Betsy was in a mood.

Normally she worked quietly in her cube leaving only to

go to the occasional meeting.

She rarely ventured off her floor except to go to the lunchroom.

Even that was rare as she usually ate her lunch in front of her computer while surfing the internet for the latest news on her favorite celebrity.

Today felt different.

It started when she walked into the building and the man in front of her, shook his wet umbrella, soaking her in the process.

She waited patiently to smile and forgive him when he said “excuse me, I am so sorry,” but the apology never came.

Instead, she stood in the lobby staring at his dry, black wool jacket as it disappeared into the elevator.

Others jostled around her as she heard the shoomp and thud of the elevator doors and the ding indicating another car had arrived to shuffle more volunteer prisoners to their identical gray cubes.

Slowly she turned her eyes down to her rain spotted skirt, hose, and shoes.

It was then that something clicked. Betsy strode to the elevator, stepping in front and ahead of others, not saying, “excuse me” or “sorry” once.

As the silver doors started to shut, she reached over the person nearest the buttons and pushed her floor.

She hesitated a second , reached over again and pushed another button.

The person nearest the buttons smiled indulgently as she reached out yet a third time and pushed

one of the few lingering unlit buttons.

“A little confused today?”

someone asked.

“Nope, not at all,”

Betsy declared as she stepped out onto her floor, leaving the remaining occupants frustrated as they realized their trip was now extended by several minutes. Betsy walked quickly to her desk.

She sat in her chair, then clicked on her computer.

She stared at the cold, shiny screen and watched the light flicker and the screen start to animate.

She reached over and turned off the computer without shutting it down properly.

She stood up.

She turned around

and walked to the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen she looked around,

She had been in there plenty of times to grab a coke or a Styrofoam cup of water.

Betsy

didn’t like coffee, but she liked the rich warm smell.

She looked at the big carafes of coffee and the sign posted above, pleading for you to brew more coffee, if you were so unlucky as to draw the last cup.

A slow smile crept over Betsy’s face.

Quickly she grabbed a cup and filled it with the dark, slightly burnt smelling liquid.

She glanced around, like a spy about to be caught, and slowly she dumped the brew into the sink.

Giggling, she filled the cup up again, and again dumped it down the drain.

A third cup filled and this time Jones from accounting came in.

“Awful weather isn’t it?” he asked.

“ I dunno, I kind of like the rain,” Betsy replied.

“Damn, I hate getting to the end of the coffee.

Looks like there might just be another cup or two left here.” Jones said as he shook the carafe.

“This one’s already empty.” he stated as he shook the second container.

“Lucky you got a cup already.

See ya later” and Jones left Betsy alone in the kitchen.

“See ya” Betsy replied.

She was already pouring the coffee down the sink .

There were indeed two cups left in the first carafe.

When both of them had joined the previous three on their way to the sewer, she threw the cup away and went back to her cube. Once back at her

desk, she turned the computer on again.

It started up and then came to a warning screen, alerting her to the fact that she had not properly closed down the computer last time asking if she wanted to continue.

Well, did she?

She reached for the phone and dialed the number for the Helpdesk. “Helpdesk, can I have your name and employee number?” a bored voice answered. “Betsy

and 10038949”

“Could you repeat that number please?”

the bored voice asked. “1879426” she replied. “Uhm…Is that the same number you gave me before?” the voice asked, slightly confused. “Yes, of course, 10038949” Betsy smiled into the phone. “Oh…ok…Betsy Smithers at extension 6240?” “Yes that’s correct, extension 6340.” “6340?” “Yes, 6240.” “That’s not what you said the first time.”

The voice started to sound a little angry this time. “I am sure that it is.

Betsy Smithers, Employee number 10038949, extension 6240.” Betsy replied sweetly. “Uh, ok, whatever.

What can I help you with today?” “My computer is not working” “OK.

What is not working?” “My computer.” “I got that, WHAT on your computer is not working?”

The voice got a little louder. “Oh,” Betsy feigned innocence, “There is an error message.” “What does the error message say?”

The voice sighed. “It says I did not close my computer down properly, and do I want to continue?” “Click yes” “But I am not sure.” “What?”

The voice was sounding really confused and a little startled. “Well, I mean, it is kind of a commitment isn’t it?

What if I continue and I find later I don’t

want to after all?

I have already said I would and now here I go changing my mind.

What if I shut it down improperly again?

What happens then?

It is just so much to decide.” Silence from the voice “Hello?”

Betsy prompted, smiling into the phone. “I think you will be okay to continue,”

the voice said slowly. “Well, if you’re sure…”

She hit the button. “Uhm, did it come back up?” the voice hesitated after a minute. “Yep, right as rain!

Thanks for your help, you’re a genius!”

Betsy gushed into the phone and hung up before the voice could say goodbye. Betsy sat glaring at the colorful screen.

She stood up and stared out the window several rows over to the cold, dark, gray rainy outside.

She sat down again.

She called her supervisor.

“Bill?”

she wheezed into the phone.

“I am not feeling so good.” She paused for a cough.

“I am going to go home and get some rest”

Here, she snuffled loudly.

“Thanks, yes, I’ll let you know how <cough>

I feel in the morning”

She hung up the phone, turned her computer off improperly again, grabbed her things and left before the computer screen had fizzled completely out. For her “therapy” she decided to do some shopping at the mall.

She wandered in and out of stores.

Unfolding the shirts and sweaters displayed so neatly in front.

She tried on clothes and left them in a pile in the dressing rooms, handing the hangers to the salesperson on the way out, empty handed.

She bought a $300 skirt.

Then she went to eat some lunch.

After lunch she went back to the store and promptly returned the overpriced skirt.

She smiled as she felt the cashier glaring at her back when she left the store humming. After the mall, she stopped by the grocery store to buy some a few things.

She asked the deli man to cut a pound of

salami, then handed it back to him, saying it was much too thick.

When he cut another pound so thin, it looked like fleshy red tissue paper, she said she’d changed her mind and she wanted some pre packaged prosciutto instead.

As she wandered around the store, she carefully gathered up

twenty items.

She then proceeded to unloaded them in the express lane for fifteen items or less.

Betsy almost laughed out loud when she saw the lady behind her count the items under her breath as she struggled with a screaming toddler. Betsy patiently found

the correct change in pennies in the depths of her purse, and handed it to the pimply teenage cashier. She then asked if she could get fifty dollars in ones.

As the cashier slowly counted out fifty one dollar bills into Betsy’s outstretched hand, the toddler started to grab candy and magazines off the shelves.

Betsy left in a hurry.

She knew there were limits. At home, she unloaded her bags and turned to come face to face with

her seven year old son.

He had a snotty nose and his shirt looked like it had been a tissue most of the day.

“I am hungry and Daddy said I can’t have anything until you come home and I said I just wanted a snack and he said no, but I am STARVING.

When is dinner going to be ready because I am really hungry NOW! Yes, I did all my homework, except the stupid stuff I need you to help me with and can I have this candy.

No one else really likes it and I am sooo hungry…”

and he wandered out of the kitchen, candy in hand. She

soon heard a crash coming from his brother’s room, followed quickly by yelling from the brother and then shortly after more yelling and a few curse words from her husband. Betsy stared at the empty grocery bag wondering where that kid had come from.

Her husband walked in, depositing a half eaten candy wrapper in the trash.

“So how was your day?” he asked grumpily.

“Just about perfect,” she said as she kissed his cheek .” A beautiful rainy day” and she smiled.


Salty. Metallic. Buttery smooth with a hint of sweetness. It coated my lips, glazed my tongue and ran down my neck. Velvety crimson in hue, deep and glossy with a certain warmth to it. It crusted to a rusty brown around the corners of my mouth. Streaks cracked like evaporated rivers, tracing down to the bottom of my abdomen.

Blood.

It was all I could taste.

It felt strange, to embrace and savor something intended to course within my veins. Like a switch that was flipped, revealing the dark underbelly of my vitality and fragility. It was a startling sensation, a primal signal that battled my need to convert to a clean-cut world of folded linen and ironed silk. An undomesticated urge to claw at grilled steak and rip up hand-knitted wool. A fierce yearning to dart into the wilderness, exhilarated by the thrill of the chase. I sat at my desk, clicking keys and reading numbers. I sipped black coffee and took a bite out of a sandwich, yet blood was still what I could taste. Despite my efforts to ignore the disturbing metallic tang, I hungered for more. My tastebuds craved it, and though society diserns it as horrific, that liquid of saline iron bolstered my inner depths of my primal appetite. The sight, or even the very idea of our vital fluid outside our bodies used to make my stomach churn. The image of blood under the moonlight, a foreboding stain of gore and torment, now acted as a beacon embracing life’s portentous unpredictability. My heartbeat raced as my eyes darted back and forth to the numbers on my screen, concentrating on anything but the primitive hunger that began to rise from my insides. Ones and zeros merged like blotted ink while letters blended like water-downed shadows. They forged a cryptic mosaic on the screen, dancing and chanting like figures painted within a dimly lit cave. The noise of spears and hollering crowded my ears as my vision darkened. The fading light of my workspace grew into the pulsating vibrancy of the color red. That was all I could see- red.

 And then I cracked.

I had to get out, I had to leave. I bolted towards the door, knocking over books and papers as my nails scratched onto the walls to maintain balance. I kicked the door open, sniffing the air to locate my target and my task. Yet I did not know what I was doing, or where I was going. All I knew was that the jungle awaited me. Cars honked and people screamed as I continued to sprint to my destination. I couldn’t differentiate traffic light colors as everything around me was washed in a dark vermillion hue. The rhythmic thumps of blood pumping echoed my eardrums, the heart gulping surges like a starving beast. An intricate machine of vibrating mechanisms, grinding and performing a continuous flow of saliva that dribbled out my mouth. It mixed into the previously crusted red on my stomach, causing it to fade as I carried on with my journey across the city. My panting quickened as my pace accelerated. However, I came to a sudden halt.

There, in front of me, were my parents. My mother, with a mortified expression on her face, commanded me to stop. My father, who had a more disappointed look, nodded in agreement. They asked me where I was going. I could not answer, as I truly did not know. My mother began to cry- her tears reeked with shame and disgust. Her body shook and hunched, causing my vision to brighten to its original hue. In the distance, the birds and trees whispered my name as the wind attempted to usher me towards them. The thumps of my heart continued to pound, seemingly on the inside of my skull. I had a difficult decision- to drown my thoughts with nature's drumbeat, or ration my actions with nurtured intelligence. The chants of the jungle harmonized with the drumming of my body, and the taste of blood filled my mouth once again. It was a flavor not everyone could stomach, but yet for me, it was a catalyst that drove me forward into the depths of the unknown. It reminded me that I was alive, and I was still in the game- the hunt.

I pounced forward, startling my parents as they leaped to avoid impact. Every noise within the city was interlinked to my mind- each movement tracked and traced with detailed awareness. What was I hunting for, you may ask? The answer to such a perilous question would be that I was hunting for anything and everything. I was sick with trepidation, confined to a molding office chair. A wild beast domesticated to obey. A house cat, one fed with stories of the frightening outdoors. The jungle calls for me.

I traveled miles, darting between traffic and human beings. The great migration of a single individual. The relentless sun baked my skin, burnt my eyes and tore my feet. Vultures circled above menacingly, waiting for my internal system to backfire and shut down. But the thumps, the rhythmic dance- they persisted. Each pump of crimson was a testament to my enduring will, one that could not be shattered solely by peckish birds. Days, months, or possibly even years had passed. However, a silhouette of a towering tree emerged on the horizon. A sign, a shift, a shadow. I galloped towards the beacon of possibility, and once I had finally reached it, I took in a gasp. I inhaled the tangy tartness of ripening fruits, the thick moisture of rich vegetation, and the sweet nectar of flowering canopies. My surroundings pulsed with a primitive liveliness, each leaf whispering secrets shared in the depths of woven foliage and resting pavilions. They exchanged stories of war and peace, ones that emerged from an instinctive loop of dietary cascades. Ceaseless feasting, sprouting, and prattling. Everything and anything happened. Now it was all within my reach. I wandered deeper into the unknown, stroking barks of brick and stems of steels. Branches of brass and roots of rock paved my path as the concrete jungle welcomed my presence. I sacrificed my safety for the freedom of the wild. Predators lurked in anticipation, but my accomplishing joy brought along an unshakable ignorance. I knew that I would survive, as long as my blood still flowed through my body and coated my lips. The metallic flavor of success, a purifying taste of victory.

Buttery smooth with a hint of sweetness.


“This time next year, I won’t be here for the holidays!” I shouted as I slammed the heavy, wooden, front door of my sister, Alyssa’s, house behind me on that bitterly cold New Years Eve. The shift had begun. Growing up as the youngest of four, I always looked up to my siblings. Renee was my comfort, and she often referred to me as her ‘mini’. Dylan was my entertainer, spending countless hours playing video games, or watching Kung Fu movies, together. Alyssa was my mentor, always trying to be as cool as her while we imitated the gymnasts in the Olympics, and playing our instruments/music that drove our father crazy. My mom kicked my Abusive, Mentally-ill father out of the house when I was ten years old. She was already a workaholic, but now she took on the role as a single mother. I was a latch-key kid.

As we grew older, I formed my own opinions about things, and harsh judgments for choices they made, to which I did not agree. I was coming into adulthood in my mid-twenties, and had moved back in with my mother at the age of twenty-five. My mom and I were not always close, but during my college years we made a bond that was more comparable to a friendship than a traditional mother-daughter relationship.

Just a week before this family gathering to ring in the New Year, my mom and I had been returning from a trip we took together from Hawaii to visit her cousin. The tension between Alyssa and I came to a head when I made a comment about something my nephew, Nathan, said or did. My sister told me that I sounded like our father, which could only be meant as the worst possible insult. My blood began to boil, and deciding I would rather leave than argue in front of Nathan, I yelled those words of contempt while exiting to go cool off, literally and figuratively. My mom tried to console me, saying that Alyssa did not mean it, and that we really shouldn’t drink so much. Soon after, I was heartbroken to learn that Renee had decided to divorce my brother-in-law, John, and was already on the rebound. That drove a wedge of disapproval between us. I helped her move out of their house, and struggled to understand why they couldn’t work it out.

Dylan and his wife, Amber, lived on the East Coast and we did not talk very often. Alyssa and her fiance moved forward with their wedding plans, even with the rockiest of beginnings as an unfaithful couple.

I moved to Europe. I thought that moving to the other side of the world would help me keep my sanity. I felt like my contributions to help Alyssa with Nathan were going unnoticed, and I was tired from making an effort without any recognition or appreciation. I kept telling myself that my family dynamic was better off with me loving them from a distance.

That first Holiday Season without them was busy as I traveled to Rome, and I hardly noticed the lack of a loving presence to which I was accustomed. I was caught up in the thrills of visiting a new place, and being welcomed into the traditions of my new friends with their families.

The second year away was also a blur, as I had just moved to a new city, and was busy with my new boyfriend. I recall making Christmas dinner with him, just the two of us, and trying to make our own traditions.

The third year, it sunk in. I really missed my family.

Strange as it may seem, that was the time I actually made the effort to come home for the Holidays. My brother, Dylan, was in the Navy and was leaving for another Tour in January. We wanted to make sure we were all together to show support before his next journey. Anyone who has a loved one in the Military can understand this sentiment. I didn’t care that I had a twelve hour layover in Amsterdam before flying back to the USA. I needed to be a part of that reunion and made the necessary effort. Even though I was only home for five days, I tried my best to put our childhood wounds and past traumas behind us.

For all the ups and downs we had witnessed through our lives together, realising I was taking them for granted struck me to my core. I moved back to the USA within a year, and thought that things would be better now that I had grown up.

That first Thanksgiving after my return I had to work. I made the trip to see them for Christmas, but my reverse culture shock made me feel out of place. My oldest sister, Renee, talked about herself the whole time, updating us on her new condo and the puppy she had just bought. I asked my mom if she noticed how little they asked about my life.

The following year, Alyssa and I got into a fight because she didn’t seem to mind that she hurt my feelings with a snide remark about one of my ex-boyfriends. Because I had found my voice and told her she was being a hypocrite, she blew up and started screaming at me, with Nathan as a witness in the back seat of the car. I questioned why I made an attempt to create peace between us, but all I could say was that we were back where we had been years before on that New Years Eve. I expressed my frustration in a calm tone to balance the shouting, but she said that only made her more upset! I couldn’t win with her. I then said “We have to unlearn these old patterns and build a new way of communicating.”

What changed? How was I able to find the right words in a moment of rage?

Maybe I should have paid my Therapist more.

At the end of the day, no matter how many disagreements existed between all of us for whatever reasons, this fact remained: We are a loving family. The family tension exists purely because we care so much about each other.


My sister was an optimist to the core, and everyone loved her. I was a shy, quiet girl, while Marisa stood out. I always wanted to know where I fit, but Marisa fit everywhere, with anyone. Her only flaw was that she could be a bit stuck up, and teased me for years. I still loved her with all my heart. To be absolutely honest, I was jealous of her. She was a perfect girl who fit in the right spot, and I was a circle trying to fit in the square hole. The one place I outshone her was my art. I painted masterpieces, and she was a social butterfly with a perfect everything. Every day I hoped for a miracle to tell me I was going to be like her, but it never came. Every year, Marisa grew more and more amazing at everything. She had shiny blond hair, tan skin, and baby blue eyes. Everything she owned fit her and looked hot, and she never bragged. To others. To me she rubbed it in my face 24-7, and I was sick of it. Her comparing her golden locks to my copper strands, her perfect skin to my freckled complexion, her amazing physique to my average build. I loved to make art though, and won prizes for it. She had a bazillion friends, and I had none. I still hoped for a sign I was better than her, but for years I waited in vain. When she left, I studied art, and still excelled at it. But I still prayed for the sign. Every day, she would call and talk to me. One day, she asked me to come to her new house. I went over, since it was only a few minutes away. She opened the door and let me into her amazing house. She asked me something I had never expected. She asked for some of my art. “Why?” She just said “Your art deserves it.”Was this my sign? I nodded and she handed me a wad of cash. Later that week, I gave her a few of my best pieces, and she was elated. Each week, I went to school and did pretty well. I met a cute guy in college, and eventually we got married and had a few kids for many years. I lived happily, but never heard a word from Marisa. I meant to call, but every time I got distracted and forgot. A year passed, and I finally called. She didn’t pick up. I tried the next day, and a voice asked who it was. I asked for Marisa, but they just yelled and hung up. I was scared. I rushed over to her house, and no one was there. Just then a homeless lady walked down the street. I walked over to her and asked what had happened to the lady who owned the house. She just glared and said in a snooty voice “Who’s asking?” I told her “I’m Alice, her sister.” Her eyes grew wide. “Alice? It’s me Marisa!” I looked past the homeless-esque, and sure enough it was. I wrapped her in a hug and asked what happened. Turns out, she had done things, left a lot of men, and one of her exs ran off with a lot of her money. She ruined the rest of it on bad things. She sold everything to pay for her habits, but lost it all. “The only thing I never sold was your art. I saved it, and asked a family next door to keep it for me.” I felt deep in my soul that I needed to help my sister, to forgive for each mean word and save her from the streets. So I brought her to my room and let her freshen up. While she was in the shower, I asked my husband if she could stay. He was okay with it, being so sweet and caring, so I fixed up the guest bedroom. My six year old Rex came in and asked “Who’s the lady in the bathroom you brought?” I explained how it was his aunt, and he ran off to inform his sister. A few minutes later, Marisa slipped in. She was wearing an old blue dress of mine, and she looked a bit better, cleaner than she was before. We caught up, and she finally sighed “I had always expected a life like yours. But I caught up on a few bad habits, and it ran away with me. Now you, my drab little sister, have a beautiful life and a beautiful family and I’m a mess.” She started to sob, and I wrapped my arms around her. Just then, my kids came in. Rex offered a hand to Marisa and said “Hi lady. My mommy says you're my aunt.” She took his hand and shook it. “I am. Though I haven’t met you all before.” I introduced my family. Percy my husband, Rex my six year old, and Molly my five year old. For a few days, she adjusted to her new home. She started to look more healthy, and filled out more. She never tried any more of her habits again. She started to work at a clothing store in the mall, near the food court. Eventually she left the house, and moved in the house down the street. She found a husband, and was expecting her first child in December. I realized my prayers had been answered. I could be better, and I had helped her be better too. What touched me most is that all my art was still with her, hanging above the mantle. I still make art and sell it, but I keep a few of my favorites. Some I hang, but others I send to her. In every room she has at least one of my drawings or paintings. We always keep in touch. No matter what happened we were always going to be sisters. And sisters help each other out. So that's what I did that day. Helped my sister.


In The Service of Father Brain A Telling Place Short Story Solemnly I trudge through the winding streets of Estersa. I am pressed into a sea of Conscripted, all of us draped in white wool robes lacquered with Wax tithed from the denizens of our home Ward. Burning ceaselessly atop its cyclopean Wax pillar at the center of the city, the MindFlame radiates its amber glow and warms our backs as we march, pressing us in our

thousands towards the pervasive blackness manifesting in District 13.

My standard-issue MindTorch hangs from a cord tied around my waist. Its basic form is a metal rod no longer than my forearm with a small brass crucible affixed to one end. A depression on the MindTorch’s pitted surface containing a small thorn allows me to prick my finger and become one with the weapon, effectively binding my consciousness with the TorchSpirit that resides within its core. While bound to the weapon, I’m able to extend the length of the MindTorch as well as channel my will into its crucible to manifest a minor gout of MindFlame potent enough to return a minor Darkling to the Ink. A Conscripted’s MindTorch, our thin, Wax-laquered armor, and the holy charms affixed to us are our only protection against what lurks in the shadows at the fringes of the city, and in its dark crevices.

 The ground rumbles as Battle Organs crusted with scores of dripping candles sail through the sea of conscripts on overlarge carriage wheels, creating furrows in the powdery WaxSlag that coats the ground. Crews scurry about on the decks of the wood and brass behemoths, pulling levers and turning cranks to manipulate the mechanical limbs affixed to the side of each contraption. They’re orchestrated by an Organ Grinder, a misshapen creature draped in formless black robes with a torso elongated to fit as many arms as possible, which sprout from it at various angles and always seem to be at work doing something or other. The strange creature gesticulates this way and that, droning orders at Conscripted in its sonorous language while one of its appendages rhythmically turns a heavy crank connected to an ornately carved box housing a series of studded tubes and small metal tines that plonk ponderously with an eerie melody. A massive stack of conical tubes welded together at the aft of the vessel broadcasts the noise out over us in heavy waves and the force of it causes my diaphragm to vibrate.  Gargoyles, monstrous winged machines of leather and brass patrol walkways and flit between the tightly packed spires above us. Their powerful claws find easy footholds in the soft BuildingWax of the sprawling metropolis, and where there are none, they soar on leathery wings courtesy of the updraft created by our procession.

We are flanked on either side by a long row of

holy TorchBearers. They steady themselves with hand-over-hand grips clasped to MindTorches resembling long poles topped with a crucible from which their MindFlame burns. They’re hunched over from the weight of the heavy chain bound tomes they bear on their backs. The large books are splayed open, displaying wax-sealed pages covered in artistic renderings detailing the history of Estersa and scripture espousing the holy deeds of Father Brain. With faces obscured by gauze coated in holy Wax, they’re blind in the conventional sense; guided only by the soft glow of the MindFlame they’ve pledged their life in service to.

Pressing on, we begin to see signs of Darkling infestation as we move closer to our destination. These manifest first as shadows cast by our passing that begin to take on an oily viscosity which tugs at our footwraps. Soon, we see the dreaded sludge coating the walls of structures and dripping from Torch fixtures along the street that have long since gone out.

Trailing incense from censers hung about their necks, TorchBearers raise their MindTorches in reverence, driving back the foul ichor, and relighting the extinguished fixtures. Bathed in the gentle sepia glow of the flames around us, our resolve is strengthened and our pace quickens in anticipation of the coming purge we’re soon to be embroiled in.

This feeling of protection abates however, as we cross a bridge under which we can see a river flowing with fathomless darkness. Anguished faces peer out from the murky sludge, and then are stretched and twisted as rows of desiccated hands reach out for us, disturbing the mire in the process. Overhead, a honeycomb of sinewy obsidian lattice stretches tautly between structures and threatens to blot out the life-giving glow of the MindFlame like a hastily constructed shroud.

I grip my humble MindTorch and shudder at my surroundings, withdrawing inwardly to prepare myself for the coming battle. I focus on the soul-thumping melody generated by the droning of the Battle Grinders mixed with the holy chanting of my brethren and slip into a meditative state to steel myself for the coming battle.

I am not long in my trance before the sounds of war bring me to my senses. The world I open my eyes to is a vast black abyss, crawling with creatures from nightmare. Darklings rush forth like a wave from the seemingly endless blackness. A tide of chopping teeth and wailing mouths, they crawl and trudge forward with various forms of locomotion, gibbering and screeching. The sound alone threatens to corrupt our very HeartWicks and drive us mad. And corrupt us it would, were it not for the righteous blare of our war implements keeping the auditory assault at bay.

The outside ranks of our dirge respond to the onrushing tide of horror by channeling their willpower into their MindTorches. Great walls of flame erupt on all sides of us, and the first waves of Darklings caught attempting to pass through them are immolated. The larger ones fall to the ground flaking to black ash as they come undone.

The heat we generate is immense, and I begin to feel it permeate the layers of my protective robes. Nevertheless, we press forward in our advance like a great flame-wreathed serpent slithering blindly through a dark cavern. Despite this show of force, the more clever Darklings are able to slip through the cracks in our defense and begin wreaking havoc in our ranks.

Dread builds in my chest as a severed hand trailing mangled sinew skitters across the ground. I extend my mind torch and strike out with the pointed end, skewering the foul creature to the ground just as it is about to leap for me. Its mottled skin flakes and begins to turn to ash as I shake its remains from my weapon and scramble to assume a defensive position.

Our tightly pressed ranks undulate from the persistent Darkling assault like an organism being swarmed by small insects and finding itself powerless to shake them off. Battle Grinders belch flames into the endless darkness, while crews of Conscripted battle to hold their broad decks now teeming with monstrosities.

At one point I’m pressed so tightly amongst my comrades that my feet are unable to touch the ground, and I drift along helplessly until

the pressure subsides, and

I fall to the ground, finally able to stand on my own and rise to my feet. Looking around I see Conscripts begin to scatter and I catch dark shapes sailing through the din above us. I’m showered with something wet and look down with surprise to see that my robes are spattered with warm blood. A mangled arm propelled through the air lands with a wet smack on the gore slicked ground. I watch in revulsion as it is quickly snatched up by the dexterous mechanical appendage of a nearby Battle Grinder, ensuring that no Wax goes to waste.

Gargoyles dive like falling meteors into the fray all around us, some never to rise again, others victoriously snatching up large Darklings before shredding and torching them in the void above. The remains of these unfortunate creatures drift down to us as soft black ash before being swept away in the churning chaos. Shuffling Conscripts scramble to mount themselves into a defensive position, and it isn't long before I see why. A hulking figure stalks toward us. Its ugly porcine features twisted in a rictus of glee as it hews down Concripts by the handful with powerful arms ending in jagged metal fragments. Its forearms rotate in bursts, pulping any unfortunate souls standing in their destructive path and showering the surrounding area with hot viscera.

The crowd bucks and sways in an effort to create distance from the remorseless killing machine and I’m pressed into bodies so snugly that the air escapes my lungs. Agonizing seconds tick past until once again the crowd heaves and I’m pushed forward with such force that instinct alone throws out my arms and saves me from meeting the ground face first.

I lose my grip on my MindTorch and it drops into the muck with a sucking sound. I frantically reach to retrieve it when a cloven foot descends on my hand with enough force to smash it free of my wrist. I scream and the world goes black for a second, stars dancing across my vision. My breathing quickens, and I clutch my shattered stump. I look up and am face to face with my executioner. Its beady eyes shine with malicious glee and it squeals triumphantly in my face before rearing back to deliver the killing blow. Its powerful blending arms begin to whirr and before they are plunged into me, pulverizing my abdomen and splitting me in two, I glimpse the creature in its full glory.

It stands and I see that it is an arm’s length taller than me and at least three times as broad. Chains hooked through weeping flesh spread from one point to another across its ash gray skin, the trophies hanging from them forming a macabre latticework of grotesque oddities. Its engorged sex organs drag the ground, leaking fetid purple fluid that wafts over me as the creature shifts position. Then comes the pain. I am quickly torn asunder as the beast plunges both of its hellish arms into me. Briefly,

I feel my flesh being churned apart before I realize with horror that my legs are now separated from my body. Reality takes on a dreamlike quality, and I watch with waning lucidity as the beast steps forward to claim its piece of me when a strange weightlessness takes hold. The ground begins to recede and I am pulled out of reach of the monster, now petulantly squealing at being denied its prize. A second later, the world lurches and gravity returns. A sense of weightlessness and the churning gears of the Battle grinder are the last things I recall before the end.


July 2019 ‘So you had just started telling me Stan, whatever happened to Aunt Ada? She seemed so fit for 93.’ ‘She was. Good strong bones with plenty of meat still on them. You know how old people often get really skinny. Lose all muscle tone. But not Ada. She went to Pilates twice a week, right up until she was almost ninety. And she played tennis at Wimbledon when she was in her twenties. Hockey too. Taught PE at the local convent school. Received an MBE for services to sport after she retired.’ ‘Wow, she sounds like a remarkable lady,’ Jean was ramming another slice of roast meat and horseradish into her mouth and chewing appreciatively.

‘Didn’t she leave her body to medical science or something?’ she continued. ‘Something like that.’ replied Stan, ‘Something like that. Pass the potatoes won’t you my dearest.’ January 2015 ‘I don’t want to be cremated after I die,’ said Aunt Ada. ‘Well we won’t do it beforehand,’ laughed Stan. ‘How’s your crackling by the way? Is it crispy enough?’ ‘Mmmm. Delicious. And the apple sauce is to die for. Are the Bramleys from old Mr Johnson’s garden.’ ‘All home grown my dear, all home grown.’ ‘What happened to him, that Mr Johnson? Didn’t he die quite recently?’ ‘Funnily enough, it was only a couple of weeks ago,’ replied Stan. ‘Went quick. Heart just stopped. Shame, because he was in really good condition for 78. Played five-a-side football up until his sixties and coached the youngsters from the deprived areas.’ ‘In really good condition...you make him sound like a prize heifer Stan.’ ‘It’s the same thing really. And he didn’t want to be cremated either.’ June 2019 ‘It’s good to know I’m helping the environment. No grave to dig and tend and take up room in the cemetery. No smoke to pollute the atmosphere.’ Ada was in bed at home, no hospital for a hardy old duck like her. Nothing like dying at home in your own space. It had always been her wish. It didn’t take long. She went to sleep to the sounds of Classic FM and didn’t wake up the next morning. Stan was with her of course. She’d never married or had any children. He was her only remaining relative. And all her friends had passed long ago, Madge who she’d known since they were children at 77, Edith from the corner shop at 81. She had even outlived Maud who was a right old dragon in her time. Used to be the caller at the Bingo. Clickety click, sixty six. Eighty eight, two fat ladies. They said it was her bad temper that kept her going till she was almost 90. She said it was because she was one of the two fat ladies. But even she couldn’t match Ada’s rude health and sharp wit. January 2015 ‘I was just thinking, Ada. If you don’t want to be cremated, have you thought about what you’d like done with your body? Afterwards, I mean.’ ‘You can stick me in a bin liner and chuck me in the dumpster for all I care. I won’t be here to see it will I?’ ‘That wouldn’t be very good for the environment would it and the bin men would never get over the shock. All those limbs sticking out of the bag. It would be like a horror film or one of those crime thrillers. You know when they come to collect the rubbish and there’s a hand poking out with a digit missing.’ ‘Stan, you are awful. I think that’s why we get on so well.’ ‘There are other options of course.’ ‘I’m not being buried at sea, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ she continued. ‘Always hated the water. That’s why I never learnt how to swim.’ ‘You won’t be swimming, Ada my dear. Not even floating. But I wasn’t thinking of anything like that. You’re far too valuable to be fish food. Let me explain my after-death plan. I think it might take off and become popular if people could just stop being so squeamish.’ July 2019 ‘Stan.’ ‘Yes Jean my sweet.’ ‘I was just wondering whether this is beef or lamb. It has an unusual taste, lighter somehow.’ ‘It’s neither actually. It’s Aunt Ada.’ ‘Ha ha Stan. You do make me laugh. You have such a warped sense of humour.’ ‘I’m not joking Jean. It really is Aunt Ada. She and I made an agreement a few years ago. She didn’t want to be cremated...’ ‘Yes but….’ ‘You see, you were enjoying it before I told you. We were having such a lovely dinner. Now you’ve gone and spoiled it. It’s good meat, human. Bit like veal or chicken, especially if the person lived a healthy life. No smoking or too much alcohol. Stay out of the sun at noon times. Moisturise every day. Plenty of flesh but not too much fat. There’s loads more in the freezer.’ ‘Please tell me you’re joking. I’m going to be sick, Stan. I think there’s something stuck in my throat...’ ‘Don’t be like that Jean. At least finish the roast potatoes and the cauliflower cheese. It’s your favourite.’ August 2019 ‘So you had just started telling me Stan, whatever happened to Jean? I gather she passed away quite recently.’ ‘Very sad it was, Margaret. We were going to be married next year.’ Stan was chewing the meat off a lengthy femur. ‘Quite sudden actually. She choked on a metatarsal. It was such a lovely dinner we were having. Roast with the full works. Yorkshire pudding, bread sauce, spiced parsnips and my special gravy. And cauliflower cheese of course. It was her favourite.’ ‘Oh Stan. I love cauliflower cheese, but it’s the meat part I like best. This is like veal. Very tender,’ said Margaret. ‘Funny you should say that my dear. I like the meat best too. And this is very special. Cooked with love as they say. And there’s plenty more in the freezer.’


There are stretches of the American highway system that run through miles of desert. Sometimes, roads turn off into apparent nothingness. Uncultivated lands. One might assume that these disused paths once went somewhere, but have lost their purpose. Sometimes this is true. Other times they lead to fixtures power grids requiring only occasional maintenance. Or they take you to access points for water and oil pipelines. Then there are some—and these are easy to pass by unnoticed—that lead to a dead end. Unnamed roadways terminating at chain-link fences labelled with some forbidding sign: ‘RESTRICTED AREA,’ ‘DO NOT ENTER’. It was one of these roads that I was trying to locate. My association with XXXXXXX was based on professional chauvinism. I knew him from college when we were both idealistic journalism students. He truly believed in the power of reporting to hold the world to account! It was that same sense of purpose that led him to an unprofitable career writing for obscure magazines and blogs, while I pragmatically rose up the elevator of jobs at respectable newspapers.

If he knew how many jokes he was the butt of amongst the rest of our cohort, he may never have shown his face in class. Or, maybe he did know, and just didn’t care. His belief in principle over everything was unshakeable. It might have been that he forgave our scorn with a similar sense of superiority that made us look down on him. Who is the winner and who is the loser depends on one’s scale of values. It is anyone’s guess why he chose to maintain contact with me over the years, yet he would send me emails sporadically. Sometimes they were very short remarks on some developing situation in the world. Sometimes they were meandering rants, like you would at 4 AM and immediately regret sending. I don’t think he ever regretted them, though. I rarely responded. But his last communication was different. This was not the usual obsessive rumination that one could simply dismiss as a manic side effect of skipping daily meds. It had an urgency to it. Like a saint about to be thrown to the lions.

Also, it included specific coordinates.

XXXXXXX had been, as far as I could tell, chasing the tail of an alleged government conspiracy involving kind of prison/laboratory complex in the New Mexico desert. Theories were abundant on less-than-reputable online chat forums speculating about human testing or extraterrestrial communities. These rumors circled around a specific few acres of land, which was deliberately obscured in Google maps. Also, some anonymous troll claimed to be a whistleblower, but was agonizingly ambiguous about the nature of the operation.

After his message to me, XXXXXXX could not be reached. No one knew where he was. No one I contacted had spoken with him in weeks. All I had were the coordinates he had sent me. Despite the far-fetched nature of whatever this adventure was, the dire nature of the message drew me in. If it wasn’t a physical dilemma, it was still a cry for help. Also, a good journalist doesn’t let go of a lead… The side road was easy to miss. It was unpaved, and obscured by brittle plant skeletons. Still, there were faint tracks of the occasional vehicle. The GPS coordinates were exactly what I had received. I drove a little farther up the road, and pulled my car onto an unobtrusive shoulder. I wasn’t sure how long this path would be, but I betted that I could investigate it more clandestinely on foot.

It was a pinkish dusk. I had a flashlight, but was avoiding using it unless it became completely necessary. I had no idea if I was walking into an ambush. The signs of road vehicles were clear. Judging by the tracks, they appeared to be large off-roaders. I followed the trail through dry brush and rocks. It proceeded gently uphill for a while until I reached a decline into a depression in the terrain. The geography provided a perfect subterfuge from curious eyes on the road seeing the tell-tale gate: a chain link fence. The sign just read: ‘NO ENTRY’. Beyond the fence, in the distance, I could see a cluster of nondescript buildings. They could be mistaken for some kind of abandoned military or industrial installation if not for a few lights in the windows.

I took off my jacket, hung it on my shoulder, and started climbing the fence. At the top, I draped my jacket over the barbed coils on the top of the fence, and hoisted my body over. There goes a good jacket! Luckily I was wearing tough boots. It took me a minute, clinging to the fence, to extricate my jacket from the barbs, but I didn’t want to leave any evidence. The maneuver had taken a few minutes, and it was almost dark now. I closed my eyes for a moment to adjust to the darkness, then surveyed the abstruse compound. Dammit, I should have brought my binoculars! In the darkness, I could just barely make out a fenced area that looked like a basketball court. Suddenly a spotlight flashed on, illuminating the court. I froze. A group of people paraded in single file out of the adjacent building. They were dressed in matching striped outfits, like old-timey pajamas. They were followed by someone else, dressed like a military officer. The officer yelled something I couldn’t understand, and the pajama people proceeded to walk slowly in a circle. Crunch! It was the sound of shoes on the gravel directly behind me. I froze. They must have been very stealthy to get that close without me hearing, which meant this sound was an announcement of their presence. I made my hands visible at my sides, slightly away from my body so as not to appear dangerous, and slowly turned around to face whoever was approaching. A flashlight ignited straight in my eyes. Squinting, I could see a figure in the darkness. They seemed to wearing a helmet and carrying an assault rifle. I raised my hands in surrender. “This is a restricted area. Turn around, get on your knees, and lace your fingers behind your head.”

I complied. He zip-tied my hands behind my back and pulled me to my feet.

“Walk!” He marched forward toward the mysterious compound. We stopped in front of an imposing door. The armed man looked into a surveillance camera on the wall above. “Intruder apprehended,” he told the camera. After a moment, the door automatically opened. There was no one to greet us in a hallway lit only by red lights. He marched me down the hall to a second door. The door was immediately opened by a man in a suit. Total G-man. I was ushered into a sparsely furnished room lit by white fluorescents. I turned back to see my capture in the improved lighting. He looked like military police.

“Sit!” he said, gesturing to a chair in front of what I assumed was an interrogation table. I sat, bracing myself for the worst. “I’ll take it from here,” said the G-man. He stood in from of me on the other side of the table. There was no chair at his disposal.

“Would you like to tell what you are doing here?” “I don’t know. What authority are you?” “I’m with a government department you have never heard of. You can call me John,” he said calmly. “I assure you that if you cooperate and answer my questions you will be safe in our custody. Now, ma-am, who are you?” “Give me an attorney and they can tell you.” “I’m the closest you have to an attorney here. And there is no phone call.” He smiled. “So you may as well talk to me… or sit in silence as long as you please. I have time.” “I have rights” “Not on this side of that fence.” “I’m a journalist!” “I guarantee you, my agency supersedes the power of the fourth estate. Would you like to tell me your name. It will make this conversation more pleasant.” I remained silent. “There’s no point in pleading the fifth here. We’ll find out who you are regardless.” “Nancy. My name’s Nancy Drew, and I’m a detective.” “Cute. Have it your way, Nancy. Now why are you hopping fences in the middle of the desert?” “Who are those people out there, walking around in circles? Political prisoners?” “Hmm. Hard to explain. Let’s say, they are one of America’s greatest untapped resources. Now would you like to tell me how you found this place” “Are you holding another journalist here? Or did you kill him.” “Ahh, I see.” The G-man chuckled. “You’re looking for XXXXXXX. I assure you, there is no need to worry about his well being.” “Where is he?” The G-man sighed. “Ok.” He walked over to an intercom on the wall. “Can you locate XXXXXXX and tell him to report to exam room A-2. Thank you” After a few moments of sitting in angry silence while the G-man casually ignoring me, the door opened. XXXXXXX entered. He was dressed in uniform. It was the uniform of a Nazi SS officer. “It’s good to see you,” he said. “What the fuck is this?” I yelled at the G-man. “Is this a sick joke? Did you brainwash him? What in the actual fuck?” “Well, perhaps I will let the two of you catch up,” said the G-man. He walked leaving me alone with my old colleague who apparently was playing some king of perverse gag.

“Listen. this is no joke.” “What the hell is going on here?” I demanded.

“ It’s a long story.” “No shit!” “Ok, where to begin?”

“What is this? CIA?” “Actually it is a top secret division of the department of energy.” “WHAT?” This was getting more absurd by the minute. “Let me explain. I’ve was chasing down some rumors about a secret government project. It seems there was one whistleblower, but it was all very cryptic. The word ‘Project Hatchet’ kept popping up. For years every lead went to a dead end. I scoured the dark web. Eventually, an anonymous leak released some numbers. Finally, I realized, they were coordinates. That brought me here. Now, a little history: at the end of World War, American military intelligence discovered an experimental German program developed in the concentration camps. At first they thought it was insane, but the results proved otherwise. You see, there was a small, secretive sect of Jews in Poland. Something what you might call ‘Jews for Jesus’. They claimed to possess the original teachings of Jesus, and practices what they call ‘the Doctrine of Extreme Forgiveness’. The Nazis were experimenting with electromagnetic and using prisoners in the camps as test subjects. With this particular Jewish sect, they got some astonishing results. They found that whatever tortures they did to these particular Jews, they kept insisting on forgiving their tormentors. This extreme forgiveness created an amazing energy that the Nazi scientists found a way to harness. I mean, it was so powerful it could light a city.” “You are fucking joking.” “No, it’s true. After the war, the Americans took the technology and recreated the experiment.” “You mean this… is a CONCENTRATION CAMP?” “Yes, but they don’t kill the Jews. They are far to valuable an energy source. Just torture. The problem is, production is far too labor intensive for it to be viable now. The theory is to store the energy, and, as fossil fuels diminish and become to pricey, use the forgiveness energy as a replacement.” “And… you?” “Well, once you discover the project they won’t let you leave. They give you a choice: become a Nazi or a Jew” “Are you saying they’re going to hold me here indefinitely?” “Yes. You just have to pick a team”


Larry Norris was a sixteen year old boy who was a dreamer. He was often chastised in class for looking out the window. One day, his teacher asked what he was looking at in the middle of English class and turned to her and smiled. “Did you ever wonder what it would be like to be able to ride a cloud?” Everyone in class laughed. But, Larry wasn’t laughing. He looked around and started laughing at them. “You people have no imagination.” That statement didn’t exactly make him a real popular guy.

But, Larry didn’t care. They could laugh at him all they wanted. When it was announced that the carnival was coming to town, he was very excited. “The carnival is going to be a lot of fun,” he announced to his cousin Loni. She was one of the few people who hung with him. “Are we going to go together?” “It sounds like a plan, cousin.” So on the opening day of the carnival, the two of them went off to see the lights and sounds and sights. They ate cotton candy and rode all of the fun rides. He tried very hard to win her a teddy bear at those rigged games. It took a while, but he did win her one. She kissed him on the cheek. They saw the sign for the ‘World of Wonder Show’ and decided that it would be a lot of fun.

“I think it is a freak show,” said Loni. “You mean women with beards and Dog Boy and that stuff?” “Absolutely,” she said with a smile. “Okay, let’s go look at the freaks. Some people think I am a freak.” “Larry, you aren’t a freak, you are just unique.” “That’s what I always thought.” So they paid their money and went inside the tent. The person that was accepting the cash was the strongman. Larry, who was tall enough and no weakling stood next to him flexing his muscles, while his cousin took a picture. There was laughter all around. They sat down and watched the show. There was a psychic and she was rather amazing.

She pointed at Loni and said: “You are a very bright girl at mathematics and someday you will discover a new planet or star and it will be named after you.” Loni was very excited because she was a very enthusiastic astronomy aficionado and loved the idea of having a planet — even a dwarf planet — or star named after her. “I think she’s amazing,” whispered Loni to her cousin. He just nodded his head. The man that swallowed swords was also very cool. There was a guy who bent objects with his mind including spoons and forks and knives. It was a freak show, but it was also a fun show. While Loni and the rest of the audience was enchanted and entertained, for Larry the entire universe had opened up. He knew where he belonged. When the show was over they stood up and whistled and clapped with the rest of the audience.

“That was so great,” said Loni with a huge smile. “It was earth-shattering.” They filed out of the tent and drifted for a while. “I am getting tired and it is time to go home.” Loni smiled at her cousin. “It sounds like a good idea.” “But, I have to go to the bathroom first.” “Okay, I’ll wait for you here.” “All right, I won’t be long.” “Hey, wait one-second before you go.” “What is it?” He hugged his cousin with love. “What’s that for?” “Because I know you and you want to go home and look through that fancy telescope for a planet or star that they will name after you.” She blushed. “I know a lot of people don’t believe in psychics, but that woman didn’t know me and yet she was aware of my passion for astronomy.” “She was good.” “Anyway, I have to go to the bathroom.” She handed him the teddy bear that he had won for her. She went off and he smiled. “Good bye cousin Loni, you are the only one that ever believed in me.” He placed the teddy bear down, turned around and left. It didn’t take long before he was wandering around the back area of the carnival. This was restricted to only the working staff, but he managed to get behind there. He made it look like he belonged and walked with confidence.

A couple of security guards nodded his way and didn’t even ask for ID. Larry made it to the trailers and loved all of the decorations and special paint jobs that each one sported.

“I could spend my whole life here in this special universe.” Meanwhile, Loni had walked out of the bathroom and couldn’t see Larry. Miraculously nobody had stolen the teddy bear. “Larry, where are you?” She turned this way and that way but couldn’t find him. The young girl started to panic and wondered what had happened to him. She went to the ticket booth. “Hello, do you have a lost and found?” “We do, it is next to the cotton candy booth.” “Thanks.” She left and found the Lost and Found Booth. There was a nice looking woman working it. “Hello, I seem to have lost my cousin.” The woman smiled. “And, what is your cousin’s name?” “His name is Larry Masters.” “Do you have a picture of him?” “I do.” She pulled out her phone and there was a selfie they had taken that night when he had finally won her the teddy bear that she still carried. “This is the website that I want you to send it to and then I will forward it to the security firm that is working the carnival.” “Thank you,” she said hoping that this would work. The head of security looked at the photo and scratched his head.

“I could have sworn that I saw this guy tonight.” He sent it out to all of the security team. But, Larry was walking through a part of the carnival that nobody ever saw. It was where the staff went to relax and played cards. He watched the Bearded Woman, the Strongman, the Psychic and Dog Boy playing poker.  Larry didn’t know whether to intrude on the game or just keep floating around. But, the Strongman saw him and waved him over. “Hi, sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt.” “Take a seat young man,” said the Psychic. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.” “Can we deal you in?” “No, I really don’t play.” “That is fine, you don’t have to play.” He smiled in relief. “So, did you like the show?” “It was great. I wish I could be part of it and not just in the audience, but like on stage.” They all smiled and nodded. “Do you have any weird or wonderful talent?” “No, but I have a great imagination.” “We pull out tomorrow morning. You need to talk to the boss, Mr. Young. He might find a spot for you.” The Strongman pulled out a cell phone and dialled a number. A few minutes later, Mr. Young showed up and smiled. “Are you Larry?” “I am.” “Great, if you are interested then you can start at the next site. If you want, you can go home and say goodbye to your parents and siblings.” “I’m good. If I go home there is no way that my parents will let me join the carnival.” “Okay.” The next morning when they pulled out Larry was part of the carny family.


He was nicknamed Little Prince ever since he was a young boy. He would spend hours on the palace grounds, hiding in nooks or storage closets with his storybooks, pretending he was in a much more magical world than this one. A world filled with fairies, dragons, elves, and dwarves. Magical objects that held extraordinary power, elves with healing powers, wizards and mages who ruled the earth with their magic. It was much better than this dreary planet, which had none of these things. The others called him strange and weird, always in his head and never able to pay attention. His grandmother called him whimsical and imaginative and charming. One afternoon, his grandmother bought Kyros a toy sword. It was a cheap thing, made from an old dying tree. But he carried it with him everywhere, spreading a bedsheet over his shoulders and making crowns of flowers and vines, placing them atop his black hair. He would spend hours in the garden slaying mythical beasts and ruling imaginary kingdoms, saving pretty women locked up in towers. But like all children, they stripped away the magic from Kyros as he got older. His sword was taken away, his story books replaced with school books. Waistcoats and suits took over cloaks and capes. “You’re too old,” his father would tell him. The king and queen favoured Kyros’ family, so it was always important that they kept an excellent reputation. They didn’t need Kyros’ head in the clouds; they needed it down on earth, where it would be used to solve real-life problems. Now, Kyros sat in one of the wooden straight-backed chairs found all over the palace, his parents standing over him, frowning. “We thought you were better,” his mother said with a cluck of her tongue like a hen.

It had been a formal dinner with the king and queen, and Kyros had let his formality slip. His back became slumped, and his mind wandered while he picked at his food. And that had gotten him into trouble. “You need to stop doing that,” Kyros’ father said angrily, his jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. “You need to be better. Why can’t you be like Alyx?” He gestured to Kyros’ older brother, standing in the corner. Alyx had never let his composure slip, always presenting himself with his neatest waistcoat and pristine hair. “Alyx does none of those things,” his mother pointed out. “Be better.” And then they left, leaving Kyros alone in the depressing room. He slumped, crossing his arms over his chest. It wasn’t fair. They took away his books and his imagination, forced him to sit still, to hold your tongue, to never act on a whim and always think before you did something. It wasn’t his fault for the way he acted when they stripped away everything good about his life. He huffed out a long breath, longing to return to the brightly illustrated pictures of his books, the ones with painted beasts and dragons and magic. But his parents were right. He was older now, much too old for such things, and he needed to keep his family’s reputation clean. He stood and left, walking down the marble hallway and into his own bedroom. But what he heard made him stop halfway there. He tip-toed next to the open door and pressed himself against the wall, listening. “There’s been this school he’s always wanted to go to,” he heard Alyx’s voice say. “We could send him there.” “Yes, I think that’s a good idea.” Kyros clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp. He would have never thought in a million years that his parents would send him to a school that he wanted to go to. He thought they would’ve kept him there, stuck behind the palace’s walls. “We will send him money to travel and enough for him to support himself until he finds work.” Kyros grinned. He knew his parents were just looking to get him away from the palace to maintain their reputation, but he was just as glad to get away from them. There, he wouldn't have to keep his back straight or filter his words before speaking. He suppressed a giddy laugh. He couldn’t wait to leave. “We’ll also need a hitman.” A hitman? Why would they need a hitman? “Callyx will do the job.” Kyros’ blood went cold in his veins. Were his parents planning on sending him away to have him murdered? To pretend to send him to a fancy school just to get a man to kill him halfway there? All because he had zoned out during dinner? “It will be a fake enrollment,” he heard his mother say. Kyros stood. He didn’t want to listen to them anymore. They were going to get rid of him, kill him just so they could keep their name free from any scorn that he had brought. But if they were going to kill him, he would kill them first. *** Kyros snuck a match into his pocket. He had been waiting for this moment for a while. His parents gave him the fake letter, telling him he’d been accepted to the school, and he pretended to pack a few of his things so they wouldn't suspect him of knowing their lie. Tonight, his parents had invited a bunch of nobles and aristocrats to dinner, and that was when Kyros was planning to set the place on fire. The hardest part was making sure that everyone perished, and no one lived to tell officials it had been Kyros. The night was long. His parents talked about the weather, stocks, and how successful they were in their careers. Kyros had made sure to keep his tie straight and remembered to use his manners all throughout dinner. At last, when one servant was placing desserts on the table, Kyros stood, excusing himself to the bathroom. In the hallway, he had placed a lamp set by the door conveniently where his family couldn’t see it from the dinner table. Kyros stood over the kerosene lamp, fishing the match from his pocket. He dropped it and watched it burst into flames with a loud whoosh, making the walls glow in orange light and bathing him in heat. Quickly, he ducked out of the palace and watched it burn to the ground. Never again would he be ridiculed or be told to be someone he wasn’t. Ten years later … Kyros watched as the young girl was thrown at his feet. It was never his intention to play a villain, but people like her forced him into his role. He was no longer the boy who’d spent hours in the garden slaying beasts; he was the one taming them. Kyros watched with feigned pity as Izara stood, her face a mask of determination as she forced herself to her feet. “I will kill you,” she said, voice dripping with loath. “You killed him. You killed them all.” Kyros had been watching her with disinterest and boredom, but as she said that he sat up straighter and stood, staring down at her. “I killed them all? I did. But you know what? They were going to kill me first.” “Good!” “Tell me something, child. When they kill me, they’re called the heroes of the story. They save the kingdom from the little boy who was never perfect, who brought ridicule and scorn to the entire palace. But when I kill someone, I’m seen as the murderer, the villain. Why is that?” He slowly stepped down from the raised dais and made his way toward her. “Anyone can be seen as the hero. But not everyone can play it. It’s all about perspective,” he spat, looming over her. “You could be the villain. How do you know that by ‘saving’ all those people, you’re doing the good thing? Do they want that? Or do they want to be left alone, to be undisturbed?” He leaned closer to her, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You can’t save everyone. And not everyone wants to be saved.” He drove a blade into her stomach, watching as she let out a startled cry and then dropped to the ground. Sometimes you had to burn the world to be seen, to be heard. To be validated.

So that’s exactly what he did. END


“Welcome to the Fredrickson Internship,” Dr. Levon Fredrickson said with the world’s cockiest smile on his face. “As you know, we’re the largest government-funded psychology program in New Beckom.” He gestured for his interns to clap. Hesitantly, they did. “Thank you. Thank you. Now, we’ll start by conducting my most famous psychology experiment: The Stasis.” Dr. Fredickson clicked a remote and a presentation shot across the lecture hall wall. “In this experiment, you will all be assigned one subject that has agreed and signed a contract to become part of an experiment—without knowing what the said experiment is. You will inform your subject that the experiment is to cryogenically freeze them and they will be awakened in one hundred years. Your job is to monitor and record the subject’s reaction. The government is providing everything you need to monitor them.” He clicked to a new slide. “Past subjects have been known to succumb to insanity—” He clicked to a slide of someone swaddled in a mountain of blankets in the corner of a dark room. “— recklessness—” A person dancing on their boss’s desk without pants on. “—violent outbursts in retaliation—” A photo of a person throwing their shoes at the camera. “—and suicidal tendencies.” The next slide was blank and Dr. Fredrickson cleared his throat. “Of course, it is required by the government for you to stop the last one and report it immediately.” The presentation clicked to the last slide. “Any questions?” Only one hand shot up. An over-eager girl named Mary-Sue who hand stitched her name into her lab coat. “Should we stop the subjects before they commit any other life changing mistakes like quitting their jobs or committing crimes?” “Nope.” “But they’re acting on false information that could ruin their lives.” Dr. Fredrickson’s smirk flickered, but only for a minute, as the other interns murmured. “Listen, sweetheart, they signed a contract. They agreed to this. It’s just one lie. It’s their choice how to reaction. We can’t be held responsible for their actions—we can only record them. Anything else? Because if you are just going to continue to have problems with my amazing experiment, I think you may need to find another top-ranking internship.” Mary-Sue lowered her head, flashes of everything that could go wrong if she lost this internship invaded her head. She could fail at getting a good job. She and her cat could lose their apartment. Sir Flufftons can’t be homeless. He’s a house cat—he’ll never survive on the streets. “No, sir,” she whispered. “Good. Moving on to assigning your subjects.” *** “Alster Romans. Alster Romans. Alster Romans,” Mary-Sue repeated under her breath as she marched towards the meeting room with the subjects in it. She shoved open the door, letting a cross breath fluff her lab coat. Glancing down at her clipboard to look like she hadn’t been over prepping this moment the entire time over, she said, “Allie-star Romes?” Panic flashed across her face. “I mean… Alster Romans?” A twenty-something, tall man with a scar that ran across the bridge of his nose to his right earlobe raised his hand. “Would you please come with me?” “Sure.” *** After readjusting the paperweights on her temporary office-desk, Mary-Sue folded her hands. Then unfolded them. “The experiment you signed up for has been decided.” “Okay.” “In one week, you will be cryogenically frozen and awakened in one hundred years. We like to give you this time now to get your affairs in order. The government will be made aware of your disappearance, but no one else will and you are required to keep this a secret.” Mary-Sue bit her lip, tensing her writing hand over her clipboard as Dr. Fredrickson’s lesson replayed in her head: One of the key moments to record is the initial reaction. It can often foreshadow their bigger reaction later. Remember, there is a panic button on the edge of your desk in case of an extreme and dangerous reaction . Her left hand hovered by the secret hover button. “Okay,” he said, plainly. Not a drop of emotion crossed his face. “Okay?” She repeated, confusion. “No questions?” “Will the check still go to the requested person?” She double checked Alster’s file. The money from doing the experiment was supposed to be sent to a Ms. Lilia Theodore. No further information on the girl. “Yes.” “Is that everything then? One week and I come back here to be frozen?” He said calmly, standing. “For a hundred years…” Mary-Sue reminded, growing nervous. “Everyone you love will be dead.” He didn’t acknowledge those words and simply left. Mary-Sue rested her head on her hand, chewing on her cheek. “I got a bad feeling about this one.” *** At the sixth meeting, Dr. Fredrickson greeted them with his same cocky smile that Mary-Sue had already come to loathe. “Greetings, interns. Who’s willing to share their subject’s current reports?” A flurry of hands went up. “You.” Carter, Mary-Sue’s roommate’s boyfriend from university, answered. “Mine admitted to sleeping with his boss’s wife and told everyone at work that she preferred him in bed.” “My subject walked into Walmart, took a giant TV, and tried to walk out the door with it. She got tased in the parking lot.” “My subject did donuts in the desert until they hit a bunch of cacti.” “Mine going into a fight with a police officer, demanding to be let out of the experiment. He’s in jail.” A couple of interns winced at the mental thought. A deep pit grew in Mary-Sue’s stomach. She chewed on her cheek as she thought of her subject. Over the past six days, Alster had shown no reaction to the news and carried on with business as norm. A worry spread through her. Would she fall behind the others and lose the internship? Would Dr. Fredrickson accuse her of sabotaging his experiment and get her blacklisted? Could she ‘speed up’ his reaction somehow? She shook her head. What was wrong with her? Hoping some guy would ruin his life so she could advance her on… Her teeth bit through her cheek, drawing blood. The ironic taste kissed her mouth. She stopped chewing and just sucked on the puncture wound. He agreed to this… she reminded herself. It’s all legal. Everyone else is doing it. He’s getting paid. No wait. Lilia Theodore was getting paid for this. Most people didn’t start the program planning on giving the money to someone else. Why would he do all of this for her? Mary-Sue didn’t know, but she had a feeling it was involved with his strange reaction. *** There was only one Lilia Theodore in New Beckom. Mary-Sue double checked the address and stared at the building in front of her. “This can’t be right.” The building was a hospital. A nurse with too big bags under his eyes led her to Lilia’s room after Mary-sue told him she was her estranged aunt. “Here you go,” he said, dropping her off at a room in the children’s ward, the smell of smoke and a devil-may-care attitude lingering on his lips. Mary-Sue muttered a thank you and stepped inside. A girl with pigtails and wide brown eyes like a baby deer looked at me as she entered. “Hello,” Mary-Sue said, “Are you Lilia Theodore?” She nodded. “Okay.” Oh my god, Mary-Sue thought , just what the hell was I planning on talking to this girl about? This was a bad idea . She started backpedaling towards the door, the awkwardness pushing her every step. When she was almost out, her back ran into a stiff person. Spinning around, Alster and his now-ruined bouquet of flowers greeted her. “H… Hello,” Mary-Sue stuttered. Alster observed for a second before saying, “Did you follow me here?” “Well I… Well I…” After placing the bouquet in a vase, he said in a hushed whispered, “Meet me outside. Now.” *** More blood filled Mary-Sue’s mouth as she paced in a circle. Alster stood, in front of her, with crossed arms and a face full of cross-emotions. “What are you doing here?” Might as well go with the truth, Mary-Sue, she told herself, you know you’re not gonna remember the lies correctly anyway. Just keep it short and sweet and don’t mention the truth of the experiment. You’ll ruin everything. “I came here to figure out who Lilia Theodore was to you. Is she your daughter or niece? You don’t share the same name.” “How is that any of your business?” For the first time, Mary-Sue saw some emotion come from Alster. Though, it was a little heat of anger on his tongue, so it could have gone better. “I just—I was trying to figure out why you were acting the way you were. I didn’t want my data to ruin the psychology experiment!” Alster leaned back on the rusted railings of the wheel-chair entrance ramp. He glanced to the sky like he was trying to figure out if there really was a god in this world. “Psychology experiment, huh? So I take it that none of us are being cryogenically frozen.” “No.” “So the true experiment was…?” “To record people’s reactions to being told they were going to be put into stasis within the week after already agreeing to it.” “Well, it sounds like a shitty thing to make a person go through, if you ask me. To accept losing everything within the span of a week? That’s inhumane and not worth the money.” “I know,” Mary-Sue said meekly. “So why are you still part of it?” “This is the best path for my career—” “But it’s not the only one. And trust me, there’s plenty better where you don’t have to manipulate a bunch of poor people.” She stayed silent for a second before saying, “Can I just ask you one thing before I leave?” “Why not.” “Why didn’t you freak out about being frozen?” He sighed, taking a moment to put the thoughts he’s already subconsciously acted on into words. “Being frozen and awakened in a time period where everyone you love is dead? That’s basically dying. You were telling people they were going to die in their lives now. But it’s worse than that. Death is blissful. It forgives and forgets. You won’t remember your old life and you won’t crave it. If you were frozen, you would remember your old life. That would hurt worse than actual death.” “So why didn’t you react to it?” “Because I’ve already accepted my death. It was the day I met Lilia. Over on the two-hundred foot bridge by main street. She asked me, a sweaty college student who smelled like ramen and puke, ‘Are you gonna jump?’. I said yes. She said, ‘you can’t’. When I asked why, she said it was because seeing me die would give her nightmares. She was seven at the time. “Of course, I cared more about some random little girl than I did myself and went to leave when she asked me if I was gonna come back to jump another day. I didn’t answer. She took it as a yes. Lilia said that if I didn’t come back to that bridge and see her every day, then she’d know I jumped and was dead and she’d have nightmares. “So, every day, I came back. Sometimes, I’d just talk to her about random shit. None of it made any else. None of it had. All it did was stall me during the bad parts of my life. Eventually, I made it through them. Things always get better, she just forced me to be around to see that. I owe my life to her.” “Why is she in the hospital?” “Appendix burst. Her parents are struggling with the bill. I don’t have the money to pay it but…” “The experiment would be enough,” Mary-Sue finished. “This time, I figured I wouldn't even be dying. Lilia’s healthy now. She’ll live a long time from all the medical advancements. I’ll see her in a hundred years. That’s all that mattered.” “But… isn’t there something you’ve always wanted to do? Something to act out on like all the other subjects?” “There’s nothing to act out on. I’m content with this life. I’m at peace. Acting out or acting reckless would only ruin that. I’m sure I’d be content with the future too.” He turned to me. “Are you content with your life though? Blood’s dripping from your lips. Your nerves had chewed up your cheeks. That doesn’t sound like a very healthy life.” Mary-Sue stopped chewing on her cheeks. “Well, it’s been fun spilling all my trauma to you, stranger,” Alster said with a silly grin and a cheesy salute. “But I got a life to keep living. Send me the cheek as soon as possible. And if it makes you feel any better, you can make up whatever crazy reaction you want to me have on your little charts. It doesn’t matter to me.” With that, he went back into the hospital. *** On the seventh meeting, the seventh day, Mary-Sue was late for the meeting. She’s never been late for anything in her life. Dr. Fredrickson grinded his teeth as he waited. “Where is that girl? It’s time to compile the results.” Finally, she arrived. Mary-Sue handed Dr. Fredrickson her lab coat. “I quit this experiment. It’s inhuman.” Then, she walked out, even as Dr. Fredrickson called out to her, “You bought this lab coat yourself. What am I supposed to do with it?” She ignored him and let the sunlight wash over her as she left the psychology building. It was time for the same career, but a different path. Lucky for her, she didn't need to be threatened with enforced stasis to realize that.


Authors Note: Hi everyone! I finally got a story out on Reedsy despite the assignments that were crammed and stacked onto my head! This is a sequel to "Grandpa Laurence", my previous story on Reedsy. Enjoy! Grandma Lolla took a shuddery and shaky breath as she placed a sealed envelope into the capsule, inhaling nervously. She held her back, groaned weakly and pushed the spade into the ground. She covered the fresh soil over the shiny capsule and sighed. Beatrix would soon understand the meaning of this. It had been five days. Five days, since Grandma Lolla had passed away. Five days since everyone had mourned in despair. Her last words had been “Larry” before she collapsed onto the ground, and stilled in her last, shuddery breath, closing her eyes for the last time.  But what Beatrix regretted the most, was that Grandma Lolla wasn’t able to explain what had happened to Grandpa Laurence. She didn’t make it in time. No one knew the story. Her mother did, but she was given instructions not to tell anyone. Mrs Lemons never talked after her mother’s death. She was still in a state of shock. She usually only responded with an uneventful, lifeless shake of her head, or “no” and “yes”. Beatrix was in her room, glancing sorrowfully at her grandmother’s photograph. If only she had been on time, to hear the story. She and her mother were going to the house that afternoon to collect valuables so the ancient house could be sold. Beatrix looked at the house, a deep pang drilling into her as she realized she wouldn’t be able to see her grandmother. Ever again. Hurriedly, she rummaged through her grandmother’s items and picked up a locket that was hidden deep inside the layered dusty shelves. It contained a shiny key and a picture inside it.

Curiously, she opened the locket, glancing amused, at the picture in the locket. A handsome face bored into her eyes. He looked in his mid-thirties and his arm was around - around… “Grandma Lolla! That’s the woman next to him. That must be Grandpa Larry!” She glanced at the photograph leaning on Grandma’s bed. It looked similar. She dropped Grandma Lolla’s valuable things and grasped a couple of letters. She read the first few lines. They were love letters. Grandma Lolla had written one to Grandpa Larry. It seemed as if they were deeply in love. But why was Grandma Lolla reluctant to bring up the subject of him? Suddenly, Beatrix noticed a letter lying on Grandma Lolla’s musty scented pillow. It looked new and she hadn’t seen it before. She read the writing on the front of the letter. It was addressed to her, surprisingly. The adrenaline rushed rapidly in her as her trembling fingers clasped the letters and opened it swiftly. Beatrix sat on the edge of the abandoned bed and studied it curiously and excitedly. My darling Beatrix, My body is getting weaker and fragile. I know I won’t last long, and I know I won’t have enough time to tell you the truth about Grandpa Larry. Listen to my instructions carefully.

There is a small rose plant at the back of the garden. Diagonally, I want you to dig the ground, dig at it carefully and you will find a golden capsule. It will have a lock on it. Go to my cupboard. Hidden deep, you will find a locket with a key. The locket encloses a picture of me and your grandfather. Use that key to open the capsule. Inside it, you will find an enclosed, sealed envelope. Take it back with you and read it. You have deserved to know the truth about me and Grandpa Larry. I must ask you to promise me one thing, whether I may be dead or alive, is to never, never tell anyone about it.

Love, Grandma Lolla,

Her heartbeat raced excitedly and rapidly as Beatrix tucked the letter into her pocket and dashed to the back garden. She moved the spade diagonally towards the rose garden and delved into the wet soil and earth. Abruptly, the spade clinked against a metal object and Beatrix felt elevated and enraptured. Quickly, she fingered her way through the soil and heaved the tiny capsule, engulfed in soil and mud. She removed the locket clasped around her neck and opened the capsule. It clicked, and sure enough, a sealed envelope addressed to Beatrix Lemons was printed neatly in the middle of the envelope. Shaking and trembling, she carried the envelope and dug the capsule safely back into the earth. She hurried into the hall, to find Mrs Lemons weeping softly into Grandma Lolla’s handkerchief.

Beatrix smiled sadly and pulled an arm around her mother. “Grandma will be okay,” she soothed softly. Mrs Lemons choked a little and looked up gratefully at her daughter, her tears shining.

Beatrix smiled and clutched an envelope. “Grandma Lolla explained everything about Grandpa in this letter. I’m going to read this.” she smiled softly. Mrs Lemons managed a watery smile. Beatrix took a deep breath and removed the contents of the letter. A paper. Explaining Grandpa Larry’s wrongdoings, and why Grandma Lolla was anxious to keep him a secret. She was going to find out. Now. Dear Beatrix,

I suppose I owe you an apology for making you wait to hear the truth darling. Well, all will be revealed now. Grandpa Larry was a thief. I loved him with all my heart. We were a poor family back then, Beatrix. We couldn’t afford many things, and seeing as Larry used to come from a rich family, he didn’t like it when he couldn’t give me something for my birthday, so when he couldn’t afford our children’s’ fees. And that’s when he started stealing. For me. Suddenly, Larry told us he had been offered a promotion. We were thrilled, I couldn’t tell you how happy I was. Every day after the "promotion", Larry used to bring us gifts, gifts that I couldn’t believe were true. I received diamond rings, rich necklaces and expensive bracelets. One day, I trailed him at work. I knew it was wrong of me to sneak, but I knew something wasn’t right. I caught him stealing out of a bank. I was too scared to point him in the right direction, scared he’d leave me with two kids and scared he’d abuse me. So I didn’t say anything. And that was my mistake. Months later, my husband was caught stealing a valuable diamond from the bank. He was sent to jail and our family name was a disgrace. People were disgusted by us, and he came in the newspaper, made the front page. I decided to keep his identity a secret, and we stopped contacting relatives to keep this a secret. I loved Larry with all my heart, and I knew he loved me too, but he didn’t have to steal for me. He didn’t, and I was devastated when I found out.

That is the truth Beatrix, the ugly truth.


Life has been like a momentary relapse, phasing in and phasing out, Angie had been in her dreams relocating to places, making memories in dozens, and replaying them in her mind in a loop. This is the story of a girl with a barely-there existence, not because she was not admired by her fellow compatriots, but she secluded herself to the truest of extent. A girl who somehow cushioned her apathies through learning bit by bit, then some more and even more, what fascinated her was time warps and how it's existence seemed all starry to her. She in her mind cocooned the possibilities and managed to establish in her head, there was this miracle, a gift laid down by civilization since time immemorial in the form of time capsules and what was bereft was the sensibilities that made people not recognize the importance of it all and hence they lacked obeisance. Angie was desperate enough to find a way to live and relive again, she always in her head had this notion of life that life is all but slow decadence and degeneration and the major flaw acted as a guard for one to be able to live life no matter whatever the aftermath. She wanted to transcend barriers and register her life so that it can be as prolonged as she wanted it to be. The fascination of it all to relate past with that of the future never allowed her to live in the present. But she was not the one to have succumbed to the pressures of it. Angie has always dreamt of creating seven different time capsules stocking each one up at each of the seven wonders of the world. She wanted her name to be there amongst the centuries to come by and worshipped as the one true observer of everything that relates the past, present, and the future all wrapped into one through time orientations. She began her preparation with much adherence to the nitty-gritty, from carefully penning down her thoughts of how she felt like when she was writing each of these seven notes, to her favorite tune, to the places she has ever been to and that she wants to, scribbling one after the other note but failing each time. She wanted the notes to be heart wrenching but she was not the one who could relate how people from the future would react to her approach, will her dream of time warp bundled in time capsules get lost in translation? A lot of thoughts kept crowding her mind and she was unable to find answers for every thought of hers. She thought to herself of keeping it quirky and mind-bending for every thought of hers was going to be locked up to travel the seven seas aboard the seven capsules and landing after seven millennia or so maybe? Angie smirked when writing her first note and contemplated a while, before finally putting her earnest efforts in a paper, she asked, if there was supposed to be a doppelganger for every person in the world, do the doppelgangers tend to ever meet in a lifetime? Her next could not even be considered a question, she had a weird request for the one opening her second note would have to exactly locate her place on the map and travel all the way and a reward would be awaiting the person who reaches first. She was bundling up mysteries one after another. Her third note, she was getting a little emotional while going through the process thinking she would not be there in person to witness even if her capsules found the light of the day and that made her upset. She took a break and after a while, her eyes glistened, she seemed to be leaning back to normalcy and was ready to pen down her third note. She started concocting a story full of delusions and that stemmed from the fact that Angie was never really living in reality and her mind kept shuttling between the past and future barely allowing her to deal with her present. Angie always had a desire of being heard and she poured her thoughts into a song and mentioning how all her life she wanted to write a song that exuded metanoia of how her living is straight out of the book of the current world but still somehow seems to find credence in whatever equivalent it is of the earth that will be the remnant of it all. Angie's fourth note reveals her brush with spirituality and how her newfound status from being an atheist to a believer and that one should never lose hope even if one is on the brink of death. Angie's fifth note was quite eccentric in terms of her keeping it all but blank but including a few strands of her hair, where she wanted her explorer to be able to get the whiff of her even if the smell faints over time or just fritters away. The sixth note to top it all she didn't make it at all. She left pieces of pieces of evidence in every other note of hers, that there were seven notes in total, where there were just six. The sixth note was all hers like it was frozen in time and she just knew its whereabouts, letting it all up to the almighty if it was ever to be found. The last note Angie was very particular about was the one that was pictographic and from the look of it all, it didn't give out much and it was strange to ascertain that whether anybody would be even interested in going so far ahead in discovering what it meant in reality. A loud thud and Angie fell from her bed, she almost freaked! Was she the one dreaming all of it? The time capsules to the seven wonders of the world? Life had been cruel to her and Angie ever so often felt her mind to be a pure escapist, showing her the life that could be but in flashes! Alas! Angie tended to like her little explorations and wondered what those time capsules had in store if she was the one unearthing a possible one, rather than being a creator herself??? A wry laugh and Angie was onto another of her procrastinations to give herself a day off!


"Come here dear, let us just sit down together and eat, sitting side by side." "Why, what is wrong? Why do you suddenly want to sit and eat together? You know I have a lot of work to do. I can't just leave everything and sit to eat with you just because you want me to do so. I'll eat after I finish all my work." Harsh pounder about the words said by his wife and than grudgingly told her, "Sanju I'm going than. I have a lot of work to do myself. I'm not free you know. The annual tax month is going on and this is a very hard month for me. I'll eat when I have time. Bye, see you in the evening." Sanjana looked towards the dining table. Harsh had not eaten anything and the tea had become cold too. This made Sanjana very angry. She started to yell at him. She furiously said, "What is all this non sense. I get up so early in the morning to prepare something for you to eat and you have the audacity to disrespect the meal and all my hard work and just leave. Why are you so insensitive toward me. Why don't you love me any more." Saying this she started to cry. This made Harsh freeze. He just shrugged and didn't know what to say. But he just realized that his Sanju was sad so he quietly went and sat down on the dining table. When he saw her so furious, he didn't know what to do. He thought about it a little. Than he made Sanjana sit down next to her and fed her a piece of toast. He lovingly told her, "Sweetheart I'm fed up of eating alone. I want to sit with you and eat. From the past few day I have been waiting for you to finish your work so that we can eat together. But your work doesn't seem to get over. Because of this for the past few days I have been reaching late for work. I even waited for you again today but I can't afford to get late today, so I was just about to leave." Sanjana was surprised listening to Harsh's confession. She asked him in a horse voice, "But why all of a sudden do you want to eat with me. We have been following the same routine from the start." Harsh said with a loving voice, " Sweetheart, now you are not alone. You have a life growing inside you. Remember what the doctor said. You should not skip any meals and have a good gap between your meals. How can you follow the instructions given by the doctor if you eat late. So I was just thinking that we can at least eat two meals of the day together and be together all day during the weekends. I want you to relax, take it easy and I even want to start spending more time with you. As it I half the day I'm out of the house due to my job. I don't want you to feel lonely when I'm around." Sanjana started to feel a little relaxed listening to her hubby. She said in a low voice, "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm so exhausted so I just let it all out. I keep forgetting that I have to be more careful now. For so long I have been doing the same thing. I forgot that I have to be more careful now. I finish all my work in the morning before eating. I'll be more careful from now on. And you are right, it really gets lonely sometimes. I can understand now as to why you insisted to eat together. I agree, we should at least try to have two meals together on week days. But promise me that weekends will only be for me, and that you will not bring any work home to do in the weekend." Harsh happily said, "that's exactly what I want. Weekend and public holidays will only be for family. No work only some quality time with you me love. Listening to Harsh's endearing words Sanjana said in a cooing voice, "You know what, at night we'll have dinner together. I'll even prepare something special for you." She than hurried told him to go to work or he would get very late for work. He gave her a peck on his cheeks and left. The whole day Sanjana was in a great mood. She felt like nothing could ever make her sad. She started preparing for dinner early. She wanted everything to be perfect. But after a while she started to feel dizzy. She grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter and slowly with a lot of difficulty walked towards the sofa in the hall. She saw the time it was 5 in the evening. She thought that if she rested for sometime she would feel better. In some time she got so relaxed and dozed off. Sanjana suddenly woke up after hearing the concern in her dear hubbies voice. She looked at the clock on the wall in the hall. It was 8 in the evening. She surprising said, "O dear! I slept for so long, the dinner is not ready yet." Harsh told lovingly, "My dear, don't worry. Give me some time to freshen up than I'll come and help you in the kitchen." Harsh came after fifteen minutes or so. He headed to the kitchen and started helping Sanjana. The meal was read by 9 PM and Harsh set the plates and dishes on the dining table. He than sat down next to his dear wife and served the food. Harsh realized he didnt feel tired at all and said Sanjana, "Darling if there is anything else you want me to do than tell me. I feel very refreshed and relaxed." Harsh was so happy and Sanjana understood how he felt. After a long time even she felt so relaxed and happy. Just be spending some time doing the same thing together after a long time she felt loved, wanted and cared for. She started to realize what she was missing for such a long time. She, after a long time saw the man she had loved and married. They sat together and ate dinner. They didn't talk any more but kept looking at each other and passed secret smiles. After eating Harsh said happily, "This was so much fun. We should do more things together. I had so much fun helping you in the kitchen today. Even the food was great. I loved it, it was so delicious." Hearing this Sanjana felt like making fun of Harsh so she teasing said, "What are you talking about, you were not helping me just causing trouble. Tickling me with your funny jokes. It was a wonder that we were able to prepare the meal at all. I thought that in the end I we would have to order food from a restaurant." Listening to this Harsh looked at Sanjana with a look of surprise and suddenly they both started to laugh loudly