Alisha stood looking back at the mirror, her hands on her hips while the bride's mother tried not to stick pins in her. The long pale blue bridesmaid dress was not designed for her, but last night’s phone call changed that. She boarded the flight to witness the marriage of her lifelong school friend and then came the phone call in the taxi. One of the bridesmaids had fallen ill and couldn’t make the wedding.

Luckily for the bride, I was slightly thinner than the maid the dress was designed for.  She stood still watching the gown slowly being drawn in one pin at a time.

I haven’t been a bridesmaid before.  “What should I be doing at this wedding?” “Support the bride and help out as needed,” the mother's voice muffled by a mouth full of pins. “Lucky for you most of it is done.  Best talk to the other three other bridesmaids.” A couple more pins, “Done, you can take it off now.” The mother unzipped the back of the dress and left the room. She is leaving me to get out of this pin minefield myself.  Sucking in her stomach she eased the shoulder straps down her arms. Each move was slow and planned as she stepped out of the dress.

Made it.  She took a deep breath. Slipping back into her casual clothes was a lot easier. “Done.” The mother returned picking up the dress, “You better freshen up from your flight. The rehearsal dinner is in two hours.” *** The taxi arrived at the hall; Alisha straightened her skirt; her heart was pounding.

I have to talk to the bridesmaids before the dinner starts.  She scurried up the footpath pausing to let the caterers carry in a crate of desserts.

Oh, chocolate cheesecake.

Stop thinking of your stomach, dinner is coming. Where are the bridesmaids? Hurrying up the stairs, her heel caught the lip in the doorway. She threw out her hands as her face rapidly approached the floor. A dull thud resonated in the timber floorboards.

Crap. Very elegant Alisha . Her eyes darted around the room to see if anyone saw her entrance. A set of black polished shoes stepped in from the side. Panning upwards over his black slacks and jacket, a groomsman held out his hand. “Need help getting up?” Back on her feet; her eyes briefly connected with his as she pulled her hand away. “Thank you.” She dusted off her dress as she stepped back. He held out his hand once more. “Hi, I’m Michael.” “Alisha.” She paused.

Don’t let his looks be a distraction, find the bridesmaids.  With a quick handshake and nod, she glanced over her shoulder.

Found them. The bridal party were all in a huddle at the head table. Pale blue flowers blended with white roses sat on every table. White candles wrapped in blue ribbon stood above the glitter and numerous layers of cutlery. “Ally.” Sandra, the bride cheered with open arms. “What’s happening?”

“Just waiting for everyone. I see you have already met Michael.” Her eyes scanned the room, pausing at Michael standing at the door welcoming the guests. “You saw that?” “It was quite an entrance. Hope you don’t plan on doing that tomorrow.” I bloody hope I don’t do it either.  “I didn’t plan it today.” “You will be sitting with Michael at the end of the table.” “With him?” “You are both here alone.” One of the bridesmaids leaned towards Alisha and whispered, “Don’t get any ideas. He is engaged.” Ideas? I only just met him and that was from the floor. Why isn’t his fiancé here? *** The music started as the last guest sat down. Alisha’s feet nervously tapped under the table as she panned the room.

I don’t know anyone here but Sandra. Everyone is staring at us, bring out the food and distract them. “Smile,” Michael blocked her view as he filled her wine glass. He moved along the bridal table filling each glass. His pleasant manner and warm smile eased her nerves briefly. It didn’t take long for her to empty her glass. Michael returned to the table with a new bottle of wine. He reached for the ice bucket when he looked at her empty glass, “Do you need a refill?” “I can do it.” “Let me.” The glass was full before she could reach across the table. Alisha quietly ate her roast chicken. Sitting near a gentleman like Michael and knowing he was engaged left her not knowing what to say. The three-course dinner ran smoothly. A mix of speeches, alcohol and fine dining. Some of the guests could handle the partying better than others.

They are going to have a headache at the wedding tomorrow. Michael turned in his chair, “Alisha, what do you do for a job?” “Sales assistant for a fashion warehouse.” His eyes ran up her body, “That explains why you look so good.” What? Is he hitting on me? My entrance earlier didn’t put him off. Keep it together, nod and smile. “What do you do?” “I’m an accountant at my brother's office,” he leaned closer, “Where are you from?” Well, isn’t he chatty?  “Brisbane.” “Cool, I’m just down the road at the Gold Coast.” “If the family is from Brisbane, why have the wedding in Sydney?” “The honeymoon cruise leaves from here in two days,” he topped up his glass, “And it’s something different.” The MC called the bride and groom to the dance floor. Alisha shuffled in her seat as she sculled the last of her wine.

Oh crap, dancing. “Can you dance?” Michael asked. “Not really. This is my first wedding.” “This is my second brother's wedding. Just follow me,” he stood up, holding out his hand. Face to face on the dance floor, she held his hand. He slid his palm to the middle of her back drawing her body against his. She placed her hand on his shoulder as they swayed to the music. Trying to dance was one thing, avoiding everyone else on the dance floor was another problem. His warm cheek against hers, “Relax, enjoy yourself,” his smooth voice increased her pulse.

Relax. She rested her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes and took a long slow breath. The bridal waltz was replaced with upbeat rock music. Michael grabbed Alisha’s hand, spinning her around and back into his arms. The wine deadened her fears as she started to enjoy the evening. One tune faded as the next one started, she leaned towards him, “I need a break.”

Back at the table, the glass of cold water was refreshing. Her eyes followed him across the dance floor as he spun the bride's mother around.

So much energy. How old is he? He must work out, his biceps certainly felt like it.

“He is taken,” the same bridesmaid from before passed behind her. Who is she? The fiancé’s security patrol. Keep the women off my man.  Glancing back at the bridesmaid, Alisha went back to observing the crowd. She looked at her phone, ten o’clock . I’m going to need some coffee if I have to stay awake much longer.   But before she could get up the MC declared the night was over and thanked everyone for attending.

This night ended earlier than I expected. I suppose the wedding is tomorrow morning. Don’t want the bridal party hungover. Everyone was cleaning up when Michael approached Alisa, “How was your night?” “Good, but I missed out on my coffee.” He glanced around the room as he stocked the plates, “We can grab a coffee after this if you want.” He is certainly friendly. What if his fiancé found out?  “I don’t know if that is a good idea.” “It’s just coffee, I don’t bite.” “OK, just coffee.” “Meet you at the café in the next block in half an hour,” he returned a quick smile as he carried the plates away. *** The back streets were quiet, the occasional couple would come and go. Alisha sat at a corner table her eyes running over the menu. Sydney was warm for a spring night. A tall figure came off the street, in the light Michael looked casual in denim shorts and an evening shirt. His face was as cheery as he was on the dance floor. “Have you ordered?” He asked picking up the menu. “No, I was waiting for you. You have changed.” “I wasn’t wearing a suit out here. You didn’t change, still looking good.” Slow down there, mate. It’s just coffee.  “I got rid of my heels.” Settling back after placing their order, Michael asked, “So what part of Brisbane are you from?” Taking a deep breath, “Why didn’t your fiancé come with you?” He straightened his back, “Oh, that. I don’t have one, I’m single.” “But—” “Tracey told you I was engaged?” “Yeah.” “She has been hitting on me continuously ever since I got off the plane last week.” He leaned over the table with a smile, “I told her I was engaged to get her off my back.” That explains the snarls.  “Well, I got snapped at for looking at you.” “Look all you like.” His smile was beaming. “I was worried you were getting too friendly for someone who was taken.” Her eyes connected with his warm brown eyes, “We probably should keep your secret tomorrow. Don’t want any catfights at the reception.” “Don’t worry about her. I had fun tonight.” He reached out putting his hand on hers, “If tomorrow is as enjoyable as today, I will be happy.” “I hope I don’t face-plant the floor like I did today.’’ “I’ll be beside you to catch you.” Her chest tightened at the thought of falling into his arms. The waiter placing their order on the table drew her attention. Taking a sip, the smell of fresh coffee was invigorating. “Do you have a dress for tomorrow?” He asked pouring another packet of sugar into his cup. “Sandra’s mother is altering it tonight. How are we getting to the church tomorrow.” “Your limo is picking you up at eight.” “You know a lot about this,” she spread the jam on her scone. “I have been helping my bother with the planning all week.” *** Sculling her second cup of coffee of the morning; Alisha checked her makeup, replacing the lipstick she left on the cup. A pale blue ribbon was woven through her long blonde hair and tied at the back with a bow. Any loose strands of hair were firmly stuck in place with hairspray. Standing in front of the mirror as the makeup artist did a final check. A knot grew in her chest . Calm down, I’m just a bridesmaid. How am I going to cope if I’m ever the bride? “The cars are here,” someone yelled from the living room. Grabbing her flowers as she walked out the door. The limo was luxurious, with a white leather interior and flowers. A bridesmaid handed out glasses of champagne.

Should I be drinking before the event?  She paused before taking the glass.

“It will settle your nerves.” The church came into view and then disappeared behind them as they went around the block.

The congregation mustn’t be ready.  Swallowing the last of her wine, she checked her flowers.

I can do this.  Following the bride down the aisle and the ceremony didn’t require a lot of work. The bossier bridesmaids made sure they jumped in first. Michael looked dashing in his suit and blue tie standing with the other groomsmen. His short brown hair was perfectly in place and his square jaw was shaven, making him look younger. *** The ceremony is over.  The bride and groom headed down the aisle followed by the party. Michael stepped forward holding out his arm. Alisha’s eyes met his as she stepped alongside taking hold of his arm. They stepped in unison out onto the lawn. But there was no time for a break as the wedding party gathered for photos in the church gardens. A wide array of photos, bridal party, grooms party, everyone together and one a bridesmaid paired with a groomsman.

Alisha stood quietly looking back at the camera, holding her flowers in hand. Michael was beside her with his arm behind her back.

“Get closer,” the photographer said, “And smile.”

Michael slid his hand around her waist drawing her nearer as she placed her arm behind him. Being this close to him she was drawn to his cologne, it was subtle and alluring. “Last one,” the photographer called out. Looking back at the camera she smiled, the camera flashed as Michael’s warm lips touched her cheek. Her heart skipped a beat.

Did he just kiss me? Crap.  Her eyes glanced back at the bridal party. There were a couple of wide eyes. Tracey was looking the other way.

She will be surprised when the photos come out. “Next couple.” Alisha turned around and headed off behind the group. Michael followed close behind. Sitting quietly in the shadows she watched the rest of the photos. He returned handing her a bottle of cold water. The photos were over, and the dinner started in one hour. Michael opened the limo door for her. There were only two of them for the trip to the hotel. Buckled up beside her, he handed her a glass of champagne.

“What was with the last picture?” she asked. “I was communicating.” He replied with a warm smile. “Communicating?” “It’s a wedding, we are supposed to share their love,” Michael took a sip of wine, his eyes staring back over the glass. “I wasn’t getting much love from Tracey.” He moved closer, “Ignore her. We are going to have fun tonight.” *** Dinner was over, and the speeches were done.  Alisha spent the night focusing on the guests or listening to Michael, trying everything to ignore Tracey’s daggers. It was that time of night when the bride and groom were called to the dance floor. Michael rose holding out his hand. Arm-in-arm dancing was not as stressful this time around. As the evening went on, he leaned over her shoulder, his breath tickling her ear, “Want to catch up for dinner when we get home?” A date.  “That would be nice.” His gaze was strong as he spun her around before pulling her body close to his. Slowly shuffling to a love ballad, everyone around her disappeared from view as he moved in closer. She closed her eyes as his soft lips met hers. The End


Linda Dear Diary, I'm in the bathroom at the party, and nothing seems to be going right. Nothing seems Nothing is ok. Justin kissed Katlynn, not me. Trixie spilled her cola on my dress on purpose. I must- The door swinging open causes me to stop and look up from my journal. I can see just a little from the stall I'm in, and Justin had Kat against a wall. He's holding something sharp. A knife. I rush up to save her, but I stop in my tracks. Not a knife. A pen. Stupid. Stupid. Why would he have a knife? I've read too many horror stories. I sit back down on the toilet, beaten down. I've turned to a mess. Dear Justin. I know you like Kat and not me any more. I'm fine with that. I not mad. But why didn't you tell me? I hope you are doing fine. -Linda I think Justin's gone. I look out, and see nothing. I unlock the door and wash my hands, my journal in my purse. The grey walls are starting to spin, and are mocking me. I need to get out. I open the door, and head back out to prom. Everyone is dancing to a pop song, the girls swinging their hips with the boys sitting at the tables watching or eating. I head outside. Nobody wants me here. I don't know any of these people. Dear Kat, I know you must feel horrible about tonight, at least you will in the morning, when you aren't with him, but I know you love him more than I do. I just want to say okay. It's fine. Forget about me, okay? I'll be fine. I'll find someone else who I can turn to. Yours Truly, Linda. I sit in the car as rain pummels down, smashing onto the windows. The party continues, without me. I see the flashing lights through the steely darkness. My car feels warm, and I settle down, my feet on the seat, curled into a cold ball, like a cat. And I dream. "Hello?" No answer. The dark creeps up to me. "Help me!" Everyone's gone. They don't need me. They don't waste a breath on me. "Anyone!" Nobody's here. Give up.

"Anyone." They all left me. Gone in the wind. "Wake" Wake up. Wake up. I startle awake to the sounds of screaming. I hunker down in my car, eager to avoid whatever is making them scream. Everyone is running out now, except one person. I count the people that line up along the edge, watching through the window. I wait for the familiar face. It doesn't come. I know he doesn't love me anymore, and vice versa, but these people are cowards. I mean, a life is on the line. It's either me or no one. I fling open my door and run through the wet grass, determined to save Justin. Dear Linda, May, 13

I found this in your purse. I saw you run to save Justin, and I wanted to say I think you are very brave. Are we still friends? -Kat Darkness creeps in the building. I can feel the Evil it contains. But it has a purpose. To defeat the enemy. This time, the prey's name is Justin. The halls are empty as I run through them. All the teachers and adults had run out. Nobody tried to stop me from running towards the danger. That's fine. Justin screams from somewhere nearby. Lockers swing towards the sound, pointing me towards my wish to save a life. Kat Dear Dairy, May 12 I have had the worst day ever. I put on a brave face every single day, but I've had enough. Mom left me when I was eleven. Six years ago. I cried for hours. The police found out I was living on my own yesterday, and gave me a stepmom. How thoughtful. Not. All this time I've been doing it for everyone else, but nobody cares. Why would they? But nobody questions it. If you wear a smile they assume you're fine. Then they tell you about their problems. Kat's calling. Guess I'll talk to her, and talk to you later. Everyone had heard how Linda's mom abandoned her, but everyone saw how brave she was, and how she didn't care what others thought about her. I looked up to her. And here I am being selfish and leaving her a letter. Not going in to help her. Not calling the police. Nothing. And all the while that demon was devouring the whole school. Trixie came up behind me. "Oh my god. Are you looking at Linda's things? Are you, like, going to take her Kate Spade purse? I'll totally join you! You know, we should mess up her car! That'll show her!" I turn to Trixie. "What is wrong with you? What do you have against her!?," I shout into the night. "You don't know what she's been through, she's been putting on a brave smile, while she's hurting inside! You're just pathetic!" Trixie stumbles back. Justin All of a sudden I regret it. Cheating on Linda. It was the wrong thing to do. And now I was paying the price. My blood splattered the walls into writing I couldn't make out. The sick scent of blood filled the room, devouring every soul inside, including me. I do what I can. I run. Trixie I knew she was sad, depressed even, but when Kat admitted it, I backed away in silence. It was my hob to keep her happy, and I had failed. I tumble over Kat's purse, pretending it's an accident, and I kick it under the car. "I'll get it!", I cry, jumping down to reach it like I'm her best friend. But I grab Linda's journal instead. "I can't reach it, sorry!," I shout, and run to my Chevy a few yards away. I hop in, rev the engine, and sit in silence, touching the book. They wanted me to play the bad guy, but I was there. Helping her all along.  It's now or never. I need to find out why her demon came so early. I take a breath, and open the book. *To be continued?*


If I were to die at this very moment, life would move on as if I never existed. Sometimes I question if I’m already dead, people look at me as if I’m a ghost anyway. I am the next and only heir to the crown, even though most don’t know I exist. I haven’t left the castle since I was a little girl and I stopped talking at all a few months ago. My mother died when I was a child, we were never close but my father and I were even farther. When he realized I was going to be the only heir to be born in his lifetime he decided it was only appropriate to “keep me safe.” I wasn’t allowed outside, I couldn’t walk the grounds of the property alone and all my food intake was monitored. My head was being held underwater with no possible way to breathe, I had no other choice but to drown. After a while I grew familiar with this life, content even. Then it happened, they started preparing me. My father now weak and sickly lay in bed and gaze into my eyes, they’re empty. You think at this moment he would show compassion, be honest, tells me he’s sorry, but he doesn't. He grips my hand tight enough to turn it white and I hold back a wince, “The time has come,” he says, monotone and feeble. He gazes at me expectantly, but I suck in a breath and turn my gaze towards the window, there’s a songbird sitting on the edge. I let my mind wander for I do not wish to be here. I wonder how far it’s flown, I wonder if it has a family, I wonder if it’s scared of people and if its call is beautiful. My father shifts his gaze towards the window, and as if the bird could sense it, it flew away as fast as it came. He speaks up again, “You have been prepared for this, I will be stepping down as the king in due time, and you will take my place.” Every word spoken he grips my hand tighter and tighter, I refuse to let him know it hurts. I feel many things, anger, sadness, resentment; but this feeling was new. I am panicking. I can’t breathe and I need air, I can’t keep breathing in the same air, I need more. I crave more than this life that’s been forcefully given to me. I abruptly stand up, still, not haven spoke a single word. I’m escorted out of the room and taken to mine; I stare intensely at the window. I shift my gaze past and look at the clearing of trees seen above the city walls. It’s lush and beautiful, and the air is probably so fresh. My body knows whats it’s doing before my mind, and I move towards the window. I trace my finger along the rough stone; it’s cold and damp to the touch and it sends a chill down my spine. There is no hope without some risk involved and all I can do is hope. I hope for a new beginning; I hope for a place to belong, and I hope for comfort. I make my decision and by nightfall, I’m roaming the quiet city for the first time in almost 16 years. I walk by a bar, and I hear laughter inside, I can smell the aroma of beer and bread and I almost walk right in. The streets feel as if they’re stretching miles, I slowly lift my arms and a breeze flows under and my mind wanders back to the bird. I yearn to know if it has ambitions if it has dreams if birds can feel. I wonder if it knows how lucky it is, how freeing of a life it truly has. I softly smile to myself when another gust of wind blows up my coat, I imagine it as my feathers. By the time the outer gates come into view, I begin to register what I did. I left. and I left when they needed me. They’re going to look for me. I can’t stay in the town or go to any of our neighboring towns. I reach the wall and lay my hand upon it, it’s cold and damp and I’m reminded of the windowsill and of the forest. Logically it’s the only place that I can go. No man has ever survived long enough to come back and speak of his journey, though with that in mind I would rather die there than live the life I have planned out for me. I step outside the walls for the first time in my life, and with my head turned up towards the sky, the air feeling thick and the smell of fresh rain in my nose I breathe in. It’s long and deep, and I’m out of breath when I finish. Laughter bubbles out of me and my hands go up to the sky as if hoping it would allow me to fly. My feet wander to the start of the trail into the forest. There’s a sign that’s been clumsily hammered into the ground as if they didn’t want to linger here for longer than they had to. The sign reads, “DANGER! DO NOT ADVANCE!” My eyes seem to scan the words over and over and without hesitation, I begin walking. It’s quiet, almost eerily so. The leaves and twigs on the ground splinter and crunch under the weight of my feet. My hands are grasped tightly around myself seeking some comfort, any kind of familiarity. My eyes seem to trace the trees, and everything suddenly feels sinister, they seem to tower over me and obstruct all moonlight that should be shining through. I begin to grow emotional which I didn’t know was possible after all these years. My face blotchy and red, I frantically wipe my tears away. I always thought I was an ugly crier, though isn’t everyone? Through my blurry vision, I spot a small pond and as I get closer my ears are no longer filled with silence but the croaking of bullfrogs. I’ve only ever read about them, but they’re about as beautiful as you would imagine. I crouch down and right at the base of my feet lies a rather large frog. My movement must have scarred him as he jumps away when I move towards him kicking muddy water up into my face. My tears are gone and I laugh, I am alive. I have survived up until this point, counting down the hours until I could go to bed and repeat the same day over and over again. I will never live the same day twice past this point. Every wake will be a new start, a new life, a new chance at happiness. By the time I collect myself and start walking down the trail once again I spot a run-down house that looks almost abandoned. My pace quickens when I realize how much time has passed, the sun will begin to rise soon and I need shelter before that can happen. As I grow closer to the house, I see a clothesline hanging up with an array of sheets and black garments drying, glancing at the garden I see a wide range of herbs and spices, and the house is illuminated by candlelight from inside. I advance to the entrance, and I can hear pots clacking inside, I take a deep breath and slowly raise my hand to the old rotting door, my knuckles softly pound against it. Everything stills and I suddenly feel cold, the forest is perfectly silent again. The door opens a crack, and I can see the eye of an old, elderly woman, her wrinkles especially accentuated around her eyes as if she smiles too much. We stare at each other silently until she speaks up “What are your intentions?” she says slow and careful her voice breaking halfway through. It sounds as if she hasn’t spoken in years. I clear my throat and tilt my head down, speaking for the first time in a long time “I seek shelter and a way to leave my past life, I don’t mean any harm, I swear” I grow quieter as I speak. Her eyes visibly soften and they look kinder, “I know that feeling well, you may come in.” The door is opened all the way and I can gaze into the house. What looked like a small one-room cottage from the outside is now a large and cluttered home, bookshelves and potion bottles line the walls and I come to realize she’s a witch. She walks right over to a table on the verge of toppling over, piled high with everything you can imagine. I’ve never had these many worldly possessions in my life. I glance around in wonderment, and she watches me with a soft gaze, “What troubles you, child?” I can sense no malice behind her words and my troubles still lie heavy on my soul. Would it be okay if I told her? I feel like a child when I shrug my shoulders and attempt to shrink myself down, she gestures to the chair at one of the tables and I slowly sit. The cabinet is opened, and she’s studying an array of herb mixtures. I don’t pay any mind to the contents because I’m sure none of the names would ring a bell. I hear water boiling and I question when it was started in the first place. I’m silent as she opens one of the jars and pours it into a cup and then fills the rest with the water. She walks slowly back to me as she stirs it and places it in front of me. I hesitate and anxiously peer down, “What is it?” I mutter, fear evident in my voice. She smiles wide and gives a hearty laugh, “Oh dear, you think that low of me? It’s tea!” She ends her sentence by gesturing to the mug and bringing her cupped hands up to her mouth to signify drinking. My hands shake as I take the cup and bring it up to my lips. I stare at her as I take a sip, the powerful flavor of chai tea washes over me and I calm down. She runs her hand through her hair, and it somehow becomes messier, “Is it good?” she asks genuinely. I smile and whisper my answer, “Yes, thank you.” A comfortable silence follows, and she asks her question again, “What troubles you?” I straighten myself out and start talking, like really talking, “I need to get away from my father and never be recognized again,” I say frantically, “I’m trapped, I want to be free. I feel as if I could never live a normal life in this body” Her gaze lingers on me for longer than what I feel comfortable with, “Do you want another one?” she asks in a slow voice. I tilt my head in confusion, “Another what?” I say, confused and frustrated. She laughs slightly, and the room feels lighter and warm, I feel safe, “Why another body of course!” I reel back and grip my cup tighter, now the hot tea being lukewarm, “You can do that?” She taps her head with a single finger and says “I can do anything, but it always comes at a cost, that’s just how these things work” A sense of panic rises in me, “And what would that cost be?” I prepare for the worst but I am pleasantly surprised, “Well, you’d lose your beauty and youth. Are you willing to pay that price?” Without a doubt in my mind, I say fast and clear, “Absolutely” Looking in the mirror still feels foreign, but not bad, I no longer have my father’s eyes and that makes me smile. I’m old and hunched over, with the same messy grey hair that the witch has but thinner. I walk outside into the garden where she works surrounded by lush flowers and plenty of vegetables, she doesn't glance at me when I walk over, “So, how do you feel?” The voice that comes out of me is unrecognizable and scratchy, “I feel great.” I say with a wide smile, and I realize I’m missing a few teeth. I wander around the grass clearing and I see it, a songbird. My eyes widen and my old wrinkled skin moves with it, it’s really here, all the way in the forest, and it’s singing so loud and clear. It’s so beautiful. I’m free, nobody can hurt me here or in this form. I must’ve been there for a while watching the birds come and go as I feel a thin hand on my shoulder, I turn my head and those kind eyes look back at me. Before she can speak I ask her something I’ve been wondering, “Do you think I’ll ever live how I want? Free and happy? Will I grow?” She looks thoughtful for a moment and looks up to the sky, “The flowers grow back even after they’ve been trampled on, every season they have grown back without me replanting them” Her gaze shifts to meet my eyes “They always grow back and so will you”


October 31st is always a time for scares. Two friends in high school, Millie and Cole decide to go to a graveyard to spend there Halloween night in 1990, what could go wrong? At Cole's house there watching movies while his parents are trick-or-treating with his little sister Sally. Millie is fine with staying at his house all night watching horror movies, but Cole has something else in mind. 3 movies in and it is already 10 p.m. Cole's parents are back and his sister is passed out on the couch from all the candy she ate. Millie puts on another movie as Cole watches from the couch on his phone waiting to see what she put on. When he hears music he looks up to see 'The Nightmare Before Christmas' playing. He looks at Millie and rolls his eyes, "really? this movie why?" Cole asks while smirking. Millie smiles and says "why not? we've already watched 3 scary movies, scared your sister with one of them, and anyways it's my turn to pick the movie since you picked the other 3" Millie stats while pointing a finger at him. At the end of the 4th movie Cole is ready to leave, so he gets up and drags Millie with him. "Where are we going" asked Millie, "Were going out, don't worry it will be fun" Cole replys. Halfway to the cemetery Cole wants to go to Millie gets suspicious about the area knowing exactly where there heading. "Cole im not going to the cemetery at midnight" Mille says worriedly "Oh you'll be fine it's not like anything will happen" Cole says more excited than ever. "Its a cemetery Cole, have you never seen pet sematary, or Night of the living dead!" Millie states. "Stop being such a wuss " Cole says, Millie stops talking and tries to not be scared. When they get there Millie automatically wants to leave, but Cole doesn't let her. "Come on Millie you don't want to leave me here alone do you?" Millie stays quiet for a second before answering "Well I guess not...fine i'll stay" Millie dramatically says while rolling her eyes. Millie keeps her head up and carefully listens incase anything were to happen. Cole reads the gravestones as they walk down. One catches his eyes a little more down from where he stands. Millie isn't paying attention when he leaves as she's turned around looking at a tree she saw move. When she turns back around and sees Cole is gone she freaks out looking everywhere. Cole goes to the grave he saw and reads the name 'Zack Payton' it reads. But the thing that's off is that it looks like it has been disturbed and has a blanket and pillow, he gets brought back out of his thoughts to Millie yelling at him. "You left me alone how could you!" She yells at him, "Millie calm down, i'm sorry I got distracted. She calms down a little but is still shooking up from that. Cole looks back at the grave and the grave wondering why there's bedding. They hear something behind them, they both pray it isn't what they think it is. Cole slowly turns around to see a tall man in all black standing behind Millie. Cole's eyes widen as he grabs Millie's wrist pulling her behind him. She sees what he's looking at and almost starts screaming but she's in such shock she cant even move. Cole looks to the side yo see a branch, 'it won't be the best but it might work' He thought. He goes to grab it, but the man grabs it before him. Cole is still holding Millies wrist as he pulls her with him trying to get out of the cemetery. Millie new it was a bad idea to go there and she was right. As they run the man isn't to far behind them, Millie is still in shock not knowing what's happening. The man isn't to fast, but Cole doesn't know what to do so he's jogging instead of running for his life. If Millie wasn't there he would be out of the graveyard all ready but he doesn't want to scare her more than she already is. Cole looks behind him to see the guy is gone, he slows down and looks for something to grab. To his luck he finds a metal rod, he runs to it and hides with Millie behind a grave. There both out of breath, but they are both trying to be as quiet as they can be. Once they catch their breath they hear footsteps. Millie tries not to cry when she hears this, while Cole is figuring out what to do. Cole jumps up and hits the guy in the head with the rod. Millie goes to find something to protect herself, she remembers she has pepper spray and a switchblade in her small backpack. Millie grabs both and runs back to Cole, when she gets there she sees the man on top of Cole with something on his neck. She runs over and stabs the guy in the side. immediately the guy grabs his side as Millie grabs Cole. The man looks at Millie and lunges at them but she pepper sprays him. He falls to the ground, and Millie runs with Cole out of the cemetery. As soon as they leave Millie calls the cops telling them what happened. When the cops get there they arrest the man who is known as the brother of Zack Payton, Zane Payton. Millie turns to Cole and playfully hits him "I told you it was a bad idea to go to the cemetery" Millie says acting mad, "Yeah, yeah whatever it was still an adventure" Cole says while smirking. Millie laughs as they walk back to Cole's house to explain to his parents why they were out until 3 am. When they get to Cole's house they see the lights on and look at each other knowing they will get scolded for being out so late. Now they know not to listen to Cole's crazy ideas.


A brilliant white flash cut across the dark sky, briefly lighting up the graveyard. The gravestones stood resolute against the downpour; some having weathered the storms for centuries. Sheets of rain pelted down, suffocating the grass as it drowned in a river of water. A rhythm of sopping thuds echoed through the cemetery in between the cracks of thunder. In the corner, a lone, dark figure scooped mud from the pit and tossed it out. The pile of dirt slowly grew beside the hole. Shovel crunching against rocks, he dug deep into the earth. The storm would only give him a few more hours of cover. Moving with renewed vigor, his muscles bulged as he picked up speed. The dark clothes he wore were soaked through, clinging to his body like a second layer of skin. “After all this time, you finally found someone to redeem you, Brother.” A voice sounded from above. Marius glanced up. Lightning lit up the sky once more, revealing the ghostly figure. Ignoring him, he continued digging.              An explosion of thunder concealed the metallic thwack as his shovel slammed into something other than earth. When it bounced out of his hands, he dropped to his knees, leaving the tool where it landed. Another flash of lightning gave him enough light to drag away the last layer of mud with his hands. The wooden top of the ancient chest peeked out at him. Gold encrusted edges of the box glinted with each flash of light. Digging a trench around it, he searched for the handles. Upon finding them, he grunted, using every ounce of strength he had in him to wrench it from the earth. Muscles straining, it finally gave way with a squelch, rainwater quickly filling the hole.              Tossing the large trunk out, Marius ran his muddied hands through his hair, pushing it away from his face. Quickly climbing from his excavation, he hauled the heavy chest into his arms, rushing back to the pathway. The SUV was quietly idling with the headlights turned off as to not disturb the darkness. Opening the cargo area, he moved everything aside to make room for his plunder. Grasping the key dangling against his chest, he yanked it away, breaking the chain. A whimpering came from the backseat. Shoving the key into the ancient lock, “I know, Sweetheart. I’m coming.”              The hinges creaked and the wood groaned when he flung the chest open. Shoving aside the worthless mementos that he had saved all those years ago, he rummaged to the bottom. Finding the secret locking mechanism, he opened the hidden compartment. An old cloth bundle was all that lay inside the slot. Stashing it away in his belt, he grasped the other bag of items. Marius left the back open as he rushed to the side door. Laying across the backseat was a beautiful young woman. Her dark hair was plastered against her pale face, drenched with sweat and rain. The man climbed inside, gently adjusting her to lay across his lap. The woman moaned again. “I know it hurts, Fallon. I’m right here though. I’m going to get you all fixed up, okay? Just stay with me.” Her blue eyes opened, searching for his. “I’m…t-trying,” she murmured.              Moving her hand away from the crimson towel, he peeled it back to look at the wound. The once white cloth was forever stained red with her blood. The deep laceration was still seeping. He had only a few more minutes before he lost her forever. Digging into the duffle bag, he grabbed another towel, replacing the used one. They had both been lucky that Marius found her still alive. One of his brothers, Ezekiel, had already wounded her by the time he had shown up. Marius subdued him long enough to escape, knowing Ezekiel would not stop until his duty was complete. Marius and Fallon were officially marked for death. “Remember when we met?” he asked, trying to keep her mind focused on his words. She nodded, giving him a weak smile. “As soon as I saw you in that ballroom, I knew.”              As he recounted their first night at the benefit in Paris, he pulled more supplies from the bag. Before he could worry about bandaging the wound, he had to get the transfusion started. Rolling out the tubing, he hooked it up to the needle. Tightening the tourniquet around her arm, he hoped he would be able to find a viable vein with amount of blood loss she had endured. Pouring alcohol onto her wrist, he sighed in relief upon finding one. Quickly and efficiently, he inserted the needle. Taping it in place, he took off the band and turned his attention to the other end of the tubing. Her eyelids drifted closed as she lost consciousness, indicating he was running out of time. “You know, there’s some things that I never told you. Things about myself, where I come from.” He murmured, yanking the bundle from his belt. Unwrapping it, he revealed a leather-sheathed weapon.              Uncovering the dagger, he sliced into his wrist. A deep golden liquid poured out. Biting the blade between his teeth, he quickly replaced the steel with the needle, inserting it into the wound. Almost immediately, his skin closed around the needle. Relief washed through him as he watched his blood snake through the tube. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the seat. The rain thrashed against the SUV in waves, rocking it in a foreboding tempo, like the slow beating of her dying heart. “What is it about her ?” his ghostly companion asked, appearing in the front seat. Opening his eyes once again, he stared at the ghost of his brother. In life, they had looked a lot alike. Tall and broad, with dark hair. His brother’s once golden eyes were watching him curiously, now the milky white of the dead. Glancing back at the woman cradled in his arms, Marius’s gaze softened. “I don’t know,” he admitted in a whisper. “I just knew the day I met her that I couldn’t live without her.”  Zephyr nodded knowingly, “They’ll come after you for this.” After a long pause, Marius glanced back at his brother, “Do you ever regret it, Zephyr?” “Not for one minute,” he smiled sadly. “I knew it would be you to come after me. You would give me an honorable death.” “I didn’t want to believe that you had betrayed our kind for a human woman.” Zephyr sighed, “I fell in love. What you’re doing is a betrayal to our kind.” “Giving her my blood is the only way to save her.” Marius argued. “I know. You of all people know how they will see it though.” “What do I do now?” “You fight for her. I didn’t reach my Abigail in time. You were given a second chance, Marius. Do everything in your power to protect what you have.” Zephyr’s form started to dim. “I’m sorry, Brother. I didn’t understand what it was like. What it meant to fall in love.” “I know. But you do now. What you choose to do with it is up to you. You can change your own fate and those who come after. Or you can endure the same doom as me and all our brothers who have fallen before us.” Zephyr smiled softly before disappearing.               Eyeing the black dagger, he thought of the lives he had taken. The dagger had once been a beautiful gold, engraved with the words of the Ancient Ones. A symbol of the purity of his kind, it was never originally meant for war. It was more of an adornment for the rituals and ceremonies of his people. The short hilt had been literally shaped by his hand, his fingers still fitting it perfectly. The pommel had originally held the purest diamond in existence. Now, the stone was the same inky black as the night sky. The souls of the dead and the blood of his brothers had darkened the blade over time, marring it beyond recognition. Like the charred remains of his soul, it was now only a representation of his past. Marius would take up the blade once more to redeem himself. This time, he would use it to protect the one he loved most.


Arthur held his father’s hand tightly. His cap fixed to his head, breeches cinched at his waist with a small leather belt. His first tie knotted at his collar, his father showing him how to tie it as he did it for his young son. Arthur was studious, even at the young age of seven. Serious. Determined. He absorbed everything he could and kept records. First in his head. As he aged, in journals. Anything he found interesting or useful. He peered from the bench into the casket, seeing for the first time a dead body. He knew this one before. Before it was a body, it was his grandmother. Afterwards, Arthur endured the awkward family time at his grandmother’s house, with the awkward consolations, each sounding more contrived than the previous: “Now the healing begins”; “She’s in a better place”; “She’s at peace”. Arthur couldn’t picture his grandmother being peaceful. She always seemed worried to him. Even at his age, he recognized his grandmother as a nervous and sad person. His last visit with her was just three weeks earlier. She had been napping in her bedroom. Arthur’s parents took the brief moment of peace to slip away to rest and collect themselves, leaving Arthur alone to watch his grandmother’s chest rise and fall, her breath coming in long wheezing draws. It startled him when she spoke. “How long have you been there?” his grandmother asked. Arthur didn’t know. “A while,” he said. His grandmother began to cough, waving frantically for Arthur, who obligingly came to her bedside, his grandmother directing him to the nightstand and a glass of water that Arthur handed her, his grandmother, holding it with both hands, sipping with her eyes clenched shut. A pause, a deep breath, and relaxing as the cough subsided. She passed the glass back to Arthur, who returned it to the nightstand. “Hand me my mirror,” his grandmother instructed. The small hand mirror lay on the stand next to the water, a handkerchief, vase of gardenias, and a copy of the King James Bible. Arthur watched as his grandmother looked into the mirror. She had an expression like she was staring at something far away, not just her reflection inches before her. She finally sighed and closed her eyes, pressing the mirror closer to her chest. “Life goes so quickly,” she said to no one in particular and then to Arthur, “I was your age only yesterday.” Arthur didn’t understand. He wasn’t sure how old his grandmother was. He was told it was impolite to ask such things. But he was certain she was much older than seven yesterday. “Look at yourself,” his grandmother said, passing him her mirror. “Take a good look at yourself, Arthur.” Arthur again did as instructed. He saw his reflection, his blue eyes, his dark hair, combed neatly for the visit, the small scratch on his left cheek he’d gotten from a tree branch the day before. “Don’t forget this moment, Arthur,” his grandmother said. “It will all go by so fast. Never forget who you are. Now. In the present.” Arthur didn’t quite understand what his grandmother was saying. He did know it was making him uncomfortable and that he wished his parents would get back soon, glancing back over his shoulder towards the door. “Do you know why they call it the present?” his grandmother asked. Arthur shook his head. “Because it’s a gift,” she said, and she smiled for the first time that Arthur could remember. And for the last time. Arthur slipped into his grandmother’s empty room and sat in the chair, staring at the empty bed. He felt better being there. Sad, but better. The quiet was interrupted by his mother, calling in to him. “Arthur, come out here and talk with the guests,” she said, ducking her head in the door quickly. “Now.” “Yes, ma’am,” Arthur said, but waited a few moments more. He ran his hand over the mirror on the bed stand where he’d left it. Turning it over, he looked into it and remembered what his grandmother said but didn’t feel like the present was a particularly wonderful gift at that moment. He was tired of adults ordering him around. He just wanted to be older and respected and no longer treated like a child. In his hand, the image of himself in the mirror, shimmered. He thought he imagined it. Then it happened again, and then it blurred, and the reflection was no longer of Arthur at age 7. It was Arthur, at least it resembled Arthur, but older now. In uniform. And looking confident. Arthur turned to his parents, shaking his father’s hand, kissing his mother on the cheek, swinging his bag over his shoulder and heading to the waiting car to drive him to the train station and the train to San Francisco, and the ship waiting there to take him overseas. On the train, at night, Arthur the only one still awake, he watched the dark shapes of the fields of Nebraska whir by and wondered when and if he would ever get home. He wondered if he would ever see his parents again, his sister, his dog. Whether he would ever have a career or a family of his own, or if he would just join the constantly growing list of young men who would not. Arthur dug around in his pack and found it. The mirror. He’d stolen it from his grandmother’s bedside that morning of her funeral. He’d felt an attachment to it, to his grandmother through it. His talisman he never told anyone about. Not even his sister to whom he felt he could tell everything. He wasn’t sure if he could keep it safe or hidden once on his ship, but he was going to try. He glanced at it, at his reflection in it. He saw himself, thought he saw himself, but Arthur wasn’t sure. The dim light of the train car provided just enough to make out his features, but so dim his features appeared to alter with each jostle and bump of the tracks, altered his hair line enough that it began to recede, the corners of his eyes to crease, his forehead to wrinkle. Arthur sat at his desk, a pile of overdue warehousing reports on the most recent project the huge food conglomerate he worked for had ordered, involving the processing, storage and distribution of cherries in Wisconsin and Michigan, from where he had just returned. A two-week trip away from his wife and children, a formal portrait of them squarely on Arthur’s desk. Arthur in his usual brown suit, his son in a similar version, each with mustard yellow shirts and matching orange and brown striped ties. His wife, bouffant hair freshly coiffed from the salon, his daughter in a handmade dress with zoo animals on it. Three of them smiled. Arthur just looked like he wanted the picture over with. The phone rang. His wife calling with a request to stop at the market and pick up pork chops and a head of lettuce. Arthur felt a grumble grow in him. He was exhausted. He just wanted to go home. How did this mundane errand fall upon him when he was out working fifty hour weeks to provide that food for his family. After dinner that night, when the house was asleep and Arthur was not, Arthur slipped from the bed and to the chest he kept in the basement. No one else had the key but him. It contained the remnants of the life before now. Jar of marbles, Boy Scout sash and memorabilia, Navy uniform, and his grandmother’s mirror. In the dust of the basement illuminated by the bare bulb in the fixture overhead, Arthur looked again into the mirror, hoping for something better. Whether that better existed in his future or was left in his past, he wasn’t certain. He just hoped. And the reflection that remained was that of an old man, blue blazer, striped tie, bifocals, his head almost completely bald save a thin gray rim around the edge. He looked like he was smiling, for Arthur. For many people it would have appeared he was only trying to not not smile. In his small one-bedroom apartment in the retirement home, Arthur looked at the wall of pictures over his breakfast table. Faded black-and-whites of his parents, his childhood, his time in the service. Once bright kodachromes of his wedding, his early years with his wife, his early years with his children, the color bleaching out over years along with Arthur’s expression. Then only pictures of him with his wife and daughter. And then only with his daughter. Arthur looked at his grandmother’s mirror in his hand and wondered where the time had gone.

He set it down on his bed stand, his hand unsteady, his daughter catching her father’s arm and the mirror before either crashed onto the stand. She lay the mirror safely to the side and Arthur’s arm comfortably back across his chest. Arthur closed his eyes. His breath came in deeper gasps, longer gaps between them. And then it stopped. “Dad?” his daughter asked. Seven-year-old Arthur stood behind his daughter, watching her cry on the old man in the bed. He turned back to look over his shoulder as a gentle hand rested upon it.

His grandmother, younger than he remembered her ever being, looked down on him and smiled. “I told you,” she said. “It all goes so quickly.”


A muffled percussive thrum on my windscreen nudges me back to life. I recognise that black ski glove and those killer dimples, and I wind down the driver’s side window. “You’re early today?” He leans forward and kisses my cheek. “I wanted to be sure of the best seat in the house.”

He grins. “Nobody would dare to park here first thing.” I smile and rub the sleep from my eyes. “Happy birthday, darling.” I pass him an envelope. “Hey, you shouldn’t have.” He accepts the gift and hands me a steaming takeaway. “Your usual,” he says, and passes me a spoon and two sachets. “How’s things with you?” I clutch the drink and lean over to unlock the door.

 “I’ll survive.” He circles round to the passenger side. “Is Hattie not here today?” There is enthusiastic panting from the back seat. He opens the door, and she hops over to the passenger seat and snuffles off after Charlie, who’s busy watering my driver-side hub-cap. “There’s no stopping those two.” He chuckles. “Are you up for a walk today?” “Let’s just watch the light show for a while.” The sky is already putting on a spectacular display for us; heralding the return of the major feature. Tangerine clouds tinged with gold blossom before our eyes. The heavens are going wild this morning.

I curl up next to him and close my eyes. # Six months ago, I had no idea he was the one. My antenna was switched off that day. We’d both been walking our dogs, and he’d come to my rescue. Hattie had left a mess on the pathway, and I’d forgotten my poo-sacks again. Sometimes, I don’t bother if there’s no one around, however everyone’s so touchy about it nowadays. I saw a couple nearby, so I thought I’d better make an effort. I tried to lift the business with a stick and get it out of the way. Once I’d lifted it, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do next. When he approached me, I was standing beside Hattie, as if I was a BBQ guest examining a charred specimen on a skewer.

   Jeff’s dog, Charlie, rushed over the meadow toward Hattie. They had instant chemistry. Charlie snuffled around Hattie. She remained reserved and receptive before reciprocating in kind. Jeff squatted down next to Charlie and brought him to heal. “Sorry about, that,” he says and offers me an open poo-sack. “Charlie’s not normally so forward.” I smile and say not to worry. I was still looking at Jeff’s dark brown eyes when I shook the morsel from the stick. The plastic bag proves elusive. I fail. The deposit falls on Jeff’s left shoe. He stands up as I bend down and we both clash our heads.

“Sorry! sorry!” I clutch the top of my head. “I’m so sorry, are you?” “It’s ok,” he says, clutching his nose. “It’s not broken...” “...you’re bleeding!” I reach inside my pocket for a handy wipe. “Please let me.” “It’s fine,” he says, leaning his head back and then smiling. “I’ve seen a lot worse in the triage unit, believe me.” Those dimples are to die for. “Let me buy you a coffee at least.” “I can’t stay, I’ve work.” I am crestfallen. “Maybe another time?” “Some morning, maybe.” he says. “Hey! Charlie! Come here!” Hattie had made a new friend that day, even if I hadn’t. I watched Jeff walk over to his car. It was an Audi estate, dark green and a couple of years old. He opened the rear hatch for Charlie. A minute later they’d disappeared. # This morning, the first orange rays of sunlight flicker across Jeff’s face and he pulls down the car’s sun visor flap to protect his eyes. I nestle into his neck and he shifts his arm from around my shoulder.

“It’s gone dead,” he says, flexing his fingers and rubbing his forearm with his free hand. I look up at him and reposition my head on his firm chest.  “I can’t hang out today, darling,” he says, stroking my hair with his long fingers.

“I thought we were going to spend the day together?” I do my quivery-pouty bottom-lip-thing, but he holds firm.    He had to get back to tell Isabel. It was now or never. Jeff had to speak to her this morning and say it was over. It had been over for a year as far as I knew. They had separate beds in separate rooms and separate lives. They’d “outgrown each other”, he’d said, and they’d both moved on. Well, he’d moved on at least, I knew that much. He kisses my hand as the sun ascends above the tree line on the far side of the lake. His lips were warm and soft despite the morning chill. Before he’d wiped the windscreen, there’d been globules of condensation on the glass and the ghost of a heart shape. I’d drawn it with my fingertip. In the middle, I’d put my initials next to his. He’d smiled and added a “XXX” underneath, and he’d kissed my lips. It had been hard, he’d said, to carry on like this.  Jeff had pretended everything in his life was all right; but it was impossible. He hadn’t found the right moment to speak to Isabel. They argue all the time, especially when his shift pattern at the hospital means working late. They had money issues, like everyone else, I suppose. He’d told her he had to do long hours to earn more money to pay for everything. She said she’d get work and that would help, but she never did. It wasn’t his fault. She wanted to live in that house and go on holiday all the time and everything else. She couldn’t see how tired he was and how they never spent time together because of that pressure. Jeff said he still cared for her, but it was killing him. He just had to find the right moment to talk to her. It hadn’t happened yet, that’s all.

# The morning after our collision, I returned around 7 am and pulled up in my usual spot.  The sky was clear, and it was light despite the sun not clearing the horizon. An autumnal mist hovered above the motionless surface of the lake in front of my car. He hadn’t arrived yet, and there were only three other vehicles in the car park. Hattie was desperate to get walking. I calm her down with a snack. Maybe he’d been already? The cafe owner had just arrived and was opening up the serving hatch. He was silhouetted against steam rising from his Gaggia’s cleaning cycle. Hattie was whining when I let her out, and I walked over to speak to him.

“Can I help you, madam?” He says. “I’d like a cup of err...” He raises an eyebrow as if he’s gauging my request. “Do you recognise your daily regulars?” He nods. “There’s a man with a dark brown retriever puppy?” He furrows his forehead. “He has a big German hatch back?” “Ah, you mean Jeff and Charlie?” I nod. “He’s an early morning latte man, madam.” “I’ll take two,” I reach for my purse. “How much, please?” “That’s seven for two.” “Have you seen him this...?” “Morning, George.” “You too, Jeff.”

Oh, my God.

“Your latte, sir, courtesy of this lovely lady.” I want to die. “No, surely not,” he says, “it’s my turn today.” He spares my blushes and hands George a tenner. # And so it began, long sunrise walks with a coffee and happy dogs. We had perfect moments in our pre-dawn paradise. There was a regular route and a rainy-day-circuit too, though I never noticed the weather when I was there with Jeff. The clean air was a relief from the city’s choking roads. It was our oasis in all the grime. I don’t remember seeing anyone else in our park, ever. It was our kingdom and our forest and our lakes too. On busy mornings in the summer, we’d joke about how we should restrict the public access to the estate. And how it’d been a mistake to allow them to bring their vehicles onto our land. It would never do.

It felt perfect, but I had to know for sure. “What’s your star sign?” I’m trembling. This could all fall apart. “Don’t know, but my birthday is in November.” “When?” “The 24th.” “So, you’re Sagittarius.” It’s the real thing, for sure. “I’m Aquarius.” “That’s good?” Oh my goodness, that’s so right for me, and he doesn’t even know it. We stop at a bench to let dogs off the leads and watch the sunrise. It’s our bench now. # Now I’d discovered Jeff’s birthday, I had to buy him a lovely watch. I shouldn’t have spent so much, but I knew he’d love it. I had to be very organised to create an exciting treat for his special day. A week before his birthday, I returned to the wood by myself. I used my phone to get a picture of the tree with the heart-shaped hole in the bark. I’d noticed it first a few months ago. We had to struggle through bracken to get to it. It was hollow inside. “A perfect space for two,” I’d said. We squeezed inside. I was right. It was a perfect fit. Inside that hollow tree, we kissed. We were queen and king of the woodland, parkland royalty in our own castle. We stayed there until the sun had gone way over the tree line and we could hear a steady stream of traffic chugging in low gear on the perimeter road.

“Damn the public.”

He smiled and lifted his arm from round my shoulder, “it’s gone dead, sorry.” “We should close the gate after 8 am and stop them visiting.”

He nodded and rubbed back the feeling into his numb limb.    First, I made a map of the trees in our wood; they all had little metal numbered tags. The map had all the features we visited every day: the heart tree, the broken silver birch and the stick dwellings left by the little people. I had it all planned out. I visited the photo store and got them to make a special printed jigsaw of my heart tree picture.

   After I’d created my treasure trail, I prepared lots of clues and returned to our wood to hide them away with the jigsaw pieces. We’d follow the clues together and use the map to collect pieces of the puzzle and then at last he’d find his watch hidden inside our heart tree. I spent three days planning and executing my scheme. I wanted it to be perfect. It’s our tree and our park,and it all belongs to us now. # Jeff didn’t tell me much about his life, except that he worked in the A&E. He never even told me where he lived. At first, I assumed he was single. He asked about my life but whenever I tried to find out about him he changed the subject. “I was just interested, that’s all,” I’d say, “I wasn’t being nosey.” He was a busy professional something-or-other, but I didn’t know much more.

I told him about how my husband was a high functioning alcoholic and how we lived separate lives. Jeff asked if he ever took Hattie for a walk, and I told him he wasn’t a morning guy. We had had children together, but they are all grown up and I’d found that difficult. Being a mum and suddenly not being a mum is hard. My hubby worked all the time and was home late every night. I didn’t care what he did anymore. Jeff had changed all that. My life was bearable again. I loved planning little surprises. Jeff liked my surprises, too. He was going to enjoy this one. We’d both have fun. # When Jeff left this morning, he forgot his envelope. I discovered it later, on top of the dashboard. I’d got food prepared, and I’d brought Hattie’s basket too. The treasure hunt could wait until he came back later. He’d return with good news after speaking to Isabel. Hattie and I could stay in the park and walk and enjoy the last warm day of autumn. So we walked and walked until we’d both walked far more than enough. # There’s a tap on the driver’s side window. “You’re here late today?” It’s George with an offering. I wind down the window. “I wanted to be sure of the best seat in the house.” He hands me the steaming cup. “Your usual,” he says, and passes me a spoon and two sachets. I rub the sleep from my eyes. “Thank you,” I say, and take the cup. “How kind of you.” He peers into the rear of my vehicle. “No Hattie this evening?” There are enthusiastic breaths from the back seat, the travel rug comes to life, and she scratches at the rear passenger window. “We’re closing up for the night and they’ll be locking the gates, love.” “I’m planning to watch the heavens tonight.” “Is there a meteor storm or something unusual?” “I suspect there’s a misalignment, but I can’t be sure.” “So it‘s divine inspiration you’re after?” “I need celestial intervention right now.” “At least you have Hattie for company.” “I have the moon and her reflection too.” “She'll always be there, that’s for sure.” The End


It was 12:36. No, “It was 12:36!” I shouted it, yelling at the top of my lungs because I had no other choice. Because I had lost the man I loved, the one who had been the first true love of my life. And because I was on the verge of losing the only person who, I thought, had been with me, on my side, for my entire life. “It was… How could you know that? I mean, they didn’t say anything about those kinds of details did they?” “Do you want to know how? I know because I looked at my phone right after we hung up. I thought about calling him back, but I didn’t. I didn’t call him back because right at the end of the call I heard a voice, and Elijah said that he had to go. He said he would call me back later, and then he was gone. I never heard his voice again, but I know that at least one person did.

August 11, at exactly 12:36 PM. Noah, Elijah, and their mutual friends Marco and James were on a boys weekend in Maine, when a fun bonding weekend turned into a nightmare in a matter of minutes. I almost choked up thinking about the last time that I'd heard his voice, and had to pause to compose myself before I continued. I composed myself, and then looked up, and stared into his eyes. Into the face which I had known for so many years, had gone to crying every night for two weeks after our mother died, and, recently, had begun to hate. “The voice I heard in the background was you, Noah. And don’t even try to deny it because I’ve heard your story so many times that I remember every single detail. I know that Marco and James were out hiking, and that it was just the two of you alone. The first time I heard you say that you had been upstairs listening to music I didn’t even think twice. I guess I was just too shocked to comprehend any of what I was listening to. But then I heard you say it again, and again, and I remembered that phone call. I’ve gone back just to look at the time the call ended, any way to make it make sense. But it doesn’t make sense, does it Noah? You were with him. You were with him and you, you just let him die? You’re a lifeguard, you could have easily done something if you wanted to. But instead you stood there, and called 9-1-1 only after he was already dead. Even now that there’s no way around the truth I still can’t really believe it.” I had been looking at the floor this whole time, but now I looked up. Despite everything, I still had some hope that he would have an explanation, something to make all my doubts go away, so that I could go back to him and let him console me as he had done every other time something had gone wrong in my life. But he only looked back at me, his mouth opening and then closing again, as if he was trying to say something but the words wouldn’t come out.

So I continued, “I loved him. I really did. We… on the phone he said that he loved me, and I knew from his voice that there was something wrong, but I decided to ignore it. In that moment, I thought about our future and, well… I believed that we were so perfectly poised to go into the next few years and really start our lives together. I saw us with a family, and I didn’t want to ruin it. I thought that if I just ignored it, I wouldn’t have to worry about it ever again. I thought that Elijah would wake up the next morning and call me, not to talk about anything really, but just to make sure that I was up and feeling ready to go into the day. But he didn’t, and I know that you know why. I tried to believe that you didn’t because I couldn’t afford to lose you too, but…” My voice trailed off as I saw a change in my brother's face.  Noah had been matching my gaze, looking at me, I thought, earnestly. But now, the corners of his mouth raised. It was just a twitch, but I noticed it anyway. He glanced down at the floor, and then his dark green eyes met mine, with a new steel about them that I couldn’t recall ever having seen before. “Come on Sarah. I’m sure it was hard. Really. I don’t want you to think that I’m heartless or whatever, but… Have you not noticed what’s happened in your life since then?” He stood up, towering over me as I stayed in the chair, holding his gaze. “You moved out, finally, you started a new job, I mean really almost every part of your life has changed for the better. He was holding you back, and you’re better off now that I....” a pause, as Noah realized that he’d finally said out loud what we’d all known all along. “Now that Elijah’s gone.” That little hint of a smirk again, and finally Noah looked away. I thought I had known my brother. How could I not? I’d lived with him for almost 23 years after all. But I hadn’t, and now, for the first time, I felt truly afraid. In a flash, all of my favorite memories with Noah came back to me. When I was 5, and he was 8, and we went to Disney World for the first time. I still remember the look on his face after he got off of Space Mountain, a mixture of awe and the most pure happiness I had ever seen. I had been devastated that I had been only an inch too short to ride, but his happiness was contagious, and I now remember that day as one of the best of my life. This was also one of the last times our family was complete. Only 2 months later we got the news that my mother had stage 3 lung cancer. And 8 months after that it was just the two of us and our dad, as it would remain until I Noah moved out when he turned 19. Four years later, as I finished elementary school, and Noah was at that age when he came back from school almost every other day with some new note from Ms. Hartman explaining his newest antics in class. He was tough, for sure, or at least that was the aura he and every other seventh grader wanted to present. But when I came home from school crying because I had gotten my first ever C, he sat down with me and consoled me. And then every night until I understood every aspect of adding and subtracting fractions, and the times tables were fully cemented in my head. And when I graduated from college, I remember my brother being the first person to come up to me to congratulate me on receiving my diploma. And he was the first person I wanted to see, because, for my whole life, I had looked up to Noah. After our mother's death, and our father's death while I was a sophomore in college, Noah had become the only family I had left. We got each other through these tough times, and became even closer than we had ever been when we lived together. I never would have told him this, but he was my idol, and I had always tried to emulate him in everything I had done. Elijah and I had already been dating, but he had to wait to congratulate me until after Noah and I had hugged and talked about the ceremony.

Of course, thinking back on it now, my memories of that moment take on a far different meaning. Noah had been the first to congratulate me, yes. But he had stepped in front of Elijah, cutting him off as he walked towards me. During the party later that day, when the two of them had disappeared for 15 minutes, and come back separately. But they hadn’t talked to each other for the rest of that night. I realize now that none of my memories with Noah will ever feel the same again, even the purest of memories diluted with the knowledge of what he had done. I looked at my brother, in the present once again, and saw him for who he really was. As I saw him in front of me, I realized that despite all of those great memories, that jealousy which had led to Elijah’s death had always been there. Physically he was still the same Noah that I had grown up with, but in my idolization of him I had missed all the signs, unaware for far too long about how manipulative and abusive he had really been. Standing at 6’ 3”, he had always been a star athlete, and the remnants of his college athlete days were still very clear, as the pulsating veins in his neck and arms divulged the true anger he felt towards me, or probably more accurately towards my now-deceased boyfriend, Elijah. His long black hair was tied up in a bun, revealing his newly-receding hairline, and his eyes, so dark they almost seemed to match the black of his hair, were still staring at me. I saw the anger in his eyes, as well, but there was more. Apprehension, maybe, as if he knew what my next words would be.

“Noah, I need you to leave.” “Sarah, maybe I made a mistake. How many times have I been there to help you over the years? Sure, this is more serious but you are going to live a better life now that you’re free from him. I I know you thought that you loved him but it wasn’t going to last. I could see that, and that’s what I told him when we talked earlier in the day. That’s probably why something seemed off on the phone. I told him that he needed to leave you, but he refused. So when the opportunity came to make that happen, I took it. Everything I did was to protect you, so that you didn’t waste the best years of your life in a dead-end relationship. And really, you know that I didn’t actually do anything, I just-” I cut him off there, “That’s right. You did nothing. There was a human in front of you dying, struggling to take his last breaths, and you chose to do nothing. You’re pathetic. And if you weren’t still my brother I wouldn’t just let you walk away, but....”

As I spoke to my brother for the last time, I imagined Elijah’s last moments. I pictured him lying on the floor, struggling for his last breaths as the grape which ended his life attempted to make its futile journey down his trachea. And I imagined Noah standing there, watching the life leave Elijah, and feeling satisfied that he would no longer have to worry about someone getting too close to his sister. “But I can’t. I’ll never talk to you again, and you’re lucky that’s all that will happen to you. Because you deserve worse.”

And, just like that, without saying another word, my brother turned around and opened the door to my apartment. He looked back one last time, as if he had something more to say, but when he saw my determination he turned back and walked out of my apartment, and out of my life.


Jonah stared at the open textbook on his desk, the words blurring together into an incomprehensible jumble. He blinked hard, trying to force his exhausted brain to focus. 2:37 AM. He had been at this for hours, desperately reviewing material for his Practical Interpretation final exam tomorrow morning. With a heavy sigh, Jonah leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He should've started studying days ago, but he had put it off again and again, convinced he could cram it all in at the last minute. Now the moment of truth was fast approaching, and Jonah was utterly unprepared. He glanced resentfully out the window at the darkened quad below his dorm room. Other students were likely sleeping peacefully, finished with their own exam prep. Meanwhile, Jonah was stuck here, anxiety churning in his gut as the weight of his procrastination fully sank in. He couldn't fail this test. As a scholarship student from a poor family, Jonah desperately needed to keep his grades up. One mark could jeopardise everything he had worked for just to get here. With a shake of his head, Jonah tried to clear his spiralling thoughts. He just needed to focus. One chapter at a time. He could do this. Taking a deep breath, Jonah began reading aloud from the dense textbook chapter on "Reality Confluence: Navigating Perceptual Frontiers of the Modern Age." He sounded out the complicated words slowly, hoping the act of speaking would help cement the concepts in his mind. "In the ontological fabric of the multiverse, emergent phenomena..." A sudden scraping sound from the hallway made Jonah jump. He paused, listening closely. It sounded like something heavy being dragged across the floor. He calmed himself, took a deep breath, and pushed the bowl of chocolates away. Chocolates made him jumpy in excess. Jonah hit excess before midnight. Curious, Jonah cracked open his door and peered out. At the far end of the hallway, he could see the old janitor, Thaddeus, struggle to lift a floor waxing machine in the communal lounge. Jonah watched as Thaddeus shoved the electric behemoth onto the ping-pong table. Like a gunslinger, he flourished his spray bottle and liberally spritzed the ping-pong table. Jonah wrinkled his nose at the pungent odour of solvent wafting down the hallway. Why was Thaddeus waxing the table at 3 AM? It solved a mystery of why the ping-pong tables had turned yellow and the bottom edge of the nets was always missing. Shaking his head, Jonah retreated to his room. Hendrix College could be an odd place sometimes. Glancing back at his desk, Jonah felt his motivation drain away. He was so tired. His eyes could barely focus on the tiny text swimming across the pages. Maybe he should try again after a quick nap... No! Jonah sat up sharply. He couldn't give in to exhaustion now. He had to keep reviewing if there was any hope of passing this test. With new determination, Jonah turned back to the open textbook. "The paradoxical landscapes of simultaneous existence and non-existence..." Jonah's eyes fatigued quickly. His gaze drifted to the window. Sometimes focusing on something distant helped. The quad below was bathed in silvery moonlight. It looked so peaceful out there. Jonah imagined himself lying on the grass, staring up at the night sky and listening to the gentle breeze. A lump formed in his throat. He never should have put off studying for so long. Now here he sat, trapped and frantic, while the rest of the world slept on in blissful ignorance. Sometimes Jonah wondered if he had made a mistake coming to Hendrix at all. He wasn't like most of the other students - born into money with bright futures assured. He was here on scholarship, barely scraping by while trying to navigate classes far beyond his small-town high school education. The whirring of the waxing machine stopped, but only for a moment. Maybe it was foolish to think he could handle this intense academic pressure. As freshman year dragged on, Jonah kept putting off declaring a major. He was terrified of committing himself to a field of study only to fail spectacularly. The weight of that decision paralysed him. A sudden tapping jerked Jonah from his spiralling reverie. He looked over to see a fat squirrel perched on the outside windowsill, peering in curiously. As Jonah watched in surprise, the squirrel tapped its little paws against the glass again. It looked frantic. It mimed for Jonah to open the window. "Shoo, get out of here!" Jonah waved his arms, but the squirrel didn't move. The squirrel turned its head and regarded Jonah with one eye, then the next. Its tiny fingers straining against the window. Its muscles twitched as it tried to force it open. With a sigh, Jonah relented. To his astonishment, with only an inch gap, the squirrel immediately twisted inside, scurried across his desk, and snatched one of his mother's chocolate chip cookies before leaping down and scurrying to the door. Clutching the cookie in its greedy paws, the squirrel looked expectantly at Jonah as if waiting to be let out. "Unbelievable. I was saving those." Jonah muttered. He cautiously opened the door, keeping his legs as far from the squirrel as possible. What could it harm? Maybe it would interrupt Thaddeus' work and give Jonah some much needed piece. Tonight kept getting weirder and weirder. Jonah shook his head to clear it. He couldn't let himself get derailed. His exam was in less than eight hours now. He had to keep studying. Squaring his shoulders, Jonah sat down and resumed reading from the textbook. He made it a full paragraph further before a faint, but distinct smell made him wrinkle his nose. Was that... cigar smoke? Jonah glanced around in confusion. His dorm was non-smoking, and he knew the fire alarm had a hair-trigger. The last thing Jonah wanted was to lose an hour of study time while the fire department searched through the dorm. Where was that smell coming from? Sniffing the air, Jonah traced the odour outside his room to the janitor's closet. That was impossible. There was no way someone was smoking cigars in the tiny space. Right...? Tentatively, Jonah eased open the closet door. A dozen beady eyes stared back at him. Jonah blinked in disbelief. In the dark closet, a circle of squirrels stood around an old, ragged-edged shoe box. They quickly hid their tiny cigars behind their backs. Jonah stood frozen, unable to process the bizarre scene before him. The squirrels stared at the one with the cookie. One of the squirrels finished its cigar in a few quick puffs before tossing the butt aside, snatched the cookie, and scampering toward the closet door on its little legs. Heart pounding, Jonah looked around wildly for something, anything, to defend himself from the tiny cigar-smoking mammal. But the squirrel merely tilted its head, studying Jonah curiously with its shining black eyes. Jonah scrabbled backward in alarm as the squirrel tossed the nibbled cookie at Jonah's feet, then pushed the door closed, sealing the other squirrels back inside. Jonah held perfectly still, barely daring to breathe. His mind reeled. There were a couple of nattering noises, then the sound of a match being struck. Jonah jerked back in horror. This had to be a hallucination brought on by stress and lack of sleep. Squirrels didn't do—well—whatever that was! A cold sweat broke out across Jonah's skin as the implications sank in. The chocolate coins - had they been laced with some kind of drug? Is that why he was now hallucinating wildly? Jonah raced to his room, and frantically threw out the remaining cookies, along with the chocolate coins and M&M's he'd been snacking on earlier. His heart pounded as he stared at the innocuous baked goods in the bin. What had he unknowingly ingested? What had his mom cooked? Terrified and paranoid, Jonah began ransacking his room, looking for clues about who could have done this to him. Finding nothing, he rushed to the bathroom and vigorously scrubbed his hands and face. The drug could have been transmitted through touch. He had to remove any lingering residue. Jonah stared at his wild-eyed reflection in the mirror. They were bloodshot, almost jaundiced yellow. He needed gloves immediately. Anything his bare hands touched could be contaminated, even his textbook. He raced back to his room and tore through his dresser, finally unearthing a pair of old winter gloves. He tugged them on, his breath coming in panicked gasps. But he couldn't take any chances. Safely gloved, Jonah hurried back to his desk. He glanced around warily before sinking down and pulling the textbook toward him. The chapter title seemed to waver mockingly before his eyes: "Reality Confluence: Navigating Perceptual Frontiers of the Modern Age." Jonah swallowed hard. He had to pull it together and keep studying through whatever nightmare drug trip was happening to him. The exam was still coming, hallucinations or not. He just had to make it through the next few hours. Blinking slowly against the headache pounding behind his eyes, Jonah focused on the open textbook. "Temporal variances become non-linear differentials..." he read aloud, the technical words jumbling together meaninglessly. His eyelids grew heavier, the text blurring before him. Jonah's head sank down onto the open book as exhaustion finally overwhelmed his adrenaline-fuelled panic. "Just need to rest my eyes for a minute," he mumbled. "Then I'll keep studying..." *** Jonah blinked groggily as sunlight streamed through his window directly on his face. He sat up slowly, grimacing as the textbook pages stuck to his cheek peeled off in a crinkly mess. Disoriented, he glanced at his clock before panic jolted through his body. 11:31 AM. The exam had started an hour ago! Jonah leapt to his feet, sending his chair crashing backward. He was still wearing the gloves; he realised numbly. Frantically shaking off the lingering sleep, he ripped the gloves off. The clothes he had been wearing were quickly stripped off, and he threw on the first items he could grab out of his dresser. He glanced desperately around the room but saw no lingering evidence of the bizarre hallucinatory night. Out the window, students milled around the sunny quad as if nothing was amiss. Thoughts racing, Jonah sprinted across campus to the exam building. He got turned around and had to double back before finally arriving, panting and sweaty, outside the right classroom. After bracing himself for a long moment, Jonah creaked open the door. Rows of students sat hunched over their tests, the only sound the scratching of pencils on paper. Miraculously, the professor still sat nonchalantly at his desk. Jonah cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sorry I'm late," he croaked out. "I, uh, overslept." A few students looked up. Some shook their heads. The professor raised an eyebrow before beckoning Jonah forward. The professor picked up a chair from the side of the room, set it next to his chair, and motioned for Jonah to sit. There were a few snickers. Face burning, Jonah slid into the chair and took the test packet from the professor with trembling fingers. He stared at the questions before him in dismay. The professor set the exam timer in front of Jonah. Thirteen minutes left on the ninety-minute timer. Despite all his frantic studying, Jonah retained nothing. The technical jargon from last night's textbook may as well have been in another language. Jonah could barely comprehend the exam prompts, much less form coherent answers. As the last minute ticked down, Jonah scrawled the only words that came to mind in the empty essay boxes: "Sometimes reality is beyond understanding."