Darkness, which makes things scarier and haunt us every night. As all the lights of orphanage turned off, I immediately closed my eyes tightly still the only thing I could see was darkness, my heart pounds fast and I fell into deep sleep. That day I didn't fall asleep my eyes were closed tightly and after lying on bed for hours my eyes flew open, I scared but the scene I saw wasn't scarier. A ray of hope directly coming out of that old dusty window striking on my face, I followed its path It was a big shiny bulb spreading its lights everywhere the city was shining. That midnight looking out of window staring at that white bulb I found darkness have its own beauty too and I and darkness became Friends forever. 7 years later, it was time to leave orphanage to enter in the beautiful world out of those walls to follow those rays and I knew I will find a new self so colourful so beautiful and my eyes could tell I was ready to shine to create my new micro cosmos. As I took my first step everything fell apart. I neither had shelter nor food. I felt they threw me with some money in account I even didn't know how to get that. I was walking on the streets here and there. After walking many kilometres, I squat down roadside I was looking at that evening sky and calling moon, I was calling it I was telling him “I need you’’ with this I passed out right there. I was broken I was losing. I slightly open my eyes it was warm, wow! It was so relaxing wait! What's wrong and I wide opened my eyes with shook. I looked around it was a small old wooden house and an old grandma was cooking in a corner. I could see the rays of moon striking again, I was happy seeing those rays of hopes and realize moon wanted me to stay strong. I stood up and before I could say something that grandma turned and said,'' You passed out there near my house you had fever too I made soup for you eat this before you go." I told her I didn't need it but my stomach started to make noise. That old grandma warmly smiled, '' You can lie but your stomach can't''. I awkwardly smiled and sat down again. I drank up whole soup, it was the best thing I had ever eaten. Grandma asked me to stay there until morning, I was tired too and I agreed. 00:00 Midnight, the grandma had slept I was staring at the moon through that old window, I found myself at the same place like 7 years ago. I believe I am gonna happy someday. I just have to believe myself and my friend moonie. Next morning, I opened my eyes and found myself roadside at the same place I passed out yesterday, I looked here and there but that house had disappeared. ''Was it a dream?'', '' If it was how could I get the taste of soup yet''. My head shook with lots of thoughts. I stood up carried my bags and moved on. My mind was still confused, I couldn’t understand anything. Finally, after working all day hard, I got a room on rent. It was a very small room with a small bed and table. As soon I put down my bags as I threw myself on the bed. The bed was rough still I was happy. My whole body aching and I was about to sleep, my stomach started to make noise, “Oh! These butterflies.’’ I cried. I stood up and moved out to get some food. I left with few bucks in my pocket, and all streets full of expensive food. After losing I was returning to room with sulky face. Suddenly I saw a ray of moon passing before my eyes and striking on the same old house. “How this old house suddenly appeared at different location and how it was disappeared last time.’’ I was stood still in shook for a moment; it was seemed all butterflies had died in my stomach. I was sweating in cold winters. I entered the house; nothing was different except that time the grandma was cooking something different and its aroma made my mouth watery. The grandma turned with delicious food in her hands and served to me. She was smiling and I was shocked. I took the food. Grandma was going out, before she could leave, I shouted, “Who are you?”. The grandma smiled to me and said, “I am moonie.” I just blinked and she disappeared and house disappeared too. I left with the bowl which was look alike moon too. “So was it moon who was helping me or was it a Hallucination.” I puzzled with many questions but nobody there to answer. In the end my moonie turned out to be old grandma. Time passed I got a well-paid job; I donated the money I received from orphanage and within few years I bought my own home. It wasn’t a big house but it was mine own. My life was pleasant but I couldn’t control myself thinking about the moon and that old lady and the secret behind those mysterious nights. I still talk to the moon or moonie grandma. Every night when it gets darker, I love it more, not only its peaceful but also the moon light and star light make it beautiful. Years passed I almost forgot about those incidents and they became just beautiful dreams for me. One day I was in a book shop I sat down and there was a book right before me. Its title amazed me, “Grandma on the moon” It was written by Tara Nigam. A short story how an old grandmother reached to moon and the story end with she is still there. I was amazed after completing the story it was like waking dream wish fulfilment. Finally, nobody knows the truth but I believe the moon is still there for me when I need it and I talk to it every night. When its full it smiled at me and the day when it disappear darkness embrace me.


“Hello, this is Nina from Ryder Share. How can I help you today?” “You can tell me why my stupid account isn’t working and you’d better make fast it, Nina.” She could hear the sneer in the man’s voice as he over pronounced the two syllables of her name. Was it a sexist thing or just a jerk thing? God, it was just her first call today.

“Sure, happy to help your car sharing experience go more smoothly. May I ask who I’m speaking with so I can take a look at your account?” “I just told the god damned machine who I am so why the hell do I need to say it again? Or was that just to waste my time so you could ask me again?” “Sir, I know it is frustrating to have technical difficulties, but please let’s keep the tone of this call friendly. I need you to confirm your identity for privacy reasons before we move forward, but yes I do have a profile in front of me.” He confirmed his name for her (she affectionately nicknamed him John the Jerk to herself), grumbling through the process of securely confirming his identity like she was doing him a favor. Then came the part where he actually had to explain the trouble he was having. He didn’t know how to open the car door and, as was typical, he was pissed that he had to call for help for something so basic. “I did what the app said and waved my credit card in front of the sensor and it didn’t do anything. Are you going to send me an actual technician so he can help me with this issue?” Nina reminded herself it was funny that he was trying to be so blatantly sexist to rile her up, but she wasn’t finding this amusing lately. Still, she was going to take him down a notch which was mildly satisfying.

“Hopefully that won’t be necessary, John (the Jerk). I believe we can resolve your issue with one question- do you have the member card we sent you available?” “My what?” “Your member card with the Ryder Share logo? It’s green with an old fashioned looking key in black in front of-“ He cut her off, of course. “No, why would I need that? Doesn’t that just have my account number on it?” Nina smirked.

She imagined speaking to him in the same condescending voice he had used with her, somehow making her own name sound like a put down.

Sounds like you didn’t read the basic instructions, John. They were a paragraph long with cute graphics and said to keep this with you, John. You mentioned your credit card for some odd reason like every third caller, John. People didn’t like it when we didn’t send them something familiar and tangible, and begged for a key card that no one bothers to keep.

She said none of that. “ I see the source of the problem,” Nina allowed herself a small smile, “Ryder Share clients use the member card to swipe on the car’s sensor to let the car know who is there, so to speak.” She paused, John started softly under his breath. “But not to worry, John, there’s a technical fix that I can help you with right now.” She couldn’t help pausing here for emphasis. “Yes, and that would be?” He was actually gritting his teeth now. “You simply open the Ryder Share app on your phone, you do have that downloaded?” She got a grunt in the affirmative here. Nina smiled wide because people can hear you smile on the phone, and laid on her thickest customer service voice. “Wonderful! Now, just go to the account screen, tap the “virtual member card” and when it brings up the QR code, hold your phone up to the sensor. Please go ahead and try this, and let me know how it goes.” She heard a rustling as he angrily punched at his phone, and did she what she said. “It worked.” John sounded mildly surprised but still really annoyed, which annoyed her. “Great! I’m happy I could help you sort that out. Anything else I can help you with today?”

They finished the call with the scripted good bye she was required to use and hardly a thank you from John. Nina’s brief feeling of triumph was already gone. She looked at the doodles and customer comment tally she had in her notebook. They ranged from positive “thanks so much for fixing that quickly, I was so stressed about getting stranded” to negative disgusting garden variety insults. And of course the insults always outweighs the kind comments. She used to worry about what this meant for her job security, but she’d outlasted most of the people in her orientation group and was seen as an average to above average representative in her department. What did that really say about people- that they’re just rude when they have a bit of power or was it like faceless trolls on the internet?

Nina glumly went to get a bagel from the break room. A group had gathered in the, frankly, sad beige little room. The room buzzed with conversation and she had no idea why. She leaned against a plastic counter near her cubicle neighbor Maddy and asked why everyone seemed so excited.

“Brian made a huge announcement a few minutes ago, he seemed surprised, too. They’re going to let our office test out the beta version of the new video customer service chat service! There hasn’t even been an email, but since one of our engineers came up with the idea they’re letting us be the ones to “break it” and find the bugs.” Clearly happy that she got to pass on brand new gossip, Maddy took a huge bite of bagel and turned to listen to the group debating over if this was good or bad.

“Are people going to just be rude to us to our faces now or maybe they’ll actually treat us like, you know, humans?” This came from a guy named Jorge that was a row over from Nina and Maddy. “Don’t be silly, they’ll see your face and just hang up!” Jorge’s best friend Ron got a good chuckle for this pathetic joke. People really were excited if they were laughing at his “zingers.” Jorge laughed, but then sobered a bit. “Actually, that’s a good point. What if we have an increase in racist comments from customers? I’m sure sexists will be worse, too.”

The room went quiet as this new possible future seemed a lot less excited and a lot more soul crushing. In a store customers were polite more often than not when surrounded by people adhering to social norms of shopping, but video chats might give shameless online trolls the chance to scream at you. Nine asked, “I hope they’ll actually listen to our feedback when we test this out. What if we could rate our interactions with customers?” The group seemed interested in this, but doubtful, and everyone slowly went back to their desks.

The next few days were filled with a series of mind numbingly dull training sessions on how they were going to ethically try out the new app on customers. Ethics and fairness were emphasized because “ethics” was in the company mission statement, and fairness because employees had voiced their serious concerns about angry customers. Shockingly Ryder Share decided to take this seriously and went with something similar to Nina’s “rate the customers” idea. Brian, the head of Nina’s department, tended to lean heavily on business jargon but at least tried to explain this succinctly, “We’re just trying out this new technology for a short time, but as a company Ryder Share is always concerned with employee satisfaction. We appreciate your energy and buy in during training this week, and want to keep this a positive work environment. Therefore, we are also trying out a rating system. You can give one to five stars per interaction with customers, and we encourage you to tell customers if their language is inappropriate. In business appropriate language, of course. If anyone experiences any egregious examples of sexism, racism, or the like, you are at liberty to label it as such for the customer. You can even suspend the account of the person temporarily until a manager can review the situation, as we will continue to record all customers help calls.” There was a literal gasp at “labeling language and stunned silence at “suspend account”. “Just to make sure I’m understanding this right- we get to rate customers and if they treat us like dirt we can take away their service?” Nina wasn’t sure who had asked this question, but appreciated their candor. It seems Brian didn’t know either and and frowned a little. “That’s correct. The video customer chats will give us a better chance to connect to customers while also protecting your workplace experience.” Nina walked away from the meeting in shock. She could punish someone for treating her like dirt? They were taking the customer’s anonymity with video chats plus allowing employees to speak up for themselves?

She ran through all the possibilities and couldn't stop glancing at the many, many pages of insult tallies at her desk as she worked. The many times Nina had to bite her tongue and let people walk all over her sprang to mind, the dejection she felt having another human being tell her that she was bad at her job stung every time. The new program was rolled out on Monday and everyone in the office was noticeably more put together. They did a cheesy group picture for the staff website and then everyone settled down at their desks. She could hear Maddy’s bubbly voice and smiled as she put her headset on.

“Hello, this is Nina from Ryder Share. How can I help you today?” After a moment a 30 something year old man with dark brown hair and green eyes, wearing business professional clothes appeared on her screen looking startled. “Yeah, hi. Didn’t realize this was a video chat. My account or the sensor on the car isn’t working or something, can somebody fix it?”

That would be me, sir, Nina thought, but she kept her smile plastered on her face with effort. “Yes, I’m happy to help your car sharing experience go more smoothly. May I ask who I’m speaking with so I can take a look at your account?” He visibly took a deep breath before answering, “I just typed all of that in from the app before speaking to you, what was the point if you don’t have it already?” “We are just testing out our new video chat customer service line, but we still need to confirm your identity for security reasons. Thank you for your patience while we stream line this system!” He fixed her with a stare that seemed to suggest her answer had been garbage, but gave her the information she needed. His name was John, which didn’t help her growing disappoint with her first video call. “Anyway, I swiped my card over the sensor and it didn't work.” “Did you swipe your member card with the Ryder Share logo on it?” “My member card? No, I don’t remember getting a card. Besides who the hell gives out member cards now anyway? God, am I not going to be able to use the car now?” He worriedly ran his hand through his hair and Nina heard another voice on the video. “You probably received it in the mail a while ago, however-“ “Can I use the car or not, Nina?” She heard her own name spat back at her and it was accompanied, for the first time at work, with a glare. “Yes, as I was about to say-“ there was a voice from the background again and John interrupted her again. “Just spit it out, I don’t have all morning. Some of us actually have lives and work hard. We can’t all read from a script like some bimbo.”

Nina could feel her blood boil, while also thinking in the back of her mind that he wasted more time interrupting her and insulting her. She glanced at the new policy pegged to her wall with “sexist comments” under the suspend-able offenses, and set her jaw. “That was not-“ She stopped speaking when she saw a small child with curly hair wearing a uniform move in front of the phone and ask John if they could drive to school yet. She heard John murmur something and then saw him glance back at the phone, but the child, a little girl also watched Nina. Her mouth went dry. She cleared her throat and heard herself speak. “Sir, I know it is frustrating to have technical difficulties, but please let’s keep the tone of this call friendly. You simply open the Ryder Share app on your phone, go to the account screen, tap the “virtual member card” and when it brings up the QR code, hold your phone up to the sensor. Anything else I can help you with today?”


I dedicate this story to my partner and to everyone who has carried or is carrying the burden of grief. Sitting by the bed, holding my hand, you think my mind is fighting against the decision of my body to quit life’s game. My eyes are closed, but I sense your will through the fingers laced tightly around my own. Tenderness is a force and you stake my claim to life through the insistent pressure of your hand. How it has grown over these long years from its immaculate small perfection to this manifestation of adult capability: greeting strangers, shaking on deals, carrying children of your own. From the first moment, holding tight to my little finger in the hush of the darkened hospital room, it wanted to latch onto me and the world. You needed reassuring then; you do now.

Beloved child, my hand rests peacefully in your own. Let it speak to you with the words I can no longer form: I am ready, so let me go.

Quitting seems such a nasty word. I used to think so too. Lying here, I remember telling you not to give up; to keep trying at those school projects, at winning over the sour-faced teacher, at striving to do your best in the world of work and family. So, it is no surprise that you desperately want me to go another round; you aren’t ready for me to hang up the boots and to let this be the final whistle.

Doctors speak in plain language of their expectations for this last round of play. You are resigned, seeming to concur with their prognosis; yet, when they are gone to the next ward, I feel the pulse of rage in the heartbeat of your hand. It troubles the peace I feel begin to slip about me like the blanket I wrapped you in, our blessed first night together. Beloved child, tuck me into this long sleep.

Strength is sometimes a burden. I sense your head bowed with the weight of this demand: to fight on for my life. You are a pillar of strength threatened by tides of emotion. Let them come; lay down the boulder of your mighty will and trust me that there is no wrong or shame in this. It is ok to feel as small as a pebble, waves washing over it, again and again, caught up in the pounding tides of life; but there is also so much strength, even in the smallest stone.

If the doctor’s words have lit a fighting fire in you, they have quenched my last longings. I have been delivered from the exhausting expectation to struggle and soldier on. My body has long known the relief of a lie-down, now my mind can too. At the end of this illness, I can finally embrace myself once more, body and mind hugging each other tight. Nurses come, those kind attendees with their needles and bottles to help ease the passing of my days. Quietly and efficiently they dismantle the apparatus that has helped me cling to life. Monitors and machines are disconnected and wheeled away; drips suspend their drops and beeps are silenced. Life lines are hauled out and I am my own net, catching my life’s dreams and memories. Holding them safe inside me, I am ready to let go.

Deep within you, I wish for a long-lost memory to stir. Do you think you can remember our first night together? There was noise, so much! The bustle of nurses, the instructions of doctors; machines robotically noted key data while I gasped my ragged breath and blew blast after blast on the trumpet of pain. Everything was labouring and then you shuddered into this world on a wave of love.

You added your noise, of course you did, roaring in a way that silenced everything else. I knew I had never heard a more beautiful sound than your first-born cry. There must have been other noises: temperatures read and recorded, pens scribbling on charts; your armband identification filled in and the blue plastic snapped onto your little wrist; sheets rustling as they were changed and freshly laid; casters clicking on the floor as we were wheeled to another ward, but I was deaf to it all. The only thing that returns to me, in the serenity of now, is the silence we shared as the rest of the world seemed to sleep; those first hours together when it was just us two, with eyes only for each other. Eventually you closed yours and drifted off to sleep. I was beyond exhaustion and yet, watching your little chest rise and fall in a rhythm so wonderfully familiar and new, I pushed tiredness away as I held you closer to me. I wanted that night to never end; to put off that moment when we would be parted for the first time, even if you were just in a crib a few feet from my bed. My will was strong but eventually the night nurse came by and laughed at my stoic fight to stay awake and keep guard.

“He’ll be alright, he knows his mum is right beside him. Remember, there’s plenty of time for tiredness in the nights to come!” She was right. When she lifted you from my arms and placed you in the crib at my side, you never stirred. The last thing I remember before sleep claimed me, was stroking your little hand with the tips of my fingers, realising that you knew I was there, and I knew you were there for me too. Silence cups us as it did that night eighty years ago. Yours was the small hand then, now it is mine. Things seem different, but nothing really changes at all. Our hands will always reach out to each other across time and space; but in the circle of your memory, you'll reach me and we'll hold each other once more. Beloved child, my hand rests peacefully in your own. Let it speak to you with the words I can no longer form. Tuck me into this long sleep. I am ready, and you are too, so let me go.


Course mates are like wounds that leave their marks on your skin at times on your soul even years after being cured. Some of those wounds behaves as if they came into this planet with you, so it’s their right never privilege to lay claim of attachment if not that of ownership on you. You have no choice but to go along praying that mother nature will reason with you and restore your skin to it’s original position.

That’s exactly what some course mates are. Wounds that refused to heal properly. If the course mates in question happened to be your friend, carpool or any one of those attachment that last years, it’s wounds were even more difficult to heal. The funny thing about this brand of wound is that naturally, you don’t pay critical attention to the scar even years after the wound had healed. This type can be referred to as Chickenpox that usually stamp it’s claim, authorities on the virtue of being a paddy to the victim.

Nigbo was my guy before, yeah before for I don’t know what he is to me now. He was my paddy during our undergraduate years, I don’t even remember exactly how the friendship started, but I think it was one of those evaluation process some use to line themselves up with another person. I believe he found me trust worthy or something nearer to it. Many always read me from that angle first, reason I honestly don’t know. We went up and down for four years together and after graduation, we went out different routes. He to his State, I to mine. When after years without any meaningful thing doing, I found my way out of the country. A year abroad, he was one of those course mates I got in touch first from my base. We talked, exchange new numbers again but I noticed that the guy was struggling from the way he sounds, I myself was struggling to find my feet in foreign land too. So that made two of us. I wasn’t usually with spear change to call him and he don't either. I Know that I was better off than him. Imagine his situation, I was struggling seriously then in foreign land and I was still better off than him. At times, when I save enough change to call those course mates, especially that my guy, I will be hearing children’s noise at the background. One day, I summoned courage to ask him about those background noises. Truly, I thought he was living in one of those “You face me, I face you” buildings that it’s occupants are one step ahead of classless. I said one step ahead, yeah because, it’s not equivalent of ghetto, ghetto is one step behind and those ‘you face' occupants gets offended when being referred to as ghetto people. They are 3rd class citizens. Some Eastern Europeans that found their way into Africa looking for oil well at the back of the village government don’t know exist live in those 'You Face me' places when they couldn’t find oil and lost themselves too. Imagine living in a place with those mental drained and wretched white guys, they use the same public restroom with you, fuck around like you, carry Jerry can around morning and Evening and yet still being grouped as ghetto don’t sit pretty with some locals hence the nomenclatures. I was told that the background noise belonged to his uncle’s kids that he was temporary clashing with them. That was when I realized that “There was fire on the mountain” in my guys life. Bad government had turned my guy into house maid just for oil to enter his mouth. Shit!, This life can be something else within an twinkling of an eye. Boy, it’s not easy to be an adult in some third world countries.

That call was the last time I called my guy Nigbo before I had problem and found myself inside for years. After about 12 years of severing communication, my term came to an end and I was deported. Months later when I finally got my own phone, I was trying all the old contact numbers and only two was still working and this my guy number was one of them. “Hello, is that Nigbo?” “Ah, are you who I believed you to be?” “Yeah, I am who I am, don’t know who you believe it go be?” “ Are you Philip, or ghost?” “I am Philip, no ghost answers that name” I narrated my ordeals to him and he was thanking heaven on my behalf which made me to start thinking whether he has became born again for he was not particularly Religious person since I know him. again, I heard those children background noise I heard last about 13 years ago. I was wondering if he is still living with his Uncle. This time, I didn’t enquire for I was seriously wondering if those his uncle’s kids don’t grow up. Surely, they can’t remain under five for 13 years. It was on his next call that he hinted that the kids were his.

Married with two kids. He had joined real estate business and was acting as link between buyers and sellers. The first real money he made, he got married to one of his years gone sweet heart. In bad economy like that Nigeria, nothing is stable and so it was with his business. What I gleamed from what he was saying, his accounts were in red. Believing me to be his chance of getting out of the red he usually found himself, my situation and conditions must have given his hope a mighty blow for who he was hoping on was emptier than him. Since he knew who knew my younger sister and her husband, knowing them to be relatively well off and believing logically that they will fix me up and the fixing up will get to him through me. He was in the same City with my sister and I in another city. Meanwhile, almost a year I came into the country, I have not seen him life only in Facebook. I really don’t know again exactly who I am dealing with. My judgement of him was that of twenty- something years ago. From the story I heard, he travelled to my village years ago looking for me when he don’t know I was inside and one old man told him I was inside and he faced his life till I called months back.

When his calculations weren’t materializing as he calculated, he stopped calling and when I call, he would tell me that he would call me back in an hour time that he was tied down then. When the incident repeated itself thrice, I relegated him to the second division and from look of things, it seems as if he did that before me for about four months now, I have not heard from him.


My husband, Sinclair, looked like a black lumberjack. He bounced into our room and took out my yellow suitcase and dragged it across the hardwood floor leaving stuff marks along the way. I sat on the edge of the bed and watched him piling his clothes inside. I knew that he was going to ask me if I wanted to go to the convention with him and he knew that my answer was going to be the same as it had been the ten hundred other times he had asked.

“Do you want to go with me to the convention?” He asked me to fold his white tee shirt and put it in the suitcase.

“No, I told you that I didn’t want to go. There is nothing that interested me about a woodworking convention. You go and have a good time.” I said.

Sinclair tried to close his overstuffed suitcase and I put on my bunny slippers on the floor beside my bed and grabbed my robe and went downstairs. I needed a strong cup of coffee.

Sinclair and I met at church. I had just moved here after my friend, Michelle convinced me that I should. I had just been laid off from my boring job and she told me that I should come to her city and get a husband. I had no intention of finding anything but a job. I was 40 years old and had never been married and had no children and didn’t have any desire to have either. Michelle was married and had four kids. She believed that I should be like her. I disagreed.

I bought a house and got a new job that I loved at a TV station. My life was finally getting better. And I loved it.

I had found a small church a few blocks from my house. Sinclair’s big brown eyes captivated me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him in the third row of the choir. After church he introduced himself. He told me that I looked beautiful. I knew that was a big lie. I had my hair pulled up into a tight bun on the top of my head and was wearing my dull purple church dress with the lace collar. It was so snug that it showed off a little too many curves that I wanted to hide. I also knew that my light brown skin was a little too shiny from the baby oil and the only makeup I had on was lip gloss and mascara.

When he shook my hand I never wanted to let go. We had our first date a week later. He brought me a dozen of red roses. I didn’t know how he knew that those were my favorite flowers but I was glad that he did. For each date he brought me different colored roses. He moved into my house a year later.

Sinclair was good at working with his hands and when he moved in with his tool belt I knew that everything in the house would be repaired. When Sinclair was laid off from his construction job I was not worried. He had 24 units before he completed his degree in engineering.  But Sinclair had other ideas. He wanted to take some courses in woodworking. So, after a few months and $2000 later Sinclair was done with the classes and our garage looked like a small furniture store. There were stools, tables, desks and chairs all over the garage. Finally, we got a loan and he opened up a shop around the corner from our house. The store did well and he went from being unemployed to being a small business owner in less than a year.

For the first 8 years of our ten year marriage it was great. I went fishing with him even though the thought of a fish dangling from a pole moving around made me want to throw up. And camping was no thrill either. I didn’t like to be out in the wilderness listening to animal sounds all night thinking that some wild animals would come in the tent and eat me alive. And the football games that I sat through took too long to end. But I endured those things to get to know him and he went to long foreign movies with subtitles with me and watched what he called “girly” movies with me a couple of times per week. We also went out to dinner twice per month just to get out of the house and keep our romance alive. We toasted each other with expensive bottles of wine and ate big plates of pasta and garlic bread and the occasional fish dinners for him.

Now Sinclair’s idea of a romantic dinner and a movie is sitting in front of the TV watching one of his home improvement shows and ordering from the fast food place down the street screaming our order through a box speaker and coming home opening greasy bags of food and eating lukewarm hamburgers and soggy fries while sipping on watered down soda through a straw.

I used to love the feel of his big arms around me as we laid in the bathtub together as I pressed my back against his body. I never wanted to leave those strong arms. I felt that I had found Mr. Wonderful and I was glad that he had found me. Nowadays I wonder where Mr. Wonderful has gone.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to come? It is going to be in Vegas.” Sinclair said, poking his head into the kitchen.

“No. I don’t want to go. I don’t even like Vegas. I don’t gamble and neither do you. You go and have a good time.” I said sipping on my now lukewarm cup of coffee.

Sinclair rubbed my shoulders and then kissed me on the cheek and went out of the door to the garage. I waited for him to return a few minutes later. He always forgot something. Sinclair ran up the stairs to our bedroom and came down holding his cell phone.

“I forgot my phone.” He said.

He walked back over to me sitting at the kitchen table and bent down and kissed me again on the cheek. This time he let his lips linger a second longer. I was grateful for the effort.

My phone rang a few minutes later. It was my friend, Michelle.

“Hey girl. Did Sinclair leave yet?” She asked.

“He just left.” I said.

“So, what are you going to do?” Michelle asked.

“What am I going to do in general or today?” I asked, knowing full well what she met. “What are you going to do about your marriage?” Michelle sounded irritated.

“I think that we need counseling. We just don’t communicate anymore. He comes home and plops down on the couch and watches some home improvement show on cable and I cook dinner and go to bed with a good book while he goes to his office. We say very little to each other.” I said.

“Do you think that he will go?” She asked.

“We talked about it and I think he will be open to it.” I said.

“Well, good luck. I am about to pull into the parking lot. I will talk to you later.” Michelle hung up the phone.

I walked back upstairs to my office. I needed to work on my story and for that I needed my laptop. I turned it on and the screen stayed black. I didn’t even hear the beep that I hate after

I turned it on. I knew that it was dead and I forgot to charge it. I plugged it in and walked to Sinclair's office and sat down on the wooden chair he built behind the desk he also built using an old wooden door. I turned on his computer and put in the password. What I saw on the screen made me do a double take. About ten bikini clad women popped up and they were messaging him things that I couldn’t repeat in mixed company or ever. So, this is what he does when he comes to his office to “work.” I thought. He was talking to bikini clad women. I closed the computer and before I knew it I had put it under my arm like a football and ran down the stairs. I opened the patio door and threw it in the deep end of the pool like I just scored a touchdown. I wiped off the water that splashed on my clothes and went back inside.

I picked up the ringing cell phone and slid the button to answer. “Hey, Anna. I am here.” Sinclair’s voice echoed on the other side of the phone.

“Glad you made it. Hey, my computer is dead and I need to do some work. Can I use yours?” I asked.

“Well, my computer has a virus.” Sinclair said as his voice started to crack the way it always did when he lied.

“How do you know it is a virus? “ I asked.

“Well, I don’t know what else it could be. It’s not acting right. Don’t you have your work backed up on your work computer?” He asked.

“Yes. Do you have your computer backed up?” I asked.

“No. I don’t.” He replied.

“Well, maybe you should.” I said hanging up the phone. A week later we were sitting

in front of a marriage counselor in a dull brown office building. He was our age, in his early 50’s. His

salt and pepper hair was slicked down to his head and his mustache matched his hair.

He sat there with his legs crossed on a black office

chair across from us wearing black slacks and a white shirt. I couldn’t help noticing his brown loafers. They reminded me of the ones that Sinclair had which he wore every time he dressed up. He thought that those shoes went with everything. I disagreed.

The marriage counselor asked us some questions which I thought made no difference at all in our situation. But, I answered them thoughtfully. I told him about the early days of our marriage and now. When it was Sinclair’s turn to talk he would answer in one or two words and on occasion in a short ten word sentence.

Then he would turn his gaze to me. I would ignore his “I want to be anywhere but here” look and look straight ahead at the counselor.

Six months later we knew that our marriage could not be saved. I told Sinclair that I didn’t want to be married any more and I know he was just waiting for me to say what he was thinking. He moved out of our bedroom that day to the guest room down the hall.

A

month later he had rented an apartment a few miles from our house. I watched him as he packed the last box and as he was putting it into his cherry red truck he turned around and said, “Baby, we sure did give it a good try.”

I looked at him and smiled. “You don’t know unless you try.”


Caze and Rebexi’s family life had been harmonious, despite the challenges of living in the Blue Colony, but they were shaken to their respective cores when Zily came home from school crying. “Darling,” Rebexi said, as she stroked Zily’s hair. “What happened?” Caze hovered behind Rebexi, troubled by his daughter’s blotchy face and reddened eyes. Zily sniffled, burrowing her head into Rebexi’s lap.

“Jaro said…” Her voice was muffled. “Jaro said how come you don’t go to church on Starday? He said…” Caze stifled a gasp then spoke encouragingly to Zily. “What did he say, sweetheart?” “He said that if you don’t go to church on Starday then you can’t go to heaven - you’ll go to Earth!” She broke down again. Rebexi patted her back while Caze tried to reassure her, but they looked at each other, concerned. In eight years their interfaith relationship had, of course, been through ups and downs, but they’d been determined to make things work. Caze went to church on Starday and the observational days, while Rebexi went to the Stella temple on Lunaday and kept a shrine in the living area for the Stellan gods. They spoke respectfully about each other’s beliefs and before Zily’s birth had decided not to impose either of their religions on her but that she could decide when she was old enough. Zily had been to the Pog church and the Stellan temple occasionally but neither had been particularly interesting to her. They had not expected that Zily would be forced to reckon with her family’s beliefs at only five years old. Caze and Rebexi did their best to cheer Zily up but later that night, after Zily had gone to sleep, they sat on the couch, both leaning forward, elbows on knees, brows creased. Caze spoke first. “Perhaps it’s time that we made more effort with Zily and church? And the temple, of course. She’s a bright kid. She can start thinking critically about these things.” Rebexi nodded. “Yes, I think it’s time. I just didn’t think it would start so early. Honestly, people need to keep their opinions to themselves.” They reminisced about when they had first met in the Green Colony and fallen in love, the many well-meaning but pointed arguments their parents and extended family had made. It had been a difficult time but it had cemented Rebexi and Caze’s love for each other and their commitment to living an amicable, unprejudiced life. News stories about religious intolerance made them grateful for the peace they’d managed to create in their little family. Now it had been breached. They decided that, if Zily was willing, she would go with Caze to the Pog Church on Starday, and then on Lunaday she would go with Rebexi to the Stellan temple. On Lunaday evening they would then do something together as a family. Zily accompanied Caze to the Pog church on Starday and then the next day to the Stellan temple with Rebexi. On Lunaday evening, her parents probed gently for Zily’s thoughts on her religious experiences. Zily smiled at them, saying that she had liked both the church and the temple but why didn’t they all go together? And why was there so much standing then sitting then standing then kneeling? “Well, darling,” Rebexi said, “the standing and kneeling is for different parts of the ceremony. You show your respect to the gods by kneeling when you pray. And then when the priest is speaking, you sit quietly and listen. Sort of like at school.” “But why don’t we all go together? How come you only go to temple and dad only goes to church? And why did the priest at the church say there is only one god but the priest at the temple said there are many gods?” “Sweetheart,” Caze said, “your mother and I have different beliefs. We belong to different religions. It’s like how we support Ursa Major but some of your friends might support Canis Major. But we can all watch the game.” He was pleased with the starball analogy he’d come up with on the spot but Zily still frowned. “But daddy, we all go for Ursa together. We don’t go for different teams in our family. Anyway, Ursa Major is the best starball team.” “I was raised in a Pog family, which is why I’ve always gone to Pog church, and mummy was raised in a Stellan family, which is why she goes to the temple. But we can still love each other and be a family. Now, how about some ice cream?” Zily came home again crying the next day, and every day after school. At first, she told her parents in detail about the bullying (Jaro, again, saying that she couldn’t go to church and the temple, that Stellans would go to Earth with all the unbelievers) but as the week wore on, she became quiet and withdrawn. Caze and Rebexi tried to reassure her that it was just kids being silly, that she wasn’t going to go to Earth, and that she should tell the teacher if it continued. When they brought up Mister Silver, Zily just shook her head. Worried, her parents said that they would speak to Mister Silver themselves.

The meeting with Mister Silver started well. Mister Silver complimented Zily’s intelligence and creativity but when Caze cleared his throat and spoke about the religious bullying, the teacher began to frown. “I see, I see,” he said. “Thank you for bringing that to my attention. It’s hard to know what’s going on behind closed doors.” Caze glanced at Rebexi. “Behind closed doors? I think it’s all been happening in the playground. And even, with all due respect, in your classroom.” “I meant, we were unaware of the family situation. That Zily has not been properly baptised into the Pog faith. And your, ahem, unorthodox marriage.” Rebexi leaned closer. “Mister Silver, this is a public school, not a religious school. It shouldn’t matter whether ZIly has been baptised or not. And our marriage shouldn’t matter either. We just want the bullying to stop.” Mister Silver sat back in his chair and smiled down his nose. “Now, Ms Blume, you may not like to hear this but it is in the best interests of your child that she is brought up properly. In the Pog church. You could consider converting yourself.” “We didn’t come to you today to talk about our religion,” Rebexi persisted. “We came to ask you to do your job as a teacher and stop the bullying!” Mister Silver stood up, still smiling down his nose. Rebexi noticed the Pog medallion hanging from the chain around his neck. “I think this meeting is finished,” he said. “Please think about what I’ve said. I will keep an eye on Zily’s behaviour.” Caze and Rebexi shook their heads, confounded. It was like they were back on the Green Colony. Always the same problems. Why couldn’t people just learn to respect others’ decisions? Especially when they weren’t hurting anyone. They left Mister Silver’s office without shaking hands and collected Zily from the playground, finding her sitting alone against a wall. Once Zily was in bed, Caze and Rebexi sat down for another long discussion. They’d been having hushed talks every night about the other children in Zily’s class but now they were up against the school itself. The idea of moving schools hovered in the air between them. Then Rebexi mentioned the conversation she’d had with her parents back at the Green Colony. “I’m not saying that we need to move back there. But it’s something to consider. Apparently, things have really improved there in the last few years. It’s like all the old problems came here.” Caze thumbed his jaw. “It’s a big move. Honestly, why should we move? We’re not the ones at fault. Especially Zily.” “I know, I know. I’m just saying what I’ve heard. And what happens if the bullying doesn’t stop? Do you think the school is going to do anything? Would things be better if she went to a Pog school or a Stellan school?” “I don’t know.” Caze had been sent to Pog schools and he’d told Rebexi about some of his experiences there. It was partly why he only went to church on Starday and the special days. She knew that he would not be keen to send Zily to the local Pog school here if the behaviour of the bullies at her current school were anything to go by. “Look, there’s no need to make any big decision now. It’s just an option. My parents would love to see us again. And Zily of course.” “Let’s see how the next week goes. Hopefully, they’ll get bored with their bullying and forget about it.” The school bullying worsened but more troubling was the interference of zealous Stellans at the Parents and Citizens meeting. They harassed the school board and any Pog staff members present. In turn, teachers like Mister Silver squared up to the Stellans. Rebexi wondered why Mister Silver didn’t find a job at a Pog school. There were a few around, more than there had been on the Green Colony. On the morning that Zily refused point-blank to go to school, Caze gave in. “Let’s do it. I’ll look into working remotely. I’m sure you’ll be able to do the same.” Rebexi gave Caze a tired hug then hurried to book flights. The next interplanetary craft left at the end of the week. They had four days to pack up their life on the Blue Colony and make a new start. If it was true that the sectarian extremists had left the Green Colony for the Red, then hopefully they could achieve some peace again. The flight day came around quickly, even though Zily had not attended school at all during the week. As the family boarded their flight, Caze took one last look behind him. Rebexi sighed. They had both had such high hopes for the Green Colony. How things had changed. Zily was still subdued but she became more excited as they buckled into their seats and the attendants brought around zero-gravity snacks. It was her first flight. Caze talked to her about the engineering that went into building spacecraft such as these to distract her from the jarring take-off. The craft was almost empty. The attendants mentioned that it would probably be more full on the return trip. Rebexi tried to relax by watching the in-flight movie. They were approaching the Green Colony’s atmosphere when the meteor shower hit. It created enough turbulence that the pilot turned the craft around to wait for a safe entry. As she did so, a large meteoroid flew past their craft, clipping a wing and they began to spin. Zily vomited, crying, as chunks of her zero-gravity snacks floated around the craft. The noise from the failing spacecraft was tremendous. An attendant shouted to them to find an eject pod, just in case. Hands linked, they made their way to one of the pods, grabbed an oxygen suit each then sealed themselves in. Inside the pod, the noise and commotion were only slightly muffled. Caze said a silent prayer to Pog. Rebexi made the Stellan hand symbols, even as she clutched Zily to her chest. The attendant stared at the monitor which showed that the spacecraft was still unable to right itself but then something else hit the craft and the eject pod was thrown into space. Caze threw his arms around Rebexi and Zily. Rebexi already felt like the force of the ejection was crushing her, now with Caze it was almost unbearable but the thought of losing either Zily or Caze was worse. After a long minute, the noise stopped, and it was still inside the pod, although they knew that they were probably travelling at thousands of kilometres per minute. The monitor had gone blank so they could only guess. After another minute of silent free-falling, there was a series of loud thumps as they were bumped around.

“We must have entered the Green Colony atmosphere,” Caze said. The pod accelerated on, finally hitting the ground with a bone-shaking thud that caused them to pass out. Rebexi was the first to open her eyes. She turned her head left and right to release the tension in her neck, then shook Caze gently. Zily’s eyes twitched and then she tried to stand up.

“Careful, darling,” Rebexi said. “Take it slowly. We’ve fallen a long way and at great velocity.” The flight attendant lay against the wall, breathing but unconscious. Caze stood up and checked on him, then the monitor. He could only get it working enough to show them the view from one of the external cameras. Wherever they were, it was not the Green Colony spaceport. A dry landscape surrounded their pod, bright sunlight glaring off the concrete structures in the distance. Where were they, and how long had they been passed out?

“What can you see?” Rebexi asked. “Are we on the Green Colony, daddy?” Caze shook his head. “I’m not sure where we are. But not to worry. We have oxygen and the emergency supply store. But we should try to find help for the flight attendant. The craft can’t be too far.” Rebexi was apprehensive about how far they had drifted and where they had landed. She hoped that they were on the Green Colony and that the spaceport was not too far from where they had landed. “Let’s check our oxygen then we’ll go and see where we are,” Caze said. He helped Rebexi with her oxygen suit, then Zily. “Ok, let’s do this.” Caze pushed open the escape pod’s hatch and he stepped out into the light. Rebexi followed him, holding Zily to her. The expanse of dry, hot land surrounding them was unsettling. Only a few crumbling buildings in the near distance broke up the dry, bare landscape. Caze and Rebexi glanced at each other, neither willing to go any further than the safety of the pod. Fortunately, there was oxygen in the air here so they removed their helmets. The sound of whispering reached them. Perhaps it was a light wind? The noise grew closer and then a group of about ten people emerged from one of the concrete buildings. They were dressed like the people in textbooks about the twenty-first century on Earth. Zily clung to Rebexi. A member of the group stepped forward and bowed. The rest of the group did the same. Caze and Rebexi looked at each other. Caze was about to speak when the first of the group to approach them stood up. It was a woman, with brown, sunworn skin. She bowed her head and spoke in a clear voice but neither Caze nor Rebexi could understand her. The women turned to the others and they began to chant.

“What are they saying?” Rebexi whispered. “I don’t know,” Caze said. “It sounds like ‘jed die, jed die’?” “What does it mean?” “I don’t know but it must be significant.” The group continued their chanting while the leader spoke, finger pointing to the sky. She had a preacher-like quality to her address and Zily wriggled in Rebexi’s arms to watch. The woman caught sight of Zily watching her and stopped her monologue. She walked closer to Rebexi and Zily and then dropped to the ground, crying out in her strange language. The group stopped their chanting and also approached, fanning out in a semicircle around Zily and her parents, joining the woman in a new chant. “Bay bee yoh daa! Bay bee yoh daa!” Rebexi’s jaw dropped. This was too unbelievable. Could they have landed on Earth? She thought about how they must appear through these peoples’ eyes, mysteriously emerged from their ejector pod. “Caze,” she murmured. “I think…They must think that we have fallen from…heaven?” Caze blinked. “No, that’s ridiculous. I…” As Rebexi and Caze attempted to reconcile this strange encounter, the sky darkened like inky night. The woman and her followers continued their chanting, entering a trance-like state. The air around them stirred, like a thick soup, and the heat intensified so that sweat dripped from their faces. Rebexi twisted her head around, troubled, then grabbed Caze’s shoulder and pointed to the sky. “Asteroid!” Caze stared for a few seconds at the pinprick of light that was swelling and swelling. “Back into the pod! We’ll be safe there.” He pushed Rebexi and Zily back towards the pod entrance. Rebexi turned. “What about these people? They’re in danger!” “No time! Get back in with Zily.” Caze spoke to the woman leader but she was deep in her trance and would not straighten up to see what was happening in the sky above them. Frantic, Caze tried to shake her, then some of the followers, but to no avail. He bolted back to the eject pod, pulling the hatch shut behind him.

BUREAU OF METEOROLOGY, SPACE WEATHER ADVISORIES Blue Colony orbit: clear conditions Green Colony orbit: some meteor showers expected Outer space, intra-colony region: white alert issued, catastrophic meteorite warning in force, avoid space travel.


Carrio was spending a few weeks at her grandfather 's. Her mother, and brother, and sister, were there. Children always love to visit their grand parents. Carrrie was having a nice time, till one morning, in hor play, aba broke a pane of gloa. in tho bed room window. ' Oh, dear !' she exclaimed, bursting into tears, ' it's grandpapa's window ! What will he say?' Grandpa wa» away that day. He had gone t" the city, early in the morning, and would not return till night. Carrie sought hor grandmother, and confided her trouble to hor. 'Oh, grandma!' she said, 'I've broken grnndpa'a window ! I'm sorry ! Don't tell him I did it ?' ' How did you break it?' inquired grandma, quietly. ' I was running round the room,' Carrio answered, ' nnd my foot slipped, aud I caught at the rocking chair to keep me from falling. The chair rocked, and the buck went agalnot tho window. Don't tell grandpa, will you?' ' Hut grandpa must know it,' was tho roply ; . there must lw. a new pane of glass Bet.' • Well don't tell him I did it, urged Carrie. 1 What shall we tell him ?' said grandma. ' Tell him tho chair rocked against it,' Carrie answered. ' Hut he will want to know what made the chair rock,' said grandma. ' Tell him one of tho children did it,' said Carrie, • let him think it was Albert or Emma; don't tell him I did it.' ' But don't you sec my child,' interposed Carrio's mother, who hnd not yet spoken, ' don't you sco that this would not be honest ? You do not want to throw the blame of breaking the window upon your brothor of sister, when you broke it yourself, do you ?' 1 No,' said Carrio, ' but grandpa will scold at me if lie knew I broke it. • I don't think he will,' grandma remarked, ' I think tho best way will bo for you to tell him the truth, yourself, as soon as he oomes home.' ' Oh, I can't tell him ?' Carrie oxelaimed. ' Hut he will see that the window is broken, when he goes into tho bedroom,' said Carrio's mother, ' he will inquird how it waa done, and we shall have to tell him. It will be much better for you to tell him yourself, beforo he knows anything about it.' I Carrie saw tiiat this was reasonable, but it was a long time beforo sho could make up her mind to do what her mother and grandmother thought was best. At last, after a long crying spoil, and a groat many earnest endeavor, to find some other way of getting out of tho difficulty, Carrio said, ■ Well, mother, I'll tell grandpa myself, when he eomeo home.' ■ That will be tho liest way,' said her mother, smiling. That smile encouraged Carrie wonderfully. She wished that grandpa would come then, so that she might tell him at once, and have it over with. Hut ho would not bo home beforo sunset. He did not come that evening till after dark. Carrie drew her little chair closer to grandma's when she heard the carriage drive into the yard. • He's come,' she wbisperod, and her hand trembled, as she laid it in grandma's lap. ' Yes, dear,' grandma observed, ' and his little grand daughter need not be afraid f> tell him the truth.' Grandpa wont to the barn and took care of his horses. Then he came in and sat down in the comer near the fire. ' And you're up yet, my little girl,' he said kindly, addressing Carrie. Tho teurs came into Carrie's eye*. ' Tell him now, de»r,' whispered grandma. ' Yes, grandpa,' Carrie said, ' I—l sat up to sco you.' Tho child burst into tear*. ' Why, Carrie, what's tho matter?' inquired grandpa, in surprise. ' Grandpa, 1 sobbed the child, ■I ye broken your bedroom window.' And Carrie bid her face in grandma's lap. • Broken my bedroom window!' said grandpa. ' Ah ! how did you manage to do tbat r' Carrie explained the matter as well as she could for crying. Grandpa listened attentively and said, when she had concluded: • I am sorry you met with such on accident, my child; I must, set a new pane of glass there to-morrow.' And grandpa drew a chair to tho table, and sat down to cat his supper. How poor Carrie's heart was lighted. 'Grandpa didn't blame me a bit. He only pitied me,' *he thought. And ten minutes after she was sound asleep in her bed. The next morning was clear and frosty, bnt Carrie was so anxious to see with her own eyes the mischief she had done remedied, that grandma bundled her up in a worm hood and «hawl and sent her up into the bedroom where grandpa was setting a pane of glass. She came out again when the work was done, with sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks. ' Telling the truth was the best way after all, was'nt it, Carrie?' • Oh, much the best,' Carrie answered. ' I mean to tell the truth always.' I LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE ITI LOVE IT


If I were a betting dog, I'd wager you've never heard of a K-10? The next step in the evolution of my parent K-9 species. Now before you think I'm a robot, or some genetically engineered designer doggie from some sci-fi breeder, hold your cats (you humans would use the word horses, but I like cats). My name is Ajax and I am a K-10! I don't know how I happened, I just happened.

From the time I was born the sixth in a litter of seven pups and immediately understood the importance of pushing your way to the teat to get to the life sustaining milk I knew I was different. Hey, I knew that the others were my siblings, but nourishment trumps brotherly love when you can't even see yet because your eyes won't open for another two weeks.

Now as the teller of this story you must bear with me, for though I can think and reason, tense isn't my strong suit, so as I recount this tale you may find my narrative switching from past tense to present tense to something in between (is there something in between past and present tense? And where does future tense fit in), but remember... I'm a DOG!

A special dog to be sure, I may look like a chocolate labradoodle, with killer brown eyes, that can make any bitch go into spontaneous heat, but I can figure things out, like any human. As a matter of fact I'm usually able to think rings around my human master: Trip Ariadne (yeah, from the Greek story about the thread).

Of course no one with a name like Ariadne had Trip as his proper name, but given the boy's free spirit and downright bouncy way of being, the name: Theopolis, ill suited him. Trip also brought new dimensions to the word: KLUTZ, so his nickname fit perfectly.

He was a good master. Of course one trait I had kept with my K-9 brethren predecessors was the philosophy in reference to "good masters." If they praise easily, scold rarely. and always have treats at the avail... They are GOOD MASTERS.

We lived a mundane, pedestrian life in our small town of Shipper's Cove, on the Southern coast of Oregon. Trip relentlessly skating his way through High School with grades that would make me blush were I allowed the expansion of my mind that would come with a formal education. Trip was a classic underachiever. Cleverly smart, but no genius, he still could've made better grades than most of his schoolmates, if he only applied himself. If only he put learning on the forefront of his thinking like say, pizza and video game playing most often were.

From everything I'd read (and yes I can read, a habit I picked up as a pup listening to Katie, Trip's mom, read stories to his little sister Kylie. Poor Mom never quite understood WHY I always stationed myself behind her, straddling the back support of the sofa so that I could not only hear what she read, but could follow along with the words on the printed page) it was merely a matter of adjusting Trip's priorities. Many a slice of pizza I scarfed down to keep him from reveling too much. I can't count the number of times I used my nose to push a book he was assigned to read towards him, or out and out brought him a page of an unfinished homework assignment in my mouth (being careful to NOT get drool on the ink, runny ink would be just another excuse for him NOT to finish it).

I was happy caring for my young master, his WAY too handsy little sister, and Mom, until the day our lives changed. The day I encountered another of my new breed. And I don't mean another bitch magnet chocolate labradoodle, but another K-10!

Lobo was a K-10, that I could instantly communicate telepathically with, a huge French Mastiff with a severe slobbering issue, but my dear K-10 brother had been and was being... Abused.

Trip and I had made an unscheduled stop at a Farmer's Market on the other side of town to get some fresh veggies for Mom (she really liked it when Kylie "helped" her toss a fresh salad, even though a good portion of it ended up on the floor). It was there, as I sniffed around, checking my pee mail deposited by K-9's all around the marketplace, that I first saw Lobo... Heard him really.

I don't know what she wants of me. Everything I do seems to be another excuse for her to hit me. I'm so tired of being hit, and thrown outside all night, or tied to a stake in the heat of the day. She doesn't enjoy making me suffer, but she is always in so much pain herself. Lobo thought to himself, thinking those thoughts were private.

Are you alright? What can I do to help? I thought to him in response.

Lobo looked as shocked as such an expression could show on the stoic, wrinkled face of a French Mastiff.

Who is that? he thought to me.

Over here! The chocolate labradoodle with the tall, lanky, blonde boy master.

Trip took that moment to run into and knock down a display of tomatoes at the booth he had gotten too near, and I had been too preoccupied to shield him from.

The clumsy one? Lobo thought, looking at Trip from head to toe.

That's my boy!

How can I hear you in my head?

Not sure yet, but you must've figured out by now that you are no ordinary dog.

Yes. I don't see other dogs as depressed as I always am, because they can't seem to reason that it should be any other way.

But, you do, don't you? I'm Ajax, or powerful eagle. And the destroyer of displays over there is Trip my proud Greek owner.

I'm...

The air was cut with the screech of a very angry young woman's voice.

“LOBO! You idiot! What do you think you're doing? Leave that other dog alone!” she said as she switched him with the slack in Lobo's leash, on a spot on his back that already seemed to have a fresh cut.

My lead, as always, was much more lax and I had stretched the expanse of its extent as I communicated with Lobo, getting very close to him.

Lobo! Are you okay? I asked.

It stings. You get used to it.

But you shouldn't have to get used to it, my brother.

It's all I've ever known, Ajax. Is there another way of being?

At that, Lobo was yanked away by a young woman whose muscular biceps made Trip's arms seem all the more thin and inadequate in comparison.

Where do you live? I communicated quickly. Like a burst, a mental picture of a map of the neighborhood surrounding the Farmer's Market appeared in my head clear as crystal. Don't worry, Lobo. I'll find you.

Lobo looked back at me forlornly, and was given another whip of the leash across that sore spot on his back for his perceived insolence.

I felt so horrible. I pulled at my leash. Trip pulled back as a farmer yelled at him. That was when I turned my attention back to my young, well meaning, but oh so ungainly master and sent a distinct protection growl in the direction of this old guy in the coveralls. The farmer noticed and deescalated his demeanor quickly.

I knew I would have to get Trip to take me back to that Farmers Market. It dawned on me that I would have to destroy every vegetable in the house to get us low on them again after today's shopping, but I would do it. Every veggie I could get my paws on MUST DIE!

Once Trip got me back to the Farmers Market it was up to my sense of smell, after I checked my pee mail of course. My K-9 tracking skills (and yes I kept them, they were even somewhat enhanced because I knew what I was sniffing FOR) helped me track Lobo to a small ranch style house about ten blocks from where I had met him. I must admit the map that Lobo had put in my head that day helped too, and Trip was a good sport to take me on this LONG unscheduled walk with two sacks of assorted vegetables in his arms.

Lobo's master was Aubrey Janes, a background check I did online with the use of Mom's American Express card (sorry, Mom, but it was the one she owed the most on and would never notice one extra charge) revealed that she had been a soldier, and had fought bravely and often in Afghanistan. Lobo was issued to her as her emotional support dog to help with the post traumatic stress disorder she had come back stateside suffering from.

Even though I understood and sympathized with the plight of Sgt. Janes, I was more concerned with a K-10 that aced all his support dog training courses, because of what he was, but that now was serving as a surrogate for all of Janes' rage issues.

I had to do something, but I was limited. I needed a human, but my human wasn't quite up to the task... Or so I thought.

It was a dreary, rainy weekend as Trip played his game in the family room on a TV screen big enough for me to sleep on were it laying flat against the floor. I was feeling particularly blue (even though I was chocolate brown, and—as a dog—I was colorblind and couldn't tell the difference anyway) about not being able to help Lobo. If only I could communicate with Trip the same way I could with Lobo. I could explain what was going on. I know he would help. My boy had a good heart to go with those two left feet.

Wait a minute! I had never tried to think AT Trip, a concentrated attempt. I screwed up my determination and thought a word at my young master: Trip! Again and again. Trip! Trip!! TRIP!!! And finally...

“Ajax! Shut-up, I'm about to beat the 17 th level!”

That was when he froze as his controller dropped from his hands just as quickly as his lower jaw dropped, leaving his mouth agape.

“Ajax?” he said as he turned to me.

Yes, Trip. It's me! I should've tried this a long time ago, but I never even knew I could do it with one of my own kind until just recently.

“One of your own kind? Then you're not really a dog? Are you an alien?”

No, Trip.

“Are you gonna suck out my brain and leave me like Uncle Roger after his stroke?”

No, Trip.

“Are you a poltergeist inhabiting the body of my dog?”

This kid had some imagination, I made a mental note to try to get him to take a creative writing course in the next semester. NO, Trip! Now will you please calm down and listen to me?

I grabbed the controller in my mouth and gave it to Trip so he could play while he listened (after all he was on the 17 th level and before this soggy Saturday he'd never made it past the 15 th ). It seemed to calm him. I explained about K-10s. How I was one. How Lobo was one. What was happening to Lobo. I tried to be slow and gentle with my delivery so as not to inundate him.

Trip paused the game and put down the controller as he turned to look at me.

“You mean that big, drooling mutt at the Farmers Market a few weeks back? I remember the way you two were staring at each other. No butt sniffing, just staring. I would've noticed more if I hadn't been getting my head handed to me by that old fart about the tomato display disaster.”

Yes, gravity has that effect on tomatoes.

“Wow. I got me a sarcastic dog.”

With your grades and lack of effort, sarcasm is the only thing that's kept me sane!

“Hey! Remember who feeds you, makes sure you get all your shots?!”

I wouldn't remind me about the shots! I growled, low, just a bit, for affect.

“Keep your teeth in your mouth, big boy! It's not like I don't try.”

Not near enough and you know it.

The look on Trip's face told me without thoughts or words that he knew I was right, and in that moment I loved him more than ever for that honest realization. It was going to be different now, but this bond we shared, that was always there was sure to grow with this newfound ability to communicate.

I could see the wheels turning in Trip's head, ever the pragmatist he got back to the root of the situation.

“Okay, but how do we help, Lobo. I'm just a kid, and you're a... You're a... Well, they're less likely to listen to you. Uuuuuh... Can other people hear you?”

I'm surprised you can at the moment. The short answer is I'm not sure. But as a K-10...

“You really like calling yourself that, huh?”

What's wrong with it?! I was trying very hard not to seem as defensive as I felt.

“Nothing."

Trip had always been a lousy liar, but I appreciated the effort.

"So, again, how do we help Lobo?” Trip said, earnestly.

I've done some background checking on the sergeant, but I'll need you.

"Uuuuuuh... How?" Trip gulped, uneasily.

Don't worry, it's not like you'll have to bite somebody or anything like that. But you see... I can't call Maj. Rachel Henson, the psychologist treating Sgt. Janes, anonymously. But you can.

I could almost see the light bulb forming over Trip's head, as he started making loud guttural sounds to deepen his voice for the impending call (I already had the phone number committed to memory). He was a good boy, and he was my boy.

The call, ever so brief and rather stumbling, had the desired effect. Lobo was removed from the care of Sgt. Aubrey Janes. Trying to place him with another wounded warrior didn't pan out and Trip and I learned (quite by accident) Lobo had been tossed aside and placed in that doggie death camp known to you humans as the local pound.

Trip, with me at his side, happened to be doing a bit of community service at said euthanasia facility (mostly so I could scout for more K-10's among the inmates) when Lobo was brought in, thinking that his life was over. He had no idea that after Trip and I adopted him that those thoughts were far from true.

The three of us, Trip, Lobo and I, spent many years seeking out and finding more K-10's around our town and eventually around the country. It wasn't the beginning of the end, but it was definitely the end of the beginning! Okay, so I ended it on a cliché to tantalize you for more stories ahead, but, hey, I'm a DOG!


The pandemic was deadly, unyielding and never ending. Everybody went into isolation, we all thought it would soon be over, but as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, humanity lost hope. We do not really know how long the pandemic lasted; it is easy to lose track of time when you are indoors all the time. Was it God? Mother Nature? The flow of time? Either way, the pandemic suddenly ended but nothing was the same, we all struggled to move on, but the effects of the pandemic still weigh us down.

“DURO! Why? Why! It should have been me, why did the quarquar virus have to take you,” Mama Folake wailed as she clutched her chest. She was not the only one wailing in pain. Almost everybody in this village had lost somebody, we all had tears in our eyes, and it was a very emotional period, the smell of agony filled the air. I lost someone, it wasn’t my parents nor siblings, I lost my best friend. I lost someone I cherished more than myself and I was in pain, but I could not equate my pain to that of Mama Folake who just lost her only child, so I lightly clutched my chest as I cried in silence. “Where are the dinosaurs?” a little girl asked her dad, but he hushed her.

         I lost my smile, smiling became difficult. My mum kept on reminding me that nothing can be done except to move on, the living must live. Even Mama Folake who felt Duro’s pain the most advised me to move on, she kept telling me to accept Duro’s death as he would not be happy to see me stagnant in life because of him. I always wondered why they kept telling me to move on like Duro’s death meant nothing till I noticed that everyone was just pretending to move on, the smiles were forced, we’re all grieving in our own way.

I sat on the cold floor in my room, thinking about how life used to be and how it will be from now on. I ran my hands through my thick Afro which Duro loved to braid as I cried. I made sure to release all the tears I have been holding in as my mum rushed into my room after hearing my cries resonate through the mud walls of the house. She held me tightly and didn’t let go as I cried through the night. The following morning, she looked shocked to see me smiling, she knew the smile was forced but she was still surprised that I managed to crack a smile. I had decided to move on, perhaps the reason why it felt so tight around my chest was because I had shed minimal tears and kept everything in.

         When grieving, it is hard to hear others, the whole world becomes nothing but an annoying fly buzzing round the ear. I cannot believe I am just becoming aware of the new issue that was shaking the village; we all thought they were superior beings. I still cannot believe all the dinosaurs died, regardless of specie, the quarquar virus was more deadly than we thought. The dinosaurs which weren’t a threat to humans and lived among us like pets and were always helpful in the farm; farming was faster because of them. Burying the dinosaurs will not be an easy task, I thought as I went my way. I have been doing well so far, everybody has. Farming is harder and slower than usual, but we are trying. My mum kept reminding me on how proud she was of me, she was happy that she could no longer hear my silent cries during the night, she felt like she could finally breathe around me. I do not know when it started, if it was a coping mechanism or I have gotten delusional, but it all started with a whisper. I could hear Duro calling my name the way he always used to, I could swear Duro was just beside me. I even started to hear him shouting my name the way he always did when he wanted me to play outside with him. One night, I got scared, was it a ghost? I begged him to leave me alone; I asked him why he was suddenly doing this when I was just starting to move on. However, my cries and pleadings swam around the room and evaporated. I don’t know what, but something in me snapped, I started to question myself. “Do you not miss Duro? Why are you telling him to leave you alone? You should go to him”

I could not go without writing something, I had to narrate everything from my perspective and then maybe they would understand why I had to do this. It was hard; I really tried to move on but Duro kept appearing before me, I kept seeing him everywhere even when I close my eyes, I could hear him, smell him, and feel him. So, I decided to meet him, I am sorry. “A pandemic killed the dinosaurs not a meteor?” Faye asked me and I just shrugged. “Are you sure you deciphered it properly? You didn’t just write a fiction for us, right?” she asked. “I might be foolish sometimes, but I’m not stupid” I reply while scanning through the paper on which I deciphered the ancient writing. Unwanted memories run through my head; I vividly remember the punishment I went through for ending my life. “Then…how were you able to decipher it? I mean, many scholars couldn’t” she asks expecting a revolutionary answer. I stare at her for a few seconds “How? Because I’m the one that wrote it,” I answer as she looks at me with so much confusion dancing on her face, I could tell she was waiting for me to tell her I was joking and give her a reasonable answer, but I just give her a smile.


It was an ordinary day. Most days in Beer Sheba lacked the many distinctions of life in a modern city and had not the faintest trace of a thrill in them. The city, like the desert surrounding it, was bleak and monotonous. For one can never run out of words to describe the metropolis of present day, nor can one describe with impeccable detail the ever-changing forest. But a desert is, simply put, a big brown wasteland. Sure, a close look at its texture reveals lines and curvatures and small glimpses of life, but that is beside the point: a desert can appear as a still object from afar, and the forest and metropolis cannot. Likewise, the city of Beer Sheba could be described in a short list of words: hot, aggressive, flat, low, boring, despairing. I came to the city out of necessity, and my military background soon pushed me to work as a security guard. My job was to escort income tax officials who wished to collect money owed to the state from people who did not practice paying taxes on a regular basis – criminals if I may say so bluntly. The criminals were not keen on parting from their precious possessions, and that was exactly the place for me to step in. the clerks I accompanied had extensive training for conflict management, negotiating with hostile persons and convincing them to pay what was due. However, some gifted mind in the executive branch of the ministry decided a trained bodyguard with a gun could help deliver the delicate message. That was me. One would think that the aggressions that naturally occur in such a line of work would break the dullness imposed on me by the wretched city, and one would be totally mistaken. Sure, there was plenty of threatening and shouting and from time to time a conflict would arise, but they all had the same tasteless nature of the city. Their threat, their anger, even their violence – they all screamed mediocracy while whispering danger. It was an ordinary day in a painfully pain city stuck in the middle of the desert. It was my daily routine to walk in Writer's Park, a modern park full of green fields and free books amid grey rectangular buildings, a place that I could embrace as a lone seeker of intellectual life. In that park I would sit at dusk after my daily shift, read a book from the oval library at the center of the park, write my thoughts on a given subject, and hope for different times yet to come.  Indeed, I must admit that I loved the feeling of loneliness on my usual seat there, the feeling of separation from all others, even the soreness in my throat from being lonely for so many years. It was not always so. Back in the army my comrades were my friends, my family. I did not have to feign manners or adjust to social norms, they accepted me for my quirks and loyalty and sharp instincts. They knew I was terrible with greetings and small talk, but better with carrying a rucksack in time of need. And they knew me as the sharpshooter who saved Illai and Yotam that one night in the streets of Bethlehem, when shots were fired from the rooftops and the fog covered our assailants. The memory remains clear and vivid, of the small flicker amidst the shadows on the rooftop, yielding the position of one of them. I remember the recoil, the shift of distant shapes as the man collapsed and remained still. I had no telescope to give away my hiding spot, and it allowed me to remain in my spot, target the second shooter, pull the trigger, feel the recoil, watch the rifle fall from the window to the street below. We went forward, pulled the injured to safety, and parachute flares lit the sky in yellow and orange. And I saw what I have done. One was silent as a stone when I arrived, his eyes shut peacefully, his chest penetrated twice where I hit him, the blood beneath him like a bed of roses. The other one still moved, faintly flailing his arms, searching for a rifle far beneath us, resting on the pavement. His eyes were dizzy, feverish, focused on things I could not see; his mouth moved, and he uttered words unknown to me. And then he became silent too. I was a hero back then, and that meant a burden compounded with privilege. The others knew that, respected that. And then came the war. I could handle the urban conflict, the stressful nights, the constant booming beat of the heart, the gunfire. But what can the bravest soldier do in face of the raging skies, pouring down mortars on the open field? There was no cover, no merciful curve of the earth, and the vicious bright sunlight revealed the horror in all its detail. The mortars crushed earth and metal and flesh; the shrapnel penetrated a few others. I stood frozen and watched fire and metal burn through foundations of my previous life. When it was done, I ran and assisted those I could still save, trying to keep them alive just until the medics show up, just a while longer. They all said that I performed perfectly, that I did what I should do, that I saved whom I could have. And when things deteriorated, they did not, would not discharge me. They gave me a made-up position in the supply company, so that records would show that I completed three years of service as a combatant in a special forces unit. They did it so I could find a job more easily, shape my narrative more freely. They did it because they felt indebted, but we both knew the truth of things, and I resented them for it. As is the natural way of things, those of us who remained found other ways to disrupt our lives, in the years following our release form service. Some got addicted to drugs, their mind forever lost in a marinade of hallucinogens. Others went on trips increasingly more dangerous, more extreme, until sometimes the disappeared entirely, their fates forever a mystery. I dabbled in those sorts of things, but my cowardice always stopped me from taking the final necessary step. I signed up for a bachelor's in computer science, like a grown-up man with a plan and appropriate aspirations. And slowly my will slipped away, as if by a decree of a higher power. The gravity of events finally caught up to me, preventing me from fluxing with the direction of normal desirable life. That was how I got to that point in life, sitting on my regular bench in Beer Sheba, searching the skies for an eventful omen of sorts. I do not know what urge pushed me to walk to that certain street, on that particular day, but something did draw me to that street. Perhaps I was looking for a restaurant, a grocery store, an ill-attempted bar. I remember the explosion, mirroring the sounds I had not heared for so many years. I turned and watched the Utility pole burn, covered in a ball of fire, roaming with anger. Electricity crackled through the wires, so fast that the eyes could barely keep track, and the streets quickly darkened. All around us, the city shut down. The fire burned the walls of a building and quickly dissolved, leaving charred remains of the pole in its place. As I started to walk back to my bench, people swarmed out of the buildings, out of their ugly concrete rectangles and lifeless neighborhoods. I knew that someone eventually would take care of it all, but the impression of the bursting pole still possessed my mind. Wherever I looked the fire remained, rendering me helpless as I once was. I do not remember what drew me to that certain spot on the grass, next to a few people sitting and watching the commotion before them with ease.  I sat there and watched the city wake up as the blackout took hold of it. Like a potion to cure the body of a tumor, so was the darkness to Beer Sheba. Unable to escape the desert, people flowed out of their cool shelters, and at last I could drown in an endless ocean of souls. The heat from the fire still warmed my face, like it once did so many years ago. Inside that crowd I got lost, and finally absolved myself of my fears, of the false sense of significance. Just a drop in the ocean, nothing more, no use to fret over it. If a sick individual slows down the herd, it knows deep down when to depart, and now I knew it too. Quickly through the streets, to pack as many things into the dusty backpack eager for a final adventure. The streetlights were out, cars stopped in the middle of the street, men and women stood in the street, hopeless and perplexed. I walked past them all, away from the road, from my apartment, from all the hated things that I accustomed myself to. Away from them, and into the eager desert. I watched the dark shades of the city absorb the dark blue of night, the stars above glowing, oozing with light, encircling a moon yellow like the sun. it burned like the fire ball on the utility pole, like the desert's sun in bootcamp, like the Humvees and APCs burning, spreading fire in the dry fields, entrapping screams of despair. Now my legs burned, the sweat reminded me of the day we first crossed the border into Gaza strip, and how I looked at the stars back then. So many years gone by, and always the remained above, a single comfort in a life bitter, a life dissipating before the desert's sun. The pool of sweat beneath me reminded me of a pool of blood, of arms crossed, and a man peacefully laid to rest. An ancient Greek philosopher once said that life is fire, that all that is and becomes does so by the way of fire. Now it has burnt through the tired body in a final cleansing surge. The gun lay heavy in my hand, but it did not tremble. Once I thought my exit from this world would be something worth reading about, a hero's death in a blazing gunfight. Now I find an enemy in my own image, clinging to remnants of a life deserted. I lay down on the cool sand, feel the cold steel in my mouth. I look up at the stars, a final glance, a calming presence. Across infinite skies they spread out, their light strong and enduring, indifferent of small waning stars.