Mia wasn’t sure whether she want to go back to the room. She really did not like the feeling she got there. Not she wasn’t sure if she could ask to move to another room. She thought she would do that the next day if things don’t feel better. Mia was back in the room and she decided to rest for a while – she tried to feel calm and focus on feeling better. As she walked to get a glass of water, she felt like someone was right next to her. She could almost feel the breath of someone very close to her shoulders. She could also hear some weird sounds like someone was crying softly. She was very confused. And then again the smell of daffodils. Mia loved daffodils, why was she smelling them everywhere And could not see them anywhere? Mia decided to take it easy and get a nap before she could go back to attend the group discussion that she really did not want to. Surprisingly, she slipped into a deep, sound and refreshing sleep. Mia woke up to a strong smell of coffee in the afternoon. She noticed that the staff had refilled her coffee. She wasn’t sure about having coffee in the afternoon but decided to make an exception. She wanted to be fresh for the group discussion and give it a real chance. How bad could it be? Mia quickly showered, And wore her favourite white dress. She tried hard to remember why was this her favourite. It was super weird that she could not remember many details about herself. She kept thinking, “oh man! I hope people don’t think that I’m not sharing enough in the group discussion. I just can’t remember much…!” She sprayed her favourite perfume and and set out for the group discussion. As she opened her door to go out, the smell of daffodils completely overpowered her. She expected to see 8-10 people seated in a circle just as you would see in the movies. She never thought that she would ever be in this place. Instead, she was pleasantly surprised to see around 20-30 people engaged in easy conversations with each other. They seemed to share a camaraderie that she almost envied. She was embarrassed how easily she was getting envious of people in a “group discussion” that she did not even want to join a few moments ago. Unlike groups that were difficult for a newcomer to break in, everyone made a genuine effort to include her. They had all posted stickers with their first names. When Mia wanted to get a sticker for herself, she was told, everyone knows her. It was the same kind lady she met earlier (her sticker read Anna). She said, “Mia, so glad to have you here. We were not sure if you would make it, but we want to be here for you in any case.” Mia did not get it. “Be here for me?” She thought, this was a group discussion where everyone would pour their heart – but she obviously got it wrong. She decided to keep her thoughts to herself. That’s when she heard the champagne glass clinking. It was tall, good looking guy call Bryan. Bryan said, “As you all know, we are all here today for a special occasion.” Everyone started cheering and whistling. Mia tried to smile and cheer too – but she had no clue what the occasion was. Clearly, she did not read the memo. Bryan continued, “Mia, we would gratefully like to celebrate your life. Let’s play the video.” Mia was dumbfounded but also very curious – what this video could be about. It started with her childhood memories. She shook her inhibitions and pragmatism to figure out how they managed to put this together and started enjoying the video. Her first steps. The first time on a slide. Her parents doting on their single child. Her first-time bringing home her trophy from school. Her finish line memories from the triathlon. Her first boyfriend. Her interview at Harvard. Her first day at Harvard Law School. Passing the bar. Making it to one of the best law firms. Her prepping for her parents 25th anniversary. “Oh my god! I remember now.” Mia thought, tearing up. “I ordered for thousands of daffodils for the ceremony. Dad proposed to Mom after reading the poem – Daffodils. So, I thought it would be funny. Why can’t I remember the party?” That is when she realized that she was thinking aloud, and the video had stopped. Everyone formed a weird circle around Mia and held each other close to each other. Anna said, “Mia, I am sorry, you could not attend your parents 25th anniversary. You checked all the arrangements at the party venue and took the train to get home for a quick nap before the party. In the train, you saw a guy leaving his bag behind and rushing out. When you called out to him, he rushed out. You had the presence of mind to realize it could be a bomb. Without second thoughts, you picked the bag and rushed out of the station. You ran all the way to an empty field and threw the bag away as hard as you could. You saved 1000s of lives that day but unfortunately you lost a part of your memory. You needed a lot of therapy to have your brain be able to process all this. The mirror was not a mirror. It was a program that monitored your motor functions. We are glad you are ok and can finally get back to your family. We are all the people in that train compartment. You saved us all. We wanted to be a part of your recovery.” Mia was too shocked to hear all this and was crying inconsolably. She could only say, “what about my parents?” Almost as if that was their cue, her parents came in and gave her a big hug. They had missed her miserably too. They stayed in the same rehab centre and would regularly sneak in to check in on her when she was sleeping. The doctor had given them strict instructions to let Mia recover first – instead of giving her too many mental stimulations. They were just excited and happy that their selfless daughter was alive and on a path to recovery. It was too much for Mia to process, but she was finally in peace too. Mia and her parents agreed, the smell of daffodils was a catalyst for her recovery. Her father couldn’t stop reciting his favourite part from the poem “Daffodils” For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.


The train bellows in the distance- running through the mountain pass like a dragon in the clouds. Smoke releases from the stack and rushes through the air. A man in the forest hears the sound of the technical beast- afraid due to his limited exposure to the advances of neighboring cities. Everytime a train passes, the vibrations channel through the dirt. Sensitive to the nature surrounding him, the man feels each wheel rushing across the track. The vibrations that dissipate as distance increases still present the man with an earthquake sensation. Unnerved, the recluse curses under his breath when the train approaches his forest home. Living alone in solitude can either make or break a soul. Since the man decided to reside in nature, he has felt a gracious tinge of relief. There are no neighbors in sight who may pass judgement or ridicule of the man. His way of life in the woods has brought him fresh air and plenty of provisions. He can fish from the nearby river or scavenge for berries. With a small home, the man doesn't need many logs to keep warm. His fireplace is suited for the entire flat. Oh yes! Residing amongst the singing birds and the deer who share drinking water is living with good company. The man smiles as a squirrel scatters across his boot. Despite being from different species, the animals have seemed to not care about the man's presence. He is one of them- a forest dweller doing what he needs to stay alive. Yet, what damage could this train bring? To both, the man and the animals, the train is a monstrous force. Where clear blue once existed, now black fog permeates through the sky. The disturbance is monumental. Only one decision could be made: move. The man sighs with regret as he lays a hand on his home. Perhaps someday, another human would be able to withstand the noice of the technical beast and enjoy the house he crafted. Another human- another soul- who loves nature as much as the forest man. With that thought in mind, the man readies himself for a relocation. The journey begins in spring, a comfortable time to begin building a home from nothing. With his supplies prepared, the man carries onward. He already knows that a new home would sit well by the riverfront. The trip to the river is about five miles through a tight forest. Care is crucial when walking, an unlucky encounter with a poisonous snake would put the man's journey to an end. Regardless, he is confident trailing through the forest. As birds dart through turn brush, the man smiles- they are playful creatures. To the lone forest man, the birds remind him of children. After all, they are always flying to and fro with cheerful vigor. Honestly, the birds prove to be his favorite neighbors. Once he reaches the river, the man continues to follow the water. He grabs a few pieces of dried meat from his pouch while searching for a place to craft his new home. After another few several miles, a clearing in the forest comes into view. The man laughs happily as he envisions a fresh log cabin- still very much alike to his old home- with a great view of the wild river. Night ensues shortly so the man makes haste. For now, he must utilize a tent. The structure entails large branches and a rawhide cloth that the man brought. After the tent is set, the man builds a small campfire. Although he loves the wildlife, the man understands how dangerous nature can be at night. Fire wards away potential predators like bears of cougars. The flames are as lively as the sound of the surrounding forest. The man sits around the fire and watches the flickers shoot up towards the stars. The contrast of the vibrant fire against a dark night overwhelms the man with sentiment. Life is beautiful and better when all is calm. The man stands up and cracks his back. Tomorrow will be the beginning of hard but exciting labor. He lays inside his tent and thinks about how wonderful it will he to have a peaceful home again. There will neither be devilish trains to shake the earth nor black smog to disturb the balance. With beautiful thoughts in mind, the man quickly drifts into sleep. The sun rises at dawn, painting the earth in light hues of red and pink. Once the morning birds begin their trill, the man finds himself awake. He opens his provision pouch and takes meat for breakfast. The campfire is low but at no cause for alarm. The man can safely leave without fear of causing a wild fire. Another good reason why working in the spring is beneficial- no summer heat to cause distress. The man clutches onto a handmade axe. He finds a section of trees and begins to chop. Slowly but surely, he will have lumber to begin the foundation of the house. The process will last days and weeks. Fortunately, building a home in solitary is not new to the forest man. He understands the difficulties and bas the determination to prevail. Time passes and the man stands in front of his new home. The cabin work is complete in midsummer. A feeling of relief warrants celebration. The man runs to the river and takes off his clothes. Cool water greats the man as he flops into the river. His swimming startles some fish who dart away. The man cannot help but to laughs- there's no need to be afraid especially since he isn't hunting. Of course, fish don't understand the difference between playing and preying. After a good swim, the man returns to his cabin. He dries off and begins to cook some rabbit. Food always tastes better inside a home. There is no need to be afraid of bears coming through a solid door. Finally! Peace is achieved! At least that's what the man thought until several years later... The sound of machinery begins to haunt the forest man. In the distance, trees have fallen to manmade construction in progress. As with the train, the vibrations of various trucks and tree cutting mechanics travel through the ground. The man's heart drops- not again! Despite his age, the recluse decides to take action. He wants to know why the hell outsiders are causing destruction. The walk must take about half a day's journey, but is a necessary toll for this old man. Quickly, he gathers some provisions and a cane. With a bag over shoulder, the man begins to confront the disturbance. He reaches the site before the workers pause for lunch. Surely, they were not expecting an angry old man walking to to them from the forest. The old man stumbles to catch his breathe. Once he found his ground, the man confronts a worker. The cane slams against the ground to draw attention: "What do you all think you're doing!?" The worker looks perplexed but unfazed: "Sorry old man, but you have to leave here. We're busy." Outraged by the lack of decency, the old man continues to uproar: "How dare you all coming in here and destroying this beautiful forest! All of these trees have been here longer than you or me. They deserve to remain standing!" The worker yells back annoyed and aggravated: "We're only doing our job! This trees are coming down. We will be working on fresh roads and a bridge. Look, this property all belongs to the state, and everyone has agreed to connect two cities together. That's how it's going to be and no old mountain man can stop production!" The old man holds back bitter tears: "They have trains don't they? They don't need more roads! Already the trains have brought unrest. Now, with this project, more animals will be driven out of their homes!" "Understand this," the worker harshly replies; "No one cares! When the work must be done, it will be done. Should more trees be chopped down, then they will be chopped down. The progression of towns and cities does not rely on trains alone. We need roads, we need construction! Now, go home old man and let me do my job." The worker leaves with a hand shooing the old man away. To see how little respect the workers have for the life that they are destroying hurts the old man's heart. Feeling defeated, the old man returns to his cabin. As night falls, so does the sound of construction. The old man opens his door weakly- the day's journey has been more difficult than he had thought. He lays in bed without eating dinner. Looking up at the ceiling, the old man replays the scene of the construction site. Tears roll down his cheeks. He had believed that moving from his first home to a new location would bring him away from human interference. Yet, the contrary has been proven true- humans will continue to leave their mark. Regardless of the needs of nature, technology grows at a deadly pace. Why can't there be balance? The phrase crosses the old man's mind. He concludes that those workers were not people, but machines. After all, a human's role on this planet was designed to help support nature- not damage the life around them. Mulling over what was and what could be only creates more discomfort. The old man's love of nature is simply not shared by all. Alas with the oncoming days of mechanical work, the old man understands that he has lost. In the morning, the old man feels ill. He sits up in bed and coughs violently. Unfortunately, yesterday's journey left him weakened. The old man scrambles to get his cane. Walking slowly, he reaches the door. The beautiful river greats him as he steps outside. On the other hand, he begins to hear the construction take place. More trees fall to the earth and the old man feels their vibrations.


The invincible man sat on the edge of his bed and thought about death. He had thought about this almost every day since he was a young man, but more and more since he had hit seventy; thirty-odd years ago. The old man missed his friends very badly, and he envied them. *A flash of scarlet and sapphire, flickering from one to another, cutting them down in the blink of an eye.* Back straightening and creaking as he rose slowly, tendons defying age as they did every day, the man pottered across the small bedroom. Wallpapered by photographs and newspaper clippings, the room barely contained the man, his bed and his little wooden dresser adorned with picture frames. *Holding his fingers to his temples, he worms inside their brains. All he has to do is crush the right capillaries and they fall to the ground, mentally castrated.* Pulling a clean white dress shirt and a pair of only semi-wrinkled slacks out of the little dresser, the man pulls open his bedroom door, trudging through the threshold into the bathroom. Glancing only briefly in the bathroom mirror, he wills his arms over his head to pull off his nightshirt, revealing wrinkled yet unscarred skin as he steps into the shower. *Earth itself rising up to condemn them to a living burial; swallowing them whole in loam and soil.* The old man drags himself back into the bedroom, pulling a green smock - decorated with a little tag reading DEAN, ASSISTANT MANAGER off a hook on the door a little reluctantly. He makes the mistake of glancing down at the minefield of memory he has placed on the little dresser - a picture of seven costumed men and a woman, golden medals around their necks and smiles on their faces. An imperceptible shake of the head and the man is on his way outside again, reentering a world he no longer belongs in. ***Excerpt from “Requiem for the American Superhero” Chapter 1.*** “Freedom Force Clobbers the Krauts! Axis on the Retreat!” At first, nobody took them seriously. Eight people in costume, including a woman and a Negro? It was a news media ploy that would just wind up leaving eight more Americans dead, at the end of the day. That sentiment lasted about a week, until Adam punched a U-Boat in half. As more and more tales of the Force’s exploits began to sweep through New York and Chicago and Dallas, people started clamoring to find out more about these American demigods, the feeling shifting from mistrust to adoration. Radio news programs began distributing pulpy promos for each member of the team, the copy handed down direct from the US military. *“The Blur sprints faster and faster towards Allied victory!”* *“Cosmonaut dispenses intergalactic justice to the Axis of Evil!”* *“Adam Amazing carries the flag of freedom, family values and American might!”* Young men clamored for information about the supernaturally beautiful Gaea, who could reportedly open the Earth to swallow packs of Nazis whole. Toy stores began selling Freedom Force action figures, including a Stuntman figure that was fireproof, waterproof and drop-resistant and a Genius figure whose brain hummed and vibrated when switched on.


Ted froze where he was. He didn’t know what to make of it. Of all things he expected, that wasn’t remotely in his mind. He stared in its eyes, and it stared back. Ted noticed that they had a sparkle not present back when he left his buddy Julius in the tent, barely half an hour from their last talk. Ted had done what Julius asked him to do. “Go to the guy with the creepy mask! Get some of the blues for me, quick! I need them, dammit!”, and Ted complied. He did so because he had never heard Julius in such a desperate and frustrated tone before. He always saw Julius as the chillest guy he had ever met, even in the times pre-flash. Maybe even too much chill. Except the same ol’ jolly face, Ted had never seen that man display any other emotion. It was like he had a mask constantly over his face. But, in the brief time that the two were together, it seemed like the mask was slowly fading away, feebly showing the presence of the abyss that haunts most of the men of Olathe. And now, what did remain of the old man that was once Julius? A nightmare. A crooked and malformed parody of Julius layed in front of a bewildered Ted. Ted could barely recognise his pal. His body grew horribly, it bloated and expanded all over, causing the tent to fall over Julius in a vain attempt to hide the monster from the terrified eyes of the world. His stomach seemed like it had exploded from the inside, causing it to swell in a rough round shape. The legs has disappeared, engulfed by the belly. His torso twisted over itself like a screw made out of flesh. His arms stretched and pulled, becoming contorted and elongated. They grasped the soil beneath them with sickly calm. It was phisically repulsive and painful for Ted to look at that display of depraved fantasy. He couldn’t believe his friend had become such a monstrosity, even though the evidence was right in front of him, staring at him with the same ol’ jolly face Ted knew. There was silence. Only the melancholy howl of the wind filled the empty valley around them. Ted sat on the ground, with his hands on his head, sobbing. Tears run down his cheeks. Ted had hurried, like Julius told him to. He run far and wide in desperate search of the vendor with the creepy mask. Only if the weirdo hadn’t moved from his last spot Ted would have made it in time to save his friend. Ted remembered the chuckle of the creepy guy has he gave him the little blue pills. It resonated over and over in his head. He felt guilt building up in his chest. Ted didnt’ want to fail Julius. He didn’t want him to suffer like that, all alone. He just wanted his only friend back. Ted stood there for a while, looking at the monstrosity, in silence. Eventually, someone arrived. He heard his steps behind him. Ted turned to see a tall man, armed with a spiked club and armoured with a worn-out bullet-proof vest. The man’s long black hair were animated by the feeble breeze. Ted had never seen him before. He didn’t like him. He didn’t care much about him, or anything in general in that moment. The man came up near Ted, towering over him. “Are you allright?” he asked. Ted said nothing. Couldn’t care less. “Mpf… at least you seem ok…” The man continued: “Look, you should get away from it. You never know when one of these may jump at you…” “And where do you suggest me to go?” Ted asked angrily. “Look man, I don’t give a shit where you should go. Fine for me if you wanna stay here... just don’t crawl to me asking for help when this thing rips off your legs.” Silence. Then Ted got up and slowly walked away from there. He had lost everything once again, and once again he needed to travel around Olathe in search of something or someone to make his life worth living. The bright sun shone in front of Ted. The wind pushed him toward the horizon. The thought that he had to commence his search all over again made him feel disheartened. He pulled one of the little blue pills from his pocket and stared at it with tired eyes. Ted had no one to give this pills to anymore, except himself. Ted gulped down the pill, just for the heck of it. He could feel it travelling down to his stomach. He felt something strange happening inside him shortly after. The sadness that filled his heart was taken over by a comfortable numbness. Ted now felt nothing. He was grateful to the pill for relieving his pain and felt happy that he had a couple more for later. Ted walked down the road, toward a fate he didn’t know anything about, and never turned back, for he didn’t have anything to look back to.