Till death do us part was a saying that Liam Nesbitt never really understood, he always saw the worst in people. He knew that people would do anything to get ahead in life, even going so far as to kill their family just so they could get an inheritance. But he never understood the saying “Till death do us part”, was marriage different? Can love really be so strong that it triumphs over other desires? ...Of course not, not in his eyes. He knew people were cruel, and he knew something as stupid as "true love" wasn’t going to change that.       “It was love at first sight.” Liam’s mother would always tell him about how her and his dad met. Liam would always be a bit cynical, but she would reassure him that love was such a beautiful thing.       “When you truly love someone, you’re willing to die for them.” His mother would say. “Y'know, I always tell you MY love stories, how about you share some of yours?”       “I don’t really… have any, mom. I’ve never fallen in love with anyone. Who could in such a sadistic world.”       “Don’t worry Liam, one day you’ll meet that special someone. The world isn’t THAT bad, and one of these days you’ll see that. When you do, promise me, you’ll tell me your love story?” she looked at Liam with the eyes of a puppy dog, with her pinky out invitingly.       Liam chuckled a little bit and with a smile said “Sure, I promise.” Liam stated, connecting his pinky to hers in the process.       A few years down the line, Liam stayed in his room most of the days and never really did much with his life. He was technically still in college; however, he hadn’t shown up to a single class in over five months. He had no desire to be a part of such a cutthroat lifestyle and was content living out the rest of his life alone. Liam lived by himself in a big house on the eastern most part of town. Liam’s father worked for a big oil company and was very rich, and ever since his mother died, he and his father haven’t really stayed in touch. His father couldn’t handle Liam being around, seeing as Liam would just remind him of her. Liam didn’t seem to care either, as long as he left him alone, Liam didn’t care.       Liam woke up and looked at the clock, it was around eleven o'clock in the morning on Sunday February 14th. Liam always hated this day, he hated it because he knew couples would go out of their way to make a big scene, and it just infuriated him. Liam hadn’t eaten anything for the past few days, so his stomach was completely empty. He knew he had to eat something, so he got out of bed and went to the kitchen to check the fridge, empty.       “God damn it, I don’t wanna have to go to the store.” Liam stood there in thought for a moment until he realized he could just order takeout from his favorite pizza place. Liam didn’t really like cooking, so he would usually just order takeout and have it delivered. Today, he just wanted to get a pizza, and forget about this day, so he called up his nearest pizza place and placed his order.       “Hello, thank you for calling Slice of Life Pizza! What can we make fresh for you today?” Liam was annoyed about the fake excitement in this person’s voice.       “Can I just get a large pepperoni pizza, please?”       “Sure, will that be all?”       “Yeah, just make sure to leave the pizza at the door, just knock to let me know it’s there.” He didn’t want to have to talk to anyone of course and he could just leave the tip outside for them anyway.       He waited for about an hour and then he heard the familiar knock at the door that they would always do just to let you know they came by. Liam usually waited five or so minutes until they had left and would go retrieve his pizza but this time, he just kept hearing more and more knocks. Frustrated, Liam got up and answered the door.       “I told you guys just to leave it at the door.” Liam said as he opened the door, as he was spilling out the words, he saw a beautiful girl around his same age.       She looked nervous as if she had done something wrong. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I was just here to deliver a pizza and wanted to make sure this was the right house.”       “It’s alright…” Liam responded, sounding a little flustered.       She handed the pizza to Liam and turned around to leave, Liam just stood there with the pizza in his hands watching her the entire time she was leaving. She started to get on her bike and as she did, she waved to the passing truck, which honked at her to say “hi”. He had a sort of uneasy feeling in his stomach, the kind of feeling you have when you know something bad is going to happen. Liam brushed it off and went back inside to enjoy his pizza and watch some T.V.       He spent the rest of his day thinking about that girl and how rude of a comment he made and felt bad about it. He wished he could have undone what he said, or if he could even ask for her name, but ultimately it didn’t really matter, I mean he wouldn’t see her again, so he didn’t care. He played video games until about 4 o'clock in the afternoon, and decided he wanted to head to bed. He turned off his T.V., put the remainder of his pizza in the fridge, and went to his room to lay down and fell asleep rather quickly.       He woke up and looked at the clock. It was about eleven in the morning. He was a bit surprised considering that it didn’t feel like he slept for over nineteen hours, but he could see the light from his windows so he must have. He could feel how hungry he was, as if his stomach was completely empty. So, he got up and looked in his fridge to get himself some of the pizza from the day before, but it wasn’t there. Did he throw it out? Surely not… right? He was a little disappointed, but he just thought he would just order another pizza.       He grabbed his phone and dialed the number, right before he hit the call button, he thought about the girl he met yesterday, and how he wanted to apologize for yesterday. He hit the call button and placed his order, this time he asked if they could send the girl they sent to his house last time. The operator sounded a little weirded out, but Liam didn’t really care, he just wanted to apologize.       Liam waited around the house, waiting for the knock, he was a little bit nervous this time, like he was about to make a speech in front of hundreds of people. He thought about what he was going to say to her and if she would be mad at him. Suddenly the doorbell rang, and Liam stood up and answered it.       Of course, just like last time there was the girl from last time, “Hello, I have a pizza for Liam.”       “Yes, that’s me.” Liam responded.       “Alright, here you go sir! Have a nice day!”       Liam stopped her and said, “Hey I just want to say sorry about yesterday.”       “What happened yesterday?” The girl responded as if she truly had no idea what Liam was talking about.       “I was rude to you yesterday and I just want to say I’m sorry.”       “Oh, I’m sorry it must have been someone else, I just started today actually.”       Liam was a bit confused; he knew this was the girl and he knew that he had seen her yesterday. “Are you sure, I remember you delivering the pizza yesterday?”       “I am sorry, but I really have no idea what you’re talking about, but I do have to get back to work, sorry.” She then turned away and left, leaving Liam in a state of confusion.       He watched her walk away and then he slowly stepped back and turned to go back inside. He heard a truck honk, but just ignored it and went back inside.       He sat down on his couch and searched through his phone for a while, again thinking about the girl and how weird of a situation he had gotten himself into. “Whatever.” he thought, and turned on his game and started to load his save file. He noticed that his save file wasn’t where he left it, it was back to where he was yesterday. He wondered if he had even saved it yesterday, but he must have… it saves automatically. He decided it must have got corrupted or something and just continued, it was around four o'clock when he finally pulled his focus away from the game and decided he was done.       He got up and went outside to see if he had any mail, and when he stepped out the door, he realized he stepped on something. He picked it up and saw it was a wallet, he opened it up and saw that it belonged to the girl who had delivered his pizza. He looked at the I.D. to see if he could get her name, then he found it. Jennie Morris, the I.D. stated, Liam thought it was a cute name. Liam, wanting to know more about her, decided he would take the wallet down to the pizza place directly to her, so he put on his shoes and grabbed his belongings and started walking down to the pizza place.       It was around four fifty when he got to the pizza place, when he walked in, he could immediately notice the aroma of pizza sauce and dough. He walked up to the front counter and asked for Jennie, and they told him she wouldn’t be back until five, since that’s the time she clocks out, so he could wait ten minutes, or they could relay a message for her. “I’ll just wait around here; I have something important to give her.” The manager seemed a little suspicious of Liam but didn’t really push the matter.       Liam waited for about forty minutes until he finally saw a little moped come driving up into the parking lot, sitting on top was Jennie, he could tell because of just how beautiful she was, he would never forget a face that beautiful. She pulled into the parking lot and parked next to a white jeep all the way in the corner of the parking lot. As she put the kickstand down on her moped, a black car came speeding into the parking lot, they were going rather fast, as if they were in a hurry. They pulled up right next to Jennie and all at once three older looking guys with ski masks jumped out of the car and grabbed Jennie. Liam jumped up from his seat and rushed outside, he could hear screaming and crying coming from the commotion.       One of the three men pulled out a handgun and the rest of them pulled out a knife, then asked for Jennie’s money, as if she would have any.       “I’m sorry I don’t have anything, I lost my wallet earlier, please just leave me alone!” Jennie was fighting back, kicking, punching, doing whatever she could do to get free from their hold.       Jennie tried grabbing the gun to try and point it away from her, but just as she did, Liam could hear a loud pop come from the direction he was running to. Jennie fell to the ground and the three men, shocked by what just happened, got in their car, and sped off. Liam ran up to Jennie and saw that blood was running down her eyes and down her face. The red blood clashing with the white of her teeth made him almost puke, all he could think to do was cry, cry because he didn’t know what to do.       Through his tears he could see that she was shaking violently as if she were having a seizure, Liam grabbed her and felt her pulse, it was slowly draining from her body, it just kept getting weaker, and weaker, and weaker, until it stopped. Liam woke up with tears streaming down his face, he started to gag as if he was going to throw up, but his stomach was empty, so all it was, was just dry heaving. The only thing coming up being phlegm and mucus. He swore that it had to be a dream, a bad one, but a dream, nonetheless. He looked over at his clock, eleven o'clock in the morning on Sunday, February 14th.       “What the hell was that?!” Liam thought that he must’ve been going crazy or something! “Was it a dream? Was it real?”       Liam started to calm down a bit, reassuring himself that it was just a dream, it had to be. He took a deep breath and thought about everything, Jennie, the robbers, and the wallet. He thought about how realistic the dream was, and how he had never had a dream like that before. In fact, most of the time he didn’t even dream. He would just go to bed and wake up the next morning, like a time skip. So why this time was it so… real?       “It must be this damn holiday.” He concluded, that’s what’s been making him have nightmares.       Still being shaken up, but not letting this ruin his day, he got up and took a shower to clean himself up. When he was done, he went to the fridge to grab something to eat. Nothing was there of course, but it must have been just a coincidence… right? He was still hungry, so he had to get SOMETHING to eat, and he was a little hesitant to call up his favorite pizza place. He thought about it for a moment and then concluded that he was just being paranoid, it was just a dream anyway. He dialed the number and made the order for the pizza, again telling them to just leave it at the door, and knock.       Around an hour or so he heard a knock at the door, this time it sent a chill down his spine. He didn’t know what was beyond that door, would it be Jennie, or what was left of her? He just knew he had to find out, creeping over to the door he started through the peephole, he saw a young man sit his pizza down on the porch, then turn and walk away. Liam got a bit teary eyed at the sight, it just reaffirmed to him that it WAS all just a dream. He opened the door and took the pizza inside. For the rest of the day Liam would sit around, enjoying his pizza while he played video games.       It was around five twenty-five, in the evening when Liam was about to get to the final boss of the game. He had dodged most of the attacks, while also making sure he kept enough healing potions on standby, just in case. Suddenly, things started to go bad, he didn’t realize till it was too late, that he had run out of healing potions, and he was on his last leg. Liam gripped his controller harder, as if he were wielding a sword, and put a final strike on the forsaken beast. When he got the final hit in, he started to celebrate. Just then, one of the minions came up from behind and stabbed him in the back, killing him instantly. Liam got annoyed as he looked at the screen, Game over.       Liam snapped awake, and he started to look around frantically. He quickly looked over the clock and saw it was eleven o, clock in the morning on Sunday, February 14th. “What the fuck?” This couldn’t be a dream anymore. This had to be something else. There is no way this is just a coincidence, something is happening here, and Liam didn’t like it. Liam got up from his bed and started to think about what was happening to him.       Liam got up from his bed and made his way into the living room. “Just to make sure…” Liam opened the fridge, and once again, nothing.       That’s when he realized something, for some reason he keeps restarting, over and over again. “But what could the reason be?” Liam thought to himself.       Liam went over to his couch and pulled out a pen and paper and started to write down everything that has happened so far. “Ok, so the first time I woke up, I went to the fridge to see if it was empty, check. Then I called in the pizza and told them to leave the pizza at the door. But when they got here, they just kept knocking… wait a second.”       Liam then just remembered about Jennie, “Could she be the cause of all of this? But I didn’t meet her yester-I mean last time.” Liam then just remembered that he had to take a shower before he placed the call. “Could that have really been enough time for her to be busy and they had to send someone else? It was only twenty minutes.”       Whatever the case Liam needed to get some answers, so he called up his local pizza place.       “Hello, thank you for calling Slice of Life Pizza, what can we make fresh for you today?”       “Hello, I would like a large pepperoni pizza.” Liam didn’t care what he ordered but he didn’t want to jinx it by ordering something different.       “Sure thing, will that be all?”       “Yeah, but can you do me a favor?”       “Of course sir, it would be my pleasure!”       “There is a girl there named Jennie, can you send her to deliver the pizza for me?” Liam knew it was a weird question to ask, but he didn’t have time to worry about being the creepy guy.       “Yeah… sure we can, will that be all?”       “Yes, and thank you so much, sorry for causing trouble.”       Liam sat around for about an hour dreading every moment that passed by. Suddenly he heard a knock at the door. Liam rushed up from his couch and opened the door. He was breathing a little hard from the run, but he didn’t care.       “Hello, I have a pizza for Liam.” There she was, the most beautiful woman in the world.       “Yep, that’s me.” Liam responded       “Alright, here you go sir! Have a nice day!” Liam couldn’t let her go now, because if he did, he knew it would just happen again the next time.       “Hey, wait up for a minute.” Jennie turned around to look at Liam, and he could feel the butterflies in his stomach from her beauty. “I… had a question to ask you…”       “Sure, what’s up?” She looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes, a smile spreading across her face.       Liam couldn’t squeeze out the question, he was just too nervous. “N-nothing.”       “Alright then, Have a nice day!” Jennie turned away from Liam and as she did, he saw her wallet sticking out of her pocket, and as she took each step it would move further and further out of her pocket. Eventually he saw the wallet fall onto the ground and that’s when he realized what’s been making him restart. He remembered the robbers, and how she would fight them, every time because she didn’t have her wallet. But she didn’t come to his house last time, so did she drop her wallet somewhere else then? What a troublesome girl. But he didn’t care, all he knew was that he had to save her. He had to warn her before she left.       Liam rushed over to her moped and grabbed Jennie “You need to listen to me right now, it’s a matter of life and death!”       Jennie screamed “LET ME GO!” and thrashed about until she finally got an arm free and pushed her key’s right into Liam’s left eye.       Liam fell to the ground screaming in pain. Jennie then began to run and ran out into the street. Just as she got out in the middle of the road, a truck came passing by, striking her, and then speeding off.       Liam, with blood running down one side of his face and tears on the opposite, crawled over to her to see if she was okay. He looked into her eyes and saw that she had a hood ornament stuck directly between her eyes. Through the blood and bone, he could see the fear in her face. Just then Liam snapped awake. This time he didn’t need to look at the clock, he knew what day it was, and what time. It was eleven o'clock in the morning on Sunday, February 14th.       Liam patted his face frantically, landing on his eye confirming it was intact. He was a lot less phased than he should’ve been, considering the circumstances. But all of that didn’t matter, he needed to save Jennie, but he didn’t know how… Liam got up and immediately called in his pizza without a second thought. Then around an hour later, he heard the knock, and since he was already waiting by the door, he opened it immediately.       “Hello, I have a pizza here for Liam Nesbitt.” God damn it, it was the other guy who had delivered his pizza before. Why didn’t she come? Did he order it too early this time?       “Whatever, Thanks.” Liam hastily grabbed the pizza and shut the door before the man could even say goodbye. Liam knew he had no other choice; he had to go down to the pizza shop and confront her. He couldn’t let her die, never again. Liam grabbed all his things and he rushed down to the pizza shop. When he got to the shop he walked in and asked for Jennie.       “Sorry man, she won’t be back till five.”       “Dude it’s only twelve fifty!” Liam couldn’t believe it. How busy was this girl?       “Sorry, but there is nothing I can do, I can take a message if you want, or you can wait around here.”       Liam sighed and just plopped down into his seat and decided to wait. He knew it would be better just to wait here, than to go and try to find her anyway. A few hours went by, the shopkeeper was getting a little annoyed, but of course he wasn’t going to say anything to a long-time customer. Liam then remembered that it was around five thirty, that Jennie would pull in and… THAT would happen to her. So, he looked down at his watch and saw that it was around five twenty-five. “SHIT!” Liam needed to act fast, he needed to save her. He got up from his chair and headed outside, while out there he scouted for a place to hide when the men showed up. He spotted the white jeep in the far corner, the one he saw her park next to before and went to go hide.       The adrenaline was building up in Liam, he knew what he was about to get himself into, and the dangers that went along with it. But why? Why would he go through all this trouble for some random girl? Just then he saw Jennie pull into the parking lot and park right next to the car he was hiding behind. She pulled up her kickstand, and just then he saw the black car speed into the parking lot, then the car stopped right next to Jennie and three older men wearing ski masks got out of the car.       The men then grabbed Jennie and said, “Give us all the money you got bitch, or I'll fucking gut you!”       “I’m sorry I don’t have anything, I lost my wallet earlier, please just leave me alone!” Jennie was fighting back, kicking, punching, doing whatever she could do to get free from their hold.       One of the men pulled out their gun while the other two pulled out knives, however this time, Liam jumped out from behind the car and rushed the man with a gun. “LEAVE HER ALONE!” Liam said as he knocked the masked man down.       The other two men then, at the same time, drove both knives into Liam. After hearing Liam scream in pain, the three men, worried that they might be caught, rushed back into their car, and sped off, leaving Liam and Jennie sitting there alone. Liam could feel his heartbeat starting to slow, and his vision was getting darker, his hearing going numb. But through it all he could see Jennie leaning over him crying, each tear falling and bouncing off his face. Her face was so beautiful, Liam just wished he could look at it a little bit longer.       “Ah, so this is what my mother meant, huh? Love at first sight.” Liam spoke with such a weak voice he didn’t even know if she heard him. But it didn’t matter, he saved her, that’s all that mattered. Liam finally understood what “Till Death Do Us Part” meant. And it was the most beautiful phrase he had ever heard. With his last breath Liam said, “Alright mom, now it's my turn to tell you a story.


"Mind if I sit here?" said a low voice from Meghan's right hand side. It was a short, Indian man, gesturing to the space on the park bench beside her. "Sure go ahead!" she politely said, moving her bag to her other side, away from the man. He took the space next to her and let out a sigh. They both sat in silence, watching a lady on the other side of the park struggle to get a squirrel to take some food from her hand. "She's trying it with the wrong squirrel." the man said, breaking the silence. "Huh, sorry?" Meghan replied, taking out one of her earphones. "The lady. Feeding the squirrel. She's wasting her time. I come here all the time and that squirrel is very wary of people and won't eat from your hand. The one with the shorter tail on the other side of the swings will eat for days though" he chuckled. "Oh, haha. How can you tell them apart?" "Well that one has a thicker tail and is a bit of a darker grey on the head, whereas the other one is a lighter grey and a bit more thin. It's a lot younger, I think." "Oh wow, should we tell her?" "Oh no, I like to not interfere. She'll either learn, or she won't. I haven't seen you here before?" He turned to face Meghan now. "Yeah I just moved here. First time moving away from home and I thought I'd come clear my head in the park. It's lovely here." "What's on your mind?" "Oh nothing, um, I think I should head back and finish unpacking. It was lovely meeting you though!" Meghan put her book away into the bag and flashed the man a smile as she left. *4 days later.* Meghan was walking through the nearby park, looking for a place to sit, when she saw the same short Indian man beckon her over to the bench. “Hey! How’s the move going? All unpacked? You can come sit next to me if you’d like” the man said. Meghan felt pressured and politely took the space next to him. “Yeah, unpacking is going along alright. Bit slower than I’d like but I’m in no rush.” She replied as she got out her notebook and pencil, ready to do some sketching. “I never got your name last time, I’m Arjun” the man beamed, holding out his hand to shake hers. “Nice to meet you Arjun. I’m just going to pop my earphones in and get on with some drawing if that’s ok?” she replied. He shrugged in a way that said ‘don’t let me stop you’ and Meghan began to draw. After about 15 minutes, she felt his eyes watching her draw, and took out her earphones. “I think I’m going to head home and finish this drawing back there, it was lovely seeing you again though!” “You too! Although, I never got your name.” he replied. “Oh um… it’s Meghan.” “Nice to meet you Meghan, see you around!” *15 days later.* Meghan was on her way to the bench where she had seen Arjun a few times over the past two weeks, both hoping that he wasn’t there so that she could draw in peace, and also hoping that he was there, so that she had someone to talk to. As expected, Arjun was sitting on the bench, wearing a smile on his face as she approached. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he asked as she walked over and took her seat next to him. “Yeah it’s lovely. Not too hot but warm enough that I can wear a vest. How are you Arjun?” She studied him as she spoke. He seemed to be getting thinner. “I’m good thanks Meghan, been here since the sunrise today feeding the squirrels. How’s the drawing coming along?” “Yeah it’s getting there, I’m not too happy with it but that’s part of the process I guess.” She decided this time to not put her earphones in. The two spoke about their weekend and Arjun showed genuine interest in Meghan’s life, something she had not felt before. She often wondered about his life, but he didn’t seem to talk about it much. He was in his 60s, looked good for his age, and there hadn’t been a time that he wasn’t ever on this bench when she came to the park. *37 days later.* Meghan last saw Arjun 4 days ago, and he kept falling asleep during their conversation. “Hey Arjun!” Meghan cheered as she lightly jogged over to their bench. He was feeding the squirrels. “Meghan! How did the interview go?!” he asked. “I don’t want to jinx it, but I think it went really well. They said I should hear in a few days.” “Oh I just know you smashed it...” Arjun trailed off as he stifled a cough. “Do you want some water?” Meghan handed him her water bottle as he began to have a coughing fit. These were starting to become a regular thing for Arjun. He took the bottle and drank until he stopped coughing, before passing the bottle back. He thanked her and the two sat in silence for a while whilst Meghan worked on her drawing. *4 days later.* Arjun was asleep on the bench as Meghan arrived at the park. It was colder today. “Hey Arjun? Arjun!” Arjun awoke, mumbling to himself. “Arjun, I got the job!” she exclaimed. “Oh Meghan I’m so happy for you!” he said. She thanked him, and noticed that he looked rather unkempt. Arjun always managed to be dressed sharply, but today he was in less formal clothes and his hair wasn’t neatly combed over his head. “Is everything okay? Sorry to wake you” Meghan cautiously asked. “Yes everything’s fine. Just feeling a bit under the weather, that’s all. I’m so pleased for you Meghan, you truly deserve this.” he replied. Arjun and Meghan spoke about her new job and what it would entail for quite some time, before Meghan headed home. *21 days later.* Meghan had noticed that over the past three weeks Arjun was starting to look worse and worse. He kept forgetting about conversations that they had, and his coughing was becoming more frequent. “Arjun I have to ask, is everything okay? It’s just that you have had this cough for a while now and you seem to be getting worse” She asked. Arjun didn’t answer at first. He just watched the squirrels chase each other in the tree. “Arjun?” Meghan prompted. “You’re right. I am getting worse.” he replied, with a sadness in his voice that Meghan hadn’t heard from him before. “I have cancer, Meghan. I don’t think it will be getting better for me.” Meghan didn’t know what to say. They sat in silence for a moment. Meghan placed her hand on his. “I’m so sorry, Arjun. Is there a treatment for it? Are you taking anything or, I don’t know, is there a surgery or something?” “Oh no, I like to not interfere. I’ll either live, or I won’t.” Arjun was smiling as he said this. Tears filled Meghan’s eyes and they sat in silence as Arjun fed the squirrels. *16 days later.* Arjun wasn’t there when Meghan went to the park. This was the first time that he’d not been there since she started coming. She sat in her seat, and waited for his arrival. They had never exchanged numbers, so she couldn’t text him. She last saw him 5 days ago, and he looked more like himself. Glowing, even. She waited for a few hours and headed home. Meghan returned the next day, to find the bench empty again. Every few days, when Meghan got the chance, she would return to the bench, hoping to see Arjun feeding the squirrels, and every few days, she was disappointed to not see him there. She checked online obituaries, and saw a man named Arjun Kumar, aged 68, died of pancreatic cancer a week ago. There was no funeral being held, and no indication of a family. No trace of the man that would sit on this bench and feed the squirrels.


In 2001, I bought a bag of magic mushrooms in Shibuya. They were legal at the time and could either be bought at designated mushroom shops with big neon mushroom advertising, or on the street where they were displayed on top of makeshift wooden tables. Stringy shriveled dry things in transparent bags for 2000 yen. I bought a bag, put the contents in my mouth and chased them down with an Asahi beer to quash the taste, then walked up the hill to a free trance party in Yoyogi park to dance with the freaks. Mushroom drapes hung off a nearby pedestrian bridge and a small pop-up bar sold tequila. In amongst all the twisted and exalted faces that danced around was a fire-sprite named Kayo. She had frizzy dyed-brown mid-length hair that glowed in the sun and a mischievous pretty face. She lay under the sound system in Cleopatran gold attire, clothes that looked like she’d made them in art college, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The World Cup was fast approaching and the Mayor was beginning to sweat. Hordes of drunk football tourists and foreign media would soon arrive, and the whole planet would be watching. So the Mayor decided to clean the city in order to create a good impression. He closed down the trance parties in Yoyogi Park and got rid of the rock bands that played alongside the main park road every weekend. He outlawed magic mushrooms and painted over the street art. He banished the punks, rockers, metal heads, freaks and snuffed out all the colour. The World Cup arrived and the city was clean! Sparkling new concrete everywhere, but a few smudges remained. The Mayor hadn’t gotten the cleaning brush into all the corners. One evening, a buddy and I walked through one of said smudges - an ill-lit backstreet in Kabukicho district with rats scurrying around in it, and lined with yakuza-run strip joints and fuck parlours. A ponytailed man in his 30s with cheap sunglasses and alligator skin shoes stood in the dark behind a portable wooden table and ushered us over to inspect his wares. On the table were bags of different kinds of dried mushrooms, twisted and dry cunning things, and some little bottles and vials too. After some back-and-forth with the seller about what everything did, he sold us two little pipette bottles of 2-CI for 2000 yen each which we uncapped, swallowed and washed down with beer. The 2-CI had a battery-acid taste the beer couldn’t hide and it wasn’t long before we were bent and twisted. We slithered on foot from Shinjuku to Roppongi which is quite an odd thing to do if you know the layout of the Tokyo subway. On arrival in Roppongi, we were greeted by a large swaying green wall of horribly drunk Irish football fans in heavy song standing along the stairs of the Dubliners and facing off with a line of riot police. In the middle of that impenetrable green wall was a solitary round red and white thing that bounced around at a different pace to everything else around it. It looked like a rubber ball vibrating and fragmenting. Riding the 2-CI peak we were! Ireland won that night. England did too, 3-0 against Denmark, although you would never have known it looking at that speedy red and white ball-thing which I later came to realize, once the drugs had levelled off, was a solo Dane with his face painted with the Danish flag celebrating manically amongst the Irish. The 2002 WC circus came and went. Fast forward to 2020 and the current mayor is up to the same tricks.


Ross and Luke sat across from each other in the stuffy, leather and lacquer reeking room of the former mistress Runlada. Luke ran his finger down the back of a brass figurine in the shape of a wolf hound that was placed gingerly on a narrow side table. Ross sat with his cheek resting on a fist, hunched over and losing thoughts into the meticulously crafted ebony floor. An under-wound grandfather clock ticked slowly and unevenly in the corner, its second hand was stuck in between the thirty-four and thirty-five second mark. “So-” Luke opened the silence “We’ve been all over this country side and almost through this whole state looking for an answer to these nightmare storms. We’ve been together for almost a month, but the thing is, you seem to know us and our struggles pretty well, but what about you? I've heard the rumor. Do you mind talking a little about yourself?” “As in?” Ross answered, moving his gaze to Luke. He knew what Luke was asking. “Your past? Why all this trouble to look into something that is almost impossible to trace?” “My past? Like, as in when I was a kid and stuff?” Ross returned his eyes to the floor. “Like back in the circus? And who wouldn’t want to know about the storms?” “Yeah that’s true I guess. We could start at the circus, if you’re ready to talk about it.” “I wasn’t ready for that kind of conversation, but I think it’s only fair all the same” Ross leaned back into the dimpled arm chair that was supporting his lunking, tired body. “Well, I was about thirteen. My mom was a performer.” “Was she a witch like you?” Luke inquired. “She was, but she didn’t have a deficit like mine.” Ross looked at his forearm. Under that skin and muscle were delicate carvings in his radius and ulna. A horrible contract made in a horrible time. “I got a really bad deal with this one, but I was so young. I didn’t know any better” Ross looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Well, I did. But it was bad. Real bad, I couldn’t think of anything else to do.” Luke nodded. “I’ve heard a few rumors about that day, but I wanted to hear the story from you. You know what assumptions do. Was she a body user?” Ross looked over his nose at Luke while still facing up at the ceiling. “Yeah. She made herself into knots and things like that. Really flexible. God, she loved making those people smile. She was so kind. So beautiful. Her favorite trick was to fit inside this little box and pop back out like nothing happened.” “Did everyone know? You know, that she was-” “A witch? Yeah, they did. But they also knew her. They knew she wasn’t like that. Everyone loved seeing her” Ross leaned forward and clasped his hands around the nape of his neck. “I wish I could talk with her again.” Luke remained silent, letting the empty air buffer him and Ross against what was about to be shared. “That day-” Ross huffed “That day, there were hunters in the crowd. They had gotten word of her, someone took money in exchange for outing her. She was in the middle of an act. I was behind the curtains like I always was, watching her have the time of her life. She was magnificent and graceful and perfect and-” He choked on the words. “They killed her. THEY killed her with those glittering blades and tools.” Luke leaned forward attempting to place a hand on Ross’s shoulder. Ross stood up quickly, deflecting the affectionate gesture. “When I saw them jump over the barricades and rush the stage. I knew exactly what was happening. Their fucking-” Ross stammered “Their stupid instruments of death. Designed specifically to hunt those who are different. They talked into those shoulder radios like she was a rabid animal they found. An animal with only one fate, to be put down. I will never forget the voice that told them to take her out.” Luke shifted in his chair. “When I saw the first blade enter her chest, I couldn’t think. I just rushed them. Anything to give my mom space to run, even if I got hurt. I know now that even if I had, she wouldn’t have left me. She told me to run. One of the hunters threw me across the floor. I was panicking, my heart was screaming and my legs couldn’t hear my brain telling them to go faster. I scrambled and clawed the floor.” Luke cleared his throat. “Shit man-” “That’s when “HE” came to me. In my most vulnerable moment. HE appeared to me. My mom had always warned me to do research before I chose a contract. Well, at that moment, I really didn’t have a choice. I shook HIS hand without even hearing what HE was saying and I felt the words scroll into my bones.” “It was that quick?” Luke asked. “Like a camera flash, it was a done deal. I later found out he was the THORN being. I saw my mom laying there, not moving. The hunters were crowded around her. I could only see black. I let HIM take over.” “What happened?” “I consumed everything. The thorns reached out long. I caved in everything and everyone in there. It’s all a blur after that but-” Ross pushed over a chair and stared as it clamored on the floor. “I held my mom in my weak little arms as the thorns surrounded us. I couldn’t hear the screams or crunching of bodies. All I heard was her telling me-” A door from the hallway opened. Janet walked in to tell them that the info broker was there. Ross and Luke turned to look at her. Ross had tears staining his cheeks. “He’s here.” Janet said. She looked back and forth between them. “Jesus, what’s wrong with you? We’ve got stuff to do, let’s go.


A Calling in Th'Abyss I Who are you... Where are we.... Do I belong here.... A voice scatters across the dark of Th'Abyss- a location unfamiliar to many who find themselves lost. Wandering souls often are caught up in their own misery. More times than naught, such souls fall into the darkest night. I cannot help but to wonder: Who are you? The soul crying cannot see me for my body camouflages in the darkness. Similarly, the beast behind the lost lamb cannot be seen. Yet, I know it is there- prowling. I shuffle my foot in the black mud. With my arm I draw a blade from my left hip. Don't move... I demand the lost soul. Confusion and fear permeate through the thick air: What do you mean? What's there? From behind the wandering soul, the beast begins to strike. We hear the strong limbs pounding against the ground. Despite the darkness, I can see the creature's eyes- red embers glow dimly as they target their prey. I raise my sword high. Swiftly, I maneuver around the lost lamb. The beast looks at me with rage. Regardless, it shall not be allowed to kill. Tonight the beast is vanquished with one fell swoop of my blade. The black steel is sharp and slices the fiendish head off of its shoulders. The head rolls into the mud. Alarmed by the shrieking beast, the wandering soul screams. Sharply so the soul releases fear and anguish: What's happening? Where are you- are you going to kill me? I place my sword back into the scabbard. With a gentle approach, I place my hand on the soul: I am not here to hurt you. If you are lost, then I can lend some advice. The soul readies their breathe. Calming one's mind helps alleviate confusion through creating room for clarity. After all, thoughts are as muddied as Th'Abyssian floor when rattled. A sigh of disbelief echoes from the soul. There is a sense of longing and closure. I reassure that I can help. Well, at least I know who can be of aid. How long have I been here, the lost soul begins to ask- Do you have the time? I laugh at their question: Forgive me, but time does not exist here in the same as it does on your earth. Th'Abyss is a location of enternal night. Although we may age, we grow at an extremely slow pace. The soul shakes their head. My response is not to their grasp. One cannot blame another for believing the words of a person they have just met. Especially, when the conversation circles around a place only mentioned in tales. How do I leave? The soul's voice sounds exasperated. Perhaps this place is draining to their spirit- that is a certain possibility. Not many human souls travel to Th'Abyss and leave unscathed. I place a hand on my jaw- looking into the darkness for an answer. Who can help this lost being? Then, an image forms in my mind of a possible solution. Yet, contacting them will prove difficult. At least, I have no means of getting their attention. The wandering soul, on the contrary, should be able to pique another's interest. You must connect with The Monkey, I begin to say while my solution is interrupted. The monkey? What the hell is a monkey going to do? Frustration rings louder than sorrow. The soul needs to commit to trust despite the circumstances. Please let me speak, I halt any further interjections- The Monkey is a powerful being. He is aligned with The Conquerer who steeped foot here long ago. Should you travel further into Th'Abyss, you will reach a pivotal point in which communication with Outerreagions is possible. You will know when you land there, your feet will step on stone. Once you reach this location, call out to The Monkey by his name. You may have to speak his name more than once. Yet, I assure you he will be able to free you from this void. My voice is ascertain and honest. Surely, the wandering soul puts faith in me despite previous disbelief. After all, when there is no one else lending advice, people tend to give another a chance. There is no doubt in my mind that The Monkey is able to provide assistance. Very well, the wandering soul sighs- I will do as you say. I just hope you're right. I smile and shake the lost lamb's hand- Everything will be alright. With that reassurance, I can feel a sense of relief. Further, I bid the soul bön nicht. As they walk in the distance, I cry out the name needed for release. Despite the darkness, I know that the soul nods in affirmation- repeating the true name of The Monkey. II Beneath a clear sky rests a vast valley. Vibrant fields of green contrast against the black mountains beyond. A river of azure glints in the sun- dazzling like jewels on the surface. Here resides a kingdom, a home to those who once were refugees. In this land, there are no humans. On the contrary, beings noted as Mystiques find their sanctuary from the devils of their past. The Mystiques compromise of humanoid people with extraordinary power. Not everyone holds supernatural abilities. Yet, everyone shares a common love of nature and freedom. In this world, discrimination no longer exists because the beings here had to flee from oppression and segregation. Freedom is not always free- as the saying goes. The people who congregate to the valley could not earn their salvation alone. In truth, a savior came to their calling. At first, they saw fear in the exploits of a single warrior. In time, they came to trust the great fighter as their Savior. As the clock ticks, and battles were won- the Savior collected four strong generals to help maintain order. In guard of the kingdom laying in the valley is the whimsical Monkey. He has earned much respect despite his carefree nature. The children of the kingdom especially regard him in earnest. After all, the Monkey is not too proud to play- unlike other generals. Peace and safety are the two main goals of the Savior's empire. Some may believe that living without conflict may be boring. On the contrary, the people of this kingdom enjoy their carefree lifestyle. They have the liberty to live the life given to them. Ultimately, after seeing their plight, the kingdom's Savior thought it best to provide everyone with the opportunity of peace. Sanctuary is a reward for those who have long suffered from hardships- oppression cannot be allowed to stay forever. Yet, what of one's sense of adventure? The Monkey can assure one that there comes a time when the need to move and act is hard to satiate. True, many can be happy with their daily routines- living amongst nature is enough to bring elation. The Monkey would never judge the people he is deemed to protect. Besides, everyone deserves the time to create, play, laugh, and grow with the land around them. Honestly, the Mystiques do not have the same occupational mentality as those of modern earth. There are neither large corporations to work aimlessly for, nor arbitrary tasks to tend. What is necessary to do is what will be done. Survival is not about excess, but appreciating the simplicity of life. Simplicity, the word crosses Monkey's mind. In the court yard, a great blossom tree provides him with a place to sit. The tree may not be his typical place for meditation. However, Monkey cannot help but to follow the flow of thought. His eyes are transfixed on the drifting clouds ahead while the mind wanders into deep contemplation. A booming voice interrupts all concentration: "Here you are Monkey, I've been looking all over the castle for you." The sound is deep and startles Monkey's balance. He fumbles from his branch. Fortunately, Monkey has a tail. With a quick SWISH, Monkey prevents his fall. "Watch yourself Dragon!" the embarrassed Monkey shouts- "You could've made me bust my head!" The Dragon cannot help but to laugh- "You're a monkey, you're not supposed to fall out of trees!" Monkey's face turns red. He swings from the branch and lands on his feet. With his hands on his hips, Monkey raises head high. The pouting Monkey is much smaller than the tall Dragon being. Even in his Mystique form, the Dragon measures seven feet. "So," the Monkey places his arms behind his head- "What brings you here from the black mountains?" Typically, the generals would plan in advance should they decide to visit another castle. After all, they must assign a top soldier to tend to their kingdom in their stead. Dragon is more anal than the other generals- perhaps that is because he is the eldest. A surprise visit is nothing within his personality. Nonetheless, something or someone may have urged the occasion. The thought passes through Monkey's mind. "Un piqua göttís told me that you needed counsel," the Dragon replies with an atypical blend of stern and playful. "Therefore, I flew by to see how you fare." The statement presents Monkey with confusion. Clearly, the Dragon forgot which tongue to use. The Mystique language has many dialects with various shifts in words. Seeing Monkey's head tilt, the old Mystique clarifies his meaning. "Oh! I see now," the Monkey laughs- "You should've said so from the beginning. Well, I'll let you in on a secret." Monkey motions for his tall friend to drop down a notch. With a hand covering his mouth from view, Monkey whispers: "I'm bored!" The Dragon gives a hardy laugh. His friend looks insulted. However, the Dragon raises a hand: "I'm not mocking you." The Monkey's eyes roll in an effort to suggest that he believes otherwise. After a moment of silence, even the Monkey cannot resist a bout of laughter. "It's insane!" The Monkey jeers- "I just feel useless right now. I know my place and role in maintaining this kingdom. However, I cannot help but to crave an adventure. Perhaps, there is someone that I don't know who needs me." With a wounded look in his eye, the Monkey looks to the ground below. Everyone wants to be able to help another. Yet, where to begin when one's duties seem full? Dragon places a hand on Monkey's shoulder- "I understand how you feel. That is why I was told to visit. There is a chance that somebody could use your skill." Monkey looks up into Dragon's eyes. He thinks to himself- does Dragon know something that I don't? The old Mystique can notice the change in Monkey's gaze. Clearly, he is suspicious about the other in the moment. "Be honest," Monkey demands- "What did the little goat tell you?" "Meditate," the Dragon begins to replay with an emphasis on the world- "Meditate and you will hear someone calling your name." Surely, the answer seems peculiar. Should another being tell Monkey to give into a transient state, he would not listen. After all, the notion implied is an adventure through projection. The Monkey looks perplexed and shakes his head: "What is your meaning now Dragon?" A quest found is more appealing than a quest given. Such an expression crosses Monkey's nature- he does not always enjoy being handed down tasks. "Take this mission as your own," continues the Dragon- "Go to your tree and listen for a voice. You will understand once you find the connection." "Is someone imprisoned?" Monkey raises the question with discomfort. How can he be expected to single handedly rescue a person from a castle? "I can say no more," the Dragon shakes his head- "It is an opportunity to alleviate your boredom at the benefit of helping another soul." The Monkey shrugs his shoulders- "Fine, I'll take the task. Thank you for letting me know. Tell the little goat that I will not fail." A beam strikes the Dragon's face- "I will. Take care Monkey." The two friends shake hands in departure. Jumping into the sky, Dragon transforms into his fierce form. A great black beast with powerful wings soars towards the direction of home. Monkey admires his friend's might and bids him well. The time is nigh for adventure to begin. Monkey proceeds to back flip excited by the task at hand. He looks to the sun, noticing the orb's descent behind the horizon. No need to fear, for Monkey, meditation works just as well in the night as in the day. With urgency, the Monkey makes haste to the beautiful fruit tree that lays past the kingdom. I do not know you, but I will come to your aid- the thought rings with confidence. III Breathe in and breathe out... Slow inhale, but with a deep exhale. Finding one's center is all about creating a sense of balance. Ying and yang are basic principles that have been taught in Eastern human religions. A thought that has elements of truth. There is light and darkness within the world. Yet, the idea of gender differences in their teachings is faulted. We are all living beings. We behave the way we are because of our own identity- rather than what society seeks to control between the male and female forms. I for one, respect my own society- equality and equity for all. These thoughts enter my mind as I sit beneath the golden peach tree. The wind blows calmly through the leaves. Gentle, the wind touches my face. Breathe in and breathe out... Slow inhale, but with a deep exhale.... What was the mission again? Answer the call. Who will speak my name? Where am I needed? There are too many questions and I will be rendered useless should I fail to find a moment of peace. I can feel the sun leave my face as he drops down behind the horizon. Matrá Lunestrá will truly prove to be an asset in this journey. In leaving one space to go into the darkness requires the light of her eyes. She is able to guide one in their dreams- therefore, she will be able to help me reach the lost soul. As long as Lunestrá is willing, I am grateful to her magika. Please help me, Mother Moon- I pray with my my heart. Suddenly, I can hear my name. The sound echoes through the air like windchimes. The time to act is coming. Since I'm still unsure as of where I will tarry- I achieve my highest form. Full concentration and spiritual power are key to success. Then my name strikes as hard as a gong: Doooon!!! The sound nearly shatters my wits. The urgency is nigh. Now I understand my mission. It is time to answer a calling in Th'Abyss.


We walk together at sunrise regardless of the weather, the day's schedule, or mood. If it rains we get wet. If it snows we face the chill. If the humid August heat thickens the air we breathe it in, and push it out. The sparse weeks of gentle weather are noted as fleeting things not to be normalized. He chews the packed snow out of his paws or rests in the cool creekbed. I chain smoke and drink lukewarm black coffee regardless of the weather. It is a steady routine that I do not wish to alter. Yet the constant of change pulls this comforting security apart. He grows less playful. I notice this long after the change began. He rests more often, a rest welcomed by the dull ache in my knees. I searched for my first dog during the collapse of a long-term relationship. Grasping at straws, I wanted to seize any chance to slow the panicked fall. I imagine some couples do this with pregnancy. Anything to pump the breaks. To restore what once was. In our case, the puppy did not work as intended. This small dog is the last remaining link to a past life. A version of myself that lived more passionately. I miss aspects of that stranger. The bursts of creative action that led to success beyond my years. A doomed success that could not withstand an unhealthy relationship, mind, or routine. Years beyond that we walk together. His graying muzzle at odds with how close in my heart those days stand. I do not belong in this world anymore. The quiet streets, the quaint cabins, the peace of the ivy-coated wood all replaced. All replaced by unsustainable comforts. Comforts that strip a diverse forest into a complex of identical culdesac homes. Areas that he once ran off-leash are now strip malls with scam artist chiropractors or payday loan operations. Areas that once wafted honeysuckle, now reek of modernization. Oil, rotting garbage, freshly poured heated blacktop. It aches to have a love of the world that lives only in memory. I fear that he will pass soon. That my last connection will be severed. He has begun to limp. It is only a matter of time. I know my sole companion well enough to see how tired he has become. I hope that the memories of a kinder environment have faded from his mind. It seems unbearably cruel for such an innocent creature to long, as I do, for a more natural world that will not return. After the military scientists created artificially intelligent defense systems nuclear deterrence became obsolete. War between the major nations of the world could be fought as it had been. The major countries of the world placing boots on the ground. Scores of adolescents in mech suits dying, and killing as no other combatants had in the history of warfare. China invaded Africa, The United States invaded Africa. Millions are dead. We live on rations now. 1800 calories a day, 1500 calories a day, 1200 calories a day. My companion is hungry. I wonder if he understands that I struggle to provide, or if he believes that I choose not to. His fur is coarse and patchy. He licks bits of infected dark skin obsessively. The day will soon come when the suffering of his age, and starvation will outweigh my revulsion. My revulsion to do what must inevitably be done. The Chinese have landed troops in Florida. We are no longer fighting a war that can be won. We are drawing out our demise. Those captured are enslaved or killed. The outline of my pelvis pulls taught skin, and I fear that the 22nd century will be a world without the English language. The few people that I see on my walks, which have become much briefer, are gaunt figurines. I have no room for pity. Three weeks without electricity, or news of the invasion. I found an enemy pilot hanging by his parachute from a weeping willow. Cut him down. Walked him to my home. He died from an abdominal wound. This took a few days. I marked his grave with the star pattern on his nations flag. My lungs rattle. I must have caught an illness from the pilot. Starvation has comprised my immune system. Fever skin cracks at the joints. Infected armpits ooze yellow pus mixed with trickles of blood. Today is the day my companion leaves the Earth. He is ready, and I have grown so weak that I fear I will not be able to drown him tomorrow. I place him in a wagon and wheel him to the lake. His cataract blinded eyes lack comprehension. I wade out with him in my arms and do not return.


Microdosing by J.D. Savanyu I grew up playing stupid 2D games, and now I’m making stupid 3D games. Upping the ante with each “immersive digital experience” to distract the players from their pathetic little lives. More character customization, more choice-driven narratives, more melodramatic cutaway scenes, more blood, more boobs . . . and shorter product development phases, pushing programmers like me to the breaking point. Thank god I discovered “Daddy’s Little Helper.” Three o’clock sharp. Time for another cuppa java, discretely spiked with lysergic acid diethylamide. I have to employ a bit of stealth, because California has been legalizing everything in the lawbook lately, but they still haven’t legalized “looney tunes.” Of course I’m not taking enough to get looney, or daffy, or balls-trippy. Just a little microdosing to maximize my productivity at DreamPixel USA; a wholly owned subsidiary of a Japanese conglomerate. I watch the clouds swirling in my coffee, thinking the sound stuck in my head is about me . . . the tinny MIDI overworld theme to Ultra Chaos 3 from 1989, back when I was a hopelessly awkward dork at Pleasant Valley Middle School. GamePro Monthly called it an “RPG tour de force,” and it turned me into a digital zombie, crawling on my thumbs through an 8-bit wonderland, crafted by Masanobu Eguchi. *“Hey mom, I wanna go to the Stanford School of Game Design, so I can be the next Masanobu!”* *“Oh, sweetie, why don’t you do something that actually helps people? Like being a doctor, or a social worker, or a highway engineer.”* *“No way! I’ll make a game that’s twice as good as Ultra Chaos 3, and they’ll pay me a gazillion dollars, and those schoolyard bullies will be living in a freakin’ cardboard box and begging me for lunch money!”* None of my bold predictions came true, much to my dismay. Nobody can out-design Masanobu; “the game guru of Harajuku.” I’m dropping acid in a desperate attempt to avoid the poor house, while Masanobu drinks vintage Karuizawa whiskey at a five-star Kobe steakhouse in Kobe. I reluctantly return to my glowing plasma screen, surrounded by fellow PixelDreamers. The sterile soul-crushing smell of Silicon Valley oozes from every crevice of our “open team workspace.” Ah, here we go. The magic chemical kicks in, and that nagging undertow of chronic depression washes out to the Frisco Bay. It’s just a matter of time before they legalize this shit and throw commercials for it all over the airwaves, just like Viagra before it went generic. Some struggling actor will try to sound natural while yakking over a bubbly remake of “Feelin’ Groovy” by Simon and Garfunkel: *“Having trouble focusing? Falling behind at work or school? Microdosing can make a world of difference, so ask your doctor about Acidera! (Ahem . . . side effects may include rapid heartbeat, increased blood pressure and body temperature, hallucinations, paranoia and distressing flashbacks. Do not consume more than one microdose tablet per day, or these effects will worsen and may cause dangerous life-threatening behavior.) Microdosing truly CAN make a world of difference, so get back in the groove with Acidera! (Buh-da-da-da-da-da-da, feelin’ groo-vey!)* Those side effects haven’t effected me yet, but they surely will. If I’m not careful, I might trip balls, fall into a jail cell, and lose my dream job (which turned out to be a nightmare.) Keep your head in the game, buddy-boy. We’re working like hell to get Magic Gino: The Mandolin of Destiny out to market in time for the holidays, so millions of spoiled brats can unwrap the latest installment in the best-selling game franchise of all time. My current assignment is the warp zone; a secret easter egg in World 1. Gino has to squat down on a white brick wall for five seconds, then he gets sucked down behind it and magically “warps” to World 8, where an evil sorcerer imprisoned Princess Bianca deep inside a gothic labyrinth that would make Count Dracula green with envy. That sexy wench has gotten kidnapped a billion times since ‘82. I guess she spends too much on royal gowns, and not enough on royal guards. The LSD tickles my neurons and makes a ginormous heap of C++ seem far less bewildering. In the back of my mind, I hear the voice of Nick Rafka, a fellow forty-something software engineer, devouring a vegan burger yesterday afternoon in the DreamPixel cafeteria. “The effect of microdosing is mostly placebo, just like those overpriced ‘antidepressants’ from Big Pharma,” Nick claimed confidently. “I say it’s half-and-half, just like the clouds in my coffee,” I replied wittily, and took a big bite of non-vegan bacon cheeseburger. “It’s a bunch of pseudoscience, promoted by clueless talking heads like fucking Doctor Oz.” “Maybe you’re right, or maybe you’re wrong,” I murmured wearily. “By the way, I wish I could take a time machine back to the good ol’ 90’s, before the government allowed TV commercials for prescription drugs, with all those nauseating side effects.” “Oh yeah, I’m totally nostalgic for the days when you could eat dinner in front of the idiot box without being reminded of your own mortality.” Back to the current situation, however mundane it may be. I press the “render” button and reveal a lush Tolkein-esque landscape, where Gino battles a vast army of enchanted lizards, porcupines, hedgehogs and Venus flytraps; doing it all for the glory of love. He won’t stop fighting until he defeats the evil arch-alchemist Dante Machiavelli, and then he’ll fuck the brains out of that brainless blonde princess. (Only in my imagination, because this is an E for Everyone franchise.) Who am I fighting for? Nobody but myself. There's no princess waiting at my “castle” in the Mission District. Nobody to kiss my face and scratch my back and make me forget about the endless digital rat race. A little red-haired girl broke my heart in a thousand pieces at Love Creek High School, so I rejected the entire concept of romance. Computers became my only friends . . . but what glorious friends they are. I love how they serve my every whim, 24/7, with no complaints whatsoever. They never take a coffee break or demand a ridiculous pay raise or sue your ass off at the slightest opportunity. I took the red pill and stayed in wonderland, seeing just how deep The Matrix goes. It’s nine o’clock somewhere. Right here. The acid catches my feet and sends me flying through a midsummer night’s waking dream, in a cheap Korean car. I pop some Fourplay into the CD player, and smooth jazz from the grunge era soothes my wired nerves. The neon lights of Silicon Valley race by in a dazzling particolored sheen, like an ethereal court jester on a cosmic stage. As I've gotten older, I've realized the immense wisdom behind the trite expression “life is more about the journey than the destination.” Less about winning the game, and more about playing like hell ‘till your eyes bug out of your head, like mama always said. Achieving virtual nirvana with a $500 console, made in China. The Frisco skyline peeks over the horizon. Home sweet home, no matter how high the crime rate goes. A pair of San Mateo police cars zoom by with sirens blaring, jolting me back to reality. One little mistake and I'll lose everything, rotting in a jail cell with robbers, rapists, and ruffians. I have to stay focused on my epic quest, like Gino the Brave navigating the treacherous wilderness of Subcon-Westphalia. There's no fair maiden waiting in my humble abode, but that little red-haired girl is out there somewhere, breaking hearts like a serial heart killer. Maybe I'll bump into her someday, and perhaps we'll make amends. I don't believe in soulmates, and I don’t believe in karma, but I do believe in hitting the reset button. Exiting the interstate and floating down to a paradise city, where the money is green and the girls are pretty, with neon hair and black leather skirts and VEGAN BITCH tattoos. I fantasize about them every single night, and the stay the hell away from them every single day. An SF squad cruiser turns on its siren, pulls up right behind me, and stays right behind me. Oh shit, oh shit. I wasn’t going that fast! I pull over in front of the Sticky Rice sushi bar, and he takes his sweet time getting out of the cruiser, building up suspense like a master showman. Easy now. Play it cool, and don't be a fool. Remember that cops are only human, with children to feed and clothe and buy video games for. The world has turned into one big crazy RPG, and everyone is using a cheat code. “Sir, are you aware that you were going fifty-two in a thirty mile-an-hour zone?” “I was? Damn. Sorry about that, Mister Officer.” Mister Officer? Crap! The stress is making me sound like a burned-out stoner from the Haight-Ashbury glory days. “Also, your brake light has burned out.” Jesus fucking Christ. I work my ass off to make those stupid games, and I have zero mental energy left over. A digital zombie, indeed. “License and registration, please.” I dig through my pockets, but I can't find my license. Shit! I took my dummy wallet along this morning (in case I get mugged on Market Street,) but I forgot to put the real one in my zippered pocket. And I forgot to put the registration papers back in the glove box after renewing the license. Shit, shit, crap on a fucking cracker! “Sorry officer, I forgot to bring that stuff with me. I’m having a bad day all around.” His mustachioed mouth curls into a hungry grin, sensing a big score. Something to brag about in the locker room down at the station, and boost his chances for a promotion. Every profession is all about egotism, no matter how noble anyone claims to be. “Step out of the vehicle, please.” Fuck-fuckity-fuck! I emerge from the transport unit, dazzled by a gleaming dystopian backdrop, like Night City in Cyberpunk 2077. He goes right for my briefcase and finds the “looney tunes” lickety-split, like a well-trained bloodhound. Deep shit, buddy-boy. You slipped off a ladder in Dante Machiavelli’s castle and fell into a giant vat of lava. “Look what I found, Mister DreamPixel,” he remarks while holding up a baggie full of jagged little pills. “You must be one of those Silicon Valley microdosers.” “Bingo,” I mutter under my breath. “If everyone else jumped off a cliff, would you jump too?” Game Over.


She hurts from the inside. Where others see beauty in her, she sees pain and sadness. Hers is a story only she can tell, but to do so would let people in. She can’t do that. They’d only hurt her more. No, she needs to keep her story untold. Besides, no one would understand anyway. She sees things so differently than others. She feels almost too deeply in all things. Would someone, anyone, ever be brave enough to love the darkness she’s become? Could anyone dare to every try to light a fire in her desolate soul? It was doubtful, time had long ago destroyed the beautiful fertile ground that used to be inside her. There’s a hollow emptiness inside her that scares even her. How could anyone ever lover her with the passion and acceptance she needs… that she deserves? When did things get so screwed up and how did she end up here she wonders. Life was not supposed to be this – it should have been the happy ever after, prince in a castle – hell, now she’d settle for a damn home to call her own. Maybe that was the problem, she was willing to settle. She’d done it all her life and was used to that. It was just easier. But she wasn’t one for being weak, and easy equaled weakness in her eyes. She battled these ferocious demons daily. She wears the weariness on her face and tries to hide it under all the make-up she can, but the lines show through. She played over and over again in her mind all the mistakes of past relationships. The way she allowed the men to manipulate her, her thoughts, her actions, even how she felt about herself. Years of therapy would never explain it. She knows that. It was time for her to be tougher than she ever was. She knew she was enough, well, most days she thought maybe she was. This last heartbreak destroyed her more deeply than the others. She loved him and trusted him with everything. She allowed that because she thought maybe this time, this one, was different. Oh, he was, not doubt, just not the way she had hoped. The entire relationship was a lie. Everything. She wasn’t loved, she was used. Never even given the chance to be his everything. He decided even before the first date that she’d never live up to his expectations. The more she tried, the more he found fault and blame. Even after the breakup he continued to lie to her and about her to others. She couldn’t even fight to clear her name. It tore her up inside, knowing that people she once knew and loved now hated what they thought she was. Lies. She was so very tired of all the lies that were told. Was anyone ever even slightly honest these days? Doubtful. She looks in the mirror every day and sees the stress of the life around her. She has nothing left to give anyone. Except for her kids. She’d do anything for them. Time to get out of this darkness and get on and into life. The sun was shining warm and bright into her room now. She loved Florida, loved living here with all the sand and heat and palm trees. Paradise to her.


The Pond: Chapter 1 People never use to talk about Atkins Falls, hell hardly anyone could have told you it existed save for the folks that lived there. That is until the summer of '72. Locals, well local, me, Sheriff Tom Lauderdeen, the only one left in these parts. I called it P-Day, our spineless leaders and the media called it "responsible action", as if nuking a small town on the outskirts of nowheresville, The Athabasca Sand Dunes, was responsible. "*What a sight eh Stew? Quite a show, who woulda thunk Canada, the friendly North, just up and spread the whole king's ransom on their own?*" Stew didn't respond, although Tom might start to actually worry if he did. Stewart P. Shodden or Stew as Tom called him, was an hemit crab. A reticent yet cantankerous little scoundrel that Tom found still alive inside his tank at the local pet store. Like most wildlife still in Atkins Falls, Stew had his own "foible". Tom remembered reading that word in a comic book so that's what he called them. An oddity of sorts, foibles were mutations that surviving insects, plants and wildlife had gained. Not Tom though, nope, but he had Gertrude, his 12G, so he thought the odds were fairly even. unlike some of the scarier things he'd seen, Stew only seemed to glow brighter and brighter the angrier he got. The little fella was quite tempered. "*Remember the time you pinched my ear so hard I fainted stew! All because I ate the last can of pickled asparagus hah!*" Stew didn't answer, he never answered but that was a good thing. Tom couldn't go crazy, not in Atkins Falls, not after P-Day. As far as Tom knew, none of the critters could talk. He only spoke with Stew so he could fill the silence. Tom had always felt uncomfortable with silence, even before P-Day. "*Silence is the absence of action, that's what I always say, eh Stew*?" At the third mention of his name the little hermit crab popped it's beady little eyes out of his shell, which had begun to faintly glow. "*Getting antsy are ya little buddy? Don't worry we're almost there*" The hermit crab glowed the slightest bit brighter but Tom paid it no heed. Stew had a short temper afterall, being woken up before lunch usually made him glow brighter than a hot iron. This was nothing to fret over. Besides they were maybe an hour from chopped mutton with a side of perfidy soup. He called it that because it was just boiled water and mushrooms he found growing around a mutated pig's pen. Usually they made him feel great but they had given him a few bad nights as well. He'd waited a whole month to do this batch, it was a full moon, Stew had just molted and there was a woolyback to be skinned and chopped. "*Oh yes Stew, tonight we eat and drink and let the fungus guide our dreams*" He looked at the slain animal over his shoulder thinking "this was one of those breeding ones I reckon." "They just fuck and eat, eh Stew? You ever seen a woolyback that just goes and goes until they die? Glad we bagged this one early, I've seen them destroy entire lives with their carelessness. Just destroy while farmers fields!" The hermit crab was now sitting on Tom's Head. He liked to perch up there and keep watch. Tim didn't mind, Stew usually picked the bugs out of his hair, foibles and lice...how can an entire race of creepy crawlies gain the same foible. Not just lice either. It seemed all insects had taken on the hive mind. Each controlled by a large King or Queen. Tom avoided their areas. Giant ants, bees, hornets, the million eyed spiders, mudcrabs...he needed none of them. He stuck to the hills around the falls, always avoiding the sand dunes directly. He feared scorpions, he didn't need to see them with foibles. He hunted woolybacks, kept goats, grew what he could and kept the pond clean. Not the water itself, though. Since P-Day all algae in the pond had formed together into a massive blob. It patrolled the ponds waters consuming everything that entered. Ol' Tom only snuck a bottle or 2 weekly. He checked his traps, nothing unusual, a few legs without bodies, gotta be quick in these parts. Tom wasn't too upset, he already had a whoolyback and he didn't fancy being there much longer. The pond was the only fresh water source left and his supply from the gas station cooler was out. He couldn't make perfidy soup without some fresh water. Plus all the animals seemed to come drink here, why shouldn't he? Tom carefully tied two glass bottles on the end of his walking stick, uncorked their tops, then proceeded to hesitantly but slowly creep up one of the large rocks near the edge of the pond. He could see what appeared to be the shambling mass of algae off on the far side, probably eating a deer too slow to escape while drinking. The water was crystal clear as always. Tom lowered his stick gently, ensuring to disturb the water's surface with the smallest of force. The mass could feel movements in the water, this was a quick in and out but a safe one. This was the only time Tom liked silence. The 23 seconds it took to fill his bottles felt like years for Tom. Each moment dragging it's heels before the next but finally as the smallest of bubbles escaped his bottles Tom sighed a breath of relief, raised them gently and crept back down the rock. Once back down Tom corked the bottles, turned on his toes and was face to face with his worst nightmare...a Mother Greentip Scorpion, 10 meters wide at least. Tom unskung Gurtrude from his back, muttered "*ah shit, here we go again Stew*" As 1000's of tiny little eyes opened across the scorpions back. The screech if the horde, this was a full brood.


It was Wednesday. Average and uneventful for most--but not for *her*. Never for *her*. She was a small girl--only about 65 inches in height; her arms seemed to long for her body, and her eyes seemed too deep for her face. Her hair hung a bit further down than her ears, curling and twisting in various directions as though trying to fit more comfortably on her head; or perhaps it was trying to escape from her head altogether--it was hard to tell, really. The girl's face was closed and frightened--she tried to make herself seem open and approachable, of course. It just didn't work. Especially that day. That Wednesday. She wore thick, square glasses with rims too large for her face and a smile too bright for her soul. The girl didn't know her own name. But then again, people usually didn't know their real names; the only difference between her and the others was that she knew about her *lack* of a name. Her lack of identity. Others seemed to take whatever identity they were given, because they simply didn't care--but this girl would rather live without a name than be forced to live with one that wasn't hers. She walked around the outside of the large, stone building--there was a thick railing to her right, overlooking a deceptively cheerful garden. To her left, there was a row of grimy doors leading to brightly lit classrooms, containing rows upon rows of unmotivated students. With a quiet, "excuse me," the girl hurried towards a door with a sign above it marked 'Restrooms.' She pushed it open, finding herself facing a line of grimy urinals packed into the tiny space. She grimaced at the poorly-done grafitti covering the walls. there was one stall at the very end--it reeked of urine, defecation, and...other bodily fluids. Wrinkling her nose, the girl walked into the stall, closing the graffiti-covered door behind her. She noticed that its lock had been torn off, and decided that it didn't matter. With a sigh, she hung her backpack gingerly from the half-intact hook behind the door, noting that there was no toilet paper next to the toilet, which hadn't been flushed in several hours. With another sigh, she flushed the toilet and flopped miserably down onto the seat like a discarded pile of rags. Observing the walls around her, she noted the peeling paint and the incoherent messages scrawled across the cracked plaster like the nightmares of a madman. Right next to the girl's head were the words, "God loves you," with a poorly drawn heart under them in bold sharpie. The girl stared at the words--stared at them until her eyes burned--and then she began laughing. She didn't know why; there was nothing to laugh at, after all--and yet she was shaking with mirth, bordering on hysteria, gasps escaping her parted lips, tears streaming from her closed eyes... Then suddenly, her gasps weren't of mirth anymore, but of suffering; she felt her tears turn to shards of ice, piercing her mind and shattering her smile into a thousand broken pieces. *God is dead,* she heard herself think. *God died the same day people forgot their names--God died because we don't know God's name anymore.* She stared blankly at her backpack, hanging limply from the bathroom door like a hanged corpse. *Perhaps we never knew God's name, not really--maybe God isn't dead; it's possible that God simply never lived.* The girl looked down at her reflection in the dirty toilet water, glaring at the broken face staring back at her with empty eyes. She flushed the toilet again, watching the face break into fragments like a torn photograph. It reformed a few seconds later, grinning triumphantly at her. It taunted her, winking with its watery eyes and grinning through its discolored mouth. She could hear its voice--mocking her, whispering to her. *You don't belong,* it whispered. *Not here, not anywhere--there's nowhere to run from me, nowhere to hide. I'll come with you no matter how far you try to go, because in the end--you're always in the same place. You're in here, you're with me; you're always mine.* It laughed, causing her tears to fall harder and her gasps to become more saturated with pain. Her tears were flames now, dripping down her cheeks and onto her shirt, into the toilet below, setting the grinning face on fire. It kept laughing, mocking--its voice was deafening now; filling her ears, her head, her stomach... The girl felt sick, frightened, and broken. She tried to rise, but her legs refused to obey her. *You're a freak,* hissed the voice from beneath her. Its eyes flamed in their watery sockets, its crooked grin widening. The girl felt its cold grip on her arm; she forced herself to stand, grabbing her backpack and hurrying out the door, past the line of urinals--she stopped in front of the sink, raising her eyes up to the mirror. The face was there again, laughing at her. She tried to look through it, to find herself hidden inside it, behind it, cowering in a corner of the reflected room--but she wasn't there. There was nothing there--nothing but the face with the crooked smile and the eyes like shattered glass, reaching through and grasping her arm. Slowly, the girl raised her left arm, rolling up her shirtsleeve. she looked down at it, glared at the white lines crisscrossing up and down her forearm--each one a lost battle, a flaming mark carved into eternity. She stared into the mirror, into those cold, shattered eyes the color of muddy quicksand, wishing that she never had to see them again. She looked behind the face, looked at the row of grimy urinals, looked at the sign reading "Men's" in front of the door. She saw the sneering masks appearing behind the crooked grin, chanting a name that wasn't hers, chanting words that carved out pieces of her soul like knives, words that poured like gasoline onto her skin, burrowing into her like needles into a vein. The bathroom was empty. Empty, except for the girl and her demons, standing there in front of a dirty sink and a trash can overflowing with paper towels. It was a Men's bathroom, lined with urinals and a single stall--empty. Empty, except for a broken girl standing alone against a horde of demons that nobody else could see--a girl trying to ignore the darkness grasping at her, the icy tendrils of suffering squeezing at her lungs and seeping into her mind--a girl who didn't belong anywhere, who had nowhere to go--a girl who wore darkness like a shawl to cover up her brokenness, trying to collect all the jagged fragments of herself and stick them back together from whatever memory of herself she had left...whatever memory she had of who she was, of the name she didn't know. There was blood on the girl's hands and she couldn't quite tell whose it was--it might have been hers, or it might have been the blood of a demon. It was black and cold--she didn't know where it had come from. She looked down at her hands, except they *weren't* her hands--they were too big and too aggressive. She looked down at her arm and saw a new line among the old ones; a fresh battle, a fresh loss, another reminder of her own worthlessness. It was bleeding endlessly, bleeding cold and black, breaking into her soul. The girl was crying, but her tears were frozen again, freezing her wounds shut and turning her heart to ice. She felt the grinning face next to hers, laughing through the mirror and asking her how it felt to be a demon--to bleed cold and dark, to have blood like frozen tar and tears like ice. Its crooked smile widened as the girl sobbed, looking down at the hands that weren't hers, the wounds frozen shut...she felt her tears freeze in her eyes until all she was was ice, and all she could feel was the cold. Her heartbeat was slowing. Slowing, slowing--almost stopped. Her shawl of darkness had become a noose now, dragging her upwards to the ceiling of the bathroom--the only part without graffiti, ironically. The girl didn't struggle. To struggle was to fight, and fighting was for those who had hope. Fighting was for people with names. The girl rose past the mirror, seeing the masks laughing and cheering on her empty noose--and then she saw something else. Something that wasn't a mask. It was a face--not the face of a demon. The face of a girl. A girl with a name. She stood near the back of the room in the mirror, with black square glasses and a green backpack, wrinkling her nose at the graffiti on the walls. The girl outside the mirror watched her, watched the girl with a name--their eyes locked through the mirror, and the masks began to whisper to each other nervously. The girl without a name felt her noose begin to loosen, felt the ice begin to recede. The girl in the mirror was walking now--walking towards the mirror, smiling at the masks around her and watching them disappear in frightened puffs of empty smoke as she laughed. Her hair was long and black, stylishly messy; her eyes were a warm, liquid brown, piercing the mirror and melting the ice in the other girl's eyes and untying her noose. Her arms were long and graceful, her smile like warm sunshine. The girl without a name stood dumbfounded, watching the girl in the mirror banish the masks and the face with the crooked grin, watching her walk into battle with nothing but her own smile, her laughter, and her eyes like fiery brown galaxies. *She's beautiful,* thought the girl without a name. And then she was gone. The mirror was gone, the demons were gone--the bathroom was empty once more, except for a frightened girl staring at a hollow mirror, looking for those beautiful eyes again. And then she saw them. Saw those eyes, that hair, that smile--saw the girl with a name, and she *knew.* She knew who it was, who *she* was. She looked into the mirror and felt a smile cross her face, watched the girl in the mirror giggle happily along with her, her eyes warm and comforting. The girl smiled at her reflection in the mirror, where the demons used to be. She smiled because she remembered now, because she knew her name again--because she'd found the girl with the stylishly messy hair and the big square glasses. She whispered to herself, to her reflection, to the girl with the warm brown eyes; she whispered four words, words that could untie nooses and melt ice--words that could glue together pieces of a broken girl's soul. Smiling at the mirror, the girl whispered: *My name is Hope.


The myth of Dragons have been greatly misrepresented over the years. The first falsehood being that they were in fact a myth, the second being that they were large and terrifying reptiles set on destroying mankind. A dragon's size was directly proportionate to the size of it's gold hoard, but no dragon has ever gotten more than one or two coins. There are rumors that Mr. Chinue at the top of the hill has a large dragon, protecting his large pile of gold, but personally I just think they're rumors. Shop keepers especially, are good about keeping the dragon coins away from the non-dragon coins. That was another falsehood, Dragons don't care who owns the coin, as long as they travel with it. Most people when they go shopping, take their little coin purse complete with a dragon. The tricky part is making sure to trade the entirety of the Dragon's hoard, as not to upset the dragon. Some people have to pay for a tiny loaf of bread with a whole gold coin just to keep the dragon happy. You can't split it up, which is why most dragons only have small hoards. It really is a pain when you're looking to buy and the shop keeper doesn't have a dragon hoard the correct size to give you proper change. Sometimes you get lucky and get a little more back, but more often than not you get shorted change. This is just an expectation now when you go shopping. Taking a dragon from it's hoard can be dangerous, it's not going to burn down a village but you might lose a finger, and the dragon will ALWAYS find it's way back to its hoard. Which is actually my current problem right now. See, I just learned all of this about dragons today. Like 5 minutes ago in fact. Dragons aren't common in the western province where I am from, but here in the eastern province? They're everywhere! So when I spent my gold coin earlier, I got 3 silver coins and a tiny dragon back in change. Then when I saw a jacket, I spent 2 of my silver coins. Unfortunately unaware of the consequences that would follow this action. You see, my dragon was sleeping when I had spent his coins. It wasn't until later, when I was on my way back to the Western province, that I heard the high pitched wail from inside my coin purse. Confused by the sound of distress, I peaked in and immediately got a tiny green dragon attached to my nose. With a startled yelp, I swiped at my face sending the dragon tumbling towards the ground. With a high pitched battle cry, the small reptile flung itself back at me and attached itself to my shoulder. One second it was fine, sure it's claws dug a little deep into my brand new coat, but it had seemed to calm down. The next second a high pitched cry was released from it's mouth, directly into my ear. This cry went on for 10 minutes before I tried to bribe the creature. "Here dragon," I tsk'd lightly, holding up a gold coin. "I'm sorry I gave away your silver coins but you can have this one!" The high pitched squeal didn't stop. Eventually on the road I met a couple travelers who were all too happy to trade me 3 silver coins for my gold coin. A complete rip off if you asked me, but I was desperate. Holding the coins out to the dragon as a peace offering, the cry stopped for a moment. The dragon sniffed the coins, turned his nose up at them and went back to his crying. By the time evening had fallen and I had set up camp, the cry had become ingrained in my head as the most irritating noise ever, and my new jacket was completely destroyed on the right shoulder. Pulling the jacket over my head, I finally fell asleep with the screaming still continuing. -_-_-_- Waking up the next morning was peaceful… and surprising. The desperate cries of the dragon had finally stopped and I could finally think again. Looking around, I couldn't see the dragon anywhere. Everything else was the same, I still had all my possessions, I still had a hole in my new jacket. I was just down a dragon. Good riddance. I thought as I gathered up my stuff. Finally picking up my coin purse, I was surprised by the odd lump that occupied it.