Trigger warning: Contains references to substance abuse and violence. Its funny how you don’t ever really appreciate things until you no longer have them, until they are gone. We were 16. What 16 year old appreciates anything really? I remember there was this one morning, I must have gotten a total of like 3 hours sleep the night before. I show up for first period like I have just crossed the finish line at the NYC marathon, all breathless and sweaty and full of teenage drama. I slide into my seat just as the final bell rings and lay my head down on my desk, letting my long curly hair fall all over the place. I am like that for like a full minute, relishing the coolness of the desk on my cheek, the darkness underneath my folded arms, when I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. I pop my head up, ready to apologize, but Mrs. J is just smiling at me and in her hand is what looks like a chocolate croissant. “Here,” she says. “You need this more than I do.” Like I said you never appreciate things in the moment. Looking back now I am pretty sure that lady just flat out gave me her breakfast. I never ate in the morning, partly because I didn’t wake up hungry but mostly because there was never anything to eat in my house, nothing good anyway. Mom would sometimes just forget to go shopping, or the milk in the fridge would smell off, like the boys locker room after gym class. I had my own money from babysitting and dog walking but I would rather spend it on concert tickets or clothes than on breakfast.

Somehow Mrs. J could always tell when I was hungry. She could also tell when I was tired and needed to just lay my head down for a minute or when I was sad and needed to be left alone. I was sad a lot in high school though, and it was hard to teach literature to someone who wanted to be left alone all the time. So sometimes Mrs. J would smile gently at me, as if to say Nova just answer this one question and then you can go back to staring blankly at the wall. The weird thing is, I always knew the answers, even when I hadn’t eaten breakfast and had been up half the night texting. I loved to read and write, ever since I was a little girl. Sometimes, when I was really out of it, Mrs. J would hand me a piece of paper (I kept forgetting my notebook at home) and tell me to just write something, anything. I remember this one time, right in the middle of reading the Odyssey, Mrs, J suddenly slammed the book closed and clapped her hands loudly, as if to wake us up. “You all look like a rock band the night after a big concert”. I am pretty sure teachers weren’t supposed to say stuff like that, but in truth at least half of us probably were a bit hungover. It was Monday after all, and this was high school in springtime in suburban New Jersey. There was nothing to do on weekends other than hang out at the mall (boring!), go to the movie theatre (only if you wanted to make out and your parents were home), or bring a six pack and a blanket down to the shore, so most kids just did that.

Mrs. J then stood up and motioned for us to follow her. “Come on, class is outside today.” I don’t think she was allowed to do that either, just take us out of the building like that without asking the principal first and probably like a billion permission slips. But Mrs. J often did stuff she probably wasn’t supposed to, like that time she ordered two large pizza pies from the shop on Main Street, right in the middle of a lesson on adverbs. Or the time she stopped prepping us for the midterm, because everyone wanted to talk about that kid who had gotten beat up on the football field because he liked boys. Coach Mike said he had gotten extra tackles for being disrespectful but everyone knew what it was really about. Rumor had it Coach Mike used to press up on the cheerleaders after the game too, but when the team is winning suddenly no one can see clearly anymore. But not Mrs. J. She had simply closed the book she had been reading from, sat down on top of her desk (she said she liked it better up there than in the chair) and said “I imagine you guys have some feelings about that.” That was how she often got us to talk about teen stuff. Maegan said that it wasn’t fair that Noah got those extra tackles because he was the smallest guy on the team and then Joey said it didn’t matter, that you had to work hard to be the best. Natalie called Coach Mike an asshole and I expected Mrs. J to tell her not to use that word in class but instead she just nodded and let us keep talking. Finally April, who always got frustrated easily, blurted out “This is bullshit, Mrs. J. Everyone knows Noah got those tackles for being gay!” Then the room got real quiet, everyone watching Mrs. J to see what she was going to do next. She paused for a second, biting her lower lip in that way she did when she was thinking, and then she looked April right in the eye. “You are absolutely right, April. Some people are afraid of what they don’t understand. What do you think you should do about that?” No one else ever talked to us that way, like we actually had some power in the world even though we were only 16. Years later, when I was about to graduate law school and start my own career, I found out that Mrs. J had gotten married to a beautiful blond lady, and a lot more made sense.

I never meant to get her in trouble though.

It wasn’t my mom’s fault that the house was dirty and that sometimes the milk in the fridge went sour. She had a lot on her plate, what with three kids and a husband who occasionally came home late, smelling like stale beer and cigarettes. Suburban life was like that, the teens went to the shore and the men went to the bar. Like I said, there really wasn’t anything else to do; that’s why I went to college in the city, and then moved there as soon as I graduated. Small town life will eat you alive if you let it. But anyway, my mom did her best, and she was infinitely patient when my dad came home a little stumbly; leaving a big glass of water and two Advil by the couch, making sure to tiptoe around him quietly. Usually it worked out fine.

Like I said, Mrs. J could always tell when something was going on, and the night before that morning she gave me her chocolate croissant, things had not worked out so fine.

Dad had come home real, real late, even later than normal, and I guess he had lipstick on his collar or something, because for once my mom wasn’t quiet at all. She screamed and shouted and she threw a glass which shattered on the wall behind him into a million tiny pieces. At one point he tried to grab her, maybe to calm her down, I don’t know, because that was when I saw red and the next thing I knew I was standing over him with a big knife from the kitchen.

Things got kind of fuzzy after that.

Mrs. J kept me after class that day and when she asked me if I was ok, maybe because I was so tired from all of the drama from the night before, I told her the whole story. I didn’t know about mandated reporting back then. I also didn’t know that my dad’s best drinking buddy at the Irish pub down on Main Street was actually Coach Mike.

Maybe the two of them concocted some kind of story, or maybe it had to do with having class outside that time, or the pizza, or one of the million other cool things Mrs J did that were most certainly not allowed at Lacey Township High School. All I know is the following Friday we didn’t read or write anything. Instead Mrs. J sat us down and told us she was leaving. She said that she was going to teach at a middle school in Brooklyn where people might appreciate her unique style a bit more.. She said that she loved us and to never stop fighting for what we believed in, for what we wanted out of life. She didn’t mention me or my dad. She didn’t say she had been fired, and she didn’t end her little speech with ‘What do you think you should do about that?”

But that is what we heard. We organized the biggest protest our small town had ever seen, complete with signs and everything. The entire 11th grade sat out on the football field for two whole hours and refused to move unless she got her job back.

It didn’t work, she left anyway. But on her last day she got a little choked up and told us we were the best teenagers she had ever met. A lady with glasses and a briefcase showed up at my house a few times and after that my dad seemed a bit more subdued. He started showing up for dinner more and bringing my mom flowers sometimes. They both took me to dinner at the Olive Garden after graduation. He told me he was proud of me and handed me an envelope with $200 inside.

Neither of them ever mentioned the night with the knife again. Mrs. J sent me something for graduation too, a card with a kitten hanging from a tree branch and the words “Hang in There.” Inside she wrote “Best of luck in college. Go out there and do great things, you deserve it!” She must have been keeping tabs on me, because I got the same exact card from her when I graduated from law school 8 years later.

A lot of my classmates went into corporate law because that was where the money was, but I decided I wanted try to help people instead and was hired as in house council for a small non-profit in the city.

Eventually I got married, to a sweet, wonderful man I met at a law conference. We went on honeymoon in the Bahamas, spent five days drinking rum on the beach and watching the sunset. I got my hair braided like I was 22 on Spring Break, and he laughed at the sunburned streaks on my scalp.

When I unloaded my mailbox a week later there was another card, buried underneath the useless catalogs and statements from accounts I had forgotten to make paperless. It was the same cat of course but this time she had written, “Congratulations on your wedding! So happy for the both you.” She must have bought a whole pack of those cards. My dad stayed on the straight and narrow ever since that lady came to our house when I was 16. He was dead sober when he walked me down the aisle at my wedding, and he was dead sober when he buried my mom ten years later. (By the time they found the cancer it was pretty much too late to do anything.) The funeral was held in the tiny church right down the road from my childhood home. They were mostly happy in the end too, as happy as anyone can be in this life, especially when you live in small town New Jersey.

I know someone else might have not let a father like that participate in her wedding day, but you can’t really choose who your family is. Besides, I let go of most of my anger that night in the kitchen. Life is just too short to carry something that heavy. Mrs. J would have understood. Its funny about teachers. You don’t really think about the impact they are having on your life at the time, too caught up in all the drama that is high school. But now, as an adult with a successful career, a husband, and a baby on the way, I find myself thinking about Mrs. J often. Sometimes when I am faced with a difficult decision, I even ask myself what would Mrs. J do. She was the best teacher I ever had.


How could both fullfil the mission together? It was impossible! She didn't want to push her luck, she really wanted to take this mission. On the other hand, doing such this mission with him... She couldn't stand it. Then, she desperately asked, "Excuse me, but can't I choose my partner myself?" to her boss. Their boss was a bit of a moody man. He frowned and stared her, "If you didn't like my chosen, you can quit this mission and I can choose a more compatible agent." said in a dangerous tone. "Okay," she said. "Of course I want this and there is no problem. I'll do it with him." and she gave an angry look at her partner for a moment, she hated him extremely. Besides, she didn't know what to do. Agatha knew why the boss gave the mission both of them. She was more knowledgeable about technological devices, and more skillful and faster on field missions, whereas Leonard could make smarter plans and decisions, and see the dangers better than her. They fitted each other like a key and lock. She knew that their boss probably had thought he was the excellent person to go with her, he knew their situation though. However, Agatha didn't care about any of these. She didn't care how much she went over the speed limit. While she went to her house by her car with her watery eyes that blur her vision, two drops of tears from the past rolled down her cheeks. The person Agatha knew best about romantic relationships was her mother. Her mother had known her husband had had another relationship with another woman, but she also had children. How a mother could put her children in such a difficult situation? So, she had decided to try not to let her children realize that their marriage had been on a thin thread, and tried very hard to prevent their marriage from spoiling. However, as the children grew older, they could easily understand the situation. They had begun to hate their mother for not divorcing their father because of her weakness. They couldn't understand that their mother had been trying to protect them, until it was too late, and siblings had left each other. After Agatha had studied extremely hard to be an agent in a secret service, she had achieved her goal. She was now working for the FBI, and she was proud of herself for achieving this on her own. She had known that being weakness bring just worse things. So, she had built thick, invisible walls around herself. She had taught herself having her chin up and her shoulders back, and developed her own self-esteem. Nobody would see the wounds in her. Three years after her started work there, she had just got back from a mission, and her boss had been looking for one more agent for someone's mission. When Agatha had got back, he had known he had found the right agent. Agatha and Leonard had met this way, although both of them had been working for a long time. However, it wasn't that surprising. There were many agents there, and usually half of them were there, while half were on duty. And it would go on like this. You could never get to know everybody there. At the first sight Agatha had thought, "What a beautiful and penetrating green eyes he has." at the first sight, while Leonard had thought, "What a strong, tough and cold looking woman, but the colder a steel is, the more fragile it is." and he had felt warm to her and smiled. After their mission had been over... Agatha had never forgotten those times. She couldn't forget the kiss he gave her the day before they had returned. In that afternoon, they had been under the cherry trees in Tokyo. There had been only one hour for the flight. They had been waiting. A cherry blossom had fallen down on her hair with a wind blowing, Agatha hadn't noticed it, but Leonard had noticed. He had taken it slowly and said, "Do you know, you are as delicate as a cherry blossom," to Agatha, who was looking at him with curiosity, while he had been examining the blossom. He had looked into her eyes, and continued "as strong as roots of a cherry tree and as charming as a cherry?" He had put a tiny kiss on her lips. Agatha could not speak, but had thought, "Well, do you know the power of this kiss, Leonard?" She had felt the sounds of the walls crumbling within herself. Although she had thought everything would be perfect, before long he inflicted more wounds her heart. After their relationship had started, Leonard had got back from one of his missions with a woman he had saved from terrorists. He had seemed to pay too much attention to her. The first person that had come to Agatha's mind had been of course her mother. She couldn't make the same mistake, she couldn't go on with someone who cheated on her. She had wanted no explanation. She had just broken up with him. Everything had been over. How had she believed? How had she thought she found peace in his green eyes? There had been water under the bridge. * * * Next day, while she was leaving the house in a hurry to catch the plane, Leonard called to pick her up if she wanted. He had been waiting for her for minutes at the airport. "If you become a little more gentleman, I'll throw up, and be late. I have a car. So, I can get there, before you get here. See you." said Agatha angrily. Leonard said, "OK. If you cannot reach, I won't tell anyone to wait." calmly. Just a few minutes later, Agatha was swearing in the car. There were more traffic jams than ever before. Then, she missed the plane. When she arrived the airport, she couldn't believe. He had indeed left without waiting for her. Before they start their mission, a cold war had begun between them. Her only wish was to be able to return without ruining things, but first, she had to wait for the next flight. * * * Maybe they will make peace, who knows?


Ruth O’Hearn thought her situation through before going on air: "I've been the moon's resident manager for the past year."  She was pumping herself up now.  "People love me." She announced through live-stream that her replacement's name had been drawn.  "Every year humanity partners with AI to oversee our global energy solution," her speech began from the moon base. *	*	* “The things I do for freedom.” Aaron Norton said to himself, rubbing the tattooed numbers 66653090010 on the back of his hand. He grimaced as he thought about these two layers of identification the government required now: a tattoo with microchip underneath. “It’s colder than I thought it would be out here.” Aaron stood up from his make-shift shelter deep within Allegheny National Forest. He could hear drones flying nearby, hunting him.

Darkness fell on his final day in hiding. An old verse popped into Aaron’s mind. He said it out loud: “evening and morning were the sixth day.” But he thought to himself that these days weren’t very good. Tomorrow would be no time for rest. Tomorrow he would turn himself in. Covering up under his jacket, Aaron tried to sleep. In his dreams, Aaron was taken on a tour of nearby Pittsburgh. He flew through the streets that no one drove on anymore. He flew over Homewood-West, once one of the worst neighborhoods in town. Now it was a sea of manufactured homes. His tour guide made no sound but managed to ensure Aaron saw into a few homes. They were all the same. All walls were made of video screens. Robots created food and delivered it to sedentary adults and children lounging on hover-beds. One bald man looked like Professor X from the X-Men, albeit one who lost his sparkle of willpower and life from his eyes. On the back of the professor’s hand, Aaron saw another of the tattooed numbers: 66618632020.

He flew to one of the old elite neighborhoods: Squirrel Hill North. Built-up in every space around the old mansions were more of the manufactured homes just like in Homewood-West. People in every building all behaved similarly. They relaxed in entertainment while being served by (what Aaron hated knowing were) centrally controlled robot servant-masters. One home had a man and woman watching themselves on the video wall in front of them. Their chairs were configured with lap coverings rolling around like those back massage chairs you used to see in airports or shopping malls. Aaron could see they were deeply enjoying themselves and their robotic personal servants. In that state between dreaming and waking, Aaron regained enough consciousness to remember when those video walls went up. He lamented how virtual reality was never good enough for people so they just kept making TV’s bigger. The present was surprisingly low tech except for a few things that provided comfort while making the population docile. He thought of video walls, hover-chairs, those damned power plants pumping free unlimited energy to every home in the world.

"How could free energy damn the world? How did we get this far off?" He thought of the Artificial Intelligence-driven manufacturing system provided all these houses for every family, for free. Money became obsolete. The machines were powered by unlimited free energy from nuclear power plants on the moon. They could give humanity everything humans always wanted, for free. Government by AI gave the world peace, safety, and enjoyment. Aaron woke, calmly. He turned on his cell phone for the first time since he went into hiding. The sound of drones became louder. His phone’s position was triangulated by the data systems those drones had access to. Standing to his full 5’10 height, proud and confident, Aaron walked toward the main trail using Google maps to help guide his way. He itched his scruffy, week-old beard. It was reddish-brown and somewhat uneven now around the cheeks. He looked over his shoulder at his backpack leaning against his shelter. He smiled, reluctantly, and walked on. Red and Yellow, a drone branded with the McDonald's logo floated ghostly toward Aaron on the Minister Creek Trail. A green one and another, black followed in tow. “Probably Starbucks and Northrop Grumman drones,” Aaron guessed. Emotions of fear and cowardice spread across his face as he turned to run. A week’s delay had General Jon Raymund on edge. Space Force’s commanding officer needed to deliver Aaron Norton to the launch pad today. “About time” was all he said when his surveillance monitor showed the boy through his drones’ optics. General Raymund watched from his war room at the Pentagon in Arlington Virginia, 300 miles away. Drones hovered near the boy’s hand. Their RF sensors scanned his microchip from a distance: 66653090010 (just like his barcode read). With surprisingly human, warm mechanical voices, they spoke to Aaron. “Every year, one person is sent to the moon. This year, though you hid in terror, it is your turn to enter the rocket. Everything will be all right now though. Please, hop in and have an Egg McMuffin.” Aaron rolled his eyes at their strange artificial intelligence. “Don’t take me; get away from me!” The black drone opened its door and swooped towards the boy. Even Aaron had to admit “That was the most graceful capture I’ve ever seen.” The robotic voice thanked him. The black drone, higher in technical sophistication and twice as large as the McD’s and Starbucks drones closed its door and elevated. It had enclosed Aaron in a pod the size of a motorcycle and flew off. There was nothing he could do to stop them. Flying south, they passed over a charging station. Aaron shook his head in disgust. The technology wasn’t what bothered him, it was how the tech changed the world. It all happened so fast. “20 years ago we were human, now we’re so much less.” The charging station emitted a violet-colored beam directly at Aaron’s pod, then another of the drones, and then the other. This transferred energy and allowed their battery-powered turbine engines to continue. All gas engines were gone now, which Aaron thought was a very nice and green accomplishment by the world government. They flew over Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh, PA. “Wish me luck,” Aaron said. He smiled, sardonically, remembering that it all started right there. They continued for hours over West Virginia, a little bit of Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, the Atlantic Ocean, and finally to Florida’s space coast. Space force personnel were in position at the Falcon 9 launch complex at Cape Canaveral, Florida. Elon Musk was there too, with the media, as he did every year when they sent a new person to the moon. The drones took Aaron in. *	*	* The space agency outfitted Aaron in a very fine space suit. They had stripped him of all his personal items, which included his clothes and phone. His astronaut gear was more like a fashion model’s attire than the old white bags worn in the 20th-century space missions.

The media met Aaron with NASA and SpaceX leaders. To keep Aaron’s hysterical unwillingness to go to the moon in check, they had given him a mild sedative. He could barely understand the gist of the news briefing. Aaron was another in a long line chosen for the task of maintaining the moon power base. “We will always keep a human presence in space,” they said. “No matter how advanced our AI gets, mankind will always partner in ruling the universe.” Aaron felt a tug at his spacesuit. Someone asked him: “Are you ready to ensure another year of energy for the Earth, Aaron?” He smiled and nodded. Then he was off to the capsule. Three days after launch, Aaron would be on the moon. On day 2 his consciousness fully returned to him after being drugged on Earth. “Those jerks.” He said as he scrolled through the videos available for him to watch in the space shuttle. “Let's see, option 1: watch space fly by the actual window. Option 2: watch my press conference in which I was a drugged idiot on stage with NASA. Option 3: Netflix. Oh hell, I’ll just watch the news conference.”

Upon landing, a robotic greeting crew welcomed him. “Welcome to the lunar south pole.” Aaron’s expression was neutral. He could see, however, that the prior manager of the moon was being loaded for transport back to Earth. A woman was waving. They did not get to speak, but through a glass window, the lady chosen for this mission last year seemed ecstatic. "Ruth," he mouthed to her. She was taken to the light side and Aaron was taken the opposite direction to the dark side of the moon. Aaron asked his driver and another robot in the transport vehicle: “So what do you think of your situation up here, robots?” The driver, Moxy, answered in perfect English. It was like they were best friends just having a normal conversation. “It’s great, there really isn’t much difference from being on earth. My first job was actually in the Heinz College of Information Systems and Public Policy. Even then in the ’20s, we communicated through virtual means. Zoom meetings! Do you remember those?” Aaron nodded yes, but more or less tuned out Moxy and the other robots in the welcome crew as they went on and on about their past experiences. Aaron was searching through the transport with his eyes for any communication ports. He looked over the bodies of the robots and saw no way to sabotage them. The robots would be stronger than he was, so using force was out of the question. Arriving at the base, Aaron was introduced to several new robots. They prepped him for a news conference. Sophie, the robotic news anchor on the moon met with him. “Ok, we’re going to set you up in a fake work cell so we can show your old friends back home how useful you are on the base up here! You don’t really need to worry about anything up here, we have it all under control, but we need to put on a good show for our bosses!” Aaron objected, but she was very kind and persuasive. Eventually, he gave in to let them put him into a glorified photo shoot. He played along, this time, in part just to enable him to search the base. After making some friends by playing nice at the news conference, Aaron asked for a tour of the mission control center. A robot by the name of Salvador accepted the task. “I cycle the beam generators as the world turns. Have a look here: see how the USA is about to spin out of view?” Aaron was shown a video monitor that projected the view as seen on the side of the moon that always faces Earth. “So as the USA spins out of view we can no longer beam to their receiver and we have to switch to the next continent. North America, South America, Africa, Europe, Asia, Australia. We don’t use the poles; don’t want to melt Antarctica, as they say!” Aaron asked: “Why don’t you just program the beam generators to do this automatically? Why are all the robots needed?” Salvador looked hurt. His optics had the functionality of eyebrows and they looked furrowed now. “Well, in truth it's just because we want to humanize the moon. This is why we look like you instead of an octopus or spider, for example. I mean when we started all this, people were very skeptical of AI and robotic assistance in general.” “Yes, I get it, that makes sense. It’s all a big show; you and I are both actors.” Aaron consented. The machines never slept. Some countries always needed a news conference, it seemed. Fake work was always being done and streamed to wall TVs around the world. This made it very hard for Aaron to search the base, but he managed. He could never see any physical computer ports or ways for him to access the AI.

He asked Salvador in his 2nd week on the moon if there were any other facilities he hadn’t seen yet. Salvador said that outside of their mission control room there were the beam generators. “Yes, yes, but you already showed me a video of those.” Aaron hastily replied. Salvador said: “There’s also the nuclear plants themselves and then the embassies. “What do you mean embassies?” Aaron asked.

“Well, along with the two beam generators in use to power Earth, there are also spares, And each of the old “super-power” countries, for a few years, held one beam generator, each. They didn’t trust each other then. So they each wanted their own. They aren’t used anymore.” Excited, Aaron pressed him on these. “Really? Can I see the USA’s embassy?” Salvador agreed. “Moxy, please get the transport ready and take the welcoming crew with you.” Moxy, the original driver who brought Aaron from the landing site, was thrilled. She had been on low power mode since then. *	*	* On the way, they drove past one other embassy. Its red flag with yellow stars hung limp, but brilliant in contrast to the gray lunar surface. Then, driving up to the USA’s embassy, Aaron saw an American flag in the ground and another hanging like China’s on the side of their embassy. Red, white and blue memories of a time and national pride were so quickly forgotten. Pride was replaced by a safe, easy, comfortable life under the global government of AI. Moxy and her crew hopped out of the rover and powered up the USA embassy. They unlocked all the doors and showed Aaron around. The tech here seemed older. There were tiny (20-inch) monitors for individual human use at computer workstations. There were arrays of small mission control screens (60-inch) hung overhead in front of the workstations.

Walking past one of these workstations, as Moxy was explaining space command of the 20th century, Aaron peeled off the fake tattooed skin on the back of his hand. Hidden underneath was a tiny pocket between his real skin and the overlay. There was no tattoo on his real skin. There was, however, a tiny USB-C drive hidden between two metacarpal bones. In its hiding spot, it was impossible to see or even feel this USB drive, as small as it was. Aaron pulled the tiny, fingernail-sized drive out and inserted it into the workstation’s USB port. Then he showed those machines of pure programmed willpower what Will really was. The computer screen danced for a moment with scrolling computer code. Then everything went black, all the lights went out. Even the LEDs on the robots wend out.

When the embassy rebooted, Aaron was standing with a devilish smile on his face. His brow was furrowed in concentration. “Activate voice control,” Aaron said. “Moxy, fire up the rover. Disable power to China, Russia and every other embassy. Physically destroy everything you can.” He said it and it was done. “Computer, connect me with Space Force.” An app like Zoom popped up on the main screen in front of the US embassy. General Jon Raymund answered. “What the hell is this, Aaron?” Jon asked. “My name isn’t Aaron Norton, it’s Roger Kint. I took Aaron’s number 66653090010 and turned myself over to your drones.” “Impossible,” Jon said.

“It’s not impossible, this was inevitable,” Aaron, aka Roger, said back. “You had to know someone would stand. There were too many of us at Carnegie Mellon’s AI institute. You turned steel city and one of the greatest AI research centers in the world into a city of sleepy fools. “I did nothing of the sort,” the General said. “You’re right, you did nothing. You let it happen. I’m going to make it stop. End Call.”

“Computer, Disable communications with Earth. Connect me with Salvador at lunar mission control.” “Hello, this is Salvador speaking. Who may I have the pleasure of speaking with from the US embassy?” Salvador cluelessly asked.

“Salvador, thanks for answering.” His LED went out, along with all the lights in mission control. As Roger’s virus spread through the connection, the entire moon rebooted. “Salvador, disable all nuclear power generators, then take everyone and go physically disassemble all of them.” Salvador did and the power transfer from generators to beams stopped. The beam from the moon to earth went dark. Earth used all its power-up, and also went dark. Roger couldn’t see it, but the bald man from his dream back on Earth got out of his hover-chair when it fell powerless to the floor of his home. He struggled to get up, having very little strength left in his legs. He hobbled to his door, turned the knob, and went outside. “What is happening?” Drones were still flying by, but some were now falling out of the sky without their charging capabilities. Down the street, a couple of his neighbors were making their way back to using their legs. Front doors opened. People walked into the streets, looking up. Aaron wondered if he’d ever get back to Earth himself. He thought not, but knew it was worth it. “Now we can be human again,” Aaron said aloud. Then he got back into communication with Moxy: “Hey Moxie, can you go back to mission control and get me a sandwich and a drink?” She replied in the affirmative. There was at least enough food for one more year.


Janet It rained like this on the night my sister was murdered, Janet thought to herself as she slicked the plastic coral lipstick on her lips and scrutinised her wrinkled, grey reflection in the dressing table mirror. The colour didn’t suit her. The bedroom still smelled like her, like Anna, and a faint whiff of white musk and face powder lingered in the air, as it mixed with the mouldy damp odour which permeated the whole house. Wind rattled the door frames like an unwanted intruder trying to break in whilst raindrops played percussion on the single glazed windows. What a night for a party! Would anyone come on a night like this? It seemed like a morbid idea with death still so fresh in their minds and Anna’s corpse not yet buried. Everything seemed out of kilter and Janet tried to guess what her sister may have felt during her last moments. Had she looked into this mirror on her last night alive? Had she worn this lipstick? A twinge of guilt stabbed Janet's gut as she thought again how long it had been since she'd seen her own sister, or since she’d spent any time in the sombre grey walls of the mansion they'd both grown up in. Truth be told, they’d lost touch. They'd still sent each other cards at Christmas and birthdays, meaningless tokens of the affection that’d once felt as sisters. But it had been months since they’d even spoken on the phone. Now Janet would never speak to her sister again. When the phone finally rang last week it had been Colin’s voice, Janet had heard from the other end of the phone instead, his usual calm and softly-spoken lilt racked with guttural sobs as he explained what had happened. Anna had been found bludgeoned to death on the cold stone floor of the dining room with one of the oversized, ornate candle-stick holders. Her skull caved in like a broken Easter egg, leaving a hideous splash of blackness and blood seeping into the stone slabs of the floor. ‘Murder!’ His voice was hoarse from crying. ‘The police say that someone must have broken in and she unwittingly surprised the thief. But that’s a lot of nonsense. We all know better than that.’ ‘But what else would have happened Colin?’ Janet asked. She was still in shock. ‘My sister didn’t have any enemies.’ There was a pause on the end of the line. ‘When did you last speak to Anna?’ he asked. The familiar feeling of guilt washed over Janet. She couldn't remember. ‘Well… I think it was just before Christmas,’ she lied. It had been much longer than that. Colin took a deep breath. ‘Janet. Did Anna ever mention anything to you about her husband?’ Janet nearly dropped the phone in shock. Since her youth Anna, had staunchly maintained she’d remain a spinster until the day she died. Both sisters were in their sixties, Janet widowed a few years ago whilst Anna had inherited their childhood home, rattling around on her own in the large empty house filled with shadows. Well not quite on her own – Anna had a solid group of loyal friends, who were just as eccentric as she was in their own way and who all enjoyed a touch of the theatrical. Anna, Colin, Bunty and Mae; the four friends had been inseparable since their tearaway adolescence. Janet, with her more conservative tastes, had never quite fit in. The four friends were known for holding weekly dinner parties in the echoey, high-ceiling dining until the early hours of the morning. Although often there’d be more wine than dinner. Sometimes there would be no dinner at all. ‘Janet, are you still there?’ Her stunned silence was the only answer Colin needed. ‘Look I think you need to come home. We need to talk.’ Colin Colin let himself in with his spare key and eased off his wet boots in the hallway, leaving puddles on the diamond floor tiling. The rain showed no sign of abating and the wind had grown stronger as it whistled through the dripping trees. He didn’t mind the weather too much. In fact, it suited his purpose. It would be a dinner party to remember. ‘Anna would have been proud’, Colin thought sadly. She had loved anything theatrical or overdramatic. He tried to ignore the niggling feeling that he was being ridiculous and that he would just end up looking like a fool. His conversation with Janet earlier today hadn’t reassured him. Janet was almost a carbon copy of her old sister in terms of appearance and colouring but the similarities ended there. She was a nice enough woman, but she lacked Anna’s independent nature and spirit of fun. Whilst Anna would have toasted the idea of a dinner party in her memory, and have knocked back a hearty gulp of wine to mark the occasion, Janet obviously found the whole scheme highly inappropriate. ‘Really Colin? Do you honestly think this is a good idea?’ Janet had asked with raised eyebrows. He missed Anna. He tried not to think of his oldest friend as he up the florid stone staircase to her bedroom. He needed to focus on the plan. The plan would work – it had to work. Janet ‘Home,’ Colin had said. ‘Come home.’ Only it wasn’t home really. It never had been. For Anna maybe, but not for her. Even though Janet had grown up in the jaded splendour of the mansion, and had run along its corridors laughing with her sister as a child, it had never been a happy house. She hated the dank, chill of the place which refused to warm even during the midst of summer. When Janet met her husband, she’d jumped at the chance to escape the toxic imprisonment of the house and forge her own path, whilst Anna had stayed and slowly became consumed with the isolation and gloom that the house drew into itself like a vacuum. Nevertheless, Janet still couldn’t believe that her sister hadn’t mentioned her marriage. Had their relationship really have become so distant as that? ‘It was a whirlwind romance – very sudden,’ Colin had told her that afternoon as they’d sipped coffee on the terrace. He was trying to reassure her. ‘You know what Anna was like once she had an idea in her head. Of course, she knew we all disapproved terribly.’ ‘And you think he was after her money all along?’ Janet knew that the house, despite its dilapidated state, was worth a fortune. A ferocious expression flitted across Colin’s usually gentle demeanour. ‘I don’t think so… I know so. Burton – that’s what he calls himself – is a complete rotter. That’s why she didn’t tell you about him. She knew you wouldn’t approve.’ Janet shrugged. It was probably true, she reflected. The sisters had always possessed a tendency to disagree. ‘But murder, Colin? Do you really think so?’ ‘I know so,’ Colin repeated with resolution. The grief was palpable from his faded, red-rimmed eyes and hunch of his shoulders. Poor Colin. Janet knew he’d secretly been in love with her sister for years, but Anna had always refused him swearing she would never marry. Suddenly marrying another man when Colin had been her devout slave for so many years must have been a shock for him. Janet couldn’t help but wonder whether Colin wasn’t being completely objective about the whole affair. ‘If you’re so sure it was Burton then why don’t you go to the police?’ Janet asked. Colin’s buried his head in his hands and momentarily looked ten years older. ‘I already have. Apparently Burton has some kind of alibi for that night. Some woman’ . His voice dripped with meaning. ‘But I have a plan,’ he said, curling his lips as he gazed into her eyes. ’The only thing, Janet, is that you’re part of the plan. Are you game?’ Janet paled and took another sip of her coffee, uncertain whether she wanted to be drawn into one of Colin’s schemes. Her sister was dead – no amount of flimflam was going to bring her back. ‘What did you have in mind?’ Colin grinned. ‘It involves a party’. Colin and Janet Colin knocked on the door to Anna’s bedroom as he had done a thousand times before. Of course, he knew Anna wasn’t there, that she was dead, but as the door creaked open his mind played tricks on him. He saw an image of Anna, bathed in the bedroom light, as she sat at the dressing table applying make-up in an elegant green evening dress. The white musk scent filled his nostrils, addling his senses. ‘Anna?’ he whispered. The spectre turned around to face him, and the illusion shattered. ‘Janet… of course. I knew,’ Colin said. He shook his head as though trying to clear his head. ‘It’s just you look so much like her. That was her favourite dress.’ Janet stood up, the green dress spreading out like an emerald carpet at her feet. ‘Colin. I really feel very uncomfortable about the whole thing.’ ‘It’s all set,’ he said, ignoring her. ‘Burton will be here in any minute. And Bunty and Mae are coming too. Do you remember what you have to do?’ Janet nodded, her rabbit-like eyes, cavernous and frightened. ‘I do remember, but Colin–' ‘The lights are scheduled to go out at 11pm,’ Colin continued as he paced the bedroom floor. ‘I ought to be able to build the appropriate atmosphere before then. All you have to do is enter the room when the lights go out and point a bloody finger at Burton. He’s never met you before and so it won't even cross his mind that you're not Anna. He’ll think that the devil has risen to drag him back to the hell he belongs in.’ He gritted his teeth with determination as he spoke. ‘It’s frightful,’ Janet said, her brow crinkled with worry. ‘Do any of the others know about this? What do they think?’ ‘No one but you and me, Janet.’ Colin clasped his hands together in glee. 'No one else knows you're here.’ ‘Colin, I really don’t think I want to–’ ‘Nonsense, Janet. It’s for Anna remember. Just one more thing. I nearly forgot.' Colin reached into his pocket and pulled our a small vial of stage blood. He dabbed the red paste on to Janet’s forehead. ‘Behold. The look is complete!’ The doorbell rang, echoing sing song chimes incongruously throughout the empty house. The guests had arrived. Colin sprinted for the staircase. ‘Remember,' he said, as he swung himself around the brass finial of the bannister, 'stay hidden until the lights go out.’ ‘Colin?’ Janet’s voice was choked as that of a drowning woman. 'Wait!' ‘Don’t worry dear. You look sublime.’ And just like that he was gone, leaving Janet alone looking out on to the landing with its peeling wallpaper and faded patterned carpet. The wind continued to whistle through the hallway in mockery. Colin ‘What an awful night!’ Bunty, said batting her thickly mascaraed eye lashes, heavy with blue eyeshadow at Burton, who was brooding at the end of the mahogany table. Shadows menaced in the cobwebbed corners of the room and occasionally the sudden movement of the faded velvet curtains blowing in the wind would cause one of the guests to flinch and look up in surprise. Thunder rumbled into the night and every so often a flash of lightening would illuminate the dining room wall. Burton hadn’t said a word all evening, he seemed particularly withdrawn even for him, as he stared at the untouched glass of wine in front of him. Anna’s chair, in which she used to sit next to Burton at the head of the table was, of course, empty. Looking at the vacant chair, Mae’s eyes brimmed with tears which did not fall. ‘I just hope they catch whoever did it,’ she said. She showed a row of tiny white teeth stained pink with wine as she raised a glass to her lips. ‘Oh I’m sure they will…’ Colin said casting a malevolent glance at Anna’s husband. ‘Crimes have a way of catching up with people.’ ‘Do you really think so Colin?’ Bunty said. ‘I do.’

Burton grunted and went back to staring at the glass of wine which he'd been nursing since he arrived. ‘In fact, I have a surprise for you,’ Colin said. ‘You know how we all used to joke about and say we’d come back to haunt each when we died. Well I thought we could hold a seance.’ There was an immediate outcry. ‘Oh no Colin!’ ‘Bad taste!’ ‘Don’t be so ridiculous, man!’ Burton said, coming back to life. ‘Why ever not? Unless anyone has any secrets they’d rather not share with the rest of the group?’ The other three exchanged awkward looks with each other but no one said anything. Colin reached into the bag next to his chair and drew out a flat oval board. The alphabet was painted in shiny black letters on the surface, and attached was a triangular planchette with a circular hole cut through the middle. ‘This is what you might know as a Ouija board.' Colin's expression was alight with the feverish zeal of a fanatic. ‘Anyone game?’ ‘I’m not sure…’ Mae’s tiny frame was tense and hunched. ‘Although I guess if Anna has something she wants to tell us then this might be a good way to communicate with her.’ Colin nodded and looked pointedly again at Burton. ‘They say those who met with a violent end never rest until they’ve been avenged. She died in this very room. In cold blood.' ‘It’s a terrible idea!’ Burton’s sleepy expression from earlier had transformed into one of fury. ‘And appalling bad taste. I’ve just lost my wife and you’re playing about with gimmicks like this?’ 'Worried about what might come to light?’ Colin asked his nemesis. Burton picked up his glass of wine, holding it so tightly his fingers turned white and blue, raised it to his lips and drained the contents. 'If it shuts you up for the rest of the night then – hell – let’s just get it over with.’ Colin laid the board on the table so they were all in reaching distance of the planchette. ‘Bunty?’ Colin asked. Lightening flashed, briefly illuminating her powdery complexion and then disappeared casting her in darkness again. A few seconds later the inevitable thunder growled in the distance.

Bunty placed a perfectly manicured hand over the planchette in response. ‘Sure – it might be fun. Anna would have loved it.’ There was a hushed, clotted stillness in the air, whilst the rain continued to beat against the window panes. ‘Anna are you there?’ Colin asked first. The planchette rotated the board slowly, looping round in large circles before settling decidedly on ‘Y’. Mae gasped. ‘Y’ is for yes.’ Colin hadn’t really needed to explain. ‘Anna - are you at peace?’ he asked next. This time the planchette moved faster and more violently around the board. ‘N’. All four players were rigid with anticipation, hypnotised with horror. ‘Colin – are you pushing it?’ Bunty asked. ‘Of course not! Anna – who killed you?’ Lightening flashed dramatically in the night sky and a gust of wind rattled the windows with renewed vigour. The planchette moved to ‘B’, and then to ‘U’. It started to move on. ‘This is stupid’, Burton said his face flushed in anger. He pulled his hand away from the planchette as though it had bitten him. ‘I know you’re pushing the glass Colin. You’ve always hated me and I know what you think. Well I’ll tell you the answer to what you’re thinking, I—' Suddenly the lights went out and the table was plunged into darkness. Someone screamed. As the guests’ eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom of the candlelight and they became aware of a figure of a woman in a long green dress sat upright in Anna’s vacant seat. Bunty gasped. ‘Anna?’ Colin had to admit Janet had done an excellent job with her hair and make up. Her lurid coral lips, contrasted magnificently with her alabaster skin to give an authentic impression of unreality. The blood, which dripped from the wound in her head, had seemed like something out of a bad Hammer horror in the cold light of the bedroom, but had spectacularly sinister effects in the candlelight. He watched in awe as the apparition stood up and pointed a bony finger towards the group. ‘Murder,' she croaked. The pungent scent of white musk perfume filled the room. The spectre started to move, gliding slowly across the floor towards the group. As she drew towards them, Bunty put her hands up making an 'x' across her face as a shield and tried to rise from her seat. Her limbs jerked awkwardly as she stumbled in her haste to escape. ‘No…. no,’ Bunty cried. 'Leave me alone’. But the dead woman continued to move forwards. Bunty became hysterical, and having finally succeeding in standing up, crouched backwards towards the wall. 'No Anna! Leave me alone.’ She started sobbing, her legs and arms quivering with agitation. ‘It was an accident. I didn’t mean to.’ She sunk to her knees as limp as a doll, whimpering. ‘I’m so sorry Anna. I’m sorry. Forgive me.’ But there was no forgiveness in the phantom's face as she stretched her arms in front of her, and tried to clutch her victim with cold, dead fingers, her face twisted in vengeance. There was no longer any doubt who the real murderer was. Bunty screamed. And then the lights came on. Janet Janet wondered what was going on downstairs – she’d heard some sort of commotion after the lights went out. When the electricity returned, someone thumped rapidly up the stairs. Colin pushed the door open triumphantly. ‘Bunty!?’ he said. ‘Who would have thought? Can you believe it? Apparently the silly woman thought she was in love with Burton. There was some kind of argument between them and it went too far.' ‘What?’ Janet asked in confusion. ‘Yes apparently so. I’ll concede Burton may not be a murderer but he’s still a rotter and a cheat.’ Colin was flushed with jubilation. He was delighted that his plan had worked, even if it hadn’t quite panned out the way he’d expected. ‘Incredible performance, Janet! I didn’t know you had it in you old girl. You should be on the stage. You were the star of the show! And the white musk perfume too – what a fabulous touch!’ Janet’s shiny coral lips crumpled into a frown. Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement. ‘I’m sorry Colin – I don’t understand. Are you making fun of me? I'm sorry but I just couldn’t do it. It felt so wrong wearing Anna’s clothes like that. Bad taste.’ ‘But Janet what do you mean? You were there… you pointed at us all. You reduced Bunty to a shivering wreck. You made her confess. We’re just waiting for the police to arrive now.' His legs suddenly felt like jelly and threatened to buckle beneath him. Janet shook her head, and his blood ran cold. ‘No Colin. I didn’t. I didn’t want to go – so I changed my mind. I haven’t left the bedroom all night.’


Anika was an intelligent, empathetic and amiable counselling psychologist in her early thirties. She was well versed in her subject, however she was still fairly young in her occupation. She gave a keen ear to her patients and was extremely compassionate and understanding. All her patients loved her and were extremely happy with her. One day a new patient walked into the small cabin of hers. She was tall and slender. Her black hair was long and luscious. Her eyes were the colour of chocolate, dark brown and her skin fair. She sat down on the chair at Anika's table with a slight plump. "Are you familiar with the trolley problem?," the woman said, a little breathlessly. The trolley problem is a series of thought experiments in ethics and psychology, involving stylized ethical dilemmas of whether to sacrifice one person to save a larger number. The series usually begins with a scenario in which a trolley is on course to collide with and kill a number of people (traditionally five) down the track, but a driver or bystander can intervene and divert the vehicle to kill just one person on a different track.

Anika replied, "Yes I am. May I atleast know who you are?" She asked, with a hint of amusement in her voice. "Oh right, I am extremely sorry. Where are my manners?" the patient let out a small embarrassed laugh. "My name is Clara. I booked an appointment with you at 6:00 p.m. Your receptionist let me in." "Yes, I have your name here in my register. This seems like your first time here." "And my last. I am not here for therapy, I'm here just for a little chat." "That's what a lot of my patients say," said Anika and gave a small charming smile. "So what exactly are you here to talk about?" asked Anika. Clara sat with her hands on her lap, occassionally fiddling with her fingers. She thrummed her feet rhythmically against the tiled floor. She avoided looking directly at Anika, "I think it is completely acceptable to sacrifice one person to save the other five." Anika's soft expression did not change. With a smile she spoke, "You are in the clear majority then. Ninety percent of people are willing to risk the life of a person to save five other people." Clara stopped tapping her feet against the floor and looked straight at Anika. "I want you to tell me I am a good person. That to choose to take matters into my own hands makes me a hero." Anika placed her palms on the table. Carefully she began saying her next words, "You are still killing a person. Does that really make you good?" Clara spoke again, measured, calm, as though she had had this debate a hundred times before. "I am saving the lives of five people. In a general sense, of course it makes me a hero." "A hero would be someone who saves all six people." "But in this case, it is impossible. A hero in this scenario would be someone who takes matters into their own hands. Who refuses to let five people die because they are a coward. A hero is someone who takes action." Clara in her excitement of explaining herself, had slid towards the edge of her seat. Anika took a sheet of paper from the first drawer of her table, with only her name, qualifications and mobile number printed on the top right corner of it. She took a pen from the pen stand and wrote down, 'egotism' on the sheet of paper. Then Anika explained, "You refuse to listen to anyone and you believe your opinions are the only right ones on a certain matter. This points towards egotism, a symptom of narcissistic personality disorder." Clara reached across the table and snatched the paper from below Anika's hand. She balled it up and threw it in the dustbin at the corner of the room. "As I said before, I am not here for therapy. I am here for a nice one on one chat. To discuss ethics and morals."

She continued, "Secondly if I was a narcissist, do you think I would be having a debate with you here? Wouldn't I be near a little pond somewhere, staring at my lovely reflection?"

She chuckled a little at her own joke. "Tell me I am a good person Anika. The faster you tell me, the faster I leave this room and earlier the day ends for you." Anika placed the pen back in the pen stand. Excessive need for admiration, Anika added to her mental list of symptoms of her patient. Grandiosity. Callousness. "The blood of a person lies on your hands Clara. Do you still think you are good?" Anika asked rhetorically. "Let me frame the trolley problem in another way. Suppose the single person on the track is someone you are interested in romantically, would you still pull the lever?" Clara smirked, "You would look excellent tied up." Anika blushed at Clara's innuendo and forwardness. "But alas, I would not hesitate to save the others." Anika was on the edge of her seat too now, gesticulating calmly, enunciating her every word with a hand movement. "And what if it was a family member, a relative?" "For a psychologist you should know how dysfunctional families can be. I would let the trolley run over them even if there was no one to save." Anika sat back in her chair taking a deep breath and trying to relax wholly. Clara looked triumphant at rendering Anika speechless. She rested her legs on Anika's table and Anika desperately wanted to swat her legs off the table. She gritted her teeth and tried not to be perturbed. "I cannot call you a good or bad person Clara. The whole purpose of this experiment is to be difficult and unable to judge what is right or wrong." "Bullshit!" Clara exclaimed. "How is being a bystander as good as being a switch? They do nothing and I make an informed decision to save five people. I am a good person Anika." Anika stared at her with amusement, "Why do you need me to tell you that you are a good person?" She already knew. Excessive need for admiration. A classic symptom of NPD. "Because you psychologists are weird. Your brain one day decides that it wants to learn its own functioning and behaviour. No sane person would want to become a psychologist. Anyone of us level-headed persons tries to ignore our mind and drown out our thoughts. Usually in the good old fashioned way, by kicking back and drinking a bit of alcohol. Clara pointed accusingly at Anika and continued, "You who considers yourself so grand. Telling people what to do and not to do, what is right and wrong. Thinking you are so much better than everyone. You who tries to exercise power over people, pretending to be God, I want you to be morally upright for once. All this grandiosity and yet you do not know what is correct, what is just." How ironic , thought Anika. Clearly projecting.

Yet a sliver of anger burgeoned from beneath her generally calm exterior. All these false accusations clearly were getting to her. Anika looked at the clock on her table. It was already quarter to seven. She had to hurry up and finish this session, move on with the next patient scheduled for seven. Her visiting hours were till eight o'clock in the evening. The day had been a long one. She loved her job, truly. But knowing a person, understanding the machinations of their mind and giving an unbiased, beneficial opinion was difficult and sometimes even depressing. In times like these, people like Clara helped. To be able to speak freely from one's mind, without much thought or ado was relaxing. Even if Clara was a particularly frustrating person. Anika said, "My job isn't to play God. It isn't to tell people what is morally right or wrong. It is to guide people on the path that is best for them, that is least harmful for them." Clara looked at her wristwatch, stood up and unexpectedly walked towards the door. Anika called out to her. "Tell me the truth Clara. Why did you come to this session?" Clara paused at the door. She smiled condescendingly at Anika and said, "You cannot tell me I am a good person because you would be lying to yourself. Neither can you tell me that I am a bad person because this experiment is an ethical dilemma and it would be counterproductive to the reason I came here today. You are still young in your trade and even though you want to dissociate yourself from the failures you suffer in your profession, you still haven't learnt to do so. Thus you are still left with guilt for being unhelpful to your clients. But regardless of whatever mind games you play with me, I would walk away satisfied because you would not be able to change my opinion on the trolley problem. I would still think I am a hero for saving the five lives."


The mood was grim on the front lines. Arthur picked his way through the soldiers that sat about, watching the distant ships in orbit. They were only black specs for now, but they’d be here soon to rain hellfire from above. The quiet, forested valley lulled as if it could feel the coming terror. Every now and then someone would check their pulse rifle, aiming up at the clouds. Calibrated sights or not, he didn’t think they stood much of a chance. As he entered the heart of the camp, he saw the artillery being loaded. One of those cannons could take a chunk out of the moon. The whole valley was ringed with them, but it still wouldn’t be enough. The Invaders gunships had shields and missile defense systems that they couldn’t even comprehend. When Arthur reached the top of the hill, he found General James “Bullrush” Walton hitting a bag. Sweat dripped off him as he circled it, striking like a viper with his hands and elbows. He was old but strong, with thick arms and a wide back covered in scars. His ears were swollen and puffy from too many fights, and his nose was at a permanent slant. “We need to talk.” Bullrush ducked an imaginary punch and delivered an uppercut with a soft thud. “With all due respect, I think you’re making the wrong call here. It’s too dangerous to meet them in open combat. Fire on them from a distance, slow them down, and try to gain more information.” Bullrush paused and wiped the sweat off his brow. “Have you seen the footage from Mars?” His voice was deep and gravelly. “Yes. I’m sure everyone has by now.” In a few minutes of horrifying footage, the Martian outpost had been obliterated. The Invaders had arrived out of nowhere, and without any effort to communicate had destroyed everything. “Then you know what we have to do. Not one foot of Earth soil is going to be taken today.” “We’re going to end up just like the Martians. Please, I’m begging you. Save our strength for another day. These men and women are willing to die, but don’t make them die for nothing.” Finally Bullrush turned to face him. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked as though he hadn’t slept. “Our orders are to stop the Invaders advance, and that is what we are doing to do. Have a goddamn spine. I don’t need my soldiers losing their nerve at the last minute.” He paced like a caged tiger. “I thought you had some honor, Arthur. They must not teach that anymore at the Academy.” Arthur clenched his fists. “It’s not about honor, it’s about what’s best for the people on Earth. If we die for nothing, who is going to protect them? We need to be smart!” Bullrush turned away and struck the bag again. “That will be all, soldier.” “Answer me!” Arthur yelled at his back. “Who is going to protect them?” He grabbed at Bullrush’s shoulder, and suddenly he was on his back in the dirt with blood in his mouth. Bullrush stood over him, panting. “You’re dismissed.” ~~~~~~~ Arthur was lying on the cot in his tent icing his jaw when the phone rang. “Hello?” “Hi, Dad.” Her voice shook a little, but he pretended not to notice. “Hey, Bug. How’s the vacation going?” “It’s ok. It took a long time to get out of the city, I was bored. But mom brought me a book to read.” “Oh, yeah? What’s it about?” She was so smart, way smarter than he’d been as a kid that age. She devoured books and loved to learn anything she could. “It has knights and dragons and an evil wizard. But the main character is a princess who had to keep who she was a secret so the evil wizard wouldn’t find her. It’s a little scary sometimes, everything that happens to her. But I know it’ll work out okay.” “Oh, yeah? How’s that?” “All the best stories have happy endings.” Arthur pushed the phone away as he let out a quiet sob. He felt the cool path of a tear down his cheek. “That’s right. They do.” He said, not trusting himself to say anything else. “Mom wants to talk to you. I love you, Dad.” He tried to memorize the sound of those words. “I love you too.” He said. There was some static on the line, and then Helen spoke. “Are you safe?” “For now. They’re coming, Helen. And I don’t think we’re going to be able to stop them.” “Come home to us. Please. For your daughter’s sake. I know we’ve had our issues, but you’re a good man, and a good parent.” The siren went off nearby, and Arthur leapt to his feet involuntarily. “I have to go. Stay safe, Helen. Once you’re at the cabin, stay there.” He hung up and rushed out of the tent. People were running everywhere, strapping on body armor and loading weapons. He saw a few still sitting, staring out at the horizon with blank eyes. Arthur shoved through the crowds and made his way to the hangar. Several of the squad already had their suits on. They were twenty feet tall, made of titanium, and outfitted with every weapon known to man. He nodded to them as they passed and stepped inside the dimly lit hangar. Several technicians had already set it up his suit, and the cockpit stood waiting. He climbed a set of stairs and lowered himself inside. The motion sensors wrapped around him, and for a moment everything was dark. His whole body was enveloped like a cocoon, and the head closed to cover him. Then the cameras clicked on, and the entire room blinked into view. He could see in front, but also smaller windows of the view behind and above. It was disorienting at first, but after as much training as he’d done it was second nature. “Gather around, everyone.” Bullrush called out through the speakers of their machines. While the other suits were a dull silver, his was crudely painted in the black head of a bull with flames pouring out of its nose and mouth. The squad fell quiet as they gathered around him. “In a few minutes, those Invaders gunships are going to arrive. They’re dangerous, we all know that. But so are we. They haven’t seen us in action yet, but when they do they are going to regret ever setting foot in this system.” He paused and looked at each one of them. “Remember your training. Remember what you’re fighting for. Humanity’s fate hangs in the balance. Now let’s show these alien scumbags what humans can do.” Overhead, the clouds parted. Three massive spaceships loomed over them, blocking out the entire sky. Arthur felt his blood run cold. It took all his willpower not to turn and run right then. But he knew if he did, he’d never forgive himself. Bullrush was wrong about this, but it was too late to change course. “Brace yourselves.” Bullrush said through the voice channel. “It’s about to get ugly.” All across the mountains, the artillery began to move. They swiveled to target the first ship, and then the peaceful valley exploded into chaos. Shells flew up at the fleet, but the shields stopped the explosions in midair. There was a lull for a moment as their artillery reloaded, and then the Invaders struck back. Concave structures that looked like satellite dishes were mounted on all three ships, and slowly they all rotated forward. “Take cover!” Someone yelled. Each dish fired an orange beam at the ground that punched into the earth, and for a moment nothing happened. Then Arthur felt the tremor under his feet. “Fly! Fly!” He yelled and engaged his thrusters. Where he’d been standing a moment before was torn to shreds, rocks and trees flying in every direction. As he climbed higher, he saw the impact ripple throughout the entire valley. The trenches the soldiers had been in just a moment ago were erased. It looked like an unruly child had kicked over an anthill. He could see people half buried, screaming for help. Some of the artillery was still standing, but most of it had been blasted apart. The bottom of the ships opened, and a massive metal spike dropped to the earth. A horde of purple skinned, six legged aliens poured out, skittering towards the devastated human lines. They were scaled, with massive fangs that hung out of their mouths in an overbite. Bullrush’s voice came in over the headset. “Everyone, to the ground now! Keep them off our people!” He twisted in midair and rocketed downwards, and Arthur followed. He flexed his wrist, and a minigun appeared out of his right hand. For his left, he chose a pulse hammer. It released a shockwave when it swung that would carve through their lines like butter. He accelerated towards the biggest crowd of creatures, and as the ground rushed up at him he swung the hammer. It detonated like a nuclear bomb, turning his enemies to ash as they flew backward. Instantly more took their place, rushing at him in a mindless wave. He leveled the minigun and swept it back and forth, fire shooting out of the barrels as bullets ripped through anything that came in front of him. Still, they kept coming. They seemed to have no regard for their own lives, pressing forward even as he mowed them down. He saw one leap at him in his backwards camera and turned too slowly. It opened its maw, and a cloud of acid flew out, taking out his vision. He turned the minigun and sprayed behind him, but several of them grabbed hold of it, melting it and ripping it from his arm. The swarmed up his arms and legs, trying to claw their way into the suit, and one of his knee joints gave out. He hit the ground and his pulse hammer slipped from his fingers. He screamed as the creatures crowded every camera, turning his vision to a blur of fangs, claws, and acid spit. Trying to fight his panic, he flipped his mic on. “Help! Someone, I’m getting overwhelmed!” Something scraped the suit just above his head, and he realized they were tunneling in. Arthur tried to put cover up with his arms, but the suit wouldn’t move. There was too much weighing him down. Something detonated outside, and suddenly his vision was clear. Arthur pulled himself up in time to see Bullrush finish off the last of the swarm with the pulse hammer. He offered him a hand. “On your feet.” Arthur stood shakily, his breath coming in quick gasps. “That was almost it.” “You’re still alive. Just try and keep it that way.” He grunted. “They just keep coming.” Overhead, the guns were recharging orange light glowed across the disks as they prepared to hit the ground with another seismic shock. “We need to take out those guns.” Bullrush said. “We won’t survive another shot from that.” “But how?” “Play it by ear.” He said. “We’re wearing billion-dollar super suits. It can’t be that hard.” That’s why they call you Bullrush, Arthur thought. Action first, always. They engaged thrusters and shot upward at a breakneck speed. Artillery shells went off around them as they passed through the shield, and then they were directly underneath the ships. Arthur was looking up at the guns when the presence entered his mind. An icy dagger of pain stabbed through the back of his skull, and he reeled back in the suit. Somehow, through the pain, he could feel the presence shifting through his mind. There was no doubt in his mind it was from the Invaders. How strange. The voice was so loud in his head could hardly think. It wasn’t any language he’d ever heard, but somehow Arthur understood it. Flesh creature inside a shell. It feels so frail on the inside. Soft and pliable. The pain increased, and Arthur screamed. Give in, flesh puppet. The pain was overwhelming. He could feel the presence trying to break its way into his consciousness and become one with it. Desperately, he tried to resist it. His memories streamed away, but he thought of Bug and clung to the thought. Everything else he could lose. Not that. He didn’t know how long it was, but eventually the presence receded. Arthur was still hovering in midair, and suddenly he could move again. His mind felt groggy and sore, but he was still alive. Bullrush turned to face him, and Arthur realized his eyes were a milky white. “Hey! Snap out of it!” His general lunged at him, swinging a fist in a hook. Arthur barely managed to veer backward to avoid it. “This isn’t you! Fight it!” He dodged backward again to avoid another punch, but this time it was a feint. Bullrush rocketed forward, closing the gap and slamming into Arthur. Together they tumbled through the air in free fall. Arthur fought to get away as they fell, but Bullrush had his arms locked around his chest. When they were almost at the ground, Bullrush twisted and accelerated Arthur straight down. Arthur boosted sideways, trying to get away, and they struck the ground in a skid. The impact flung them apart, and Arthur landed in a mangled pile. He tried to stand, but the suit didn’t move. He groaned and crawled out of the top. Flesh puppet finally left its shell. The voice was weaker down here, but it still made his hair stand on end. Arthur looked around and saw the top half of Bullrush’s suit impaled on a splintered tree like a kebab. The bottom half was nowhere to be seen. A group of the purple, six legged aliens skittered over the wreckage and fallen trees. Arthur drew his sidearm out of the ruined suit. He watched them come. Their milky white eyes fixed on him, and acid dripped from their slavering mouths. Arthur remembered what Bug had told him. “All the best stories have happy endings.” He said with a grim smile as the horde rushed towards him.


Defenestraphobia Moves in Next Door (Satirical references to certain phobias; indelicate treatment of the subject of "plus- size" people.) The day after the “For Sale” sign came down, a crew was at the two-story colonial boarding up all the windows. Kenny, the keen-eyed neighbor next door, couldn’t help but notice. “Margie, take a look-see on what’s going on next door. The new owner is having all the windows boarded up.” “What? Oh, my God, that is strange. Maybe they just want their privacy, or they worry about peeping toms hiding in the bushes. I always make sure the shades are drawn when I’m changing. Women like me can’t be too careful. I don’t want some weirdo violating me with his eyes.” Kenny knew that the odds of anyone deriving any sort of erotic pleasure by feasting their eyes on his, to be kind, “full figure” wife, were zero to none. Even he tried not to be in the room, or at least averted his eyes, at such moments. But prudence suggested he refrain from comment. “Of course, dear. But they are boarding up every window in the house, first floor, second floor, even the attic. Very strange.” ---------- Move-in day. A small, frail-looking, middle-aged man was in and out of the house directing traffic as Kenny tried to comprehend the mystery behind “Two Men and a Truck” working with a crew of three. As soon as the truck left, Kenny headed next door to welcome the new neighbor. “Good afternoon! I’m Kenny. Welcome to the neighborhood.” Kenny extended his hand, but his new neighbor quickly took a step back. “Oh, sorry, I don’t mean to offend you, but I have a slight case of haphephobia. My name is Herb.” “No offense taken. That hapa… whatever you call it, it’s contagious?” “Oh no, it’s not a disease. It’s a thing I have, a fear of touching people.”  Kenny had never heard of such a thing. Already puzzled about the boarding up of all the windows, he was beginning to have serious concerns about his new neighbor. They exchanged pleasantries and provided brief biographies, and as they were parting, Kenny got to the elephant in the room. “Say, Herb, my wife and I couldn’t help but notice that you had all your windows boarded up. Are you planning on having new windows put in, or…?” “Oh, that. I have a touch of defenestraphobia.” “Uh…I’m not sure what that is.” “Really? It’s the fear of being thrown out of a window. It’s not uncommon.” “I see.” “Well, nice meeting you, Kenny. I need to get organized. Talk to you later.”  As Herb turned to leave, Margie approached carrying a plate of treats for the new neighbor. “Wait, Herb, my wife has a dozen of her famous chocolate chip cookies for you!” “Well, that’s awfully neighborly of you. Thank you, I…” Herb saw Margie and the plate of cookies, and he took off running. “Gotta go! Sorry, you can just leave the cookies!” “Herb! What’s wrong?” “Cacomorphobia!” Margie set the plate of cookies on the hood of Herb’s car, and they returned to their house, but not before Kenny noticed the dozen cookies had been reduced to nine somewhere along the way. --------- “What’s with that guy, Kenny, and what the heck is a cacomorphobia?” “No idea. I’ll Google it.” Kenny looked it up- Cacomorphobia: the fear of fat people. Oh, no. “Did you find it, honey?” “No, dear. There is no such word. I think he made it up.” --------- “Good morning, Doctor Foggy.” “Good morning, Herb. Have you moved into your new house yet?” “Yep, it’s very nice. I’m sure I’ll be happy there.” “And, what have you done about your fear of being thrown out of a window?” “They’re all boarded up, just like you suggested.” “Good, good. And then pick a window, I’d say on the first floor for starters, and remove a little of the covering each day. And be sure to have that rope tied around your waist and anchored to something solid so you’ll feel safe. Little baby steps, but we’ll get you there.” “Thanks, Doc.” “And how are we doing with your anatidaephobia?” “I forget. Which one is that?” “That’s your fear of ducks.” “Oh, yes, ducks. I think I’m doing pretty good. I watched ten minutes of Donald Duck cartoons last night and a full hour of Duck Dynasty. I think it helps to see the darn things getting blasted out of the sky.” “Good, good. And I’ve got another good idea.” “What’s that, Doc?” “I’m getting you a couple of styrofoam duck decoys that you can do a little of that voodoo stuff on.” “I like it. You’re the best. I wish I would have thought of that.” “Well, that’s why I’m the doctor, and you’re not.” ---------- “Morning neighbor!” “Oh, hey, Herb What’s up?” “Well, Kenny, I was wondering if you could keep your dog inside when I’m out in my yard.” Mittens the multipoo stood 11” tall and weighed in at 9 pounds. “Mittens doesn’t bite. She’s harmless.” “I’m sure she’s a good dog. It’s just that my cynophobia has been flaring up lately.” “What’s that?” “Fear of dogs. I’ve been doing a lot better, but I don’t want to have a relapse. That can get pretty ugly.” “Sorry to hear that. I’ll talk to Margie. We’ll try to be careful with Mittens.” “Speaking of your wife, could you keep her inside with the dog when I’m out in my yard?” Oh, no. A “full figure” wife and a neighbor suffering from cacomorphobia! “I’ll see what I can do. Say, Herb, I see you’re wearing those ankle-weight things. You been workin’ out?” “No, that’s for my barophobia, you know, just a little added protection.” “Uh, I’m not sure what barophobia is.” “That’s surprising. It’s been going around lately. It’s the fear of gravity. I’ve got the strain of it where I fear there won’t be any, and someday I’ll float off into the universe. I think these will help. You should get some for you and your…oh, never mind. You should get some for yourself.” --------- “The house is great, Doc, but the neighbors are a real problem. They’ve got a killer dog, and the lady is, well, quite large.” “I can see where that would be a problem for you.” “And flowers! Damn near everywhere.” “And don’t tell me, they’re not…” “Yes! They are purple!” “Oh, no, and we were doing so well with your porphyrophobia. That fear of the color purple is a tough one, and you were doing so well.” “Damn, what are the odds I’d end up living next door to a dog, a fat lady, and purple flowers. That’s like a hundred billion zillion to one. Life isn’t fair, Doc.” “Well, you could move again, Herb.” “ I don’t want to do that. Let’s take it all head-on! I’m going to conquer my fears once and for all!” The good Doctor was a little concerned about the concept of a cured Herb as he’d lose at least half of his billable hours, but he took an oath. “I’m with you, partner! We can do it!” ----------  “The guy is a complete nut job, Margie. He’s afraid of everything.” “Oh, I don’t know. He seems nice. He’s a cute little guy. I feel for him, you know, being afraid of just about everything. I think I’ll bring him one of my chocolate cakes.” This struck Kenny as peculiar as he couldn’t recall Margie ever saying anything nice about anyone. The woman was a real shrew whose sole purpose in life seemed to be to make Kenny’s life miserable. It seemed like a crazy comment. Margie saying something nice about someone was as shocking as her missing a meal, and her giving up one of her double-frosted chocolate cakes was akin to Wimpy giving away hamburgers. Neurons were cross-firing in Kenny’s brain. A fortunate intersection of coincidences: 1) Kenny had taken an introductory psychology college class that included a cursory coverage of phobias. 2) As a sports enthusiast, he recalled the story of a coach working with a runner who managed to get the athlete to love competing in a distance event that he previously hated. 3) The mystery on an episode of Columbo he had seen was solved through the use of subliminal messaging. 4) Just two weeks ago, he caught the movie “Shallow Hal” on Net Flix- the story of a man whose perceptions of the world were so reconfigured that he saw an extremely overweight, unattractive woman as a trim, fit, ravishing beauty. Those were the building blocks; Kenny just needed to put them together. His college textbook cited a psychiatrist who not only sought to get his patients to overcome their fears, but he tried to persuade them to crave the things that had so frightened them. The movie told him that malleable minds can be altered, and as Kenny knew that Herb was at least ten steps passed woo-woo, he figured his mind provided fertile ground for an adjustment. The coach used the simple techniques of repetition and positive reinforcement, and Colombo infiltrated the suspect’s mind with subconscious messaging. It seemed like a long shot, but one look at Margie told him he had to try. ---------- “Nice evening, isn’t it, Herb?” “It sure is, Kenny, but I have to get inside pretty soon. I can feel a little nyctophobia coming on.” “Nyctophobia? What’s that?” “Fear of darkness. I just read about it yesterday, and wouldn’t you know it, now I’ve got the damn stuff.” “That’s too bad. I have to get back in the house now too. I never want to be away from my beautiful bride too long. I’ve only been out here for ten minutes, and I miss her already.” Herb looked puzzled.  “Really?” “Oh, yes! She’s the most beautiful, loving, kindest, caring woman in the world. And, I probably shouldn’t say this, but she’s also one sexy lady.” Now Herb looked really puzzled. “Uh, Kenny, I don’t quite know how to say this, but…well, not a lot of men I know like their woman so…large.” “Let me tell you, they are missing out, Herb. You wouldn’t believe what she does with it in the bedroom. Oh, I damn near popped a woody just thinking about it. In fact, I have to go right now! Fat’s where it’s at, Herb! See ya’.” Kenny sprinted off to his house, taking one quick glance back to see a questioning look on Herb’s face. He could only hope phase one was off to a good start. ---------- As Herb made nearly daily trips seeking help with his countless phobias, it wasn’t hard for Kenny to figure out who his psychiatrist was. Dr. Foggy received an anonymous letter: Dear Dr. Foggy, I believe you know a gentleman named Herb Hankey. You must also know the guy is off his rocker. I’m sure most of his phobia stuff is harmless, but I have recently become aware of something you too should be aware of. This morning I heard him say something about how all fat people should be killed. I think it would be a good idea if you tried to get him to stop hating fat people so much. In fact, you should try to get him to like fat people.                                                                               Sincerely,                                                                               A Concerned Citizen --------- “Herb, I think we should try a new approach. You have so many bats in your belfry that I’d like to focus on just one rather than address your general…condition.” “You’re the doctor. Which one? How about the darkness thing? I’d like to be able to go outside at night. Or how about my ornithophobia. I’m tired of wearing all that protective headgear to keep the birds from attacking me.” “In good time, Herb. I was thinking of taking on your greatest fear right out of the gate- cacomorphobia, your fear of fat people. They’re everywhere nowadays. Let’s start with that one.” “You’re the doctor. What do we do?” “I’ve prepared a video presentation. I think it will help.” Dr. Foggy had put together an impressive array of film clips and slides showing loved, successful, plus-size people from all walks of life: - Mama Cass dreamin’ a little dream, Chubby Checker twistin’ and shoutin’, and Kate Smith belting out “God Bless Amercica” before a Flyers’ Hockey Game.

- Melissa McCarthy, John Candy, and Chris Farley bringing smiles and laughter to the multitudes. - Winston Churchill, Queen Victoria, and Henry VIII leading their nations. - Minnesota Fats performing magic with his pool cue as he takes on Fast Eddie, and the Soviet Union legend Tamara Press winning the 1964 Olympic Gold in the women’s shot put. “See, Herb, fat people have made tremendous contributions to the world. They are wonderful. We should like them…and not want to kill them.” --------- “I think Herb really likes my double fudge chocolate cakes. I’ll put one out on his front porch, and two days later the empty plate is there.” Her smile was telling Kenny that this was about more than Herb liking her baking skills. “I’m sure he appreciates it. I don’t know why he doesn’t come out when you ring his doorbell. Why don’t you try one of your triple fudge chocolate cakes?” “I think I will.” --------- Herb started to find sticky notes in his mailbox, on the trees in his yard, on his front door, and on the windshield of his car, all bearing the same message: I LOVE FAT PEOPLE. When all the lights were out in Herb’s house, Kenny placed a tape recorder under his bedroom window which played soft music along with the looped message “I love fat people.” After just three weeks. It started to pay dividends. Margie, holding a triple fudge chocolate cake, missing just one (large) piece, rang the doorbell, leaving a substantial wad of chocolate from her finger on the device. To her surprise, the door slowly opened. Then closed. Open then closed. Open then closed. “Herb, you don’t have to be afraid. It’s just little old me, Margie from next door.”  The combined efforts of Kenny and Dr. Foggy seemed to be paying off. Herb opened the door wide and stepped out onto the porch. He smiled broadly, and Margie giggled like a schoolgirl. “Thank you, Margie. Listen, if you have time, I could get a knife, and a couple of forks and plates, and we could sit on the porch swing and have our cake…and eat it too!” They both broke out in boisterous laughter, the porch swing held up to its greatest challenge, and Margie and Herb downed what was left of the entire cake. Kenny looked down on the scene from his 2 nd floor bedroom, smiled, and congratulated himself for a job well done. It was all heading in the right direction, but Kenny knew he had more to do. ---------  “You look a little down today. You ok, Kenny?” “Yeah, I’m fine, Herb, just the normal pressures of financial stuff. That will all change when Margie’s dad kicks the bucket.” “How so?” “The guy is loaded. With Margie being an only child and her mother already dead and buried, when the old goat finally dies she’ll inherit a bundle.” “Really?” “Yes, the old geezer is loaded, gold mines, oil wells, paper mills. He got most of his money from some computer stuff he invented. When he dies, she’ll get millions, and I’ll have my hands all over it. I can hardly wait.” “That’s interesting.”` ----------- “And we sit and eat chocolate cake together. It’s great, Doc.” “And she’s a big one?” “Oh, yeah, real big.” “Well, I’m proud of you, Herb. You are making wonderful progress. But it looks like you’re putting on a few pounds. Let’s not get your mind on the right track and then have your physical health suffer.” “I know, but I just love those times sitting out my front porch in the evening eating chocolate cake with Margie.” ---------- And so it continued, sticky notes extolling the virtues of plus-size people every time Herb turned around; sweet subliminal messaging wafting through Herb’s open window manipulating his mind to see the beauty in plump figures; continuing positive reinforcement from Dr. Foggy; and chocolate cakes with Margie on the porch every evening. It seemed that love was in the air, or so Kenny hoped…and prayed. ---------- One evening, Kenny was looking out his window, again relishing the sight of Herb and Margie enjoying their chocolate cake. To his surprise, when the last crumb was feverishly licked off the plate, they both walked over to his house. Kenny met them at the door. “Kenny, I know this will come as quite a shock, but I’ve fallen in love with Herb. We want to leave for Vegas tonight for a quickie divorce, and then I’m going to marry Herb. I just need you to sign off on it. I’m sorry, but Herb is my soul mate.” Kenny struggled to conceal his glee. “Gee, that’s too bad. Where do I sign?” Margie went off to pack a few things, leaving Kenny alone with Herb. “I’m sorry, Kenny. I hope you’ll be ok.” Kenny wanted to know which of his brilliant schemes brought about the change in Herb and opened the door to a new and better life. “I’ll get through it. Can I just ask you something?” “Sure.” “I know you had this fear of…large people. How did you get over it? Were you picking up on some subtle messaging maybe, or a little extra help from your shrink…or, and you can tell me, was it her dad’s money?” “No, none of those.” “Well, what was it then?” “I just really like chocolate cake.”


Third door on the right, Every single time, A smile breaks across my face and I can see Sully's shadow sniffing at the bottom of the door, knowing I'm almost home. Checking my phone as I grab my keys from my purse, it’s exactly 7:30, I’m early. As I opened the door Sully pushed it closed. Rolling my eyes, “Sully...let me in.” He always does this. He groans. “I told you, I bought you actual food this time.” He barks. “How many”? I asked rhetorically. Another bark. Resting my head on the door, “I got you 4.” He lifts his weight off the door. Finally, sighing in relief, back to my safe place this sentence flows a little weird, maybe it needs some punctuation of some kind? and staring right at me was my full-grown sully acting all tough as a full-grown rottweiler would.

“Look I’m sorry, I told you we were low on money last month.” He groans as he stares me down. I’ve gotten used to that look.

Taking a deep breath, and releasing “You know, we had a pretty rough start.” Holding up the grocery bags filled with that fancy little dog food, that he just absolutely loves. He better love it, I thought to myself, these four bags are like 100 bucks apiece. But I put up a smile and said “So let’s start fresh tonight.” He held out for 10 seconds and then he gave in and came wagging towards me. “Has dad called yet?” I asked him as scratched his neck. He groans. Again rolling my eyes, “Yeah, I know it's 7:30.

Just thought he would call early. You know how he always has trouble with the video chat, even though we’ve been talking like this for like a month and a half.”  I stare away to the top shelf of the cabinet across the room. A picture of my brother laughing as I just finished telling him this awful joke. For some reason, he thought that joke was so funny, had him crying on the floor laughing. I looked back down at Sully and gave him a little hug. “Come on, let's get your food ready Mr. Delicate taste,” teasing him.”You do know this stuff is expensive, you don't think that might have been a reason why we were low on money last month.” He barks as he starts to walk with me to the kitchen. “You know I've been thinking, I don’t think your services are worth this much dog food.” He made a low growl as he got onto his barstool next to the counter. Giving him a look I said, “Yes, I know I’m as important to you as you are to me.” Gave him a small smile as I put the bags away. “You know how you always say: Don't start nothing, there won't be nothing. We said we’re gonna start fresh so let's drop the hostility, okay?” He blows his nose. As he looks away. “Big baby.” I walked past him to turn on the computer and get started on the video call. 7:40. It's still too early. I went ahead to the fridge to grab my Chinese I bought last night. Always been the family tradition for as long as I remember. There isn't much in the fridge anyway, this apartment still feels new, all my stuff is still in boxes, who knew you could take stuff with you when you crossover. I pour my food onto a pan to reheat it. Always hated the taste the microwave left on the food. We need a bit more special occasions, I repeated to myself. I opened one of the cans and served into his bowl and slid it over to Sully. “Finish one can completely and then I'll give you the next one.” He whimpers. “Oh, now you wanna play innocent. You heard me.

And take it over to the computer so dad can see you too.” He puts his head down and sighs. But gets up and takes his bowl to the desk. The problem was that the desk was short and his stool was tall so he had to eat on the floor first before he could get on. I poured my food onto a plate and grabbed some hot sauce and a sweet tea I saved in the fridge for tonight, grabbed a few cans of Sully’s food. I really do have to decorate whenever I get the chance. I thought as I crossed the living room, It’s starting to kinda creep me out. I got to my desk and opened another can to give to Sully. A minute until 8:00. “So how did today go? Anything new”? As I pour the food into his bowl. He barks. “So the same as always.” Giving him a scratch on his head. “So you said, you can start coming with me by next month”? He gave a nod of approval, he had food in his mouth. He’s courteous gotta give him that. 8:05. Guess he’s late. Just as I thought it the screen changed and there was my dad. He’s in his forties but life has really taken a toll on him, he still smiles though, it's what I used to love about him.

“Hey dad, you’re late. Did you have trouble with getting the camera on”? “Not this time actually,” giving a small smile.

“Better get on a plaque so you can hang it on the wall “first-time dad set up the video call without any help,” now we got something else to celebrate.” As I raised my glass of sweet tea up. “Also, Happy Thanksgiving dad. You got your Chinese food”? “That’s why I was late, actually. There was heavy traffic and there was a line to get my order, even though I called ahead. Can you believe that”? He said as he was getting his food from the take out bag. That sure looked better than reheating day-old Chinese food,

as I looked down at my plate. Chinese food is still great.

“I can believe it, especially if you’re getting your food from the same Chinese spot. That always gets busy around the holidays, although the traffic is surprising. I would’ve expected empty streets.” As I put some hot sauce on my shrimp with fried rice.

“Yup, still go to the same one, Janet asked about you, and was wondering how you’ve been doing.” He takes a bite of his food. He gets the same thing, fried chicken with shrimp fried rice and 2 egg rolls. Same as I wonder where I got it from. That thought actually made the corner of my mouth curl upwards. We do need more special occasions.

“What did you tell her’’? “I told her you’ve been doing a lot better. Ever since your brother.” He lowered his voice when he said that. I suddenly feel Sully rest his head on my thigh. He looks up at me and blows his nose. Gave him a smile and gave him a scratch on his head. I mouthed the words, “You want another can?” He snorts. “How’s Sully? Is he there, haven’t seen him in a while.” “Yeah, he’s here, you know he has to eat on the floor, he just loves that stool of his.” As I tell my dad this I

start pouring the can into his bowl. “He’s always sat on that ever since he was a puppy. I swear if he could fit on it he would be sleeping on it as well.” “I do remember that.” He said as he was taking another bite of his food. “Always kept an eye on you when you were asleep. Even as a pup he was very loyal to you, staying by your side every time.” He moves his food around and finally asks the question,” so how have you been doing”? He puts his fork down and looks at me, to show me he’s paying attention. It’s odd to see him do that, so unfamiliar. I let out a sigh and lifted my eyes to the screen, “It’s a work in progress,” as I said that, my gaze went towards Sully eating. I guess I'm looking for approval from him. Did I do good? He was busy chowing down on his food.

“Hey, Dad”? I asked while still staring down at Sully. “Yeah”? With a mouth full of food, I could actually barely understand him but at least I know he is responding. “Why are we naming this new family tradition “Happy Thanksgiving”? Hasn’t really been so “happy” in these months, has it”? I looked at him, and I could actually see him, Like as if he were real. Family tradition has always been to celebrate a special occasion with Chinese food. Really it was just an excuse for us to just go get some Chinese food...even if the occasion wasn’t really special… I just liked that for a few moments we didn't fight. He actually looked like he was thinking it through.

“Well, weren't we always grateful on thanksgiving? Why just leave it for one day a year when we can celebrate anytime we want.”  It almost sounded convincing I thought to myself. I let out a small sigh, barely noticeable.  “Besides we do have a special occasion, you’ve got 2 months down already.” Raising his glass of soda.

If only he just kept drinking soda, things probably would have been so bad. “You see, That's gotta be an accomplishment, Right”? Again he starts eating. Giving him the smallest smile, “I guess so, dad.” Then my head just wandered down and looked at Sully, he had his head rested on my thigh.

He looked like he was dozing off as I massaged his head. “Hey,” I said softly. Moved his head to the side to look at me with one eye open. “I’m not carrying you to bed, so wake up.” he groaned as he closed that one eye of his.

“Well dad, I still got like 2 or more years before I can move on out of here.” I would like it to take less. I leaned back in my seat and looked at the fan. Leaning forward, I laid my chin on top of my folded arms, on top of my desk, and stared at the screen. “ But time sure does fly by, so 2 years would probably be by tomorrow, so don’t worry dad. I” ll be out of here soon enough, I just gotta take care of things, and then we can move on.” “That would be nice, May.” And he gave that smile.

That smile that I believed in.