My name is Dennis Homer Love Jr. As a child in the 1980s I became the first underaged person recognized by the United States government for helping efforts involving the CIA during the Ronald Reagan presidency. Many other kids were recognized after me, but it seems there efforts were not life threatening as mine were. I was privileged to work with or along side of some of Stephen Shaffer's clandestine work involving such people as Barry Seal, Pablo Escobar, Manuel Noriega, Oliver North and South American people that were to be used in an army that would take over locations in various South American countries and create a new country governed by democracy that ultimately would be backed by the USA. Turns out it was a clandestine tactic used to trick Pablo into giving up all his cartel locations used in producing and smuggling cocaine and other durgs into the United States. The CIA got as much information as possible and the executed an airstrike destroying all the locations they knew of with the U. S. Navy from an aircraft carrier off of Peru. Of course under the permission of then president Ronald Reagan. Setting Pablo's cocaine industry back but not out of commission. During all the time I was involved I ended up getting left in South America for a more extended time than planned on. Long story short when I was finally brought back to America by my pastor Fred J Foster he dropped me off on a well known military base in Louisiana called Barks Dale Air Force Base. Truns out I had body parts and military documents of interest to national security at the time. Not really what anyone would call secret but compromising documents of military interest to say the least. I guess you could call me at that time a very patriotic kid as far as believing in the United States of America 🇺🇸👍 and as a man I still do. 😈🇺🇸👍Go Air Force. When I was a child in grammar school Stephen Shaffer of the CIA came and got me one day at Central Elementary School of Calhoun Louisiana. He took me to Mena Arkansas on Barry Seals land where there was a private airport. There was South Americans there who where training with the CIA learning military tactics for a war that never really got fought. Pablo Escobar flew in on a Cessna and Stephen and I where to fly down to Colombia South America to take pictures of the Medellin cartel's durg production. Stephen didn't trust Pablo and thought he would have a better chance at coming back with a kid going along. I had previously met Pablo at Mena with Barry Seal and other CIA and FBI officials. I was there with the boss of the water service company my dad worked for. We where there in Mena delivering a pressure tank to improve the water pressure on Barry Seals land. While in Colombia I met hundreds of kids South Americans staying on the cartels housing. Despite the horrible condition of drug slavery to Pablo Escobar. The South Americans that he had in his control actually had a better from of life with his cartel than they would on there on. However the majority of the drug slaves started out as bought or given from there parents four to five year olds that were kept in cartel housing consisting of a large building for shelter on top of a southern Colombian Mt top. That had dirt floor and a kitchen of sorts were they would make fresh tortilla chips and other simple but wonderful tasting food. It wasn't hard for it to be wonderful because that's all they had. Most all of the boys and girls there were skinny but they had a sick notion of death that is how they embraced looking at it. They were not scared of death as American kids were. There religious views gave them this fascination with death but it was more of a respect than fascination. Despite this and the condition of slavery these kids had the best and most beautiful spirit and attitude towards life. They were very loving and caring kids not like you would find in America due only to environment. I do wish they could have had a chance at freedom in America like all the kids I grew up with. But picking coca leaves and cocaine production and transportation is what life had in-store for them. As long as they followed the rules and obeyed the cartel killers they had a pretty good life but not all of them would be lucky even ones that obeyed were killed at the whim of the cartel killers when the killers were trying to make an example or just horribly wasting lives. The kids grew up in this environment and they were tougher than you could imagine and each one worthy of the best love and environment any American kid has received and took for granted I'm sure. It was a time that happened and I was there as a witness in the late 1980s in Pablo Escobar's Medellin Cartel housing on top of a southern Colombian Mt top with in walking and viewing distance of the equator. Which is were a sacrificial pit was carved out of the Mt top and were the cartel would burn and destroy bodies from the organ harvesting that was just as big part of the cartel as the durgs were. There was sex education there too. I know I'm not the only one who has went through this but I would guess people like me and my experiences in sex this way are very few and far between. While in Colombia South America in the compound Pablo Escobar used to house his drug trade workers as a grammar school child I was having sex with a Colombian woman and was almost at the peak of what a grammar school boy should have had for one of his first sexual experiences when a cartel killer that had his mind on doing what he did the whole time came up and pulled his pistol out and shot the woman in the head while I was directly on top of her and her face that I was concentrating on suddenly became something that would scar me sexually for the rest of my life with her precious smile turning in an instant to something that would horrify even the most mature. After this the cartel killer wasn't though messing with me and proceeded to cut her up exposing her internal organs and forcing me to help him cut her liver out completely whole without any unnecessary cutting of the liver as a strict punishment if I did. After removing her liver he took it to the kitchen were he proceeded to cut it up as if it were a piece of meat for the market. He fried it up and placed it on the table that evening for supper needless to say I had lost my appetite and did not desire to be around him for some time. The other killers kept criticising me and tried to boost my confidence until I finally got the courage to do the same thing to him I caught him on top of another woman and before he could react I shot his woman in the head the same way except I didn't have any interest in her liver and he showed me his respect from that day forward promising not to do it again as long as I promised the same. Some life lesson I had been forced to destroy something as beautiful as sex by being exploited in death with the pull of a trigger needless to say I have a real hard time forming any kind of bond with a woman. Unfortunately it didn't stop there he noticed that I became very friendly with some mature young teenage Columbian boys that were working in the fields of coca trees and sleeping with them at night I formed a bond very quickly with one in particular that I grew a crush on and basically became his boyfriend and was sleeping with him every night one night weeks after the woman incident the cartel killer came up behind us and I could only think up he was choking him out while we were hooked up but as it turns out he didn't pass out his throat had been cut and I began to have the most tramadic sexually experience of my life he fell limp on to my back and the other boys w told me he was dead but I couldn't believe it I was a child I had no reason to believe it. As his blood ran down my back as I attempted to stand up and kept calling out to him but he wouldn't respond the blood hit the floor with a heavyness that will never forget it sounded like the empting of a full bucket being poured out at once and sent me into a panic that took some of the other boys working together to calm me down long enough for another one to get him loose off of me because rigamortous had set in and I was screaming as I pulled him like a slay back and for over there blankets and them trying to get free convinced he wasn't dead because he wouldn't let go. Then once calmed down the cartel killers demanded that his body be throwed in the pit and only one boy stepped up and offered to help me. As we proceeded to get it over with on the way to the pit it became to difficult to carry him together and the boy decided it would be easier to finish cutting of his head that was hanging by very little and kept slinging back and forth on to his grip he had on him. He decided it was too much indeed for both of us and said if I would carry his head he would carry his torso the rest of the way. By the time I got to the pit I had become carzy temporarily because of all the stress and began to kiss his head crying and sobbing turning into laughing as I tried to push it out of my mind that it even happened. But as I went back and took a shower with the boy who helped me we went back to lay down on the floor to sleep and I realized that I would never really get over it or the women that had been killed and attribute that to my main difficulties forming a bond with any one I love. Having my only sexual relationship with a friend who had a girlfriend and was just really putting me on feeling sorry for me though he never knew about my experiences in South America he would only help me out when I needed him the most and sadly in 2007 after he was having a break down of sorts he took his own life in front of me with a shotgun to the head I tried to get to him in time but he had already pulled the trigger and fell back I reached out to him only grasping a little of his body mass picking him up from the ground to hold him in my arms as I yelled into his face calling out his name he seemed to almost come to one last time and sincing that I was near as if he heard me his face began to smile then fade away into a motion less shattered version of it's original form. He spoke to me repeated before saying that his one wish in life was to kill himself in front of someone that really loved him I always thought he was kidding but it has been my experience in the past that there is never any joking around when suicide is concerned and I do not take lightly to the matter of people making fun of that type of comment. Your life is precious and beautiful no matter how painful or sorrowful it becomes stick it out and hang on. It will get better. It will never rain every day hold on to something stronger than you are. Reach out to the Lord and ask Jesus for help and he will get you though another day. One day at a time and every day is a good day if you don't believe me try missing one it just can't and shouldn't be done. The truth is something that people rarely embrace and even more seldomly tell anyone much less totally stangers but I feel what you hold in secret will destroy you and what you speak honestly about you will be forgiven and Jesus is the only one that I seek forgiveness from and the only person I owe all my life to. I pray to always be as honest as that about everything in my life but it's not easy when it's not tramadic when you see it as every day sin.During my time in South America with the Medellin cartel the killers who where experts at messing with my head. Threw me out of the compound and said I had to walk from Colombia where I was back to America. I took them seriously they literally killed who ever they wanted to in front of me. I set out headed towards America it was hot like you can't imagine on the equator. I walked during the night because the day was to hot. The Colombian women and children that would walk the 20 something miles back and forth along the Mt tops between cartel shelters would pass me everyday. They would leave me a water but refused to carry me anywhere. No food and just water makes you readjust your priorities. After walking what seemed like an eternity I came up on the first little gathering of people along the Mt top road it was about 15 to 20 miles away from the cartel compound. I found out that I hadn't even made it out of Colombia and it took me a couple days to get there. I was starving and thirsty. They gave me something to eat and drink then I decided to give up walking home to America. Then started back to the cartel compound with desire to do what I had to for them to take me back. When I got there they made me do things that I would call anti-religious to say the least. They laughed at me and said they thought I was dead. Most kids they send out saying they can't come back only last 30min or half a day at most. I was gone four or five days I really tried to make it work. I was so embarrassed about what they made me do to get back in that I asked you tem to open the back gate and I wanted to walk down the Mt top trail from Colombia towards Ecuador then towards Peru and Chile. They laughed and opened the back gate to let me walk away again. As I walked away I was going over how I gave up on going home and basically was separating my so called family ties of what I thought was making me want to go home. I kept thinking that my family was surely missing me as if I mattered to them. Then walking away from the compound I came across a real Shaman from Peru that had walked on a spiritual journey from Peru to the Mt top in Colombia where the equator line runs across the bottom of the country. There was a pit carved out of the Mt rock and all kinds of paintings and markings along what seemed like a big rock coming out of the Mt. There was a whole lot of terraces going down from the top of the Mt to the valley down below. Right behind the cartel compound. It was beautiful. There was a stream going down the Mt top where I came across the Shaman and his two Shamans in training that were helping him gather herbs and stuff that grows naturally that where to be used in medicines. They were cleaning fish. I wanted them to take care of me and asked if they would if I could join them. The Shaman himself could not speak English well and the Shamans in training could speak just a little, but it was enough for them to gain my trust. They had food and knew were they where that's really all it took for me all on my own. They were very nice and allowed me to be with them. The head Shaman even took me on sort of adopting me as his son or apprentice. He was going to show and train me to become a Shaman. At first I thought he was joking but he was as serious as the initiation that I went through involving durgs I didn't know exsited. DMT is what I found out it was and that night wigging out my grammar school mind I watched them put on a show in full dress going over the various sprits and religious ways of the indigenous South American people he represented. It was scary intense and dramatic. I suppose everyone experiencing it for the first time would agree. DMT is not for kids but I soon decided it was for me. What time I spent with them was about a week or so then the cartel killers once again became involved. I wrote this early that best explains the dramatic ending. Some of what I have already said is repeated. Still at this time I choose to leave out the part about the Necrophilia that they involved me in maybe I'll write about that part another time. Anyway here is the ending of my Shaman experience. 👍I was asked by a shaman to finish what the cartel killers started he was doing a ceremonial dance on a colorful huge rock of the mountain top behind Pablo Escobar's cartel housing and it had a line painted by the shaman's that came as far away as Peru to this pit carved in to the mountain with a totom pole carved of rock as well. The whole thing maped the sun and the seasons the shaman would come and use fresh made DMT and walk back and forth along the line painted as the sun's path threw the seasons by the pit used to place the dead in to be offered up to the fowls of the air that was there way. But Pablo Escobar used it as a dump to get ride of the bodies left over from the organ harvesting going on one mountain top over the cartel killers wouldn't allow the shaman to do his ceremonial dance because he would do it as long as he could using the DMT and singing a ceremonial chant that drove the killers crazy day and night. He had become my friend when he noticed me going out to the pit day after day and I convinced the killers to let him do his dance for a day but he wouldn't stop and on the second or third day he was shot while I was standing beside him in the gut he asked me to help him in the pit but he got turned upside down and I had to climb in over the dead bodies that he was tangled upside down in and finally got him right side up. He complained about he wasn't dieing fast enough he wanted me to cut his throat but I wasn't strong enough so the killers suggested I use one of the automatic high powered machine guns they had and the shaman approved I counted down and was standing way to close as the count down ended the shaman gathered his last strength and tried to stand up as I fired the shot to the head that ended his life. A West Monroe grammar school boy in Colombia South America shooting a shaman in the head to ease his passing the cartel killers started by shooting him in the gut right beside me. It was no sight for a grammar school child to see or capable of talking about with anyone when I came back to the States and attempted to settle back into normal life as just another Grammer school child. Lots of people noticed a difference but had no reasoning for what it might could be. PS Thanks for listening to my problems hope you don't have any like mine in your life. My name is

🇺🇸Dennis Homer Love Jr.🇺🇸

Left as a guest on a flight from Mena Arkansas to Colombia South America by Pablo Escobar and Stephen Shaffer of the CIA in 1980s. Don't take your freedom and liberty for granted America it costs more than can be paid.💰💰💰💰


They are all beautiful until you get to know them. I catch a glimpse of them from across the bar and a lifetime of non-existent memories flood my mind. Sometimes choosing to stay strangers is the best thing. A thankless job yet, fruitful. Then they remain beautiful. Or maybe they find you beautiful and then you are the one who lets them down. There are those few times when you cave in to the desire and decide to talk to that beautiful stranger. Please, don’t do it. She had the eyes that looked like a black hole and no not in the “they are empty” kind of way but rather, they encompassed everything. She drew me in and had of way of staring up at me despite being much taller. She had legs that never ended, you can trace them with your eyes and you would get lost along the way. She was slow poured wine and I wanted a taste. She was recently divorced and was out enjoying her newfound freedom. She was sitting at the bar with a couple of friends and I happened to walk by and noticed those eyes. A playful taunt and unintentional were those eyes, god damn. “Wow you are beautiful”. She radiated a smile and I cannot remember what she said as I was intoxicated and was speaking purely out of misguided courage. She even told me her name which I immediately forgot. You see I never thought anything of it. I did not see her as something I had to have but rather I was exclaiming at the sight of something rare. I would leave her side and I won’t be a liar when I say she stopped existing in my mind. Being a regular at a bar means you meet legions of strangers. You also see the other melting faces on a regular basis. So unless someone becomes a staple then they tend to slip into the aether. So enjoying her freedom, she would come back fairly soon.

Clara was her name and this time she had a male friend with her. A potbellied, red eyed, red faced and ornery man. I sat down and ordered my drink then Clara made her way to me. She sat down, lifted her long legs and pressed her knees against the bar for support. There they were, those damned things. I struggled to maintain eye contact as she talked to me. “Remember me?” Clara asked. “I’m sorry but I would be a liar if I said I did”. I replied “You called me beautiful and your name is Charles right?”

“Oh yes, you had some friends with you?” At that moment the red faced man walks up to me. “You were hitting on my girl?” The man asks. “Yes, I did call her beautiful”. I replied. “If you’re intimidated by me then you have bigger issues”. He chuckled and walked away. Clara tilted her head looking at me and smiled. I had no reason to fear this man and my comment was purely innocent. We continued to converse and I, again, did not think anything of it. Couple of days passed and I had been around the local spots and again she eluded my mind. Pretty faces are a dime a dozen though she was particularly attractive, I maintained a certain amount of expectations or rather none at all. Then at the same bar where I met the red eyed man I would see her again. This time she was finally alone. Leg pressed against the bar with a Corona in her hand. I sat down beside her and she welcomed me. Tilting her head and smiling the whole time. I would get lost in the black holes that were her eyes. Clara and I would end up on the patio for a smoke where she would retrieve a small vial containing cocaine. I smiled at the audacity, sure we were alone but something as taboo as Colombian bam bam is not an everyday thing. People usually pull out a joint but, cocaine? Now I particularly do not enjoy weed as it makes you dull and lazy while this other stuff makes you superman. Clara proceeded to intake the substance and handed it to me. Now what made her think that I was a user eluded me for a second then I remembered I was wearing a cocaine movie poster shirt.

I remember feeling some pride when I received a message from her one night asking if I wanted to drink with her. We met up and I proceeded to get pretty wasted but she drank slowly and was there more so for the conversation. She always tilted her head and smiled. Those black holes kept me put and we just talked. I would eventually forget about her legs and it was all about her eyes, I wanted to live there.

We would play at a local retro arcade and proceeded to find a nook and this mad woman pulled out the vial and hand fed me. Within was a do not enter sign on a door and Clara tried the handle. “I want to see if we can get on the roof”. She said, Now I am guilty of some misdeeds but breaking and entering was not typical. Seeing as I was in a superman mood and Clara was a foul temptress, I pulled out my debit card and began working at the door. I had no idea of what I was doing but I wanted to give her an adventure, you know the kind you read about. She nudges me as an employee walks towards us. I doubted we could get in too much trouble seeing as it wasn’t a bank or a car but I dropped it, I had made no progress. We sat back down and I reached out for her hand. She withdrew and smiled. “I’m only looking for friends”. There they were. Those dreaded words. “Friends can hold hands, friends can do a lot of things”. I replied. I’ve had those kinds of friends before. “I’d prefer not to”. “Say no more I don’t want to spoil the night, forget about it”. We would continue to hang out and I didn’t mind. I was just prideful she chose to be around me. Then, one day, we ended up back at my place. We sat on the back patio and snorted blow and drank beer. I turned on an audio book by Charles Bukowski and Will Patton proceeded to put on quite a show. She would laugh and we would pause the book to discuss the moment. It was just us beneath the moon at three A.M listening to a short story about the most beautiful girl in town and there I was talking to the most beautiful girl in town. I asked her to stay the night and watch Dirty Dancing, she insisted on getting sleep but she was tempted considering it was her favorite movie. Now I did not have previous knowledge of this, it was just a lucky guess. When people are good friends they tend to have this telepathy, they are entangled in this “cosmic thread” and they can read each other. Then the eyes started glaring. The rumors began and the accusations followed.

“She’s using you”. or “I don’t trust her,” they would say. I have nothing to be used for. I had no money, no house that I owned. She would pay her own tab and she shared her stash. They weren’t there to see our moments. They were beautiful moments, moments you would fall in love with, dangerous moments that could ruin a beautiful friendship. Then there was this moment. She visited my new apartment in which I had yet to finish moving in. We drank and smoked cigarettes as usual and we made our way to the couch. I gave her a blanket and she laid those long legs next to mine as we watched Dirty Dancing. The movie is made better when you realize Baby does not say anything when people begin to accuse her of being judgmental or somehow a villain. She is just there. We laughed and cuddled. I rubbed her hair, I leaned over and kissed her forehead. Clara looked back and smiled. She had this expression of content and it ate my soul. She closed her eyes and fell asleep. I went to my room where I had yet to move in the bed but I had an inflatable mattress. Now I am not proud to say I had the most beautiful woman in town sleep on an air mattress but, I had the most beautiful woman in town sleep on an air mattress. I pumped the air in while she was asleep on the couch. I thought if she didn’t hear the pump that it would make the situation a little more tolerable. I caressed her head and woke her up gently. She opened those eyes in which I lived. “Let’s go lay down”. I said. She followed me to the room and smiled.

She laid down and was surprised the blankets smelled pleasant. We slept. The following morning my hands traveled around her legs and torso. I would travel underneath her shorts just beneath the waistband and felt no resistance. I teased her. Then I tried for her breast but she swatted my hand. “Don’t do that”. Clara says. “Oh! I guess I pushed my limits for today”. I replied I got up and made her coffee. Weeks went by and I hadn’t heard from Clara. I was bored and this time she had not eluded my mind. She had taken up valuable realty in there. I was riding this wave of pride because of that night. I sent her a message saying

“Planet earth to Major Tom '' to which I received a hand waving emoji. I then remembered my status as “friend”. I left her alone. No one likes a needy partner let alone a needy friend. I tried to find other women to take up my time. I met this girl named Kimberly. She was also beautiful and taller than me. Everyone is. I’m unusually short for a man and not in the best shape. Now how I managed to procure two beautiful women was beyond me. I have had several partners in the past but I have not been very confident lately. Clara had boosted my ego and I was using it. Now Kimberly was not anything like Clara. She was very opinionated and talkative. I tried to show her some of my short stories which she tore apart. I usually use a typewriter then move them to a PC so they are full of junk and just hard to read. I tried explaining that to Kimberly but she had her ways. We hung out on the patio at the red faced man bar. She lit up a cigar which I found very attractive. It made her sexy somehow. She pulled out this kit with the clipper thing and a torch and it was just damn sexy. Now our conversations were pretty surface level and didn’t have any sense of intimacy. It felt like it was going nowhere and I could feel her distance. Some kid walked up and proceeded to talk to us. Her attention was directed to him for some time and I slipped away without saying goodbye. I wanted to see Clara but I didn’t dare message her. I found a job as a line cook and it was an intense job. A family owned bar with high volume that served shitty bar food. It was a busy Saturday night and I was cursing god and wishing death on everybody that walked through the front door. You could feel the sweat drip down your ass crack and tickets just came pouring in. My phone was hardwired to a speaker and some classic rock was playing when I heard a message come in. “Are you working?” Clara asked. “I get off at ten, meet me here, we’ll have a couple of drinks”. “I would love that”. Suddenly the night wasn’t so bad. The tickets were only there as a time waster now. I had something to look forward to. I was off a little after ten and walked to the dining area and there she was. I pulled her away from some stranger and we talked. She told me about how she had a shitty couple of days and she spent it at home, in bed crying. I comforted Clara and invited her back to my spot. We sat in the back smoking and drinking whiskey. She asked me to put on that audio book again and we shared a pleasant memory. She looked at me satisfied. “Awe you like me”. I said “Yes I do, you don’t pressure me for sex or want to give me anything, you’re just content with my company”. “Aww you’re so lame”. We shared a laugh. “I like you too Clara, you’re beautiful inside and out. We continued to talk and our views on sex came up somehow. I said I never kiss one night stands because I feel as though kissing is more personal. I felt a good fuck was less personal. She explained that she held both to be pleasurable regardless of intimacy. We watched TV and drank whiskey and spooned. I kissed her head and rubbed her legs and arms. “Kiss me”. I said. “No, you told me how you feel about kissing, I don’t want to lead you on.”

“I, regardless of my height, am a grown ass man. Trust me I can handle this”. She laughed “No I trust you but, no”. I stopped my advances and asked her to go to bed. There I caressed her body again but this time I pulled her in and kissed the back of her neck. I breathed heavily close to her skin and could see the goosebumps. She turned around and straddled me. “Do you have protection?” She asked “No”. “What the fuck!” I never considered this would occur and I had not been active for a couple of months. At this moment though I was just enjoying her enthusiasm. I pinned her down and tore off her shirt and pulled her pants off. She was enjoying every moment of my invasion. I kissed her torso and hips and cunt. “Kiss me”. I repeated. “No, fuck me”. Clara moaned. “Only if you Kiss me”. She leaned forward and kissed me on the lips and I grabbed her head and bit her lips. I wanted to devour her. I wanted to dive into her body, mind and spirit. I wanted her to want me and there she was. “Fuck me” Clara moaned again. “No”. I replied. She had turned me down from holding hands to touching and kissing and wanted her to feel what I felt. She finally wanted me and I had Clara melting on my lap. She kissed me again, with intent and passion. She was on fire and I was basking in her heat. I wanted to tease her, to drive her wild, to think of me when I wasn’t around. I wanted to turn her down to remind her that I wasn’t after her body, I did not want to give her anything I just wanted her time. This was our moment. We wrestled and jumped on each other's faces, she would grab at my cock and I would tease her every which way. We would finally settle with a glass of whiskey and some slow music. She laid on my chest and we sang along and kissed. She would squeeze my arms and rub my body. This was the kind of moment people fall in love. If I could fall, if she could fall, we would fall. Neither of us fell or at least we didn’t know it. It has been so long that the sensation is alien to me. I offered to make her breakfast at my bar that morning and she accepted. I kissed her goodbye and went to work. A couple of hours went by and she was nowhere. I finally received a message that she wasn’t going to make it. I said that it was OK and I’ll see you soon. That Sunday proceeded to be just as miserable as the night before. Days would pass and I had not heard from her. I messaged her about some party to which she declined. I messaged her again about hanging out on my day off. To which I received no response. I would show up to the red faced man’s bar and I would walk in to see her there with some stranger. I tried to greet her but she turned her shoulder. I greeted the stranger and had a drink with another friend. I could see her across the bar but I didn’t make eye contact. I went outside for a smoke and when I returned Clara was gone. The stranger was still there but she had pulled that Irish goodbye. The night went on and I got drunk. My rage grew and I wanted answers.

“So you’re going to shun me? I think I deserve better than this.” I sent her a message. No response. I never did see or hear from her again. Clara just disappeared from Earth, into the aether. No response to my last message. No show at the red eyed man’s bar. Just nowhere. I talked to that beautiful stranger and we made up a story. No ending. I still listen to the most beautiful women in town. Cass pulled an “Irish” goodbye on Chinaski, you know?. Clara might have done me a favor. I drink alone at night looking at the empty patio chair when Bukowski says “There was nothing I could do”.


One year one room one me     The room is a rectangle with two 10 feet long walls and two 15 feet length walls. There is one window about 7 feet up from the floor on one wall and a sky light right in the middle of the ceiling. There is a door that that has been locked for what seems like forever. I have a twin-size bed, a night table, a small lamp on the night table, 5 changes of clothes, a sink and a toilet like those in a prison cell, one cup a area rug, 12 books, 12 notebooks, 2 pens, and 1 pair of moccasins slippers.  There is a TV built into on of the walls but it only comes on three hours a day and if I have done something that is considered to be bad it doesn’t come on at all.    About 11 and a half months ago I had gotten a call from a friend asking me to go check on one of their clients. My friend is a social worker and lives about 3 hours from my old home. They had gone on vacation and while away gotten what seemed like a distress call. Since I also use to work in the field of social services I agreed. I had gone to the address and knocked on the door. A smartly dressed middle age woman had answered when I rang the doorbell. I introduced myself and explained that are mutual friend was very concerned about her and had asked me to drop by. The woman sigh and invited me in. She offered me some teas and explained that a year ago she had lost here daughter. I could see the tears staring to well up in her eyes so I accepted her offer and came in. She prepared the tea and explained that her daughter had left home to live with her boyfriend. After they had been together for a while, she had gotten pregnant. When she told him, he had become enraged and shot her. When the police arrived, he had taken his own life. I was feeling a little overwhelmed. The woman had gentle patted my hand. “You know dear she would have been about your age if she had lived.” That was the last thing I remembered. I blacked out.    Sometime later I woke up in the god forsaken room. I was sure she had drugged me because I had a killer headache. Of course, I banged on the door. Tried everything I could thing of to open it but no luck. I had yelled to I couldn’t yell anymore. My phone and purse were gone. Everything I had worn had been removed and replaced with one of my new outfits. I had studied the room and when I found the note books made a note of the day and time I had arrived. That how I knew that I had been in here for almost year. Somehow once a day, when I was asleep, food would be brought into the room. At first, I thought that drugs were being but into the food so I stopped eating but I still became sleep. Then I released that some form of sleeping gas was released into to room. I could mark day and night by the window and sky light as well as the seasons. I never heard anything expect when the tv came on. I was always some kind of history or national geographic series. I had read the book a number of times. There was the works of Shakespeare, a bible, works of Edgar Allen Poe, Sherlock Holmes, some Jane Austin, and the rest were books of poetry. God how I wished for a newspaper or a magazine even the national enquire would have been nice just so I could know what was going on in the rest of the world.    I had developed an exercise routine to keep myself fit. It also helped me work of my anxiety. Physically exercise in the morning, mediation in the afternoon, and running in place before going to bed. There were so many things I longed for. A hop bath or shower instead of washing up in the sink. Some junk food and candy. I think I might of sold my sold to the devil for a drink. I kept trying to figure out why know one was looking for me. Making up stories of what the woman had said when the did try to find me. I wondered what she had done with my car and other personal belongings. I had developed a theory that she was pretending I was her dead daughter and she was trying to keep me safe. In two more days, it would be exactly one year since this event had occurred. I decided to reread my journals. I was astonished to see how much I had changed; my beginning entries has ben filled with anger and resentment. I had one note book for each month and was coming to end of that last one. I had no idea what would happen when the last one was filled with writing. Would I get more. Or would my lie be ended. I had written a number of entries about that in my more morbid phase. Over the most recent month I had become very reflective of my own life. I had written about what I want to do if I ever got out of this hell hole.    Something was different today, The Tv hadn’t come on at its usual time. I knew I had done anything consider bad because I had a whole list of what that was. Yelling, trying to get out or escape, Destroying or damaging things in the room, harming myself. Or not taking care of myself. I started hearing a strange sound like a large truck. I got closer and louder. The I could hear people yelling. I jumped onto the bed and remand very still. I sounded like there was a machine digging. The I saw the door shaking, then a loud crash and the door fell down in to the room. My eyes blinked and filled with tears but I couldn’t speak. Two police officers, one male and one female were standing in the door way. They walked slowly into the room speaking in soothing tones. I can’t for the life of me remember what they said. The gentle helped get up of the bed and walked me out the door. As I looked back, I saw that from the outside the room looked like a bunker with most of it buried in the ground. I was taken over to a waiting ambulance and rushed to a near by hospital.   After a thorough exam a psychiatrist came in. He asked how I was doing and said all of my physical test had showed me to be in good health. He explained that my friend had received a letter from the woman who had taken me captive. She explained that she was only doing it to protect from the evils that could befall a woman, much like what had happened to her own daughter. She also explained that she original planned to do all this to my friend. She closed the letter with directions to my location and a suicide note. I became very still and aske the psychiatrist why had no one tried to find me. He told me they did but when they had gone to the woman house, she had told them, “Oh yes lovely lady. She did stop by but told me she was on here way to visit relatives. We tried contacting all of your know relatives and know of them had heard or seen you. When we went back to the lady’s house, she was gone. You friend never gave up looking for you. I took a deep breath and a nurse walking in with a large milk shake, a double whooper, and some onion rings. That when I lost it. I started shaking and sobbing until the gave me a sedative. One year one room and one me.


July 15th, 1821 Oh how the sun was shining! Everything its light touched was illuminated in a cast of gold and silver. The blue sky stretched endlessly over the scattered cottages which made up the quaint little town of Newbay. Newbay was a small little town nestled in the middle of a large thick forest. Almost everyone in the town knew each other, and everyone lived harmoniously and happily. Each working to better himself, and help his neighbors. “C’mon Sarah!” Austin Harrington, a handsome young man yelled as his eyes sparkled with joy. His auburn hair glowing like fire in the late afternoon sun. “Austin!” A laughing young woman with bright blue eyes said as she walked up to Austin. Sarah Obrien, was beautiful today, her caramel hair falling in spirals down the back of her butter yellow frock. Austin smiled, his green eyes reflecting the colours of the trees around them. And taking her soft hand in his, the two walked side by side “Where are we going?” Sarah asked joyously as she brushed a stray string of her hair off of her freckled face. Austin looked up into the azure sky and smiled. Sarah tilted her head curiously and awaited his response. “Do you remember the first time I kissed you?” Austin asked, his lips spreading into a smile across his face. Sarah let her face fill with happiness as she remembered that wonderful moment. The feeling of his soft lips pressed against hers, his warm breath against her face, his strong arms wrapping her up in his warm embrace. Yes, she remembered, almost too well. Sarah nodded, letting the joyous sounds of the forest envelope them. The sound of the mid summer breeze blowing through the boughs of the trees. The mockingbirds’ happy chatter as they fluttered just above them. “Yes, I remember, and I always will.” Sarah said; still her hand in his as they continued to walk through the forest. How enchanting that day was, everything was perfect. How the sunrays sifted through the overhanging leaves, and fell onto the forest floor in intricate designs and shapes was beautiful. The two continued to walk, passing through thickets and little clear patches of forest. The sights and sounds of the wood transporting them to pure a land of pure bliss. Then, as suddenly as they had started walking, Austin came abruptly to a stop. “What’s wrong Austin?” Sarah said, slight concern flashing across her face. Though she reassured herself that nothing could be that bad as to ruin their perfect day. A smile spread across Austin’s handsome face as he turned to her. “Close your eyes.” He said barely above a whisper, mischief glittering in his bright green eyes. Sarah laughed softly, and let her eyelids fall over eyes, thrusting her into darkness. Though, she could still feel the warm sunshine on her face. Sarah felt Austin slip his hand into hers, and with a tug; led her forward. Sarah could still feel the bumps of stones under her shoes, and sometimes worried she would trip. “Almost there.” Austin said, his strong hands leading her on through her temporary world of darkness. “Almost where?” Sarah asked her eyebrows down pointing in curiosity. “You’ll see.” Was all Austin replied, pure joy hidden behind his not-so secretive response. “Ahh, here we are! Now, when I tell you; open your eyes.” Austin said, gripping Sarah’s hand, and leading her a few steps farther he stopped her once more. Sarah smiled, feeling his hand slip out of hers; and awaiting what would happen next, bit her bottom lip. Austin stepped away from Sarah, and stood looking at her standing in the clearing. Her yellow dress fluttering gracefully in the summer breeze, her caramel hair brushed carelessly over her shoulder. How enchanting his soon- to be bride looked. Then, walking up to her, Austin bent his head down and kissed her. Time seemed to stop, slowing everything down around them to a blur. The wind was no more than a far distant ocean wave, the birds; no louder than a kittens soft purr. “You can open your eyes now.” Austin whispered; pulling away from her. Sarah’s eyes fluttered open moments later, and then widened in surprise. “You found it!” Sarah exclaimed, a wave of tender joy escaped her heart. It swept in a warm flood up her arteries, like the fire of a million stars. Then, breaking into a run; Sarah ran up underneath an enormous oak tree. That spouted from the ground like a fountain. “Of course I found it! How could I ever forget?” Austin said catching up to her. The two stood silent for a couple hours, or maybe seconds. They could not tell. “I remember when we came here together,” Sarah said her eyes glazed in wistful memory, “you told me you loved me, and we carved our names into this tree.” Sarah turned to Austin who shook his head smiling. “And, the carving is still here.” Austin walked up closer to the great tree. And, in the middle of the rough bark sat a crude carving of a heart; bearing two names and a date. Austin Harrington and Sarah Obrien April 23rd, 1820 The two laughed, remembering their first moments of their life together, that would forever be illuminated in the bark of this tree; and carved in their hearts. Austin sighed contentedly, and turned to Sarah. He took her hand in his. They stood facing each other hand in hand, while the great vibrant life they were now touching so closely filled their hearts and eyes, and left them faint. They stood there, spirit-hushed, ecstatic. And from that moment on, they would get married but a day later. Raise a large, prosperous family, and live happily ever after. July 15th, 1981 “Alright kids, gather ‘round.” A tall middle aged man said as he gathered his children on a big grassy clearing; the only shade provided by a huge oak tree that towered above them. “Hey, Franklin quite messing with Annie.” The man intervened as two of his children began to quarrel. “Now, do you all know why I have gathered us here?” He asked looking his wife who was standing beside him, and all of his children in the eye. “No daddy.” Was the answer his children gave back to him. And with a smile, he began to tell a tale. “Long ago, my Great, Great Grandpa Austin, bought these fifty acres of land,” The man gestured to the land around him, “for he was to be married very soon, to a pretty little lady who went by the name of Sarah. She was my Great, Great Grandma. Anyway, he bought this land and came here with Sarah, and they carved their names into the bark of this tree.” Surprised gasps came from the little group, as they all rushed up to the tree; each trying to see the carving. One by one, the children were lifted up and got to touch carving. After everyone had gotten a chance to see the marking, their father addressed them again. “Now, your ma and I have decided that to farther honor your Great, Great, Great Grandpa and Grandma’s memory, we are to build a tree house in this here tree!” Cheers and shouts came from the little group as they set to work, building the little tree house. ~~~~ Two weeks later… “I now present to you, the Harrington family tree house!” The father shouted as he made room for all eight of his children to climb up the sturdy ladder that he had built, so that they could reach the tree house. The house, was nestled safely among the strongest, thickest branches of the tree. Its structure woven around the trunk, so that it would sway with the tree if a storm came. “This was a wonderful idea, Dan.” Dan’s wife said as she stood beside him; the two watching their children race around the safe, sturdy tree house. Dan put his arm around the back of his wife, and pulled her close to him. “It felt, right Mary. To honor them this way.” Dan smiled wistfully, how he loved his family. He wanted to make sure their life was perfect; he wanted to make sure they had nothing to fear, he wanted them to know he loved them. Mary looked up at him, and smiled.

Author's note: Thank you to all who read this! Please be brutally honest about what you like and don't like! I am planning on adding more at some future time! I hope you enjoyed it!;)


“Do not be startled Tallfellow Halfling, you have come to wield two sentient weapons. I am Thrash, a short sword made of mithril, silver and gold empowered with a unique set of abilities. Accompanying me in your discovery is the poniard, Swagger.” “My name is Tanixx, Tanixx Wildfire. What do you mean by sentient?” “Both of your newfound weapons are able to empathize with you; feel and perceive your needs as well as form a mental bond. We can communicate with telepathy; it's what we are doing at this very moment.” “This is amazing! I have never had weapons like you two before. I heard of such things being possible and traveled with a few people that possessed similar weapons, but never been fortunate enough to own any. Own...hmm...is it proper for me to address you that way?” “Yes. We are honored to serve you in any way possible. Being all three of us are ethically, morally and spiritually aligned; we will make a fantastic team.” “I concur, Thrash. Your keen blade has runes and sigils artfully inscribed upon it, what are their purpose?” “Let me begin with my origin story and through this tale you will learn much about me. I was physically forged by a colossus. Then magically enchanted by the Archmage Karoth-Synn whose intent was to make artifacts that would help his party destroy the powerful lich prince, Abakiith Darkseid.” “Incredible, Thrash! What you speak of is mythical. Stories of Karoth-Synn and his eventual conquest over Abakiith and the lands of Nightwyer are told by bards and storytellers throughout the land.” “You are correct, Tanixx Wildfire. I was given to Dillon Longstrider, a Halfling with superior dexterity, much like yourself. Our appointed task was the destruction of any undead creatures that presented themselves as a threat while we penetrated the lands and lair of Abakiith. My ability to detect, deal formidable damage and provide a protective barrier against undead is some of the attributes Karoth-Synn imbued me with. I am also enchanted to give my wielder remarkable speed and quickness in battle. My razor-sharp edge can sever limbs and pierce or slice through all but the hardest of materials.” “You are truly an impressive weapon. Is there anything else you can do?” “Yes---I can dispel certain magics and cast a brilliant light in a radius around us. I can also provide invisibility against undead and speak with the dead. My rune covered, steel and silver scabbard will heal most of your wounds sustained in combat as long as it's in contact with your body.” “That's awesome! You're awesome! How is it I had the good fortune to retrieve you and Swagger from beneath the capuchin monolith on Obsidian Island?” “I have had several owners before you, Tanixx Wildfire. The last one, Maxum Dent, a human, who became lost along Alaadin's Cape while treasure hunting. Shipwrecked with a few others, they came across these monoliths and discovered each possessed a riddle which, when solved, revealed a command word allowing access to an underground labyrinth. For some unknown reason, Maxum concealed us in a wall compartment, wrapped in his cloak, beneath this very monolith base; he never returned. For many years we remained hidden, until you found us.” “Well Thrash, I want an account of all your previous owners, in time, as we adventure together. I'm sure you'll have many stories to tell over campfires.” “That I will, Tanixx Wildfire.” “Let me turn our communication over to Swagger.” ************ “It's a pleasure to be owned by you, I am Swagger, a poniard of piercing. My mithril steel construction was made by the same colossus that gilded Thrash. An important point Thrash failed to mention is how our sentient force is imbued from the plane of living energy then forged into precious metals by magic. Archmage Karoth-Synn summoned Thrash's energy from a complex living radiance that is dutiful and predominantly straightforward in its nature. I, on the other hand, am a bit more rambunctious than my short-sword counterpart. You will find me livelier and a bit more talkative.” “Livelier is a matter of opinion, Swagger.” “Ha! Ha! Hah! Do I note a touch of jealousy from you, Thrash? I am the more charismatic weapon you know.” “Whoa! Both of you can argue and I hear it inside my head?” “Yes, Tanixx Wildfire, but my sentient power supersedes Swagger's.” “Got it, Thrash.” “Continue Swagger, you were telling me about your abilities.” “Yes...the way I was forged, my blade has a very good chance of puncturing through all non-metal and most hard metal armors. Karoth-Synn inscribed my blade, hilt and pommel with runes allowing the possessor to decipher many languages, magical writings, riddles and most codes; you will find me very adept at finding patterns in words.” “You can read and speak Ancient Drow? Ancient Elvish? Ancient Dwarvish...” “Yes, and many others you will discover as we adventure together.” “Is there more to know about you?” “I have spell capabilities that allow me to imbue my possessor with detect magic, make powerful leaps and glide through the air. I can also produce light in a radius around us.” “That's outstanding and most helpful to a champion thief and acrobat such as myself.” “You will find my ability to adapt your body mass for adequate buoyant forces in the air or water are advantageous. Many times, I've helped my possessor float like a feather preventing death from a perilous fall or had them bob to the surface while swimming with a large sack of gold across a fast-moving river.” “Fascinating, Swagger! Most impressive! Does your scabbard offer healing like Thrash's?” “Not healing, but protection from poisons, venom's, toxins and the like. However, the scabbard must be touching your body to effectively work. Please understand, protection doesn't mean immunity. I have lost a couple of owners to creatures like the cobra naga and viper hydra.” “Geez, looks like you have lots of stories to share as well, Swagger. I haven't heard of either of those monsters.” “Absolutely---I tell my best tales during campfires.” “Tonight, you can begin storytelling. For now, I need you to read this ancient Drow inscription in this labyrinth's alcove.” “Sure. It's a riddle.” “What belongs to you, but other people use it more than you?” “Get ready Thrash and Swagger, to adventure further inside the monolith with me, Tanixx Wildfire, because I know the riddle's answer; my name.”


On Day 1, it was a usual night in the suburbs. Mrs. Lomen's dog barked, and the teenage neighbor was up late playing loud rock music. Through it all, I was surprised that I could hear the sound of a car roll up the street. It parked near my driveway, the engine ceased, and the headlights prompted me to look out the window to see what was going on. The driver was male, and he was trying to retrieve something out of the backseat where four other passengers sat. Unexpectedly, I felt his head shift toward the bedroom window, so I ducked down to avoid his gaze. When I thought the moment was right, I rose to the window sill and found that the men had disappeared. I had no clue where the men went, but I knew something wasn't right, and later, I found out that I was correct. My front door caved in, and I realized that a burglary was underway. Just when I finished barricading the door, the men came upstairs and began to spray gunfire. Unable to think or comprehend, I threw myself out the window on top of the black pavement. Breathlessly with an intent to move, I stumbled until I saw that the men broke into my bedroom and were about to shoot down at me. I quickened my pace and evaded the bullets until I met with Deputy Doug, the neighborhood policeman.

“What is going on,” exclaimed Deputy Doug.

“I've been a victim in an armed burglary!” I turned, gripping my side, like an athlete. “There are four of them!” Deputy Doug grabbed his walkie, "Stay here in the bushes, Im calling for backup." I crept into the bush while the officer ran down the street to assess the situation. Day two was devastating at best. I was at the police station when Deputy Doug informed me that the suspects fled the scene. He also told me that during their investigation, they found a lot of rummaging in my office. The perps stole photos, keys, books, and, most importantly, my Scouts documentation. That documentation contained all of my credentials and location information when I was a spy for the lookouts. It became clear that the burglars knew me and were coming to seek revenge for my intrusion in the past. After an hour in the deputy's office, we began talking about protection placement in a safe house up north. The house was tucked away on a grassy plain and had high-grade security details. A thick black wall wrapped the property, followed by a steal gate that allowed auto entry. Security cameras were placed in the ground, trees, rocks, and around the house. Even one false step would trigger the alarm and send you an electric shock. Sixteen burly security accompanied me at all times, even when I first laid my head to sleep in the bedroom suite by sundown. On day three, I woke up around 8:00 in the morning to eat breakfast. The chef had made pancakes and omelets along with a fruit platter. The bodyguards surrounded me as I sat at the table before the bay window to view the luminous surroundings. I saw a deer, a fox, and a bear who hunted the spring for fish. He kept bobbing but could never get his mouth on one to chow. His attempts drew me in repeatedly until one of the guards told me I had a call. "Hello," I answered. "Good Morning," It's deputy Doug. He continued, "I have some bad news." "Okay, tell me what it is," I muttered. "According to our data," he paused. "We have discovered that there has been a leak in your location."

I immediately stood up from the table and began to yell out, asking how this could have happened. Doug told me that the men hacked the safe house database and found my location. I needed to leave immediately, or I would be in harm's way. Day four consisted of endless paranoia. I kept thinking that at any moment, I could be shot by a sniper from the woods or blown up by a rocket. The security team told me that I would be okay if Id just relax and enjoy the smooth ride back to the police station to reevaluate. Once we arrived, I felt a sense of insecurity at the sound of a beeping noise. It increased each second and resulted in an explosion right on the roadway. The SUV whipped backward all the way until it stopped near the post office.

"Were under fire, we're under fire," a guard called from his walkie. Smoke flared the area along with a vivid fireball of madness. The SUV engine was down to its last spark before it blew me through a window onto the crumpled pavement. I believed that my life was at its end until I saw a bunch of figures gather to help me up to a durable car that sped near the sidewalk.

"Get him in, get him in," a voice bellowed. I felt the cushion underneath me as its stitching scratched my bare bottom. Whoever's car and who I was with, I was unaware. On day five, around 9 in the morning, I woke up to a cluster of chatter and keyboard typing. As soon as I saw the blue wall and an engraved police symbol, it became apparent that I was at a secure police facility. I gestured from my chair to peer down the hall to see that an investigation was underway. The police and security were studying the explosive car incident and compiling street surveillance to identify the perpetrators. As I listened more, one of them revealed that Dane Wilson had involvement in my hurried escape from the safe house and knew which street I would take. His team planted bombs there and detonated them when we reached. I wasn't surprised as he was known for being conniving and strategic. He relentlessly strategized for the enemy spy league and tried to take down friendly spy operations from the start. He was undoubtedly making a comeback, but I didn't know why?

Day six consisted of being suited with armor and questioned. The police told me that the armor was what all protectees had to wear. It was a big bulletproof get up that had room for two sizeable guns. One of them was a firearm and the other an eliminator with fifty thousand bullets in its magazine. I had to remain at the police facility while the authorities gathered more information about Dane and his hideout. I was questioned by a policeman about my past spy work against Dane. The policemen began, "We have received consent from your spy league to tell us about your work." "Yes, and I assume you would like to know about my work against Dane?" "Exactly so," the policemen agreed. I began, "I've encountered Dane many times and he always had something in store for his opponents. He set up boobie traps, concocted gases, used spy gadgets, and constructed disguises." The policeman took note of all I stated and reported it through a walkie talkie. The policeman asked, "Can you give me a list of his hideouts?" "When I left the spy league, he lived and operated in Shadysons, but he probably doesn't now. "Okay, good stuff, the policeman remarked. "We'll be back with you with information on the search."

Day seven was disappointing as the police did not find Dane. They searched Shadysons and various other places, but each location was empty. The fact that Dane was on the move and could strike at any moment was my biggest fear. For the day, I was moved into another secure room. The room I was in before needed cleaning. This new room was larger and had a surveillance monitor system on the wall. I saw a group of policemen talking outside, an ongoing conference in the meeting room, and the helipad. I was immediately thrown off the footage as the ceiling began to shake. A slight conversation ensued, presumably from the police, who I believed were preparing the helicopter. As time went on, steel fell from the ceiling, revealing a giant hole. Three men descended down three brown ropes that touched the floor. Bursts of smoke followed, obstructing my vision when I heard a voice. "We got a break-in," a policeman yelled. It was within a second when a wire sprung down and sucked me through the exposed ceiling. The men situated themselves to shove me in the police helipad, just before they took off into the sky. From below, the police made access to the scene gripping their guns to lock a shot on Dane. As every shot hit the helipad, Dane jerked and jerked until the shooting stopped.

By day eight, night and rain had fallen and made the circumstance even worse. The helicopter remained in motion but dropped unstable under the constant heavy rain pour. Out of the window, a cluster of flying police helicopters left the area, killing all of my hope for rescue. Eventually, we reached a cloudy spot, where a slight noise broke out in the cockpit. One of the men presented a cloth of noxious liquid and folded it twice. I immediately began to think about my passing and how my family would come to terms with it. What would they do? Would I be found? Would there be a long-lasting search? I had no clue.

On day nine, I woke up to a dim room that only had a chair in the center. To my left, a weeping man and woman huddled whom I recognized as Kent and Mariage Spadeson. They were fond partners of mine back in my spy days. It was visible that they had been in the room without food or drink for days when I saw Kent lick the sweat from his dirty arm.

"Is someone with us, is someone with us?" his wife slurred. I freed myself from the rope and crouched to the both of them to announce my presence. I waved, "It's me, Brent Carrington, your spy partner from long ago." The lady began to fight at me aggressively in an attempt to hurt me. She took a kick and a swing until her husband calmed her down. "It's Brice Carrington, our former spy partner from long ago," he ensured. The lady cried in apology, "Im sorry, Im quite delirious right now." We talked for about 5 minutes. In just that short amount of time, I found out that we experienced the same circumstance. Outside of the room, I heard a group of men talking about who would come in the room, so I ran back to the rope to resume my previous position. Dane came in with a dish of rice and chicken and forced Mariage and Kent to eat first. Upon her first bite, Mariage instantly threw up when she noticed dung. Kent became enraged and focused on Dane.  "Fuck you!" he called out.

I gestured for Kent to stop, but he continued to curse. Eventually, Dane had enough and slapped him before returning back to his seat. A moment of silence ensued before Dane revealed his intent.  "It won't be long before my thugs execute my plan."

"What plan and why?" I exclaimed. He stood up, embracing his voice, "My plan is to kill you all for drowning my brother in that flood twenty years ago," he turned his head to me, "Especially you Brent!" The rest of that night into the next day, we waited till the Thugs arrived. On Day ten, our actions would ultimately decide the outcome. A luminous ray of sunlight peered through a small crack in the room. The door burst open, and the Thugs had arrived and were instructed to increase the room temperature. The hotter it got, the more unstable we became, causing us to dose in and out of consciousness. Dane raised from the chair and walked to a lone water faucet by the door. He turned the knob with a squeak and broke it with a hammer. As the water gushed over the sides, it heightened up the wall. Dane caught one last look at the room and bolted the door to prevent us from leaving. As the final lock clicked, I ran to free Kent and Mariage before they swallowed too much water. I then took a piece of the rope and began to force it up the spout, even though the water kept flowing out. Kent stood lifelessly, analyzing the water-filled room for a way out.

"Ova there, ova there!" Kent breathlessly exclaimed. I turned to look and found that there was an imperfection in the wall. I clenched my fist, raised it to the wall, and bashed through to the other side. The more and more the wall caved, the sunlight entered and revealed a wooded area. I placed Kent and his wife before me and took the last position to ensure that no one was behind us. We met a busy roadway where a bunch of missing posters hung. I ripped one loose and ran up to a passing police car. The officer inside took one look at the picture and let us in the back of the squad car. "Im going to get you all to safety," he promised. I felt the shake of Mariage as she kept looking through the back window and moving back and forth in fear. I couldn't understand why until a car bashed into the back of us.

She yelled, "It's Dane, he found us!" The policeman kicked it up to about 100 MPH until we reached the police station. Dozens of armed officers ran out to support him and began to shoot at Dane's vehicle. One stray shot rang out and hit the gas tank, ending the reign once and for all.


Many times, I’d seen him, wild, bushy, greying hair framing his entire head like some kind of grotesque creature. Down the corners of where his mouth apparently was, there were brown lines fading into the beard hair. I was sure that if I looked deeper into the hairs, I would definitely find lost food particles. He would usually not acknowledge any greetings or waving. He was definitely “grumpy guts”! His clothing was always drab and stained with threads hanging off and he wore great heavy steel capped boots that looked like he never took them off as the caked mud went from trouser to toe all in an unbroken sheen. Over everything he wore a very old, tattered leather jacket, Davey Crockett, style. One thing though, I don’t remember him actually smelling bad, odd that. He would drive slowly past in his ancient, grey, Land Rover with miles and miles of looped binder twine hanging across the upper section of the flat tray. Some of it you knew had been there for nearly as many years as he was old by the colour because every few years the manufacturers brought out a new colour and there were examples of all variations hanging there. At the time, as a child of 10, I found him quite scary especially when he became convinced that I was purposefully tying knots in the manes of his “wild” horses. Even he couldn’t get near any of them. There were also reports from other people that he would fire his gun threateningly if he found them near his property….and bellow, I used to hear him roar at his dog sometimes. Our property’s boundary fence was also his and occasionally he would come up to the fence and holler for my father. After a brief exchange he would promptly turn and march away. This was how we found out that he thought I was knotting his horse’s manes as he indicated to my father that if he caught me, he would “tan” my hide. My father said he better not or else….and that’s when he stomped away. Of course, even I couldn’t get close enough to those horses to be able to do such a thing even if I had wanted to. I did used to handfeed them and rub their noses though, there were heaps of them, such beautiful creatures they were with show bloodlines. There was also a great herd of wild goats that roamed the entire area, coming and going through ANY fence at their pleasure. Technically he owned them since he was the one who originally started the herd but after that they owned themselves. Sometimes the bucks would come and try to fight with our goats, they were much “smarter” than our poor billy and we would have to rush to his rescue. Anyway, as things go, we ended up with some pretty coloured babies, much to my dad’s disgust. Eventually he got a new puppy. He called him Useless. I think after a good year or so the new dog grew on him and he seemed to love it, however unfortunately the name stuck. As the years rolled by we began to have a little more to do with him and he even used to get us to assist with injured horses when they needed daily treatment and he had to go away to his job. Later we were even permitted to walk across his property to get to a beach that was there. We had to be careful to only climb through specific “holes” in the fence and not climb over and only walk in certain paths. I started to see another side to him and under his bushy eyebrows I now saw the most beautiful blue eyes. Many years later I was helping another neighbour test a new cart behind his donkey on the road and suddenly the donkey decided that he had had enough of this business and bolted down the hill. The cart began to breakup and my friend and I bailed out. A little further on and the rest of the cart came loose and the donkey continued on with just the traces dragging and flapping behind. Grumpy guts came driving up the road and saw it all happening. He leapt out of his truck and stood in the middle of the road with his arms out to stop the donkey. He couldn’t stop laughing. He said to my friend, “Chariots of Fire, Chariots of Fire”, and nearly choking. One winter whilst he was checking on one of his boundary fences he found evidence that someone had crossed onto his land. He would have been furious. There was a little pickers hut in the bush from yesteryear when an orchard had once existed and a young couple in there trying to survive. They had nowhere to go and she was heavily pregnant. Instead of getting his gun out as usual and throwing them out he let them stay and even started taking them bags of food and other supplies. I don’t know how long they ended up living there but it just goes to show that despite living a gruff and meagre existence and appearing like he couldn’t and wouldn’t trust anyone and giving all who come near him a hard time there was still a tiny seed of decency and care for his fellow man. Maybe the woman reminded him of his only daughter that I knew he never saw. Maybe he thought one day she might be in need and someone might just come to her aide. I don’t know, but I do know that eventually he died alone in his rundown, dirt filled house. He never slept in the bedroom in the bed but instead lay on the couch looking out over the paddock and down to the sea. He drank black coffee with whisky in it and ate bacon fried in a pan that was so full of previous meals fat all black and gross that I am sure it was simply NEVER washed. He was a very odd man, a loner and alone. A product of several wars at whose end no side wanted him back so he ended up in the back of nowhere as far as you can go without going to Antarctica. Yes, as a child he scared me but no one should die alone!


That’s the thing about this city. It’s too noisy. From the moment that I wake up and bathe under the stinging water coming out of the showerhead, I can hear the flushing of the toilet above me and the sound of water falling through the shower drain. I get out of the shower and dress up in front of my mirror stuck to my cardboard and I can hear the thumping above me. I have no idea what it is. It’s probably the neighbour’s boy playing football. I stare at myself, my hands slowly doing the buttons on my long-sleeved shirt, one by one. It feels like an eternity and in the end, I realise my shirt is one button short. I unbutton it yet again and try to focus on it as much as I can. My mind feels hammered and my chest feels tight. I know this feeling. This feeling of worry and anger and sadness combined. Her face appears in my mind and her name repeats and repeats. Bella, Bella, Bella. I can hear myself saying sorry and sorry again. I get out of my house, keys jingling against each other and I rush to the lift, frantically pushing the button. I look at my watch and god, am I late. I can almost hear my boss lecturing me about how I’m irresponsible and how she might fire me but then she never does anything in the end. The elevator finally comes and I’m pushing those buttons again when suddenly, I hear a ring. I take out my handphone and there it is. The bookstore is closed today. Turns out the boss’s daughter died. I slump back and I’m wondering whether I should message her but I don’t have the right words. Too lazy to open my door, I walk out to the street and cars are blaring at each other, some dude is playing the saxophone and singing some jazz song. I walk past him while memories of Bella peirce my mind. She used to love jazz and we would go down to the bar where there would be some jazz players jamming on drums. We stared at them, mesmerized by these beautiful mess of musical notes. Her hands slowly wrapped in my fingers and slowly, I stared at her and we kissed. But, everything became a mess. These beautiful mess that was us could not last. Shouting and shouting. Annoyed at the saxophone, I rush down the street but it just becomes worse. Side to side, I can see disgusting couples holding hands, smooching and smooching, skipping on this drenched pavement. My heart beats and I’m sweating as I crush my pockets in frustration. I put my hand out and a taxi comes by. It’s your typical uncle with this blue polo shirt and he asks me where I want to go. The park, I reply. I sit back against the leather seat and just as I feel a sense of relief, these uncle starts playing some radio. A woman says how much she loves her boyfriend and I can’t help but think about Bella. Why did she leave me? Did I not love her that much? Did I not go down and hug her when she was sad? A couple of places zoom past by. A pizza place. The cinema. A restaurant. My heart can’t stop aching. We used do that. Go to the restaurant and eat spaghetti. She had the most beautiful smile but it faded. I’d ask her if something was wrong and if she want to talk about but she’d keep quiet. It would agitate me and we would get into another argument. The taxi reaches and I leave my crumpled 10 dollars on the cup holder. I slam the door and I trudge across the pavement. It could not have gotten worse but needless to say, it did. Screaming kids who moan and parents who can’t seem to shut up. I walk briskly but my legs feel like steel. In the distance, there’s a table and there’s 2 old men who sitting and playing chess. Suddenly, one of the old men leave. Finally, a chair. For my poor butt. I saunter down and sit at the chair. I stare at his face and strangely, there’s a kind of peace in his face but I’m hesitant to say anything. After all, he’s a stranger and I don’t really think he wants me to tell my life story to him. “Your move”, the old man gently says to me. I make a move but now, there’s some peace and all I can think about is Bella. “Is something bothering you, young man?”, the old man gently says to me, “You’ve barely moved.” “It’s okay”, I say. “You know, if you keep pain deep inside yourself, it will slowly consume you until you are paralysed. However, if you would like to keep your pain private, I understand. Sometimes, we need time to think and process our pain alone .” I look down at the chess pieces for a short time and I push my chair. “Thank you…”, I whisper to the man before I walk to the beach. Everything slows down as the sun slowly sets down and people leave the park. I’m left alone with myself as I lied down on the sand of the beach, staring at the pink clouds in the light violet sky. I run my hands against the sand and grains of sand pass through my fingers. Waves crash against the shore and I can see the lights from the big ships in the distance glistens against the seabed. I honestly thought we would be together for the longest time but maybe, I was a jerk. Maybe. I messaged her but she didn’t reply. I wish everything was different but, nothing is the same and I guess that’s okay. The waves crash against the shore and I can’t help feeling a sense of relief just breathing the beautiful air of the sea.


PROS AND CONS OF PUSHING THE BUTTON By the One Who Pushes PRO: The world has never (not even once!) ended. Neither as a direct result of your having pushed the Button, nor in any other way. This is optimal. CON: The world ( your world, that is) has indeed never, not once, ended (nor even changed in the slightest) as a direct result of your having pushed the Button. And not to be too down on yourself and your sad life and everything, but let’s be honest: This is suboptimal. (You need friends.) PRO: The people you pass on the street, on those rare occasions you dare to go out, may well have you , and no one else but you, to thank for their entire worldly, spatiotemporal existences. Good on you.

CON: Those same people may in fact have you, and no one else but you, to thank for their every waking misery and toil. And the non-waking ones, too. Maybe the Button isn’t what you think it is. He never told you for sure. PRO: Pizza. There’s pizza. And there’s also a direct correlation. You’ve never pushed the Button and not had pizza afterward. Causal effect? This, more than anything else, feels like magic. Except for Him. He was pretty magical. (You think.) CON: But what if there’s something better than pizza out there? Impossible to think (obviously), but still, it bears asking: What if, much like the unintended causing of all sorts of misery, the pushing of the Button is also the very one-and-only thing that tethers your taste buds to this reality where pizza is the ultimate bliss? What if there exist higher peaks—truer peaks—among the universe of possibilities? Peaks that are simply unimaginable in this Button-fixed world of pizza? Holy crap. What if there’s one where kale actually tastes good?

PRO: The doubt. Or, more specifically, the total lack of it. Because when you push the button—and you’ve never not pushed the button—there’s none of it. And as long as you keep pushing the button, there’s no reason to start. The world is here, the world is the world, and there’s no reason to doubt any of it. CON: Except you’ve never not pushed the button, and yet here you are . And what to call this entire exercise, really, but one big snowball of doubt? You should probably stop now. Get it together. Go back to your life. Because, like… PRO: How about this little thing called existential security? Because seriously, how could you be so selfish as to even think about forgoing the one and only action that may or may not be the only thing holding the entirety of space and time together? You know what He told you. You can’t even begin to disprove it. And even if you could… Is it really that important, to know more than this? Are you really that important? CON: Squanderance. You’re not sure it’s a word (in fact, you’re pretty sure it isn’t), but you can’t rightly think of any better one for the entire world of alternative possibilities you’re leaving on the table, each and every time you push that Button. Even if the one and only alternative is the immediate and irrevocable annihilation of everything… Is that truly so bad? I mean, of course it is. But yet you wonder. Yet you toil. He never should’ve placed this burden on you. PRO: He told you to do it. And seeing as He is the closest thing you can fathom to Truth and Wisdom incarnate—and possibly even to Justice—it seems like folly to disobey. To even question. And still. CON: It’s killing you. And if He is Truth, if He is Wisdom, then He could not have possibly hung the balance of time, space, and reality itself on your shoulders for any reason other than for you to do with it exactly as you will do. This has to end. CONCLUSION & PARTING NOTES And so, I’m building a box. A box unlike any other. The details of this box are perhaps irrelevant, but I feel you should know them anyway—for posterity, let’s say, even though it seems a near mathematical certainty that you will never see these words. Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Perhaps none of this does. Regardless, I have decided to do this thing, and so here follow the details and reasons why. The costs to me in undertaking this project have been considerable—both financially and spiritually. To the former point, I’ve sold my home and crappy car, and cashed out on every bit of retirement savings I had. To the latter, I don’t even know what to say, except that I’ve prayed each and every day for Him to appear to me once again—to tell me if I am acting in error. To tell me anything at all. But there’s been no word, save for those of my skeptical construction crew. The box itself… The box is a miracle. A space age capsule of filters and shielding. Or the equivalent of one, at least. Mostly, in reality, it’s one dense chunk of a subterranean bunker. Cinder blocked and double Faraday caged. Lead paneled on the exterior. That didn’t come cheap. Suffice it to say, though: not even the Man of Steel himself (if he were real) would be able to see what’s happening in the box, once it’s closed. At times, I wonder if maybe even He—the He that is real, and way more omnipotent than Supes—will be unable to see what happens in there. I don’t know. And I’m pretty sure I never will. The water and air filtration systems have been an interesting challenge. All of it rather interesting , the construction foreman points out one day, in lieu of what he’s really thinking—which is namely, no doubt, that if any single part of this weirdo bunker fails in any unforeseen way, this stupendously expensive box of mine will almost certainly be rendered a stupendously expensive coffin, posthaste. But I see no other way. I just hope to the Gods of Pizza-flavored MREs that I’ve stocked enough supplies to last… well, however long it lasts. You see, the only certainty left in my mind is that I must push the Button. And the only certainty left in my mind is that I also mustn’t. And so, I’m taking the Button with me.

Into the box, we go. In there, with my Button and without my world, I pray I might finally do as I may. In there, I pray it will not matter—though to whom I pray all of this, I can no longer say. Regardless, from here on out, you may consider the Button to be both pushed and also not pushed, for that will be the truth as far as anyone but me should ever know. And if it should come to pass that this truth should also happen to coincide with your untimely annihilation—and indeed the untimely annihilation of everything—then know (though I suppose it’s impossible for anyone to know anything, in that case) that I am sorry. Or that I would be, at least, were there any existence left within which to be sorry. But at the end of the day… at the end of it all… Well, what business is it of yours, really, what I do with my own Button?


I love her. I love her and she’s going to be mine.

Those were the thoughts that tore through my mind when I first saw her. I was at Sarah’s, eating with my mom. We always went to Sarah’s on Thursday nights. It was our little tradition.

Perhaps, in reality, it was the only time I suffered the company of my own mother.

On the other side of the restaurant sat a loud and obnoxious table full of people I’d never seen before. Most of the customers that went to Sarah’s were regulars, so it was highly unusual to see an entire table of new faces. Besides her , there was one other woman at the table, the rest were men. They had multiple bottles of wine and were sharing appetizers. I was mesmerized, I couldn’t look away. She ate so delicately, her big eyes wandered lightly around the table, a smile teased at her lips. She silently observed the loud group around her.

My mother spoke, but I wasn’t listening.

There was a flourish in my peripheral vision, and I finally came to. The waiter had removed the menu from the table and walked away. I looked incredulously at my mother.

“What, you weren’t gonna let me order?” I said to her.

She narrowed her eyes at me, “What are you so involved in?” “I- huh?” It was all I could do to keep my eyes from wandering, “What are you talking about? Involved in? What are you accusing me of?” “What am I talking about? What the hell are you looking at? That’s what I’m talking about!” she unraveled her silverware and placed the napkin in her lap, “Unless there’s something you are involved in that I should know about!” I thought about all the unsavory things I was involved in that would raise the hairs on the back of my mother’s neck.

“I am involved in nothing out of the ordinary, mother.” I assumed this response would placate her, but she just stared at me.

“What? What’s your problem now?” Her eyes flicked down and returned to my face with such conviction that I realized what she wanted. I grabbed my silverware and made a big show of unwrapping it. I put the napkin over my lap.

“So, what did you order for me?” “I decided that I wanted pizza.” I knew this meant she ordered a single small sized pizza and expected us to share it. Cheapskate.

I rolled my eyes, “Did you at least get a kind that I would also enjoy?” “I ordered you a salad.” “Mother!” “What is your problem?” she said. I wondered if she noticed the shirt I wore was tight around the arms and neck. Not because I had gained weight, mind you, but simply because she was the one who bought it, and she was still in denial about me having grown into a proper adult.

Of sorts.

Regardless, the ill-fitting shirt didn’t help my anxiousness nor my level of accumulating moisture. I pulled vigorously at the collar. My mother’s eyes flashed anger at me, “I spoke to your father this morning.” Don’t worry, she was only angry that I was pulling on her gracious gift. I released the shirt collar and returned my hands to their idle position, properly crossed in my lap.

She continued, “He asked for money again.” It was always the same. Like clockwork, every other Thursday my mother attacked me with the information that she’d spoken to my father, which meant that he had asked her for money, which then meant that she would ask me for money. Then, she bullied me into submission and I gave her the money so she could give it to him.

“How much did he ask for this time?” I huffed and crossed my arms defensively, which was obviously an act that I expected my mother to play along to.

I was met with a stony silence and I realized I had been too involved in my own thoughts that I wasn’t looking at her. I wasn’t looking at anything, really. I didn’t want to look at them, at her . So, I looked at my mother instead.

Her eyes were watery and her chapped lips seemed to quiver, although I tried to convince myself I’d imagined it. Her lips were always chapped, every time I saw her, even though I always offered her lip balm and once or twice slipped one into her purse.

“Did something happen?” I asked.

“Oh,” she shook her head and brought her napkin to her face, “It’s that woman again!” “Woman?” I couldn’t hold it back anymore, I meant to only glance over, but when I did, she was already looking at me .

I thought she would look away once we made eye contact, but she didn’t. Her hair was dark and curly, it framed her face beautifully and made her look dainty and slim. Her lips were a deep color of red, tinted with, perhaps, purple? Maroon, was that the name? Or perhaps the color was called burgundy? It’s silly, but I started referring to her in my mind as Maroon then, so ensnared was I by her lips.

Maroon’s dress was black. In fact, I noticed then that all the people in her party wore black. They were also dressed to the nines. I saw Sarah’s diner as a more casual affair. Even my mother and I always showed up wearing the clothes we wore that day. I couldn’t imagine decking myself out in a crisp black suit to come eat pasta or salad. Or pizza, I suppose I should mention.

The man sitting next to Maroon noticed then that she was no longer engaged with the table. He looked first into her face and then followed her gaze, staring straight at me. I couldn’t read his expression, but it didn’t seem to be a happy one.

He turned from me and leaned toward Maroon. He pushed aside Maroon’s thick hair and pressed his lips to her ear. His hand looked huge. His everything looked huge. He seemed to be all muscle. His suit was tight around his arms, but in an intimidating way, and not in a - his mother bought a shirt the same size as those he wore as a teenager - sort of way.

Maroon laughed and spoke to the man and I strained my ears to hear what her voice sounded like but the restaurant was too loud. The man put his arm around her and she looked away from me and at him instead. It felt like my heart was shriveling up.

Another flourish in my vision and the waiter stood there at our table, pizza and salad in hand.

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

Ma’am? I blinked and turned my attention back to my poor mother, who was dabbing her eyes.

“Yes, yes,” she waved her napkin at the waiter, “I’m fine, just leave me be.” The waiter plunked the food down and drifted away like they were never even there in the first place.

I watched her in astonishment while I tried to remember what we had been talking about.

Oh right, my father. The money. Same old stuff. Why was she so upset? This was a tactic I had never seen before.

I said, “Don’t worry mother, I’ll give you the money, just tell me how much you need.” “It’s not about money Henry, I told you it’s about that woman!” Her tears were all dry now at the sight of her pizza, which she took such a forceful bite of I worried briefly for her dentures.

“Woman?” I said again, and my eyes shot to Maroon. I almost jumped out of my seat. Maroon was looking right at me. I worried the whole process would repeat again but this time she quickly turned her gaze away. I was able to avert my eyes as well but instead of looking at my mother, I looked down at my salad. I had understood the gist of what my mother was saying.

“Is it the same one as before?” I asked tentatively and busied myself with drowning my salad in dressing.

“It is my understanding that this is the same woman as before,” my mother answered in between bites of pizza, “I think it’s getting serious this time.” “Well.. that’s okay, isn’t it?” “Oh, Henry, it’s all just so new, isn’t it?” My parents were getting divorced. It wasn’t fair that my father asked my mother for money every other week, when he was the one out there meeting new people but living in our house. My mother’s house. The house I grew up in. The house he now lived in alone.

My mother is old, but she’s gone back to work. No one cares, not even her son, who peddles drugs and tries not to get STDs at the college parties he goes to every weekend. Parties he knew he was too old to keep going to. But hey, at least he gave her a measly couple hundred every other damned Thursday.

Anyway. I’ve done bad things. I’ve been in bad places before with bad people. Bad situations where people got hurt, got into things they shouldn’t’ve, things that the average person would likely deem regrettable.

I might even admit to regretting some of it myself, some day.

But I had never seen a dead body before. I had also never dealt with a real, legitimate mob, but somehow that sounds less impressive.

What happened next just might have convinced me to get my act together.

I’m not entirely sure how it all went down, but I do remember the bright headlights that shone through the windows of the restaurant when a car rolled easily into the parking lot. Later, the news had said that it was one mob attacking the other. Italians, I guess. It also turned out that Maroon and her mob were regulars at Sarah’s, they just never showed up on Thursdays. The news suspected the attack wasn’t entirely a surprise.

Three men with big guns busted through the door and started shooting anything that moved. I don’t know if I jumped or fell out of my chair but I ended up on the ground and I just laid there, hoping I wouldn’t get shot. I searched frantically for Maroon, and was shocked to find her holding a gun and shooting at the intruders. I wished I was beside her until the big man who had whispered in her ear fell onto the ground like a giant, muscley bag of potatoes. It was over as fast as it had begun, and I’ll never know why the opposing group only sent three people to take on Maroon’s mob.

All was quiet for a moment, and with a start I remembered I hadn’t been sitting at my table by myself.

On the floor a few feet away, was my mother.

My mother.

Her little oval wire glasses had been knocked off of her face and she sat there on the ground, squinting at the world around her. There was a small gash on her forehead that was beaded with thick globs of blood. She was fine, mostly, but she looked scared.

Then there was noise and people were yelling, screaming, running. A couple of regular restaurant patrons had been hit, I didn’t pay attention to the part of the news that said how many or if they lived. Only two of Maroon’s mob were killed. The surviving mob members quickly gathered themselves and carried their wounded away.

Maroon headed for the door but stopped when she saw me. She glided toward me and held out her hand. I grabbed it and stood up and then didn’t let go. It was cold and sweaty.

She didn’t let go either. Her eyes glistened.

“My love,” she said.

My heart was pounding out of my chest, “Please, your name?” “Aphrodite.” It seemed like a cruel joke, and when I looked pleadingly into her face she laughed, her expression kind.

“I’ll tell you,” she said, “next time.” Yeah, so what? Did you really think there was a next time? No, of course not. And you’d be right. There wasn’t a next time. I never saw her again.

I returned to my mother and found her glasses. We sat back at our table and I was glad to see that the pizza had survived the scuffle. I handed my mother the best slice and picked up a piece for myself.