There are many wonderful people in my life, but the most important one is my friend, Norman. I love him and love being with him. Out of all the humans in the whole world, Norman is my favourite. He’s smelled poorly for a while now, and I could tell he was scared. When my friend didn’t wake up at his normal time, or give me his normal pets after he leaves the dream world, I could tell that we would be going on our last walk together. For a little while, at least. ‘I love you, friend.’ Which, of course, to his ears only faintly came through as something other than a bark. He stirred a little. I knew it wouldn’t be long now. I could tell my friend was having a scary dream, but that’s ok. I know my purpose is to be a good boy. You see, many humans can be heart stupid. You have the potential to be the most wonderful beings there are if you can get past all those dark smells in your mind that hold you back from being truly happy. I chased some of Norman's bad dream away with my breath and could tell that he knew I was there. His son, David, was a lovely person, but he was, for a long time, heart stupid. Most humans are from time to time. He pretended he didn’t love my friend as much as I knew he did. But, lately, with a little encouragement from me, he came round to visit more often. I could tell that they had made peace with each other. I’m a good boy. Everyone says so. Norman stirred again, his breathing went a little shallower. ‘I love you, friend.’ I said once more. His eyes twitched a little. I could see the dream world and the valley of the next walk coming into view. The faint smells of lavender and pine, sunshine and freshly mowed grass holding the promise of a new adventure. Did you know, my friend had been in many battles? Yes! When he was younger, long before I knew him, the pack he was with didn’t care about his future dreamworld or the valley beyond. They hurt him, and every night, the bad dreams came, and every morning, I’d help chase them away. I’m a good boy. Everyone says so. Every human has to fight the bad dreams to make the world a better place. The dark smells, if left unconfronted in the corner of your mind only grows stronger. That’s why you should get a dog. A dog will help you and those you love from being heart stupid. Dogs always believe in their friends and believe that their friends will succeed and make it to the valley beyond. A pang of sorrow crept into my heart as the last breath left my friends body. I put my head on his chest and closed my eyes. I concentrated harder than ever before. I could just about hear my friend as he took his first steps through the valley. The last remnants of his pain faded. Concentrating harder, I could see my friend in the valley. Beautiful sunshine illuminating the sky. Then he turns around and smiles at me. Softer than a whisper, yet bound with a power that made my heart leap with joy, my favourite human said: ‘I love you, my friend, thank you for being a good boy.


Cancer, cancer is... *inhales* It took you, your mother, my mother, my father, and my sister too. The fact that it's your own body killing you makes it even harder to deal with. Treatment wreaks havoc on everyone involved. I know I dont come to visit you that often but it's so hard for me to come back here. This place serves as a reminder that the only time I'll get to be with you again is when I'm no longer ticking. But at least we'll be together for ever right? It's been so long now that I've forgotten what it felt like to sense you. I can picture your face in my memory bank but my eyes struggle to imagine. It's more of the same with the shrill nasally tone of your voice, oh what I wouldn't give to hear you scold me for forgetting to take out the garbage just one more time. There was something so alluring about the way your voice would crack when you were so passionate about something. The sound of your perfume bottle clanging against your jewelry box as you put it back during your morning routine. Sometimes I'll hear a dish hit another one. If I close my eyes in that moment, it's as if I can still smell you, and the way your natural scents blended perfectly together with that perfume. I miss the way youd walk over to me, still in bed because I always slept through my alarms, and wake me up. I've never told you this before but some days I'd pretend to be asleep because I enjoyed a forehead kiss to start my day. I was just too embarrassed to ask for them. I'm sure you already knew that though. Oh... I brought you flowers. They are lilacs or something. I told the lady at the store that I had a hot date in an hour. She laughed with me, or at me, but I dont care. Then asked "well what kind of flowers do you think this lucky lady would want?" To which I quickly said "Everything blue and or purple." She picked out a lovely selection. I won't take credit for it. You know me better than that. If you were able to, youd be smacking me upside the head saying "that's an iris you dummy." I can't believe we would've been married 53 years this year. My how the time flies. At this point I'm sure you're wondering why I'm talking to you for so long today. The flowers are normal, but babe I've also got some news for you. Yesterday the doctor diagnosed me with pancreatic cancer. I have 8 months to a year to live. If I start treatment today I can prolong it to maybe 3 years in a "perfect" world. I'm not going to be getting treatment. I can't put the kids through that a second time. I wanted you to be the first person I told. I'm on my way to go see them now though and break the news. I love you babe. Hope you saved me a spot at the dinner table next to you. I'll see you soon...


It was about last May when I first suspected my mother was pregnant. I had just woken up, listening to a coughing sound I had barely heard before. It was a few moments later when I realized that it wasn't coughing, it was the sound of someone throwing up. The sound of sickness. I got up out of bed and cautiously peeked into my parents' bathroom, and there my mother was, kneeling over the toilet. My dad was also there, holding my mom's hair back. I left the room before either of them saw me, heading to the kitchen with a sinking feeling in my stomach, knowing my life would never be the same. A couple of weeks later, Mom announced that she was going to have a baby. I tried to act all excited and happy, but I really just wanted to curl up into a little ball and cry. I was an only child. And I liked it- my parents were always there for me, and had plenty of time to spend with me. Birthdays were great- and don't even get me started about Christmas! Occasionally, I did feel lonely. I wanted to hang out with someone other than my parents. The thought of having a sister or brother never occurred to me, because I could simply ask my parents if I could hang out with a friend. But now everything was baby, baby, baby, and no one ever gave me a second glance. When my mom got her gender reveal, I found out that I was getting a baby sister. _Great. Pink._ The one color I hated more than any other. One night, my mother's water broke. We were at the dinner table, struggling to pick up our California sushi rolls up with our chopsticks, when she lurched out of her chair, holding her large stomach, her legs dripping wet. I thought she had peed when I realized: _Oh no. Her water broke._ We rushed her to the hospital. I almost cried, thinking about losing everything I had. You see, this wasn't all about my parents. I was a teenager. At one point in their lives, everyone feels... lost. Alone. Scared. That was how I felt. I needed my parents now more than ever, but now that they were busy with the baby, I felt more lost than ever. And, there was one more reason why I didn't want to get attached to the baby. A few years ago, my mom was pregnant with her second child. She was going to have a baby girl, and name her Lisa. I was so excited, so happy, I couldn't wait for a cute little baby who I could hold and feed and play with. In the hospital, my mother delivered baby Lisa, almost 5 months early. The worst thing imaginable happened to her, and to us. We lost baby Lisa. We lost her. She was... _gone._ My heart broke into a million pieces in that moment. It broke even further after the funeral service, where we let hundreds of pink balloons go in her honor, for the life Lisa never got to live. My parents let go of their strings reluctantly, slow, soft tears streaming down their faces. But I? I wouldn't let go. I _couldn't._ No one could wrench the string out of my stubby fingers. I screamed and cried and threw a fit, until finally my fingers loosened their grip on the life I had to let go, and the balloon flew up into the air, traveling farther and farther, faster and faster, until it was a tiny pink speck, then disappeared. The one life that should have been lived. The one life that should have lived, but didn't get to. I didn't want to get close to the new baby, because, well, I was _afraid._ Afraid to lose her, too. After 8 hours of labor, a new baby was born. This one was... _here._ Happy. Healthy. My mom named her Elizabeth Jade, almost like the Lisa we lost. Almost, but not quite. Because a part of us inside still didn't want to let go of that pink balloon; to watch it disappear into the sky where the stars chose our fate, where the path to love was not easily taken. Not without pain or hard trials or days where we lost the things closest to our hearts. To the long moments of peaceful hurt and the even longer years trailing back into forever. My mother asked me if I wanted to hold her. I nodded and gingerly picked her up. I smiled at her tentatively... and she laughed. _She laughed._ I gave her one of my fingers. Her tiny hands closed over it, and I suddenly felt the warmth of a new life. The miracle of a newborn child who had been through everything to get to me. My heart, heavily guarded, like a fortress of ice and despair, melted. I began to cry, holding my baby sister, real and alive, and I knew I was found. I wasn't lost anymore. I was going to hold onto baby Elizabeth Jade tightly. Never let her go. I would never lose her. I knew we were going to fight eventually, like all sisters do. But I didn't care, because the gift of a new life was worth more than any amount of hurt or hate chained to my chest. I loved baby Elizabeth Jade, the one who gave me hope when all hope was lost. My light. My joy. My heart. My sister. _Forever.


I had never seen such beautiful eyes. My friends say I'm a cynic. I blame life for that. Years of feeling like an outsider looking in at other people's happiness will do that to you. I believed love at first sight was nothing but an advertising gimmick, used to draw in the unsuspecting idealists of our generation. I even made it a point to brutally tear down some of my more starry-eyed friends. Yet, there I was, gaping at what seemed to me, the most perfect human being I'd ever laid my eyes on. Alright, perhaps not the most. I’ve been told I’m prone to exaggeration. But the irony of it wasn't lost on me. My scarily determined mother had pulled all sorts of strings to get this family to agree to a meeting. I, of course, wasn't allowed an opinion. After all, what unmarried girl of twenty eight wouldn't be delighted at this wonderful opportunity? She was still at it, extolling my non-existent virtues to the parents. Parents, who were eyeballing me, probably ticking off points in the mental checklist they prepared when they went shopping for brides. "..And, there's no question about my daughter's reputation, of course... " Ah, mother. If only you knew. The memory of my last entanglement still incited a bitter tug in my weary heart. Bed sheets twisted with embarrassment, drunken words that held no meaning. I turned my attention back to those soulful eyes, now looking intently at me too. I know most wouldn't understand. The eyes were too close set, the lips were slightly crooked. Unruly, dark hair refusing to be tamed. But how I wanted press my chapped lips against that smooth forehead, and run my hands over every inch of that body. And it wasn't just lust, I wanted to hear every word those crooked lips had to say, I wanted to run along a beach holding those lean hands, I wanted to wake up every morning, next to that face. I wanted a home with hardwood floors and noisy children. The bruised romantic in me painted colourful dreams of us. I felt laughter bubble up my throat. Fate is the biggest joke of life. What were the chances that I, a lonely girl who'd given up on the idea of a happy life with the one I loved, should find my soul mate because of this horrible charade every girl my age has to go through? Yet I felt no gratitude towards my mother, who had just turned towards me and said: "Well, why don't you take him out to the balcony- you'll be able to have a nice conversation, just the two of you.” I almost choked, trying to gulp down the dry, hysterical cackle that had risen earlier. As I said, life has turned me into a cynic and fate is a nothing but a joke. I felt my heart break, as I dragged myself away from those beautiful eyes and led her brother to the balcony.


Falling asleep has always been a problem ever since I was young. I thought what had happened was a dream. Only just recently I was reminded that it was all true. When I was ten, I would often lay awake in bed thinking about the day just had or the challenges the next day would bring. I spent nights watching the lights dance on my bedroom wall as cars went by or glancing around my room at the few toys I had. I would get lost in thought thinking about what kind of adventures they would get into if they had come to life like in that movie. The house I grew up in was located on the corner of a less traveled intersection. One streetlight lit the 4 way. The light was old but bright; shining through my window soothingly giving my room the orange fade like a dim melody. The streetlight would flicker every once and a while causing the collection of bugs around it’s bulb to disperse only to return once their oddity of light came back into existence. The nighttime setting was memorable and comforting. Until it showed up. One night, after crawling out of bed from pure boredom, I sat on the edge of the foot board watching cars go by. I counted the passing vehicles while getting lost in thought. One car, maybe two all night, but often none. A few hours passed without a car whizzing through the intersection. The light flickered and when the bulb regained power, it stood directly underneath. The night air still and noisy insects silenced. The dark figure stood frozen but not in a natural or what seemed comfortable way. Oblong limbs on a cracked and deformed body. The figure was so dark it was hard to be sure if what I saw was a person or shadow. Climbing over the end of my bed I creeped over to my window never removing my gaze from the being. I couldn’t tell but, I think it knew I was watching. It wasn’t long after I reached my bedroom window that I knew something wasn’t right. The dark figure under the streetlight had moved. My eyes narrowed and I focused on the abnormal being. I studied it. I noticed it was breathing. Not slowly, but fast and erratically. Almost as if it was out of breath or as if it had just exhausted stamina sprinting a long distance. Its arms moved slightly up and down with every sporadic breath. At this moment I realized it moved again. Slightly but, it was definitely not in the same position as when I first seen it. It was hard to be sure. The being was so dark under the light that it was hard to focus on what was it’s torso or a limb. I continued to stare at it. My eyes just above the window frame. I was so concentrated on the strange figure in the street that I jumped when I heard a noise in my house. Quickly, I turned around towards my bedroom door. One of my parents or perhaps a brother had just gotten up to use the restroom down the hall. After assessing the situation, I turned my head back to the newfound problem in the road and I noticed it had moved again. It was now staring at me. I knew this because I could see its eyes. I froze. It’s eyes were small but a bright. Piercing white sparkles so tiny that they almost seemed to get lost in the black void of it’s own body. I knew for some reason that it wasn’t just looking in my direction. It was staring directly at me. After a few minutes I decided I needed to leave. I had to run to show someone what the fuck was in the road. I slowly began to stand out of view of the window, but I didn’t take my eyes off the figure. It was at this moment I realized the game I was in. Before I made my way out of the window frame, I had blinked. Upon opening my eyes from a single blink, I noticed it had shifted. I blinked again. It fucking moved again. That . . .*thing* out there was moving any moment it wasn’t in my sight! It had by now taken a full step in my direction. The dark figure looked . . . excited. Like it knew I had finally figured out the horrific rules of the game. It’s frantic breathing grew more intense. This is crazy. This isn’t a real thing, right? My heart began to race and my breathing quickened. “This is. . .what is happening?” I thought. I wasn’t convinced. So I held my breath as I stood in my bedroom and SHUT MY EYES. I thought, “I’ll count to 5. This must be a dream”. One Mississippi, Two Mississippi, Three Mississippi, 4 . . . suddenly I heard a crunch like a tree branch snapping. I opened my eyes. It was no longer under the streetlight. I was overwhelmed with adrenaline and panic. I bolted for my bed and dove under the blankets. I was so scared I forgot what I had JUST proven. I have look at it! As I shuffled the covers, I heard quickly approaching footsteps. They sounded unreal. The steps were quickly growing louder and were hitting so hard I swear I could hear the dirt and sticks being thrown into the air behind it. My head rose above my blankets and sure enough, the footsteps stopped. I stared at the window. The only visible thing was the intersection lit by the light pouring down from the streetlight above. Although the figure wasn’t in my sight, I knew it was there. Somewhere, in the dark. I sat in my bed staring through the window in the bedroom. I didn’t move. I would blink once in a while and when I did I could always hear just a little movement. I knew the longer I blinked the more distance between us the creature would cover. This nightmare lasted for hours. Every time I was tempted to yawn I would fight the reflex with what felt like every muscle in my body. After what seemed like an eternity the sun began to rise. A soft light began to wash over my neighborhood. I decided to get out of bed and move to the window and attempt to locate the thing from the road. I knew it was out there but, where? I slowly approached the window and was given a much broader view of my yard leading up to the intersection. Even though I was looking for the creature it still made me jump when I laid eyes on it. There it was in greater detail. The blood left my face, hands, and feet as I seen just how terrifying it truly was. The thing was in a paused motion. Must have been 7 feet tall and perched on one leg as if frozen in mid stride. One dangly arm was open palmed on a tree it had been passing as if using it to push off and increase it’s speed. The other hand was open and clawing, right in my direction. It was now 20 feet from my window whereas in the road it was about 45 feet. The creature’s skin was black, wrinkly, and had the texture of dried leather. Other areas of it’s body were made up of random patches of black mangled fur. Tall, gangly, and unbelievably skinny the creature looked as if it was malnourished. Starving, desperate, and it’s sights set right on me. Every time I moved, even slightly, I noticed it’s breathing would intensify. It would get excited as if any moment I would turn and lose eye contact and it could continue the rampage toward me. I remembered it’s piercing eyes and decided to look at them in the small glimpse of daylight I now had. As I lifted my gaze towards it’s head the streetlight suddenly flickered. The sunrise was causing the light sensor to diminish the power to the bulb and it was shutting off. I was tired and not thinking when I flashed my eyes to the light which I noticed had just went out. My eyes hit the streetlight, the light went out, and I then heard a low growling coming from the creature. The noise it emitted was low and scratchy and it sent shivers down my spine. I quickly relocated my eyes back toward the creature and . . . it was gone. I didn’t move for quite some time. The creature had vanished and the last time that happened it had covered nearly 25 feet in a matter of seconds so my guard was UP. I scanned the yard intensely. I stood shaking. I could feel the cool morning breeze hit my cold sweat covered body. Minutes had passed and still no change to the absence of the being. A car passed through the intersection. I hadn’t even noticed if cars had passed at all since it appeared. I still couldn’t find it. I felt unsure that the thing had vanished at all. “BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!” I jumped and shot my head around behind me as to evaluate the sudden noise in my bedroom. My alarm was going off. I threw my head back towards the window. Still no sign of it. Had the monster finally disappeared? Was it unable to be in the daylight? It vanished as the streetlight went out. It must be gone. Maybe it can only, “POUND, POUND!”. My bedroom door shook and I let out a gasp. “Turn off your alarm it’s so annoying! Come on dude!” It was my brother. I sighed relief and mouthed an almost silent, “Yeah, sorry”. Knowing that someone else was within reach I felt that I could take my eyes off the yard and I turned to silence my alarm. I felt uneasy. I felt alone and unsure. I sat in bed and covered myself attempting to regain composure. The day went but many questions clouded my head. Was I going to see it again? Could anyone else see it? I told my brother what happened and he just chuckled. Same reaction from my parents. Their conclusion was that I had a vivid imagination and so no more scary movies. This was mine to handle on my own. It was under the streetlight multiple times after that night. Some nights it didn’t show but that didn’t mean I was just going to bed like nothing happened. I mean, there was no instruction manual to this fucking thing. All I knew was I had to stare at it, blink sparingly, and under no circumstances nod off. I made that mistake once and it nearly cost me my life. After a few nights of this I had a good system going. I would blink about 20 times per hour so by sunrise it would only have made it a few steps onto the lawn. The system worked so well that I became bored. Boredom led to drowsiness. One night I repeated what I had done most every night for a couple of weeks. I didn’t even remember shutting my eyes. I only recall jumping awake to sound of the screen bursting off the window. My eyes met the creature as it was now frozen in place. One foot on the bottom of my window and a hand at either side of it as if it were in motion to launch itself at me. It’s breathing changed from fast and frantic to slow inhales and exhales. Calm. Like it was sure it would finally reach me. Huge gnarled teeth and unblinking white eyes that expressed anger and yearning. I stared for the remaining hours and once that sunrise hit, it vanished once again. The nightmare lasted about a month and then it just stopped showing up. I stayed awake almost a year after that until I slowly began to gain a normal life. 5 years past, 10, and beyond. I’m 32 years old now. Sitting at my desk writing this letter at about 6:30 in the morning with a cold cup of tea. I’m submitting this experience everywhere I can in an attempt to reach out to someone who may have seen this *thing*. I need to know if others are seeing what I’m seeing and if they have any answers for me. Because it’s back. Last night it managed to climb up the 4 stories to my apartment’s balcony. I accidentally spotted it on my way back from the kitchen with a hot cup of tea. It was only just getting it’s other leg over the railing outside the slider door. That fucking look on it’s face. It almost had me. Please, someone contact me if they know what this is. I can’t do this again.


We need to start eating insects, and I mean right fricken now. There can be no delay. We have the knowledge and technology to be farming house flies instead of cattle and swapping out mutant chickens for earthworms. Insects are proven to be far more nutritionally good for you, it’s really a common fact. No, this isn’t some kind of deranged door to door joke. I’m pleading with you, I’m pleading to the world, I’m pleading on behalf of Mother Nature and for the sake of all mankind. If we lose this existential battle we will ultimately let the viruses win. Do you understand what I’m saying here? Are you reading me? Viruses don’t even have a consciousness. What a shame it would be if we let that happen, what a fricken shame it would be. Honestly, don’t you think? Here’s what I can promise you, right here and now. A real solution to a real problem. Look at me, I’ve been living off a rigorous diet of water and insects for close to fifteen years. No soda pop, no McBeachChicken, no KFC boiled owl, no processed garbage, just my own home grown insects and tap water. Yes, you’re looking at 200lbs of twisted steel and sex appeal. I weigh as much as a full grown kangaroo. This isn’t a beer gut, it’s an insect gut. Or, what my ex-wife liked to call it, her “dippy do.” She said that because my gut hangs out further than my “dippy do”. I didn’t get it either. Anyway, I would also like to say for the record that I am fifty two years old, and I don’t give a flying care about what that woman has to say anymore. But what I do have a real strong care about is using the latest innovations in science to help my farm grow the tastiest insects. I take my insect farming to what some would say a very serious level. My insects, of course, are of a very very high quality. I’m proud to say, I house somewhere around 2 million earthworms and close to a billion common house flies on just under an acre of land. Insect farmers like myself can end human hunger and only if people were not such fricken picky eaters. We could actually end hunger tomorrow. It’s all those foodies you know, they seem to be the ones that mess it all up for us. It’s their false online reviews and magazine articles that are hindering mankind’s transition into the future. They’re all fricken paid by the meat industry, too. Any common John Henry knows that. Geez, the real sad part is that I can guarantee you my insects taste great and despite what all those foodies are paid to say. I can make earthworms and common house flies taste like anything you want. And when I say anything, I mean anything. Say you and your girl, or maybe even your man are feeling like fish and chips tonight? Or say, how about a juicy burger with some greasy onion rings? Or even maybe a steak and baked potato is your fancy? Hell, maybe you’re feeling real crazy and would like breakfast for dinner, or something fricked up like that. You name it, we can make them taste like anything. It’s a miracle of modern science. So, what do you say? Do you feel like saving mankind today? It honestly could not be any easier, my friend. For only one small payment of $19.99 on the 1st and the 15th of each month we can end world hunger together. Insects are our future. Insects for life.


“Sixty-four years, huh?” Alice said with a weak smile. Her gaze slowly drifted over to her left where a young man sat. A heavy silence hung in the air as she waited for a reply. “Silas? Are you there?” A few moments passed and panic had begun to creep into her voice. “I’m here, my heart.” Silas replied in a soft tone. He had to gather himself. It had been a long battle but the cancer that had ravaged her body took her sight and her mobility was now about to take its ultimate toll. The life of his beloved. Alice just smiled when she heard his voice as if there wasn’t a care in the world. “Aren’t you afraid?” He asked shakily. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye, how could he be? They had been through so much together, “I suppose, for an immortal, it might seem-” Alice was cut off by a series of violent coughs. Silas took her hand and tightly shut his eyes. He couldn’t stand to watch her life slip away. He wanted to run. For thousands of years, he managed to not make any real connections to avoid this very event. Yet here he was, a spectator in the final act of his love’s life. Finally the coughing settled down. “ -It might seem strange. But as long as I have you by my side, I am not scared of dying. Thanks to you, I had a wonderful life.” Silas opened his eyes and stared at her in disbelief. The soft rhythm of her heart played on the monitors on the other side of her bed. Alice sighed softly. “I’m afraid of leaving you though. You just won’t take care of yourself if I’m not around.” She chuckled and lightly squeezed his hand. Silas just shook his head and smiled, typical Alice. Trying to make everything seem okay. He brushed her long silver hair out of her face and smiled. “I’ll be okay, I promise.” His voice cracked. It was the first lie he had ever told her. He just looked into her eyes and let the time pass. Finally it was broken when Alice yawned. She looked as if she was struggling to stay awake. The doctors had told him that this was a sign of her final moments. “Just don’t… Don’t forget about me, okay?” Alice said. It was just like when they ran away together. Her only fear was to just fade away. Her mother had always been wrapped up in the chaos of her life after Alice’s father passed. It was actually because of this chaos that Silas was brought into Alice’s life. “To forget about you would be like forgetting the Sun.” Silas said as a thick sorrow entered his voice. “You have always been too cheesy.” She said with a weak laugh. She closed her eyes and Silas could feel his heart drop. He wasn’t ready yet. She couldn’t go. “Ali-” he choked. He couldn’t even manage to say her name. His throat felt like it was full of stones as he tried to say it just one last time. Silas tried to yell but nothing came out as he opened his mouth. Only the deafening sound of the monitor’s slow and unsteady beeping filled his mind. He wanted to struggle against this fate that would condemn him to this pain. He wanted to join her in the afterlife that had long since been out of reach. His grip tightened as these thoughts rushed through his head. “ ‘Do you think your life is something that can be so easily tossed away’” Alice mumbled as she weakly opened her eyes . They were the words he spoke to her the night that she tried to kill herself. The same night that he revealed who- what- he was. His arms fell to his sides in defeat. Even in the state she was in, she knew him too well. “I am just gonna close my eyes for a bit, can you sing me to sleep like you used to…?” “Okay, my heart.” Silas said quietly. “Be here when I wake up?” Alice asked breathlessly. “Of course.” Silas lightly kissed her forehead. He wanted to say goodbye, but couldn't find the words. Instead when he opened his mouth he began to sing in a language that has long since faded to time. His song was cut short by the monitor’s flat-line. He felt the room grow cold as the sound seemed to echo into his very core. “Goodbye, Alice Graham.” He choked out through a torrent of tears.


Just the other night, I ended up in the back of a cop car with toy guns. It was prom night and this year’s theme was “guns”. Not western, not cops and robbers, not some disco-infused anti-terrorism campaign, just guns. It didn’t matter what you dressed as—you were in costume as long as you brought a fake firearm. There were cops everywhere to look around and make sure everyone’s firearms were fake I guess. *There has to be a better way to do this.* Oh yes, I suppose you could have literally any other theme for a school event, but dreams are dreams. Back inside the cop car, I am seated behind the officer with two other high schoolers in the vehicle. The one to my right ironically dressed as a court jester, the one riding shotgun unironically dressed as a cop. The kid-cop shows his gun first, obviously fake. He smiles to the cop with satisfaction. The cop extends his arm to the backseat and asks for the next gun. I look to the jester, but he isn’t paying attention, so I hand over my fake gun. *Wait, I’m pretty sure it was fake? Oh God, please tell me I brought the right gun from my house.* For some reason I can no longer remember. *How heavy was it in my hands? Why can’t I remember?* “K, clear” the cop says in a tired voice, handing back my gun. *Oh thank God it wasn’t real.* “Next”, he says with his hand still extended in the backseat. The sweaty Jester sits next to me resting his pointer finger just below the slide of his airsoft pistol—proper gun safety etiquette, nice. “**Hand up the toy, I have to check everyone here**” the cop demands impatiently as he turns to face the backseat. I glance at the visibly shaken jester as his short breaths crescendo into hyperventilation. The police officer recognizes the situation and screams “**HANDS IN THE AIR**” with an alarming amount of fear in his voice. In a rush to draw his gun—**BANG**. I was already halfway out of the car when the shot rang off. Oh my God—he shot that kid. *Why the fuck did we have gun themed prom?* I stumble further from the vehicle as high schoolers turn around stunned. *Who is at fault here, the officer for being skittish? The kid for acting suspiciously? Probably the class president for organizing this nightmare.* Then—**BANG, BANG-BANG** from inside the car. Three more shots go off and the jester steps out nervously scanning the now-panicked crowd. A tall clown watching from the edge of the parking lot wielding no weapons points a finger at me. “Jest. He’s there.” *I hate these kinds of dreams.* I take off across the parking lot and sprint down the stairs leading to the football field. Glancing back, I see the jester about 15 yards behind me, followed by the clown 5 yards behind him. The clown barks at his jester, “If you don’t catch him, I will do to you what we were planning to do to him!” The clown continues to berate his high school compadre, fueling their chase with fear. Usually in my nightmares, my feet are slow, or I’m tied down to something. In this dream, I’m running with superhuman endurance, and the clown and his jester fall far behind me. I wake up. *Am I awake?* I am sitting by the fireplace in my childhood home, writing a story. Okay, still dreaming. *Ah, this is one of those dreams with weird abrupt segues. Let’s see, what am I writing…?* “He sees the clown in the distance behind him, losing steam with every hard breath, his clown shoes tirelessly slapping the concrete.” *Holy shit, I am writing my own dream. This is incredible*. At this point I must have felt like I was lucid dreaming, like I had some awareness of the dream itself. I look down at the paper and an icon pops up like a video game menu: “Does he get caught?”. A choose your own adventure. Okay, he does not get caught. Simple as that—all I have to write is “He runs far away.” Just put the words on the paper, \*he doesn’t get caught\*. Simple enough. As I move my pen towards the paper, I can feel my body slipping. This does not feel like a lucid dream at all. I have no control or awareness. Suddenly, I am back in my body on that road near my high school. I look to the sky like Jim Carrey at the end of the Truman Show. “Please” I pray to myself, “please don’t write that I get caught”. I continue stumbling down the road, the clown and the jester in the distance behind me. After taking a few good strides, I feel my body beginning to slip again. *Yes, please, another segue. Get me the hell out of here.* My soul begins to exit from my feet, slowly deflating my body up through my torso. *Thank you, Jesus. Take me now.* Just as the euphoria of safety hits my head, something else does. A stop-sign. *Ow, what the fuck.* Then, something hits my stomach—sobriety, terror. My soul wasn’t slipping from my body, only my legs. All the life was gone from my legs. I couldn’t feel them; I couldn’t use them. All sensation was now concentrated in my hypersensitive upper body. Semi-gracefully, I lean onto the sign-post and twist onto the ground, trying to hide while keeping an eye on the jokers. They were stopped in the distance, staring a thousand yards in my direction. It looks like they are talking to each other. *I don’t think they see me*. The taller one starts to climb onto a parked car while the other takes a few more casual steps in my direction. I am now doing everything I can to press my body down into the dirt behind the stop sign, but gravity has never felt so weak. No matter how hard I try to stay down, parts of my body or clothing continue to rise on either side of the light post. Weird, it was a stop sign a second ago. The taller clown jumps down off of the car and they both start walking intently, then half-skipping. Now laughing hysterically, they both break into a dead sprint. Desperately, I try to claw and drag my dead weight out of the dirt, but gravity has never felt so strong. *Why would I have written my own story like this.* The jingling from the bells on the clowns’ collar and the jester’s pointed hat ring terror down the street. The two jokers’ rapid, slapping shoes sync up rhythmically until the sound of one giant clown materializes. They arrive at my impotent body which lays sunken in the dirt and continue to laugh violently despite being out of breath. The tall clown leashes his jester and waddles towards me, squatting as he walks with a disturbing intensity. “Remember what I said I was going to do to little Jesty if we couldn’t catch you?” I stayed silent because I didn’t want to remember. If I couldn’t remember, then how would my subconscious recreate the punishment? It’s all me creating the dream for myself, right? The jester spoke up from an awkward distance, “You said if we caught ‘em, we could sing a song together.” “Not what I was thinking, but yes… I did promise a little tune for Jesty. We jokers do love a good tune... Let’s keep it short though, we don’t want to keep him waiting now.” They manhandle my body into an old wooden chair and sing down onto me in a trembling monotone: “Oooh myyy—what’s a sober clown to do Someone needs to laugh but he’s all out of booze Oooh myyy—what’s a blind man to do He opens his eyes to find he’s deaf, dumb, and mute Oh my God, we don’t say in vain We would if we could, we don’t even know His name If just one bug knew how all the flowers bloom He’d hang himself inside his own cocoon” Their psalm screeches to a halt and the large clown rolls a full-length mirror out in front of my face. The jester clumsily grips my ears and hair back, and the clown brings a scalpel down on the crest of my forehead. Blood drips down into my eyes until my entire world turns red. I close my eyes out of horror until the scalpel breaks sunlight crashing through my eyelids. As the blood dries around my naked eyeballs the burning realization that I can never blink again sets my mind aflame. Blood drips down my water-resistant reflection and pools at our feet. My large naked teeth gape open as my lips are carved away and I begin to choke on my scream. No thoughts left, just waiting to die. I stare down onto my blood-soaked clothes trying to avoid eye-contact with my own faceless face. The jokers look on motionless, but their bells continue to jingle.


In 1981 I went to France and left my mark. I drove through the center of Paris on a hot and humid August morning. Here I was in one of the world’s great cultural centers. The Eiffel Tower looked down on the cheap rented Renault as I circled the Arc de Triomphe and headed down the Champs-Elysees . I didn’t think about the historical significance of the monument or the troops from France, Germany, the UK and the US who marched through it at different times under different circumstances. I zoomed past la Louvre on the left; who cared about the Mona Lisa and the other glorious treasures inside? They could wait. As Notre Dame came up on the right, I refused to contemplate the wonderful stained glass, flying buttresses, gargoyles or the awe inspiring interior. The tour boats on the Seine and the romantic young couples who strolled along the river bank were only distractions. At each stop light I looked in every direction seeking only one thing. When the light turned green I slammed on the gas and let go of the clutch like I was driving a formula one racer instead of a miserable cheap rental car without air conditioning. My passengers must have felt like we were being chased by Russian secret agents who wanted the microfilm I had hidden in the lining of my briefcase. They asked what was wrong and I didn’t say. No one was chasing me; I was looking for something of extreme importance. In desperation I took a right on the Rue Bonaparte, thinking that I could find it in a residential neighborhood. I flew across a lovely bridge and the river that deserved my attention. Einstein was right; time is relative. In my dire need time stretched out. As each cute goddamn cafe spun past things got worse. I speed through yellow lights and slammed on the squeaky brakes when red lights demanded it. People say Paris is the most beautiful city in the world. To me it became a nightmare. Then I saw it half way up the block on the left. I jammed on the turn signal, hit the brakes, locked up the tires and waited for a gap in the traffic headed in the other direction. Gridlock. A funeral procession was crossing the street behind me. They tied up that intersection and stopped all the vehicles between me and my goal. The deceased must have been someone significant because over one hundred cars escorted him to the cemetery. I was very sorry he died. I hoped he passed in peace surrounded by his loving family, faithful dog and mistresses after a long fruitful life. But I wished he had hung on for another day or two because his goddamn funeral was messing up my day. After the traffic started flowing, I waited for a good Samaritan to let me turn left. Where’s a cop or a f’ing thoughtful person when you need them? As I waited the people behind me started honking. Screw ‘em. I saw a whole new set of rude gestures in the rear view mirror. That’s the thing about international travel - you learn so much about other cultures. Finally a saint stopped to let me through, but I had to wait for a line of school girls dressed like Madeline and her classmates. Their little hats and dresses dawdle along ignorant of my urgent need. I spun into the driveway (only grazing the last little student in the line), jumped out of the car and rushed into the office of the gas station - a couple of old pumps near the sidewalk and an ancient building with two tiny service bays Now I’m not a language person - more of a numbers guy. But I knew the key words, “Où sont les toilettes?” The lady behind the counter saw and heard another rude American. In perfect English she said, “It’s in the back of the service bays.” Without a merci beaucoup I ran into the first service bay. A mechanic worked in a pit under a Citroen. I got down on my knees and stuck my head near the oily floor to get his attention. By then I could only say one word, “toilette?” He smiled at me and pointed to a closet door in the corner of the shop. I righted myself, hustled over to the door and tried the knob. It was locked. I knocked and heard, “Un moment.” F me on a flying doughnut. After twenty torturous seconds the door opened and mechanic number two came out while wiping his hands on a rag. He smiled at this dumb American and stepped around me. As soon as he passed I saw it; I thought my God this can’t be happening. There wasn’t a porcelain fixture, just a hole in the ground with an indentation in the floor on each side of it for your feet go. If this was a number one situation, no big deal or pas grave en frances, but I had a bigger issue. Last night’s dinner, steak tartare, had worked some evil magic in my gut and the dam down there was about to break in a most cataclysmic fashion. I closed the door, turned the lock and instantly analyzed the environment like Jason Bourne - no sink - only a hose - two metal grips to hold onto while you squat - single roll of tp hanging from a wire on the wall - no soap - no paper towels - no blow dryers. Check. OK, Smith, I thought make a plan and quick. I removed my shoes, socks, pants and underwear; rolled them into a bundle and held them on top of my head. This wasn’t going to be pretty and I did not want any collateral damage. I gripped one handle and settled onto my haunches like a catcher waiting for a fast ball. Everything let loose at once like a Saturn Five rocket. All systems were go. Houston, we have lift off. Next stop - the moon. My aim was not perfect, but under the circumstances I was proud of the achievement. After the storm had passed and with the help of the hose I rinsed off the floor and myself rather well, if I do say so. I got dressed and exited the WC like my shit don’t stink James fricking Bond. With a hardy bon jour to mechanic number one and mechanic number two I danced back to the Renault and drove off into the mid-day Parisian sun a new man thinking, “What’s for lunch?”.


The air bursts with the bright colors of the most beautiful sunset, as birds scattered, bending and twisting through the air, singing as they slice the red poppies among the holes dug by the force of explosives made by men who don’t understand what it’s like to watch the man next to you break under the force of a concussion, jacketed by that color of sunset, those cruel birds ripping and tearing through a man that hours ago you were sharing a meal with. The quiet orchaestra of a calm night broken, crushed under the weight of 10 pound shells that make the air scream and the earth shudder as both men and soil are flung as equals, both broken and dead. We sit in dug-outs, able to eat and yet starved, not of food but of the sun, of air that hasn’t been through the lungs more than once. Some sit nearest the corners, some shaking, others rocking, lost in their minds, though they’ve not yet been lost to shellfire. Even among those still under control, we shiver, our hands tense and squeeze. Though we may have the air of calm, we feel lost ourselves. We used to tell stories of peace-time, of what we’d done and planned to do. No more. Those stories hurt, poisoned the heart, and broke the mind. We knew they were true, and yet how? How could these stories be true? How could any of it be true, surrounded by this hellscape? Those stories we can believe, even the painful ones, the bad times, seem so light-hearted and docile compared to what we do now. We are no longer men. We are monsters, killers, and yet, in our minds, no more than a kilometer away, there is a more terrible evil than ourselves, but they must remain faceless. We do not dare make them human, or we will be more terrible than they have become. Have we all gone mad? Surely asking such a question is a reminder that we are not. Surely since we ask these things of ourselves it must imply we are not too far gone. The frightening visage of the uniformed man across from me reminds me I am still yet human, as his shaken gaze peers at me behind his gas mask, the soft vent of a breath through filters being all the signs that the man is still alive. Perhaps he thinks the same of me. We dare not make eye contact with one another, as maybe, maybe it will awaken something within the other man and he should want to attack me, or perhaps I would to him. My train of thought is broken as I see it, softly at first. The slow, creeping grasp of gas. In our states of mind, it seems almost alive, reaching and hunting us with its whispering tendrils. I hear the man across from me, I hear his breath begin to quake, and my own along with his. What if our masks fail us? What if we die, sputtering and starved of breath, retching our own blood and lungs as it tears our bodies apart? I must think no more, we must stand. The man across from me follows suit, as we grab our rifles and prepare for the assault. Part of us wish for this to be our chance to strike out at an enemy that torments us, sending harrowing mortar fire followed by gases that seek out the living to seize in front of their comrades. Part of us wish for this battle to end this agony. I do not know anymore which side I fall in. I try my best to push aside this thought as the blare of raid whistles are heard in the distance. My hands lie still. The man that was across from me steadies as well. The time has come to end our madness. They are here.


A young boy and a slightly older girl are sitting on a burgandy shag carpet in a dim, fire lit room by it’s mantle. Behind each of them sits a brown leather chair, and outside it is dark and storming. The young boy had just finished a story. “It reminds me of Ina and the demon.” Says the young girl. “Surely you’ve heard the tale in classes haven’t you?” The boy shakes his head in response. “Oh. Well then, let me tell it to you. Ina was a young girl who longed so badly to be beautiful that she spent hours during the day every morning in order to make her hair look spectacular, because she wanted the prettier girls at school to notice her. And her hair *did* look spectacular. About 300 days out of the year. However on the other 65 it rained, and when it rained it frazzled Ina’s hair. And Ina did not like frazzled hair. Though nobody else seemed to mind. Their hair all got frazzled as well. Despite this Ina decided she hated the rain, and that she would do anything in her power to protect her hair on those days. “Then one day Ina met a demon-- “--and the Demon promised she could give Ina perfect hair every day--which of course included the rainy days. The demon only offered one catch, and that is that Ina must never ever be allowed to sleep over at a friend’s house. Ina agreed blindly and their deal had been made. “Now every morning the demon sends a chariot to Ina’s bedroom door, which will escort her from her home to the pavilion at school, which is covered. Ina was elated and surprised to find it outside her room on the first day of rain. She felt especially powerful when the girls at school started noticing her perfectly curly hair--despite the rain. When they would ask how she had done it she would just chuckle coyly and say ‘it’s my little secret.’ “Well one day a girl named Minnie invited Ina over to her parents’ house for her birthday. Minnie is the most popular girl in school, and *every*body was going to be there. Ina desperately wanted to attend. She told Minnie that she could come but she couldn’t stay over, which Minnie seemed unimpressed by. Ina felt startled by her possible lowering of status, and she amended that she *might* be able to stay over, depending on her parents, to which Minnie smiled and said, “Great!” Ina was feeling particularly high that day, until she met her demon in the chariot heading home. “You are not allowed to stay over at other little girls houses Ina. If you do, I can no longer protect you…” There was a pause and the demon thought. “Correction, I *will* no longer protect you. Do not break this deal, Ina.” And this frightened Ina severely and made her contemplate her next move. “The demon did not show up the rest of the week and Ina contemplated the decision quite studiously, and what she decided she'd go to the party and fake sick to leave early. Well the day came, and an hour into the party Ina knew she didn’t want to leave. Everybody was having so much fun. They were all laughing and playing games. The activities went on into the night, and before Ina knew it, she felt exhausted beyond belief. She decided half out of boldness and half out of fear to test her luck and stay the night, in order to maintain status. “Well at midnight, all the girls chanted that she be the first to play make up, wear the other girls make up each other’s faces. They wanted Ina to go first, and she felt elated at first, but then they strapped her to the chair and cut off all of her perfect hair. You see, the other girls were actually jealous of Ina, and so they planned this event to shave all of Ina’s hair. “Ina left the party crying and running home without calling her mother. It was dark out that night and she didn’t know where she was, but it was still summer and the weather was warm. It was also raining. Ina could feel the warm rain all over her naked scalp, and she realized it felt good. It felt clean. It felt wonderful! It felt right... And she remembered for the first time since school started, that before she cared about her hair, and before she cared about fitting in at school, Ina loved- LOVED- the rain. “She was smiling all the way home.


I thought old people we're meant to be sweet and kind. My grandparents were sweet and kind so I just figured all old people were nice. When I started work in the care-home I thought it was going to be an easy job. I thought the old women would just be fussing over me trying to pinch my cheeks. And I thought the old men would be telling me their wartime stories and how lucky we whippersnappers had it. That didn't seem to be the case though. In the first week. I was spat on, punched, I had stuff tossed at me. One old bastard hit me on the forehead with a heavy ornament and I had to get stitches. They were relentless, mean old bullies, that got off on causing pain and suffering. Not all seemed bad. There seemed to be a gang of them, who sat around plotting on how to make people's lives miserable. Mr Jones was the leader of the gang. I would've loved to know where they got all their energy from. Mr Jones was 105 and he had the energy of a child and he was strong. I tried to get him to go to bed one night and he caught me in a chokehold and whispered in my ear. "Don't fuck with me boy or I will snap your neck like a twig." I'll be honest, I was really scared he was going to kill me but he just let go and laughed at me. "You're as pathetic as my dead son, " he shouted at me as he stood over me. It's the other old people I felt really sorry for. They ganged up on the more vulnerable old-timers. They had it in for one guy, poor Micheal. He got landed here a few days before I started. Nobody knew where he came from, he was just here one day. I was helping Micheal change his clothes after Mr Jones had thrown hot tea in his lap. Micheal turned and gave me a sorrowful look. "I'm not meant to be here, " he said to me. I looked at him confused. "What do you mean Micheal?" I asked. I'm not old. I'm not bloody old, " he cried. He grabbed my arm and looked me in the eye. "Ring my wife she will tell you, " he asked as tears rolled down his eyes. I really started to feel sorry for him. "What's your wife's name, Micheal?" I asked as he put his hand to his face. "I can't remember her name. Why am I here?" he asked as he became upset and confused. I put him to bed and went about checking on the other residents. As I'm doing the checks, I noticed the old gang of delinquents were missing. I searched everywhere for them and the only place I could think of was the cellar. I made my way down below and as I searched around I began to hear sobbing coming from the back of the cellar. I slowly made my way through the dark. The sobbing turned to pleas for help. I found a light and switched it on. The gang of old bastards were gathered around something. As I got closer I realised they had one of the staff members pinned to the ground. A young girl named Mary who had only started working here. "Get off her," I shouted. They all turned and hissed at me. They ran at me like wild dogs. They moved unnaturally on all fours, as they charged me. I started swinging and punching like a mad man, but they overpowered me. And before I knew it, I woke up in the cellar and everyone was gone. Including Mary the young girl, they were attacking. I phoned management to complain or tell them to do something about these old creatures. But they didn't want to hear it. Later on, that night when I got home I couldn't stop thinking about what they were trying to do that young girl. I even questioned my own sanity. "Did I really see what I saw? Course I didn't, weird shit just doesn't exist." I said to myself. I was making something to eat when I heard something moving around in my back garden. I grabbed a hockey stick I kept lying around for safety reasons and made my way to the back garden. I cautiously looked around. My heart was going a million miles a minute. I heard giggling coming from the large oak tree in my back. When I looked up I was horrified by what I saw. "What the fuck Mrs Janette? What the hell are you doing up there?" Why aren't you back at the care-home?" I screamed angrily. She looked at me and just giggled before lunging from the tree down on top of me. She hit me hard, knocking me off my feet as she landed on hers. I got to my feet as she made a run for me. I raised the hockey stick and hopped it off her head as she came at me, knocking her to the ground. She picked herself up and dusted herself off. She fled by jumping my fence. I tried to run after her, but I couldn't keep up with her, that old bitch ran faster than Usain Bolt. The next day back at work I tried my best to not let those old bastards get the best of me. Poor, Mary must've been too scared to come back to work as there was no sign of her all day. I slowly walked past Mrs Jannetts room as I made the daily checks. She was sitting on her bed silently staring at me with a sinister smile spread across her face. It was coming to the end of my shift and I was waiting for the late staff to take over. I couldn't wait to leave. The night staff were always late getting to work. As I waited patiently I heard a scream come from Micheals room. I thought he was hurt so I ran straight into his room and the next thing I knew I was waking up in the cellar with a pounding headache. Two of the old creatures were holding me down as Mr Jones stood over. "You don't get to my age and still be this active by just drinking prune juice if you know what I mean, " he said as he smirked down at me. He pulled out a strange-looking knife. Mr Jones and the rest of the creatures started chanting some kind of nonsense. I screamed at them to let me go. I struggled and struggled but they were too strong for me. Mr Jones sliced his hand with the blade, showering me his blood. Mr Jones looked around at all the other old bastards. "This one's mine, " he smirked. And then he leaned in to kiss me. When I came around to my senses a searing pain shot through my body. My bones felt weak and they ached all over. I had a splitting headache. I was back in the t.v room and I was sitting in one of the recliners. My legs didn't work and I couldn't get up. I looked down at my hands and couldn't believe my eyes. Two off the late staff had already arrived. And came into where I was sitting. They looked at me and looked at each other. "Why is it when one staff member goes missing, they dump another senile old bastard on us? Come on let's get you to your room." The two carers picked me up by my arms. "I'm not meant to be here. I'm not old, I'm not old," I tried to shout, as they dragged me down the hall. "Save it for someone who cares, you old fart.


Dear B, I remember the first time I saw you in our apartment while you were putting your chair together in our living room and I couldnt help but think to myself what an attractive guy you were. Such a warm cute smile, thick dark eyebrows, dirty blonde hair, tall athletic figure and the most beautiful blue eyes; the kind that make you nervous to look at because they’re just so intense. I remember how shy you were and how out of place you seemed being in such a different environment from your hometown. Your voice intrigued me as I was curious to know the story behind your inability to pronounce rhotic r’s. I couldn’t wait to get to know you better as I had so many questions. Our upbringings were so different yet somehow we ended up living together under the same roof and that intrigued me. You were so kind and genuine with not just me but everyone around you that I knew we would be great friends from the beginning. As the school year progressed some of the best time of my week were the times that I spent with you. I would look forward to coming home just to see that little smile of yours and to be greeted with your warm hello. And when you weren’t home when I came back from class your comfy bed would make me feel closer to you even though you weren’t there. I remembered how much I wished that you weren’t straight and how much I resented the feelings of attraction that I had for you especially since you had a girlfriend. However I wanted you to be happy above all else which is why I would go out of my way to make the time that you had with her special. I longed for what she had but I knew that I couldn’t have you but at least I could be your friend. Although those feelings persisted for almost the whole year we lived together with varying degrees of infatuation I never seriously considered that it was something that I should act upon. However the way I felt about you completely changed the weekend that you came to visit me at my home and we had the place to ourselves. Perhaps it was the alcohol or drugs but it was in that intoxicated blur of a weekend that I realized that I truly cared and loved you. You made me feel safe and comforted and I wanted our time together to be infinite. When we were together that weekend I felt bliss. And I can vividly remember that Friday night where we professed our (unfortunately) platonic love for each other and how happy I was to have you in my life. I wish I could’ve kissed you in that moment... but you wouldn’t have liked it so I kept my feelings to myself. When you left to go home that Monday I felt empty, like a part of me was missing and I missed you so much that I had to go bike to my friends house and rant about you and these conflicting feelings I was having. After some contemplation and once I had collected my thoughts a bit better I was able to come to the conclusion that it was never meant to be and it was better left as something to ignore.


The night is occupied by the squeaks of critters and the soft wind on the trees. It’s a time for the earth to rest. He stares into the base of the fire as he’s cooking his meat on a stick. Time itself seems to stop for him, but the fire continues to burn. The flames themselves seems to be caught in a cycle, and even in death the embers will provide nutrients and continue to live on in the earth, as do all things. He thinks to himself “I find myself caught in that cycle, an eternal flame that cannot die out. Will the warmth of the flames keep me anchored to this existence forever? What good will this flame do for me if I can’t go forward” . The bushes began to rustle, and he breaks from the self induced trance to his weapon ready and pointing in the direction of the sounds. His tight grip loosens as two small children creep out the bushes, dirty and famished. He breaks the silence as he lets the two children (older girl and younger boy) feed themselves. The children began to savagely rip into the cubes of hot meat, not even letting time for them to cool. “You’re not as mean as all the others” the little girl says. “To be truthful, I stop myself because of your brother... nothing but innocence fills his eyes. So much power. But when I say your eyes, I saw distrust, fear, and hatred, void of the life and love your brother has and replaced with a burning fire” he confesses. “It didn’t take me long to realize that I had no choice but to be strong, for my brother”. She seems to finally have a time to relieve all the stress and tension that has been consuming her. “These are dark times that lay on us, all we can do now is protect what’s dear to us. Never let that love your brother has for you or anyone else die out, its the seeds for the next era to grow. For that to be possible you cannot let the fire in you fade, stay strong for your brother... and for yourself. This is the burden of responsibility. Maybe one day I can fight to restore the innocence you once had.” The older child cuts back “And what, keep us blinded to the horrors that plague this land. I wasn’t going to survive with the naivety that I once had. I was left wondering what else I had left to sacrifice for the sake of my brother. I lost my parents, my friends and all that once knew to be fun... There’s nothing left for me.” He thinks to himself “The pain she holds is much too familiar. 1000 times over I have felt pain like that, and 1000 more times I will endure it if I can find an end to this suffering” He lifts his head up to gaze at the night sky “I want you to look up to the stars, each one of those flickers of light is a sun much like our own, with a whole other world that it harbors. The struggles of our existence can start to become so insignificant. It’s up to us to cherish what we hold dear, to hopefully give us some sense of validity to this reality.” He looks now to the girl “There is something left, your brother. Even though innocence can fade, it isn’t lost. The energies of love and peace can withstand the test of time, its the one truth we all share, the driving force of the universe, and it lives on in children like your brother. The energies of the universe lie within souls like your brother, and maybe even in us. The whole world may feel like it’s against you, but as long as you have your brother here, there is still something to fight for. “Well what do you fight for? What do you cherish?” She ask “Part of me is still trying to figure that out, but when I see eyes like your brother I feel like I’m getting closer to an answer” “Who are you?” The younger brother ask in a soft innocent tone He removes his gaze from the night sky and into the fireplace, embers fading into smoke and wood cracking, “Just a warrior lost in time” First draft lmk how y’all like it. Open to any criticism (or praise) If you have questions for clarification or curiosity ask away.


It's a text-based game that you download on your phone, that lets you make choices and develop your 'bitlife' by aging them up. I found it while looking for a game to occupy myself during a 6-hour flight, and against all odds, I got hooked to it. I’m not much of a ‘gamer’, unless you count Candy Crush, but for some reason this game really drew me in. All the options and unique scenarios just kept me coming back for more. My first ‘Bitlife’ died as a mid-level salesman. The next was a famous musician. The one after was a notorious serial killer. Every new ‘bitlife’ was different, and every one more interesting than the next. One day, I was lying on my couch, sipping on a vitamin water as my latest bitlife lived out his final years. He was a very successful CEO, married to his partner for 40 years, and was the loving adopted father of two boys. The black ‘death’ screen popped up, as I aged him up one last time. “*Gary Newell died at the age of 82.*” “*He passed away peacefully in his sleep.*” I let out a satisfied sigh. Gary lived a very fulfilling, very successful life. I took another sip of my water, letting the silence of my apartment envelop me for a few moments. I checked the time. 9:18 p.m. Enough time for me to start a new life. I clicked the little sperm icon to start again. My phone froze, the screen becoming unresponsive for a few seconds. Frustrated, I locked and unlocked the screen to try to get it to work again. It flickered back to life, the app opening again. I gasped as double-checked the new name. “*Rita Thatcher*”. The exact same name as me! I let out a laugh, trying to imagine what the chances are that the random name would be mine! I decided I was gonna give little Rita the best life possible. Make her a CEO, or a famous painter. Maybe even a movie star. Feeling excited, I took a look at the information screen. “*I was born a female in Glasgow, UK.*” My eyes went wide as I double-checked the location. I was born in Glasgow. My excitement slowly faded to a dull sense of dread as I continued to read. “*Born 28 November.*” Same day as me. The feeling of dread grew as I read the names of the parents. "*David Thatcher, writer. (age 29)*" "*Willow Thatcher, police officer. (age 27)*" Those are my parents names. My dad was a writer, and my mom was a police officer back in those days. I quickly did the math, and the ages also matched. With shaking hands, I clicked "Age up". "*Age: 1 year. My mother and father had a baby boy named Jenson.*" My blood turned to ice as I read the text again. "No way." I said to myself over and over, unable to believe that this is really happening. My stomach wrenched itself into knots as I thought of my poor, sweet brother. I clicked "Age up." Nothing showed up for Age 2 and 3. With each blank screen, the feeling of dread that sat inside me eased up just a little. I tried to imagine what the odds of all this being a coincidence was. Probably impossibly low. I clicked "Age up." "*Age 4: your parents want to buy you and your brother a pet spaniel named Daphne!*" I let out a shriek as I dropped my phone and scrambled to the other side of the couch. I fell off the edge, my butt hitting the cold, tiled floor. I sat there for a bit, curled up and taking deep breaths. I remembered Daphne's sweet, brown eyes and golden coat. My parents got her for Jenson and I when I was four. She was my sweet angel, my best friend for five years. I sat on the floor for a few seconds more, as the weight in my stomach eased up enough for me to get up. I went to the kitchen, grabbed a glass from the cabinet and poured myself some water. I leaned against the counter, taking slow sips as the feeling of dread faded little by little. I placed the empty glass in the sink and turned the hot water on, grabbing the sponge and dish soap as the water heated up. Still in a daze, I cleaned the glass, rinsing off the suds and placing it on the rack to dry. I think I'm just tired. Overworked and delusional from working a double shift. I'll just turn off the game and go to bed. I jumped as a 'Ping!' sounded from the lounge. It's my phone, letting me know I had a message. I made my way to the lounge, sitting back on the couch as I picked up my phone and glanced at its screen. Bitlife was still open, it's text waiting patiently for me as I swiped down and checked the notification. It was from Bitlife. "*Don't leave just yet!*" it said. "You must be losing your mind, Rita." I told myself, as I clicked "Age up", bracing myself for whatever came next. "It's just a game." I tried to tell myself. It didn't help. "*Age: 6 years. My dad is now addicted to alcohol.*" I tried to lock the phone, my hands fumbling over the button over and over in a panic. The screen refused to lock, the text becoming blurry as I started to cry. In frustration, I threw my phone across the room. It gave a loud **Crack!** as it bounced against the wall, it's screen ripping off and hanging from the main body. The phone started pinging. Slowly at first, but picking up speed until it became a torrent of noise. Mechanically, I made my way over to it, delicately picking up the screen as its cabling snapped off and left the main body behind. Impossibly, notifications flooded across the top of its lit screen. "Don't leave just yet, Rita!" it said, all from Bitlife. I watched as they flickered by. Suddenly they stopped, one final message popping up from the Text app. It was from my dad. "*Keep playing, Rita.*" I clicked "Age up." "*Age: 7 years. My brother Jenson died at the age of 6.*" My eyesight became more blurry as tears flowed down my face. "*He died in a car crash.*" My dad was driving that car. He picked him up from nursery school and was on his way to pick me up from my school when it happened. It was a head-on collision. The police found my dad over the limit, and halfway across the other lane. Another notification, this time from my mom. "*Keep going!*" Numbly, I clicked "Age up." "*Age: 8 years. My mom died at the age of 35.*" The phones speakers came to life from the other side of the room, giving me a start. Two voices flooded out of it. It's been years, but I recognized my parent's voices. It started out hushed, both of them whispering to each other so as to not wake little Rita. Soon the voices grew louder and louder, filling the living room as they screamed angrily at each other. I cupped my ears, trying to drown out the sounds. It grew louder, the noise filling the room until I screamed, trying to drown them out. Suddenly it stopped. A door slammed and the sound of heavy footsteps marched away. I heard someone open a kitchen drawer, the utensils clanging together inside it as someone rifled around. They pulled something out, slamming the drawer shut as they made their way back to where they came. I heard another 'Ping!' come from my phone. "*She was stabbed by my father during an argument.*" The screaming turned my blood to ice. It started off loud and shrill, the sound reverberating throughout the house. It started becoming hoarse and choked, before cutting off to a gargling silence. I cupped my hands over my ears, dropping the screen as I curled into a ball. I began screaming, telling it to stop as the sounds of my dad's labored breathing joined the sounds of his knife. Suddenly it cut off with another 'Ping!'. As my vision returned, I looked up at the screen. "*Keep playing, Rita.*" I clicked "Age up." "*Age: 9 years. My father committed suicide in prison at age 38. I've been sent to an orphanage.*" I clicked again. "Age up." "*Age: 13 years. I was adopted by Adam Whiteley and Sarah Whiteley.*" Another 'Ping!'. "*Almost there.*" "*Age: 15 years. My adoptive father hit me for not finishing dinner.*" 'Ping!'. "Age up." "*Age: 18 years. I ran away from home.*" "*Age: 19 years. I got a job as a barista.*" "*Age: 20 years." "*22 years*" 25. My breathing is shallow, my head is fuzzy and my hands are shaking as I stare at the screen. 25 years. I turned 26 today. I jumped as I heard another 'Ping!'. "*Almost there.*" I clicked "Age up." The black 'Death' screen popped up.


Chapter I *-* The birth of Avatars *The age of Gods predates the history of men. In fact Gods created men with all their flaws and desires. Envy, greed, boredom - the thirst for something more; it's not just the nature of men - it's an inherent desire inhabited from their creators: Malchior - the self righteous, Alriar - the ostentatious and Velryon - the spiteful. Humanity was nothing more than a mood, a contest of who was the most powerful, most creative amongst them. A rare sight, a unified endeavor of creation. Yet also a joke, a sneering and twisted kind of being constantly torn apart by the desires inhabited from its creators, who in return would find amusement in their creations' arguments, quarrels and wars. Amusement in wondering what Godly trait those worm-ish creatures would give in to.* *Centuries passed, wars were fought, peace lasted for a while until new wars arose. The world kept turning, humanity kept repeating its mistakes and the Gods eventually grew bored of them. The Gods' gazes fell upon each other again, had they seen war and human creativity in the most gruesome and despicable ways. The Gods were entranced by it, longing to experience this state of being themselves instead of being nothing more than spectators; thus the War of Gods began.* *The heavens exploded in clashes of lightning, continents broke as mountains were tossed around like marbles, the earth burned as tsunamis of magma devastated the lands- and humanity stood by, powerless, unable to defend against it or even comprehend the sheer destruction ravaging the world.* *Humanity, like cockroaches hiding in the cracks of a run down shack, however survived this Armageddon - the Gods did not.* *Too wounded to recover Malchior, Alriar and Velryon fell from the heavens and turned into stone. A gruesome reminder of history. Their grace however - the source of their power - rained upon the earth, granting humanity - or rather: a hand full of humans - more power than any man should have. Those humans were called avatars. Had the world just survived the Armageddon, the lands were thrown into chaos by a new age of war, a fight for grace and even greater power.* *Those days should be remembered as the Age of Avatars. This shall be the record of how I remember them.*  EDIT: Feedback welcome, both content related and linguistically (as I am not a native speaker). If you guys are interested I might write more. I have a lot of ideas to expand the universe and base a story around it, but this might very well exceed the proportions of a short story. So for now I'll just leave it at the world's introduction and listen to whether it's something anybody here might be interested in reading :) If somebody knows a more fitting sub to post the story in if I should expand it I'd appreciate the link. Neither r/WritingPrompts r/writing r/stories nor r/fantasy really seem to be the correct audiences for it.


"Are you sure?", Ahia said, her lips trembling as she was about to cry. "Are you even aware of what you're putting on the line?" "I wish I was." Kagros put down the binocular. His leather boots unbearably squeezed his feet, but whenever he even wasted a thought on loosening them, Bluni's voice echoed in his head. "If you ever lose your boots, they will disappear. Bring them to Meriman, she knows what to do with them. Do not *ever* loosen them." These were the last words that had left Bluni's mouth before her eyes had fallen to emptiness. Bluni. She had only been twenty-one years old, and out of all the people who could have possibly fallen victim to the attack on Bomitut, it had to be her. *I love you, Kagros, I love you forever.* Kagros's heart began beating faster and more loudly. Bluni was dead. Nubron was dead. With him and Ahia, the Bomit tribe had picked just the worst two persons to track down Aluttar, and even so, they couldn't be one hundred per cent sure that Aluttar was really the one who had destroyed the village. "I'm starting to doubt reality", Kagros broke the minute-long silence. Ahia's eyes were already turning red. "This can't be real, you know?" "I don't wish this to be real either", Ahia squeezed out with a pain-tainted voice. "No, it's not what you think I mean. I mean, of course we are in the real world. This isn't a nightmare we can wake up from. But someone is playing a game with us." "What game?" "Don't you see? We're forced to infiltrate the town the woman I loved the most came from. The woman I wanted to marry, have children and grow old with. And all of this because they want us to dig around in the old secrets of the single richest family in Saborian history, the family your brother married a daughter of." Understanding covered Ahia's face. "Now that both my girlfriend and your brother are dead", Kagros continued, "they think our rage will thrill us to annihilate whoever they want us to think is the culprit." "And they'll kill us if we don't", Ahia concluded. "But I still don't want to walk into this town and put my nose into something I have to right to see", Kagros tried to justify his doubts. "As I said, they'll kill us if we don't do this." "But what if Aluttar is innocent? What if they've just sent us here to find out about terrible secrets that have been kept hidden for a reason?" "I won't get back to the village empty-handed!", Ahia shouted, now furious. "I will find and kill whoever is responsible for Nubron's death!" Kagros didn't let her annoy him. "Would Nubron want that? Would he want you to kill a person just because you've been made think they are the culprit?" "Wouldn't your precious Bluni?", she countered. Ahia was sure that Bluni would have wanted Kagros to do exactly what they were planning on doing in this very moment. "No!", Kagros shouted, clenching his fist. "You have no idea about what she was like!" "Do you?" Slowly, her voice turned back to calm. Kagros kept breathing heavily instead of answering. He worked as hard as he could to keep the tears from wettening his face, but miserably failed at it. Ahia realized what she had done to him, walked up to him and put her hand on his arm. "Look, Kagros, I don't want to do this either. But my fear for my life is greater than the fear of what might happen if we do what we've been told to. Yours should too." The sunrise covered the hills and forests around the town with a spooky veil of mist.


When I was 14 years old, my brother, two of our buddies, and I strapped four bicycles to a golf cart and drove it in the middle of the night about 10 miles to the nearest decent sized town. It took about 45 minutes with the pedal to the floor to get us to town. Once there, we ditched the golf cart on a plot of land that was being developed for new housing. We each grabbed a bike off the cart and took to the streets of town. We figured being on the bikes would be much easier to elude any trouble, mainly police, that we might encounter. We would've been doomed to encounter anything like that while riding the golf cart. It was around 2 AM at this point, and full of adrenaline, we became hungry. We stopped at McDonald's for a quick bite, before biking our way out of town. We were only 3 miles from where we ditched the golf cart, but it had felt much further. Plus, we had to take some of the busier city streets to get there, so we were just happy to have avoided any police or issues at that point. You may be wondering to yourself at this point, *what were y'all planning to do exactly* or maybe *where the hell were your parents?!* Good, valid questions. We were four teenaged boys (all between the ages 13 and 15). Our plan was to "run away". Although looking back, I think really we just wanted some sort of excitement in our lives. Both my and my buddies' parents were back at the house where my brother and I grew up - as my buddies and their family was staying with us for the weekend for a wedding reception. They were sound asleep. If we wanted to really run away, we would've had the riskiest part behind us. Made it out of the house without being caught, and then made it through town without being detained. May be important to note here that the golf cart wasn't owned by either of our families. We were just borrowing for the weekend from a family friend. This was easily the most delinquent thing I'd done in my life; I'm fairly certain it's the last illegal/delinquent thing I did too. We got to a point where we all stopped and wanted to discuss things. Were we really gonna run away, or were we going to head back? Our buddies had already destroyed their Sim cards so we couldn't be traced... We really thought we were smart. Mostly, we just didn't wanna face our parents and didn't want to get in trouble. If we headed back at this point, we still had a chance to get everything back in order before anyone woke up and noticed we were gone. We chose to turn back. To this day I still wonder how the story would've ended if we had kept going. Not well I'm certain. We managed to bike back to the golf cart without issue. Once we loaded the cart back up, we headed towards home. For the first time all night, we spotted a cop. I was the driver, mostly because I knew the roads the best. I took a quick right and pulled into a driveway. We sat in silence for a couple minutes just hoping the cop didn't roll up on us, and that the random house we were in front of hadn't heard or seen us in their driveway. Would be a strange sight and a quick 911 call if they had. The minutes felt like hours but we decided the coast was gonna be as clear as ever and we had to keep moving. A couple more turns and we were about to cross the last main road before getting back out of town. We made it. Another 5 or 10 minutes and we were back onto gravel roads. We used a flashlight for our headlights. It was around 4:30 or 5 AM by the time we pulled back into the driveway of my house. The lights inside all appeared to be off still. A good sign. We parked the cart where we had gotten it from, unloaded the bikes and put them away, and then we snuck back into the house. Undetected. We had done it. We unpacked our bags - which mostly just contained clothes, snacks, a couple knives, and random other little things we thought we'd need to survive if we were in the woods running away from home for days. We probably only got an hour of sleep, maybe less, before our parents woke us up. It was Sunday and we had to get ready for church. They knew nothing. Suspected nothing. A few years later, one of my buddies from that adventure actually did run away from home. We had grown apart and I hadn't heard from him in awhile. He and his family was from Oklahoma. Police found him in Florida. He was in his brother's truck. It had been about week since he had left home. I believe he was 17 at the time, maybe 16. U was the same age. Upon being returned to his parents custody, he told them about our first runaway "attempt". The golf cart and bike adventure across my home county. His parents passed along the information to my parents. My brother and I were in for a helluva talking to and grounding. It had been years and we thought they'd never know. But the jig was up. Now our parents and brother and I laugh about it. I'm sure they're just thankful we ended up being hard working and honest-contributing members in society and not criminals. It all worked out in the end I suppose. It makes for a decent story.


I never really spent much time trying to explain this story to any one other then 1 or 2 people. But its a story about love, loss and how you grow cause of it. It should be said that this isnt a story of the love that goes beyond what I have now. This is not the greatest love story ever told. I am far more in love with my wife then I ever was in this tale. But it is a story worth retelling. Earlier, within the last year (2006) I went through a terrible break up. I hadn't made much of an effort at all to join back into the dating scene. I had gone on a couple dates and had a fling or two, but I never felt like I was ready. Mostly, I spent my days working on my own self improvement. Work, gym, friends. I had a comfortable routine, and enjoyed it. We fell in love on our first meeting. A rainy, cool spring night. Me and my friends ventured out without a plan. Only to settle on a well known watering hole, with cheap drinks and catchy songs. I was young, only 24 and she was about a year and a half younger then me. We were still a bit naive, albeit educated and intelligent. But our naivety didn't make us foolish or dumb in our actions. When I made these plans originally, I intended to go for drinks as more of a guys night out. Hence, the dimly lit, almost depressing bar. I had been told that there might be a few more joining us later, but I never intended to fall in love that night. But then again I don't think either one of us did. I was about a half a dozen drink and half a packs of cigarettes into the night when she glided into the room. Tall and statuesque. I'm speechless and unapologetically staring. She smiles at me, flicking her eyelids, leaving me blinded. Taking a seat at the table, across and at the other end. I start scheming of how I'm going to talk to this girl. Next to me sits Angela, and she starts a conversation. Without hesitation I ask who are her friends? "That's Lacey, and Anna's at then end of the table." 'Anna' I repeat in my head. Casually listening to Angela talk, peeking out of the corner of my eye at Anna. Soon after I'm up at the bar ordering another drink. Beer, nothing fancy just cheap. The girl at bar is nice. Its been a slow night and we've been exchanging pleasantries all night. We're having a laugh and one of the regulars. Apparently, he likes to come in on Saturdays and fill the juke box with enough quarters and play country music as a way of driving out the young crowd. On my left I feel a hand grab my shoulder. "Vodka cranberry" she shouts in my ear. "I have to pee. I'll be right back", its Anna. She smiles and walks away, I give her a thumbs up. 'What I loser' Im thinking to myself. 'Who gives a thumbs up..' "I'll buy the next round" she smiles and walks away. So after 20 mins of planing how I was going to talk to this girl she goes and ruins it by breaking the ice first. A wave of release washes over me. My underlying anxiety relaxes and I take the seat next to where she was sitting. When she gets back to the table she isn't empty handed. Two more drinks for us. We immediately hit it off. Laughing, joking, the casual shoulder or knee touch. There's not only sparks, there's fire. The night passes, eventually we're kissing, passionately, in the alley next to the bar. We all spend the night at a friends house. Have breakfest at the nearest greasy spoon. I get her number and she takes mine and im off back home. We make plans to talk later in the week but I cant wait, so I call the next day. Its obvious we are eager to talk to each other again. We make plans for the weekend and it was pretty much set, were in love and not ashamed to admit it almost instantly. Our summer breezes by. Spending every minute we can together, sharing in adventure and making plans for more everyday. Our love grows, expands to create something more. Something capable of connecting the divide that is between us, religion. Her father was a minister at the local church in her home town. She grew up in that life and for most of it, up until she went to university, only knew that life. She made a point of going to her local church and knowing that I firmly remained agnostic. Some days I joined her, but mostly we accepted who we are as individuals separated from each others beliefs. Her father on the other hand didn't approve of the rough around the edges, albeit, nice young man I was. He was lied to, and he had to be lied to for us to get away with it. "We're good friends" I remember telling him. "Shes just a joy to be around", not a lie. We spent the next year and a half with each other as much as we could. Weekends away, wedding with friends, lazy sundays in bed. Every moment cherished, cause we both knew it was ending and soon. We had an expiration date and every day we spent together was one less that we would have. Eariler in the summer, shortly after her parents had finally heard the truth about us, and we celebrated our first year together. Her relatively poor, modest living family, had come up with the capital necessary to put Anna into a prestigious christian college. In England. Fucking, England. She was over joyed, it was the kind of experience she was looking forward to. What kind of piece of shit would I be to stand in her way. I voiced my opinion, "Doesn't it seem weird that only after your parents find out about us that they find a way to break us up?" I remember exclaiming my argument with distaste for how they saw me. "They will never approve of us being together" I fought on. She tells me that we are what we are for us and not them. I believe her and we make like we'll always be here for each other. Knowing that it isnt true, it's just an easy way to soften the blows. Finally, we come to her departure day. I meet her in her town the day before. We spend our last day in the park, walking with hand in hand held tightly. 'If I let go now you'll be gone forever' I think. We have a spaghetti and meatball dinner with her family, wash up the dishes, pack up the car and head to the airport. Its an hour drive into the city. At the airport, we sneak away for our last moment of intimacy. A long hug and kiss. Tell stories about us together that make us laugh. Hold hands more. Gaze into each others eyes. Share our love, for one last moment. We go to the departure gate and shes tearing up, saying goodbye she hugs her mom and then her dad, and then me. We kiss once more, for us. A deep and long kiss. Her parents have never seen us kiss, or hug or hold hands. Because of how they feel about me, we always hid it, even though they knew we were a couple. My eyes and gushing with tears, and so are Anna's. I can feel them behind me, watching a mistake they made unfold. Torn apart, we say goodbye. Her hand slips from mine. I watch as she paces away, hiding her face, beyond the gates she disappears. Goodbye. I wipe the tears away and turn around. Hiding my pain, my anger, I smile at them. "Well, no point hanging out here all night." I say, desperate to rid myself of this situation. We drive back to her parents house. I now have spend the night since her flight was so late. They try to make conversation with me, and I do my best to talk with them. The next morning I do my best to make nice and thank them for the bed. I declined breakfast thinking it would be best for me to just move on. But before I leave I find myself explaining to them what they have done. We were in love. Deeply. We knew each other. We cherished our time and made each other unselfishly happy. That they didn't just break up a fling, but ended the kind of monumental love that the lucky only find maybe twice. I said goodbye and walked out. We talked as much as we could over the next year. But we couldn't pretend that it would work out for us when she would return home. And when she did, we hung out a bit. Had some laughs, made love again. But it wasn't the same. It felt forced and to be honest, I was always worried that her parents would tear us apart again. We both moved on and found love with others. We've never talked since. Without saying it I'm sure we both agree it was for the better that way. But deep down, I know that we still think about each other. We still remember.