It was the best of times it was the worst of times. I could feel the Sweat as the beads ran down the back of my spine. The bright glare from overhead, the hands on the bank clock, said it was time to go. His suit was just in from the cleaners, not a Wrinkle insight. His shoes were polished to a bright shine. His hair done-up just so, a cut and a shave. Everyone thought I look like a million bucks.  The car shined in the afternoon sun as I drove up to the big house on the left of 5th Avenue. I gathered all my courage. Flowers in hand as I pushed the doorbell. I had asked the prettiest girl in town to the school dance. A creek came from the door, a tall older man asked. How can I help you? Son. I am Mark, the boy that asked your daughter to go to the school dance. (with a sigh) You may take her, but there are a few rules, he said. You brack my daughter's heart I will hunt you down. She must be home before midnight. Yes sir. “I replied”.  As she walked down the white Staircase, I could see the sparkle of the chandelier glistening off of her gown, a twinkle in her eyes with a glow on her face. There was a shin on her face. These are for you with A grin from ear to ear, as I handed her the flowers. That’s when I told myself, one day I will marry that girl. Her name is Penelope, she is the prettiest girl at the dance tonight, and in my eyes, the prettiest girl in the whole world. Tonight was the best night of my life.  The next morning, I tried to call Penelope, there was no answer. later that afternoon, I tried calling again, still no answer. On Monday after school, I drove my car by her house, there was no one there, they had just up and vanished. Penelope had moved away without a word. After graduation, I search for Penelope, it was very hard because I didn't know where to look. That same year I joined the army. This would help me in my search I thought. Every time I was close. It would turn out I was too late. It seemed as if I was always one step behind. I would spend the next forty years looking for Penelope. my one true love. Now, I'm in my 60's I just sit here and look at these old pictures of that night and think.

It was the best of times it was the worst of times. “To sides to every store” My father is in the military. We move all the time. I’m am what they call a military brat. In one school then out to the next. I don’t recall how many schools I’ve been to but let us just say a lot. It was my junior in high school. I met this boy at school his name was Mark. He was handsome and smart, we had three classes together. I liked him right away. We became good friends. We set in the lunchroom together and talked about our day. I couldn’t believe it when Mark asked me to the school dance. Wow! There were just a few weeks left in school when dad told me he had a new assignment with the army but he couldn’t say when we would have to move again. I always thought I would have time to say good-bye to my friends and to Mark. My dad bought me a new dress for the school dance, it was full of sparkling glitter. It was very lovely even for something my dad would buy for me. After all, I was just an army brat. On the day of the school dance, I went to the hair Solon and got my hair done. Then To the beauty Solon to got my fingernails done. Then I bought a new pair of shoes to go with the elegant dress my dad had bought me. That night the doorbell rang. I walked slowly down the stairs, the chandelier was shining off of the glitter on my new dress. My shoes shined in the light. I walked slowly as to tease Mark as he stood there with a grin from ear to ear. Mark handed me the flowers that he had bought for me. They were long red and velvet with a beauty of green, the first flowers a boy had ever given me. I put the dozens of flowers in a vase with some water. Kissed my dad and out the door with Mark holding my hand. His car was all cleaned up as shiny as a new one. Mark tried so hard to impress me And it was working. He opens the car door for me as I walked up to get in. Mark was a true gentleman and I loved the way he treated me that night. At the dance he was nice to me, Mark must have taken some dancing lessons. He danced beautifully that night. That night He was a perfect gentleman. After the dance around midnight Mark drove me home, he opens my car door for me. Gave me his hand to help me out of his car. Mark took my hand in his and raised it to his lips and kissed the back of my hand. I was feeling all tingly inside. I thought this one day will be the boy who becomes the man I will marry. When I opened the front door of our house dad was setting in his chair, with the TV on. He told me how beautiful I was that night and how he thought someday I would make a beautiful wife. But not to get in a hurry about it. Then just before going upstairs for the night dad gave me the news. Dad said he had to report to his new duty assignment first thing Monday morning. And as soon as we were packed in the morning we had to get on the road to make it. And the movers would come and get the rest of our belongings. As a military brat, I was used to this, but this time was different, I had found someone. This was my first taste of love. I was still in high school and too young to be out on my own. Morning came and dad and I loaded up the truck with something we would need till all of our belongings would show up in a few days. I wanted to let Mark know where we were going and how to find me if he still wanted to. But I really didn’t know-how. The following year came and went just as fast as reading a book. Hours turned into days, days into weeks. I sit in my bedroom looking out my window into the heavens thinking of that night at the dance with Mark.  After my senior year of high school, I went back to find Mark. Everyone told me he joined the army and had left town and that no one had heard from him. I search for Mark. My one true love for many years. When I thought I had found him, he had already moved on to the next assignment and the next army base. As the sun is going down, I sit here in my yard, looking up at the stars. Wondering about what life would have been like. I just turned 60 a few days ago. But my mind always goes back to the night of the school dance. It was the best of times it was the worst of times.


(Content warning for memory loss and dissociation.) It started with me solving the final puzzle, and unlocking the final lock. It was like a fever dream. Hours of mindless research over and over again had led up to me reaching my final destination – this library. A library nobody had access to up until now. Up until I found it, until I unlocked what was behind those twenty something doors. Heavens above, I was proud of myself for once. I felt the slightest bit fulfilled. It left me in shock, and gave me a shot of adrenaline. I couldn’t exactly put into words the entirety of my emotions as my eyes darted across rows and rows of logs, of diaries. Things that had never been seen by anyone besides me. Things I was now capable of learning myself. The walls appeared infinite, almost literally so – books went on farther than I could see, fading off into black. The entire room was dusty, and the air was thick. There was enough light to make out the covers of some books here and there, but a few were nearly invisible from certain bulbs having gone out. The walls were overgrown with trumpet vines and roses and weeds, leaving a nice contrast of color to the deep, dark brown walls. The library was owned by something inhuman, I’d read. It was stated on the plaque on the wall right before I had reached the room, hanging just next to the door, slightly up. I couldn’t give you a name, as it had been scratched out. I could only assume whatever owned this place before, didn’t want to be recognized for its feats. Some of these books didn’t have titles, while others had complex names that occasionally weren't in English. Some had titles that repeated, and others were scratched out just like the name on the plaque. There were books that ranged from things as casual as metal detecting, to stuff as deep as childhood memories. Mostly memories, though. Pulling out a book about bike riding, I opened it, glossing over the pages. The subject felt familiar to me, for whatever reason, although I never remembered learning to ride a bike. Putting the book back, I searched for something else, in the hopes that I could maybe lose that awkward feeling. One particular book caught my attention. It was yet another one of memories, dated in the early 2000s, something I wouldn’t care about otherwise. Yet I was curious, and I took hold of the book, skimming through pages that also felt familiar. Things that felt like they’d happened to me already. It had subjects surrounding boat rides and fishing, random blurbs of things that were otherwise irrelevant. Some pages were about bugs found in a nearby pond, and others were about blackberries and honeysuckles the writer found fascinating. One page was even highlighted in yellow, talking about the writer’s experience with finding a fish in a stream just behind their house. It was all small, short blurbs of memories with not much significance. All of these writings felt vaguely familiar to me, the same as earlier. Before I had the chance to really question what I was feeling, however, I was knocked out of focus by what sounded like a bang. Something must’ve fallen off the shelves nearby. Eerie, but not worth investigating. Not at the time. I continued to look around the room. More books on the past that I didn’t remember, but felt vague connections to. They all intrigued me, but I had to wonder why. Was it because I was already familiar with these topics once before? I’d never ridden in a boat, nor had I visited any locations near the ones specified in the books – but I was familiar with them. I had vague memories of reading about these places somewhere, I believed, but I couldn’t tell where. Perhaps some sort of infographic? I couldn’t recall. Either way, the memories were there, just not anything the same to what was described in these writings. Putting the book back where it was, my attention was caught by something rustling in the back of the room. Turning to face the sound, which was just behind me, I’d heard footsteps approaching. I didn’t panic, however, as I was aware that this place shouldn’t have been entirely abandoned. Simply clasping my hands together in front of me, I straightened up, hoping to appear approachable rather than as a threat. What approached wasn’t human, and was only what I could assume to be the creature that kept this place how it was. It was all shadow and had no mouth, though it did have two blue eyes that stood out amongst what was otherwise nearly invisible in the dimly lit room. Its hands were also clasped, and it looked only moderately upset at my presence. With a sigh, it stopped in front of me, and began to speak. “So. Are you content with what you’ve found?” Was all it asked, very poised and mature. It was clearly older than me. I was a little shocked that a creature with no mouth could speak, but that wasn’t the craziest thing I had experienced in my life.

I couldn’t find an answer through words, so I shrugged, dropping my hands back down to my sides. It seemed somewhat displeased by that, squinting its eyes at me and glancing over at the shelf I stood next to. We stood in silence together, just for a moment, before it spoke up yet again. “My name is Hemlock.” It stated. “I think you find my books interesting, at least. You’ve read a couple, at this point, so I’m sure they intrigue you.” Its eyes fell back on me, and I could feel myself tensing up. Things had started to blur, just a bit, and it messed with my head. “All of your books feel familiar.” Was all I could say for a reply. This made it smile – or, what I figured was smiling – as it nodded his head. “You’re catching on. Do you know who all these books belong to?” It cocked its head to the side, and I felt as though it was staring daggers into me. “You?” I questioned in reply, hesitating as I did so. All I got was a light chuckle from the creature, though it didn’t feel as if it was judging me. Not that I was ever good with social cues. It walked over to me, which admittedly, had freaked me out just a tad. It didn’t seem to pay attention as I flinched, reaching next to me to grab a book instead. The book’s title was very simple, one word even, and it was about moving homes. I noticed, as it reached over, that its hands were like claws. Somehow, despite being nearly invisible, I could see the age on them both. The creature was clearly way older than me. “Technically, it belongs to both of us, me and you. We worked on these books together. I’m shocked you don’t remember – this was our secret, after all.” The creature stated. It left me a little confused, as I didn’t remember being here before. At that moment, I believed it was wrong. “You must be thinking of someone else. I’ve never touched a book in my life, much less written one.” I replied, a small laugh leaving my lips. “No. I am thinking of you, exactly you. I don’t know what name you might go by now, but when we were partners, your name was Core.” It explained. “Must be the amnesia. A lot of the people around here have it, so I would not be shocked if you did too.” Amnesia. I wondered if that was why all of those books felt familiar, even despite not having the life experience. Maybe I’d forgotten it all. Surely Hemlock was wrong, though, wasn’t it? It was fooling me, for whatever reason it may have. I was going to ask why I was the only one who was able to find this place, but before I could speak, Hemlock cut me off. “The reason you’re here, is because I led you here. I wanted you to find this place. You didn’t know on your own, we simply shared thoughts for a while.” It nodded, closing its eyes in contemplation. “How about we sit down and chat? Come have a seat with me.” Before I could really respond, cut off in the middle of an attempt at speaking, Hemlock walked off to a table not too far from where we were. I followed shortly after it, sitting myself down across the table. It was somewhat awkward, yet simultaneously comfortable, although I had no clue why. It seemed there were a lot of things that contradicted each other in this library – it felt unreal. It spoke first. “I’ve watched you for a while. There’s a reason there are so many books here; I know so much about you, and about the people here.” It paused, waiting for a reply. I didn’t give it one. “How does that make you feel?” It asked. I hummed, staring down at my feet that hung slightly off the ground. The chairs were just too tall for me. It took a long period of silence for me to really speak up, and even then, my voice was quiet. “I don’t know what you mean. It makes sense, I guess, since you’re…” I trailed off, motioning with my hands to show just how little this guy’s form made sense to me. It nodded in understanding, though stayed silent. So, I continued on. “Are you implying you’re some sort of deity?” This got him to speak up. He shook his head. “No, no, I’m not a deity of any kind. Maybe compared to you, I would be, but in general? No. I’m the same as you, just with special privileges you don’t have.” I huffed, tilting my head to look at the plant life hanging down the walls. The room felt just a little bigger, despite its already infinite structure. Kind of like space. “So how do I know any of this is real? How do I know you’re not lying to me about these ‘memories’?” I questioned. My tone was harsh, albeit unintentionally. I still didn’t understand anything that was going on, and I wasn’t exactly a believer in magic or any of these shenanigans. Sure, maybe I could have lost my memory through some sort of physical trauma, but casually forgetting an entire life on a whim? Impossible, in my eyes. Hemlock seemed annoyed at me by this point, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. It didn’t take long for him to “snap,” rolling his eyes and, quite literally, snapping his fingers. In an instant I was pulled into some kind of memory, putting myself in a situation that was as clear as day.

The boat ride I’d read about; it felt like it had actually happened to me. I was there when it occurred, and I remembered being terrified of how fast the boat was going. Water was already scary enough, but being out on it was a worst fear of mine. The scent of the ocean and the texture of the boat was all so vivid in my mind. It was real. As soon as I snapped out of whatever trance I had been in, I gripped my chest, a little panicked from what felt like a real encounter. Looking up at the thing that had just subjected me to that, I winced, realizing in that moment that perhaps it was right. “So, how was that? Do you understand what I am saying now?” It tilted its head slightly to the side, an uncomfortable expression on its face. “I am not lying. This may seem unreal to you, but I promise, it is the truth. I cannot make up memories, that is beyond my capabilities. I can, however, return them to you as I please. At least, now that you’re in our domain, I am able.” Gathering myself, I let go of the grip on my chest, finally settling down. If what this man said were true, then everything up until this point had been a lie, right? Unless I was somehow living some sort of double life. That wasn’t my only concern, though. If amnesia was so common among the population, what were other people forgetting? “What about everyone else? You said other people experience this amnesia too, right? Do you have their memories here too?” I was worried I was asking too many questions, but Hemlock didn’t seem to mind. “Their memories are stored here as well, yes. They will get those memories when they deserve them. The same as you.” Its eyes indicated that it was at least conceptually smiling, and I could do nothing but stare. While I stayed silent, Hemlock continued on. “Would now be a bad time to tell you that you all share the same memories?” Surprisingly, I felt nothing at this revelation. No shock, no excitement. If anything, it felt somewhat typical, for whatever reason. “So, you’re telling me we’re all the same person?” I asked, my words calm despite the situation. “Not really. In a way, yes – but also, no. You are all still your own people, the memories are simply shared.” It replied, with an equal amount of calm. “I am surprised you’re so relaxed about this. Normally, people panic.” I shrugged. I also had no clue why I wasn’t as shocked as I probably should be. Then again, when you’re already told you had a second life you completely forgot about, is anything really a surprise after that? I readjusted in my seat a little bit before I came up with a proper response, deciding that now would be a good time to go home. “I want to go home now.” Was all I said. Hemlock’s smile faded, and he closed his eyes, motioning with one hand to a door that was nearby. It wasn’t the same one I’d come in from, but it was labeled “exit” in big, bold, red letters. “If you wish to leave, go through there. Although I do want you to know that you can always come back, from this point forward.” It said, standing up and reaching in its pocket for something. Out came a set of keys, which I assumed would unlock every door leading up to this point. It handed them to me, bowing as it did so.

“Thank you.” I hesitated, but took the keys from it anyways. I didn’t exactly plan on coming back, but… “It was nice getting to see you again, Core.” It spoke, before I could finish my thoughts. Looking away from the keys, which I’d zoned out while staring at, I noticed Hemlock was smiling again. It looked upset; not that I planned on comforting it. I didn’t know this guy, as far as I could remember. “Yes. It was nice getting to know you as well.” Was all I could come up with for a reply, as I looked away and headed towards the exit. Taking one last glance at Hemlock, I nodded, and so did he. Without a single emotion, except maybe a mild sadness, I headed out that door, and… Suddenly I woke up again, to where I am now. I am sitting in a small room, with little décor and a surprising lack of cleanliness. I don’t remember being this dirty, but I also don’t remember this place at all. I was never here, but this body felt like mine. Even if the long hair and dirty clothes don’t fit my personality at all. I stand, and I make my way to the bathroom. I stare at the reflection in the mirror for a moment, and something clicks. This is what Hemlock meant when it said I have amnesia, isn’t it? I’m back home, but this isn’t the home I so carefully put together in my mind. This is a home that once belonged to somebody else. I don’t exactly know if I’m meant to be here. Maybe that library of memories will serve a purpose after all.


As Rain is walking to her car after work she looks up and sees her skinny boyfriend with shoulder length black hair and too many ear piercings to count riding into the parking lot on an elephant.

“What on earth?!” she screams, but he can't hear her over the mariachi band and the circus performance. She stares in awe as he swings off the elephant using a firemans pole, that she has no idea where he acquired, and lands right at her feet. She just shakes her head, raises her eyebrow, and waits for an explanation. He reaches down to his belt where a speakerphone is latched on and raises it to his mouth.

“America! I’m in love!” At this point Rain is considering walking away when after a long pause she hears, “Rain Marshall, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

She sighs and says “AJ Sallow, I love you, but how in your right mind would you think I wanted a proposal this big?” AJ sinks to the floor sitting on his knees and just stops and thinks “ Damn it. I messed up so bad, what was I thinking? ” Rain walks away. As she’s walking to her car she's stepping over confetti and glitter that she has no idea how he’ll clean up. The tears welling up in her hazel eyes make the glitter glisten even more in them. She unlocks her black prius and slides in. She turns the rearview mirror towards her and sees a petite blue haired girl looking back. She has a thin face with a nose a little too big for her small proportions.

She starts the car and then realizes she has no idea where she’s headed. She doesn’t want to go back to her and AJ’s tiny one bedroom apartment downtown. She starts driving without any idea where she’s going. Meanwhile, AJ is still back at Rain’s job cleaning up the parking lot and wondering what he’s gonna do next. After driving for 30 minutes and sobbing, Rain finally arrives at her best friend Mariana’s house. Mariana opens the door to see a disheveled, red face girl standing there.

“Rain! Are you okay?! Did that stupid boy do something?? Aight I’m ready to kill him let's go.” Mariana puts her fists up before hugging Rain and bringing her inside. Rain laughs as she sits down on the couch.

“Mariana you’re ridiculous.” Rain proceeds to tell her all the details of the way too extravagant proposal. Mariana holds up her finger as if to say hold on and walks to the bedroom.

A second later she comes out with a ring and gets down on one knee. “Alright I think we should be done with stupid boys and get into a lesbian relationship.” Mariana is a raging lesbian and Rain is bi, so for a second Rain seriously considered Mariana’s offer, but remembering her boyfriend cleaning up the proposal mess all by himself snapped her back into reality.

Rain replies, “Mariana, you know I love you more than anything in the world, but we’re platonic and I have a boyfriend. Remember last time?”

Mariana laughs, sighs, and says, “Yeah yeah whatever, go help your boyfriend,” in a much more condescending tone than she meant it. Rain walks to her car and drives back to the parking lot where she was proposed to only to find it spotless and AJ-less. She dreads seeing him but misses her boyfriend, so she procrastinates again and drives to AJ’s best friend Hudson’s house hoping to avoid AJ again. Hudson and Rain have had what some would call a tumultuous history. AJ and Rain met when she and Hudson were dating. She and AJ fell in love and she left Hudson for him.  As she drove down the long, winding road, she thought about all her relationships, Mariana, Hudson, and now AJ. Was he who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with? She began to doubt her decisions as she arrived at Hudson’s house. Hudson and AJ were very similar but there was one major difference; Hudson was an asshole. He always treated Rain badly, but she still stayed though she knew she shouldn’t. She gets to his house and is suddenly unable to catch her breath.  As she’s breathing heavily and starting to shake, Hudson walks out with a concerned look on his face. “Rain? What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in awhile. What’s, uh, what’s poppin?” Hudson is a very awkward guy who rambles when he’s anxious and has a hard time with conversation. Rain says nothing, just falls into his arms and starts to cry. Hudson scoops her up and brings her inside. He starts to brew her some tea while she sits on the floor crying. He takes a seat next to her and awkwardly pats her back.

She sniffles and looks at him “He proposed. And I got scared and ran.” Hudson’s hand freezes above her back.

“He… proposed?” Rain nods her head before resting it on Hudson’s shoulder. “That fucking asshole,” he mutters and stands up. Rain watches him take his phone out of his pocket. “What?” she wipes the tears off her cheek. He holds the phone to his ear and taps his foot impatiently. “I can’t believe you!” Hudson exclaims into the phone. “You know how I feel about her, and you tried to steal her away from me forever? Of course she told me, she came to me for comfort.” Rain stands slowly, not believing what she’s hearing. He still loves her? She can’t fathom it. He hurt her so badly how could he love her? She looks at him eyes wide in wait “Hudson?” she whispers.

Hudson gets on one knee and says “Rain I know I hurt you and I was a shitty boyfriend but please will you give me another chance and be my wife? I promise I’ll be better and give you the life you deserve.” Just at that moment AJ bursts in and sees Hudson down on one knee and Rain with puffy eyes and a tear stained face. “Hudson what the fuck?!” AJ screams “She’s mine, what is wrong with you?!” AJ grabs Rain’s wrist and tries to pull her out of there, but Rain resists. She says “Both of you stop it right now or else!” Hudson and AJ stop in their tracks, they know what Rain is capable of.

“Hudson how will you be a better husband than AJ?” Rain asks “I won’t hurt you and I’ll buy you stuff and fight for you. Rain I’ll protect you from people like him” Hudson points to AJ “Please girl will you marry me?”

Rain nods her head in acknowledgement of Hudson's sentiment and moves on to AJ.

“AJ tell me why you can be a better husband than Hudson” Rain insists.

AJ stammers “What what um uh I will love you forever and I’ll be sweet and caring and a good provider and um well I just I love you so much and I’m sorry for that over the top proposal please marry me Marshmallow I love you.” Rain stops in her tracks. Marshmallow is his pet name for her that makes her heart melt. Rain realized at this moment that she was being foolish and AJ was the one. “Yes baby I’ll marry you.” Rain says with a smile and a hushed voice. They say their goodbyes to a torn apart Hudson and make their way to their little black prius with their hands interlocked and their hearts the same.


When he had rung the doorbell, he hadn't expected to be greeted by a big white poof of a man, decked out in a red suit and hat. In fact, noticing the expanse of decoration around him, he froze.

"Well come in Champ, you'll freeze out there. Though it looks like you already did." The man winked. "Ulysses, you made it! Your sister is in the kitchen." Ah yes, Abby. Maybe she'd have an explanation for why their mother had finally broken and hired a Santa impersonator. Dad had gotten one when they were kids for them and all of their cousins, but they were far from kids anymore.

He entered the kitchen to find her mashing a pot of potatoes. He took the masher from her.

"Mom really went all out this year, huh?" There was a tree strung with popcorn (though some along the bottom looked to have been nibbled away). There was a manger scene across the mantle, and despite not being lit, he would have had to been blind to not notice the winter wonderland set up outside. That could not be a cheap electric bill. Leaning back against the counter, she inspected the state of the potatoes. "Actually, that was Nick." He stopped mashing. "Nick?" "Mom's new husband. The fat jolly guy that answered the door." Taking the masher back, she tossed it in the sink.

When had she gotten married? Sure, he had been across the globe on business trips and hadn't taken the time to check in on his family as much as he should have, but at very least he would had gotten an invitation, yeah? Was he that terrible of a son? "Mom married a Santa impersonator...named Nick?"

His sister set a serving dish on the counter, grabbing a spoon. He held the pot up for her. Rather, he did until he processed her response. "They eloped last month. Remember how she said she was going to vacation in Vegas?" Thud went the bowl.

He had no time to process it as a dog came running through, headed for the back door. Had there always been a dog flap? He was chased by a small green person that he could only describe as an elf.

"What was that?" "Blitzen. Mom has a dog now." "Who was chasing Mom's dog?" Salvaging what she could of the potatoes, she carried the dish to the dining room. He counted the chairs. Five chairs. Somebody was coming for dinner. "Noel. He's Nick's dad." She noticed his confused face. "And before you say anything, he's not an elf. He's a midget." They turned at the sound of winded breathing. Holding onto the collar of Blitzen, he keeled over.

"I prefer the term 'little person,' thank you." Nick appeared behind him. Grabbing the spunky dog, he let his suit get covered in hair. Thwack thwack went the tail.

"Let's eat. Your mother won't let me touch the cookies until we've had dinner." He gave a hearty laugh. Before digging in, his mother had requested that they all say grace. They hadn't done it in years since Dad had left. There was already ham tucked in his cheek as he joined hands with Noel and his sister, waiting for their eyes to close so he could swallow. At first it was silent, save for the sound of forks scraping across the plates, and Blitzen whimpering for someone to 'accidentally' drop some bits his way. Ulysses, mouth empty, let his thoughts spill out. "You eloped with Santa in Vegas?"

His sister choked on a spoonful of corn.

"I eloped with Nick, yes. We've both been married before, and we didn't need a big ceremony to prove our love for each other." She placed a hand over her husband's. He shoveled in another spoonful of potatoes to avoid more conversation. It was obvious that his mother was happy, and he did not want to be the one to ruin it.

"After dinner, I'd like for you to help decorate the tree. Blitzen ate a bit of the trimmings, but it'll be the most beautiful tree you ever did lay your eyes on. Rockefeller won't hold a candle to it." Nick cleared his plate. Pushing back from the table, he went to grab for a cookie. His mother followed. Abby smacked her brother. "Why are you so fixated on this? So he looks like Santa. He can shave. He can lose weight. Underneath it all, he's a nice guy who makes Mom feel special again. He's not actually Santa." Noel, still haven't left the table, piped up. "Not to burst your bubble, Abby, but my son is Santa. Works a Christmas themed park year round. Even sells his own brand of charcoal for grills. Calls it Naughty Nuggets."

"What?" Ulysses chuckled. "So Mom did marry Santa Claus!" "Kids, get out here! Nick wants to decorate the tree before it's too late to go caroling," his mother called. She sounded excited. He missed her being excited. When her husband had left, he had taken all of her spirit with her. Christmas was a hollow exchange of gift cards and Chinese takeout. He had forgotten how good potatoes could taste when they weren't made from a packet of flakes. She set a box of ornaments on the floor, unbending paperclips and handing them off like she used to as they took turns running up to the tree to hang the decorations. "Remember, not too low, or Blitzen will bite the legs right off that gingerbread man." Nick wrapped an arm around their mother, melting into her. Nodding, he moved the ornament higher. When the box emptied, they turned off the living room lights. With a twitch of his nose (and an unseen press of a button), the tree lights came on. Abby's eyes sparkled like a little girl's. "That is...beautiful." Ulysses gawked at the tree, unable to turn away. That is, until his coat was thrown at him.

"Let's go, before the storm comes. It's caroling time." Noel tugged a hat on. Now he truly did look like an elf, if you ignored the wrinkles. He picked his coat off the ground. "I don't sing." "Trust me, they won't be focused on you." He thrust a sack into his arms. "You're on toy duty." At every door, they'd sing. They, being everyone who wasn't Ulysses, who found he could mouth along, because Nick had a big enough voice for all of them. The children would gape at the jolly man, and be gifted a present personally, signed from, of course, Santa Clause. When they arrived back home, he realized there were still two boxes left in the bag. Had they not hit all the houses in the neighborhood? He was frozen stiff, and was anticipating the hot chocolate he had been promised.

"Did you read the labels?" Nick asked him as they knocked the snow off their boots. "To Abby. To Ulysses. From Santa Clause." "Gotta wait until Christmas to open it." He would have to leave early in the morning to drive back home. It'd be a long trip with curiosity building up inside of him. He felt like a kid at Christmas, waiting for his parents to get up so he could see what Santa brought. "Right now, it's time for the big show." He set the gifts on the foyer table. "Big show?" The couch was too small for five, so he stretched out on the floor with his sister, as Nick hit play.

"Every who down in Who-ville liked Christmas a lot..."

Honestly, he wasn't in Who-ville, but for the first time in years, he could say the same. He liked Christmas, a lot. There was some sort of strange comfort in being a family again, even if it wasn't with Dad. He was so blissfully comfortable that he didn't even notice he had drifted off, exhausted, until he awoke to find a blanket draped over him, a pillow wedged under his head.

Succumbing to the sunbeam, he got up. It was time to go.

His parents (that would take some getting used to) left a note saying they had gone to church. They'd be back too late to say goodbye, but evidenced by the lipstick stain on his cheek, his mother already had. He arrived home in the late afternoon to a bleak apartment. It was cold, and he turned on the heat. Settling into the couch, he unraveled the ribbon on his box.

"Dear Ulysses," he read, finding a letter inside. "Unlike the real Santa Clause, I'm not the best at giving gifts. But I hope that I made your Christmas magical. I love your mother dearly, and letting her have a perfect Christmas was my gift to her. So he's twenty bucks to get yourself something you want. And a rock, because I had to put some weight in the box. Fooled ya! Merry Christmas, Nick." Best gift ever.


I want to quit; I just want out; I want to quit! I whisper it softly to myself, over and over. I want out, I want out. It was just an hour into my shift. I was a fellow soldier behind the monitor, feeling the sting of the customers as they sent their bombs over into our narrow trench. Bags and prizes were everywhere, Winnie the Pooh dolls rolling around in the dust, candy being mixed into a grisly, sugary rendition of a rainbow. I made my way up to the counter, already feeling that subconsciousness knocking inside my brain, throwing up the warning signs that this would be no different from the other slogs. “Hey, hey, are you paying attention? We’re right here.” I hasten to reply, tripping over the plastic bags spread over the floor, “Right, sorry, what can I do for you?” He snaps, “I want a good deal, considering you were wasting our time.” I put my hands around the counter, flicking my eyes over the screen, “Look, I’m sorry, that isn’t how it works.” It doesn’t change his tune, in fact it makes it worse, “Okay, then how about you call your manager down? Surely, they’ve got to be more competent than you.” Is this how life always must go, where people like to make themselves more difficult? Isn’t there already enough trouble in the world without adding ice-cream and chocolate sprinkles to it? “I’ll be a moment,” holding up the radio to my lips, softly muttering. “Can I please have a manager at the Vault?” “What is it now?” “Look, I’ve got a gentleman here that has an issue of sorts that he wants to discuss with you.” “Great, alright, I’ll be right down.” A second later, the door to the staff room swings open, “Okay, sir, what’s the problem?” After a barrage of comments and razor-sharp criticism, there are tears staining her cheeks, “Listen, we’re packed to the rafters here, you do realize that there’s only five of us on sight. It’s hard enough as it is. Do you want free games on the arcade or a round of laser tag?’ He shakes his head stubbornly, “That doesn’t help me at all.” I could see it brewing, that anger, “Well, if that’s the case, why don’t you have some fun?” “I mean, if there’s nothing that we can do for you.” He cuts her off, flicking his hand into her face before walking off. Trying to say something, the words get caught in my throat. Within seconds, the moment passes, and she tries to gather her courage, “Okay, guys, keep going.” Another wave of customers hit the counter, kids in prams and students in trollies. I can see the subtleties of my fellow veterans, urging me onwards to take care of the unruly youth, to send their drawn trolly out of the warzone. They just laugh at me, “Come on, man, we’re just having fun.” “Isn’t that the point of this venue, that you make everyone happy?” “This is a space for everyone,” I respond drily, “, so please, could you kindly take the trolly outside?” “We don’t need to; this is our day out.” “I can see that it is, if you want to have fun driving, we’ve got a Sega Relay Racing game just around the corner, it’s only $2.00 a head. What could be more fun than that?” Ignoring my words, they take off in the trolly, knocking over bins along the way, causing candy and plastic bottles to sweep onto the floor. I try in vain to chase them, but the trolly rattles outside to crash into the bins outside. They’ve gotten rid of the evidence as soon trouble came knocking, I catch their eyes and they arrogantly walk past. The next few minutes involve mopping the floor, soaking in the soda and coda. That voice returns, I want to quit. The same group eventually makes a return, this time with a round of drinks in hand, ignoring all the signs on purpose that restrict their area of movement. Not that it matters, they want a go at laser tag and are jumping in despite my warnings. Even I, a very reluctant partygoer can tell that they’d had too many drinks at the bar, probably refilling their bottles and getting more buckets of ice to add to their earlier stash. They want the night to finish off with a bang, a fond memory for them and a nightmare for me. Not for the first time this shift, I wish I was them and I didn’t have to deal with the aftermath of their wild escapades. Their flights of fancy, their joyous moments of unrepentant immaturity. I want to join them, why do I have to be in the trenches, working from morning to night? I gave ground, promising left and right to the kids that I would keep an eye on events, to make sure they didn’t cheat. Believe me, they did. After getting the round going, I went inside, hearing the loud screams and cries of the blue and green team. The boys were gathering around the lowest sections of the obstacles, a thin wooden with a window that looks out into the nuclear plant set-up, with the flashing buttons and whirring gears. The kids were like lit up like lanterns, and they were pointing their guns up towards the ceiling. It took me a moment to locate what they were shooting at. One of the wild bunches, was jumping and swinging like a sugar-high monkey, crashing into the wall with a sudden bang! His friends hoot and laugh, trying to partake in this deadly game. “Get down from there, now!” “Or what?” This isn’t worth the money I’m getting paid, why am I even here, having to deal with this nonsense? “I can call down the manager if you like, she won’t be too happy if you keep this up and you cause damages.” Finally, the bell rings for the end of the game, the kids are busy, pointing their fingers at their competitors, “They were cheating, climbing and jumping.” “How about this, you guys, you get another round?” The birthday boy turns around to address his mum and dad, “It’s fine, mate, don’t worry. Those guys have been causing problems all day.” I anxiously return to the monitors, watching the final minutes tick by. As I head into the staff changing room, I can feel the uncertainty wash away, I’ve made my decision already, “Hey, Allison, I just want to have a chat with you.”


       The sky was raining gold the night that loneliness became a friend. Street vendors clamored under the golden fire, plying their trades for a hope to feed their families. Rich and poor battled to be heard through the explosions, and I sat beneath it all. Soggy popcorn grew cold in a greasy bag that dangled from my fingertips. A couple behind me was sprouting some new age bullshit about how the fireworks contained tiny pieces of their loved ones, raining down on them, providing them with some motivation for basic adulthood.

            On the corner, a disheveled man with a greasy face waved around a homemade pamphlet and shouted till his voice was hoarse. “Get your soul right before it all ends!” A small child stopped to listen, only to be jerked along by his mother, who was clearly unbothered about the world’s certain demise. The man screamed after her, desperate to save souls, or maybe just to make a dime. The child tripped over his own feet trying to keep his eyes on the man while walking with his mother. I watched them until they rounded the corner, and then my eyes were drawn as if by a magnet to the eyes of the proselyte, who seemed desperate to connect with me.

            “New age bullshit,” I muttered, stumbling to my feet. The alcohol had taken root within me, and my head swam. The cobblestones reached up to trip me as I started toward the town square. The gaiety made a tunnel around me – happy families playing charades, melodies dancing out of instruments, delicious smells crawling down my throat. I glance down, grabbing at air. I seem to have misplaced my popcorn.

            The fireworks were getting louder, nearing their final chord, as I reached their source at the town square. Red and green mingled with gold and fell down on us, showering us in the joyous pastimes of those more well off than I. The lights and sounds around me blended and I found myself drowning in a blurry nightlife oil painting. It was louder than it looked on canvas, but it felt the same – like falling and spinning and flying and falling again.

            I woke up to a rounded snow globe sky, my friend from the street corner standing over me. “Get your soul right before it all ends,” he whispered, holding out his arm for me to grab. He had no dirty papers with him this time, and his face was as white as the snow around us. Only it wasn’t snow, I now realized, but ash.

            “What happened?” My voice came out all wrong, like rice soaked in whiskey.

            “The fireworks, son. I told them rich fellas, and they didn’t listen. I told them their pride would be their demise.”             I rubbed my neck, refusing his hand. My head ached, and my stomach churned, and the proselyte winced and sat on the uneven stone sidewalk next to me. “There’s nothing wrong with fireworks. It’s New Year’s.”             “That why you got so drunk you slept through an explosion?”             I didn’t answer.             He went on. “No. There ain’t nothing wrong with fireworks. The fireworks ain’t the problem, though they did hurt a little kid.” The man coughed. “No, the real problem is their pride. They ain’t got nothing to be prideful for and yet they still are. You are too, you know.”             “Hey, I didn’t hurt a little kid.”             “No sirree, just yourself, hmm?” He raised his eyebrows at me, then held out his hand once more. “Name’s Whitacre. Glen Whitacre.”             I choked as I reached for his hand. “Glen. That’s my father’s name.”             “Huh. Not a common one. And you are?”             “Michael Thurston. I’m not from here.”

            “I figured. You hungry?”             The question was a complicated one. I was hungry, of course, but I had no desire to listen to Glen talk more about whatever religion he was selling. But I was in no condition to take myself anywhere to eat, and here was Glen now, pulling out a plastic wrapped sandwich and a browning banana from his rucksack.

The ash continued to fall around us as I choked down dry roast beef. Glen monologued while I ate, and my sandwich was long gone before his story was through. He spoke of his childhood and of the place he called home, and his words ran circles around me until I was dizzy from following them. The story he spun was a convoluted one, full of true love, betrayal, lost fortunes, and an unbridled passion for justice and salvation. It was the kind of story you hear as a subplot in coming-of-age movies, permeated with a fear of being unknown and left alone, a fear that I, too, grappled with. Until last night. I told him as much.

“What changed?” I didn’t have an answer. “Maybe it was the fireworks. Or the booze. Or maybe... maybe it was seeing the whole spectrum of life being lived on one cobblestoned street in a nearly nameless town. But something clicked in me, Glen, something big. I was jostled around by real people. I could smell their sweat and they dropped crumbs on the same streets I walked on and they played music for me and their words drowned in my ears. They were everywhere, around me and in me. It was intoxicating. And though I was lonely, I wasn’t alone.” We sat silent for a moment.

“Those fireworks last night.” Glen folded his hands, then unfolded and folded them again. “Looked like golden rain. Like a sunrise over still waters when you get up early to fish, only it wasn’t peaceful. And all I could see was these people who were so lost in their own stories that they couldn’t find the end. Women and children and grown men leading families without having any way of knowing where to lead them to. I thought I knew things.” I nodded, understanding now. “And then the rain stopped, and the snow started, and you realized you don’t know things?” “No. I know things. I don’t know people.” He pressed my hand. “Thank you. There’s a lot of work I gotta do. A lot of people to know.”             “I know, Glen. Go on. Get your soul right before it all ends.”


Forbidden Expedition – a Covert Exploration

The air is dense with silence. My energy is focussed on resisting the soothing draw of mesmerisation, a natural by-product of rhythmic breathing: breathe in, hold for three, pause, breathe out, repeat. When my focus fades and my thoughts slip into the pre-sleep relaxed unconscious state, I pinch the tender skin on my stomach, jolting me back to consciousness. Mindful of the night vision camers, I keep my eyes closed tight, ignoring the tiny electric green glint that flashes in the top corner, angled towards my pillow. The four walls that encase me are the blackest black, pure darkness, intentionally designed to make the lure of sleep irresistible. My eyelids are beckoned towards heavy relaxation, my body starts to succumb towards dreamland.

The Waiting

Sometimes I am no match for the instinctive need to sleep. The night time feels like grasping with bare hands at water flowing from a tap, my body desperately dehydrated, but unable to contain the liquid for longer than mere moments. Finally, and quite possibly in the nick of time, I hear the much-awaited swish-swish-swish telltale sign of the 2am bed-check. The owner of the sound is one of the watchdogs, wearing plastic rain pants to keep warm and dry. The rhythmic swish of nylon rubbing, back-and-forth, reminds me of the feel of ski pants, of snowflakes falling on my upturned nose and gracing my outstretched tongue; of sitting on a chairlift that invites a biting wind to frost my cheeks. Adrenaline jolts through my body, setting my nerves on edge. I envision my heart beating clean through the left pocket on my smooth cotton pajama shirt. Carefully, I regulate my breathing, adding a little extra intensity to the exhale, and wait for the glow of the flashlight to cease. And it does, which signals the beginning of counting, first in English, then French, followed by Russian and German. As I reach the last 100, I begin slithering, ever so slowly, to the ridge of the bed.

The Escape …

With the pillow nestled in the place of my head, I army crawl across the floor, carrying my full weight on forearms and toes. My notebook and pen, nestled into the crevice of my left pant pocket, gently bump up-and-down with each jerk forward from my left knee. Excitement wrestles fear to the ground, and I just know that the harshest of punishments is outweighed by the probative value of my late-night exploration. Darkness, something that used to be a catalyst for fear, brings comfort because it heightens my senses and aids in camouflage. The ring finger on my right-hand cruises over the tell-tale notch in the tile floor, signaling the end of the hallway and the beginning of my entry into the Realm. Carefully, I pluck out two tiles and ease my body into a tunnel of darkness. For the briefest of seconds, I experience an antonymic state - I enter the Realm exactly as I exit the Base.

Mindful of precious resources and the unstoppable clock of time, I greedily reach for my stash: metal blue flashlight, what remains of a snickers bar, and a fleece-lined vest. Like Pavlov’s dog, my body loosens and my mind lasers on the insurmountable task before me: satiate my insatiable curiosity to discover the gems and hidden truths. Only revealable in the Realm. A self-satisfied grin that rivals the one renoun by the Cheshire Cat overtakes my horse-like features; my shoulders square back in pride. By golly, it seems that 6-months of repetition and rigorous training are paying off! … A flash, quick like a streak of lightening, flicks between the mountainous crevices that form the circumference for my surroundings – a clue to wrap it up, pack it up, and scurry back to Base. The rising sun is my clue that what felt like mere seconds accounts for the passage of 180 minutes, and ergo, high time for me to get my tushy back to base, before … my body stiffens at the prospect of being found out. Leaving the Base, much less exploration, is forbidden. And violators are ixnayed from the pack, out of necessity and with good reason. Because conformity and compliance keep us safe, alive.

“Putting out a match with a fire hose” gnarls a disgruntled voice from deep within my unconscious – this one spouts my Id, the “Inner Sinner” that entices me to take risks and be dangerous. In reflexive response, my right foot juts up-and-down, like that of a petulant child building to a tantrum. A mental photo of my Inner Sinner, clad in black, clenches her fists with crossed arms and mutters “not fair”. In a sugary sweet retort, my alter ego, dubbed “Sweet Susie-Q” singsongs “life ain’t fair, sugar plum”. My equilibrium is mollified, maybe because I have lived too long to believe that one can exist in a panacea of happiness; satisfaction is the result of competing forces. The strangely pleasant sensation of sweat trickling from my suprasternal notch, straight down, through my breastbone and into my navel, an innie no doubt, draws me to the present. Daylight is winning the battle of darkness, and the crew will be rising straight away. As I trot back to the slot of entry, I emerge into the Base, simultaneous with my exit from the Realm. And I accept that my insatiable curiosity is my dark abyss.

Like a record player set to loop, my mind reels to the cause of reality, which I best understand by cataloguing time into the “then” and the “now”. Back then …Contrary to what is labeled within the name, the frightening impact of the COVID-19 Pandemic was felt most keenly during 2020, with the effects malingering clean through 2021, eventually fading away, like a fart in the wind, by the Fall of 2022. During the pandemic, humanity took cover indoors and watched as the virus reigned a war of uncertainty and terror. And, true to form, people developed an immunity to the scandalous effects of the pandemic. Most moved forward and recalled this era when casually recalling the path traveled to arrive at the present. This time serves as a reminder that time heals wounds - no matter the scandal or atrocity, life moves on.

By 2023 civilization had returned to the fast-paced living pre-pandemic, lingering effects were largely felt by those that suffered tangible loss and didn’t want to return to the 9-5 grind. It seemed that the pandemic came and went, nothing more than another accurate predication by the Simpsons, a prolific television series that is both idiot and savant. Fast forward five years, and women were failing to conceive, monogamy was a word known for its dice and rules (a.k.a. a boardgame), and individuality was a thing of the past. Women were the same height and weight and came in a variety of blonde, brunette and redhead, the same for men. Plagues, viruses, STI’s, and radiation took over towns, cities, countries, and then continents, leaving the lucky 100 – I was collected and tagged at number 99. We forged on berries and crafted an underground habitat – leaving the sanctuary is prohibited because rules are made to accommodate the lowest common denominator.

I slung my exhausted body into my single bed and prayed for a few moments of shut eye before my hallmates roused for morning breakfast and assignments.

As I drift between the sacred state of lucidity and sleep, Susie-Q tut-tuts about the risks associated with my selfish ways, reminding me that I might be responsible for the extinction of the human being. The last thing I remember, before I am taken over by sleep, is Inner Sinner, urging me forwards, promising awards and recognition for saving humanity – for becoming a true rival to Noah’s Ark.

Self-satisfaction creates a feeling of euphoria … I love it, and pretty much nothing is going to keep me from continuing my exploration and research. Contest 247:	Prompt - The Great Unknown Story:	A world where exploration is forbidden – a story about a character who defies this rule to satisfy her innate curiosity.

Author: Elysa


His pale, cold fingers were wrapped aimlessly around the steaming hot cup, despite the absurdity of the thought that it could warm his dead hands. The scarlet, viscous liquid frothed ferociously in the Styrofoam cup as steam poured out like noxious gas. Orville inhaled deeply, smelling the sweet scent of human blood. AB+, he thought to himself. Maybe AB-? He took another whiff. Definitely positive. He took a sip of the scalding liquid. As he lifted it to his lips, he could feel his gums stretch and move as a pair of perfectly white fangs forced their way into his mouth. After a huge gulp, Orville placed the cup back on the table, glancing up just in time to see Herk stomping across the room toward him.

Herk smashed his rocky fist down onto the table, in what was probably a gentle pat for him, and placed his drink. He squeezed his gargantuan frame into the booth across from Orville. He shifted to the left, trying desperately to find a comfortable sitting position, despite being the embodiment of a humanoid boulder.

“This seat hard as rock,” Herk grumbled with broken English. One can't truly make fun of Herk for his lacking language skills. He’s quite literally got rocks for brains.

“I don’t think it’s the seat, buddy. That might just be you,” Orville said snidely. Herk glowered at him but said nothing. Orville and Herk always had a very difficult time discussing… well, pretty much anything. Orville cherished humans, contrary to most others in their group. He found them a lesser version of himself. They were an infinite source of nourishment, and if he played his cards right, Orville could even make them into one of his own: a creature of the night, a vampire.

“Strange how humans come to places like these, buy their drinks, and just continue about their day. No one even bothers to sit and talk anymore,” Orville noted. Herk nodded and downed a gallon of hot magma from his cup in one swig. Having lived so many years, Orville found the only thing that broke up monotony was a good conversation. The thrill of hunting a human and draining them wore off after the first century. But when people like Orville tried to talk to people like Herk, it never amounted to much more than a grumpy silence. Within that grumpy silence and distaste for poor discussions, Orville found himself admiring the room.

The walls were each a different material it seemed. Some were a dark brown wood paneling, and the wall opposite them was black bricks. A wall of windows was to their right, and outside was the constant comfort of nighttime accompanied by streets alive with foot traffic, tentacle traffic, and hoof traffic alike. Dark black leaves crunched underneath them as Fall was upon everyone in town.

Much like the weather outside, an eerie fog hung over the coffee shop, but this was where most monsters felt comfortable. Orville smiled as he pondered the word ‘monster’. Most modern creatures despised the word, calling it ‘demeaning’ and desired that no one use such language to describe them. Orville, however, felt quite the opposite. When Orville was still in his formative vampiric years, he would hear the word ‘monster’ screamed in the streets as he swooped down into a dark alley, chasing a helpless woman and feasting on her blood. Orville became hungry thinking about it and took another sip. Orville heard an indistinguishable grunt: Breanna the Biter. She came staggering over to their booth, and wedged herself in next to Orville without hesitation. “What’s up, boys?” she gurgled excitedly, her voice raspy and disgusting as ever. Orville cleared his throat, an action only done around Breanna in an attempt to inadvertently get her to do the same. As brain-dead as any other of her kind, she did not pick up. She dipped her finger into her pink brain smoothie and swirled it around, then sucked her finger clean once she had pulled it out. Orville nearly gagged. Zombies are disgusting creatures , he thought. Cautiously drifting over came Howard, but everyone that knew him called him Ghostie. Ghostie was the most tolerable of the group in Orville’s opinion, but everyone else seemed to dislike him. Ghostie drifted into his seat and smiled at everyone. Breanna stared at him. “Ghostie?” she grunted. “Yeah?” he asked meekly, expecting a round of insults to be flung his way. “Why are you drinking a hot chocolate with whipped cream?”

Ghostie looked at Breanna fearfully. “Well… it’s technically an order of hot chocolate with extra whipped cream… and I ordered it because it’s on theme!” he said, raising his voice slightly in the final part of his sentence, hoping to shift some heat to other people at the table. “My hot chocolate is orange! It’s Fall themed!”

“My smoothie is cinnamon flavored,” Breanna told him with a mucousy throat. “I prefer original, though.” “Magma is spicy, like cinnamon,” Herk chimed in intelligently. “Orville’s drink is 0% Autumn themed, look at him!” Breanna gestured to Orville. “He gets the same drink every time!” “Who cares about ‘theme’, seasons happen every year. Nothing to get excited about,” Orville griped. “And besides, it’s not the same drink every time. I ordered a mystery flavor today. I live life on the edge, okay?” Everyone groaned as he said it, and Orville only smiled, having predicted such a reaction. “Anyway, it’s not like I would have expected your kind to be able to tell the difference between blood types,” Orville told Breanna. “Woah, woah!” she called, slamming her drink down on the table. “I know you didn't just say ‘you people’ to me!” “You’re right, actually. Technically, I didn't,” Orville said flatly.

“Just because I’m not some pompous blood connoisseur like you,” Breanna began. “It doesn't mean I’m dumb or stupid!”

“No, it doesn't,” Orville said. “But if you can spell either ‘pompous’ or ‘connoisseur’, I’ll stop talking.” “Ghostie, how’s the people problem?” Breanna asked with the sound of phlegm still in her throat, turning her attention to the meek transparent figure. “Nice subject change…” Orville mumbled slyly. “Not good,” Ghostie moaned. “They’re so scary! And they keep coming into my house! I’ve been living there for decades, and people keep bursting through the front door to invade my personal space! I will go downstairs, rattle picture frames, slam window shutters and knock on walls, and they’ll run away. And for one, tranquil night… I’ll feel powerful. But then, the next night, they’ll come back with their friends, as if it’s some sick game to break into a man’s house! The humans have laws against this kind of stuff, and yet no one ever stops them! No no, not when it has to do with lame old Ghostie!”

“I’m sorry babe,” Breanna growled mindlessly while taking another sip of her brain smoothie. Orville watched as Ghostie became flustered and stumbled over his words. No one ever called him babe. The saddest part, however, was that Breanna didn't even do it intentionally. She called everyone flirty names, she was just too full of herself to care. “Look what you’re doing to the poor boy,” Orville scolded. “You can’t go around calling people ‘babe’, you’re sending mixed signals.” “And you can't go around telling people what to do!” Breanna accused. “Just because you’re the oldest, doesn't mean you are the wisest.” “I’m actually a few millennia older than Orv-” Herk started to say, before he was cut off.

 “You’re so high and mighty, Bre, just because they made a bunch of stupid movies about you. You’re a fad, and just like your melty, decomposing body, it’s dying fast.” “I would rather die with dignity than die as a teenage girl’s fantasy,” Breanna insulted, punctuating her statement with a sip of her drink. Orville, known for rarely losing his temper, banged the table with a fist. “I had no part in that!” Orville shouted, but it was too late. The whole table was giggling. “Shut up, all of you!” Orville demanded. To protect his ego, Orville began demeaning his table-mates. “Bre! You and I both need humans to live, but you’re so self-centered you can't even be bothered to respect them! Ghostie! People are supposed to be afraid of you, but you’re afraid of them! And Herk! I don't even know what type of creature you are! No one cares about you!”

The booth was silent after that. Orville stared blankly into his cup of blood, rethinking what he had done.

“Hey,” someone began to say, but Orville interjected. “I’m sorry, guys. I overstepped the line there. I don't get mad a lot, but I just… I just really hate those teen vampires. I took it out on you, I’m sorry.” “That’s nice and all,” Breanna said, a smile sneaking onto her lips. “We were just gonna say that we each get one free insult to throw at you now.” Orville fidgeted uncomfortably, disliking the idea. “Fine,” he said, finally caving.

“Orville! You claim to be this invulnerable being, but you die if someone pokes you in the heart with a toothpick!” Breanna cheered in her raspy voice. “Orville!” Herk chimed in. “You have control issue,” Herk said firmly. “Orville!” Ghostie said, laughing as he did. “Is this insult redeemable at any time?” “Yeah, sure,” Breanna told him. “I’m gonna save it,” Ghostie said with a friendly grin.

“Oh, shoot. You know what, guys?” Breanna announced, looking at her watch. “I’ve actually gotta go. Super famous zombie business and stuff.” “Yeah, yeah, of course. We all believe you,” Orville remarked. “I have to go, too. It’s nighttime in the Earthworld, and I’m really hankering for some O- tonight.” “I have planet to destroy,” Herk said solemnly. Everyone laughed, unsure if he was joking or not.

“I have to go stop some idiots from breaking into my house!” Ghostie squeaked. “Well, this has been as entertaining as ever,” Orville said to the group. “I’ll see you guys next week?”

Everyone nodded their agreement and waltzed to the trash can to discard their variously sized cups and exited the coffee shop, the cool, crisp Autumn air hitting them. “God, I hate the smell of Autumn,” Breanna complained. “Because rotting corpses smell so much better,” Orville jived. They all exchanged hugs, said their goodbyes, and parted ways. Orville couldn't wait until they next saw each other.


The Last Human on Earth had reached her destination. Beside her Goldie, the probably-last dog on Earth, barked and wagged her tail. The Last Human looked away from the empty billionaire’s house they had come to and patted Goldie. The poor girl was all skin and bones, just like the Last Human. If the upcoming winter was as bad as the previous one, neither of them would survive. “We made it girl” The Last Human said as Goldie leaned in for harder ear scratches. “Let’s see if Richie Rich here actually did it.” And see if his house still had power. And water. And if the stasis machine still worked. And if it had been calibrated properly. And if the arsehole hadn’t found a way to activate it before the plague hit. And if they had even made it in time for Four-Twenty in the first place. They should be two days early, but it had been hard keeping track of the days sometimes. And of course, there was no way to know if the Alpha Centauri spaceship was still out there, so maybe she’d end up waiting for nothing. She walked her overloaded bike to the gate, with Goldie following behind her. She had a sledgehammer and bolt cutters, but in her weakened state it took over an hour to open the gate and push her bike through. An alarm went off as they forced their way in. Good; the house still had power. And she still had C4 for the vault. Goldie ran ahead and checked out every corner of the lawn. Despite the year of hell, it was still green. The gardener robots were still working. That was good. The house and the technology in it still worked. As she surveyed the lawn, Goldie came running up to her, tongue lolled and tail wagging. She dropped to the ground and rolled in the grass, eyes half closed. Last Human tried to remember the last time they had seen healthy grass. What did it feel like to touch green grass? She couldn’t remember, but Goldie made it look amazing. The Last Human dropped to the ground and collapsed in the grass, savouring the smell of the freshly mowed lawn. Goldie came up to her and began licking her face, and the Last Human burst into tears. Down here in the dirt with her dog, she could almost imagine that the plague and the bombs had never happened. For a few minutes she lay there, imagining her family was just inside and her mother would soon come over and yell at her for getting so dirty. Dirty. Ha! When was the last time she’d had a bath? At the thought she jerked herself upright. If the robots tending the lawn were still going, maybe she’d be able to find a functional bathtub. The thought excited her more than she would have imagined last year. Goldie came over and tried to sit in her lap. The Last Human patted her dog but the smile fell off her face. She had a lot of preparations to see to if she were to save humanity. A lot of terrible preparations. She pushed Goldie away, thinking of all the work that needed to be done. Thinking of poor Goldie. She sat motionless on the lawn for a full five minutes. Her dog came back with a yellow squeaky toy in her mouth. “Good girl, that’s a good find” The Last Human said, standing up and taking the toy. “We’ll play with that in a little bit. We have lots of work to do first." She walked to the front door, her dog by her side. It was time to check out this stasis pod.

# Last year, just before the plague hit, the Last Human had seen this mansion on TV. It’s owner was an eccentric billionaire known for having a lot of high-tech toys. He’d been a laughingstock, but he had turned out to be right about the imminent collapse of society. She remembered laughing as she saw him on the news. He’d been standing next to the stasis pod in his underground vault, talking to the reporter as a technician worked on the giant white and blue egg smashed into the wall. “The world is going to hell” He had said. “It’s over. Blind Freddy can see it. I ain’t gonna live through no stupid arse war.” “So you’re going to skip an upcoming war?” The reporter had asked. “Do you trust this stasis pod – this untested technology – to keep you alive?” “I trust it more than the rest of the world. If it does kill me then at least it’ll be painless you know? If it doesn’t, then I wake up from a nice eight-hundred-year nap. By then either everyone has their shit together, or I can just party with the dudes on the Alpha Centauri ship.” “You think they’ll know to come here for that party?” “I have a beacon installed; I ain’t dumb. They’re the dumb ones for not taking any women with them though. That’ll screw us all over, mark my words.” “Then why not get in now? After all, the world could end tomorrow.” “I’ll take that chance. You gotta remember, I have a huge company that employs millions of folks who can’t just jump into a stasis pod to escape the coming shitshow. I gotta spend the next year wrapping things up, looking out for the little people out there. But that’s why Daveed here is setting things up now. If things go downhill next year, I want this stasis pod to be able to put me under without anyone else’s help.” “And you’ve set the machine to activate at twenty-past-four on the twentieth of April. Is there any significance to that date?” “It’s Four-Twenty baby. I want to light up right before I go into the stasis pod. Can you imagine it? An eight-hundred year high? What better time to do that than Four-Twenty right?” The Last Human had shared memes with her friends about the crazy billionaire being stoned for eight-hundred years. But a week after that interview aired the plague hit. Within two months, everyone was dead. The Billionaire was dead. Last Human had just found a skeleton wrapped in the Billionaire’s dressing gown. The bones and satin were puddled together in a seat in the private cinema. On the seat next to him was an empty popcorn bucket, a small old tin, and a sleek remote control. There were also bottles of Vodka Cruisers scattered on the nearby seats and on the floor. The Blu-Ray menu of Finding Nemo came up when she tapped the remote. The sudden blast of the movie score caused Goldie to yelp and back away from the bottle she’d been sniffing. “He didn’t bring any tissues with him” Last Human told Goldie. “Did he run out? Or was the coward not even sick?” Goldie nudged the bottle. She couldn’t pick it up because the squeaky toy was still in her mouth. “Could you imagine being this guy?” Last Human asked. “His house is entirely self-contained, he has enough security to keep out the infected mob, and he had the stasis pod. He only had to survive until he got in the stasis pod.” Goldie lost interest in the bottle and started rubbing the toy against Last Human’s leg. “I guess some people just don’t have what it takes to survive” Last Human said as she patted Goldie. “Or maybe the thought of sitting around with a bunch of men and not being able to repopulate the planet bummed him out too much.” She picked up the tin and opened it. Inside were a bunch of pea-shaped pills. Suicide pills? Drug overdose? Well, it explained how he’d died. She looked down on Goldie, holding the pill tin tighter. Would the pills kill Goldie painlessly? She’d found Goldie three months after waking up in her bed, recovered from the plague but unable to find any other survivors. As far as the Last Human could tell, all humans and their best friends; cats, dogs, and horses, had been wiped out. “I suppose there could be more rich men holed up in their super houses” she muttered to Goldie. “Ones with more of a survival instinct.” Internally she scolded herself. She couldn’t assume that there were other people out there. It was cowardly to pretend that someone else would swoop in and save humanity. She had to assume she was the last human, otherwise the entire race could go extinct. She turned and left the cinema. She didn’t pat Goldie, and she kept hold of the pill tin. Goldie followed her out, whining at her sudden coldness. Last Human remembered those whines from when she first met Goldie. When she’d been wandering, searching far and wide for any sign of another person. She’d wanted someone to talk to. Anyone. She’d never been a dog person, but when she heard barking, she ran. Her skeletal legs propelling her through the wrecked cars and overgrown gardens, desperate to connect with anyone, even a dog. She’d followed the barking and found Goldie out the front of a normal suburban house. The dog seemed unsure whether to be excited to finally see another human or if she was supposed to still guard the family home. In the end, Goldie had led Last Human inside, to where the remains of a family of five were huddled in the master bedroom. Goldie sat at the end of the bed and started whining. It had taken the Last Human two weeks to persuade Goldie to leave her dead family and follow her. She found the vault. It was unlocked. Great, the risks she’d taken to get that C4 were a waste. Of course, she had been terrified of destroying the stasis machine while breaking in, and leaving the vault intact would be safer. Despite her frustration, she was glad she could just walk in. The Billionaire’s vault was a pristine white hideout full of strange futuristic devices and rare action figures. The lights were dim, except for a bright blue glow coming from the back of the room. She walked towards the light. Behind her, Goldie’s nails clack-clacked on the concrete floor. There was no other sound. Not until Goldie squeezed the toy, making Last Human jump and swear as the squeak echoed through the walls. “You” Last Human growled, turning towards her dog. Goldie wagged her tail and squeaked the toy again. She assumed the play position whilst Last Human tried to say something. She didn’t know what she wanted to say though, and all that came out was a strained laugh. She continued walking. Goldie squeaked non-stop. They walked past a row of display cases and stopped before the back wall, where the stasis pod was lit by strips of blue LED lights. The pod itself took up half the wall; a large plastic and metal egg built covered in pipes. Between all the plumbing and the tanks, she could just make out a flight of tiny white stairs heading to the entry hatch. The rest of the wall was covered in wires and monitors. The monitors displayed every tiny details of the machine, as well as the progress of the Alpha Centauri ship, the state of the house, and the date and time. The date and time. The monitor said it was already the twentieth of April. She’d lost count of the days at some point, and now instead of having two days to prepare, she had only two hours. What did she still need to do? The case of frozen embryos she’d salvaged? It was already in the freezer; even if she knew a better way to preserve it, she wouldn’t have time to do anything more now. Her mementos from before the plague? It would only take a few minutes to find a spot for them in the vault. That bath she wanted? No. Too risky. She’d probably stay in the tup forever. The only thing she needed to do now was deal with Goldie. She had thought she’d have two days to figure that out, not two damn hours. Goldie had dropped the squeaky toy and was now sitting on the floor. Her tail was wagging slower and her eyes were fixed on the Last Human. “I’m sorry Goldie” Last Human said. “I have to do it. I have to go. There are only men on the Alpha Centauri ship; I’m the only one left that can have any babies.” Goldie tilted her head. The Last Human walked up to her and dropped down, grabbing her dog in a massive hug. Tears ran down her face. “I need to go Goldie. I need to wait for more people. I don’t want to be the last human anymore.” Goldie was whining again. Last Human told herself that Goldie couldn’t understand her, but with Goldie being her only company for the last year, a part of her had never been able to accept that fact. “Please Goldie, tell me you’ll be okay without me?” Goldie kept whining and licking Last Human’s face. The Last Human kept picturing Goldie at her old house, hungry but unwilling to leave or eat her dead family. How long would she wait outside the vault for the Last Human to come out? Who would help her survive the winter? “I don’t want you to suffer without me” Last Human said. “I can’t do that to you. But… but I don’t…” How could she kill Goldie? This innocent dog; her last friend? “I need to survive” Last Human said. “I can’t give up like that arsehole Billionaire.” But you’ll probably die in the stasis pod. That was her own doubt, resurfacing for the millionth time, but as she looked into Goldie’s eyes, she imagined it as Goldie’s argument. “I have to at least try to save humanity” Last Human said. She pushed away from Goldie and tried to open the pill tin with her shaking hands. “I’m sorry Goldie. I love you.” “Bark! BARK!” Goldie jumped on top of her, knocking the half-open tin out of her hands. A few pills flew out. Goldie sniffed at one that landed nearby and then backed away. The Last Human grabbed the pill in one hand and grabbed Goldie by the scruff of the neck in the other. Goldie looked up at her with big sad eyes, her barks turned to whimpers. “I have to leave you behind” Last Human said. “And I can’t leave you to die alone. I need to take my chances in the pod. I have a duty to save humanity.” Goldie continued to fix her big puppy eyes on the Last Human as she whined, reminding her of the duty she had taken on when she’d coaxed Goldie away from her dead family. The Last Human felt the pill crush in her clenched fist. She broke down into ugly loud sobs and wrapped her arms around Goldie, careful not to smear any of the crushed-up pill in her fur. # At 4:20 the stasis pod came to life. “Welcome” A monotone female voice filled the vault. “Human cryostasis procedure now commencing. Please stand by.” The hatch opened, valves were released and tubes within the egg moved into position. “Support structure is in position. Please step into the stasis pod.” A countdown had started on the monitor closest to the pod. Large blue digits counted down the years, days, hours, and even the minutes and seconds until the Alpha Centauri ship was estimated to return. “Please step into the stasis pod” The voice repeated. Forty minutes later, the voice finished its narration and fell silent. The stasis pod sealed up in a puff of liquid-nitrogen fog. It would not open for another eight-hundred-years. If it ever did. Upstairs, out on the lawn, the world’s last human threw a yellow squeaky toy to the last dog, a reluctant smile on her face.


Mud flew into the air. Puddles splashed the bushes on the side of the path. The horse’s breath poured out of its mouth in puffs of steam, and in the saddle a worried father looked down at his son, bundled in blankets and still shivering. They were riding deep into the woods. The stormy clouds obscured the moon, and Edward could hardly see the path in the lamplight, but there was little time. He could not slow down.             Through the dead trees, the flickering lights of a house began to appear. Edward rode straight up to the door, dismounted, and rapped on it violently. The cottage occupant took his time answering. Cracking it open slightly, a single eye, full of spite, glared through. “Who’s there?” the eye asked. The voice sounded like snapping wood, and Edward winced at the sound.             “My name is Edward, from the village of Haddonshire.” Edward then steeled himself and continued, “I have come to you for aid. My son is sick, and his fever grows ever stronger. Tell me your price, and I shall pay it, so long as my son may return home safe.”             The door swung open, with the sound of the crudely crafted hinges creaking and popping. Inside stood a ghoulish man, with dirty gray hair. He was short, but his arms were long. “Come in. Let’s take a look at the boy,” and the apothecary ushered Edward to enter. “Put him on the table there.” Edward laid his son, Jacob, gently on the table, then looked around the cottage. Much of it was a mess. The furniture was crooked, and it seemed that the only things in proper order were the shelves of ingredients. Everything on those shelves was neatly stacked and made visible the familiar herbs and berries often used by the villagers, along with the dark and abhorrent ingredients for which this apothecary had been exiled.             “Heh heh heh…” The apothecary chuckled to himself as he inspected the boy. It was not long before he grinned, showing crooked teeth, stained likely by some of his wretched elixirs. “The boy can be healed. Quite easily too. There will be no need even for any of those ingredients which your silly neighbors cast me out for.” Edward was relieved. He had feared the ingredients as well, but was more intent on saving his son’s life, but he knew the ways of this ghoul, and stopped him from reaching for the medicines. In a grave tone, Edward commanded, “Name your price first.”             “Heh heh. Well, I suppose it’s fair to put aside your son’s life for a bargain. For you, the only one to show me any kindness during my persecution, the price is light. Due east from here is an apple tree in full bloom. Under it lives a fair skinned woman with hazelnut hair. Go to her, and request just a single strand.”             Edward was slightly afraid and disgusted by the request. “What do you need with her hair?”             “It is a necessary step of curing your son. Her hair pulls disease out of the body, but she does not give it out often, hence why I have none of it in stock.” With this the apothecary gestured toward an empty space on the shelf next to two bottles of snake venom. “If you tell her your plight, she is likely to give you what you need.”             “Very well, we shall go to her.” Edward reached for his son, but the apothecary put his skeletal hands out.             “No! Your son is likely too sick to travel. It is a wonder that he has made it this far. You must go and bring the hair here. I will treat the boy in your absence to keep his symptoms away.” Edward felt uneasy, but he also felt he must do what he could to save his son. “I will fetch the hair, but while I am gone, I do not want you giving my son medicines without me.” The apothecary swore to not treat Jacob, and Edward rode on the bearing he had been given.             It was about a mile to the glade which sheltered the tree the apothecary had described. Edward dismounted and approached it. He reached out and touched the trunk, then suddenly from behind, he heard a birdsong voice say “Hello.”             He turned around to a woman whose pale skin shone just slightly, providing just a little safety in the stormy night. “Hello,” he replied. “Are you the lady who lives under this tree?”             “I am.” Her voice was as sweet as the apples that grew on the tree’s branches. “Why do you seek me?”             “My son is sick of fever. He has not been able to eat or drink for a day, and he has grown exceedingly weak. I have been told that your hair could heal him, so I am here to ask you for just one strand.”             The woman looked concerned at the request, “It is true. My hair is like the roots of my tree. It pulls what is in the body into me, and just as the tree forms the soil into an apple, I too can purify the disease in my own fruit. However, if the soil is poisoned the tree dies, and if your son is afflicted by poison, then I will die.”             “I assure you; my son was struck by illness from a chilled wind. Now I plead of you, help my dying son.” Edward fell on his knees before her, and tears streamed from his eyes, mixing with the rain that continued to splash on his face. The sight of the beleaguered, desperate father moved the woman deeply, and she pitied him.             “Very well,” she said, and with a slender hand she reached up and plucked a single strand of hair from her head. She presented it to Edward saying, “This is a strand of my hair, given willingly that life may be preserved. In return I ask only that it be given to your son without any other remedy. Go now, and return to your son.” Edward took the hair and wrapped it in a cloth and mounted his horse. In a rush, he raced into the woods, leaving behind the safety of the glade for the thick darkness. Again, he approached the lopsided cottage and did not even bother to knock.             The apothecary looked up and immediately pounced upon Edward. “Did you get it?” Edward produced the cloth and revealed the hair. An evil desire entered the eyes of the apothecary, and he reached for the hair. Seeing the lust in his eyes, Edward held the hair away.             “It was given to me in great trust, and I would not violate that trust by sharing this recklessly.” Edward stood tall so that he looked down upon the hateful figure of the apothecary, whose lust gave way to spite, but his frail form precluded him from considering attacking. “Now, have you administered any remedies to my son?”             To this, the apothecary grinned. “I have given your son no remedy other than water. But hurry with the treatment. His condition has worsened considerably.” Edward looked to see his son now drenched in sweat. His veins were blackened, and he held his face in an expression of agony. Edward could not believe that the sickness of his son had taken such a drastic turn. Without thinking, Edward raced to the bedside of his son and produced the hair of the lady. He then lowered it into his son’s mouth, which closed around the hair as the lips of a thirsty man might close on a jug of water. The sickness receded, and as color returned to the boy’s face Edward withdrew the strand from his mouth. The hair was no longer hazel, but sickly and gray. On it were drops of bile and Edward dropped it in horror. The apothecary snatched it up immediately and set it on the empty shelf space next to now just one bottle of poison.             “Heh heh heh. This strand has served its purpose and now I may use it for my own.” Edward prepared to object, but the spiteful mutant continued, “Oh, worry not, it is a dead strand now. It has no connection to her anymore. Besides, this was the price you agreed to pay.” Edward could do nothing but yield. Furthermore, his son began to awaken, so he decided to take Jacob back home. Grabbing his boy, he said nothing to the apothecary, for he suspected the apothecary of some form of wickedness. Instead, he departed for the apple tree to check on the health of the woman. The rain had subsided, and the sun was rising, casting the world in a gray light. It was in this dreary light that Edward saw the glade and was struck with sorrow, for the tree had withered and there sat under it a decrepit old woman. She sat hunched over, hardly breathing. By now Jacob had awoken, and asked, “Father, why are we here?”             Dismounting, Edward approached the old woman and explained, “We are here to give thanks to the woman who saved your life.” He reached out and touched the old woman, who looked up, and in her eyes, he recognized the fair and noble lady. “What happened to you?”             “When you were here, the apothecary must have poisoned your son, so that I could draw it into myself when you treated him.”             The long night and continuous trials made Edward feel heavy and helpless. “I am sorry this has happened. The apothecary was too cunning for me.” His head sank, and he hid the tears welling up in his eyes as his son walked up beside him.             “Father, is there anything you can do?” Jacob asked.             The woman put her hand on her stomach. “There is nothing that can save me, but life can still be grown.” She lifted her hand to reveal a ripe and sweetly scented apple. She presented it to Jacob, “Take this apple and bake it for the apothecary. He will be suspicious of it, for he trusts nothing, so you must be sure to hide it, but when he eats it, then life will be restored to the forest.” Jacob took the apple and marveled at it. Seeing his eyes, the woman warned, “Do not eat the apple yourself, for it is not meant for you and the consequences would be grave.”             “I’ll do it,” Jacob promised, and the woman smiled at him. The father and son then rode back to their home, where Jacob’s mother was overjoyed to see her son alive and well. Edward and Jacob explained to her the task, and she instructed Edward to slice up the apple while Jacob placed it carefully in half of a pie crust she had prepared, filling the other half with apples from the family’s stock. When the pie had finished, Jacob set off for the apothecary’s hut.             When he arrived, he greeted the apothecary saying, “Hello sir. Last night you saved my life, and I wanted to say thank you.” Jacob then held out the pie. There was a lull as the evil man eyed it, for he was suspicious, just as the lady had predicted. After a moment, his face turned to a smile.             “Heh heh. I am most humbled little one, but please, I get so few visitors. Will you join me in eating this delightful pie?” The two went inside and as the cunning villain fetched some plates, Jacob cut two slices from the half which was baked without the special apple. Passing one to the apothecary, Jacob prepared to eat his slice when the conniving voice said, “Oh, if you do not mind, that slice looks to me more appetizing. Would it be in your kind heart to offer it here?” Jacob obliged, and the plates were exchanged. Then Jacob did not hesitate to eat. The Apothecary felt satisfied and joined him.             The pie was exquisite, and soon both wanted more, so Jacob cut two more slices, but this time from the side with the gifted apple. Again, the apothecary tested Jacob with switching the pieces, but when Jacob was again so willing to exchange them, the Apothecary did not watch to see if Jacob would eat first and took a bite. Immediately, he lurched over and hissed, “What have you done to me?” He jerked his head up and glared at Jacob, who jumped immediately for the door. The apothecary lunged after him, screaming. The two stumbled outside, one after the other. Jacob tripped on the path and fell. Turning over he saw the Apothecary shamble forward, coughing, reaching out, and changing. He took a step, and his foot sank into the ground up to his ankle. Another step sank his other foot as well. Crying and coughing, he reached out, his already lanky arms growing even longer. His skin hardened as Jacob looked on in horror, and soon the desiccated old man was transformed into a verdant young apple tree. Shocked, Jacob rose to his feet and stared at the tree. He then jumped when from behind the tree, a lovely girl of his own age appeared. “Hello” she said, giving a slight curtsy.             “H-Hello,” Jacob stuttered. He looked back and forth between the girl and the tree, not sure which demanded more attention. “What happened?”             “As life was given to you, life was given to me, and as this devil cursed my mother, she has cursed him too, and all wrongs have been brought into balance.” The girl spoke bluntly, showing little interest in the man stuck in the tree. Instead, she gazed intently at Jacob. Seeing his fear, her face turned to worry. “Do you suppose that by such desperate remedies for two lives gained, that two lives lost is worth the cost?” Jacob hesitated to answer. All he could do was nod. The girl smiled. “Thank you,” she said.             To this Jacob smiled, bowed, and replied, “You’re welcome.” He took her hand and kissed it lightly, then walked home to share what had happened.