Gust of wind battered the small community of Shadows Brook. Well, really the word community was a bit of a stretch when used to describe Shadows Brook. In reality it was nothing more than a series of six A framed, two story wooden cabins that sat tucked away on the side of a volcano. As a boy Crowley was terrified every time that his mother dragged him to the cabin. Crowley had grown up in the nineties. An era dominated by movies that highlighted the dangerous nature of volcanoes. Why his grandmother had decided to buy a house along the side of such a dangerous force of nature puzzled Crowley. Why his mother insisted on dragging him up there every summer greatly bewildered him. But by far the craziest mystery was why his grandmother had entrusted the cabin to him upon her death. Still, family traditions can be tough to break. Once Crowley had started a family of his own, he quickly began dragging them up to the cabin every summer. He had hoped that the yearly trips would bring them together. Perhaps they did for a while. Back when Jack was just a boy and he was on speaking terms with Claire. Over time Crowley learned that years were more destructive than lava. It was the years that wrinkled his face, grayed his hair, eroded his joints and fattened his gut. The years that burned wedges through his family. It was the years that left him with nothing to his name other than an aged pickup truck and the Shadows Brook cabin. None of that mattered to Crowley on that cold, windy Tuesday night. For once he was slightly proud of himself. Proud that he had prepared for the winter storm by grabbing all the essentials. Those of course being two bottles of whiskey, a thirty case of Ulster beer and a birthday cake. Crowley was at peace as the wind swooped up large chunks of the waist high powdery snow and haphazardly battered the cabins with the cold substance. A desperate attempt to try and ruin his day. It wasn’t going to work. Happily Crowley twisted off the cap of a bottle of cinnamon whisky, poured himself a glass, sliced off a triangle from his chocolate cake and plopped himself down onto his well-worn loveseat. His heart nearly skipped a beat as his phone vibrated and pinged. Excitedly he dug the device out of his pocket. He had hoped to see a message from Jack. After all that was all that he needed. A quick text from his son saying, ‘Happy birthday dad, I love you and didn’t completely forget about you. After all that you sacrificed and did for me all these years, how could I forget about you?’ His heart dropped when the screen lit up. There was no message from Jack. Only a notification informing him that someone he followed on Nurv@na had started a live stream. Sadness tried to wash over him, but Crowley fought back against it. Tonight was going to be good. He had everything he needed. He was going to stream episodes of Eastwood, laugh, drink and be merry. Nothing could stop that. At least that was until he heard the thud. Or perhaps crash would be a better word. Whatever it was, it rocked his cabin so hard that his silverware and TV rattled. “What the hell!” he loudly muttered. Boiling with annoyance he sat down his glass and plate. It was probably a fallen tree. He had warned the Henderson’s that they needed to cut down their trees before the storm came. Did they listen? Of course not. But those sneaky bastards might try to weasel out of paying him for the damage. He needed to go outside and take a picture of the tree on his cabin before they could remove it and claim something else had damaged his property. Angrily he threw on his jacket and stomped his feet into a pair of boots. He flung open his front door and saw…a boy? “Hiya mister,” cheerfully proclaimed the youngster. “I’m Flyboy.” A million questions ran through Crowley’s head, but the one that came out was simply, “Flyboy?” “Yes sir. I go wherever the wind blows.” “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Where are your parents?” “Well that depends, mister.” “Depends on what?” “Well my mom goes where the moon goes and my dad follows the motion of the ocean.” “That’s…that’s…well that’s very disturbing kid. I take it you are one of the Peterson’s kids. Always knew that family was odd. C’mon there’s a blizzard. I’ll walk you home. This is no time to play around outside.” “My home is wherever the wind blows me. Tonight that is here. Can I come inside?” Crowley eyed the strange little boy suspiciously. He wore a bright red, puffy jacket with a blue stripe running across his chest. A snow covered brown crocheted beanie rested upon his head. Thick, bubbly goggles were suctioned onto his face and his mouth and neck were covered by an orange scarf.

“You’re one of those Autistic one’s, huh?” asked Crowley. “Yes sir, I’m very artistic. How’d you know?” “C’mon in. But,” said Crowley before he jabbed a finger into the boy’s chest. “As soon as the weather allows for you to leave you leave. Got it?” “Yes sir. As soon as the wind blows hard enough again I’ll leave. I promise.” “Whatever kid.” Crowley stepped aside and allowed the boy entry. The boy dragged in an ungodly amount of snow. Something that irritated Crowley, but he was determined not to allow it to ruin his day. “I got some of my son’s old clothes upstairs. They should fit you.” “No thank you mister. I can’t take off my suit in public.” Flyboy spread out his arms. He was wearing some sort of flying suit. Crowley had faint memories of seeing skydivers wearing something similar. But to him the boy just looked like a walking red kite. “Well maybe the suit is fine, but you need to take off that scarf, hat, gloves and probably socks. You’ll get sick otherwise. I’m not trying to get into trouble for child neglect. Now C’mon kid, follow me upstairs.” Crowley led the boy to Jack’s old room. Without giving it much thought he opened the door and immediately felt a rush of embarrassment wash over him. He had forgotten that on a drunken night a couple weeks ago he had dug out his old artwork. Now it was all strewn about Jack’s old room. He tried to shut the door before the kid could notice, but it was too late. The boy excitedly entered the room like a moth to a flame. “Whoa mister! I didn’t know that you were an artist too.” “I’m not. Nobody is supposed to see this stuff.” “But it’s really good, mister. I really like this one.” Flyboy stood in front of a painting that depicted the face of a man howling in pain. The background was a dark, almost black, shade of blue. The man’s features were colored and highlighted in a wide range of lighter blues. From his eyes spewed thousands of tear drops scribbled on by a thousand different pens and pencils. Crowley gulped down a lump in his throat. He had only ever shown that painting to one person in his life, his ex-wife, he never intended for it to be seen by anyone else. In an effort to distract Flyboy he loudly opened a drawer and rummaged for a fresh pair of socks. “Here are some clean socks that should fit you.” “Is there a meaning behind this painting mister?” “There is.” “What is it?” “It’s dumb. Take off your hat and socks before you get sick.” “I will if you tell me what this painting means.” “Fine,” huffed Crowley. “It’s…well things used to be different. Boys don’t cry, that’s what my dad taught me. So I painted that when I was young and sad. For the rest of my life afterwards instead of crying I just added another teardrop to it. Eventually…well eventually it became that. Ok?” “That’s really sad, mister,” said Flyboy. The odd little fellow peeled off his soaking wet beanie, scarf and socks. He left the soaking wet articles of clothing on the hardwood, maple colored floor. Now that the boy’s face was bare Crowley realized that something was off about him, very off. Before he could figure out what it was, Flyboy had moved to the next painting. This painting consisted of warm earthy hues. It depicted a young faceless man looking into a mirror. Only the reflection in the mirror showed a young faceless woman adorned in a dull pink sundress. Crowley gulped down an even larger lump than before. “How about this one mister? What does this one mean?” “Well…um…well…boys don’t wear dresses, that’s what my mother taught me. She caught me a few times wearing her clothes when I was young. I…liked…I wanted…it doesn’t matter. I painted that because of that, that’s it.” “I get it, mister. And this one?” Flyboy had moved to a portrait piece of a young good looking man drawn in charcoal. A surge of humiliation ran through Crowley as he attempted to formulate a response. “I’m not gay,” said Crowley defensively. Flyboy looked at him with little beady eyes that somehow reminded Crowley of a rodent. “I didn’t say you were mister.” “Well I’m not ok?” “Ok.” Crowley blew out a large sigh. “That’s a portrait of Miguel. We were…it doesn’t matter. He was brave. He was who he was. And…well…he…Miguel taught me that I’m not brave. That’s it.” “Cool. How about this one mister.” Crowley was relieved that Flyboy had moved past some of the more embarrassing paintings. The one the boy stared at now was a more surrealist piece. It showed a woman colored by various shades of green holding a bright red heart that melted within her hands. “That one is supposed to be my ex-wife. You see kid sometimes love doesn’t last forever. Sometimes it melts away, right in your hands. And there’s just nothing that you can do about it. It’s just life. That’s what my ex-wife taught me.” “There’s only one more mister. What is it about?” Crowley smiled at the last piece. It was a half-finished mess. It consisted of random splashes of paint covering random clippings from magazines all jumbled together to form a chaotic mess. “That one is never going to be finished. You see that one is of my son. As a parent you start off with all these plans for your kid. You think they are going to be this, or that. Then things just go and despite your best, or worse efforts some kind of thing just emerges into this world. It’s not the kind of thing that you ever prepared for, or the kind of thing that you expected. And some people might look down at that thing, or hate it, or be disappointed by it, but you…well you will always love that thing. More than anything else and in your heart of hearts it doesn’t matter what others say about it. That thing will always be beautiful and precious to you. That’s what my son Jack taught me.” Flyboy flashed Crowley a warm smile. Crowley smiled back, but quickly Crowley’s face crumpled up into a look of confusion. Flyboy’s face was furry. Like really furry. Like an animal's face furry. “You’re a great artist. What’s your next one going to be?” “There won’t be a next one.” “Why not?” “Because it’s foolish, kid. No one was ever supposed to see these in the first place.” “I think you should show them to people. Explain them. I think people will really like them, mister.” “No they won’t. I’m too old for such foolishness. There is a time when people have a chance to be creative, to make art. Only the truly talented ones, or the ones that go to some fancy school get to keep making art. Like Rian Raymond, or that new guy Kulu something. The rest of us are supposed to abandon our foolish dreams and grow up, become normal. That’s what society taught me.” “I don’t think that’s true mister.” “That’s because you’re just a kid, or are you? You look like…you look like a squirrel. Like a half human half squirrel creature. What are you?” “I am what I am and that's all that I’ll ever be and that’s just fine by me,” replied Flyboy. Just then the wind picked up once more. Resuming its brutal assault on the small cabin. Flyboy’s darkened eyes seemed to light up. “Time for me to go mister.” Hurriedly Flyboy scurried out of the room and began making his way to the front door. “Wait,” hollered Crowley as he chased after the creature. “Where are you going?” “Don’t know mister. I’m just Flyboy. I go wherever the wind blows. And you mister are just a painter. You paint whatever your heart tells you. I think it’s time for me to fly and for you to paint mister.” With that said Flyboy flung open the front door and ran out. By the time Crowley made it to the door the wind had scooped up Flyboy and lifted him into the sky. Without a care Crowley plowed through the waist high snow. As Crowley watched the boy soar through the sky he heard Flyboy’s words echo in his head. ‘I am what I am and that's all I’ll ever be and that’s just fine by me’. Crowley laughed. Crowley cried. And then Crowley laughed again.


"I got all of the money! If anyone says anything to the cops, you won't be able to say anything after!" Adam cackled. My arms were raised above my head, and my eyes were wide in play-fear. "O-okay, sir. We-we won't t-t-tell. I promise," I stuttered. Adam laughed one more time, then he ran out of the room with the briefcase. A minute later, Adam came dashing back in, giggling. "That was awesome , Nikki. I-" Adam was cut off short when we heard a shout from downstairs. "Nicole! Adam! Dinner!" Adam's mom yelled. I grinned at Adam as we both ran down the hall, then the staircase. My legs got me to the dining room faster than Adam did. He came in right behind me, panting. "Pizza and breadsticks, homemade. Just how you two like it." Jo nodded, proud of herself. Like she said, there were two homemade pizzas (one Hawaiian and one Meat Lovers), and sixteen made-from-scratch breadsticks. The greasy aroma of her cooking filled the air, and it was like Heaven to my senses. Adam and I sat down next to each other, and Jo sat down across from us. "Thanks, Ma. It means a lot to me that you let me stay here this weekend while my parents are gone...Again," I said, upset. Jo and Adam went silent for a minute. They knew what I meant, and even though we were okay with talking about with each other, it was still hard to. "Oh, it's not problem. You know we love having you here. And, it keeps Adam from playing those stupid video games all day." Jo eyed him wearily; you could tell that he truly was playing video games a lot. "Mo-om! Can we just say Grace and eat?" Adam reached over and put my hand in his. Jo grabbed my other hand, then Adam and Jo joined hands. "Dear Lord, thank you for the food before us, and the friends and family around us. We are so blessed to have you in our lives, to have each other in our lives. Thank you. Amen." "Amen." "Amen." I let go of Jo and Adam's hands, immediately pouncing on the delicious meal. Adam wasn't far after me, and soon all three of us were wolfing down the meal. One hour later, Adam and I were on the couch, watching It's A Long Way From Here . It was actually a movie that Adam and I directed, written, and produced together a few months before. It was about a young girl (our friend Liliona) growing up, wishing she could be an artist, but her parents make her become an accountant. In the end, she breaks free, moves to Paris, and accomplishes her dream job. Back to the story. We were sitting there, munching on popcorn, when the doorbell rang. Coming from the kitchen, Jo walked to the front door and opened it. My mother was standing there, a stern and tear-streaked face. "Give me my darn daughter. Right now, Jo. I don't want to wait. Nicole! Come here!" my mother scolded. Frightened, I grabbed Adam's hand and leaned against him. He squeezed my hand tightly while Jo stepped out of the way as Mother pushed past her, into the living room. "Ni- cole! Get your filthy butt over here! We're going away! Right now! And you better know that you'll never be seeing your father again!" My mother clenched her fists and stared at me, fire in her eyes. I could tell that she was daring me. Daring me to stay where I was. Daring me to disobey her. I took that dare like you take money out of your grandparents' hands. Jo could tell that I wasn't moving, so she moved quickly and stepped in front of Mother before she could do anything to me or Adam. "Now, Gianna. there's no need to overreact. Why don't we-" Jo was immediately cut off by my mother again. We could all tell she wouldn't let anyone talk sense. "Shut up, Jo! I am not freaking overreacting! I want my daughter, and you're going to give her to me, and that's final!" Mother began to walk towards me again. Jo stopped her again. You could see the fire in both of their eyes. "Gianna, if you don't stop right now, I won't hesitate to call the police. I may be your friend, but this is getting out of control. Just, go back home. Get a good night's rest, and come back in the morning. Then we'll talk," Jo ordered. I could feel Adam's heavy, fearful breathing on my neck. The two of us were both shaking down to the bone. "This isn't the last you'll hear of me." "Yeah, I know. At some point you'll have to pick up your daughter ." When you first see her, Jo looks like a sweetheart. And she is, don't get me wrong. But, if you get that woman mad...You better watch your back. And my mom knew that. That's exactly why she walked out of Jo's house with one last final, livid glare. "Adam, Nicole, go upstairs. Get a movie on in Adam's room. I'll... be right there." Jo attempted to smile as Adam and I slunk upstairs. Nine years later... "Nikki! Adam's here! And it looks like he drove the Convertible!" A smile spread across my face, ear to ear. After applying a bit of dark red lipstick, I slung my purse over my shoulder and strutted out of my room. "Coming!" I began my descent down the stairs, making sure not to trip while in my heels. Once I got to the bottom, I heard a gasp. My head snapped to the right, and Daddy was standing there. "You look beautiful, honey. That is a beautiful color on you. Now, go ahead. Spin, spin!" Daddy cried. My smile spread wider as I spun around and my black, flowy, knee-length dress flew around me. I only stopped when I got dizzy. Honk! Honk! Daddy smiled at me, excitement in his eyes. He loved Adam like a son. Maybe in a few years he would be. "Alright, go on, sweetheart. I love you. Have fun. Be safe. Back by midnight!" His smile got wider (if it was possible) as I pecked him on the cheek, then swirled out of the door. "Hi, Nikki! You ready?" Adam called. He was in the front seat of the Convertible, just like Daddy had said. The top was down; most likely so that we could still get the slight breeze in the humid, summer, night air. "I'm more than ready. This is our senior prom, after all. Oh, and Daddy said he's gonna take pictures once we get back because he 'doesn't want to bombard us'." I opened the passenger side door and slid in, closing the door again. "Alrighty then. We're off to the races!" Adam and I looked into each other's eyes for a moment before we sped off to the interstate, towards Clearwater High.


CORA level 48 element: fire yesterday The rain poured down onto the street, as if the earth was feeling what I was feeling. I bit my lip and threw my head back to stare at the blinding white clouds. The rain could disguise my tears. No one wanted to see me cry; it would stain my cheeks and make my eyes red and terrible. I wasn’t wearing a jacket or even a sweater, but I didn’t care. It’s not like the clothes I was wearing - a too-big extra uniform from the lost and found - meant anything to me, anyway. My hair was pressed flat; black and heavy with rain. “Kid!” Damn it. “Hey, come here!” I turned around, shuddering to think that my father had returned. My father, who had not come back in five years and left my mother and me, my mother 39, and me 8. But it wasn’t. It was a man standing in his open doorway, in pajamas, waving a newspaper in one hand and a can of … some drink in the other. I walked over carefully, glancing suspiciously at the can. IPA. My father’s initials - Ian Prince Adams. And India Pale Ale. Which he - my father - couldn’t get enough of. The man shoves the newspaper towards me, into the rain. I reach forward, but when I see the ink running down the paper, I freeze. “Take it!” ordered the man, thrusting it towards me. “ Take it! ” I blinked, shivering, and took the paper. I looked at it, not bothering to read the headlines. “Have you seen it?” “No, sir,” I said. “I don’t receive the newspaper.” He grunted, went back inside, and slammed the door. Before it closed completely, I saw him shake one last drop of IPA into his mouth - and toss it into a trash can. The trash can is full to the top with cans. I looked at the headlines as I continued walking home. The smudged ink made it hard to see, but I was finally able to make out the words: GLITCH FOUND IN SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA. A glitch , I wondered. Glitches happen all the time in technology, but do they mean on Terra? That’s never happened, such a high-tech game as this is. I shook my head, laughing to myself. Fake news, probably. When I got home, I threw the newspaper into the trash. My mother was at work, she worked 24/7 and practically only slept for two hours everyday, and the weekends. I never saw her. Like that mattered, she was a robot. My real mother had no idea I was even on Terra. I went to my room to look up ‘glitches in game terra’. Scrolled down. Nothing. I tried to ignore the paper, which I saw everytime I went downstairs. I tried to forget about the glitch in SF, which was not far from where I was, in Oakland. Damn it! I can’t forget… I didn’t have my mother to tell, so I needed to figure it out myself. I had lots of money, 71,281 coins to be exact. But it wouldn’t be enough to last forever. My mother made the money in our family, and even then it was barely enough. I had to resort in selling things I found or made and keeping on the top of my class. She only gave me a coin a week, though. Kept the rest for herself. I shook my head. I can do just find by myself. I’ll take the - I glanced at my watch. 6:30. I’ll take the 7:00 bus to San Francisco. I didn’t bother leaving a note for my mother; she was a robot, and she wouldn’t care. Robots don’t have feelings. They’re stupid, programmed to be predictable. Unlike real humans, who are never truly understood by anyone. now I wear a cloak that covers my hole body and my head. The shadow falls across my face, so I’m good as invisible. My invisibility is terrible, so I’ll have to pay for the bus. Unless… I could kill everyone on it… no… I don’t want to be hunted by the police or anyone. I will pay. I’m bringing everything I own with me, which will definetely drain my energy, but I will have plenty of time to rest - it’s not like I’m going to do something in San Francisco, just see the so-called glitch. Maybe it’s a one-time thing that’ll boost my level. When I walk out into the rain, I feel a burst of excitement. It almost makes me laugh. I walk down my street, towards the bus stop at the end of the block. “Cora!” Crap - ! “Cora, where are you going?” I whirl around, feeling my eyes widening. Infront of me stands my neighbor, Peter, waving his arm vigorously. He’s soaking. “Peter!” I reply nervously. “What are you doing?” “What are you doing?” he says, laughing. Peter, of all people. First of all, he’s a real guy and my real freaking neighbor, and my classmate, and he’s had a crush on me for for freaking ever! I ignore him, turning back around and looking at my watch. 6:43. “Coooraaaa,” he whines. I hear his feet pattering against the concrete; in synch with the rain. I don’t have time for this. I walk faster, using my weak invisibility at full power. It’ll keep me all the way covered for an hour, at least. Which will be more than enough time to lose Peter. I feel a bit guilty, but he knows I’m not interested in him after the countless times I’ve rejected him. He knows , but he keeps pushing. Heartbreak will be the end of him, he’s desperate. I arrive at the bus stop and can’t hear his footsteps anymore. “Finally,” I whisper under my breath. I release the invisibility, letting out a sigh, as the bus rolls up. The first thing I see in San Francisco is the earth. Of course the earth, it’s everywhere and it’d be impossible not to see it. And then I see the cars, the people, the roads. I can see everything. Having the element of fire isn’t useful at all, and sometimes I think about restarting the whole game just to have something better like air. If I had air or earth or water, I would be able to fly. Which would be nice. Air is the best element, of course, because you can fly but also those with the element of air have the best invisibility. Fire is good in battle, but air, water, and earth can all put it out. “Are you getting off?” The sharp voice of the bus driver snaps me out of my fantasies. I nod and step off the bus. And then I see it. The glitch. It looks just like static, hovering right infront of me. I reach out, but before my hand makes contact with it, I hear my name being called. “Cora!” it’s a familiar voice, one that I know well but hardly ever hear. It’s my mother’s voice. I turn around quickly to see her - my mother - and behind her are a group of at least a dozen soldiers. And next to her is a mage. My mother wears a pink t-shirt and jeans. She’s scowling, her arms are crossed. How does she know I’m here? What… why does she have soldiers - and a mage? She reads my mind. “You didn’t know? I thought you would’ve figured out that I’m not working to desperately gain money, I have all the money I need.” “What?” I say, surprised. I would have never thought that she had lots of money, or even enough money, and I shake my head. “What are you talking about?” My mother laughs. “You can’t escape me, darling Cora, you’d have to go into the glitch and you’re not going to do that. It could destroy your whole computer. It would , probably.” she takes a step forward and her group follows. She reaches her hand out. “Come back. Don’t think you’re not in trouble, but I wouldn’t hurt you, Cora.” Everything in her voice and her face tells me that she would. She’d hurt me. “No,” I whisper. I dive backward, into the glitch. The surprise on my mother’s face causes me to smirk, even though my computer might be destroyed. The things I would do to spite a robot. When I swim deeper into the glitch, I see other players. The deeper I go, the more people there are. No one I know, though, until…

“Cora!” “Peter?” the one time I’m glad to see him; when I’m stuck in a glitch and my robot mother is trying to… kidnap me. “Cora, look,” he whispers, spinning me around and pointing. I follow the line his finger points to. Beyond the people swarming by, beyond the blue and purple and white and yellow pixelated colors of the glitch, is the sky. The sun is going down, the clouds are drifting past. It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s not the world of Terra that I left, though, it’s something bigger than that. It’s the… the world made by… the glitch .


“Next.” The girl behind the counter flashes a smile. Kyanna. My stomach flips. God, she’s even cute in a baggy postal uniform. Am I imagining it or is that smile a bit brighter than the one she gave the last customer? I tug the hood of my sweatshirt lower over my eyes, and then fold and unfold the paper in my hand, pretending to read it while holding up my index finger. “Sorry. I’m not quite ready.” I gesture to the guy in line behind me. “You go ahead.” I continue to stare at the paper, occasionally looking up to the station next to Kyanna’s. The old guy who never smiles. Cecil. That’s the clerk I want. No, Kyanna is the clerk I want , but Cecil is the one I need . I can still feel Kyanna glaring at me. I’ve known her since high school when we were band geeks together. I couldn’t talk to her back then either. Cecil finishes with his customer and beckons me over without even looking up from his computer. “Hi, I need to pick up a package?” I hold out the slip of paper. Kyanna clicks her tongue. Cecil snatches the paper from my hand, reads it, and then looks at me over the rims of his glasses. His eyes are mismatched, like an Alaskan husky. Mahogany and ice blue. He turns and ambles to the back room. “I could’ve helped you with that,” says Kyanna, brushing a hand over her hair. It’s a thick black weave that flows down her back. “Just saying.” My mouth goes dry. I try to swallow. “I…just wasn’t ready.” “Whatever.” She scowls, but I notice the corner of her lip twitching. I’ve just said three semi-coherent sentences to her. It has to be a new record. Of course, that’s if you count “sorry” as a sentence. Cecil comes back and drops a repurposed Amazon box on the counter. The logo smiles up at me. I weigh it in my hand. It’s heavier than most of the other ones. “So, how much do I…?” “It’s paid for, boss,” says Cecil. “The person who sent it did that. You oughta’ know how the Post Office works by now. You're here almost every day.” Kyanna giggles and my face turns hot. “Thanks.” I snatch up the package and stride out the door. “Bye, Orion.” She’s still laughing as she says it. Sitting in my car, I pull my hood back and break the tape on the package with the tip of a ballpoint pen. Inside the box there’s a handwritten note: You’ll know what to do. It’s such a messy scrawl that most people wouldn’t be able to read it, but it’s not a problem for me. Under that, wrapped with crumpled newspaper, is a ball-peen hammer and a box cutter. I shift the newspaper aside. There’s one more thing. A baby pacifier, still in its packaging. Too weird. So I do what I always do after getting one of these little presents. I just go about my day, like it never happened. Today that means starting the car and heading to my crappy job at Target. Could be worse. They have me in the back moving stock. At least I don’t have to talk to anyone. Thanks to my post office visit, I’m cutting it close. I can’t be late again. My boss has been all over my butt as it is. Up ahead I see the stoplight at the intersection of Live Oak and Delta. It’s green now, but if I get caught by a red, I’ll never make it on time. The light turns yellow, so I punch the accelerator. If the Hyundai in front of me goes through, I can cut right behind it. But the brake lights flash and now I’m trapped behind the little red car, pounding the steering wheel as every curse word I know throws tantrums in my head. I take a deep breath and slowly exhale. I do it again. And again. Dr. Silverstein recommends this when the stress gets too much. It’s not working today. The light turns green, and the Hyundai moves forward. I’m about to follow when there’s a flash of cobalt blue, a needle-sharp screech of tires, and a sickening concussion of metal on metal. A speeding SUV just blew through the stoplight from the left, bowling into the rear of the smaller car and sending it spinning once, twice across the intersection before careering into a streetlight. The SUV stutters forward another hundred yards or so, its engine knocking. It grinds to a halt just after bouncing up a curb and straddling the sidewalk. Pulling my sweatshirt hood up, I leap out of my car, running toward the Hyundai with the box cradled under my arm. About seven other Good Samaritans are ahead of me. A lady wearing a track jacket and black leggings is already there, a guy in a grey business suit right behind her. Smoke starts to rise from the hood. Then flames. They yank open the driver’s door and a young woman tumbles out, bleeding from her forehead. The man in the suit throws her arm over his shoulder and drags her away. “Get back!” the workout lady shrieks. “There’s gas everywhere!” “My baby!” The young driver is holding a hand to her forehead and scarlet pours from between her fingers. Her other hand stretches toward the car. Her eyes are feral. “My baby’s in there!” The crowd in front of me hesitates, unable to leave an infant to the flames, unwilling to risk immolation themselves. The workout lady runs to the other side of the car and tugs on the door. It’s locked. Or jammed. Either way, it won’t open. One of the other Samaritans, this big guy in a plaid shirt, runs up and grabs her from behind. “Get away from there! It’s gonna blow!” He lifts her off the ground and carries her away. She’s crying, kicking and thrashing as the rest of them fall back. But I shoulder my way past them and head straight for it, my hand reaching into the box. The smell of gasoline is noxious, and it splashes as I run through it. I feel the heat from the flames on my face. I raise the hammer and bring it down on the passenger side rear window and it shatters, spilling into the street like a hundred uncut diamonds. From inside the car, I hear strident mewling. Flicking open the box cutter, I lean inside, slit the nylon restraints of the car seat, close the cutter, and lift out an infant in a pink onesie. And then I run like hell. “My baby!” The young driver is hysterical. Eyes wide and unseeing. Blood running down her face. She looks like Sissy Spacek at the end of Carrie . It takes three people to keep her from dashing back to the burning car. Without a word, I place the baby into her arms. She sobs and drops to her knees. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Thank you. Thank you.” The baby’s eyes screw tight. Her fists clench. She begins to wail. I fish the pacifier out of the box, remove the packaging, and pop it into her mouth just as there’s a hiss and a roar behind me. An orange glow lights up the woman’s face, the baby, the crowd. It warms my back, even through my sweatshirt. The people gasp. “Look at that fireball," says Business Suit. But I can’t take my eyes off the baby. She’s snuggled into the bloody blouse, sound asleep, the mother cooing at her. I drop the hammer and retractable knife into the box, tug my hood lower, and push my way through the crowd back to my car. They’re too enthralled by the spectacle to even notice me. The howl of a distant siren drifts through the intersection as I drive away. When I get to work, my boss says, “You’re late. And you smell like gasoline.” I breathe in. I breathe out. Then I just nod and start moving stock. # The next day, I’m back in line at the post office, clutching the same cardboard box. It’s holding the same hammer and box cutter. I had to buy a new pacifier at the baby section at work. “Hi, Orion,” says Kyanna. I look at the ground. “I can help you here, or are you waiting for your man Cecil again?” “Um…I’m not ready.” I gesture to the next person in line to go ahead of me. “What’s the matter? Why don’t you ever want to talk to me?” Her eyes are sparkling, so I think she’s only pretending to be mad. “I’d love to.” I try to swallow the panic in my throat. I'll never be able to talk to her. “It’s…hard to explain.” Cecil wordlessly beckons me toward him. Kyanna takes a package from her new customer, who seems as amused by my embarrassment as she is. “You can explain it to me later. I get off at five-thirty.” My head snaps up. What did she say? I can’t tell if she’s messing with me. Cecil takes the box. “Sending it back, boss?” I pull my gaze back to him. “Yeah.” “How did it work for you?” “Did everything it was supposed to.” He winks an eye at me—the blue one—as he puts the box on the scale and taps his keyboard a few times. Then he turns the screen toward me. “Address right?” I peer at it. Yup. That’s my P.O. box. I nod. Kyanna shakes her head. “You could just keep it at home. Wouldn’t that save you some trouble?” I reach for my wallet. “And cash?” Cecil looks at me over his glasses. “When do you need it to get there?” I glance over at Kyanna and then back at Cecil. “Yesterday would be fine,” I whisper. Kyanna snorts. “God, you’re so funny!” She heard me. And she thinks I’m kidding. After paying, I turn to go, but Cecil’s voice stops me. “Hey boss, wait, I got another one for you. I’ll save you a trip back here.” It’s long and skinny. And light. I tuck it under my arm and head toward the door. “Bye, Orion. See you at five-thirty. Right here.” Wait. She’s serious? She’s giving me one of her cute sideways smiles. Yes. She is. “Yeah,” I say. “Five-thirty.” On my way across the parking lot, I breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out. Again. And again. My heart batters against my ribcage. My God, I’m going to be with Kyanna. Alone. In…I look at my phone…seven hours. Deep breathing doesn’t help at all. Back in my car, I cut the tape on the box with my ballpoint pen with trembling hands. I could tell her I'm sick. That I just came down with something. Like Covid. That's going around again, right? Inside the box is a plastic wand with a string tied to it. On the end of the string is a feather. There’s also a handwritten note. Most people would have a hard time reading it due to its messy scrawl. But I can read it easily. After all, the handwriting is mine. My heart eases up on the accelerator. Just a little bit. The note says Kyanna has a cat. You’ll know what to do .


“Dear whomever it may concern,” the words are written flawlessly on the white paper. “My end is near, and I have given a lot of thought to this. As many people know, I am a billionaire. My family has not stopped bugging me about my will. I could not decide which family member would inherit my money or any of my other belongings. That is why I have decided to leave everything to whoever finds this letter. The reader of this letter will be a curious young soul. All I ask from whoever finds this - do not be selfish. You are one of a kind. Do not forget to dream. I hope your life gets brighter, and you remember who you are. If you hurt people, you will be in grave danger. Best wishes, Arthur Ainsley.” He puts down the pen from his and puts the letter in an envelope and proceeds to rest.

Sarah put on her heavy coat and hid her face. She hated herself. She hated how everyone treated her like garbage. She is tired of the pain and ready to end it. Sarah runs outside and looks to the abandoned mansion. That is where she planned to end everything. As she grew closer, she felt odd. Something wasn’t sitting right. She continued despite the feeling. She opened the door slowly and was astonished by what she saw. The place was not creepy at all. In fact, it looked like the inside of a castle. Curiosity got the best of her, and she continued to study her surroundings. She noticed at the end of the corridor was a room. It looked like a study. She found herself walking closer, and unable to walk away. At this point, the strange feeling in her chest grew. Her heart pounded harder and harder. She went into the study and relief overcame every fiber of her being. Sarah noticed a small envelope on the floor. Of course, she had to pick it up. She unfolded the paper from the envelope and began mumbling the writing to herself. “Grave danger. Best wishes,” she paused. “Arthur Ainsley. Wait, isn’t that the guy who died twenty years ago?” Sarah was confused. She wasn’t sure what had happened, but she knew it was big. She wasn’t ready to end her life anymore. She had to tell her mother. She flew out the door, down the hill, and to her house. Her mother was surprised to see her. “What are you doing, Sarah? You should be at school!” Her mother scolded.

Sarah was catching her breath before she answered. She didn’t know what to say, so she gave her mom the letter.

“This is a joke. It can’t be possible.” “I know, Mom. I don’t think it’s a joke, though. It is really happening. I found the letter. I am going to bring it to city hall.” “Go ahead. I have to leave for work, sweetie.” The city hall was right in front of Sarah. It was a tall white building with a bell on top. It looked more like a church than anything else.

She stepped into the building.

“Hello, how may I help you?” a woman’s voice came from behind the desk.

“I found a letter from Arthur Ainsley.” “Oh, that’s weird. I don’t think he left a will, but I can get you to discuss this with the mayor.” “Okay.” She led me to a small room and let Sarah in. She told her to take a seat. Sarah waited approximately thirty minutes before being let into the mayor’s office.

“Have a seat, please,” the mayor said. -”Mr. Mayor, I found this letter, and I don’t know if it’s real or not.” “Let me see it, please.” Sarah quickly handed the letter over. She watched the mayor read over the letter and watched his expression change.

“I did not realize he left a will. His family will not be happy about this. I cannot believe an eleven year old has just become a billionaire.” “Excuse me, I am thirteen.” “Whatever, well it looks like you are now a billionaire with a mansion.” Sarah’s mind clicks. She cannot believe it. She decides she will use the money to her advantage.. She can gain friends this way!

I don’t have to be alone anymore! I can finally have friends! I don’t have to hate myself! Sarah quickly leaves the city hall and runs home. Her mother is still at work, so Sarah goes to her school. It’s time for her social studies class, so that’s where she heads. Everyone watches as she sits next to the most popular girl in school. “Excuse me, freak, what are you doing sitting next to me?” Olivia scoffed. Sarah smiles slyly, “Oh, I don’t know. Sitting next to the second richest girl in town.” “Ha, you mean first richest girl in town.” Sarah looks her dead in the eye, “You mean you have more money than a billionaire?”

“There are no billionaires in town, so joke’s on you.” “Really? Because I am.” Olivia burst into laughter and the whole class followed her cue. Her voice turned more sarcastic and dry. “Oh, really? You, a dirty, worthless, nobody has that much money? I don’t believe it.” “I inherited all of Arthur Ainsley’s money and his mansion.” “How?” Her voice was a whisper now, “I found his will. So, how does it feel to be second to me?” Olivia only scoffed and looked away. Then, all of the sudden, students were asking Sarah

if they could be friends. They all wanted her. Sarah realized it was only for the money and not for her. They could care less about her. Sarah decided she didn’t want any of them to be her friend. None of them actually wanted to, anyway. She couldn’t stand the thought of being alone around so many people. She thought they were disgusting, greedy pigs. “You know what? Stop! None of you will ever see any of my money. I will not share with you guys!” To be continued…. **PART 1 OF 2**


If Peter thought that forgiveness, or anything like it, would ever be on the table of reconciliation between them, he was wrong. Fucking wrong. The word Asshole! wasn’t descriptive enough to embody the feeling that came spitting out of her mouth during the mediation session. Like tiny venomous toads, the words leaped from her lips. Peter didn’t deserve a pardon; it was her time to get even. The hard way. The way that made a person wonder what the hell he had been thinking and wishing that he could just go back in time and say no when it had been so easy to say yes. Nobody would ever describe Liv as the victim type. Liv understood that the world was governed by a set of unwritten rules, and she knew how to play by them, within reason and when it suited her means to an end. Liv always passed Go and she always collected her $200. If her opponent had a hotel on Boardwalk, Liv would always land exactly one square past Go on her own Mediterranean Avenue ( Sorry, sucka!) . Liv knew how to bend her luck and she knew how to stay out of jail. Anybody who was remotely acquainted with Liv would say that Liv was a sore loser. Liv took no prisoners, and she had big feet for kicking ass. What one might describe as mercurial , Liv preferred the use of assertive or confident to describe her personality. If people didn’t like her brand of kick-ass, that was on them. Not on Liv. People needed to buck up and be less sensitive. Liv knew that at every place of employment or at every party, there was “a Peter.” Liv had met Peter at the company’s Christmas party. He was married to Lisa at the time. What made it all the more shameful was that Lisa was seven months pregnant. Some people just don’t know how to play by the rules, Liv thought. It’s on them. But later, when Liv married Peter, Liv became a different person. She was no wimpy wife who attended holiday parties at her husband’s workplace in a garish Christmas sweater, not even trying to hide her whale of a uterus. Instead, Liv was the CEO who handed out the holiday bonuses with the firm handshake she was known for and the one who directed the caterers to open another case of champagne. Liv was in charge. And she liked it that way. After their wedding day, Peter’s confusion over Liv’s sudden coldness turned into resentment and, eventually, apathy. Liv had warned him and there had been no gray or fuzzy associated with how Liv felt about the same thing happening to her as what had happened to Lisa. When Peter decided that it was time to “do a Peter” (as Liv liked to call it) again, Liv knew it was time to take action. Not just a mincing baby step – the kind like all the self-help gurus claim to be the secret to making a tiny tweak in order to have a successful life. No, tiny tweaks weren’t in Liv’s living lexicon. Liv took big, gallumping giant steps that were meant to intimidate and to conquer. To win. At any cost. So, why was everyone surprised when they heard that Liv only took one day away from her duties at the company to see to the details of her husband’s funeral and to grieve? What a shame it was, really. So young. And so good looking. Don’t you remember how good-looking he was? He could have been on the cover of GQ . Not to be mean, but Liv isn’t all that good looking under all of that make-up and designer clothing. She actually has kind of a horsey face, don’t you think? Good luck on finding someone else who is as good looking as Peter was. Wasn’t he married to that really pretty girl who used to work as the night cleaner until they got married? Liv didn’t care. Liv did what she had to do to take care of Liv. If someone else couldn’t see this and understand this, it was their problem. Not Liv’s. Liv knew that it wouldn’t take her long to resume some semblance of marital status. After all, her trust fund disbursements depended on her being married, and she wasn’t going to abdicate her inheritance just for a naked ring finger on her left hand. Liv knew how to do this. She knew how to pick and how to glean. She only had nine months to fulfill the stipulations in the trust. Nine months – how long it takes to grow a baby inside a human. Nine months was plenty of time. The holiday party was only three months away and Liv suspected that Benoit in accounting was suffering marital distress. She only had to look up at him during a meeting and feign tears of grief over her loss of Peter to see the concern in his eyes. Yes, that’s right, Benoit. I am a damsel in distress. Save me and save my trust fund. Liv decided that she was going to suggest (insist) that all employees not bring their significant others to the holiday party. She would use the excuse that it was vital that the company act like its own family. She knew that this would produce a gagging gesture from the majority of the employees, but she knew that some of them wanted to believe that they were part of something bigger than just a greedy corporation that pollutes rivers and chugs smog into the atmosphere. Let them come up with their own suspicions. Liv was above them all anyway. Liv looked up. There was a man in an ill-fitting suit swinging open the door to her office while saying to Liv’s admin assistant, “This’ll only take a minute, Toots.” Liv jumped up, sending her chair bouncing into the wall behind her. She demanded what the hell he was doing in her office unannounced, when he flashed a gold badge at her. Liv sat back down, nearly missing her chair. The detective told her that this wasn’t going to take long and he beckoned to two uniformed officers in the waiting area. He rattled off her rights, produced a pair of handcuffs, and asked Liv to turn around, telling her, “Liv Adams, you are under arrest for the murder of Peter Long.” Liv looked at the detective and she felt the cool fall breeze coming in through the open windows of her fourteenth-floor office. She thought she could smell burning leaves mixed in with the exhaust from the traffic below. Liv had always hated that her office was, in reality, on the thirteenth floor. The builders simply didn’t have the cojones to call it for what it was. Bad luck could be turned into good luck if you had what it takes to get it done. And Liv had always had what it took. Liv walked to her window and opened it wider. She looked down at the traffic below, the cars inching along in the early morning rush hour traffic and inhaled the tang of the crisp air. She heard the detective ordering her to get away from the window and the squeak of rubber soles on the blond oak floor from the officers. Liv looked back at her office, so tastefully appointed with all the iconic features that her designer had assured her would scream Money! to potential clients. Liv ignored the detective. Liv lived by her own rules. She acted accordingly.


Auriel plummeted through the layers of ether. Dark colors spiraled behind her. It was the only evidence of her having passed through the thin atmosphere. This atmosphere was not made of air, however. It was of a spiritual substance. The ether was also her home. Looking to her south she noticed Michael struggling to catch his fall. His wings he depended on to keep him aloft in the ether had disappeared, much like hers. Streamers of red and green billowed out behind him. To the east she noticed Raphael blazing a purple and gold trail through the ether. The sword he was wont to carry had been left behind at their headquarters on a table made of silken wings. Angel wings were not made of bird feathers as the ridiculous humans thought, but of the astral substance that was left behind in the ether from the death of a silkworm. Gabriel, to her west, had used her voluminous blue and orange robes to stall her descent much like a parachute. She was falling slower than Auriel, Michael, and Raphael. Distance was appearing between them. Each angel's equipment had been left behind at headquarters as they had been cleaning their chattel at the time heavens floors had opened and they had begun a hasty descent towards Earth. Under normal circumstances when a Qabalistic magician asked for their presence, a ritual would take place and the angels would have plenty of time to adorn themselves. Auriel would carry an inscribed pantacle decorated in the colors of a lush, verdant, fertile forest. Raphael, as mentioned, would carry a shining sword which lightning flashed out of. Michael used a sturdy lance, sometimes as a weapon, sometimes as a pointing instrument. Gabriel held a beautiful, humble, potter's cup within which the glowing light spilled out, representing the Holy Spirit. This time there was no warning. One of the many Qabalistic magicians who knew their names and calls had summoned them without ritual. It was one of the many they knew and had formed close attachments with. It was the only possible explanation for the magician's ability to summon them with such ease and rapidity. Darkness leaped from beneath the descending angels. It was a forced deceleration. It was heavy, sticky, membranous. As Auriel sank further into the goo, she lost sight of her fellow angels. A panicked thought floated from her mind. As a rule, angels don't panic. The emotion of panic was strange, unfamiliar to her. A thought of agreement greeted her from Michael's particular mental voice. Good, thought Auriel. At least they could still communicate through this gloom. A resounding thud from above informed Auriel, Raphael, and Michael that Gabriel had finally joined them in the mess. It felt like an eternity to God's favorite four archangels as they struggled against the goop. Wingless, weaponless, and out of their natural substance of heavenly ether, it was of no use. The more they struggled, the denser their environment became. Soon they were released they were not exactly alone. A thought next to Auriel shocked her into stopping her struggles. A tiny mind-voice began to ask questions, not through the words a human would use but through vibrations. It had been a long time since Auriel had communicated with a human thus. Of human origin, it was. It came through in the energy. But of what age, impossible to tell. Then Auriel realized why the human was communicating as it was. It was a baby. In fact, it was a fetus. An unborn baby. The other 3 Angels had also found themselves partnered with questioning little minds communicating in frequency only. In synchronicity, the mental shout went up from the four that they realized they were in a womb occupied by quadruplets. That was when they understood the danger. The angels had descended from eternity into the flesh. There was no way back. At least, not the way they came. A squeezing shudder, a clamping sensation gripped the tiny bodies. The fetus's cried in agony as one. A frightening thought came from the mother. It was one of the angel's most loyal magicians whom they served. A prayer came from her. 'Please Auriel, Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, save the souls of my babies'. The humming frequency of the minds of the babies began to diminish. Something was happening to the mother's body that was putting it through trauma bad enough to have made her reach out for the angels and summon them to her womb. Now that the angels were there, they could not leave nor assist her in any way. A tiny light beneath the fetus and angels had cracked open. Auriel said, “She is about to give very premature birth.” “Those souls won't live. They aren't developed enough.” Gabriel pointed out. The buzz of the fetus's mind decreased. One of them had winked out of existence. Michael noticed the soul leaving the body. With a few deft mental moves, he passed the soul onto heaven. Raphael nudged Gabriel, “Take it. Take the body. It's the only way. Remember, she prayed for this pregnancy. We were with her when she cast the spell. Taking the bodies, living a life, and dieing may be our only way home.” The 3 remaining fetuses mourned the loss of their sibling. Another contraction racked the mother's body, and the dead fetus was blocking the light. Gabriel zoomed into the body. It shuddered. Within moments, the lungs, brains, intestines, and heart, everything necessary for the baby to live had been developed to perfection. Gabriel disappeared down the tube. The shock of losing a sibling stopped the heart of another fetus. Gabriel gave a little giggle, “Mikey, do your thing. I'll take this one.” Again, the dead fetus began to live again. Again, it developed within moments enough of its internal organs so that it might live when it was given birth to. That fetus, too, disappeared down the canal. The last 2 fetuses sent a frequency as one to the 2 remaining archangels. “If you would be so kind archangel Michael, we would love to join our siblings in heaven. We had promised each other that we would always stay together when the call came for these fetuses to be inhabited. We had made plans to spend our entire life on Earth together. It was an eternity we waited for a suitable time to be born. Please send us up to our siblings.” Michael acquiesced. Auriel and Michael inhabited the fetus's developing them so that they might live when they exited the womb. Michael went first. Auriel took a last look at the womb, lamenting the fact it may well be 100 years before her or her siblings would assist another magician in their spell-work. Never mind, she thought. She wasn't the only archangel of rank Auriel, specialist work. There were many other Auriels, Michaels, Gabriels, and Raphaels, each with their weapons, and duties. The first thing Auriel noticed after sliding down the birth canal was the weight. Auriel had gone from light to solid. With a half-hearted effort, she lifted her hand to try and touch her face. She had no energy to fight the gravity. She opened her mouth and her lungs expanded, sucking in air. It was sharp, heavy. It hurt. She screamed. Halfway through her scream, she realized that her siblings were screaming too. These were the first breaths they had ever taken in their entire existence. They would be followed by many more. NEVER THE END


In a land far away, where the sun always shone in summer and the snow was crisp and cold in winter, a man and his wife were making their way through the forest in a light carriage drawn by two coal black horses. Moonlight gleamed through the bare branches of the trees; and in the distance, the faint howl of a wolf floated on the still night air. Then twigs cracked as a large, bearded man stepped through the beeches and approached the conveyance.               The horses pulled to an abrupt halt and the driver addressed the stranger. “Can we help you, Sir?”         Without making a verbal response, the bearded man pulled out a wicked-looking knife and held it to the driver’s throat.       “Give me your valuables,” he rasped, his voice dark as night and thick as fog. The driver laughed, despite the knife at his throat. “We have no gold – if that’s what you’re after.” His proud voice told the brigand that he was not a servant. Strange. The bearded man snarled, and his blade gleamed in the moonlight. “Then I will take your carriage and horses,” he declared. “At least they will fetch some coin when I sell them.” At this, the woman’s eyes flashed. “You cannot take our carriage,” she protested. “This forest is miles from anywhere and it is beginning to snow. We shall freeze to death if we are left to continue our journey on foot.” “Then perhaps I should put you out of your misery quickly,” their assailant growled, drawing his blade across the driver’s throat. A scarlet necklace shimmered around the man’s neck before he toppled from his seat. Meanwhile, his wife remained frozen in horror. What had she done? Were it not for her words, her husband… She had no time to complete the thought before the blade found her heart. A red flower bloomed across her pale gown and she crumpled into death. Dragging the bodies from the carriage, the bearded man coolly regarded his handiwork. He would have preferred a casket of gold and jewels to a pair of horses and a carriage that had seen better days, but at least he would leave with something. Perhaps there was a trinket or to inside the vehicle? He wondered now why there had been no coachman and why the wife had remained by her husband’s side instead of travelling inside like a lady. A thin cry suddenly rent the air and the bearded man paused. Ripping open the carriage door, he was met with the sight of a basket containing a swaddled babe. One more life to dispose of, then. He paused again. Or he could remove the basket from the carriage and leave the child to the mercy of the wild animals. Within seconds, the basket lay on the ground, snow covering it as gently as any mother, and the carriage rumbled away into the distance. The ground was white and cold. She Who Runs With The Wind stopped and sniffed the air, scenting something that was Not-Wolf. It was not one of the small, furry creatures that lived in the trees, nor one of those who burrowed beneath the earth like their cousins – the Ones With Red Coats or the Ones With Striped Faces. Whatever it was, it was hungry: its smell was accompanied by a thin, mewling sound like a cub squeaking for milk. She Who Runs With The Wind followed the scent and the sound of the cry and found a small creature wrapped in strange fur. Nosing the stiff layers aside, she saw that the cub had no fur of its own: its limbs were pink and naked. A memory stirred inside her. They had not seen a Two Legs for many moons, and this creature was far smaller than any Two Legs she remembered; but cubs were always small. Her first litter had been smaller still and yet they were all now full grown. The Not-Wolf cub mewled again, and the sound reminded her of her own full dugs and the babies waiting in the lair. There was room for one more. Taking the stiff folds of not-fur in her teeth, she carried the youngling back to her nest and the soft, furry bodies that awaited her return. Seasons changed and the Not-Wolf cub thrived on her wolf-mother’s milk and grew strong and healthy. When she had seen five summers, her older brothers taught her to hunt. She had only two legs, but she kept pace with the rest of the pack, her eyes bright and laughing as she joined the chase for prey. Summer faded into autumn, and then the cold weather arrived; the cycle continued, year after year, until Eyes Like Stars was fully grown. Her body was still pink and hairless apart from the long, shaggy fur that grew on her head and rippled over her back like a waterfall. She Who Runs With The Wind was old now and her fur had turned silver. She loved Eyes Like Stars as if she were her own cub, but she knew her daughter would need a mate and that it should be another Two Legs like herself. But how to achieve this? Eyes Like Stars knew only wolf speech and wolf ways. Would her own kind accept her when she was so different? Sunlight dappled the forest floor, glinting through the leaves of the tall beech trees. Stepping carefully, a proud stallion came into view, and on its back sat Prince Ferdinand, the ruler of the realm. His face was handsome despite the cruel mouth; and his hair was as black as his heart. The sound of running water led him to a clearing containing a secluded pool and waterfall. The water sparkled in the sunlight, but he hardly noticed it: his gaze was utterly transfixed by the beautiful creature he saw bathing under the cascading water. Long, lean limbs as white as milk were offset by rounded curves, and a mane of fiery red hair rippled down the woman’s back. She was magnificent. His loins flamed with lust at the sight of her. He had to have her. Dismounting quickly, he made his way towards the pool, calling to her as he did so. “I mean you no harm. I am Prince Ferdinand, your ruler.” She looked up at the sound of his voice, but she gave no word of reply. Stranger still, she did not seem embarrassed by his presence or her own nakedness. Light! She was beautiful. Lust flamed again. “What’s your name?” he asked. He did not normally bother with such niceties. The eyes she turned on him were large and luminous. They gleamed like emeralds when the light caught them. Still she made no response. Anger flared in him now. How dare she refuse to answer! Withdrawing his sword from his scabbard, he waded into the water, thrusting his blade at her to show her he meant business. Eyes Like Stars watched the stranger warily. He smelled wrong. His scent was sharp spikes of anger, but there was something else too: something she could not name. He was holding something sharp and pointed, like a claw or a tooth but much longer. Was he attacking her? Surely he could not think her prey! He was making strange, unintelligible noises with his mouth – so different from the way she and her wolf-family communicated. She was used to hearing another’s mind, to seeing the pictures he thought of when he had something to share; but this creature was loud and clumsy, yelping the way the young ones sometimes did at the moon and making even less sense. He had reached her now. Her skin and hair dripped water, but he did not care. He would taste her here in the pool, and then he would carry her back to his castle. She would warm his bed very nicely for a while. Closing the gap between them, he extended his fingers towards her face, then recoiled in shock. She had bitten him! Droplets of red oozed from his wound. So, she liked to play rough, did she? Well, he did too. Eyes Like Stars staggered as something slammed into her face. Fiery pain danced in her head; her vision blurred. Once more, the creature struck her; and then again and again until she tasted blood. Desperately, she sent out a plea to her brothers. Danger! Come quickly. But he was already dragging her from the water, the long, sharp claw at her ribs promising more pain. Ferdinand hurried the girl out of the pool. He had not meant to bloody her as much as that. Nevertheless, there had been something satisfying about slamming his fist into her over and over again. He did not want her in this condition, though. No, better to wait until they were back at the castle and she had been cleaned up a little. Perhaps he should ask a Wise Woman to heal her bruises. He wanted her beauty to be perfect when he took her. Forcing her onto her knees, he held his sword to her neck with one hand while the other fumbled at his pouch for the thin leather cord he kept there. One never knew when such things would come in handy… Deftly tying her wrists behind her back, he jerked her to her feet again. He could not see any clothes beside the pool, but she still did not seem to care that she was naked. Removing his cloak, he wrapped it around her – not because he wanted to protect her modesty but because he could not bear the thought of any other man looking at her. She was his. Indicating his horse, he asked her if she knew how to ride. She did not answer, so he heaved her over the saddle and then climbed up behind her. Kicking the animal into a trot, he began to take his prize home. Serella stared in shock at the woman in front of her – not at the cuts and bruises: she was used to seeing the prince’s handiwork by now; but at the red hair and green eyes that marked the royal house of Elnor and the line that had been eradicated when Ferdinand usurped the throne all those years ago. For fifteen years, she had held her tongue, not wanting to find herself at the mercy of the headsman’s axe like so many of the others who had denounced Ferdinand, but this girl had to be the long-lost heir. “What is your name, Child?” she asked. The red-haired girl gazed at her silently. Tentatively, Serella reached out tendrils of power and gently touched the girl’s mind. The gift was often useful when dealing with the girls brought to her by Ferdinand. Others might be able to heal the physical wounds, but she was the only one who could delve deeper. What she saw made her pause. Human words did not exist in this child’s mind: instead, images of the forest merged with wolves and other creatures, all of this overlaid with a sense of contentment. The scene changed to a sunlit pool and she was watching through the girl’s eyes as Ferdinand strode towards her, sharing first the confusion and then the pain of what followed. Shaking, Serella drew back. The rightful heir to the throne could not speak: she was more animal than human. Yet the land needed her. Ferdinand inspired no love in the people and many longed for the tyrant’s reign to end. Was it possible to teach her? But it would take years for the girl to learn the language she had never known. Still, perhaps there was a way… Placing her hand on the girl’s head, she began probing gently, reaching out with the power to weave strands of human speech with the thought pictures she had seen earlier. Eyes Like Stars found her eyes darting fearfully around her surroundings. The place she was in seemed like a cave, but larger and lighter than any cave she had known before. The floor was hard underfoot and yet something soft as fur but strangely coloured covered it. It was like treading upon moss. There was a stranger in front of her: another Two Legs like herself and the wrong-smelling pack leader she had encountered in the forest. Until now, she had believed herself the only one. This one was different to the other. Her smell was not dissimilar to Wolf Mother. Eyes Like Stars sniffed and tasted kindness, her mind filling with warmth and love. This one would keep her safe. A sudden shock as an unknown feeling rippled through her. Pictures in her mind accompanied by strange sounds. Sight and sound merged together and she realised she could understand the noises made by this new Two Legs. “My name is Serella and I am a Wise Woman: a Healer. What is your name?” She began to send an image of a night sky and shining stars, but the Wise Woman interrupted her. “Use your words, Child.” Words? The Wise Woman guided her, almost as if nudging her in the right direction. “Stars,” she said hesitantly. “Stars glowing in the big dark and eyes glowing like stars. My name is Eyes Like Stars.” She looked into the older female’s eyes. “Can you help me return to my brother wolves?” “Oh, Child.” The Wise One sounded regretful. “You do not remember.” Again, something touched her mind. Memories that had lain sleeping for a lifetime seeped back. She was cradled in loving arms, gazing up into the eyes of a Two Legs who smelled of milk. She was rocked to sleep and knew only contentment and peace. The world shifted. The stranger with the wrong smell was in front of her, a sharp claw in his hand like the one from the forest, but not as long. The word came to her now: knife. A smell of anger mixed with fear. A blur behind him as the Two Legs who had held her tried to stop him. Noise. Confusion. Other hands plucking her away hurriedly, running through stone caves – passages – to take her to safety. Human speech flooded her mind in time with the images. Two strangers had carried her to safety, stuffing her into a basket, racing away in a box on wheels – a carriage – pulled by two large creatures with long legs – horses. At first the woman had sat inside the carriage with her; then, as the motion began to rock Eyes Like Stars to sleep, the woman had disappeared. Later, a sudden halt. She had woken up, wanting food, but no one came in answer to her call. Then, chill air all around her – something soft and white and cold, falling from the sky. And then, Mother Wolf. The memories faded. She knew her past, and she had words to describe it. Looking at the Wise Woman, she asked, “Who am I?” When Prince Ferdinand returned to the chamber, he found the girl standing there, her cuts and bruises already healed. “Leave us,” he told the Wise Woman. The girl eyed him coldly. “You will not lay a finger on me!” she exclaimed. “You killed my parents – and you wanted to kill me.” Her parents? What was she talking about? He had executed many peasants over the years, but they had all deserved it. “You do not know who I am.” Her tone was bitter. “I am the child you tried to kill – the rightful heir to the realm.” His hand flew to the sword at his side. She had tricked him! She had enticed him to bring her here so that she could take his crown. Pressing his blade against her throat, he called for his guards. Only when she was bound with ropes did he relax. He did not want her now. He could not trust her hands to be anywhere near him – nor her teeth. Subconsciously, he rubbed the tender spot where her bite had broken the skin. “She will die the death of all traitors!” he declared. “Take her to the wolf pit!” The beasts had not been fed for a week. They would tear her limb from limb. He could not understand why a smile played on her lips. Huddled amongst the soft bodies of her wolf brothers, Eyes Like Stars stretched and yawned. She had slept well. She was glad that she had not lost her closeness to her forest family despite now having the speech of humans. She was human too; but in her heart, she would always be part-wolf. Dawn stretched out rosy fingers, painting the sky with a blush of hope. Soon he would be here; and then… Ferdinand hurried to the pit. The wolves were always sleepy and docile after they had fed. A pity, really, to give them such a nubile creature, but he had not trusted her one inch – not once he learned her true identity. There would be other women, though – and when he tired of them, they too would feed his pets. Chuckling a little, he let himself in through the iron gate. The grey, shaggy mass did not stir. Was any part of her left? he wondered. He sometimes kept body parts as souvenirs. Picking his way towards the sleeping creatures, he froze suddenly. The girl, unharmed, rose from the midst of the wolves. Their yellow eyes followed her as she walked towards him. “No,” he croaked. “It’s not possible.” Ignoring him, she turned to the pack and opened her mind. Kill him. And with that, they ripped him apart. The land rejoiced for weeks at the death of Ferdinand. They would have made Eyes Like Stars queen straight away, but she refused. “My place is in the forest,” she said, telling them that Serella would rule in her stead. And she left the castle, her wolf brothers trotting beside her, and returned to the life she knew.


The Cuckoo Clock The phone rang at exactly 8:05am in the morning. Greg rolled over on his side fearful of who would be on the other line. He had been through this time and time again. There was in fact so much one could do before it was time to cut the cord. He laid on his back, eyes wide awake listening to the sound of the ringer play a lyric from his now least favorite song. “This is now, the beginning, and now together, this is the end”. As the ringer slowed to a muted fate, Greg looked about his room and took in the array of clothes, glass, broken clock, and the usual debacle that “she” would usually leave in her path as she departed.

In less than an hour he would have to resume his other life. As he walked around the glass, careful to not cut his toes yet again, he closed his eyes for just a moment to transport himself back, way back to just before “she” came into his life. He notes with a sigh that the man he once was, happened to be smiling in the memory. Carefree, relaxed, usually curled up on an old worn chair with his notebook scribbling feverously about a dream or illusion that captured his spirit just hours before. As Greg picked up the old weathered clock, the cuckoo torn between saying hello or choosing to hide within the recesses of the wiring. Frowning, Greg knew what it felt like to feel that pull of in between the abyss of dismal to nothing.

As the clock chimed a broken nine o’clock, Greg headed out of his trailer and into his old beat up truck, petting his dog Rusty on his way. Driving down the long windy road giving way to meadows of corn fields and pastures, for anyone else this would appear peaceful. For Greg all he could see was “her” walking along hand in hand, laughing at some silly comment he made, or a joke he told that he knew wasn’t very funny, but she couldn’t care less as she smiled and his heart would melt at the sound of her voice. For all she cared, he could tell her how he fell in something wet, and the something, well one could use their imagination he would chuckle. “Greg darling, you are the funniest, kindest, most generous man, in all the world, and I am the luckiest girl to be with you”. Not allowing himself to be lost in the moment, Greg turned into the parking lot of his once favorite landmark and where he lived so many years happy and scribbling his fantasy of “her”.

He walked with purpose to the front door of the old aching monstrosity laid out before him. He pushed with now it seems these days all his might as the great heavy door heaved slightly open, revealing an old mildew smell that he had just remembered cleaning hours before. His eyes adjusted to the light as the reflection bounced off thousands of charms on the crystal chandelier that hung in the foyer of the great room. “She” had names for it would seem, everything in life that was inanimate to most, but to her she found a beating heart and therefore would name the lost soul to make it feel as if it had a home. His car the old pick up that spent years traveling with them to and fro that destination and the next was simply “Rocket” to “her” it was named aptly and there it remained.

Pausing in the wake of his memory once lost to him, he sat down in an old arm chair to rest his tired eyes. If he concentrated just enough he could feel “her” finger tips running through his now thinning, gray hair. He knew there wasn’t a ghost around but to Greg “her” had found a way to live on through him and would be waiting for him when he was ready to find the courage to leave. Just now his eyes blinked rapidly and he began to focus, he could hear voices near distance. That didn’t seem right, no one would be here but him and the sacred memory of “her”. “Greg it’s time for your medication now, don’t forget story hour is starting in a few”. A large burly woman in a white coat held out a small paper cup with three pills for him to swallow. Greg took a moment to take in the woman’s name tag thatread Marty, her shoulders were as broad as a linebacker, he swore he could make out a mustache over her glibly shaped lips. Greg could feel a panic rise to his chest, he looked around and was surprised to see that he wasn’t in the great room with “her”. He walked hurriedly to the window to look for “Rocket” and she was nowhere to be found. Marty was following him at a very slow, measured pace, she seemed like it was her life’s mission to watch him. “I don’t understand, I was just in our home, I was snoozing in my chair and “she” was there with me running her hands through my hair”. “Now, now Gregory it’s fine, just fine, you have been reading too many books again and getting ideas about a life that you have never lived.” “NO, I don’t understand, I want my chair, I want my clock, I want my”.

Suddenly his head felt woozy, he could feel a deep spell being cast upon him, he felt Marty take him by the hand and slowing drag him, saying it was time to get some sleep. That all his books and memories would be waiting for him in the morning. “What about story hour?” he heard himself mumble. “Gregory, you tell the same story every day, but you don’t realize that you are in here because you couldn’t let her love another. You have paid the ultimate price to love and now you must be a burden to us and yourself. Let’s go Gregory, the library isn’t going anywhere, it’s the only place that gives you and the other doctors and nurses just a few hours of peace and quiet. With those final words, Greg felt his eye lids drooping to a close, his memory a black hole and the words of the pages he had written fall away to the darkness that enveloped his soul as he slipped into a dark coma hoping to erase the memory of “her” in the library of their home with the old cuck coo clock andchards of broken glass. That song’s lyric was the last words she heard as his hands penetrated her neck and she stepped into a light and away from his endless and timeless love forever. THE END


I sipped on the straw of my diet coke nervously as I took a bite out of that wonderful bit of cheeseburger. Every bite of it was like paradise, I swear! I could eat like maybe fifteen of this everyday and not get fed up at all. That’s how much I really liked it. I had been sitting here on my own for about ten minutes now as Bert went to the bathroom again to relieve himself for the fifth time. It could have been a bad case of dysentery, although I couldn’t image why that would happen. He hadn’t taken anything else other than a bottle of mineral water. Either he’s got severe diarrhea, or he could be plucking up the courage to speak for himself so that he could finally break up with me. I sighed deeply. And to think that I was having a rather nice time today! Bert and I had been together for five years now, and for the very first time, my lazy ass of a boyfriend had suggested that we take a sudden out of town trip this weekend. We drove fifteen miles just to get to this province, and we fell in line for about half an hour to get a bite at this posh-looking restaurant. As we neared the entrance to this building, my jaw dropped. I knew this place! I have never been in this province before, and I had never heard of this restaurant, but I am certain I have seen it! I am not the type of person who liked to experiment and go to places, so it was nearly impossible that I had been here, but I am certain that I have entered it before. As I began to recall why this place looked super familiar, I remembered the dream that I had days ago of going inside a high-class restaurant with Bert. Hell, I even laughed at it, knowing how my stingy boyfriend won’t even spend a dime just to get me an expensive anniversary gift let alone treat me into a place like this! However, here I was in the flesh at the restaurant I could only glimpse at when I was in dream land. I knew that the walls inside are teal and that there is a big mural with cats on the left side of this place. Gosh, I knew in my guts that even the restrooms here have scented, plastic flowers on its walls! No wonder Bert was spending a lot of time in the restroom... I gasped as soon as I entered. I was damn right! The walls and decorations were all the same. Seeing all these familiar sights was a sort of creepy but pleasant déjà vu.  Bert chose a table overlooking the sea at the back part of the place while I continued to marvel at this seemingly happy miracle. So, I guess this good feeling that I had about this place would all be ruined if he would dump me right here. He had been having gas for like forever now. Bert should just get it out in his system if he seriously wanted his suffering to end. Before I took in another bite out of my sumptuous burger, an attractive-looking young man, probably in his early twenties, walked towards our table. His neon green Hawaiian shirt and long, khaki pants did not seem to match his tentative swagger as he edged towards me. He was looking quite strangely at me, as if I was some kind of angel. He sat down rudely from across me at the seat that was meant for Bert. “Excuse me,” he said with a voice that sounded like he was choking away some tears. “What day is it today?” I pouted a little. What a lame pick up line that was! However, I didn’t want to be bad-mannered at all. Although I can’t explain why, he does look somewhat kind of endearing. “Um, it’s July eighteenth,” I said. I took a bite out of my burger once more. With or without a hunk in sight, I’d still choose to eat my burger. It was really a piece of heaven! “I see... Are you with someone?” the young man asked. He had wavy hair that parted in the middle, just like Bert’s, and he had a pair of cute dimples in his cheeks, just like I did. He smiled so warmly towards me that I had forgotten he was positively intruding my date with this delectable cheeseburger. “Yeah, my boyfriend’s here somewhere, I think.” “That’s nice. I’m sure you’re glad to be with him here. This is a lovely place.” “Uh huh, this cheeseburger is really to die for,” I said nodding my head vigorously in agreement. It was weird that I warmed up to him just like that. I’m usually guarded when it comes to any man but Bert, but this young man had such a nice aura around him that I can’t seem to dismiss. I looked at his chest and a trinket caught my eye. There, on his neck was a silver ring with a big, fat diamond in the middle. The ring was fashioned like a tiara, which I absolutely loved! I had often looked at rings like that in the Internet, and I would show Bert a similar ring almost every time that we were together so that he’d know my type should he choose to pop the question. I guess that would explain him breaking up with me, if ever. I must have turned him off with my not-so-subtle push for marriage. “You’re ring looks lovely,” I said to him. “Thanks. I am going to propose to my sweetheart today,” he replied. I felt a little sad with that. Here I was, positive that my long time boyfriend was just about to dump me, but here was a boy who was significantly younger than me, and he was going to do just the opposite. Really, how can this day get any worse? “Actually, this is my mom’s ring. I wanted to use it to propose to Suzy. Do you want to see a picture of her?” he said. Despite my grim feeling, it seemed I couldn’t refuse this young man. I smiled pleasantly and nodded towards him. He unfolded a small piece of metallic-colored paper and proceeded to show me a picture of a girl with violet, wavy hair. Her clothes looked so ridiculous – her dress, accessories, and shoes were all in unmatched neon colors, but she had a beautiful smile written across her face that made her quite breathless to look at. I could definitely see why this young man would propose to her. I gasped as I stared hard at the picture. Was it just me, or did the person in the picture seem to move like she was in some sort of video – but on a flat sheet of aluminium-colored paper? “She’s pretty, alright,” I said. Man, I must have ingested too much sugar already. How can pictures in papers move like that? I wanted to ask what phone he was using, but that’ll just make my ignorance more apparent. He’s obviously using a new kind of smart phone. Ugh, I really should catch up more on technology nowadays. “I know. I’m sure my folks would have been happy to meet her.” “Why? Is something wrong with your folks?” I resented saying that as soon as the words escaped my lips. Gosh, how insensitive of me! The young man started to look downcast. “My dad’s around, but we are not that close. Ever since my mom died of colon cancer, he had become an alcoholic. I was eventually raised by my uncle, so we didn’t get to bond so much.” “Oh gosh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. I remembered Bert falling into the same temptation – alcohol. He was also a man prone to bouts of depression, but thankfully, he was able to pull through it. I couldn’t imagine if that were to happen to me, to us. I’m positive my carefree brother, Rod, wouldn’t be able to raise our child well. “How old were you when your mother died?” “I was five, so I didn’t get to see her that much... I really missed her...” he said. Suddenly, he burst into loud sobs of tears, and I was so surprised. Me and my big, thoughtless mouth just did not know when to stop! I offered him my diet coke, but he refused. After dabbing some of his tears away, he said, “please take care of your health. Cheeseburgers and other processed food really do kill. My mother liked processed food so much that she used to stack the whole refrigerator with nothing but hotdogs and hamburgers for the week.” Holy cow, how did he know I was just like his mother? A classical tune came by the intercom of the restaurant. The boy stood up after he heard it. “Well, that’s my cue. I have to get back to my future fiancé now,” he said, beaming widely. “Alright, best of luck,” I said. “Thank you! Please take care of yourself, Emmerine...” Oh my effing gosh, I didn’t even remember telling him my name! I stared wide eyed at the odd, young man and scratched my head as he walked away from Bert’s seat towards the door of the restaurant. He stepped out into the sun and started to blend in with the folks outside and the numerous passersby until he disappeared from my view forever. I haven’t sufficiently recovered from this strange encounter yet when Bert suddenly burst in with a bouquet in his hand. Walking closely behind him was a bunch of waiters and other restaurant staff. One of them was carrying a violin and the others began to throw petals of red roses around us. I watched awestruck as he handled me the flowers and as Bert knelt down on his left knee and pulled a small, oval box from his side pocket. He opened it towards me and spoke. “Emmerine Santos, I’ve known you for a long time. Will you marry me?” The crowd cheered wildly at us, but my eyes were stuck at the sight of the ring that was inside the box that Bert was holding. There, in the midst of it was a ring fashioned like a tiara, its big, fat diamond gleaming malevolently at the very center. I’m so throwing all the hotdogs in my fridge and the remainder of this cheeseburger away forever!


8:40 a.m. The blaring alarm clock rattles in his ear, pulling him from the depths of sleep. His vision slowly fades into color as the room materializes before him, and he blinks away the remnants of slumber. The crimson and emerald tassels sway gently against the vent, which blows cold air into the surprisingly hot spacecraft. He slips out from under the gray covers and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet onto the cool metal floor. He spreads his toes and wiggles them, a small chuckle escaping his lips. "R.I.C.E, turn on the lights," he commands. The room illuminates, the brightness momentarily overwhelming before dimming to a more tolerable level. The robotic voice chimes in through the speakers. "Sorry about that, Alex. Hopefully, this setting is better suited. Good morning." "Good morning. Yes, this is better. Give me the updates," he murmurs, meandering toward the en suite bathroom to brush his teeth. The toothpaste is bubblegum flavored— he hates mint. "If you head out onto the observatory deck, you will be able to see Saturn in approximately two hours. At 11 a.m., there will be a party on floor 3 to celebrate Captain Reyes's birthday. You also have a message from Victoria. Would you like me to play it?" "Yes." He spits into the sink and pours some blue mouthwash into his mouth, nearly choking when he hears Victoria’s voice. He quickly rushes back into the bedroom to watch the accompanying video being projected onto his wall. “It’s one in the morning, and I know you’re asleep, but I just had a dream about you,” her red hair is disheveled and pulled back from her face. Her nightgown is gripped tight in her hands as she rolls onto her stomach, her face still in the camera. “Come find me at breakfast, and maybe I’ll tell you about it.” Alex hurries to get dressed, and his boots are barely laced up by the time he’s rushing down the hallways of the sleeping quarters and on his way to the dining hall. He exchanges passing greetings with fellow crew members, his mind preoccupied with Victoria’s message. He nods in acknowledgment to a man with a bushy gray beard and offers a friendly wave to a woman adjusting her uniform. He spots Victoria in the crowds of mingling bodies loading plates with food at the buffet. His pace quickens, a faint flutter of anticipation stirring in his chest. He approaches her with a warm smile and covers her eyes from behind. “Guess who?” He teases, attempting to deepen his voice as if she wouldn’t recognize him immediately. She giggles, pretending to ponder for a moment before replying, “Hmm. I wonder…” Alex removes his hands, and she turns around to face him. She leans in and plants a soft kiss on his cheek, and he blushes under her gentle touch. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Victoria says with a smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Your shampoo smells really good.” Alex’s brow furrows in confusion, a subtle pang of unease tugging at his thoughts. He was in such a rush to see her that he hadn’t even showered yet. Before he can voice his confusion, Victoria quickly corrects herself. “I mean, your laundry detergent. You’re just so tall that I can never tell when the smell comes from your hair, aftershave, or your clothes!” She quips, her laughter tinkling like metallic wind chimes. He brushes it aside. “Right, of course,” he replies with a forced smile. She frowns, then places a mug of coffee on the table next to them. “Alex, I didn't mean anything by it. It was a genuine accident. And if you’re gonna be pouty all day, you’re never gonna know what I did to you last night…” This catches his attention, and he shifts his collar in an attempt to cool himself down. “Fine,” he says, lifting his coffee to his face. He never drinks it; he just enjoys holding the mug and chatting with her. She gets him one every day, and he doesn't have the guts to tell her that he can’t drink it. He likes being with her in these mundane moments. He doesn’t want to ruin that. As breakfast comes to an end, Alex stands amidst the bustling dining hall and listens to the mingling conversations that ebb and flow around him. To his left, a group of engineers huddle together, their heads bent in animated discussion. Their voices rise and fall, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or enthusiastic hand gesture. Charts and schematics hover in the air around them, projected by displays that flicker with data and calculations. To his right, a cluster of holograms mingle with the human crew. They laugh and chat with their organic counterparts, seamlessly integrated into the fabric of daily life aboard the spacecraft. He catches snippets of gossip and banter. Despite the lively atmosphere, unease gnaws at the edge of Alex’s consciousness. He’s in a room full of people, and he still feels alone. He always does. He watches the mingling crowds with a sense of detachment, as if he’s observing them from a distance, a spectator in his own life. But as the time for the party draws near, Alex pushes aside his doubts and joins the throng of people making their way to the third floor. The black doors are pulled open, and the bass of music fills the hallway. Everywhere Alex looks, there are decorations adorning the walls and ceiling, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that dance in the flickering light. There are roughly a hundred people here, yet Alex’s gaze is drawn inexorably to the person of honor. Captain Reyes stands tall, his face well-groomed and his black uniform tight against his muscles. His heart skips a beat as he catches sight of him, a rush of memories flooding his mind. Reyes’s gaze surveys the room, and once they land on Alex's, he begins to approach. Alex feels a sudden surge of self-consciousness, acutely aware of Victoria's presence by his side. With a quick glance and a gentle nod, he sends her off to fetch drinks. Alone with Reyes, they smile at one another. Genuine and unguarded. Reyes has always been real to him. “Alex, it’s good to see you,” Reyes says, his voice tinged with warmth as he clasps Alex's shoulder. “How have you been?” He returns the smile, though beneath the surface, there is a storm of emotions raging within him. “I’ve been good, Reyes. Really good.” He watches Reyes closely, searching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation, but the captain's demeanor remains unchanged. His easy charm is masking any potential hidden turmoil. Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Alex broaches the subject that has been weighing on his mind since he entered the room. “Reyes, I have to ask… Does it feel weird to you, seeing me with Victoria?” Reyes’s response is immediate, his expression one of genuine confusion. “Why would it feel weird, Alex?” He replies genuinely. “You’re happy, aren't you? That’s all that matters.” But Alex can’t shake the feeling of guilt that threatens to consume him. He shifts his feet and runs a hand through his hair. “Well, yeah… But–but we had something, Reyes,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “And now I’m with her. Doesn’t that bother you?” Reyes’s brows furrow in confusion as his gaze searches Alex’s face for a sign of understanding. “Bother me?” He repeats, “Alex, do you want me to be upset?” And in that moment, Alex realizes the truth of Reyes’s words. He wants him to be angry, to feel betrayed, but instead, he’s met with understandable and amiable attitudes. “Yes! You should be upset or jealous when I walk into a room with her!” Reyes steps forward, his brows still furrowed. “Why would I do that?” “Because that’s what normal people do!” “I’m not a normal person, Alex,” Reyes speaks softly, his words hanging in the air like a lingering echo. But before he can say more, Alex cuts him off. “I have to go,” he says abruptly, his voice choking with emotion. He turns away swiftly, leaving Reyes behind amidst the throng of revelers. Victoria sees him and follows close behind until Alex stops at the edge of the hall away from people. “Are you okay?” she asks softly, her voice filled with worry. Alex can't find the words to respond; his mind is consumed. Without a word, he takes her hand and leads her away. They step into her dimly lit bedroom, and the door slides shut behind them with a soft hiss. The atmosphere is charged with anticipation as they move toward the bed, fluid and synchronized. With practiced ease, they undress each other, and their hands explore the familiar curves and contours. Even as she trails kisses down his neck and every piece of exposed skin, he can’t escape the disconnect. She is every fragment of his desires, and still, it’s not enough. He has to put in the work every time to make it feel real, to feel the sparks against his skin from warm hands. No matter how hard he tries, and she tries, there's always that lingering sense of emptiness. After they finish, they lie intertwined in the aftermath, breaths coming in ragged gasps. She brushes a lock of red hair from her forehead, her gaze searching his face for answers. “You’ve been acting strange lately.” Alex hesitates, unsure of how to voice the turmoil raging within him. “I just… I feel so alone, Victoria,” he confesses, his words heavy with emotion. “Even with you here with me…” Victoria’s expression softens, her eyes filled with understanding. “Alex, I’m here for you. Always. That’s my purpose, to be by your side for as long as you need me.” Before Alex can respond, a low battery warning flashes across his field of vision, jolting him out of his reverie. Panic grips his chest as he leaps from the bed and frantically searches the room. “What are you doing?” She asks, her voice filled with worry. “I’m trying to find a charger!” Alex replies urgently, his hands shaking as his eyes begin to water and blur his vision. He tears through the room in a desperate frenzy. He’s searching for the only lifeline to keep him tethered to this bliss for a little while longer. In his frantic state, he trips over something on the floor, sending him crashing to the ground. He stares at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling as a chime and robotic voice come through. “Powering off.” Everything is dark. He lays there, eyes closed as a single tear slides down the expanse of his cheek. His vision fades to color as he reluctantly removes the headset, blinking as reality comes flooding back. The room is dark, a stark contrast to the world he just left behind. An old pizza box sits on the coffee table, surrounded by empty soda cans and discarded takeout containers. His apartment is a mess, the air heavy with the scent of neglect. His eyes locate the longer charger cord, and he plugs it in. He’ll have to wait at least 10 minutes before he can go back in. Before he can go back home. The world stills as he watches the clock, his legs jittery. And once the red light turns green, he dons the headset once more, and the darkness fades away. He blinks, readjusting his eyes. He’s still lying on the floor, the fluorescent lights blinding. Her red hair is pulled into a ponytail as her lips part. “Welcome back, Alex! Wanna continue where we left off?”