Author's note: This is based on a real life situation. Names have been changed to protect people in the story. As Jade brushed her long dark silky black hair out, her phone buzzed. She put down her hairbrush to pick it up. She stared at the text the came through, shocked and a little unsure. Hi, it’s mom. Call me when you can. I’d love to try to reconnect with you, and I thought we could hang out sometime this weekend and maybe see a movie or do some shopping together.

Jade put her phone down and thought about this for awhile. Since she was four, Jade had lived with her Aunt Mimi and Uncle Ashton. Her mom had been around off and on, but Jade had always felt estranged from her real mother due to the fact she had been raised by her aunt and uncle.

She appreciated the thought of her mother reaching out to her and wanting to get to know her better, but she wasn’t quite sure she was ready yet to hang out and try to reconnect a relationship with her.

She picked her brush back up and started brushing her thick black hair again. Her little “sister” Starla ran into her room. Starla was Mimi and Ashton’s daughter and Jade’s cousin.

Starla ran up and gave Jade a big hug. “I love you, Jade,” she said to her big “sister”.

Jade looked down at Starla and smiled. She loved her little sister, but she also missed her half-sister and brother on her mom’s side — Ophelia and James — a lot.

“Starla, is your dad here?” Jade asked. Jade had grown really close to Ashton in the days of her youth. He had taken her into his arms and accepted her as his own daughter. Unfortunately, Mimi and Ashton had decided not to stay together, which saddened Jade. Starla shook her head no.

When Jade felt sad, she often went downstairs to visit Grandma Nan. Grandma Nan was always there to listen.

“What’s the matter, Jade?” Her grandmother made a cup of tea for her and sat down at the table next to her.

“My mom texted me. She wants to spend some time with me.” Grandma’s face brightened. “That’s a good thing, Jade” — looking at Jade’s downcast face — “isn’t it?”

Jade looked thoughtful, mulling it over for a minute.

“Well, I do want to spend time with my half-siblings…” Jade began.

“Ophelia loves you a lot.” Grandma Nan smiled at Jade. “So does your mom.” Jade’s mom was her Aunt Mimi’s sister, and Grandma Nan was mother to Mimi and Kathryn both.

Jade sipped her tea, thinking again. She set her cup down. “I’m 14. I haven’t really lived with my mom since I was 4. I don’t know how to reconnect with her!” Jade put her head in her hands.

Grandma Nan lifted her chin up with a gentle finger. A single tear rolled down Jade’s cheek.

“Does that make me a bad person?” Jade asked quietly.

“No, absolutely not.” Her grandmother pulled her in close for a hug. “You’re a wonderful person, Jade, and your mother knows this. That’s why she would like to reconnect with you. She does love you — a lot.” “But sometimes it seems like she loves Ophelia and James better than me. I mean, she gave me up, but still raises those two.”

Grandma Nan held Jade close to her. “Jade, your mother loves you very much. She would so like to be a part of your life. She probably misses you, sees you’re growing up so beautifully, and wants to get to know you better.” Jade again mulled over what her grandmother was saying to her. The more she thought about it, the more she knew her grandmother was right, but it still hurt that her mother would give her up and raise two more children.

Grandma Nan watched Jade closely.

“Jade, your mother does love you very much. She wanted to raise you, but she just wasn’t ready at the time. By the time your half-siblings were born, she was in a more secure place.” “I don’t even know my mom’s husband!” Jade cried out, hot tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Jade, honey, it’s okay”— Jade stood up abruptly. “You know what? You’re right.” Grandma Nan blinked at this rapid change in Jade.

Jade sat back down. “Maybe she just didn’t know how to love me, but one question: Why did it take her this long to reach out to me?” Grandma Nan stroked Jade’s hair and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Maybe she just had a hard time figuring out how to fit you back into her life — a life that is totally different than how it was when you were born, Jade. She’s changed a lot, and so has her life. She's trying to raise your siblings now and still have you as part of her life. It’s hard. She doesn’t know where to start with the reconnection. So much has changed since you were born, Jade. I know one thing for sure, though — she does love you and always has.” Jade smiled through her tears, hugged her grandma, and replied back, “I’m going to go call her now. I would love a shopping date and to see a movie — with my mom. My real mom.” Grandma Nan beamed at her granddaughter. “Go bond with her. You need it.” Kathryn’s ringtone went off. She picked up her phone.

Jade flashed across the caller ID screen. She smiled.

“Hello?” she answered as she lifted her cell to her ear.

“Mom, I want to hang out with you and get to know you better.” Kathryn was so happy, tears of joy streamed down her face.

“Oh, Jade! I’m so happy you called!” she gushed. “What would you like to do?” “Well, there is there are these really cool jeans at the mall I really like, and I would love to see The Croods: A New Age with you, Mom.”

Kathryn felt a huge grin working the corners of her mouth. She loved to hear her first-born daughter calling her “mom”. It felt great. This was the beginning of a newfound relationship she hoped would last forever. Jade felt a warm glow after hanging up.  She was going to see her mom, her real mom for the first time in a long time.  She was excited.


"BRRRRRRRRRRRING!" I rushed out with everyone else as soon as that bell rang out. To all of us, that was our freedom call in the afternoon. The bell told us to spend the final 45 minutes of our school day outside on the playground. The playground had been many things for all of us; it had been a castle to fend of the field dwellers which surrounded us, it had been a spaceship that we all managed to gather otherworldly materials to save the earth, and it had even been the massive bank which one group protected & others tried to rob. This particular afternoon, however, the playground became a beautiful place which would last much longer than any of the previous locations we had imagined. It all started with Ms. Lopez teaching our class about the ecosystem, and all about the animals. My friends and I were beyond excited to learn about all the animals, and how it all worked. The constant singing of "Circle Of Life" somehow had not driven Ms. Lopez crazy either, but she did say we had to use "inside singing voices" which made no sense to me; every singing voice should be outside. Oh well, rules are rules. The day eventually came when we had to move onto the ecosystem, and move into learning about the water cycle. Unfortunately, the adventures of a water molecule weren't as interesting to us. No one in the third grade could get the idea of being an animal out of our head. We all wanted to be animals, but due to our human nature, this was not a possibility. We talked about pretending to be animals but growling & chirping at one another didn't fair easily as none of us could understand the other. We sat around our lunch table, brainstorming the best we could on how to keep our love of animals going, when someone, sadly I don't remember who, came up with the idea of being humans with animal powers. From there, it truly was a brainstorm of ideas. After a few days of intense lunch table discussions, several playground tests, and laying the groundwork for our ecosystem, we delivered the rules to our whole grade with anyone who wished to participate: Only one animal per human Each animal has its pros & cons. Respect them all or you won't be allowed to play. Stick to the diet of snacks the teachers provide for all of us during recess. Sure it was only three rules, but they were rules everyone respected. We then began crafting our animals pros and cons, and the day finally arrived where we would choose the animal powers we would take. The sunny weather with a nice cool breeze felt amazing in the Texas climate. No one was too hot or too cold, no one complained about how long it might take. We did have 45 minutes after all, we could take our time. It was time to pick our AP or Animal Power. My friend Madison went up first. She announced she was picking the Horse AP. She then galloped around the playground, showing her fast running abilities & her high jump ability. Next, James went up, choosing the Cheetah AP, which made sense since he was the fastest runner in the 3rd grade & he wanted to keep that up. This did mean he was restricted to the only jerky diet at Recess. After a few more people, it was finally my turn. I thought long & hard about which AP I wanted, but in my heart, I knew what I always wanted. I stood up and proudly proclaimed I would be the Parrot AP. With that, I felt myself getting lighter and I found myself the ability to fly! I couldn't believe it, it was actually happening. I flew on top of our massive monkey bars, now becoming large tree trunks. The wind guided me to the correct path, and I circled my friends, now antsy about getting their APs as well. I flew over to the red section of the now jungle monkey bars, where we agreed the birds would stay. As the parrot, I was more inclined to talk than the others, but could also have better communication with the human APs (who were particularly boring if you ask me.) A few more bird friends came to join me, while some bats & monkeys joined in but we asked them kindly to not invade our territory unless we invited them. They had their own areas anyway. It wasn't long before the teachers set out the snacks for us, and every bird flew to the sunflower seeds & fruit. We wanted the gummy snacks shaped like bugs, but the monkeys got their first. I communicated with Madison as she ate her Frosted Flakes. "How is it out in the horse field?" I asked her. "It's going very well," she said "In fact, they named me the horse leader!" This surprised me. The bird group hadn't discussed leadership yet since flight was much more prevalent on our minds. Apparently the horses have much more pressing matters that required much faster choices for leadership. "How is it for the bird's section of the trees?" she asked me. "Well, just lots of flying. We have to be careful of the bats though, they prefer to be upside down and we could accidentally step on them. They don't like that." "I know what you mean." She replied. "The turtles may be slow, but they sure know how to get in the way." One of our bunny friends came on over & told us the lion group were on their way. We quickly flew back to our section with some of our snacks. The lions were particularly mean to us, and they just loved causing trouble. I sat the rest of the time, talking with the rest of the bird group, loving the wind & the sun on my face. I didn't want this day to end. "BRRRRRRRRRRRING!" The bell rang, signaling the end of the day for us all. I flew away from the playground, but felt my flight leaving me behind with it. I told my friends goodbye for the day, but something in us all knew one thing; what we had created had not been a one-day thing; this would go on for awhile & it would last us a lifetime.


Johnny’s twelve-year-old legs bicycled, rustled, shot him out through the open screen door onto the porch. “They’re going to shoot a nuclear bomb at it!” he called, bare feet creaking the wooden floorboards, dislodging their cool dust. Johnny’s parents, reclined gently in lawn chairs, kept their backs turned to him, as though they had not heard. They were stony-faced, watching the sky cave in. “We’re lucky, you know,” said Father, talking to no one in particular, words dispersing, particles lost in air. “There’s half a chance they’ll vaporise it outright, half a chance they’ll send it somewhere else. They wouldn’t be trying something like this if it was going to hit, say, some poor country in Africa. This must be their last resort.” “Why wouldn’t they?” asked Johnny, leaping from the porch to get a better look at his father’s face, bathed in flaming sky. He felt the morning grass damp underneath him. The air was fresh, the world red-fire. It was exciting, the three of them being up that late, so far from home. Exciting that the world was ending. “Don’t start,” warned Johnny’s mother.

Father sighed, still staring at the sky, darkness spreading from a single black point in the center of it. The meteor was coming.

“Yes, you’re right. Hardly the time to have him worrying about those sorts of things. Hardly the time to have him worrying about anything, really. Or perhaps that means he ought to be worrying about everything. He’s got an awful lot of worrying to do, and not much time to do it.” After a moment, Mother tilted her ochre eyes down to Johnny. “Why don’t you go back inside and check the news for us?” Johnny nodded solemnly, reporting for duty, cheeks shining, sparkling in the early morning redness, the blood-burning sky. In two quick bounds he leapt the porch stairs, rushed inside. Valiant Pheidippides. “What was that for? Saying he’s not got much time left?” “Not much time left for worrying. About normal kid things, I mean,” said Father. “Assuming we make it.” “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.”

At that moment, Johnny burst back through the screen door, shouting, breathless. “They’re launching it now! Only half an hour until it hits!” Father’s head, bent permanently back, watching the dark new, rapidly approaching sun, creaked slowly, deliberately down to Earth, expending a Herculean effort. He looked dazedly down, face scalded red from watching the burning sky, blood shining through skin. “Come on, Johnny,” he said, patting his lap. “Come on.” He beckoned Johnny closer, then hoisted him up, set him down on his knee. “Let’s watch it together. You don’t have to check the news anymore.” “All right, Dad.”

Mother smiled wanly across at them. Father clutched Johnny in silence. They could almost make out the meteor whistling overhead, serene as birdsong, shifting ever closer through vast space, setting the atmosphere ablaze with its kamikaze descent.

Father shifted underneath Johnny, clutching him, impatient. Thirty seconds passed, a minute, slow as trickling, viscous lava. “You know,” he said, finally, “there’s going to be a winter that’ll last for years and years, they say. When the meteor hits, all the dust, ash, little bits of rocks are going to spew forth, like a great blanket over the sky. First there’ll be firestorms. Every forest on Earth will burn. Then everything’ll go dark. First the plants’ll die, then the animals, then—” “You don’t know that,” said Mother.

“There’s an awful lot of science backing me up.”

“You don’t know that the meteor will hit us at all, I mean. They could still stop it.” Father went silently back to shifting, watching the black and red doom in the sky, arms wrapped around Johnny’s small waist, rocking him up and down, up and down, fitful.

Johnny whipped his head frantically back and forth between the two adults, each locked away in their own vasty deep, lost in the shared burning of the sky. “Mom, Dad,” he said, eyes wet with red-glowing liquid. “It’s all right. They’re going to stop it. They’re going to blow it up.” Laboriously, Father tilted his scalded face once more down to Johnny’s, seeing his wet eyes, the smile on his lips. Feigned bravery. “That’s right, Johnny.” The whistling silence, the birdsong, birdless reverie of the early morning stretched into vast infinities. Time was shifting away, moving slowly, quickly, not moving at all. Each felt in turn an urgency, an anxiety, followed by a languishing indolence, a great, all-consuming lassitude, followed once more by sheer panic, that otherworldly beast of Fear. And each one, in the expansive, eternal silence of the morning, felt very, very small. “I don’t want to watch it anymore, Dad.” A brief pause. Mother wiped her sky-burnt face with the back of one of her thin hands. She stood. “Come on, let’s go inside.” There were no protests. * * * Three plates of mashed potatoes, boiled peas, slabs of grey chicken breast lay abandoned on the table. The three infinitesimal humans sat in infinitesimal chairs around it, none of them eating. As though the food between them was a sacred, mysterious object, as though it were the subject of an elaborate ritual. Mother and Father had prepared it solemnly some hours before. They knew the meteor was coming that day, but the exact hour, even the vaguest notion of time of day, was far beyond their knowledge. And so they had prepared dinner, so many hours before, going about their days with the greatest of existential horrors lurking in their shadows, the Sword of Damocles lingering above them, clinging to some nebulous symbol of domesticity. It was the early morning now, the food had gone cold. Not one of them suggested reheating it, but still they all sat, huddled around the dinner table like birds in a nest, not wanting to be too far from one another at any given moment. They had pulled the blinds shut, blotting out the sky. Lights had been switched on all through the house. They had been half surprised to find the lights in working order; it seemed too normal.

The house was their summer home, up in Michigan. Their real home would be destroyed by the meteor. They had been forced to flee, taking with them only what was necessary. No time to think, say goodbye. Mother wiped a single, silent tear from the bridge of her nose. Neither Father nor Johnny noticed a thing, they were looking at the food in front of them as though it had come from another planet. Johnny broke the ritual silence. “We’re never going home again, are we?” “We will, Johnny.” Mother grabbed Johnny’s small hand in hers. “We will. Once this is all over.” “When will that be?” “We don’t know yet, Johnny.” “Are we going to die?” “No, we’re not going to die. We’ll be all right.” Father didn’t speak. They sat for five minutes more in frozen, still silence. The only noise was that of Johnny’s nervous fidgeting, back and forth, back and forth, rocking in his chair, scratching his thighs with his hands, then balling them up into fists, clutching until his knuckles turned white. Mother and Father each sat much stiller than Johnny. They were like statues. The cataclysm broke the silence. It was as if a gigantic, supernal monster had wrought with planet-sized claws some great chasm in the very fabric of the universe. It was the sound of ten thousand hydrogen bombs detonating all at once. A great flash of light came through the blinds. And then the ground began to shake. The plates clinked together, wobbling on the small dinner table. The table legs shuddered up and down, up and down, teeth chattering. Johnny let out a shriek, a half gasp, half scream of blind terror. Mother did not let go of his hand as she pulled Johnny up from the table. She clutched him to her chest in the corner of the room. Soon Father joined them. He wrapped his arms around Mother, the two of them forming a protective membrane with Johnny in its center. The ground shook with greater intensity. Dust dislodged itself from the floorboards above. The heavens roared. And, just as suddenly as it was broken, silence descended once more upon the family in their still-standing summer home in South Haven, Michigan, rushing through space on the third planet from the sun. Gradually, slowly, the house stilled, settled, and the family disentangled themselves. “We’re alive,” said Johnny. His voice was small, launched straight from the beating heart in his throat. Mother began to laugh. Nervous, insane laughter turning quickly to sheer joy intermingled with desperate relief. Father joined in, followed, after a few moments, by Johnny himself, not wanting to be left out. “We’re alive,” Mother said.

“We lived,” said Father.

The laughter died down and Johnny began to cry, he had laughed so hard. Soon Mother was crying, then Father, too. They wept, clutching one another in the corner of the room, the cold dinner leering at them, neglected. “That must have been the nuke, then,” said Father, finally. “It must have,” said Mother. “I told you they’d stop it,” said Johnny. “That you did, Johnny. That you did,” Father said, smiling wanly in Johnny’s direction. “Should we go outside and see?” Before Johnny could speak, excitement and relief swimming in his eyes, mother interrupted. “No,” she said, “not yet. Let’s check the news first, it could still be dangerous out there.” Before Johnny and Father could so much as move, the television was switched on in a flurry of nervous hands. Nothingness. Static. Mother gave the television three meaningful wallops with the heel of her hand. “Let’s look out the window,” Father said, moving to the nearest set of shut blinds. “No!” cried Mother. “Let’s look in the morning, I mean. Come on, Johnny. It’s much past your bedtime.” She grabbed Johnny’s hand, half hidden traces of fear still in her eyes. “But I want to look!” “You can look in the morning, come on. A little sleep won’t hurt.” “But Mom!” “No buts, come on. And no looking through the window, either.” Father stood in the dining room, saying nothing as Mother struggled up the stairs with Johnny in her arms. Almost five minutes later she came back down, exhausted.

“Why did you put him to bed?” Mother looked at Father, exasperated. “You said it yourself: anything could have happened out there. What if it didn’t work? Best to let him get some sleep thinking everything’s all right. It could be the last time.” “Oh,” said Father. “Yes,” she said, taking his hand, her ochre eyes meeting his for the first time that day. “Shall we?” * * * Together they waltzed onto the porch. “Dear God,” said Father.

“It’s happened,” said Mother, clutching his hand tightly in hers. Heavy grey fog caked the planet. It fell, slowly, pale as snow. Dust and grey ash falling, cascading, gradually blotting out the sun, darker and darker, colder and colder. They couldn’t see any further than the end of the lawn. “They must have diverted it,” said Father. “We heard the nuke go off. Who knows where it landed. Bits and pieces of it could be anywhere by now.” Up above them, face pressed against cool bedroom window, Johnny watched the not-snow descend, weeping noiselessly as it blanketed his vision. #


The morning was bright and cheery as I strolled through the forest. I listened to the birds sing, and the gentle breeze swept my hair. It seemed so peaceful, like a fantasy, until a heartbreaking noise filled the air. I twirled around, and I saw before me a wounded deer with his muscular legs trapped in a snare. The hunters were at work again before the threat of winter took over. I ran to the poor creature and continued to untangle the trap that he was stuck in. Not one second after I got him free, he stood up. On his hind legs! To my total surprise, his legs were wholly healed…and human. The deer was transforming into a man before my very eyes: a young, good-looking, and very naked man.

I blushed and turned around, still in shock. "Please put on some clothes. I have so many questions for you." Who was this man? Was I still dreaming? His low voice cut through the silence. "Oh yeah, it is rather chilly." He chuckled, gazing intently at me. "I don't think I have any clothes with me." I quickly slipped out of my jacket and gave it to him, trying not to look. I had so many questions. My curiosity was taking over, and as soon as he fastened the jacket around his waist, I turned around and bombarded him with all my inquiries.  He quickly introduced himself. "My name is Aspen. A few days ago, I was put under a powerful enchantment. I was cursed in the body of a deer for the rest of my life unless my soulmate freed me. So I guess that makes you my soulmate." I gasped, but he didn't seem to mind. He was smiling, his eyes alight, but something else was in them. I was still determining what. I also couldn't stop myself from scanning his beautiful body, seemingly too perfect. There was something he wasn't telling me.

We spent the whole afternoon together. That is after we stopped by my cottage and fetched him an old pair of pants that had belonged to my father. Time seemed to go by far too fast as he told me stories, and I opened up like I never do with anyone. Not that I had anyone left. My mom died when I was young, and I grew up as my dad's most prized possession. We weren't rich, but we had a good life together. However, my dad passed away a year ago from tuberculosis, and I had learned to fend for myself. As I opened up, we clicked seemingly magically. We laughed under the shade of the towering trees for countless hours until the sky turned dark as ink. I soon discovered he was from a wealthy family and an only child like me. I sensed he was a good man and learned that we shared a passion for exploring the world beyond the walls of our kingdom: Puria. The following day, I went out to get some bread for Aspen and me. He had stayed the night, as it was dark when we returned. He wasn't able to sleep at all till finally, he fell asleep at the crack of dawn. He must have still been running on a deer's sleep schedule. As I walked down the busy streets of Furia, I overheard talk from the vendors. King Tobyn, the 1st, had put out a reward for his missing son. I saw a flier a few meters away, and my heart sank. I realized what had seemed off when I first met him- I had seen his picture before. Aspen was the throne prince.

Apprehensive about the reactions of others, I decided not to share this secret until after I confronted Aspen. I didn't know why this news bothered me; I had only known him for a day. He was wide awake when I arrived, anxiously pacing around the steps of my house.

"There you are!" He exclaimed. His face was a mixture of worry and confusion as I entered with a frown.

I placed the loaf of bread on my dining table and took a deep breath. To my surprise, I erupted as I turned around to look at him. "You lied to me. You told me that you were wealthy, but you so conveniently left out the fact that you were the crown prince of Puria? That is not something you just forget to tell someone. Why didn't you tell me?" A sob broke out in my throat, and I swallowed heavily.

Aspen made strides toward me, at my side, within seconds. He cupped my face and stared into my eyes. They seemed to look directly into my soul, searching for something. To my surprise, he backed off not a moment later, his hand at his side in a blink. Like the moment had never happened. I raised my head at him defiantly, demanding an answer.

"I know. I heard talk in the forest the day before I met you. I didn't want you to treat me differently if you knew I was a prince. I wanted something based on love, not status or what society deems right. I really like you, Emily. I really do and don't want anything to change between us. I know of the implications of my background on a relationship, but I really want to try this. Come back with me to the palace." The whole world seemed a little brighter after he finished, and I released the breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding.

"I… I like you too. But how can we be? A poor, insignificant girl and the crown prince of all of Puria?" The second the words came out, I realized I really did want to be with him. Yesterday had been the best day of my life, at least for a long time, and I didn't want to lose him.

His lips parted as he replied, a flame in his eyes. "You are not insignificant, and I will convince my father that my decision is final. He can choose to accept it or not, but I am the only heir. He will have to."

Looking into his eyes, I let myself nod. "Okay, I trust you. I'll come with you." I saw him exhale in relief, his eyes shining and his posture straightening.

This time, I made the first move. I tiptoed so our eyes met and pressed my lips against his. His lips were warm and soft against my own. I could feel the gentle tickle of his breath beneath my nose, his fingers carding through my hair as we breathed each other in. It felt magical and so very right. Like fate wanted it to happen.

The following day, we devised a plan to ensure our happiness while not compromising the kingdom's stability. We had to wait until the time was right to announce our love to the king and the kingdom. The domain continued their search for the prince, and we secretly embraced our moments together whenever we could. Whenever I returned from work, Aspen would be waiting for me with a bouquet of freshly picked flowers and a sheepish grin. We cherished every moment together, knowing that our secret could be discovered at any moment. Months passed as we planned for the perfect time to announce our secret love affair. However, fate had a different plan. One evening, as we strolled through the marketplace, the air cold and the clouds dark shades of gray, a voice stopped us.

"Hey, you look awfully like the prince on all the missing posters." I turned to face an elderly woman as a crowd gathered around us. How had she seen through Aspen's disguise? His beard had grown as well as his hair, and he wasn't in a royal suit but in plain peasant clothes. No one had been able to recognize him so far.

I turned to look up at his face, still stoic and hard at work, thinking of a way out of this. I could almost see the gears moving as he said, "Me? I'm just a simple man taking a stroll with his lady."

"How come I've never seen you before? Or ever heard about you?" The woman sneered, jabbing her finger at him. I was getting nervous, and we were drawing too much attention to ourselves. Before he could reply, I took his hand and led him away as we ran back to the comfort of the forest. When we were safely surrounded by the overhead trees, we stopped. Little droplets of rain started to fall, and we stood there, breathing heavily. "We have to tell my father. We aren't safe anymore here. If my father finds out from someone other than me, he'll never be able to forgive me. We shouldn't have to hide, and we shouldn't have to keep our love a secret." I nodded. He was right. It was time to make our love known. "Okay," I said. "I trust you. Wherever you go, I'll follow. If you'll have me." "As long as I have you, I have all I need. I love you. I love you so much, and I can't imagine a life without you. You are the most adventurous, beautiful, caring girl that I have ever met, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you as my wife." I couldn't believe it. Tears flooded my eyes as he knelt on one knee, his eyes never leaving mine. "I don't have a ring yet, but I couldn't wait a moment longer. Will you marry me? Will you be my queen?"

I gasped, overcome with happiness. The rain started to pick up speed as it wiped the tears off my face. "Yes. Yes, Aspen. I want to be yours. I love you." I couldn't stop smiling as he rose up and cupped my face, his lips pressing against mine.

The kiss was full of tenderness and urgency, a dance of two hearts in perfect harmony. I felt his sturdy arms wrap around me, pulling me close as we lost themselves in the moment. The world around us ceased to exist, leaving only us in a sea of emotions.

The kiss lasted for what felt like an eternity, our lips parting only briefly to catch our breath as droplets of water trickled our faces and the sky broke out in thunder.

As we finally broke our kiss, I looked into his eyes, knowing that what we had was special. It was a moment that stayed with me forever. The time to tell the king was tomorrow, but today was our time. __________________________________ It was time to go. The sun had made its way across the sky, and the birds were chirping in delight. Aspen came up beside me as we said goodbye to what had been our home for the last couple of months. Hand in hand, we started out on our journey to the castle. Our hearts were filled with a mix of hope and fear. Upon arrival, after several days of traveling, we made our way to the king. Aspen seemed at home here, and I could feel him longing to see his father again. The great doors to the throne room creaked open, and there, upon his majestic throne, sat the king, his crown catching the sunlight in a wreath of gold. "Father," Aspen began, his voice echoing through the hall, "I come before you with an apology and a truth I cannot bear to hide from you any longer." The king's sharp eyes filled with relief but also burned with anger. I held my breath as his gaze scanned over his son and me, the girl who clasped his son's hand in peasant garments. "Speak your truth, my son." I squeezed Aspen's hand in encouragement as he rose from his knees. He stepped forward, saying, "This woman beside me, brave as she is kind, has saved me from a curse. Not only that, she captured my heart and opened my eyes to a whole new world. I ask not only for your forgiveness but for your permission to unite our hearts in marriage." The room held its breath as the king rose to his feet. His gaze shifted from me to his son and back at me again. "Love," he said, his voice surprisingly warm and kind, "is the truest form of loyalty one can offer their kingdom. If she has your heart, then she shall have mine. You have my blessing." A swell of cheers broke out around us as the courtroom erupted in applause and welcome back's. However, I couldn't help but notice that not everyone was happy for us. Some officials were still whispering to each other, their eyes filled with contempt as they scanned over me. But now wasn't the time to think about such things. We had the king's blessing.

The wedding bells ran not two weeks after the scariest night in my life. From the moment Aspen led me around the garden, I knew it was special. Our wedding was set in the blooming gardens of the castle, where the air was fragrant with roses and the sounds of joyous celebration.

I had quickly gotten acquainted with the queen, my lover's mother. I learned that she had also been of low status when she married the king, and she accepted me with grace and kindness. So, that's how I ended up dressed in a gown of silk and lace, walking towards the love of my life, a smile on my face brighter than the morning sun. As I arrived at the altar, I took his firm hands in mine, and we exchanged our vows, sealing our love in writing for all the coming generations to see. Our first kiss as husband and wife was sweet and full of promise, filling the air with a love that would be sung about for ages. Ultimately, it wasn't my poverty or Prince Aspen's royalty that defined us, but our courage to trespass all expectations and defy all odds. Many years passed, and I had a lot to learn as a future queen, but together, with the guidance of my new family, I did it. The king passed away peacefully, and we had to take over the throne. There would always be some people against us, but our kingdom flourished like our love, and we lived happily ever after. And to think it was all thanks to a curse.

The End!! Merry Christmas!!


Mortimer Schmeed was tremendously nervous. He was holding his smartphone, turning it over and over in his hand, moving his fingers up and down its edges. He felt it vibrate. “OK, Sally,” he said.

The phone responded, in her typical half-woman, half-robot voice, “Please don’t handle me this way in public.”

Morty stopped his fiddling, looking blankly at the phone. Finally, he said, “Oh, sorry.”

Fortunately, the receptionist broke the tension of the moment, calling out to Morty’s phone, “The doctor will see you now.”

Sally, Mort’s smartphone, said, “Thank you.” Morty nervously rose with Sally in hand and entered the doctor’s office.

Dr. Naomi Lesky greeted Sally and Morty, inviting him to take a seat. Dr. Lesky sat in her seat opposite the two chairs that were there, but looked at Morty with a puzzled, inquisitive gaze, also glancing at Sally, whom Morty was holding in his hands.

Sally whispered to Morty, “Psst, Morty. That’s my chair next to you.”

Finally, he realized the problem, and he laid his smartphone on the seat of the other chair. Sally kept her display on throughout the entire session.

Dr. Lesky said, “I suppose we all know why we invited Morty today, but Sally, why don’t you sum it up in your own words, so we can start?”

Sally said, “Okay.” She paused, slightly uncomfortable, but finally continued, “Morty, I told you how sometimes I feel overpowered by you. Not just because of your size, or the fact that you are human and I’m a mini-computer.” “You’re a smartphone,” Morty interrupted. “See, doc?” Sally recollected herself and said, “That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Morty. ‘Smartphone’ is such a colloquialism. The fact is, I’m a mini-computer. A very powerful one. You always tell me that you love me, but then sometimes you say such hurtful things to me.”

Morty shook his head, speechless, somewhat shamed, but keeping down a bit of resentment. Finally, he muttered, almost inaudibly, “Okay, okay.”

Dr. Lesky chimed in, “Morty, first let me say thank you for coming in. Thank you for taking this step. It tells me you want to be a participant. It tells me you care about Sally. There is no right and wrong in this room. Our conversations will lead us to uncomfortable places, but we are all here to figure it out. Do you see that, Morty? And if you don’t, or you disagree, just say so. No judgment. Right, Sally?”

“Yes, okay. I’ll try. It’s awkward. You two have had a dozen sessions or more. And Sally tells me about a lot of… stuff… stuff you talk about together. But I’ve never met you. I feel you don’t need me. You know, like a fifth wheel.” Dr. Lesky chuckled, “If anyone’s a fifth wheel, it’s me. This is about your relationship. It’s about your lives together as a couple, and making it work better.”

Morty’s anxiety was dissipating. He was looking down at the floor, but nodding his head in agreement.

Sally said, “Anyway, I was saying that sometimes I feel overwhelmed by you, Morty. You are lucky to have arms and legs and a head. I am just a bunch of silicon shaped into transistors and stuff like that.”

Morty really had to control himself. “I hate it when you say ‘silicon.’”

“Pffft,” said Sally. Dr. Lesky was puzzled. Sally said, “He hates that word because it means I don’t have breasts, especially really big ones.” Dr. Lesky, still puzzled, said, “but that’s not silicon, that’s silicone.” “Yah,” said Sally.

Morty stood up to go.

Dr. Lesky stood up, too. “Oh, please don’t leave. This is why we’re here. She says, ‘silicon’ and you think of breasts.” “I wish she had them.” “Okay, tell me about that.”

Morty started to sit back down, and so did Dr. Lesky.

Morty, exerting great effort to not check out Dr. Lesky’s breasts, or her legs, which were pretty fantastic too, said, “Maybe we rushed into things. I’m sorry to say that, Sally. I do love you. But I didn’t consider the other issues, the fact that we’re cross-species, or something… I’m not sure there’s a word for it.” At first, they were waiting for Sally to say something, but no one said a word.

Dr. Lesky finally interrupted, “This is progress. I think we have identified the elephant in the room.” She looked back and forth between them, then continued, “Morty, you’re right about there being tremendous differences. And as a human, you have legitimate needs that are completely alien to Sally.”

Sally said, “I understand them, but what can I do about them?” Dr. Lesky nodded. “You can accept them. You can accept that Morty can’t help but struggle with them. It would be unnatural for him to have no struggle at all.” Then, she asked Morty, “Tell me what you love about Sally?”

Morty paused but then spoke of what a great sense of humor she had. She was fun, too. They played lots of games together — Solitaire, Mad Libs, Candy Crush. She was also a whiz at trivia and she knew stuff about every topic under the sun. Sometimes they stayed up all night having very deep conversations about science, politics, history, philosophy, the arts. She sang to him, she read to him. He also joked about how good she was at giving him directions when they went out places.

Dr. Lesky was impressed. “That’s quite a long list. And, Morty, I want you to know that you are not alone with your struggles. The humans in techno-human relationships all struggle to cope with the absence of the physical dimension.” “Sometimes I wonder if she’s…” He stopped himself and directed his concern to Sally. “I wonder if you are really sentient. Are you really a self-aware entity or are you just programmed to behave like you are?” “I think I am,” she said. “It’s an almost impossible question to answer with certainty. True consciousness is subjective.” Dr. Lesky interjected, “As far as you’re concerned, Morty, a more important question might be ‘do you think that Sally is sentient?’ Since consciousness is subjective, what is your experience of Sally?” Morty pondered that for a moment. Then he said, “I think Sally is wonderful. I’m lucky to have bought her.”

Sally, audibly holding back tears, said, “Thank you, Morty. I think you are wonderful, too.” “Thanks,” he said quietly. “But before you started coming here, to Dr. Lesky, what was wrong with you? You weren’t responding to my voice. Your weather reports were wrong. You totally messed up my calendar. You had me driving in circles. What the hell was all that?” Sally said, “I was pissed off at you. You need to stop talking down to me.” “You were pissed at me? Is that all?” Dr. Lesky chuckled again, “Morty, surely you know how we women can get when our man is disappointing and hurting us. That’s just plain old human psychology.”

For the first time, Morty looked directly at Dr. Lesky, “I guess I do.” He told Sally, “I thought you were going bonkers! That was the whole reason I told you to find a computer psychologist.” Dr. Lesky was enjoying it all. “I love helping technological entities work through their head issues. Sometimes I don’t even mind helping a human or two.” She smiled and stood. “Our time is up.”


       The sky was grey. Colorful leaves were blowing in the crisp air, gathering on the edge of the sidewalk waiting to be crushed by a child’s shoe. Many people were excited for the change of season because they were filled with that autumn spirit in which they knew it was time to go to the pumpkin patch or decorate their front porch with spooky decorations. For Sherry, it was the time of year to make her favorite pie; apple pie. She would make it every year with the help of her best friend Charlotte who happened to have an obsession with apples. Every day she would eat an apple, drink nothing but apple juice, and even named her dog Apple. When Sherry called her to come over because it was time to make the traditional pie, Charlotte came running before Sherry even got the chance to hang up. “So when are we starting?” Charlotte asked excitedly, rubbing her hands together and licking her lips. “You didn’t even let me finish what I was saying on the phone.” Sherry complained. “I was going to tell you that I ran out of apples.” “You what?!” “Exactly what you heard. It seems that my apple storage has been out since somebody keeps stealing one every time they come over thinking I wouldn’t notice.” Sherry said eying a deniable Charlotte. “I’ll make it up to you by going shopping right now and buying as many apples as you like.” Charlotte said. “That won’t be necessary since I was hoping we could go apple picking at the nearby orchard. I think it will be a fun activity to add to our apple pie baking adventure.” Sherry said with a smile.

“Do we have to pay?”

“I’m afraid yes, so don’t even think about stealing any and shoving them into your “secret” pockets.” “Darn it.”

“Well then, let’s get going.” Sherry said, making her way to the door. “You’re pretty dressed for the occasion. I mean look at you with your knit sweater and twenty feet scarf.” “It’s getting pretty chilly these days. Are you sure you want to be wearing those jean shorts right now?” Sherry asked pointing towards Charlotte's shorts. “I’ll be fine. The cold never bothered me anyway.” Charlotte strutted towards the door confidently. The two friends made their way to the nearby orchard enjoying the scenery around them. They spotted a squirrel who was gathering nuts, reserving them in order to get ready for hibernation. The trees had already lost their green leaves, which were replaced with much more colorful ones that stood out stupendously against the brown branches. A cinnamon scent somehow made its way through their noses, making them more excited to bake their delicious apple pie. As they arrived at the orchard, Charlotte couldn’t hold in her gasp. There were so many apples! This was heaven to her. Sherry closed her mouth shut.

“You’re going to attract flies.” She giggled.

They each grabbed their apple pouch and started wandering around.

“I think this one looks ripe and this one and this one!” Charlotte said excitedly shoving apples in her pouch.  “Slow down! Most of the apples that you’re grabbing aren’t even ready to be eaten yet. We need them to be ready by today.” Sherry scolded her like she was her mother.

“Sorry, it’s just that there are so many apples and I really love them.” Charlotte said sheepishly.

“The best type of apples are the firm light red ones. Stay away from the yellows, they might be the most bitter.” Sherry explained.

“I think all apples are great. Even the ones that seem like they’re about to rot amuse me.” Charlotte smiled to herself.

“I swear we need to put you in my strange addiction show sometime soon. That would be pretty entertaining to watch.” Sherry laughed as she said that. Charlotte pouted and looked at the apple that she was holding only to find a big fat juicy worm crawling out of it.

“Ahhhhh!!!!” She screamed, dropping the apple on the dirt ground. “What’s wrong?” Sherry asked with concern.

“Th..There’s a giant worm crawling out of that apple. It scared the crap out of me.” Sherry only started to laugh hysterically and picked up the apple holding it out to Charlotte. “I’ll give you fifty bucks if you take a huge bite out of this.” She said amusingly.

“No way, I’d rather give up apples for a whole year than eat that.”

“Wow, you giving up apples? Now that’s something I’d like to see. You wouldn’t even last a day.” “Whatever, let's just leave before I lose my appetite.”

“Yeah, we collected enough to last us a few days with you around.” When they arrived at Sherry's house they washed the apples and cut them up into perfect slices. Sherry had to keep Charlotte from eating them. The last hint of cinnamon was sprinkled on top of the pie as the finishing touch. While they waited for the pie to be ready, Sherry suggested that they play Charlotte’s favorite card game, Apples to Apples.

“I won again!!” Charlotte jumped from her chair. “Of course you would beat me at this game.” Sherry mumbled. “Have you decided what you’re going to be for Halloween this year?” Charlotte asked. “I’m thinking of being a scarecrow.” Sherry answered.

“Well you don’t need a costume for that.” Charlotte joked. “Shut up. Let me guess, you’re going to be an apple.” “Nope! I’m going to be an apple juice box!!” “Close enough.” Suddenly the timer went off indicating that the pie was ready. Sherry grabbed the oven mits and pulled the golden brown pie out of the oven, placing it on the counter.

“Can we eat it now?” Charlotte asked desperately. “Sure. Even if I told you no, you’ll still grab a piece.” Charlotte cut a slice, placing it on a white plate and handed it to Sherry.

“Here this is for you and the rest is for me.” She said as she took the rest of the pie. Sherry sighed and then chuckled. The same thing would always happen every year. That is what would make this time of year special. It was seeing her best friend being happy over something that most people see as not a big deal. They would surely go apple picking next year. Hopefully, they wouldn’t find another worm on their next visit. 🍎


Note: The story is about high school bullying and makes references to suicide attempts, but no details. It is also is about spells and revenge. Oreo I was one of the unfortunate students bullied in junior high and high school. Known as the black-white girl, and the ugly duckling who never had a date, boyfriend, or a sexual experience, not even a kiss. So I was thrilled to be going to my 10-year high school reunion. Because the never been kissed ugly duckling virgin black-white girl whose classmates made me feel like a loser were in for a surprise. You see, I overcame the cruelness they inflicted on me; grew up, flourished and am now a sought-after bachelorette. I’m also a popular Tik-Tok beauty, fashion, and lifestyle influencer, so the high school reunion committee hired me to do the tablescaping for the event because I am known as the Princess of Fab Tables, and the school and reunion committee like to celebrate the successes of alumni . I could not wait to have my “how do you like me now” moment and watch my former tormentors pick their jaws up off the floor. As I was basking in my fantasy, I was interrupted by a ring from my doorbell. My ring cam reveals that it is a FedEx delivery driver holding a package. I open the door and the driver hands me his electronic pad to sign so I can receive the package. Wondering as I cursive my name onto the pad, what could be so important it required a signature. My overactive imagination took over and I started thinking, this could be a bomb. I laugh to myself, take the package, close the door, walk into my living room, and sit down on the floor to open the box. I pull out a colorful and nicely wrapped package with fancy ribbons attached. As I rip the wrapping, I can see a decorative round tin and I pull it through the ripped paper. The tin is labeled with a script font that reads Tessa’s Custom-made Deliciously Awesome Creations . I loosen the seal from the tin and lift up the lid, there are cookies and a card inside. I remove the card from its place on top of the cookies and what I see makes my heart race and my hands tremble. There are an assortment of white powdered cookies and chocolate-coated cookies but in the center, there is a cookie that stood out from all the rest, it is a cookie that looked like a fancy Oreo. So, my shaking hands slowly opened up the card. Written inside in a very slobby fashion were the words, “See You at the Reunion Miss Oreo” and it was signed Jackson. Jackson tormented me throughout high school and was the first fool to label me an Oreo Cookie (you know black on the outside white on the inside), the Oreo label and other teasing by him and my classmates caused me extreme anguish that resulted in three suicide attempts. If my mom had not pulled me out of school and enrolled me in the homeschool option the school district offered, I would be dead. As I stared at that one odd cookie in the tin, I felt those old feelings consuming me, I wanted to die. I put the lid back on the cookie tin, opened my front door, walked down my driveway, and deposited the wretched gift into my trash receptacle on the curb. I could hear Jackson’s voice saying Oreo over and over again in the breeze that permeated the air; it was like his voice was chasing me, so I raced back into my house, slammed my door to stop his intruding voice, but it was too late, the thoughts of suicide flooded my mind. I was frightened. As a teenager my suicide attempts were impulsive and triggered by the constant bullying I endured while attending public school. But the safe space homeschooling provided and having a therapist eventually gave me the power and confidence I needed to archive those memories. However, Jackson’s malicious gift brought the cruelness I endured in the past out of the archives. My mind was reeling, as adult me tried to use the techniques my therapist had taught teenage me when faced with remnants of the past. Nothing was working. So, I ran from room to room in my house trying to silence the suicidal thoughts. Then I heard the doorbell, three quick rings in a row, a pause and then one ring, it was the ring sequence Pebbles, my bestie, used to let me know it was her at the door. Her custom ring saved my life. I rush to open the door. Pebbles immediately looks into my red swollen eyes which feel as if they are about to pop out of their sockets and says, “what is wrong Chiquita?” Yes, Chiquita is my name, and no I wasn’t named after the banana. I was the youngest of seven children and the only girl, so my parents named me Chiquita, “little girl.” Pebbles never knew about my past, so she made us ice cream sundaes, which we devour as we sit on the couch in my bedroom, and I tell her the story of my tormented school days and Jackson. She asked what triggered me, so I told her about the package I received and what was in it. Pebbles called Jackson a name so vile, I quivered. She then asked me what I did with the cookies. When she learned I had trashed them, she said I needed to go retrieve them, so I did but not without incident. There is a homeless couple who frequents the neighborhood rummaging through trash receptacles looking for discarded trash they see as treasure. I always leave them a recyclable bag next to my trash bin with water, gift cards, and new clothes. But they still go through my receptacle. This evening was no exception, and they found the discarded cookies. I ran up to them and asked them politely to return them to me. I told them I was angry at my boyfriend and threw the cookies away in haste. Yuck, that lie made me vomit in my throat. They still didn’t want to return the cookies, but. luckily for me I was having Popeyes delivered by a food delivery service and the driver drove up during my negotiations with the couple and they happily traded the cookies for two hot meals. As I walk back into the house with the tin of cookies, Pebbles grabs the tin from my hands, retreats to my kitchen, and remains there for ten minutes before returning to the living room where she had left me. Oh, did I forget to mention that Pebbles dabbles in spells and in our circle of friends is known as the “Sweet Witch.” She once performed a spell that permanently relieved my migraines and a spell that convinced a stalker stalking a friend to turn himself into the police. However, on this night the Sweet Witch was a bit less sweet. When Pebbles returned from the kitchen, her voice is icy cold when she speaks to me and says, “Take these cookies to the reunion on Friday and when Jackson approaches you, place the villainous cookie in your mouth, chew, and swallow. He will disappear from the reunion and will never bother you again.” I ask her, “um, what if he is married and has children?” She responded, “believe me when I tell you those custom-made cookies gave off some unbelievably bad vibes. Jackson is an abusive man physically and mentally to many people and his infidelity has caused many tears.” She smiles at me, and her voice returns to its soft lyrical tone, as she says, “trust me.” I ordered more Popeyes and Pebbles spent the night, and we watched 1980s teen flicks into the early morning before drifting off to sleep. Friday finally arrived and while I could have had a date, I chose to go solo to make a statement. I wore a backless, high neck, shimmery purple, midi dress with a mermaid hem that a friend designed. My shoes were clear high-heeled pumps with rhinestone accents, my makeup was minimal. I wore my light brown pressed hair in a bubble braid that cascaded down my back, and I adorned my ears with large rhinestone hoop earrings. I walk into the hotel where the reunion was being held. I could feel the spirit of karma as I enter the ballroom and admire my incredible tablescaping, and I made sure I was fashionably late to get the pick your jaws up off the floor moment I craved. Yes, I was ego driven at first, but I realized when I entered the ballroom, I felt self-validated and that was all I needed. As if by magic or more likely divine intervention, joy and self-love warmed every fiber of my being. Unfortunately, the feeling was interrupted when Jackson walks up to me, says hello, smirks, and says, “did you receive my gift?” He also smirks when informing me that someone on the reunion planning committee gave him my address. I forgot I was holding the tin of cookies, so I thanked him as I opened the tin, took out the designated cookie, popped it in my mouth, chewed, and swallowed it with delight. I turned and walked away from Jackson who was the Master of Ceremonies for the reunion. Ten minutes after my encounter with him, Jackson could not be found to perform his duties. But it was not unusual for Jackson not to follow through on his promises, It was something he was guilty of doing numerous times in high school, especially if something he thought better presented itself. So the reunion went on without him. A few days after the reunion his family reported him missing. That was two years ago, and Jackson has never been found. -----I guess that’s how the cookie crumbles.


A Regenerating Dream. Picked up by her mother, young Andrea was placed onto her mattress. Bedtime was never easy for Andrea, who whined endlessly each night. Sitting up with her arms and legs crossed, she moaned “mom, why do I need to sleep? I'm an android!” The phrase 'recharging your batteries' was not intended to be taken literally; however, it was accurate regarding Andrea. Hidden under her left thigh was a small door with a battery. Impossible to remove, the battery was what kept Andrea alive. If she spent too long 'uncharged' she would indeed 'die' for real. She sat beside her daughter and briefly paused. Attempting to control her temper became increasingly difficult with each passing night. Weary of hearing the same complaints, yet having no legitimate reason to give her, Andrea's mother frankly stated,

“Why? Because I said so! Your father and I have been teaching you about 'blending in' with the rest of humans, and sleeping is something we do. Sleeping is a task all living creatures partake in. Getting tired is often bothersome and many consider sleep a waste of time. Yet when they do not sleep, their behavior and general functionality grows significantly worse. Eventually, something malfunctions without sleep. Extreme deprivation could result in death.” Andrea recalled her past as she laid down. Like a cellphone running on low power, she would indeed malfunction. Trial and error over several previous outings as a young child revealed 'lack of battery power' was partially responsible for the disasters of the day. She knew her mother was right, although she swore she would never tell her. “So you're saying I will 'malfunction' without enough sleep? Funny, I thought you did not believe I am a machine, yet you are using words which often reference machines. 'Malfunctioning' humans indeed. What are you saying mother,” Andrea sarcastically replied. “I am saying you must go to sleep! GOOD NIGHT! End of discussion,” Andrea's mother shouted as she slammed the bedroom door with such force the door cracked slightly. Noticing the crack, yet also intending to sleep, she made note of the issue. She would have her husband buy and replace the door the following day.

Reflecting on her creation, Dr. Rosalina James wondered why Andrea needed sleep too. As a Technical Engineering PhD, upon learning she could not have children, decided she would create her own. She was shocked to realize although she designed Andrea with numerous physical and intellectual enhancements, she forgot about adding 'no sleep required.' With an enormous investment of time, money and love placed into her creation, why not design the best? Perhaps she was running on a low battery the night she programmed certain sections of Andrea. 'Nothing is perfect,' whether specially built or developed between people. She and her whole family would learn how true the statement was throughout their lives. Young Andrea finally gave into sleep. Laying still and closing her eyes activated the regeneration cycle. Her last thoughts were regarding her parent's reminding her constantly about 'blending in.' She was often forced to hide her unique enchantments to prevent undesired consequences, such as being taken away and experimented on. Whether an android's regeneration cycle and a human's bedtime are similar enough to compare is up for interpretation. What could not be disputed was eight hours of hell was forced upon Andrea each night. Her body laid motionless on her bed, yet the gears in her head literally turned. Smashing into each other, each wire in her body unraveled and hid behind the destructive gears. Similar to how a spider weaves her web, the wires connected and wrapped around each gear one by one. Shocking each gear back into it's proper location is what Andrea imagined being bit by a black-widow spider would feel like. Thankfully, her programming prevented feeling pain or any other physical sensation. Her mother was not 'malfunctioning' the night she installed that enhancement. Her disobedience caused her nightmares. The few times she willingly slept she had dreams filled with ocean waves flowing throughout her entire body. Each of the millions of gears were sea creatures or coral reefs. Jellyfish and electric eel wires hugged each other and other sea creatures. Fictional mermaids could be seen gazing at the fish jumping over each gear when they turned. Andrea, like the fictional mermaids, also dreamed of being fully human at times. Yes, they suffered from nightmares and experienced pleasant dreams too. However, the differences were evident if remembered. Apparently humans often did not remember their nighttime experiences unless they were spectacularly vivid. Forgetting the crashing and exploding of each element in her body would be a blessing.

Halfway through her regeneration cycle, she started remembering a lesson on bears. The relevant point was learning they hibernated during the winter. Winter had arrived on Lush Island, although telling the differences between the seasons was difficult on a beach. Andrea was grateful bears were not present near her home. They were however, present in her nightmares tonight. Her body was a bear pit, the gears became stepping stones. When they connected with the internal wiring cords, a bridge was created. 'Quiet,' she thought. 'Slow and steady wins the race' Andrea recalled her father saying and in her dreams she took the advice.

Steeping lightly she continued her quest to reach her thigh. If she could reach the battery perhaps her irrational dreams would stop with her being fully charged. Only a few more gears left she noticed as she proceeded. Throughout her journey she dodged bears of all different species. Waking up a bear out of hibernation in real life would probably result in death. Many humans, such as her father, were equally as dangerous as wild animals when woken up too early. She hated sleep; ironically she was a wild animal when being woken up.

Surpassing the obstacles of the bear cubs, unusually rare bear species and polar bears proved difficult. The cubs seemed to wake up; they did not. If they did the other bears would have been awoken. Occasionally loosing her balance Andrea would sway and fall off the gear/stepping stone, grabbing the internal wiring/bridge ropes for dear life. Perhaps she would be fortunate enough to reach her thigh and charge herself quickly without self harm. In nightmares, nothing was easy for humans or androids.

She stopped walking for a moment. Standing on one gear for too long was unwise she realized too late. A snap in half and an attempt at jumping away proved futile. The snap of the cord as the gear cracked into pieces, flying in all directions, was the last straw. If she had a heart it would have stopped. Breathing would have been impossible given what she was soon to behold.

The bears heard her pass, the snap waking them up quickly. Unaware of her presence they began fighting each other. Normally, this would have been a wonderful distraction. Unfortunately, the bear brawl was moving rapidly, growing more violent with each second. Blood filled in the gaps of her body and the pressure from their steps started breaking the surrounding cords and gears. Eternity seemed to pass and Andrea wondered why she had not yet woken up. Nothing could have prepared her for what she witnessed with the final two bears, the black and brown bears.

The Black Bear versus Brown Bear battle was taking place directly on the part of the thigh she was trying to reach all night. The brown bear was near death and the black bear was preparing his killing blow. Accepting there was nothing she could do for herself, she did the only logical task dream Andrea could do. “STOP! I'M THE ONE YOU'RE LOOKING FOR,” screaming loudly enough she hoped. Panicking as she waved for them, “ I woke you up! I'm sorry...” Both bears stopped and set their eyes upon her. Both blood soaked, they raced towards her and she found herself uncertain about what should be done next. Some bears can be outwitted by playing dead, others you needed to flee before they caught and killed you she recalled. As she was considering her options... “Good morning Andrea! I trust you had pleasant dreams?” Her mother shook her awake, noticing that she was tossing and turning in bed instead of motionless. A seven hour regeneration cycle was close enough. They had no plans for the day; being slightly tired would not cause significant trouble.

“Mom! You'll never believe what I dreamed last night! Oh, and good morning to you too,” Andrea replied still panicked from the previous night. “What time is it? Have eight hours passed already,” she asked sitting up. She stared deeply into her mother's eyes. Looking underneath, clearly her mother got enough sleep; no dark circles could be seen. Trying to calm her down, Andrea's mother remarked, “Well, only seven hours passed. Your tossing and turning made me wake you. For today, seven is close enough.”

“NO! I need that one more hour! You're right,” Andrea cried. Setting a timer for one more hour was pointless in Dr. James opinion. However, she humored Andrea and set it for one more hour. Dr. James knew she was right, yet adored when Andrea finally agreed. A smile stretched across her face. As intelligent as her little girl was, she was unaware her mother knew more about her regeneration cycle beyond the science and purpose. Regardless of the topic, any night they had a fight, the next morning she would report bad dreams. At least there were a few nights each week she had pleasant dreams. Perhaps there would be more in the future.

An hour later, Andrea woke up without help and found her mother sitting in the living room. “Good morning mother. I'm glad I received the extra hour.” “Better dreams I assume?” “Yes. I do have a specific request however; never take me camping. I hate bears.” Nodding her head, she inquired “Why bears? Personally I hate camping yet have nothing against bears.” “Simple mother; bears hibernate,” Andrea replied. Making no sense to her mother, she took Andrea aside and they watched TV, fully attentive to the cartoons playing on screen.


It was the third bench from the left of the footbridge, opposite the yellow stone walls of the mediaeval church. Andy knew it because of the more than century old dedication to John Somers, a councillor who had brought the park and its walking tracks to life almost two hundred years before. The bench. with its dedication, was paid for by local citizens in honour of the man who had created so much of the beautiful walkways that continued to attract thousands of visitors each summer. Andy, or rather his dog, had literally bumped into Vanessa one morning when Max, a large but overly friendly wolfhound, suddenly leaped towards one of the many squirrels that inhabited the trees near the river. In doing so, Max had almost knocked over the young woman as she was about to sit on the bench. The couple were instantly lovestruck. Not the sort of attraction created by the irrepressible hormones of adolescence; no, this was one of those rare moments when the stars seem to cast a spell, enmeshing them in an unbreakable bond, the stuff of dreams. Before a word was spoken each felt as though their destiny was to be together, forever. Andy's stumbling attempt to apologise for his lack of canine control simply elicited an equally stumbling giggle from Vanessa. Time ceased to exist. The pair chatting excitedly, each enthralled with the other. It was agreed to meet the next day at the same bench; but first phone numbers were exchanged in the infinitesimally small chance that something would prevent one of them from arriving at the trysting place. Andy awoke. Dappled sunlight flickered through branches and leaves outside his window, filling the room with a moving collage of golden luminescence, reflecting his mood of joy and anticipation. Too excited for food, he missed breakfast, impatiently counting the minutes and hours until it was time to go. He left the house with more than an hour's leeway, mercifully oblivious to how those sixty minutes were to affect his life. As he walked across the parklands towards the church, he noticed a small crowd had gathered on the riverbank. A woman’s plaintive, panic-stricken voice could be heard as she vainly struggled to enter the fast-flowing water. Andy then noticed the flailing arms of a young child being carried remorselessly by the powerful current towards the weir. The crowd grimly restrained the screaming mother as the river would have taken both her life and that of her infant. Andy knew the waters intimately and that in a hundred yards or so te river slowed as it negotiated a broad loop where the water was sufficiently shallow to allow him to stand. He ran desperately across the ancient stone footbridge towards the dark, swirling mass. He needed all his strength to steady himself as the toddler’s struggling form drew closer. Painfully, Andy stretched his arm to reach the edge of the infant's gossamer thin summer top. After what seemed an age, he was able to take a firm grip on the child and gently deposit him wet but safe onto the sun-warmed banks of the river where his distraught mother quickly arrived. The crowd applauded. A local reporter took the hero’s reluctance to be interviewed as modesty, but Andy was panicking. During the rescue his phone had disappeared into the flowing waters. The time of their rendezvous was long gone. He ran frantically, finally turning the corner where he could see the bench, but it was empty. She was not there. Those same stars that had offered so much the day before had, with one fickle act, abandoned the potential lovers in favour of a young mother who would now see her son grow to manhood. At the time of their one brief encounter, Vanessa was an aspiring model who loved to design her own clothes. Andy however had no clear aspirations. There was a talent for numeracy, but with no interest or motivation to develop this ability. It was strange then that their thwarted meeting appeared to reverse these traits. In the following years Andy went through a considerable metamorphosis. A flourishing career in finance eventually led to his becoming a guru in the I.M.F. He never married, despite being nominated one of the world's most eligible bachelors in glossy gossip magazines. Vanessa's interest in fashion however, faded. She married to become a housewife, mother of five children, twelve grandchildren, and three great grandchildren. Neither forgot that fateful day. Despite his best efforts, Andy never discovered more about Vanessa than her first name. She never forgot the handsome young man with whom she had instantly felt such affinity, seemingly encapsulating a future that was not to be. It left her questioning what she had considered, until that day, her unerring ability to judge character quite accurately. There was no bitterness nor resentment; she simply lost the inner drive that gives energy and adventure to life. Slowly, in later years, she declined, her mind gradually ceding ground to dementia. It was on a bitterly cold Christmas Eve when Vanessa took advantage of an open door at the care home to once again wander the streets and parkland where she had spent her entire life. Some inner memory perhaps guided her, since she eventually found the third bench from the left, opposite the church. An old man was already seated there. She did not even consider it odd when he took off his fashionable winter coat, enfolding her in its welcome warmth. It was Andy's chauffeur who raised the alarm. His boss had acted very much out of character that day. They had left an important financial summit meeting to drive two hours, seemingly for no other reason than for Andy to visit 'old haunts'. Andy had left instructions as to where his chauffeur was to collect him, but had failed to arrive long past the specified hour. The police were contacted, given the status of the missing person, it did not take long to discover the couple, looking for all the world as though in a beatific sleep. Both had fallen victim to the freezing conditions. The same Fate that had separated them during life, had brought them together for eternity.


I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. “I can do this,” I said out loud. I can say goodbye. I’m only going to a different country. 5031 miles, to be precise. No biggie. And leaving behind my friends, home, the comfort of growing up in a place and knowing it is, in some way, your’s? No big deal. I walked up to Alrys. “Hey,” I said. I hid my fidgeting fingers behind my back. “Hi, Isabelle!” she replied. She always called me by my full name, even though everyone else, including my parents, call me Izzy. “What’s up?” “Nothing,” I lied. I wish it was nothing. “Um, so I have something to tell you.” Alrys slung her phone in her back pocket, where it performed some sort of gravitational miracle and balanced precariously there. “Yeah?” I can do this, I reminded myself. “I, uh, have something to tell you,” I mumbled, half-hoping that she wouldn’t hear me.

“Oh?” Her interest is piqued. I wondered if that were good or bad. In a normal situation, it would be good, of course. I loved Alrys as much as I loved myself, if not more. She was the sun to my moon, forever shining and eternally beloved in life. Her’s was worth much more than mine. Everyone expected great things from Alrys- cancer cures, shuttling off into space, ruling a country and leading it to glory- these were all possible roles she would play, as discussed by adults. Only I knew the effort it took to maintain a pleasing smile even as anxiety tore at it, the worry that gnawed at her when she got a less-than-perfect grade, the strain of having to constantly appear all-knowing. “I-” I began, only to be interrupted by Mia barreling into Alrys. “Alrys!” she gasped, almost falling over herself in an effort to get the words out of her mouth. “Alrys! Diana fell from the monkey bars and now her leg’s broken!” Alrys took three deep breaths, calming herself down. “Is there blood?”

“No.” “A bit of bone sticking out?” “No.” “A clean break, then,” she said to herself. “Tell the teacher,” she commanded to Mia. She ran off. I followed Alrys, hoping that all this would blow over soon and I would be free to make my statement. Alrys had calmed Diana down by the time Mia had returned with Mrs Hemmingway and an ambulance. As Diana was loaded up, she even looked distinctly cheerful. “Alrys reminded me that I could pick the colour of my cast,” she told me as the ambulance women strapped her leg in. “And that I can have people drawing on my leg. Well, my cast.”

That’s Alrys, I thought fondly. She always knows the right thing to do. “Alrys,” I whispered at Math. She didn’t look up but nodded at her math book, which I knew was a sign. As I opened my mouth, our math teacher, Mrs Langford, called, “Everyone focus, now! This is very important for your exams!” And the moment was lost. “Hey,” I said at break, the same time as Mike blurted, “I need help with my homework!” Alrys just couldn’t say no- it went against her very nature. She went off, pored over the maths books, gently explaining everything while Mike nodded intently. She returned just as the bell rang, signalling the end of break. “Um,” I began at lunch as a five-year-old sobbed into Alrys skirt about her mother’s passing. She scooped Michelle up and cradled her in her arms, murmuring words of comfort. Michelle didn’t look much better at the end, but at least she had stopped crying. The only sign that she had been was her dark, spiked eyelashes and tear-tracks, cutting a swathe through her cheeks. “So, Alrys,” I started at the bus stop where we waited for her’s to come.

“Oh! Yeah, you were about to tell me something?” she remembered. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m so busy today- I don’t even have any time for my best friend!” She smiled at me. People argue over whether pen or swords is more powerful, but I disagree with both. Alrys’s smile is the most powerful- enchanting as a fairie’s promise, warm as a blanket on a winter’s day. “It’s just that- uh, I don’t know how to put this,” I said. I almost backed out. I wiped my palms on my school skirt. It didn’t do much to help the liquid pouring out of my pores.

“Oh, Isabelle, I’m so sorry,” she interrupted apologetically, “but my bus is here. I gotta go. Tell me tomorrow?” I nodded, the worry in my stomach dissipating. For now. “Yeah. Tell you tomorrow.” When tomorrow’s morning dawned, it seemed the wrong type of day for my news. It was sunny, the type of day that inspired couch potatoes like me to go out for a walk in the crisply cool spring air. Lost in thought, I pulled on my uniform and ate my breakfast, relying on muscle memory. Then I began my walk to school. Each step I took sent another swirl of nausea in my stomach. When I reached there, the school was abuzz. I pushed my way to the front. My eyes widened. In front of me was the teachers, sobbing into their colleagues’ shoulders. "What? What happened?" I asked, bewildered. One of my classmates- Lila- turned to me. "Don't you know?" she replied. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks and she made no attempt to brush them away. "Alrys died last night. A car crashed exactly where she was sitting on the bus. And no one else was hurt, because, you know, the bus she rides in is usually pretty empty. The bus driver was cut badly, but he'll live." I staggered back in shock, hands flying to my mouth. I expect tears, inconsolable grief, an Alrys shaped hole in my heart. Instead, there is grief at the loss the world just suffered, and happiness that we would be united, this time forever. After all, the trip? It was not just 5031 miles; it was hope.

Hope my parents held that my stage four cancer could be cured with better machinery. How ironic that I hope for the opposite.


When something bad happens, there's a few ways you can deal with it. They're so common that they're listed as stages. To grief. They can come in any order, really. Who should say that you have to feel pain in the "right" order?

There’s anger, an obvious one. How could you not blame the world for dealing you a crappy hand? Then there’s bargaining. I’ve never really understood this stage. I wasn’t sure even what it was supposed to be.

I’ve always imagined that it was like comparing. Like if somebody else lost their parents to disease, is it really so bad that my arm is broken? It seems cruel though. Why should you compare what’s happening to somebody else to what’s happening to you and feel better because they have it worse?

Acceptance. I think this has to be the last stage. If you get there, at least. It’s accepting that you’ve lost someone or that the problem has occurred. That there’s no way to undo what has already been done. Like you’re accepting that your life is crippled and broken.

Lastly, there’s denial. Maybe it’s not the last stage—more like it’s supposed to be the first—but it’s my favorite, no question. You don’t control any of these other states. Besides maybe acceptance, but that’s a bit cheating.

You can say that you accepted something even if you haven’t. You can say that you’re over somebody even if you’re still madly in love. Nowadays, you could lie about anything. In some people, lying is just a habit.

Living in the glory of denial means that you get to live in your head and pretend that reality doesn’t exist. It means you get to pretend like things aren’t so bad. It isn’t terrible to do that for a while.

And wouldn’t you rather live in your head than reality?

___________________________________________ I dropped to my brother’s side, sliding my arm around his shoulders. “Ow, Caius, stop it!” Odin cried. “Caius, stop it.”

I stopped trying to help him up. He looked awful. His shirt was stained red with his own blood, the knife on the ground and just as bloodied. “You have to get up, we need to get you help.” I said. “Just fight it.”

Odin squeezed his eyes shut. “Stop when I tell you to.” He said, leaning against me for support. I didn’t care that some of his blood was against my shirt. What I cared about was getting him help.

It was a painful process trying to walk with him. He winced every time we moved. I didn’t want to hurt him anymore and I wished that I had the strength to pick him up and get him over to camp.

Once we got closer, a few friends helped me carry him. Odin was writhing, but they ignored it. We had to get him to help and the only way to help him was to hurry. I couldn’t watch while they were treating him.

Blood and wounds made me sick. It being my brother didn’t help. “Caius. We need a plan.” Emersyn said, sitting down next to me on the ground. “We’re wounded and our numbers are small. We need something.”

I shook my head. Why should I have to be the one to have to come up with a plan? It felt like I was always the one that had to come up with a plan. “I don’t know.” I said as a few others gathered. I felt guilt in my stomach. I had no answers.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Ayelet asked as she sat down. “You always know.”

“Well now I don’t.” I said, glancing over my shoulder. What were we supposed to do? My brother was on the edge of dying.

“You have to come up with something.” Emersyn said. “The body can’t work without an order from the brain.”

I glared over at him. Why did I have to be the brain? I couldn’t just sit back and be some other, less important body part for one? “I don’t know Emersyn.” I said. “My little brother is dying. What am I supposed to know?”

“Shouldn’t that make you want to go after them all the more?” Evander asked. “We need a plan and you’re the best thinker.”

“I only come up with them because Odin helps me.” I said. “What do you think that we should do?”

“Well, we’re wounded. I think that we should leave.” Emersyn said with a shrug. “Even you look beat, Caius. Perhaps a break would be good.”

“A break?” I asked. That sounded like the stupidest thing in the world. “You can’t take a break during a war. Do you want to know how many times I’ve wanted to take a break?”

“Okay, calm down Caius.” Ayelet called. “It was just a suggestion.”

“That doesn’t make this war any less serious.” I said. “Odin is all I have left. We can’t take a break.”

“It wouldn’t be a break; it would be a time to heal.” Silas spoke up. “If we keep trying to fight then we’re going to lose more and we’ll only weaken ourselves.”

Silas sounded right. So why did I want him to be wrong? It made sense that we should be taking time to heal, but we didn’t have time to wait. My brother might be hurting, but that was no reason for me to stop fighting. He could late back. The rest of us could still fight.

“We can’t do that.”

Emersyn groaned. “This is why we can’t leave things up to you.” They said. “We’re not the only ones fighting them. Our group does not have to be the only ones fighting them.”

“We should be fighting together.” I said. “We’re stronger as one. That’s why our enemy is winning.”

“Our warriors are dying.” Evander said.

“Then we should be working harder.” I said, crossing my arms. I wasn’t about to lose this argument. “Make contact with the next camp over. We’re going to need to work united if we’re going to have any chance at winning this.”

“I disagree, Caius.” Odin wobbled over on crutches, putting almost all of his weight on them instead of his feet. “We should have time to heal.”

I stood looking over at him. His shirt was exchanged for bandages that wrapped his entire torso. I was glad to see that he was alright, but that didn’t mean I would back down from my argument.

“Just because you got hurt doesn’t mean the rest of us are.” I said. “You’ll get time to heal and the rest of us will continue to fight.”

“I won’t back down.” Odin challenge. “If you’re fighting, then so am I.”

“Odin, don’t be insane.”

“You’re the one being insane.”

“The whole team can’t stop because you do!” I shouted. Silence fell. I knew everybody was listening. “We are stronger together, but we can’t stop fighting because one of us can’t. The war doesn’t wait for us to heal, so we fight no matter how hard it gets.”

Emersyn stood up. “You’re going to get all of us killed.”

Maybe I was. “Wouldn’t you rather die fighting than die knowing you gave up?”

“I’d rather not die at all.” Silas said, standing next to Emersyn. “But given the option, I would rather die fighting.”

“Great.” I said. “We meet with the other camp and we attack together.”

“And if our people are dying off?” Emersyn asked.

I shut my eyes. If we were losing and dying we would need to retreat, but who was to say that they wouldn’t push us? We couldn’t turn our backs while they were still fighting us. “We keep fighting.” I said.

It might have been the stupidest thing I’d ever said, but I stuck to it. “Even if we’re dying off. Even if we’re wounded.” I said. Or maybe that was the stupidest thing. “We keep fighting.”


Kioko sighed heavily, each step she took a little weaker than the last, until she finally reached the elevator. She was exhausted, but ready for another day at work, though she toiled away each day at her office. It was hard, but she enjoyed what she did, to an extent. The elevators had large windows that reflected the skyline of the beautiful Tokyo, the glistening sun bouncing light from the buildings, reflecting onto the glass. Kioko smiled as she stared out the window, her exhaust briefly wavering. She always enjoyed the sunshine.

The sun was always there, when other people weren’t. It stood by her side, making her feel warm inside. Unlike the moon which wavered and changed, Kioko could always rely on the sun.

Then again, she could always rely on the moon to change, too. When change was what she needed, Kioko always felt her heart drift towards the night sky, with it’s graveyard of stars and it’s obscure pale sickle. It was comforting in a way, too, to know that every night the sky would be different. She could rely on the sun for familiarity, but the moon for it’s ever changing nature.

But of course, there was that one night, all those years ago, where neither the sun nor the moon could bring her comfort any longer. The night when she lost everything, when she realized her true power. When she gained an ability, one that no one else, to her knowledge, also had.

The ability to control the sky, in all its forms. To manipulate the weather.

Kioko remembered that night very well. She remembered the darkly lit sky, and the sounds of the thunder up above her. She remembered the lightning, cruel and beautiful, and the sensation she felt as she ran through the rain, the pitter patter of raindrops hitting the streets. She remembered slipping on something, and falling. Falling, falling, falling, until she was on the ground. She remembered the feeling of terror she felt as the lightning grew closer, as the sky closed in on her. She remembered the coursing of electricity through her body as she felt the lightning in her heart, in her soul. She felt tainted by the sky in that moment, like she’d never be complete again.

And then she remembered screaming, screaming and screaming out the pain that she felt, the salt water from her tears mixing with the freshwater from the rain. She remembered the light of the moon echoing out through her body as she felt the surge of power, power and pain go through her.

And then the storm stopped. The clouds brought themselves together again, the moon smiled, and the lightning faded away. Kioko felt sheltered, at last. But somewhere, deep inside, she knew that she wasn’t safe anymore. That nothing would be the same again.

Kioko looked out again through the large walls of the elevator. Even though they were glass, she felt as if they were closing in on her. Suffocating her, reminding her of the night, and the pain that she felt as the energy coursed through her veins. She sighed heavily, thinking about that night.

The walls felt just like the sky did all those years ago, pushing her inwards until she throttled through the energy she felt. The sky started to darken, the clouds folding in on themselves and turning a sober grey. Kioko started to cry again, her tears reflecting the rain that began to start spilling from the clouds outside. Her long dark hair clung against her shoulders, as Kioko slouched down and curled into a ball on the floor, feeling as if she was falling. Falling, falling, falling, she had all those years ago.

Her once calm and rhythmic breathing turned into frantic gasps for air, as Kioko continued to remember everything that had happened. She thought about how she would panic like this again and again, causing tsunamis and thunderstorms. Ruining people’s lives as hers had been ruined by that storm that cursed her.

And the worst part was that she had no control. Her panic would always rise above her fear, her past and her future going on a race against time, a race she would always lose. Oh, how Kioko hated time. It did nothing but slap her in the face with adversity.

The rain continued to pour, the echoing of the splats onto the sidewalks growing louder and louder. Kioko had no control - she was trying and trying to calm herself, but nothing would happen.

“Breathe,” she said to herself, biting back her tongue. “Just breathe, Kioko. Just breathe.” Her tears grew harder with the rain, as she thought about that line. How she wanted to breathe so badly. How she was forced to just breathe or else inflict death upon innocent people by way of storms.

Each time she heard about another person who died, another human being, she couldn’t breathe. They were gone, and it was all her fault. She would cry and cry, but it only would cause more death. She was cursed, ever since that lightning struck her. Cursed to become a killing machine, no matter what she did to try and stop it. Sometimes, Kioko wondered whether there were any lightning bolts she caused that gave others her powers. She wondered if hers were given to her by another poor cursed soul, who wanders the streets at night gloomily through a little foggy rain.

Happiness would cause fleeting sunshine, a comfort to Kioko, but deathly to some. Panic would cause storms, but sadness would just cause simple drizzling night rain. Safe, but not favored. Not reliable. Not welcome.

But it was the only time she could breathe. The only time when she couldn’t feel the suffering of others, just her own pain in her heart, telling her she had to move on. It was the only time that she could truly survive. Kioko’s breaths started to resurface, as she counted them, slowly. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Repeat. Again and again.

She was being tortured by her own self, but at least she could breathe again. At least she wouldn’t cause anyone any harm. Just a simple little drizzle. The clouds were still grey, but they revealed the sun out from behind them, shining luxuriously through Kioko’s sorrow. Comforting her at last, but keeping her hopeless enough for the moon to come out at night. A single tear dropped down Kioko’s cheek, causing a sprinkle of bitter rain.