**Warning, child abuse** Don’t talk unless spoken to.

Madam says my voice is disgusting. Kevin calls her mother, but when I tried she slapped me. She said she wasn’t the mother of a bastard. That I was a mistake, that she was forced against her will. I don’t understand. Kevin calls Sir, father. I wanted to see how that word felt, but he pulled out his belt and hit me. I taught myself language one day. Sir and Madam were furious. They tied me up and hit me with what looked like a long rope. A whip, yes, that’s what they called it. They hit me over and over, and explained that it was only education. Education is good, whips are good, pain is good. Don’t hesitate when answering a question. I hesitated when Sir asked me if I had spoken to Kevin one day. I didn’t know what to say. He slapped me, and asked again. I said yes, and he told me to never do it again. He tied me up and whipped me till the sun went up and then down again. It was five suns until Madam gave me food again. It hurts, but hurt is good. I never hesitated again. Don’t lie. Kevin snuck down to the basement again the day after the first incident. He finds me interesting, he calls me his half brother. I tell him to go back up to the light. He says no, and talks to me for a while. Sir asked me if Kevin came down again. I said no, and he slapped me. He told me to never lie, he will know if I do. This time he does not tie me up. He pulls out a knife, and slashes down my face with it. It hurts. There’s a lot of blood. Don’t make noise. I accidentally toppled over a pile of books once. Both Madam and Sir are furious. They tell me I interrupted something called a dinner party. I almost exposed my existence, they say. They bind me up and gag me. Then they return to the dinner party. But I am confused. What is a dinner and what is a party? Is it that important? They return when it is pitch dark. There are still little lights outside my tiny window, I envy those lights. They tie me up and whip me again. Madam doesn’t give me meals for many suns again. After that day, my movements have become quieter than a ghost. Don’t cry. The first time Madam slapped me, I cried. Madam was even more infuriated by my tears and slapped me even harder. Crying equals pain. I learned my lesson. I refuse to cry again. It makes Madam angry. I don’t like it when she’s angry. It would be nicer if she smiled. I read of smiling in a book. Apparently it can make a person glow. I tried to smile. My face couldn’t do it. But I think it would look nice on Madam. Perhaps she smiles when she leaves this dark place. Don’t touch anything. The first time I met Sir, his hair looked so bright and beautiful, even in this darkness. I reached for his hand, but before I touched it he kicked me away and called me vermin. He angrily wipes his hand, and pulls on a pair of black gloves. He pulls me by my hair, and tells me I’m a bastard, trash, that I shouldn’t even exist. I didn’t understand back then. All I learned was to keep my hands to myself. Don’t ask for anything. I asked Madam for more books to read once. She told me that I should be grateful that I was even allowed to read the old books stored in the basement. I ask her what a basement is, and she tells me that it is where I reside. Basement probably means the dark in that case. From under the door, I see that the outside world that Sir, Madam, and Kevin live in is always bright. I wish I lived in a world like that. Even the world outside the tiny window would do. It is sometimes bright and sometimes dark, but it is better than eternal darkness at least. Don’t do anything Sir and Madam have not told me I can do. I tried climbing up to the window a long time ago. I wished to see what lays beyond that square of light. When Madam saw what I was doing she called Sir to come. They were furious, they kicked me and whipped me and denied me food. I promised to never do anything they haven’t told me I can do ever again. Don’t leave the basement. Once a long time ago, I tried to open the door. Sir saw me peek out, and yelled at me. He told me that I am never allowed to leave the basement, the darkness. He told me that the basement is the only place I belong, for I am a bastard. I am not human. I have no rights. I did not understand, but I knew not to try to leave the darkness again. Don’t show your face.

Kevin, my older brother, tells me I look too much like my father. I don’t understand. Sir has platinum blonde hair and icy blue eyes, while I have raven black hair and slate grey eyes. In my opinion, Kevin is the splitting image of him. Madam has golden blonde shoulder length locks, and bright green eyes. Madam gave me a mask, it is a Japanese fox mask. She told me to never take it off. She gave me one of Kevin’s old hoodies. She tells me to never take it off, and to always keep the hood up. I am happy. These are the first gifts she has ever given me. Don’t go outside. One day, I had asked Madam if I could go into the world outside the window. She told me that is a ridiculous idea, and that it can never happen. I was saddened, but I knew better than to ask why. Nonetheless, Sir came down that night and whipped me again. ~~~ I met a goddess today. She had beautiful chocolate brown hair that went to her waist, and soft honey brown eyes. She opened the window to the basement and peeked in. When she saw me, she gasped. She asked me why I wore the mask and hood, I told her that I am not allowed to take them off. She asked me if I lived in the basement, and I replied yes. She asked me how old I was. I tell the girl that I am sixteen. She says that she is the same age and smiles. It is a beautiful smile, and it truly lit up her face. She asks me for my name. I hesitate for the first time in years. Slowly, I tell her that it is bastard. She looks confused and asks again. I tell her, bastard. She looks shocked and tells me that is not a name. I cock my head, and she tells me her name is Angelita. She tells me that she must leave, but she’ll be back again. I tell her that I will be here waiting, no matter how long it takes.

She is back three suns later. She talks to me for a while, but then she asks me why I do not ask her questions. I tell her my first rule, to never speak unless spoken to. She freezes, and tells me that it is a bad rule. I tell her I don’t understand what she means. 	She tells me that I can say whatever I want to her, whenever I want. I ask her if she will be angry if I do so. She looks at me oddly, and tells me that she would be delighted if I spoke to her casually. I ponder this for a moment, and for the first time, I say something before someone speaks to me. I tell her that she is beautiful. She stutters and tells me that she must go, but she will be back.

Ten suns later, I saw her again. She smiles when she sees me, and we talk of little things that have passed these few suns. She tells me that from the middle of the night, that is the dark, and then all the way back to the night again is one day. She teaches me about time and dates. She asks me when my birthday is, I tell her September tenth. She tells me that hers is December twenty-ninth. I count the days, and realize it is only fifteen suns, sorry, I mean days away. I point this out, and she asks me if I will give her a present. I tell her that I will do my best.

We talk some more, and she asks me why I answer her so swiftly and truthfully. I tell her about rules two and three. She shakes her head, and tells me if I feel like hesitating then I should hesitate, and explains to me how some lies are good. I don’t understand the concept of white lies, and she takes the time to explain it to me. 	Suddenly the basement door opens, and Angelita quickly closes the window and steps out of sight. Sir walks in. I ask him why he has come. He slaps me hard. I realized I had broken rule one. I try to apologize, but he ties me up and whips me till the sun goes down. I peek at the window, and I notice that Angelita is looking in. Luckily I am still wearing my mask, no one likes it when I take it off. It is because I am disgusting and ugly. Madam told me. Finally, he turns me around to face him. He asks me if I have spoken to anyone recently. I say no. He slaps me. I have broken rule three, but I don’t care. I wish to protect Angelita. He keeps hurting me, but it does not change my answer. When the sun starts to rise, he finally accepts my answer, and leaves. I lie on the ground, bruised, bloody, but not broken. I look to the window, and I see Angelita. She asks me if I am okay. I tell her that this is normal, that this is just education and she should not worry. She explains to me that this is not real education. I don’t understand, but I do my best. She is my light, my savior, the first to make me feel such warmth. I will trust her. Two days later she came again. She tells me that she will save me, and bring me outside. I tell her to not bother, and that her visits are all I need. Her face becomes red, and I ask her if she is sick. She says no, and that it is just cold out. She throws me a yellow crescent and tells me that it is a banana. She also passes me a few crinkly rectangles that she calls granola bars. She tells me that every time she visits she’ll bring something for me. She asks me how I move so silently, and how I did not cry when Sir had hurt me. I tell her about rules four and five. She gasps, and tells me that if I want to cry, then I should cry. I tell her that if I cry then the pain will increase. She sighs, and tells me again that someday she will save me. I hear a beep, and she pulls out a rectangular box. She looks at it, and tells me that she must go in ten minutes. I ask her what the box is. She quickly tells me that it is a phone, and promises to tell me more the next time she visits.

I see her again in four days. She gives me more granola bars, as she slowly explains to me the concept of technology, and I am amazed. She then goes on to teach me about science and math. I understand the information easily, and she tells me that I am smart. I feel I tug at my mouth, but I do not understand the urge. She teaches me more, and asks me if I want to see her phone. I tell her no, and she asks why. I tell her about rule six, to never touch anything. She looks at me seriously, and once again tells me that it is a stupid rule. She tells me that I am allowed to touch most things. I do not understand, so I ask her to clarify. She tells me all about ethics and human rights, and how no matter what anyone does, those rights apply to me as well. I remain skeptical, but I absorb her teachings relatively well. The next time she visits, it is on her birthday. I have folded a paper crane for her. When I present it to her, it brings her to tears, and I worry that she doesn't like it. She shakes her head, and tells me she loves it. I ask her why she is crying, and she tells me it is because I have almost nothing, and yet I still gave her such a sweet gift. Then she looks down, and tells me that it may be a long time until I see her again. Her family has business overseas, and if it works out, she might never come back. But she promises that once she becomes eighteen and gains her own true freedom, she will come back for me. She then throws me a red ball. She tells me that it is an apple and that it is good for me. She then throws me several bags of what she calls dried apple chips and some granola bars, and tells me to hide them. She tells me to eat them slowly, as I quickly hide them away under some books. I hesitate to ask her something, and she asks me what I want. I tell her that rule seven tells me that I should not ask for anything. She frowns, and tells me that I can ask anything of her. I steel my courage, and ask her to bring me a present from her travels. She smiles and agrees. She turns, about to leave, when she looks back at me one more time and throws me her barrette. I catch it, and she tells me that the little designs on it are angel wings. She then runs off, as I clutch her barrette close to my chest. ~~~ It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen my angel. Today should be my seventeenth birthday. Ever since my Kevin started university, he always tried to sneak nutritious food to me whenever he can. We’ve gotten caught a few times these past years, but you can tell that I’ve finally started to gain some muscle and flesh on my bones. He is too kindhearted to have been raised by Sir and Madam, but I’m not complaining. I sit with my back to the wall. Closing my eyes, I dream once again of the short moments I shared with Angelita and I recall her kindness, and the firmness with which she broke down my rules. Although they still stand, a part of my character, there is more leeway with my rules. She showed me a new world, new possibilities.

Suddenly I hear yelling coming from the rest of the house. I slowly stalk my way towards the door. It flies open, and I come face to face with a man in some sort of uniform. Angelita peeks out from behind him and smiles. She tells me that it didn’t really work out overseas. I ask her who the men are, and she tells me that she has come to save me. She explains that they are police officers and have arrested Sir and Madam. She pulls my arm, trying to lead me out of the basement. But I tell her no. Rule number eight and nine, and how I can’t, that this darkness is where I belong. She tells me no, and that I can leave. The police officer agrees, and slowly, they convince me to take my first step out of the basement. It is bright in the rest of the house, and I blink a few times, unaccustomed to the light. Angelita tells me that I should take off my mask and hood. That I should start my new life, showing my face to the world. I hesitate and tell her rule ten. She glares at me, and tells me that it isn’t right to hide who I am. Hesitantly, I take off the mask and the hood. She gasps, and I ask her if I’m too ugly. I try to put the mask back on, but she stops me. She takes a mirror out of her purse, and makes me look at my own face. 	Startled, I realize my face isn’t actually that uncomfortable to look at. Looking at me, she smiles. She tells me that it would be nice for my name to be Andrew. I ask her what it means, and she tells me that in Greek it means strong and manly. I agree, and she calls me by my new name. I feel my face start burning, and she laughs. She tugs on my sleeve, telling me to go outside. Hesitantly I step out the front door. I notice a line that seems to separate shadow from light. Angelita bounds over the line swiftly and easily. Looking at her smile, I know that no matter what happens I want to be by her side. Confidently, I step over the line, and into the sunlight with Angelita.


“Anna! Where’s my hat?”

“Eric, where’s the cooler? The blue one with your name on it?”

“TJ, in the car! Now!” So many people shouting, their voices filled with excitement as Eric, Anna, Zane, and I pile into Zane’s blue SUV. Anna takes the passenger seat, Zane is driving, and Eric and I are in the back. After graduating from high school, the four of us decided to finally take the road trip we’d been planning since 6th grade; from our boring town in Kansas to Florida. It was the third week of summer and we were finally ready.

“How long is the trip again?” I asked as Eric, my boyfriend, pushed me into the car.

“About 16 hours,” Eric replied as we buckled our seatbelts.

“Well, I’m gonna fall asleep,” Anna giggled from the passenger seat in front of me.

“Same,” Zane replied from the seat next to her, putting his hands on the steering wheel, and we all laughed. He turned the keys in the ignition and we were off. We quickly exited our small town and turned onto the highway. We played a few rounds of I Spy, sang along with the radio, and listened to an audiobook. After about 6 hours of driving, we pulled off the highway and into the motel we had booked the week before. We grabbed our overnight bags from the trunk and headed to our separate rooms. Eric and I collapsed on the bed, tired from a long day in the car.

Suddenly, Eric’s phone started ringing. “Yeah?” Eric asked, the call on speaker. “Shouldn’t we get dinner?” Zane asked on the other end.

“Probably,” I smiled, rolling off the bed. Eric groaned, rolling off the bed, and falling next to me. “But I don’t want to move,” Eric complained.

“Too bad,” I giggled, pulling him up off the ground. Eric finally stood up and we strolled out to the car to go to dinner with Anna and Zane, me basically dragging Eric along, his arm around my shoulders. We waited for a couple of minutes but Anna and Zane didn’t come out of their room. Eric and I wandered over to their room and knocked on the door, but no answer came from inside. “Zane? Anna?” Eric yelled, knocking again. Suddenly, we heard a sound from behind the motel that sounded like that of a gunshot. “Anna! Zane!” I yell, starting to get worried.

“Hang on, Zane gave me a spare key,” Eric exclaimed, shoving his hand into his jeans pocket, producing a motel key card. He quickly swiped it past the door handle and shoved the door open. Inside was Zane, lying on the bed, a red bruise blooming on his head as if someone had hit him over the head with something. Anna, however, was nowhere to be seen. Clenched in Zane’s hand though was Anna’s jean jacket, a dark liquid splattered on it. I crumpled to the ground as Eric raced over to Zane, shaking him. Zane sat up, looking around groggily, he looked down at the jacket, and his eyes widened.

“Where’s Anna?” Zane asked, “Where did he take her?” “He? Who’s he? Who did you see Zane?”

“A-a man, a tall man in all black grabbed her and took her out the back door. Did he bring her back? Where’s Anna?” Zane questioned, standing up, leaning on Eric.

“TJ?” Eric asked, helping Zane onto the bed, “Call 911.” I pulled my phone out as quickly as possible, dialing the number as quickly as possible.

The ambulance and police arrived and Eric and I were driven to the police station. We tried to go with Zane to the hospital, but the police wanted to talk to us. I held tight to Eric’s hand until we arrived at the station. The police took us each to a different room. The one I was in had a guard standing by the door, a large mirror on one wall which I assumed was one way, a large metal table, and two wooden chairs, me in one. A tall, balding man in a police uniform marched in, sitting down in the chair opposite me. “TJ, right?” He asked. I nodded, staring down at the table, my mind replaying the past few hours in my head. “I’m Jones, Jones Michealson. I need you to help me with a few things, okay?” I nodded again. “Where did you last see your friend Anna?” “Right before we went into our rooms, probably around 7,” I replied quietly.

“Who had access to a key?” “Eric and I had a spare key, and I’m assuming the motel employees but that’s all I know.” The guard by the door handed Jones a couple of photos, and Jones spread them out on the table. There was an older man with white hair and wrinkles, two middle-aged women, one with short red hair, the other with long black hair, and two teenage boys.

“Do you know any of the employees?”

“Yeah actually,” I replied, sitting up straighter, “That man substituted at our school one time for Anna and I’s science class. Anna kept disrupting the class and he eventually gave her a detention. Those two women also substituted one time. They also gave her detention for throwing markers at the board. Those two boys both dated her for a month or so, but they were both ugly breakups.” “So what you’re telling me is they all had a motive.” “I mean, none of them were that mad at her-,” “But they all didn’t like her,” Jones interrupted. “Yeah,” I replied, “I guess, yeah, but Zane said he saw a man.” “Your friend was scared, he could have mistaken who the person was,” Jones suggested. Suddenly, the mirror on the wall shattered. A bullet tore through the shimmering glass in slow motion flying just above my head as I dove under the table. The glass rained down around me, the metal wall dented and the bullet clattered to the ground. I huddled under the table as a tall man in a black hoodie climbed through the gap where the mirror had been. He had long, wavy black hair, a scar on his chin, and deep blacked-out eyes.


“I have to kill a dragon?” Danielle shook her head. She paced the granite flagstones of her tower.             “Your last challenge, little knight.” The god’s herald no longer called her that with venom. Obag Sleagh had admitted his respect for her. “You’ve done what I thought was impossible before.”             “I don’t know anything about dragons,” said the knight. Her green tabard was completely restored by the herald’s magic after her last battle. It flapped as she turned on her heel and paced back to the other end of her bedroom.             Obag smiled. Every tooth was a deadly needle. Holding out his chalk-white hands, a book appeared in them.

Dragons, a Guide for Would-Be Slayers . The book was larger than any the knight had ever seen. The title’s gold print flowed in beautiful calligraphy.             “Tell me this has a magic word that stops their hearts instantly?” Danielle looked hopefully at Obag. His silver eyes were merciless.             “No, little knight. This tells you everything you could ever wish to know about dragons, but no such spell exists.”             “Fuck. I wish I had Lupita. She’s good at researching weaknesses.” Danielle thought of her lover. Lupita’s glowing smile, her warm brown eyes and her curves brought a flush to Danielle’s chest.             “Obag?” She took the red book from his clawed hands.             “Yes?” His brow lowered with the question.             “Is it really possible to kill a dragon?” Danielle asked. “I know the things we called dragons on Eshrep are just drakes, pint sized compared to the real things.” She ran her muscular hand through brown hair that was creeping down towards her light brown eyes.             “I didn’t think it was possible to kill a greater chatter-jaw, Sir Longbow. Especially alone. You proved me wrong yesterday. Killing a dragon should be impossible for you. Prove me wrong again.” He conjured a throne for himself and sat in the gilded chair. Both hovered over the granite. His hands rested on the golden skulls of the armrests.             “I have a lot of reading to do then,” Danielle said, more to herself than Obag. She wanted to hate him still. But she had come to see that he had honour. He served his god, doing terrible things because it gave him power. Obag seemed to enjoy the death and destruction be brought but he had warmed to her.             Sir Danielle asked for a desk to read at. The reading table the herald summoned with a wave of his hand was fit for any emperor. The rosewood and ebony were seamlessly carved into twisting dragons. A Crann green leather surface tilted towards her as she lay the heavy red tome upon it.             The seat for the reading desk was as beautiful. “A full-grown dragon is up to five miles long from the tip of its nose to the end of its tail. A single dragon tooth typically measures twenty feet long. Dragons are amphibious, able to breathe underwater or on land. Most dragons prefer to sleep in the depths of the blood sea. While drakes rely on wings to fly, true dragons have the innate ability to swim through the air.”             Danielle poured over the book for hours. Meals appeared on another table beside her as she read with mouthfuls of chicken and wine.             “A single dragon scale is typically three feet from base to tip and can withstand the heat at the heart of a volcano?” Danielle looked at the herald incredulously. “Is this real?”             The herald wore a red leather outfit decorated with bones. He nodded. “That book is entirely honest. Playing fair means you know just how screwed you are.” His eyes reflected her and the desperate look on her face.             “A dragon’s breath alone is hot enough to scald the flesh from human bones in moments. They breathe jets of flame which can extend up to four hundred feet from the dragon’s foremost tooth? The gust of their flight has been known to sink ships?”             “All true, little knight. Every word.”             Danielle rubbed a cold, sweaty palm across her creased forehead. Wine wasn’t helping her headache. She watched the herald who held her kingdom hostage. If she failed, it would be destroyed by dragons.             “Do the borders on the maps matter to dragons? Will the hounds of your god burn down Crann’s neighbours?” She wasn’t sure why it mattered, but she was curious.             He shook his pale head. “We are bound by strict codes. The borders your people set themselves bind what can be attacked. One must invite us, and always does, their kingdom alone can be destroyed.”             “Why?” Sir Danielle Longbow asked. “What does your god have against our world?”             Obag Sleagh shrugged. “The arrangements were made long before my time as a herald. I believe they were meant to protect the worlds from open war. Every god has dragons. None have as many as mine. It’s said my god was responsible for the banishment.”             “What banishment?” Danielle asked.             Obag sat up in his chair, eyes wide for a moment. “You should keep reading, Danielle. Unless you want to use up your life in this tower talking to me?” He spoke as though it was an option.             “Could I?” She asked. It was tempting. If she lived for years, her family, friends and home would be safe the whole time. When she breathed her last, Crann would be back on the menu. Were her broad shoulders strong enough to bear that burden?

What would Lupita do? She would find a way .

Being inside the chatter-jaw was safer than outside .             “You could stay,” said Obag. “It might ruin the respect you’ve earned from me.” “ Dragon ears are a cavity behind and beneath the eyes .” Danielle looked at a diagram of a dragon’s skull. Obag had used Leonor Castle from Crann’s capital to illustrate the sheer size of the beast. Horns atop a dragon’s head rose as high as the tower atop the castle.             “ Dragons sleep unless they are feeding or laying waste to the enemies of their god .” Sir Longbow had an idea. “I need strong rope and some harpoons,” she told Obag.             “Harpoons will not scratch a dragon’s scale, never mind pierce it.” He sat up in his chair, leaning forward to look at her with his mirrored eyes.             “I don’t need them to. Harpoons, can I have three? They must be barbed.” With a wave of his hand the murderous god’s advocate summoned three harpoons. “Can you make them shorter, all metal with a ring in the end to attach rope?” A finger twitched. Wood turned to steel. Metal hoops formed in the ends. “I need a hammer.” With a click of his snow-white fingers a broad ended hammer made from one piece of metal sat on the floor.             “Metal armour will be a bad idea. Can you make my gambeson thicker?” Danielle watched the plates of her armour unbuckle themselves. They floated to rest on a summoned armour stand. “I’ll leave the shield here.”             “It wouldn’t last a moment against dragon fire anyway.”             “I need some light for my plan, but a torch is impractical.”             “How about a glowing sword?” He winked. “Say solasaich.”             “Solasaich,” she said. Light began to spill out of her scabbard. Drawn out, it glowed with green light, bright as a flame. She held her other hand over the blade, expecting heat. For a long while she was mesmerised by the might. At long last, after waving the sword through the air, she felt ready.

            With the barbed harpoons and hammer hanging from the rope over her shoulder Danielle was ready to go. Her sword sat in the scabbard on her hip.             “I’m ready Obag. Please find me a dragon on land. I don’t want to drown.”             The former sealgair stood up from his golden throne. He opened a bloody portal wreathed in fire. She stepped through.             Her feet sank in the sands of a desert. Red light from the aurora that covered the world danced across the purple and gold pearlescent scales of the dragon. Danielle had never witnessed anything so enormous. Serpentine coils were her horizon in every direction. It was a living mountain range.             “Your plan is madness, little knight.” A frown on his face hinted at concern for her. “The climb alone might be the death of you.”             “I know,” she said. Feet slipping in the sand, she strode towards the head of the beast. As fast as she walked, it always seemed further away.             By the time she stood beneath the dragon she could only see the scales before her. They were rough to the touch. Striations in the scales were thick footholds for her as she clambered up. Her weapons clattered together on her back as she climbed.             Before long she was a sweating mass of exhaustion wrapped in muscle and bone. Sitting on one, she rested. The beginning of the ascent was the hardest. She had to pass the natural overhang created by the curve of the dragon’s neck.             After an inadequate rest she began again, reaching for a handhold to pull herself higher. Her feet often hung in the air as she hauled herself up to the next scale. The scales wore the skin of her hands to blisters.             The relief when she reached the end of the overhang was palpable. Muscles thanked her for the rest as she clambered on all fours. Stepping from scale to scale, she hiked up the living mountain.             Horns rose into the sky before her, casting mighty shadows. Even atop the dragon there was no such thing as walking. Every step to every scale was a stretch that risked a slip and fall to her death.             From the peak of the neck Sir Longbow saw other dragons in the distance. Their heads were silhouettes in the permanent twilight of that hateful world.             The ear was a cave below her. The black cavity sat on a ridge of scales she could not have traversed from below. Going down, seeing the drop below her was more nerve wracking for the knight than the ascent.             “I fucking hate heights,” she said beneath her breath. A rumble reminiscent of an earthquake followed her words. She gripped her handholds for dear life. The world to her right became a heat haze. Hotter than the brightest day she’d ever known. Danielle’s skin screamed for mercy.             Finally at the entrance to the ear, she spoke to the sword. “Solasaich,” she whispered. The sword’s glow lit the space immediately around her. A short walk ended with the sheer wall of the dragon’s tympanic membrane.             She tied herself a harness with the rope. She tied an end to one harpoon and looped it through the others. Danielle pressed the point of the first harpoon to a gap in scales at the other edge of the ear. She raised her hammer and prayed.             “Gods guide me. I know this is madness.” She brought the hammer down with a mighty blow that put it down between the scales.             CLANG! It stuck.             The noise of the mountain roaring made the knight clap her hands to her ears. She grabbed at her hammer and harpoons as the world beneath her feet began to soar. Walking closer to the eardrum she hammered in the second harpoon.             CLANG! The second harpoon did not catch in the gap.             The world shook. Danielle fell to the ground, blessing her gambeson for the padding. She recovered as the ear began to tilt. Her harness caught her as she bounced from side to side. The third harpoon slid away. She dived to catch it.             Seizing a moment of stability, she slammed the last harpoon into a crease in the dragon’s skin by the tympanic membrane. Bringing the hammer down with both hands she watched the shaft of steel sink into the skin.             CLANG.             CLANG.             CLANG.             A roar which dizzied her rushed in through the ear from the outside world of Craspeur.             Pulling herself along the rope she felt like a spider clinging to the wing of a bird in flight. The green glowing sword emerged from her scabbard with the hope of light in endless darkness. Finding a wrinkle in the skin across the dragon’s ear cavity, she pressed the sword point to it.             Danielle brought the hammer down on the pommel with all her might.             The clang was lost in the raging roar of the flying titan. The pain of the beast came through in the guttural scream it made. The knight hated to murder something so beautiful. To fail would be the death sentence of her home and all she loved.             Dragons would swim through the skies of Crann and burn it all to the ground.             The wrinkle became a rip as her sword punched through the tympanic membrane.             Danielle was ripped from her feet. The dragon jerked to the side and down towards the world below. Slammed up into the air, she tried hold onto the sword and the hammer. Paying more attention to the heirloom sword, she saw the hammer slip through her fingers. It sailed out of the ear and away.

What would Lupita do? She’d keep going .             When the dragon twisted, still trying to shake her loose, she stabbed at the hole in its ear. She kicked at the cross guard.             “Come on!” She screamed as she slammed her foot into the metal. The blade sank deeper into the wound. She kicked again and again. She was thrown aside with every twist of the dragon’s head. Whenever she could, she opened the rip wider.             Time stretched and contracted without meaning. Every moment hanging on the rope instead of attacking was a lifetime. Whenever she could press the sword into the wound her chance was over too soon.             Any moment the harpoons or the knots she’d tied could come loose.             Once more she struck at the rip, tearing it wider.             “I can get through that,” she thought aloud.             The dragon had other ideas. Yanking its head to the side sent her flying with all the slack in the rope. The first harpoon crunched from its place between the smaller scales of the dragon’s ear.             The jerking of her against the second harpoon ripped the glowing sword from Danielle’s hand. The green glow spun through the air and away.             “NO!”             When the next opportunity came, she ran blindly to where she hoped the hole was. Hands slid along the rough skin in darkness.

Try to the left, little knight , said a voice in her head.             Sliding her hands left with the haste of mortal peril she found the rip and pushed through. The ear tipped up.             She hung from the rip, half in, half out.             The dragon turned again.             An agony reminiscent of her whipping sparked up her leg as the loose harpoon broke through her thigh.             Through the rip, she screamed.             “Die you bastard. Just fucking DIE!” She fumbled with the knots of her harness. Each one had been carefully tied not to be undone. Fumbling fingers burnt against the rope.             Slammed against the tympanic membrane from the inside, she felt the rope pulling her out, the momentum of the harpoon ripping her away.

So close, little knight. Don’t give up now .             She hung on the end of the rope in the perfect darkness of the dragon’s inner ear. Knowing the harpoon hook was flying towards her she kicked away from the rip. The barbed metal dart caught on the slack in the rope. Danielle held it to her as the dragon turned again.             Flesh inside the ear was soft compared to outside. Stabbing the harpoon into the skin, she kicked the hoop with her good leg. Anchored to the new position she began untying herself from the harness once more.             Desperate hands found unknown strength. Knots yielded.             Weightless for a moment, she grabbed the ring of the harpoon. Sweaty fingers slipped on the metal. Gasps of desperation escaped her lungs.             A crash yanked her until she felt a bone give under the shock. Hot agony flooded up her arm. There was no movement. No flight. The last knot gave. Danielle cried to herself in the darkness.             “I should have stayed in the tower.”

Never give up, little knight . The herald’s voice was the slightest whisper in her mind as though he was committing a sin behind his master’s back.             “It’s not flying anymore.”

It can’t balance. It can’t fly .             Danielle pulled on the harpoon that had been her anchor. Blood poured from a deep gash in her side. She ripped her only weapon from its grip. Flapping sounds beyond the dragon’s tympanic membrane caught her ear.

A feast has fallen from the sky. Scavengers have come to try their luck .             Defending itself from an onslaught all around, the dragon twisted and turned. Danielle had to crawl on all fours with the harpoon held in her right hand. Roaring shook her insides.             “Why am I still trying, this is impossible,” she sobbed.

No. Keep going .             “I can’t.”

I can’t believe we’re arguing over this, finish it .             Crawling in the dark on ever softer flesh, she stabbed at it here, there, and everywhere. Blood flowed.             Other fluids soaked her as she crawled through the endless insides of the dragon’s skull. She stabbed at every surface she found until it flowed. Finding a wall of soft flesh through a hole in the skull, she went wild. The dragon lost its mind, little by little.

Just a little more .             Danielle swung the harpoon until the dragon stopped moving completely.

Done .

Now we wait .

The body cannot live without the mind .             Giving in to agony, Danielle knelt in blood and cried.             “I’m going to see you again, Lupita. Just wait.”             The green light preceded her sword as it appeared in the red mess before her.             Eyes on the green light. She waited.             “It’s dead,” Obag said. “Time to go back to your world, little knight.”


It was a perfect mid-summer day. The kind of day where the songbirds start chirping early and the fireflies dance late into the night. Davis loved everything about summer - the longer days, the hot weather, wearing shorts, and baseball—especially baseball. In his youth, he had excelled at the sport enough to get a few college scholarship offers but opted to stay behind to be with his high school sweetheart. In the fall after graduation, huddled in a white room, doctors would explain they did all they could for her. Even with the best cyber augmentation available, the cancer cells grew too fast. Summer days like this still remind him of her. Davis lifted two blue, five-gallon buckets filled with worn baseballs into the trunk of his car. A couple of balls bounced out, rolling to the ground. Reaching down and tossing them back into the bucket, he noticed another broken lace on his old dusty ball glove. He picked up the glove examing it closely. He'd had this glove since high school. This glove was the same one he was wearing when he pitched his team to the championship game and the same glove he was wearing when making the last out on a diving catch in left field that local townspeople still talk about. The glove was now showing its age. He'd have to look into fixing that later as right now, he was headed up to the ballfield to practice with his youngest son, 12-year-old Rece. Rece tolerated baseball. He liked being on a team and goofing around with his teammates, but he wasn't the athlete his Dad was. With his shaggy blonde hair constantly in his eyes, Rece preferred skateboarding and reading stories about Greek mythology. But he liked spending time with his Dad and the fun they had together. They usually went for ice cream after every game. "We should get you that new mitt," Davis said, tossing the ball carefully back to Rece. "You can keep using my old ones if you want, but wouldn't you like one of your very own?" Rece didn't respond. He started at his feet, picturing them on the placement of his skateboard. He thought about the skating video he watched earlier, how effortlessly the skaters performed their tricks. They floated through the air like some freestyle skateboard angels. He liked to imagine the skateboards were gifts from the gods, like Apollo receiving the golden chariot from his father, Zeus. "Rece. Rece! Get the ball. You gotta pay attention, man." Rece snapped to focus, saw his Dad pointing behind him, turned, and walked to get the ball. "Hustle, man, c'mon," a slight annoyance growing in Davis' voice. Normally very patient with Rece, today Davis let his irritation be known. Perhaps he was thinking about work or all the house projects that needed attention. "The sun was in my eyes. I felt like a cyclops." The thought of a cyclops standing in the outfield made Rece smile. Picking up the ball, looking towards Davis, the distance between them seemed impossibly long. He wished he could ride Pegasus over to his Dad to deliver the ball. "Ok, c'mon, let's see a good hard throw. You can do it." Davis held his mitt up as a target, trying to keep his voice positive. Reaching back as far as he could, Rece closed his eyes and gave it everything he had. He let out a grunt as his arm shot forward like a trebuchet. It felt good—strong— like Zeus unleashing a lightning bolt. "Rece dammit, cmon. Throw it TO me", snapped Davis, opening and closing his mitt a few times. "TO me." Rece opened his eyes to see his Dad walking slowly away to retrieve the ball, shaking his head and muttering something Rece could not make out. Finding the ball's final resting place, Rece impressed himself at how far he threw it even though it sailed over his Dad's head. Rece celebrated by doing a kickflip on his invisible skateboard. "Rece! Hey, look up! Rece!" His Dad's voice sounded different, more urgent than he ever remembered hearing before. Rece looked up in time to see a dark dot flash in front of the sun for the briefest of moments; the mitt at his side didn't move. Instant darkness. A soft figure grew closer in the reflection of the black mirror. "Rece, you know you shouldn't be watching that. The Dr. says replaying that isn't healthy." A nurse walked up and started touching the dark screen. "If you keep doing that, we'll have to limit your access to your neural ROM memory transmitters. Or yet, we'll have to wipe your memory clean. We don't want to have to do that—we know there are good memories buried in there you like to replay. Did you take your meds today?" The nurse continued to tap on the black screen. Rece sat motionless on a stiff gray couch, his reflection in the large black screen peering back at him. He sat slumped, expressionless. It's difficult to conceive that inside this frail body once lived a great athlete, moving with grace and power. "Why won't this thing work," the nurse pleaded, still taping on the black screen. "These new computational window models are so finicky." A tannish-brown object peeked out from the blanket wrapped around Davis. Davis held the thing close in the black reflection. The leathery smell of the object took Davis back to high school, back to more peaceful times. The object—a new baseball glove—still had its price tags. Running down the outside of the pinky of the glove were large black handwritten letters. They neatly spelled out R E C E. "Ah, there we go. Finally, oh look, a baseball game, your favorite. Well, you enjoy the game Davis, and I'll be back to check on you in a little while. In the meantime, no more self-memory hijacking." Davis sat motionlessly. He held the object in the lap tightly as the game announcer said, "What a beautiful summer day for baseball. The weather is hot, and the sun is shining." ________


Albert stared at his feet, dangling in the air and hitting the wall with his heels. His friend, Oscar, stood next to him, arms outstretched to balance himself while he walked the same wall Albert was sitting on. “My dad said there’s no such thing,” Albert said, watching ants crawl up the vertical concrete wall. “That it only exists in fairy tales.” “Yeah,” agreed Oscar, “my dad’s the same. He doesn’t believe in it either. But my mom tells me it’s all around us if we only pay enough attention to it.” “Do you think so too?” “Nah, that’d be way too easy. If you ask me, it’s gotta be very specific.” Albert pondered his friend’s words. A five-year-old, pondering about life, on top of a wall. “I think you’re right. If it were everywhere, then everyone would know how to use it and the world wouldn’t be so dull. And I don’t think it’s possible not to notice it. I mean, who’d be so blind?” Oscar laughed. “Yeah. You’d have to be pretty blind to miss it!” Albert smiled, then scratched his chin. The ants were getting closer to his feet. “But we haven’t seen it yet, either.” “That’s because it’s so rare,” said Oscar. When he reached the end of the wall he turned and began walking back towards Albert. Albert nodded. His friend was right. It’s rare, super rare , that’s all. They’re not blind. “Wanna go and search for it?” “Sure!” “Where should we try first?”

Oscar stopped on the wall and placed his hands on his hips, a thing he did when thinking intently. “How about Mr. Jacobs shack?” Albert felt chills run down his spine. “But we’re not allowed anywhere near there. He’d skin us alive if he caught us!” Oscar smiled. “That’s exactly why it’s worth taking a look! Adults never tell you not to do something unless there’s something they don’t want you to know!” Albert thought about it. His friend did make sense, after all. “Alright,” he said, determined not to be the one to chicken out. “Let’ do it.” *** “Albert Alabama Samson,” his mother proclaimed. Albert cringed. Who would want his middle name to represent a whole state? “I cannot believe what you and your friend did! I am very disappointed with you mister!” She seemed angry. Her forehead was all wrinkled up and eyes big and white. Very angry. “You’re in trouble, pal,” his dad whispered next to him. Albert smiled nervously. “Don’t encourage him, David! He broke in Mr. Jacobs’s garage! Like some criminal! I bet it’s that no good Collins’s boy he’s hanging up with!” Well, it was Oscar’s idea, to be fair… Albert sought refuge with his dad, who simply smiled at the whole situation. Of course, he wasn’t chased after by Mr. Jacobs himself, so he didn’t experience the old man’s wrath. ‘ I’ll skin ya alive, ya hear? ’ Albert could still hear the man screaming as he ran after them. “No, there has to be a consequence for this! Albert, you are grounded! A week without TV!” “But mom…” “No buts!” He giggled. He made her say ‘butts’. And the no TV wasn’t even that bad since he rarely watched it anyway.

After the punishment was delivered, his mom stormed out on the balcony to smoke. Albert and his dad exchanged looks of relief. “You got it good, pal,” his dad said and bumped Albert’s shoulder. “If I’d be as mad as her, I’d tell you to stop hanging with that kid, Oscar. Good thing I’m not, huh?” Albert nodded. Dad’s punishments were usually more severe. He seemed to know with spooky precision what Albert valued most. Unlike mom, who chose the first option that came to her mind. “Well, best not let her fume alone,” his dad said and searched his pockets for cigarettes. “Wish me luck, pal. If I don’t come back, you’re the man of the house.” He winked and went out on the balcony to smoke with his wife. Albert watched them through the glass door. After ten or so minutes they both came back, laughing. His dad was telling a story to mom and she laughed. They both smelled awful but seemed happy. Even mom, who was so upset just a few minutes ago. Albert could never understand how something so small and so smelly as a pack of cigarettes, had the power to make such a difference. And at that moment, a lightbulb turned on in his mind. It was so obvious! How could he not see it before? *** “Are you sure, though? 100% percent?” Oscar’s face was skeptical, but his eyes betrayed he wanted to believe him. “Well I’m not 100 sure, but it seems like the real deal to me! Your dad smokes too, right?” “Yep.” “Have you ever observed him do it?” Oscar thought. “Not on purpose, no.” “Well, my mom was very angry with me, when she learned we broke into Mr. Jacobs garage. She grounded me, that's why I haven’t come out in a week. But after she smoked, she wasn’t angry anymore! She was laughing !” “I find that hard to believe,” Oscar said, arms crossed. “Think about it,” said Albert. “In ten minutes, it changed my mom’s mood from one extreme to the other. Grown-ups keep them for themselves, they don’t smoke near us because they say it’s bad for kids . But I think they’re hiding something. I think that’s it, Oscar! It’s gotta be!” “Alright,” his friend said, working through the logic, growing more convinced. “See if you manage to get some and then we can try it out! See if it works!” “Good idea!” “Just be careful,” Oscar said. “My older brother, Jason? He’s fifteen. Mom found him hiding a pack in his room, under the socks in the drawer and it wasn’t pretty. Grownups seem very touchy about that stuff.” He paused. “Then it must be real, I guess.” *** It was late in the afternoon and Albert’s mom had been called on duty. There was an emergency at the hospital and they needed her attention, even though she just came home from a twelve-hour shift.

Albert felt sorry for her, she really seemed tired. But when he saw that she forgot her pack of cigarettes on the balcony table, leaving in a hurry after a quick smoke, he knew this was his chance. Mom kissed him on the forehead and rushed out of the house. Dad was taking a shower, he too returned from work not long ago. Albert waited until he heard the car drive off and then listened for the sound of running water in the bathroom. When he heard both, he stepped out on the balcony. That awful smell immediately hit his nostrils, causing him to cringe. The ashtray was filled with orange remnants of previous paper sticks. And next to the tray, there lay a box. It was white, with golden trim and serious-looking letters, also written in gold, spelling a word he couldn’t quite read. Mal… Malbor… Marlbr... He pretended he was observing the view from the balcony. Looking left and right, and back towards the kitchen, he made sure no one was watching him. The box lay right there. A simple-looking, a bit crumpled and tattered on the edges, sitting there, waiting. What secrets did it hold? Albert felt his palms begin to sweat. Before he could chicken himself out, he grabbed the box and dashed inside. His heart was racing, but nothing supernatural happened. Dad was still in the shower, mom did not come back all of a sudden, to see him do it. Albert smiled. The excitement was too great to wait for tomorrow. He ran outside and to his friend’s house. *** “Wow, you have it?” Albert nodded vigorously. “They’re my moms!” Oscar winced. “Not so loud!” He looked over his shoulder, inside the house. “Wait here. It’s dinner time. I’ll be out in a sec.” Albert nodded, but couldn’t hold still. He paced up and down the porch of his friend’s house, waiting for him to finish eating. He figured that Oscar would have a hard time eating anything if he was at least half as excited as Albert was. Then, after what seemed like so much time, Oscar finally came out. “Let’s go someplace safe,” he said and they walked to the abandoned construction site, their usual playground and meeting place. It was far enough and you had to duck under a fence to get to it, so they were pretty sure their parents wouldn’t follow them there. “So,” Oscar said, tension in his words, “do you know how it works?” “Yes,” nodded Albert, equally nervous. “You place it in your mouth, the orange bit first, and light the other ends with a lighter. Then all you do is breathe in and blow out smoke. I watched mom and dad do it plenty.” Oscar nodded. “You go first.” Albert’s hands suddenly felt numb like frozen chicken. His heart was pounding and he felt so nervous. What if they find out? What if it won’t work? What if that smell stays with him forever? But there was no turning back now, his friend was counting on him. And Albert was counting on himself too. He opened the box. There were a dozen paper sticks inside and a lighter tucked neatly where the other ones were missing. Albert took one out and placed it in his mouth, biting down the orange tip. Just doing this, he already felt like a grown-up. Then he took the lighter and tried to light the cigarette. But he was too nervous to do it, his hand kept shaking. “Let’s try it another way,” said Oscar. He took the lighter and pressed the flint, producing a flame, while Albert held the cigarette over the flame with both hands. The paper stick took fire and a grey trail of smoke rose from the tip. With it, that awful smell. “Okay,” Albert said and took a deep breath. “Here goes magic.” He placed the orange end in his mouth again, eyes fixed on the other end of the cigarette, which burned brightly like a match. He didn’t feel anything different immediately and it made him panic. The flame was burning up the cigarette fast and it was getting closer to his lips. Albert thought of imitating his parents and took a deep breath. His lungs filled with smoke, his nostrils filled with the smell, his eyes watered. He spat the cigarette out, coughing like he was drowning. His throat burned and it tasted like he ate a handful of ash.

Oscar’s eyes went wide and he stomped the cigarette as soon as it hit the ground. “Are you okay? Albert?” Albert kept coughing, reeling over. He felt sick. His insides wanted to jump out. He spat some ick. “Albert? Should I get you some water?” Albert shook his head and took more deep breaths. Slowly, his coughing receded enough for him to speak. Oscar stared at him, full of anticipation. “Well? Is it magic?” Albert shook his head again. “No,” he said, face and eyes red. “It’s just awful .” Oscar’s face slackened. “But your mom… The way it changed her mood...” “I don’t know,” Albert said. “Maybe it only works on grown-ups… I don’t know.” “So cigarettes are not it. They’re not magic.” “No,” Albert said, spitting, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. “No, they sure aren’t.” For a long time, they just stood there, pondering, listening to Albert cough from time to time. They wallowed in their disappointment as the sun began to set. Knowing that their parents would soon start to call for them, they turned and headed back home. As they walked, Oscar tapped his friend on the back. “Well, we’ll just have to keep looking, that’s all. Magic is out there somewhere. I know it is.” Albert nodded. “You’re right.” He looked at his friend. “But next time, you’re going first.”


Entry 1: Oh boy! Am I grateful! Words can’t convey how grateful I am. Who would believe the over-flowing, Olympic sized pool of…? ‘Gratitude’ doesn’t even describe it. This is the first entry of my required ‘Gratitude Journal.’ I’m already thrilled to express how utterly grateful I am for so many things in my godforsaken life. Let me count the ways… For instance, I’m grateful I no longer have my family to worry about. They were such a drag. Always nosing into my business, where they didn’t belong. I’m alone. I feel so liberated, I could sing! Now I see how this could be a great project. At first, keeping this journal looked like busy work. You know, writing a bunch of Pollyanna BS to meet the requirements of this probation I got hooked into. What a waste. That judge! A hundred meetings in a hundred days? Who has time for that? I’ve gotta life, man. Guess I’ll have to fit it into my busy schedule. I’m grateful to him for this opportunity. After all, he gave me a choice and I thought this might be a novelty instead of the tried and true routine of jail. Steep price for a measly three squares. You know, if you can’t do the time… See, Miles? I get it. Entry 2: Miles, my group leader, told me I won’t get anything from the practice if I don’t take it seriously. Yes, Miles, I know you read this. And I’m talking about you. Isn’t gratitude partly about telling the truth? I’m grateful that I can recognize it and speak to it. Yeah. Grateful. That’s what I am. I insist that I’m serious. Miles thought I wasn’t listening. Talk to the snorers if you want to make that point. He said, “You didn’t lose your family.” I nodded and said, “Not in a literal sense. No.” He gave me a weird look, so, I added, “No. But it would be a blessing if I did.  They’re such a drag.” “Well, you’re supposed to be expressing your true gratitude, Jonah. Look into yourself for the truth. That’s how it works.” I asked him, “If I’m supposed to make up who I’m grateful to, why can’t I make up what I’m grateful for?” He gave me a hard look and said, “You don’t get it. Do the program.” I know you read this, Miles. Isn’t that what I said? Tell me it’s not. Just so you know. I get it. You think you get it but I get it better than you. I’m grateful for that. Keep reading. About my missing family, I celebrate my lack of responsibilities. Once burdened with no time to myself, I now am shunned by all who knew me. Disowned by friends and family. I’m neither welcome in their houses nor acknowledged as an acquaintance. Strangers cross the street to avoid crossing my path. Mothers scold their children, telling them not to stare. I’m become a target of ridicule. A nonentity. Like a shadow, cast by no one and by nothing. Alone. And I’m free. So, Miles, you’ll be happy to know this journal will be filled with gratitude with a capital ‘tude. It will be gratitudinal. It will drip with so much appreciation that you’ll have to read it with goggles and gloves on. You’ll be grateful the pages don’t stick together with the excess. Just wait. Read on. You might learn something. I’d be grateful for that. Entry #3: Here you go. I was driving the other day and got pulled over by a cop. He said I was speeding. I didn’t feel it. Maybe I was. Not for me to say. Guy with a gun makes the rules. So, he gave me a ticket. I thanked him. Politely. He didn’t expect that. Made my day to mix it up a bit. Challenged his preconceptions, don’t you know? I got a kick out of showing my gratitude for his wasting my time and picking my pocket. I didn’t say all that, but he knew. It’s his job. And he checked off all the boxes. I know he heard me because the look he gave me. Bet he never heard that before. Carry on, officer Stoat. Have an extra serving. On me. I’m grateful. Day 4: Miles wanted to help. What a guy. He gave me a list of things needing gratitude. Thought I was unclear on the concept, or something. I may tag a few of these as I go. If for no other reason but to let Miles know I read the damn thing. Thanks, Miles. Grateful for all the support. Things needing gratitude, for instance… ·        The ho and donor who gave me life – speaking of mistakes, we’ll have to discuss my alleged gratitude when I find you. That said, I get that I should rejoice about it. Being alive lets me appreciate pain. When I’m dead, the pain will stop but so will any pleasure. Don’t understand much but am grateful to know that. Animals die unaware. Dust to dust. Why I don’t like people touching me with their dusty fingers. ‘Salt of the earth’ should be ‘dust of the earth.’ That’s what everything turns to. No one puts dirt on their fries. Makes sense to be grateful for both gains and losses. Tell me which is which? ·        Artists creating beauty for others – someday I’ll join the NBA and be one of them. At the top. There’s more. But I don’t want to go crazy spending all the gratitude in one spot. #5- A couple items from Miles’ list of things I’m supposed to be thankful for… ·        Language – a bottomless source of misunderstanding and shame… People talk too much. Say too little. ·        Reading – have to try it someday. Before I dropped out, Mr. Dickhead, the high school detention monitor, gave me a book to read by some French dude. Called ‘The Little Putz,’ I think. Am grateful for the chance to catch up on my sleep. #6 Another:

·        Favorite quote – “Get out!” Words to live by. Always heard it. Punch line of my life. Always makes me laugh. So many memories come with those words hurled at me. ·        Hot showers – Can’t argue with that. ·        My favorite place to recharge – under the 3 rd Street Bridge. Good times there. Always! ·        Sex – yeah! 7 Another… ·        Changing my life with a change in attitude – get back to you on that, Miles. All this discussion about change sounds like the same ol’ same ol’. What’s the point? What’s in it for me? Still awaiting an answer. Don’t get it. If I don’t watch out for numero uno, who will? I’m sure a pamphlet on a bus bench has answers for everything. But as I said a few entries back, I’m not a stiff. Too busy to read. Thankful I’m not wise, else I’d be accountable for my actions. That may be partly why I’m trapped doing this journal and other boring stuff. How am I doing, Miles? -8--- More… ·        Observing and learning from other’s mistakes – big on that. Some fish have too much cash. Happy to hold the net. Always grateful for the ability to get more money. Cha-ching!

·        Friends I can count on - Shiv owes me a $100. Be grateful if he paid me. Something happened the other day. I’d just jacked some cash when this woman, she looked homeless, came up to panhandle. Seen her around. Feeling flush, I pulled out a twenty. She swiped it and gushed, “You’re beyond wonderful.” Her flashing eyes and the way she said it, reminded me of Shelby, a girl I knew years ago. Like yesterday. I said, “Hey!” She ran away, giggling to her friends, to riff about her ‘find.’ I was too shocked to say more. Shelby said that exact thing the same way, back then. Our running gag. Always wondered about her. What happened? Never knew. Used to be close. Last time we were together, Shelby said, ‘You’re beyond wonderful.’ About some little thing. She drew the ‘beyond’ out, like it was sailing off into the distance. I joked, ‘Beyond? Like, too far?’ ‘Yeah, need to know when to stop. All that wonderful got left behind you, in your dust.’ I asked, ‘Is it too late? Like out of reach?’ She said ‘Look back and squint. Hard to see if the light isn’t right.’ Still playing I turned and leaned forward. ‘Blinking neon?’ ‘Yeah, the exit sign. ‘Wonderful, next right.’’ ‘Has a rest area.’ ‘And a wonderful parking lot.’ I never forgot any of that and laughing together. Last time I saw her. Never said good-bye. Alone ever since. What happened? What split us? Was it me? Fixable after all this time? Handing this one a twenty, the way she said it, it had to be her. There with friends, drooling over a $20 bill. My Shelby. Grateful to know she’s okay. Should’ve said something. Nine In our group session, Miles covered the difference between ‘excitement’ and ‘happiness.’ He said excitement has more in common with the agitation gained with a shot of adrenalin. While happiness or joy lives in peace. He said excitement is the other side of the coin from fear. Same coin. I’d never heard such before. I’ve spent so much time wanting the next thrill, skipping the next roller coaster ride seems wasteful. Who leaves tickets unspent? What else can you do? Realize my peace is with Shelby. -10- Miles, I’m still thinking about Shelby. Got enough to feed us both. Going to find her. Hope we’ll cross paths. Who knows? Might be wonderful. I’d be thankful for that. Don’t worry. I’ll let you know where it leads. Know you’ll think I’m not doing the program. But that’s not it. I found my gratitude and am claiming it. Committed to changing my life. If I can’t find Shelby, I’ll be back. Right? The judge will get it. Is there no latitude for gratitude? Does ‘doing the program’ mean giving up on the dream once it’s found? The point’s to find my gratitude. Or is it to fill some mundane meetings requirement while my gratitude languishes like a beached whale? I know you get it, Miles. Thanks! Peace out, brother.


 "Baba, I want to say something." Said Arij hesitantly as her father was a serious man sitting at the head of the table.  " Please have your meal quietly." Her mother interrupted hurriedly. "Pass me that salad." She added with a stern look and hold the plate from Arij.

 "Is there something important to say?" Asked her father while having a bite of cucumber.

"Nothing special. She wants to visit her friend's home. And I think it's not appropriate to visit there frequently." Answered her mother, avoiding the eye contact.  "Yes, your mother's right." Her father nodded. Arij looked at her mother in astonishment, who was already staring at her. "Ammi!" Uttered Arij.

"We will discuss it later on." Her mother ended the topic. "Chew your food properly, Ali." Said her mother to her younger brother who devoured the full spoon of rice.

Sadness clouded Arij's features. She took a sip of water. She lost her appetite but had to stay here til the dinner is over.

"Clear away all the dishes." She heard her mother's voice. She lifted her head, looked around, everyone had taken their meal. She put the dishes in the sink.

"We are not your enemies, Arij. We want you to have a peaceful life." Said her mother politely as she put the curry in an airtight jar and placed it in the refrigerator.

"I also want to give you a comfortable life." Arij replied. "What do you mean? Are we living a miserable life?" Arij's response irked her mother. Arij took a deep breathe. "But that's not enough. we should struggle for more."

"Behave yourself Arij." Her mother turned red. "You should be thankful that you are provided with shelter and have meal three times a day. What else do you want?" Her mother got irritated with her stubbornness. She wanted her daughter as an obedient girl who always try to make others happy.

"I'm grateful for all this but life isn't about household chores, eat and sleep. I want to chase my dreams." Arij shared her views as she washed the last bowl and put it in the dish rack.

"Oh, that dreams of you! Harness your rebellious thoughts, it could create troubles in our lives." Her mother yelled at her but then immediately realized that someone could hear their conversation.  "I want to be settled in my life, want to help Baba, want to help my siblings to have higher education." Arij responded and moved towards the table. "What example are you setting for your siblings? Your rebellious steps would damage their personalities as well." Her mother expressed her fears, she turned no stone unturned to make Arij step back from her decision.

"To work in an office isn't a rebellious act." Argued Arij.

"It is. Our relatives consider it obnoxious. No girl in your family ever did a job in any institute." Her mother warned, who seemed much worried about the society and its norms. "If you want to do so, do it after marriage with the consent of your husband." She suggested. "Yeah, Aunt yasmin said these words to her daughter who is now captivated in her house. Her only wish was to study further but now she is serving her husband's family." Arij replied harshly.

"I am also a housewife. What do you think am I not happy with this all?" Asked her mother and then added "Don't make life difficult for us all. Be happy in what you have." She advised and then pointed at the shelf. "Clean it, and then go to your bed." She ordered as she left the kitchen.

"I am not that kinda girl who gives up." Arij murmured. She took a napkin and cleaned the shelf. She washed the napkin as she knew mother will yell at her if she finds this napkin untidy. Before leaving, she glanced at the kitchen to make sure everything was at its proper place. Instead of her bedroom, she laid down on the sofa at the corner of the living room. She had to manage somehow for that interview. She picked up the phone, dialled her friend's number. It's ringing.

"Yes, What's up?" A cheerful voice came from the other side. "Please will you rearrange the interview timings?" Asked Arij reluctantly.

"Are you serious, Arij? You must be there on time." Her friend shocked.

"I tried to talk to Baba but mother interrupted. She thinks he will get angry and this would be not good for us all." Arij explained her situation. "hmm, so you've to first convince your mother." Her friend suggested. " This seems a bit difficult." Arij answered in a brittle voice. "Don't lose hope. Keep trying, your parents will support you one day. This isn't your last chance. You'll get many opportunities in future." Her friend tried to pull her together. "Yeah, but I want to avail this chance." She halted. "ok mother's coming, talk to you later." She turned the phone down and put her shoes off.

"You are still here. Go to your room." Said her mother in a low voice. "I am not feeling sleepy." Arij grimaced. Her mother sat next to her and hold her hand. "We educated you for your own good. You have done graduation, that's enough, now focus on household activities. Sooner or later you have to get married and look after your home." Arij rolled her eyes. " but Ammi, there is a lot more than to just get married. I have my priorities." Her mother took a deep breathe and said, "Do you think you will get an amazing job as there are a lot outside more qualified than you." "I'm trying to take first step. Please help me. I need your support." Her eyes filled with tears, she desperately want her family's favour. "Ok, we will talk to your father tomorrow morning." Her mother couldn't see her crying. She hugged her and this made Arij feel better. Meanwhile her father came out of the room. "What's going on?" He smiled and sat on the couch. "You must sleep now, you have to go for the interview tomorrow." Arij's eyes opened wide.

"Be ready on time or else you'll miss the bus." Her father added and there was an amiable ambience with laughter and cheers.


Alan Smith lived with his parents in a small village by the Dark Woods. His parents always left early after breakfast for work and came back late evening. Every time before they left, his Mum would always warn him the same thing.          ‘Remember, Alan, bread and jam for your lunch is in the cupboard. You can play at the yard in front of the house, or play with Peter. But don’t you ever go near the Dark Woods, understood?’          And when he asked why. His Mum would simply reply sternly.          ‘’Cuz in there were so many vicious beasts that could kill you, and also the witches that would harm you. I don’t want that to happen to you. Now, promise me that you won’t go there.’          Alan had to comply, for his Mum wouldn’t go until he did so.          Boy! It was so boring home alone. Going to Peter’s was no difference; Peter stayed with his Grandma, who dozed off all the time, during the day. Besides, Peter was such a boring cowardly kid, but he was the only kid around here he could hang out with.          Every day, they would just play Peter’s old toys that his parents made for him, it got boring soon enough. Yet, when he told Peter to climb an old tree in his front yard. Peter simply shook his head and said.          ‘My parents never let me do it. They said I could fall over and break my bones.’          ‘Then I will climb alone. You just sit there and watch, then.’          ‘You can’t. What if you fall over? You might really get hurt.’          ‘You silly. I don’t fall off that easily.’          ‘Don’t call me silly!’ Peter’s tears oozed from his eyes.          ‘Yes, you are!’          ‘Am not!’          ‘You are. You are a silly cowardly kid!’          ‘AM NOT!’          And Peter bursted out crying, waking up his Grandma from her slumber. She scolded Alan for bullying her grandson and told him to go home straight away.          What an annoying, sissy kid. Sure enough, he stopped going to Peter’s after that day. Better staying at home, than hanging out with someone who would stop you every time you thought of something fun to do. But there was nothing fun in his house to do either.          How could he forget! The Dark Woods. He hadn’t stepped a foot in there before. His heart started to pump with excitement. His parents always came home late evening; he just had to come back before then. Alan was so proud of his clever idea.          Alan slowly stepped into the Woods. Even the first step already felt like an adventure, but before he could venture further, he heard a cry from the house that destroyed all the fun that instant.          ‘Alan! Alan! You naughty boy, where are you?!’          Oh, god! Mum was back already? Why was she home in the middle of the day? She never did so in a really long time. Alan hurriedly went back to the house, but he sneaked to the back door, hoping he could trick her that he had been in the house all along.          That didn’t work out.          His Mum stood in front of him. He felt that she seemed to tower over him and her eyes were as though she would rip him apart that instant.          ‘Where have you been?’ said his Mum sternly.          ‘I…er…why did you come home so early, Mum. I thought you were with Dad in town.’          Alan tried to change the subject, though his hope seemed bleak. Yet, surprisingly his Mum seemed distracted when he asked that question. She evaded his eyes as she tried to answer hesitantly.          ‘I… I forgot something at home, so I came to fetch it. But look what if I hadn’t come!’ She raised her voice again. ‘You would just disobey me and run into the Dark Woods, wouldn’t you?’          ‘I… I was just looking around.’ Wait! His Mum didn’t see him. How could she know he went into the Woods? ‘I didn’t go there, I swear.’          ‘Don’t lie to me, Alan’, sighed his Mum. ‘Maybe it’s a mistake on my part, too, for leaving you alone. From this day on, I’ll stay home with you while Dad goes to work. I’m sure he can manage fine without me.’          Alan tried to protest that it was unnecessary but his Mum wasn’t prevailed. After that day on, she kept an eye on him days and nights, as though she had been paranoid he would run off into the Woods when she lost sight of him. Though it was nice that his Mum cooked lunch for him, but it got annoying really fast that she never left his side. He had to know what was really in the Dark Woods that his parents really needed to keep him from.          One day, he got a brilliant idea. He lied to his Mum that Peter’s Grandma was sick.          ‘Oh, dear’, exclaimed his Mum. ‘I should go and visit her immediately!’          ‘There’s no need, Mum, you just pack the herbal soup that you used to make for me when I’m sick. I’ll carry it to her for you.’          His Mum glared suspiciously.          ‘Are you sure this isn’t your plan to trick me and go into the Woods?’          ‘Mum, how could you say that? How could I lie about someone getting sick?’ Alan protested, trying to fake hurt voice. ‘I just want to ease your burden. I saw you’ve been working hard all day. You should rest.’          It worked. His Mum loosened up and said in a gentler voice.          ‘Sorry, Alan. Alright, I will do as you suggest. But promise you will go straight to Peter’s, give his Grandma my herbal soup and condolence, and come back straight away. No dawdling.’          Alan eagerly promised. After he received a basket packed with soup from his Mum, he scooted off towards Peter’s, until his Mum was out of sight. He put the basket under the tree and sneaked to the back of his house towards the Dark Woods.          The Dark Woods seemed inviting but at the same time, he could sense something eerie and uncomfortable from inside. But he would never know until he went in, and there was no turning back. So off he went inside the Woods.          The Dark Woods was literally dark. The trees were so high and close together that their branches and leaves blocked the sky, hardly letting any sunlight through. So, it felt like the night all the time. Alan, though a naughty boy, believed his Mum’s words that theere might be vicious beasts in the Woods, so he looked around, so he could run away if he found any around the corner. But after hours, or so he believed, of walking, he didn’t find any beasts as his Mum had claimed. Not even the chirping of the birds or any sight of small squirrels or rabbits. This place was dead silent as though there were no living creatures there. That made these woods even scarier and eerier. The longer he walked, the more he wanted to turn back and face his Mum, rather than moving forward. But Alan was now aware he was completely lost. And whether he turned back or moved forward, it made no difference.          Along the way, he almost ran into some sharp metal on the ground. But he pulled his foot back in time.          ‘A bear trap!’ Alan’s blood ran cold. ‘Why would anyone set a bear trap if there’s no bear. Or is there?’          Alan found out that there wasn’t only a trap, but plenty of them scattering around the woods. He had to be extra cautious not to step on any one of them. He was on guard if any bear would turn up. But no bear ever turned up, and Alan started to wonder who and why would that person set up so many bear traps if there was no bear.          He finally arrived at an open glade. In front of him stood a little cottage with a small brook separating the cottage from where he stood. The cottage was adorable, but why would anyone build a cottage in the Dark Woods. Something didn’t seem right. But Alan was exhausted and thirsty. He wished someone in there could kindly give him something to drink.          Crossing a small bridge over a small brook, Alan finally stood in front of the door. He knocked twice and asked if anyone was inside.          No answer, but the door opened itself.          Alan slowly went inside, but soon after that, the door slammed shut, locking him inside. Alan tried to yank the door open, but it was no use. Then he heard muffled cry at the back, so he followed the sound towards it. The room was hazy, so he couldn’t see clearly.          ‘Hello. Who’s that?’          When he drew nearer, he found two figures cowering at the corner of the room. Both of their hands tied to their backs; mouths gagged with old rags. Alan drew nearer to see if they were alright, but he was shocked when he found out who they were.’          ‘Mum! Dad! Why are you here?’          With no further delay, he hurriedly untied both his parents and ungagged his parents.          ‘Alan! What are you doing here?!’ His dad cried nervously, he looked much frailer than the Dad he saw this morning. ‘Run away from here!’          ‘Yes, dear! Go through that window if you can. Don’t worry about us.’ Him Mum trembled, she looked so skinny. What happened to her while he was in the Woods.          ‘Mum! Dad! What happened! I just saw both of you this morning. And both of you weren’t as skinny as now!’          His Mum tried to answer nervously.          ‘That…wasn’t us, dear.’          ‘What d’you mean?’          Alan blood ran cold.          ‘A month ago. We were going into the town through the Dark Woods, for we thought it might be a shortcut’, explained his real Dad. ‘But our carriage ran into a bear trap. The witches set the trap, the they brought us here…’          ‘Let’s run away together then.’          Alan tried to pull his parents up, but his Mum gasped in fear, looking past his shoulders.          ‘They’ve come.’          Alan quickly turned. He saw his other parents carrying sharp axes. Both of them stared and smiled at him voraciously. But something was wrong about them. Their skin greenish white, their teeth elogated and sharp like fangs, and their eyes yellowish. Alan tried to catch his breath. His other Mum smiled at him and spoke in an eerie whisper.          ‘Well, I told you not to go into the Dark Woods, didn’t I?’


It was in the final room of the final tower of the final kingdom that I was to lay eyes upon her once again. It had been months, but felt like years, day after day of sluggish and gruesome war. With the power gifted to me, a commoner of low stature, I had slaughtered villages, laid waste to cities and their armies, and forced every king and queen to bend knee before rending them to their rightful place beneath me.

They would kiss my hands, beg, plead, offer their bodies and minds to me- entire armies of concubines and vast riches- but yet none offered reprieve for my people.

The agony would not go unpunished.

The first king that I had

conquered, King Hermias, waited for me now before the door. He raised a blood soaked skeletal hand to a salute as I approached, hopping over armored bodies and still squirting heads as I did. The corroded, scratched, and beaten golden armor that he once wore proudly fit loosely on now decaying skin.

He opened his mouth to say something, dead teeth clattering to the floor as the nub of his tongue wagged wildy.

I held up my hand, “Understood, Hermy. Is this the last holdout?” I gestured towards the door.

He put his hand down, flesh dripping from it in flakes, and nodded confirmation.

“Good. Good .” I ran my hand along the ornate wooden door. It was etched with images of knights and godly women battling creatures of the night. It was a heroic tale of love and triumph. I laughed mockingly, “Can you believe this shit? They think they can win?! Even now?”

I reached for the golden door handle, a searing pain blasting my hand back as I touched the cool metal. I pulled it to my chest, uttering words of healing, clearing the burns instantly, “A holy ward? Not unusual. I suppose I’d be disappointed if they hadn’t tried.” I waved my hand dismissively, not needing a verbal chant to dispel such a low level spell. The door glowed purple, a thin ethereum of magic bursting like glass.

Dusting my hands, I addressed the hall, talking to myself and the bodies beneath me, “Suppose I should take her seriously. Arise, creatures, and do my bidding!”

The knights, some headless, some without arms or legs, began to shudder and rise to crawling, standing, or rolling positions. They had fought valiantly in life, killing many of my undead horde, and I hoped for them to serve me well in death. The commander of the knights, known as Rhianaceus, took his place beside Hermy. I cupped his chin and stared into the pits of his eyes, a long gash had decimated his face, revealing pink clumps of brain matter still squirming from nervous shock.

“I want you to lead the charge, Rhianaceus. Kill all who oppose me, but leave her alive.”

The creature nodded, slowly and with great effort.

I patted his shoulder, “Good boy.” Turning, I counted twenty new thralls in fighting condition and between fifteen and thirty operating on my magic alone. Far down the hall, the clattering of bone signified reinforcements were imminent.

A loud crash shook me from my victorious stupor- something behind the door had fallen.

I felt an involuntary smile, “No point in suspense, only results.” Taking a few steps back from the door, I instructed Rhianaceus, “Open the door and kill.”

He grunted, or at least croaked, something similar. Pale, broken hands clasped cold metal, pulling the handle with supernatural strength and shattering the locking mechanism. The oaken door squealed as my thralls rushed in and halted. Beyond, as I observed over the shoulders of the undead, was a lone woman praying at an altar. She was clothed in white robes, clinging to unholy curves, kneeling on a stone step bathed in sunlight.

She was alone.

“Stand down and leave us.” I ordered, my minions shambled out, “Guard the corridor.” I instructed, my eyes not leaving her while I listened to the cacophony of clattering and moans as they took sentry.

“Hmm. Privacy.” I mumbled to myself, turning and closing the doors. The lock was shattered, but at least unwanted eyes and ears weren’t privy to my conversation.

I marched to the altar, bending knee and clasping my hands together

in prayer beside the priestess.

“Lord, I wish for strength to do as I must and courage to brave even the darkest corners of this world.” I glanced sideways, mid-prayer, to watch the priestess. Her lips moved silently, fervently, “And I thank you for the gift of power over life and death. Let me use it wisely and according to your will. Amen.”

She sighed, “You done, Nkosi?”

I smiled solemnly, “I am. Are you?”

“Not quite.” She continued her prayer, silently.

I waited for quite some time, growing bored as my legs began to shake and fall asleep. I sat on the step, watching her pray.

“You know, I liked you more when we were little.” Her lips, soft and red, stopped moving, “And poor~”

“Is that so?”

I nodded, “Yes. It is. You were so much more- reasonable - back then.”

She smiled, “And you weren’t quite so vicious as a child.”

“Pfft.” I chuckled, “We were both kids.”

Silence settled, she twiddled her thumbs.

“Did your mother die? Is that what made you do this?”

I set my frown in stone, “Justice. Justice is what made me do this.”

“Justice doesn’t take the lives of many.”

“Oh fuck off!” I shouted, emotion bubbling up like a river. I took a deep breath, “Sorry. I shouldn’t yell, but your church killed many in the name of justice long before I did. You just happen to be on the receiving end this time.”

“You never answered my question.”

“I don’t think I need to. You know the answer.”

“I do. Was she killed?”

“Yes. Same as father, by children of the church.”

She frowned, I could see her closed eyes twitching, “I’m so sorry Nkosi. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Neither did they.”

I started pacing around the room. It was a huge, circular chamber with a skylight of brilliant yellow glass above. The sunlight cascaded over her like a waterfall, splashing out across the floor in soft hues of color. There were paintings lining the wall, an easel with a half finished painting of two children stood against the far side. I approached it, observing the strikes and swaths of expertly applied paint.

“Did you paint this?”

Suddenly, she was beside me, eyes still closed in prayer, “Yes. Yes I did. Do you recognize the children in the picture? Maybe the stream they play beside?”

I stared closer, realization sparking, “I do. It’s us. By that little stream cutting through Farebrook where we lived.” My heart softened, painfully, “Yes- I remember. This was right in front of the shack where I lived, down from the monastery.”

“It is. And I’d come visit you each day I could, often sneaking away from the Priests, remember Junyerd? The old man? Oh how he’d yell when he found out!”

I laughed, “Oh yeah! He’d chase me out of the monastery kitchen with a broom for stealing bread!”

She chuckled, a sound like broken glass and music, “Yeah! But I’d always sneak you and your mom a few loaves-”

“Y-yeah.” She would. A full basket of food whenever she could. She’d leave them on the front steps of our shack, never taking credit when my mother asked, always claiming it was the gods’ will to provide for us.

“I wonder what happened to old Junyerd. He wasn’t my favorite Priest- but he did raise me.”

“I-I killed the bastard. When he burned my mother at the stake for witchcraft. He was the first of my thralls.” I remembered the face of her old master the day I murdered him. He never expected me. Never saw it coming until the knife was already plunged deep into his chest. It was the day after I died, resurrecting with new powers. I set his zombified corpse against the rest of the monastery, tearing the nuns and monks to pieces with the very same knife that I had used on him.

She frowned, “I know what you did, Nkosi. I’ve seen it through my visions.”

“Then you know he earned his fate.”

“I-I cannot argue, but the magic that your mother- that you wield- it is not sanctified. It should not be practiced.”

I furrowed my brow, my chest filling with rocks, “Does it please you to think of her cries as she burned? She resurrected a fucking kitten , Eleanor, a fucking kitten ! So they burned her? Would it make you happy if they had burned me as well?” I sneered, half spitting the words like poison.

Eleanor took a long time to answer, standing there next to my huffing chest, “I-If I had known what you would do-”

“You would have what?!” I cut her off, “You would have killed me like my mother? Burned me?”

I reached for her, but she ducked away.

“Nkosi….I’m so sorry for what you’ve become-”

“But you’re not sorry for what the church did to me?”

“-and what you’ve become is what we vanquished in all our bravest fantasies-”

“You offer no apology for it? They killed me, Eleanor! They killed us !”

“-I admit you do not deserve what befell you-”

“They burned her in front of me! Throwing me into a pit in the wilderness to die!”

“-but the world does not deserve what you befell it-”

“And when I did finally die, do you know what I saw?”

“-so many innocents, dead, by your hands-”

“Power. Unrelenting. Unstoppable power over life and death.”

“-by the hands that I held until the Priests took me away-”

“And I claimed that power.”

“-I wish that I had never let go. Perhaps then something would be different-”

“I used that power.”

“-Perhaps things would have been different with you, with your mom, with us -”

“I took the world by storm. Killing and using each and every foul creature that dared take the breath of life from our creator!”

“-perhaps I would have kept my eyes, hiding my visions and prophecies for only us to use-”

“They kneel before me, even now, my loyal property!”

“-I know what I need to do.” Tears were streaming down her face now, crystal blue and shimmering in the dancing sunlight. Clouds were gathering, casting swaying shadows across the drawing room, the chapel.

“As do I, Eleanor .”

“But I do not know if I have the strength to do it-”

I took a few steps away from her, pulling air to me, “But I d0~”

She whirled towards me, knocking the easel and painting to the ground with a mighty crash, and flames rose in circles across the floor. I jumped above a wall of fire, pushing wind beneath me even as the inferno sucked the oxygen from the air. Landing, I spun and tossed a ball of black light into the skylight. Shards of glass rained down on us, plunging into our shoulders and arms as we ducked away, the cool winter air fought the heat.

“THERE WILL BE NO MIDNIGHT SOUL!” I howled. Creatures began climbing from the floor, bursting out as if from a grave. I knew the truth though, felt it as my energy drained, that the abominations of flesh and bone bubbling from below were not of this world, but from another plane of existence entirely.

One that I had already extinguished.

She danced beneath their blows, slamming their chests with holy fire while spinning with the elegance of a gypsy dancer between them. One spat a green glob of something at her- singeing and melting parts of her robes. She tore the tangled bits off, freeing her movement as she threw a bombardment of energy my way.

I ducked behind one of my abominations, it disintegrated as her magic undid the bonds holding it together.

“IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE THIS WAY, NKOSI!” She shouted over the groaning of my still rising army.

“IT DOES! IT ALREADY HAS!” I shouted back, draining the blood from a bulbous frog-like creature over the fire. As the blood coagulated onto the flames they turned blue, then purple, then extinguished altogether. It created a chain reaction, irreversible, crawling and smothering the fire, rushing towards its source, my dearest Eleanor, with the speed of a plague.

I watched as it touched her, tearing into her skin and arms, turning them to bloodied, shredded stumps as she screamed in agony.

Music- like broken glass and a mother’s cry - I thought.

She fell to a heap on the floor, my creatures swarming around her, dousing her in acids and poisons. Her cries died to a whimper.

“Enough!” I shouted, I felt my control of the beasts wavering, struggling to keep control, “Step back.” They did as I commanded, slowly, “Begone!” I waved my hand, feeling the steady drip of crimson from my nostrils. The energy used was energy wasted- never to return again.

The creatures, one by one, began the monotonous march out of the tower.

She lay there, broken, battered, a blue and red heap of cloth and once beautiful physique. I stooped down beside her, pulling her still rising chest, shuddering breaths, to me.

I muttered words of healing, just enough to keep her alive, not enough to renew her fight.

“Can you hear me, Eleanor?”

She opened her eyes, but there was nothing there, just empty sockets and pooling tears, “I can, Nkosi.”

I smiled, running my free hand through her hair and down her cheek, “I’m sorry things had to end this way. I truly am.”

She smiled weakly, “I-I know, Nkosi. I know.”

“If it's any consolation, I will not raise you as my thrall. You will rest atop the most peaceful mountains in the most beautiful meadows of wildflowers.”

She took a shuddering breath, “No.” She let out a long exhale, I could feel it was one of her last, “Bury me by the stream. I want to go there- one more time.”

I felt my chest well up with the impossibility of regret. I had done this before. I felt it. Died and returned with vengeful fire. She and I had fought in countless worlds, her winning sometimes, me others.  I always thought myself lucky when she was the one holding my corpse.

“Sure, Eleanor-” I cried through thick tears, melding and blending with the blood on my face, “Let’s go there now-”

She coughed, giggling so weakly, “Is the big, scary necromancer crying over me? I never thought that-I-” she took one last, deep, guttural, wet breath, “-I-lo-”

And she was gone.

I pressed my lips to hers.

“I love you too, Eleanor.” I ran my hands down her face, closing her empty eyes, “Until we meet again, my love.”

I collapsed beside her. The war for control waning and dying within me. I could hear the creatures, free from their master's control, howling in pain as they dissolved in the hall. My mother was gone. Every kingdom between me and the church had fallen. Mine. Eleanor has been killed by my hand. I turned my head, eyes locked to her beautiful face.

My eyelids, so heavy, fell.