People who knew Lilah often wondered how such a poised, demure, girly girl had held down a job as a construction worker for five entire years now. It was the subject of much gossip and speculation amongst her girlfriends. This was a girl who spent two hours getting ready to go out, kept up with the latest fashions and trends, and whose hobbies included reading poetry and making impressive oil paintings of nature. More mysterious still, she professed to love her job. They would have been flabbergasted to observe her at work. This sweet, well spoken woman had completely adopted the vernacular of her rough-around-the-edges coworkers, and was known to be perfectly capable of defending herself with fiery and course wit when deserved. Her coworkers accepted her as a competent worker who fit in. As the smallest worker, she was frequently tasked with crawling into small spaces no man could ever access to complete construction of electric or plumbing. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure what they would have done without her. This, and her good work ethic, did not go unnoticed, and she was offered as many hours as she wanted to work. Meanwhile, her friends were beginning to face the reality of taking out massive student loans to pay for useless degrees in a city with a stagnant economy. “Can I move in with you?” Asked Yuri, a recently graduated Singing major who thought she’d have her big break by now. “I have a full-time unpaid internship that will make me connections, and my parents are willing to help me out a little, but I have to find a place to live in the city, and my family lives too far away.” “No,” said Lilah, a complete sentence. She was introduced to a young architect, and began dating him. He was just as intrigued by her career choice as everyone else, but she kept details to a minimum. They saw eye to eye on nearly everything and enjoyed each other’s company, going out to try Ethiopian food and having a Bob Ross date where they drank wine and painted happy trees and clouds. Regularly, they would go have a beer with friends at the bar of a centrally located restaurant. Everyone in their friend group had outgrown any youthful desire to consume alcohol in excess, so it was strange when Ettie began to slur her words following a trip to the bathroom. “Did you take something?” Lilah asked, fearing that Ettie might have been prescribed some kind of medication that mixed poorly with alcohol. Ettie confusedly shook her head, leaning on the bar. A man came up and attempted to lead Ettie away by the arm, saying things to indicate that it had been agreed upon previously that she would leave with him. Lilah summoned all her construction worker powers and cursed the air blue. She yelled such a foul stream of creative obscenities at him that even the crowded bar became silent except for the now out of place music. The creep recoiled in shock, and attempted to walk away. The crowd hemmed him in, however. The bartended immediately dialed 911. The police and an ambulance came, and the attempted kidnapper was arrested. Ettie was taken to the hospital, where she tested positive for date rape drugs. Her family and friends helped her through her difficult time, glad that it wasn’t worse. The next day, Lilah’s boyfriend, who had been thoughtfully quiet, finally said, “You were amazing. I have never heard anyone curse like that, but it was totally appropriate for the circumstances. I think I see this relationship becoming serious. Anyone who is so composed and ladylike all the time who can still stand up for their friend like that is someone I want to get to know better.” They married three years later. Lilah could have easily gotten a bachelor’s degree at this point, but instead, she became an electrician.


Six in the morning on a Tuesday evening he couldn’t take it anymore. He had been waiting his whole life and he had to make some sort of a move. Vigorously tossing off the sheets covering his body on an early fall morning he tried to dampen his frustration enough to slide out of the house unnoticed. He thought this to be peculiar because he didn’t have a need to sneak out. He lived alone in the Sierra mountain range of California accompanied only by his friendly feline Winston. Oddly, he still felt this pressing need to sneak out of his secluded cabin in the woods as though he was trying to escape from an overwatching sentry tower. The man fumbled in the dark as quietly as he could to not wake his little kitten. Prepped in no way shape or form for an adventure of any sorts he gently turned the door knob to his single room cabin. With the quiet of the early morning any creak of the door sounded like a bone fracturing, any squeak of the floorboard sounded like the shriek of a banshee. Yet, to his utter bewilderment as he finally slid out of the door and gave one last glance into his humble cabin Winston still slept, curled up at the foot of his bed. Unperturbed Winston slept sound with only the occasional fidget of a tail or paw deep in his dreamy subconscious. Winston, so full of content, happiness, and peace. How did he do it? For a brief moment that seemed to last an eternity he was perplexed in awe by his humble companion. He was baffled as to how he had figured it all out. The man gave a final chuckle and smile as he finally shut the door, simultaneously wondering what Winston may be dreaming about as he silently closed the door. As he began his journey to nowhere in particular into the early, dawn, crispness of fall he had an epiphany of the insanity of the situation he was putting himself in. He was venturing into the mountainous woods with no destination in his knit night cap, maroon sweatshirt, puppy covered pajama bottoms, woolen socks and crocs. However, he knew he could wait no longer. Sitting around waiting was not an option. He couldn’t think straight, the fluster of his epiphanic crisis had muddied his mind like a stagnant pond filled with algae and microbes. Like a plane on auto-pilot he trudged. The man needed to calm down, to clear his head, so he just began walking in no particular direction, deep into the mountains. One step after another his mind cleared and he began to coagulate sensical thoughts again. His mind wondered just like his steps and he began to ponder where did he go wrong to be stuck waiting for so long? The longer he walked the deeper he plunged down this rabbit hole of thought and wondered about how the only thing he had done his whole life was wait. He began retracing his steps, searching for the missing piece of the puzzle. There must be something, he thought, there must be something he must have missed to wind up in a purgatory with no means to an end. He delved deep into the bank vaults of memory. He searched, hunted for any misstep that could have led him this far astray. In his mid 20s he should have had it by now. So why was he kept waiting like some horrible day at the DMV waiting to get a license renewed. He felt like he was being toyed with by some higher power like a meager pawn in an immense game of chess. How could anyone be so cruel as to punish him like this after working so hard and following all the rules? He did everything he was told as far back as K-12 school. When it came to being a straight A student he was the epitome of the subject. In elementary school he always had the most gold stars and good merits. Every essay, math assignment, and lab report turned in on time- if not early. He Consistently paid attention to his teachers and excelled through the education system; he was a stellar good boy. Highschool came and the pressure increased. The rigors of classes, pursuits of higher academics, and all of this was intertwined with making friends and school sports. Yet, the boy still continued to prosper, along this so-called societally deemed path to excellence and success. Acing every test, being a starter for varsity sports, viewed as a peer by both his classmates and teachers, he seemed to be doing everything right. The time to leave his small town came and went with extended goodbyes to past sweethearts and childhood friends. The boy, now a young man, ventured to a well renowned school with ideas of those successful type careers: engineers, doctors, lawyers, scientists, etc. Trying out various courses he finally settled on a degree in the sciences. Throughout his curriculum he took all the necessary steps to be successful: joining several clubs, getting internships, applying for research positions, and networking amongst his fellow undergraduates. The plan to success that was bestowed upon him since early adolescence was unfolding just as society deemed it should. College ended just as soon as it began. Now it was time for him to enter the real world. Everything everyone told him to do he followed to a tee. However, now that the final step was in front of his eyes, joining the real world, he felt more lost than a puppy on a rainy day in the city. That miracle path to happiness, success, and fulfillment was displayed before him all his life. Here he was twenty five years later and he had the success but, where was the rest? Where did he go wrong? Why was he being denied the rest when he had followed all the rules society displayed before him? These were the thoughts that bounced through his mind on his stroll that crisp fall morning. Why the wait for these last components to his life? As the sun finally crested over the vast wooded mountain peaks he was still stumped. He had walked for hours. Defeated mentally, physically, and ashamed to have failed this society that seemed to have given him the world. He returned to his home empty handed of an answer. Stumbling inside in an exact opposite manner as he left, his poor feline friend Winston was awoken in a fright to the distress of his owner. Busting inside he slumped to the floor like a drunk stumbling in the street. Winston leaped from the bed in concern for what ails his master. He bounded across the foyer of the cabin and curled up next to his defeated master in a last hope to ease his pain. Perhaps though, Winston could better understand why his master had been kept waiting better than any living soul that had ultimately led him down this path throughout life. Winston had achieved what his owner had been waiting for his whole life. Winston’s life is full, happy, and simple. He was not sent on some seemingly impossible quest by societal constructs that only gave people delusions of what it takes to achieve fulfillment and happiness. This quest, that this man was sent on, with no means to an end isn’t an original story. It always ends the same. People waiting for some magical moment where they will finally feel complete, fulfilled, and happy. But, these things that so many of us spend our lives endlessly waiting for do not materialize with a status in society. This idea is an illusion that is cast upon us the second we enter this world. The sad fact of the matter is, we often live our whole lives under this spell. Fulfillment, happiness, and even success do not come from money, nor a job title, or the possessions a person owns. They come from personal endeavours. How do you feel about yourself? The basis of a person's life decisions should not be from what others deem this dream-like path to success should be. Everyone is unique. There is not one road to the end destination we all seek. The true road is one that has been untraveled by any before. The road untraveled is the road that will lead to a destination where they will not be kept waiting or looking for the next turn. As Winston began to purr, nestled against his owner in the middle of the cabin the man smiled. The man had a genuine smile for the first time in a long time. For this brief moment, he was done waiting. For the first time in his whole life he felt that what he had longed for, for so long was achieved. A simple, yet fulfilling happiness, and contentment. It wasn’t permanent and it never will be. But, that is what makes happiness so beautiful. It comes and goes. Happiness, just as all emotions do, are not permanent. As Winston’s purrs reverberated throughout his body he felt peace and began to realize that what he had been waiting for his whole life was in front of him the whole time. It was shrouded by an illusion so grand that it has everyone convinced to be the undeniable truth to a perfect, happy life.


I used to stare out of my window, when the nurse would draw the curtains on pleasant afternoons. The only sunshine I’d ever get was what escaped the delicate wisps shielding my room from the prying eyes of the outside world. I never minded that people could see me from the street. I watched them all the time, why shouldn’t they watch me? Everyday, like clockwork, people would march back and forth on the pavement, casual strolls, hustling, bursting steps, cars. When the nurse drew the curtains, I could see everything. My piece of the world was minuscule in comparison to what the ones I watched could see, but I was happy. Until I saw the Red Umbrella. It was a sunny July afternoon, the same faces crossing my sight as always, plastered expressions uniform. Men in suits and women in sundresses with little children paced through my strip of paradise, and I watched them. I watched them just like I did everyday from the sour gentleness of my sheets. They chose a cream color for me, but as the days went by it began to look like rubbing alcohol. Then, while I slept, they’d take away the bleached cloth and I would wake up in a jarring mesh of yellow. The cycle would repeat. Again, it was a sunny July afternoon, after they replaced my bedding, I found myself watching the same faces as always. I paid no mind to the uniformity of the scene; compared to the untextured, colorlessness of my walls, anything was beautiful. Then I saw the Red Umbrella. It was an unexpected streak of vibrancy in my strip of reality, drastic in comparison to the sunflower yellows, deep greens, and subdued grays that I so often saw from my window. Just as abruptly as it arrived, the Candy Apple disappeared from my vision. I found myself craning my neck to catch an extra millisecond of the Sweet Taste, but my fragile limbs shook from the effort. I sank back into the stifling cotton my head was fated to rest upon, weighed down by my imperfections. It wasn’t raining that day. My eyes held open by midnight ponderings gripped the Red Umbrella. Who carried It? I would give anything to walk in the warmth of the sun, feeling its raw touch, unobscured by curtains or glass. Who would cover themselves from its affectionate embrace? I didn’t understand. The Red Umbrella wasn’t there the next morning, or the one after, or even the following Monday. But I couldn’t get Its image out of my mind. It stayed there, burned behind my eyelids, appearing on the bedspread, haunting me whenever I blinked. I asked the nurse to keep the curtains open, just in case It came some other time of day. She gave me a quizzical look, but obliged, figuring an expanded horizon would do me good. It was the same. Night time yielded no different presence. The bustle was hushed, the still activities of the dark creeping through the street, unnoticed by the uninterested moonlight. I sighed, but out of the corner of my eye, I could’ve sworn I saw a Dash of Scarlet against the shadows. I turned stiffly, black dots dappling my vision. A hand was illuminated in the somber shine of the moon. An matte-white glove wrapped around the burgundy handle of the Red Umbrella. I could see It from my window, only a few feet away from the glass, fog creeping in from the edges. A moment, then It disappeared behind the translucent wall that separated me from life. And again, I waited. I woke up one morning to the sound of my door being shut. I was disoriented at first, but it only took a blink to be washed over by the numbing scent of fresh paint. It was like carbonation behind my eyes, bubbles bursting in my mind. I choked on the thick air, able to taste the sourness of the atmosphere. To combat the stinging, I shrunk into my bedding, it suddenly becoming my only solace. I laid there for hours, covered by my blanket. The empty white was grey from underneath, a soothing change from what usually crossed my sight. It was peaceful, and I found myself sinking into a gently rocking state of sleep. I dreamed of nothing. Months went by without another appearance from the Red Umbrella. My days blurred together, sometimes I would see a different colored car drive by, or a woman wearing a new dress, but that was the only spice I tasted. Slowly, my limbs grew stiffer, I found myself stuck, dependent on the mercy of room around me. The only exits being the door and the window. I began to resent the window. When the nurse left it open for a breeze to sweep through, I turned my face away. I turned away from everything. My gaze was fixated on the wall, what used to be a colorless canvas was now tinted an unflattering pale. When I asked the nurse why they had painted over the walls she only mentioned that there were chips in multiple places, and they had to add another layer of white to fix it. To stifle any sense of texture more like. She closed the window and left me to wander the cathedral of my mind. That night, I forgave the window. The crescent moon swung back and forth on its axis, like a pendulum counting the seconds till midnight. I heard footsteps, echoing the way water does when it drops onto puddles in caves. I blinked and there It was. The Red Umbrella hovered just outside, and I could see the figure holding It. Delicate white gloves, olive skin, a flowing black dress that shone in the moonlight. She held an empty hand out to me, face shielded by the shadow of the Red Umbrella. I opened my mouth to speak to her, but before I could utter a word, she drew her invitation back and transgressed my view. The nurse didn’t come the next morning. I laid in bed staring at the ceiling, a flat surface with a single hanging light. I could feel warmth radiating from the window, but I didn’t have the energy to look over. I heard the door open, gentle breathing followed and dripping footsteps. It was the woman with the Red Umbrella. My frozen body was pressed into the sheets, white glue trapping my limbs. I felt afraid. I had wanted for months to touch the Red Umbrella, but now that It was here, I was terrified. I had too many thoughts, unsteady breaths, holding me back from the Reverie I had so eagerly yearned for. “You’ve been waiting for me,” the woman’s voice was silk, a gentle breeze on a pleasant Tuesday, the soothing kiss of the ocean after burning sand rips away one’s soul. She closed the Red Umbrella, revealing her face. She didn’t have definitive features. I could see a thousand colors in her eyes, a hundred different faces, all of which I remembered but couldn’t quite place. She was familiar, like a childhood memory, lost for years, revisited by my consciousness. I stared at her, or more accurately, I stared at the Red Umbrella. It was pointing at my chest within arm’s reach, more vibrant than ever. “We’re ready for you.” My numb body began to sting, like needles pricking my arms and legs, shaking. I extended my hand and grabbed hold of the Scarlet Rod. The woman and I walked through the street together, she had handed me my own umbrella, an excited yellow, a smile hovering above me, keeping me sheltered from the rain. We walked past houses and gardens and schools, until we came across a weary building. I noticed an open window, curtains ruffled in the wind like butterfly wings. In the shadows of the room, I could just make out two figures, one fixated on the ceiling, cascaded by snowy sheets, the other knelt beside the bed, gripping the resting figure’s limp hand. “What’s happened?” I asked the woman as we continued along the path together. She was silent. Buildings became trees, thick forests of emerald with dancing birds calling out from their hiding places. The rain had stopped, and the woman turned to me, finally with an answer to my greatest question. “You’ve finally gone to sleep.


They had come by mail. Special jewelry. Kira had received them from her aunt, a real world traveler. Every year she came by for Kira's birthday with the best stories. She had already announced that this jewelry had a very special story. Her aunt couldn't wait to tell her, but because her own flight was delayed, the jewelry would arrive earlier. Kira opened the box carefully. It was late and the house was dark. So when Kira opened the box she didn't expect much. To her surprise, the jewelry gleamed as if a lamp hung above the box. Pearls, framed by gold, as stud earrings, a gold chain, bracelet and two rings. A women's and men's ring. Was that possible? Kira couldn't believe her eyes. Did she dream about so much beauty? She quickly closed the box again. Tomorrow her aunt would arrive and she had to pick her up from the airport early. Kira carefully put the box on the table. The living room, with its sloping walls, seemed lighter even with the closed box. The full moon stood out through the window, which seemed to be focusing precisely on the jewelry. With a click, Kira started closing the windows one by one. She stood with her back to the jewelry, locked the front door halfway up, then closed the windows on the other side. The last window wouldn't close. Kira tried to use more force, but her height made a difficult task. Suddenly, something seemed to move in the opening of the window. On the right, halfway down the middle. Kira was startled, let go of the window and jumped against the sofa. There was a hand and the fingers moved. Kira let out a little scream and put her hand to her mouth. Was anyone trying to get in? She looked around quickly. The other windows were closed. There was a tapping. Thick drops fell on the sloping windows and the hand began to move further down. An arm was now visible and a second hand seemed to be added. In the background there was a rumble in the air. A bright flash lit up the room. For a moment, a silhouette was clearly visible. Halfway out there was clearly a man outside. Both his arms were inside now, and he tapped the angled windowsill with his hands. His eyes were not visible. Would he even know that Kira was there? BOOM. Crackling sounded from all sides. Kira saw the light sprout from below. Lightning had struck. Everything was dark. Kira wanted to wake up from this nightmare. She squeezed her own arm in panic. That's supposed to work, right? She began to breathe faster and looked around in the dark. Only the jewelry seemed to glow. That was strange. She tried to move towards the jewelry, but her feet seemed glued to the floor. The sofa she was standing against seemed to sway with her movements. She felt as if she were trapped on the deck of a ship. She stared fearfully at the window again. Waking up was not an option, she had to see the man enter. Waiting in the pitch darkness she knew he was going to see her. Would he hurt her? Was he here because of the jewelry? She heard the man breathing heavily and saw drops of water fall to the floor through the window. There was a splash and shortly afterwards a leg appeared through the opening of the window. It wouldn't be long before the man was inside. I don't want, I don't want, I don't want to. Kira began to mumble. She squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the back of the sofa with her hands. The structure of the fabric, soft with occasional fluff, got through to her. If only she had a weapon. A bat or something else to protect herself. Her hands felt further on the sofa. An elongated object, cold to the touch, appeared to have appeared on her sofa. It was a bat! The man was now inside and walked past Kira to the jewelry. He leaned over the table and took the box with both hands. Kira held her breath, turned and raised the bat high in the air. "Stop!" In the doorway, in a midnight blue robe, stood her aunt. “Wake up, girl. It's the jewelry that is making a fool of the new owner. ” Kira stared at her aunt. The bat in her hands disappeared. Kira woke up with a start. She sat up on the couch with the jewelry box on her lap. A buzzing sound had roused her from sleep. A text message from her aunt. “I'm almost there, do not open the jewelry without me.


It’s the start of summer and a baby yellow jacket named Higg is born amongst many siblings. He looks up to his mother, the queen, and the many other workers in the hive for food and support. High continues to grow big and strong and the nest, originally only occupied by the queen, now has thousands of members. But the queen has grown tired and weak. In August, just a few months after the baby yellow jacket was born, He loses his mother and queen. Higg does not know why he was born or what he is supposed to do with his life. He has started wondering “what is my purpose?”. And with that he decides to leave the nest and find his purpose . The first creature the yellow jacket comes across is a honey bee, this bee looks just like him and is flying out of a beautiful red flower, Higg stops and asks the honey bee, what is that you’re doing? The bee lights up with pride and tells the yellow jacket that she is “saving the world one flower at a time”. The bee explains that it pollinates different plants and flowers helping them to spread and grow. “Without bees there is no food and no planet”. Higg was overjoyed to hear that a creature so similar to him had such an important role in the world, he asked if he could follow the honey bee and try to learn to pollinate plants too. The honey bee tried and tried to show Higg how to pollinate but o matter how hard he tried he was not able to do what honey bees do and with a disappointed heart he left the honey bee and flew on to continue his search for his purpose. Soon after he was feeling thirsty and decided to land by a nearby river for a drink. After a refreshing sip he noticed a big dam built further down the river. Higg flew over to see a beaver chewing branches and building this dam higher and higher. The yellow jacket asks the beaver why he is doing that and the beaver tells him that it is “creating an ecosystem”. The beaver says that the trees he cuts down bring sunlight to the Forrest and the pond he creates with his dam improve water quality, helping flourish and even prevent Forrest fires. Higg can’t believe that one creature can do all of these amazing things, he asks the beaver to show him how to make a dam but the yellow jacket cannot even break one tree branch down. He sadly realizes that this cannot be the purpose of a yellow jacket and flies away to keep looking. Higg gets hungry and lands on the ground in a nearby dirt patch to scoop up some smaller insects for lunch. He comes across an earthworm plowing across the soil. The yellow jacket asks the earthworm what it is doing and the earthworm replies that it is making the earth new. The earthworm says that it can make soil much more fertile by recycling dead plants and creatures and freeing up space in the dirt it moves through. Higg tries to eat the dead plants and organisms but cannot create fresh soil, he tries to move through it to create space for water to flow through he can’t burrow through any of the dirt. He becomes fed up with this and flys away losing hope that he’ll ever find his true purpose. The yellow jacket decides to fly further then he has ever been and finds himself in a strange place outside of the woods with streets and houses, he looks for something familiar and finds a grassy backyard to rest. There Higg sees a dog playing with a human, when the dog brings back a stick the human pets it with their hand. Higg approaches the dog and asks what it is doing. The dog tells him that it’s man’a best friend and it’s purpose is to provide support and love to humans. Higg thinks that this is very interesting, no other animal that it has met has done anything like this. Higg decides to give it a try and flys next to the humans hand like the dog did the human swats at him. Higg barley dodges the hand and is terrified that he was almost hit by the human . It flies upward towards the humans face and the human swats again, this time getting even closer but Higg moves out of the way just in time. The human begins to angrily shout “ stupid yellow jacket, these things are useless, they serve no purpose”. At this point Higg realizes, that maybe after all his searching yellow jackets do not have a purpose after all, he feels an angry shaking twitch in his stinger. He points it directly at the human and flys full speed into it. Higg stings the human and it yells at the top of its lungs OW and with power and speed smacks Higgs against its arm. Higg falls to the ground and glances up at the clouds one more time before a large boot smashes down.


So I bumped into my favorite teacher from high school while getting coffee earlier today. Reminded me of an old story... Okay. I don’t want to get this dude in trouble so I’m not gonna use his real name. Let’s just call him, Professor Projector. Because he really loved his digital projector. Anyways, I had Professor Projector for history in ninth and tenth grade. Best teacher ever, man. Dude used to download illegal versions of video games on his computer and let me and my friends play them during our free periods. Plus, sometimes he’d just let us go to his room during study hall and move all of his desks out of the way to play hackey-sack for 42 mins. Like, for real, best teacher ever. But, yeah, story-wise, it was the day of the big homecoming pep rally, when I was in 11th grade. A few of my friends and I were all down in this hidden cage room behind the cafeteria decorating tee shirts and doing other stuff to get ready for the big assembly in the gym later that afternoon. In reality, we weren’t really actually doing anything. We were just pretending to get shit ready as an excuse to get out of class and hang out with the hot chicks in the cage room. Then, suddenly, this one troublemaker showed up. We’ll call him, Andy. And Andy opened up his bookbag to reveal a giant box of wine. So, one thing led to another, and before I knew it; we were all down in this cage room, drinking boxed wine, out of repurposed Fruitworks bottles. So, a couple of hours passed, and it was almost time to head over to the gym for the pep rally. And I was pretty fucking drunk, you guys. Was kinda stumbling. Slurring. Craving Mighty Taco. I had to pee so I left the cage room and went to the bathroom. And when I got back; all of my friends were gone. So now I was hammered and stumbling through the halls of my high school alone. The announcement was made saying for everyone to head to the gym. People immediately came rushing out of every classroom. The halls were flooded. The entire school started spinning in my head. But then a hand grabbed my shoulder. I looked up. Professor Projector. He was like, “Hey Ian, you look lost.” I just kinda stared at him for a second, and then I was like, “I’m looking for Mighty Taco.” He looked at me. He leaned in. He looked closer at me. Then he was like, “Ian...are you drunk?” And I was like, “Uhh..no I mean maybe kinda”. Professor Projector flipped out and pulled me into an empty classroom. He started shouting about how I could be suspended or expelled. Dude was seriously pissed off. I said something about just wanting Mighty Taco again, and I honestly thought he was gonna murder me. But he didn’t. Instead, Professor Projector just took a few minutes to calm down. And then he was like, “Alright, here’s the deal. You stay BY MY SIDE for this entire pep rally. You talk to ABSOLUTELY NO ONE. By not turning you in right now; I’m putting MY ASS ON THE LINE. DON’T SCREW ME!” And just like that, Professor Projector and I left the classroom and began making our way to the gym. I was literally struggling to walk straight so he had his fucking arm around me keeping me up. People tried talking to him or me, but we just kinda ignored them and kept moving. We made it the assembly. He got us up to our seats in the stands. And then BOOM. I just like immediately passed out. Ya know, with like my head on his shoulder or whatever. He woke me up when the pep rally ended. He dragged me down the stands and out of the gym. He found some of my friends. He threw me at them. And he was just like, “Guys, get Ian the hell out of here right now!” I remember being a little worried about the whole situation when I got to school the following Monday. But, fortunately, Professor Projector never told anybody, and, instead, he just punished me his own way. So, for the next two weeks or so, instead of video games and hackey-sack during my free periods; it was just helping this dude put together PowerPoint presentations for his god damn digital projector. So, yeah, that’s the story of the time a teacher caught me drunk at school and just went above and beyond to have my back and make sure my stupid ass didn’t get in any actual trouble. And I’ve never forgotten it. Finally, as just a little bookend to this, when the time eventually came for me to graduate from high school; they allowed students to request their diploma be given to them on stage by a specific teacher if desired. So, naturally, I requested that Professor Projector be the one to hand me my diploma. And so he did. On stage at Artpark, in front of everybody. And, when I got back to my seat and opened it; I discovered that, inside, he’d hidden a gift certificate to Mighty Taco.


What would it be like to live someone else’s last day on earth? With no body of my own, I can only borrow one when the human is closest to the gates between life and death, and that occurs only on their last day. I’ve died hundreds of times, and yet, the only one I remember is my own. Death doesn’t appreciate it when I take over someone else’s consciousness. He insists I should give them that precious time to spend with their loved ones. I disagree. Most of them know that they’re already dying, and most of them have given up. All I do is give them a moment of peace before they find their way through the Afterlife. Why do I do this? Well, it’s simple really. I have what most other trapped spirits have: unfinished business. I can’t pass over until I’ve completely fulfilled my purpose as determined by Fate. This is my chance to finish. “You have to return the body by midnight,” Death stood next to me, the usual judgmental frown pasted on his grey lips. “I know, you don’t have to remind me every time,” I readjusted my host’s hat, not satisfied with how her bangs fell on my face, but it was a minor detail I was willing to overlook for the time being. “You forgot one time...more like twelve times, but who’s counting.” I turned to the well-dressed man, his pale skin offset by strikingly amber eyes. He always found a way to highlight all my past flaws and follies. He held them over my head as if I were a criminal, which wasn’t too far from the truth, but still. It hurt. “I won’t forget this time. And it was eleven.” “No, I'm fairly sure it was twelve. I had to lead the poor spirit back to its home and move the body accordingly.” Death was not amused. I slipped on a pair of green sneakers and tossed the hat back onto the bed. “I didn’t forget to return the body, I remembered. I just really wanted to stop for some chicken nuggets and the wait time kind of screwed me over.” Death’s sigh made me chuckle. I got on his nerves, and that was a major achievement for me. Not every ghost can say that they cause him as much trouble as I do. If they had trophies for this, I’d be the three time champion. Back to back to back. Undefeated. “Technicalities,” Death ran a hand through his thick, ebony hair. “Just be back here, I don’t want to have to run around looking for a body that you can’t even help me find.” “It’s not my fault I lose all memories of my host’s death. If anything, it’s your fault.” He sat on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He mouthed something in Latin that I didn’t quite catch, but I assume it was frustration. “Do what you need to do Cyra, I’m getting tired of your inability to cross over.” His words stung me. After all these years of pestering and following him, he still didn’t get it. I couldn’t cross over because I couldn’t complete what Fate required of me. If I did, I’d disappear forever. What would the point be? Death didn’t know what I had to do; that was between me and Fate, but sometimes she was cruel. I had to find love. This was kind of difficult when I had a different face every day, and never spent an extended period of time in one spot. Honestly, it was kind of impossible, or so I thought. The one thing that remained consistent from body to body, day to day, was Death. I remember when we first met, when he took my hand and pulled me into a dimly lit room. I had so many questions, but he was patient. He seemed tired, uninterested, as if he were engaged in some monotonous aspect of life. Which is what I imagine death is, at least to him. Collecting souls was menial labor, that’s why he had Reapers guide typical souls to their permanent resting places. Death only ever personally dealt with souls like mine, the Incompletes. He set up a meeting for me with Fate, and told me to listen to her instructions. Then, I’d be able to rest. So I did, but I never expected her to curse me the way she did. “You have to fall in love,” she told me. “But...they also have to love you.” “How am I supposed to find a lover when I’m dead?” I asked, almost outraged by her decree. She only shrugged. “That’s not my place to say. It’s what you have to do if you want to complete your life and pass over. I’m sorry.” A moment of silence passed before she spoke again. “Not all souls decide to pass over. If you really wanted, you could remain on earth as an incomplete spirit. It can be quite fun, from what I hear.” “No,” I interjected. “I want to go. There’s nothing for me here.” “Then good luck. Feel free to take a mint on your way out.” I spent six years trying to leave this place, and I was unsuccessful every day. Honestly, I didn’t see the point in trying, until Death personally stepped in to help me. He gave me advice about possession, stayed by my side when I needed him, and would keep me from having too much fun. For the longest time, he was a glorified babysitter. Then our dynamic shifted. It was recent, about a month ago, and I had just forgotten where I left a body again. This time was especially disorienting though, and I was lost. For a while, I forgot everything: who I was, what I was doing, I didn’t even realize I was dead. Then I saw Death approach me and something clicked. I knew his sullen face, permanent exhaustion evident in his stern gaze, five o’clock shadow that tickled my forehead when he drew me close. “You’re not supposed to still be in there when your host dies,” he whispered to me. “You leave. I don’t care if you return the body, but you have to leave it before midnight.” I don’t remember much after that. I think he left me on some grave in Pennsylvania, and when I woke up I felt better. My only memory of that night was the simple words he whispered to me. I never asked him about it because it felt like a dream. But ghosts don’t dream. It was real. And that was the moment I knew I was in love with Death. Maybe that’s why I kept up with possession. He was always there to make sure I left my host, so I always got to see him. Most times, he seemed tired of my antics, but he kept coming back. I sometimes wondered if there was more to it, but he always seemed a little too eager to get rid of me. But he is the one. The cruel irony of it all is that if I said anything to him, I'd lose him forever. I asked him one time, what happened when I passed over, if I’d ever see him again. He got quiet, and avoided the question. I think we both knew the answer. And so we had a mutual understanding, an unspoken rule of sorts. We wouldn’t talk about it, wouldn’t act on it, but still spent as much time as we could together. I loved him, but I knew I had to leave. I feel like Fate knew I was ready to pass on a while ago, but even she has a sliver of humanity. She was giving me enough time to say goodbye, in whatever way I felt appropriate. And so there I was, on my last day, sitting in the cemetery. I had the note I had written laid down on a tuft of lush grass. There were no flowers, no other surrounding pops of color. The sole attention was drawn to the letter, encased by a pale blue envelope. The few words I had slid onto the paper were carved into my mind. “Dear Death, Disappearing is terrifying. You never told me how scary it all is. I almost wish I could stay in the In-Between, never crossing over, but I think we both know that’s not an option at this point. Before I go, I just want to say thank you for helping me. You made my last days as perfect as they could be, and I owe you one. So, if you’re ever in the Afterlife, whatever that may be, come find me. I want to say that I’ll remember you, but I don’t know that much. If I don’t, help me to. Be patient, and trust me. I’m not as dumb as I look. I love you. Cyra.” I glanced at the watch on my wrist and swallowed. Eleven fifty-four. Six minutes. I wanted to run back to him, hold him as I said goodbye, but I knew that would only make it hurt more. He would find my host’s body, see the letter, read it, and come find me one day. At least I hoped he would. I knew he would. He had to. I laid down next to the letter, gazing one last time at the deep ocean above me. I’d miss this place. I miss him already.


(IP) The Heart of the Red Flower The boy cowered before the giant troll, horrified by its bumpy, mossy skin and horned head. “What do you want? Why are you here? Trolls are supposed to stay within the bounds of the forest,” The boy said, cupping the seedling in his hands. He knew the legends: trolls lived everywhere within the world, and they ate humans. Didn’t they? The troll looked down at the boy with warm, smiling eyes. “I’m different from the other trolls,” The troll rumbled, its eyes on the seedling. “I need that plant, so I can appease The Darkness. She’s hungry, you see, and that plant will sate her enough that she won’t hurt us anymore.” The boy stared at the troll, uncertain. “But I found it, it’s mine.” “I will help you find another,” The troll murmured, smiling down at the boy kindly. “I am not here to harm you, little one.” The boy was afraid, but he could sense the truth of the troll’s words. He looked down at the little sprout, glowing a dull gold. “What if I go with you?” The boy asked, and the troll frowned, thoughtful. “It would be very dangerous. We will be going through The Forest of Mirrors and the Thundercloud Pass. Are you sure you want to do this?” The troll said at last, and the boy nodded. Something was telling him that he had to accompany this troll on its journey. He was also brought up short: He knew the stories of trolls and the rest of fey kind. They told lies and stole babies from their beds, never to be seen again. But this one was clearly different. All it had asked was for the seedling. The boy had grown it himself, watering it and tucking it into the soil. It was his. But something was telling him that this gentle giant needed it more. “I want to go with you, regardless of cost,” The boy said at last, and the troll smiled, revealing sharp, stained teeth. “Very well. We shall set out on the morrow.” \*\* The troll quickly discovered that his new traveling companion was a bright, curious child, asking constant questions. It was strange for him; he hadn’t been around younglings of any kind for centuries. “It is beautiful here,” The boy said, as they came to the path that led through Thundercloud Pass. Thunder boomed, and heavy purple clouds adorned the mountains like circlets of amethysts. Rain pounded down upon them, relentless, and the troll insisted the boy walk with him, protecting him with his hard, bumpy skin. The thunder was so loud and insistent that the troll couldn’t hear himself think. The deluge was such that both travelers were soon soaked, and the boy was shivering, his teeth chattering. “The Darkness is on the other side of the Mirror Forest,” The troll said, having to shout to be heard. But when they finally came to the end of the pass, there was a woman standing there, clothed all in black. “Did you truly believe that you’d go on some harebrained quest and I wouldn’t find out? You’re betraying your people, and for what? The Darkness’s empty promises?” Her voice was a seductive purr, throaty and soft. “She said that she needed The Heart of the Red Flower,” The troll replied, sweeping the boy behind him so he was out of sight. “All the Darkness does is lie, and you’d do well to know that. You never were one of us, and this is the proof.


When I was eighteen, I moved out of my parents’ place and into this big beat up house in the city with four of my best friends. The house was massive, which was awesome, but it was also located in literally the worst area imaginable. Just like the single most dangerous part of the city. So, with that in mind, I figured maybe I’d tell you a quick little funny story about something that happened to me while I was living at this house with my buddies. And I’ll try my best to keep it short. Okay. So, again, I was eighteen. However, the friends I moved in with were all a year or two older than me. Therefore, sometimes they’d travel across the nearby border to Canada where you could drink at 19. And I did have a fake ID, but I still only looked about eleven, so I’d usually just hang back. And I’d simply hope that they’d return with, ya know, like some bitches or whatever. So, one Friday night, I got home at like 1am or so. My roommates were all in Canada. I figured I’d just chill and get blazed out while waiting for them to return. I started smoking weed and practicing my Mario Kart skills for a while. Now it was probably just shy of 2am. It was springtime out, first warm night we’d had in a while. I already had all the windows open. I decided to head out onto my front porch to smoke a cigarette. And that’s when the second most frightening thing to ever happen to me while I l lived at this house occurred. I stepped onto my front porch. I lit my cigarette. And I turned to sit down on the chairs we had out there. BUT...there was a dude. A scary dude. Just sitting there. A scary dude just sitting there on my porch. A big, very intimidating, bouncer at a nightclub looking, scary dude, just sitting there, on my porch. Now, if it’s not clear, I had no fucking clue who this scary dude was. He really was just a random guy sitting on my porch in the worst part of the city at two o’clock in the morning. And, keep in mind, I was home alone...and now high as fuck. So, ya know, I was kinda frightened. I figured he might rob me. Or hurt me. Or...worse. But I tried to hide my panic. And I just said... “Hey. What’s uhh what’s up, buddy?” “Hey man, sorry,” he responded. “I just really needed to sit down for a second.” I was like, “Oh... ... ...alright.” He was like, “Smells like you’ve been smoking something good inside.” “Maybe...” I replied cautiously. He just laughed. And then he pulled out a joint. So, I don’t remember much about what transpired over the next hour or so. But I know that when my friends finally got back from Canada; they found me and scary dude sitting inside, fucking with some Mario Kart together. I recall my one drunken buddy shouting, “Who the fuck is this guy?!” And me just being like, “Don’t worry about it; he’s cool.” So scary dude stuck around for another hour or so, but then he left. And then I told my friends about how I’d met him on our front porch earlier that night. And they all, naturally, flipped the fuck out on me. Like, Ian, why are you letting random dudes into our house?!? He’s gonna come back and rob us!! Or hurt us!!! Or...worse!!! And, like, I had to admit they had some good points. Probably shouldn’t be letting random scary dudes inside. So, for the next few weeks, my friends were all pissed at me, and they all just insisted on being super careful to lock our doors and look over our shoulders. I kept telling them not to worry about it because he was cool. But they were still convinced scary dude would return one day. And...sure enough...about a month later... We were having a party. A big party. We’d had a shitload of parties at our house, but this was like the biggest one ever. There were so many fucking people there. I was squeezing my way through the hallway when I saw a commotion going on by the front door. I finally reached the entrance, and then I looked up to see the last person I was hoping to see... A cop. Scratch that, a fucking shitload of cops. They said, “Do you live here?” I said, “Yeah.” They spun me around and put me in handcuffs saying they were sick of breaking up our underage drinking parties. They shouted asking who else lived in the house. And I just watched as my four best friends and roommates all kept their mouths shut. Like dicks. So the cops drove me down to the station. As they were bringing me inside, they told me it was a super busy night, and that I shouldn’t plan on leaving the holding cell until the following morning. As we approached the holding cell; I saw 12 to 15 men already standing inside of it. And they saw me. And that’s when the top most frightening thing to ever happen to me occurred. A big biker looking guy, right by the cell door, looked at me square in the eyes, and just said, “You’re sleeping next to me tonight.” I was like, “Oh fuck.” The cell door opened, the cops shoved me inside, the biker guy licked his lips and immediately went to grab me... But then... “DON’T TOUCH HIM.” A loud voice boomed from the corner of the jail cell. I looked over. And I saw my hero. Scary dude. “What do you care about this little punk?” biker guy yelled back. “Don’t worry about it,” scary dude replied. “He’s cool.” THE END Thanks for reading, you guys.


They come for everyone, they’ve come for lowly peasents, witty balladeers and even for kings. They are the INEVITABLE but this time they’ve come for him, where are they going to take him? to hell? to heaven? He had already seen everything here. What difference is it even gonna make? They don't share the complex view of justice and morality that the mortals have. Their judgement will always be as simple as black and white for they are the duality - day and night, light and dark, life and death. Evil, lesser evil, greater evil that is all the same to them. The white one always roots for the mortals; she loves them and the black one, he simply doesn't care for them, they are but play things to him. An eternity of pain and agony or pleasure and joy decided with just a coin, a salient decision decided by chance. Oh! But the coin always lands on the right side. They are very reckless with the fate of the dead by leaving the decision to chance but the verdict is always unerring. But this time they each really wanted him taken to their own domain. For a very long time they haven't seen someone like him. Even in death he looks so magnificent and valiant. They didn't want his judgement to end in a toss of a coin, they wanted to seize this moment so this time they chose a game of will - chess. The white one as always intended had the first move… *Somewhere in the slums of a dying city a little boy is happy. He loves stories. That day he stumbled upon a book full of stories, he actually stole that from a kid from the rich side of the city. He opens the book with a mouth full of smiles. He was awestruck by what he saw in the book, it was a painting. He caught a glimpse of heaven that day. Amidst all the ugliness and injustice around he had hope that one day he would create paradise for him and his people.* As said the white one really loves the mortals, she started the game off with a pleasent and motivating memory but conflicting to the character of the black one, he cared for this mortal he wanted him in his realm. He started to dig out the darkest things the mortal has ever committed. He made his move.... *Only when he was 17 years old the mortal led a revolt against the king. He carried the wrath of all his people - The untouchables of an unlovely society. The courtiers and their men had no chance against his rage for he carried the wrath of hell to create heaven on earth. The king surrendered, he won. As a groundwork for his paradise he could’ve spared the king and his family he could’ve given them a chance but he didn't. His heaven’s bedrock was drenched in the blood of the undeserved.* The white one wasn't impressed, the black one always brings up the worst from the people. She knew that this mortal couldnt be defined with only this moment, she had hope in him. She made her next move. *When he was 25 years old, he looked out from his castle windows, all he could see was a thriving kingdom prospering under his regime. He got married to the most gorgeous woman in the kingdom and he loved her with all his heart. Though the kingdom was flourishing under his rule it still didn't even come close to what he had envisioned.* The black one was eager to make his next move as he knew what the mortal had done. He loves to point out the holes in the holy. He made his next move. *He is now the greatest king the kingdom has ever seen. He is king now but back then he was the mockery of a failed kingdom, the royals would cringe at the sight of him and his people because deep down they knew it was their ugly and corrupt selves that brought this upon their own people. He will not be like his predecessors. He craved for greatness, he waged war against other kingdoms. His thirst for conquest and victory got unquenchable. He left a trail of blood and tears on his way. He said to himself that this was for the greater good of his people and their paradise. He was so determined to not be like his predecessor but he turned worse.* *He became a tyrant.* The white one swiftly made a move and pointed out that the kingdom he conquered was joyful and delighted under his rule. The black one pointed to the rebels and conspirators fighting for their motherland only to spill more blood of the innocent and he made a move. This went back and forth for a while until the game ended in a stalemate… *The mortal is now 50 years old, he still wasn't satisfied with his paradise. He has now laid siege to the last and only standing fort against him. This is the final chapter of his conquest, after this he has no town to raid, no fort to siege and no rivals to challenge him. He wanted to savor his last conquest.* *They surrendered to him, his final enemies knew they are but practice for him. He has defeated far more powerful enemies than them. Their surrender rendered him fruitless. So he did it, he did what every sensible tyrant would do, he burned the fort down.* *Amidst all the blazing fire, while all his men were celebrating he stood idle with no purpose. A very little boy approached him, clenching a book to his chest, he asked if his father would be killed. The mortal assured the boy that his father had already surrendered to him and for that he would live.* *He took the boy’s book, it was the same book that changed his life. He is still wonderstruck from that illustration of the paradise. He reminisced about his old days of glory. hoping to feel nostalgic, he turned the page… he saw an image very unappealing and opposed to the previous image - he saw hell, an illustration of it. It felt familiar for him, he looked around him and saw hell. All these years he had only been marching forward leaving a trail of blood and death, he never once stood and looked back at the chaos he had been causing. He was too caught up in what he was giving; he forgot what he was taking.* *It was too late, the hell he created spawned a lot of demons. When he turned to look back at what he did, his back was exposed to those fiends.* *He was assassinated at a political gathering where he intended to free all those kingdoms he conquered.* And now he lies lifeless on a royal bed surrounded by those who wronged him. He lies there lifeless with a metaphysical chessboard with pieces that are stalemated. The disparities knew that the stalemate could mean only one thing….. The mortal lives.


There once was a being plagued by immortality, in a likewise unending void. They traveled the uncaring constellation of stars, asteroids, planets, quasars and whatnot, looking for meaning. They eventually found out there was no meaning but fact, and as such, found meaning in learning. And so they learned. Learned and learned, for millennia, digging into the fabric of reality. But the further they dug, the further they distanced themselves from their original basis of knowledge. They were forgetting at a quicker pace than they were remembering. And it seemed the pace of their forgetting increased the more they learned. This broke them, as they eventually grappled with the fact that they could never learn all the secrets of the universe. That their own *self* was but an iteration to be forgotten. This led to an apathy that consumed their entire being. In this dulled state of complete indifference, they eventually forgot **everything.** And as such, were reborn anew in their own ignorance. Their hunt for knowledge began once more, and so the cycle continued for an inconceivable amount of time. But as infinity has it, every possible possibility must be entertained, and eventually, this cycle suffered a chain-breaking variation. They learned how to retain their knowledge. How to combat the entropy of information within their own mind. Through ingenuity and persistence, they constructed the means to store all the information they carried within their mind. It became an ever-present chore to expand this storage, and the larger it grew, the quicker they gained knowledge, and the more they had to expand. This went on for eons, until they had learned every secret of the universe. Until every question was answered. Reality itself was as transparent as nothing. As such, this being had lost their meaning. There was no more knowledge to search for. The only information they stored was the observation of the trivial and rather predictable evolution of space in front of them, as well as a whole lot of random, quantum indifference. The sliver of happiness left within this being faded as they realized their search had reached its definite end, and that there was nothing left for them to do but exist. They fell into a catatonic state no different than the one they found themselves in when first realizing the limitations of their memory. And there was no way to end it, their immortality as unshakable as the constants of reality. It seemed there was no way for them to be released by death; in whatever form it could possibly take. To reset their memory would only lead to the same outcome they found themselves in, and this unending cycle was not desirable in its entirety, although the being did find it tempting to submit to ignorance. That was when they found a new solution. They continued their search for knowledge; now reduced to a fervorous observation of **everything.** They stored all the seemingly useless information in their ever-expanding mind, investing resources into compressing said information. After years, they finally fulfilled their plan, as their immensely information-packed mind collapsed into a singularity. Within this singularity, existed a new universe.


The price for a gallon of gas is always stated on the sign out front, but it doesn’t really matter anyway.This is the only gas station for miles around. In cities they’re everywhere, constantly competing with their enemies across the street (I always wondered why anyone would ever go to one that wasn’t the cheapest, and yet the stations on all four corners would stay in business) but out here we have no competition and no need to seduce customers with a bargain. We are the kind of place you find on long road trips, the kind of place that might as well stop existing the moment it disappears from your rearview mirror, leaving you with nothing but a Kit-Kat wrapper in your glove box. To you we are a liminal space, a temporary plane of existence. But to us, you are temporary people, liminal beings. You drive up and park and get out the car and stretch your legs, you get a Kit-Kat and pay with two twenties and ask to get the rest on number 5, you’re disappointed at how much change you get back because today gas costs three dollars and eighty cents a gallon which seems high but you were desperate and had no other options. You get in the car and drive off. Maybe you made it home safe. Maybe you didn’t. It makes no difference to the gas station, because you stopped existing the moment your car disappeared over the hill. Another customer comes in and gets a Gatorade, another asks for the bathroom, another asks for directions, which seems silly because there’s only one road here and two directions you can go, and you’ve already come from one of them. One day I saw a white Corolla drive up. It came from the South and stopped for gas, the driver was a young man wearing an orange baseball cap with no logo. He didn’t come inside. I watched him through the dusty window as he pumped his gas. He got back in and took off, and I noticed a bumper sticker. It was black with white letters that read “You mad?” He left and, for all I know, stopped existing. Thirty minutes later, after a couple more nondescript patrons had come and gone, another white Corolla pulled up from the North side and into the lot. The driver of this one was a middle aged lady. There were kids in the backseat. The woman came inside and bought two bags of Corn Nuts, one spicy and one original. She gave me a fifty and asked for the rest to be on pump three. She had thick hands with clubbed thumbs. She filled up, got her change, and then left. I watched her drive away through the window. The car had a bumper sticker, black with white letters, reading “You mad?” Strange. But white Corollas are common cars. Maybe this was a common bumper sticker that I hadn’t previously noticed. Not too strange. I sat behind the counter doing sudoku. Another car drove in from the North. Not a white Corolla, but a big Expedition. An older kid, maybe 12 or 13, got out of the car and ran into the mart. He had three wrinkly one dollar bills in his hand. He said hello to me, which was quite polite. He was wearing an orange baseball cap with no logo. Haven’t I seen a hat like that today? Kid comes to the counter, he wants an ice cream cookie sandwich. “That’s $3.23 after tax,” I say. “Do you have a quarter?” He roots around in his pocket and finds one. As I’m pulling out his two cents change he’s looking down at the scratch cards. “I like your hat,” I say. “Where’d you get it?” He seems surprised I’m talking to him. “Uh,” he stutters, “it was a gift.” “Oh. Well it’s a cool color.” I gave him his change. “Thanks.” He runs out. A man, probably the dad, is still pumping gas. When they’re finished, they drive away like everyone else. There’s a long gap between customers this time. It’s rare for cars to drive by this station without stopping, seeing as we’re so isolated. It’s also rare to see the same person twice, but it’s occurred to me before that it would be difficult to notice. I’ve imagined what would happen if the police or the FBI showed up at this mart, saying a criminal had been through here and asking if I remembered them. I know that I wouldn’t. There’s no way, not unless they had something unusual about them, like some strange clothes or a heavily decorated car. But then again, I would have thought the orange hat and the “You mad?” bumper sticker would have been rare, and there've been two of each in one day. Unless of course they were the same, I chuckled to myself. I imagined two giant factories, one to the North and one to the South, both just out of view of the station. They’d send people back and forth, having them stop for gas, and they’d switch everything up enough just so that I wouldn’t realize they were recycling. It was all just to mess with me. I sat doing my sudoku. The speakers played Kenny Rogers. A white Corolla drove up with a “You mad?” bumper sticker. This time the driver was a big dude with a Hawaiian shirt. He paid with a card, and started to pump his gas. I set my sudoku book down on the counter and left the register and stepped outside. “Hey!” I called out to him. He looked at me with his eyebrows knitted together, like he didn’t want to deal with me. “Can I help you?” he asked. I looked in the backseat of his car. It was mostly clean, save for a couple Corn Nut wrappers. “What does that bumper sticker mean?” “Excuse me?” “Your bumper sticker, what does it mean?” “I don’t know. This isn’t my car, I’m just borrowing it.” “Oh. It’s just that I’ve seen that sticker a lot, and I don’t see a lot of bumper stickers anymore, so I was wondering what it meant.” “Alright,” he said, turning back to his pump as if to dismiss me. I stared at him for a moment. Then I started going to the paper towel and sanitizer dispensers, acting like I was changing them out. He ignored me. I had the keys to the mart in my pocket. I crouched down as if to tie my shoe and when he wasn’t looking I scraped the keys into the paint right above the left back tire, right near the bumper, and made an X about an inch across, hands shaking. I had to be insane. Was this a felony? He didn’t catch me. He got back in the car and drove off, and I went back inside to sit down before my heart pounded out of my chest. Hours passed. Dozens of customers came and went, none in white Corollas. Another man with an orange hat insisted it was a gift and didn’t know where it came from. The sun went down over the desert. I was yawning. Finally, a white Corolla. The driver this time was a woman in mirrored sunglasses. I lost my sleepiness immediately as I left the counter, adrenaline already in my veins. I went around checking the dispensers. Sure enough, when I looked out of the corner of my eye, the car had the bumper sticker. I bent down to tie my shoe and looked for the X. I couldn’t tell right away if I’d seen it. Was that it? It had to be, it was in the same spot, but it looked faded, almost like someone had tried to buff it out. That had to be it. I stood up and looked in the backseat. There was a little girl staring at me with snot on her nose. There were two Corn Nut wrappers on the seat. I looked at the little girl and she looked at me. I wondered who she was and where she came from, and if the woman driving her was even her mother, or if any of these people were even human. I’d say my blood turned to ice but it felt more like I didn’t have blood at all, like it all just vanished and left me empty. I turned away before the mom could catch me staring into the car and went back inside. I needed to sit down. The Carpenters were playing on the speakers now. *“Don’t you remember you told me you loved me, baby.”* I sat down at the counter. My sudoku was lying next to me, dull pencil laying neatly in between the open pages. *“Said you’d be coming back this way again, baby.”* I sighed, picked up the pencil, and kept doing the sudoku. A teenager came in wearing an orange hat with no logo and bought a Kit-Kat. He gave me a wrinkled five dollar bill and I gave him his change. “*Baby baby baby, oh, baby.”* “That’s a cool hat,” I told him. “Thank you,” he said. “It was a gift.


I always thought my life had no meaning. It's as if I was born with no true purpose. No 'helping as many people as I can', or 'make the world a better place'... Nothing. I never had a calling of sorts that attracted and mesmerized someone towards some thing or action. Then one day, as I was coming back home from school, I decided to take a new and unexplored route home. It minimizes the time taken to reach my house by half as compared to the ordinary route. I never took that route before cause Mommy told me that it's really unsafe and dangerous cause it's where 'Monsters have taken shelter after coming out of Hell'. It always scared me very much when I was small but now, I was 15 year old big boy.. I was not getting fooled by some cooked up Monster story.. Everybody knows Monsters are not real.. Also, I thought I was strong enough to kick one or two Monster's butt.. I mean I was a Champion in doing just that on Monster Hunter, so, I can do that in reality too. Still I was a bit scared, but I started walking on that route anyway.. The path was very gloomy at first; dense trees on both sides really blocked majority of the sunlight.. It seemed I was walking through a tunnel after a point... It just got so dark.. Maybe the sun starting to set didn't help much with the light either. Anyways, with such low light and weirdly stagnant surrounding, I started getting a bit tensed up and scared. But I didn't wanna cry and shout 'Mommy, Mommy' like a weak, little kid.. I was 15 now, I was a big boy. So, I mustered up all my courage and started walking a bit faster, trying to find some sort of exit. An hour passed.... Is what I thought at that time while I was practically running to maybe find a glimpse of life, preferably my Mom. But all I saw was darkness, in varying forms of concentration... Sometimes as thick as jelly and sometimes as light as a cloud.. Maybe if I had just calmed down and taken three deep breaths, then, I would have been just fine.. But I started remembering my Mother's warnings and how the Monsters were killers, who just pounded you with their big hammers until you died, laughing while they did it. It was at this moment when I lost it... I began running frantically in zigzags, my eyes filled to the brim with tears, shouting and shrieking 'Mommy, Mommy' at the top of my voice. It felt like the Monsters hidden in the darkness are trying to catch me, so I ran harder trying to find any sort of light. After running for what seemed like ages, I finally found an exit... A portal of light. I was so happy.. Never thought that I would be happy seeing light, but I was... So I ran a bit more... Pushing my failing legs to enter into the portal of illumination. I couldn't stand darkness anymore... Its density was suffocating. So, I gave it my all, physically and mentally and successfully entered into the portal.. At first, all I saw was light.. Blinding, protruding light.. Light so severe that it burns your eyes no matter how tightly you close it.. It seemed like both the forces were out to get me... Like Monsters trying to snatch their prey from one another.. As I walked forward, the light started to lose its intensity and gradually, I could see building like structures.. Little by little, I could make out roads, trees, houses and most importantly people.. Oh! It felt so good seeing humans, that too, kids like me, playing jovially.. As the light faded completely, I saw the place in its entirety and I rubbed my eyes in amazement and delight. It was exactly identical to the town Warhammer in Monster Hunter, my favorite game. The same buildings, the same roadsigns, the same well at the middle of the road with wooden sign, ' Welcome to Warhammer, where Hammers do the talking'. The kids, who I saw playing cheerfully, were actually hammering and hunting down the monsters to complete one level after another, just like in the game itself. It was like a virtual reality game, where everything was so real that your senses get deceived. I couldn't stay away from all of this for long; after all, it was my favorite game. So, just like in the game itself, I picked up a hammer from the hammer shop, located at the center of the town and started whacking one monster after another. It was not entirely identical to the game... I mean, the graphics were much more advanced, with the blood and bones looking much sharper and refined, the Monsters looking very much real with their movements and screams. For some reason, the Monsters looked much more humane than what they looked in the game. All of this added to the game playing experience and I just couldn't stop playing.. Playing this game gave me that purpose which I searched for so long.. It's as if I was born to play this game; as if it was my calling.. Moreover, this VR game is funnier in comparison to the desktop version... Like, when I run after the Monsters to smash them, they run screaming 'Monster!! Monster is coming! Run! 'It's so funny... The Monsters calling me a monster.. It's hilarious.. It's because of these well written dialogues that I cannot stop laughing while playing it and smashing those idiots... I don't know why Mommy would scare me and forbid me from taking this path.. Maybe because she thought I would get addicted to this game and enjoy it too much and continue playing for hours.. Well, she is not wrong..hehe.. I love this place and I have no intention of going back anytime soon... Let's look at how many more Monsters do I have smash to clear this level... The Monster board says, 7.6 billion... Wow, that's so many monsters.. I can't even count the number of zeroes that number has... Wait, One, two, three, four, five.... Forget it, I'll figure it out later.. Now, I have to smash some more Monsters and get home soon or I'll get smashed myself hehe.. Now, where do I start? There... Let's start from there.. Hey, that Monster kinda resembles my mom...


I began, at 7 AM, by placing the mirrors I bought on the dewy grass in front of our little yellow house, and stomping on each one with the heel of my boot, one after the other, trying each time to get a perfectly symmetrical spiderweb-shatter, failing worse with each attempt. 7:04 AM to 9 AM was spent picking mirror shards out of wet grass so that the neighbor kids didn’t step on them with their bare feet. I spent 9 AM to noon purchasing a black cat on Craigslist, bringing it home, then patting its bottom lightly with my hands, gently encouraging it to cross my path as many times as possible. It got fed up with me after about 40 path-crossings, so I gave it a little milk and let it rest in our bed. Then I went to our kitchen and dumped a few saltshakers out onto our floor, making sure not to throw any over my shoulder. I left the pile on the linoleum. I spent the afternoon with an A-frame ladder open in our living room, walking back and forth through its legs again and again, an opened umbrella in my hands, the waterproof fabric getting loudly pinched by the ladder every time I walked underneath. I did this for about three hours, following the same path, wearing deep grooves into the thick, cream-colored carpeting. I escalated from there, down in our unfinished basement with grey concrete walls and floor and foam soundproofing on the doors and windows. I had ordered quite a few religious symbols--crucifixes, statues of Jesus and Buddha and the saints, bibles, Qur’ans, copies of the Vedas, the Torah, everything sacred I could get my hands on--and on the evening of that day, around 6 PM, I loaded my (licensed) handgun, put on noise-cancelling headphones, and unloaded every round I owned into the holy texts and symbols of most major world cultures. I then took off my headphones, laid my weapon on the ground (safety on) and proceeded to jump up and down on the religious items with my aforementioned boots, then set fire to them with gasoline and a lighter. I watched to make sure the fire didn’t spread, spit on the ashes until I was certain my salivary glands were tapped out, then went upstairs, leaving the pile there. It was 8 PM. The sun was almost finished setting and the neighborhood dogs were barking to each other in their sweet, faux-aggressive way. The sound of crickets intermingled with soft voices, drifting in through our open windows from the neighbors’ front porch where they smoked Pall Malls and watched the sun’s slow downward retreat, the horizon turning a grey-purple. I finished my work of nailing the number 13 in place of our old house number (78) and went inside, making sure to leave our door unlocked. I noticed there was a raven sitting on our driveway and silently cheered. I went to our bed and checked on the cat, who was still fast asleep, then kneeled down, lifted up the sheet, and retrieved a baker’s dozen of identical boxes from underneath the bed. I brought the boxes to the living room, the stack teetering in my arms, then gently opened each one and set up their contents in a circle around me. The sun was down now, but I had not turned on any lights. I sat in my dark living room, the only light from the streetlights outside and the full moon, which shimmered over the horizon, perfectly placed so that from where I was sitting it looked like a beach ball, balancing on the chimney of the house across the street. It was 8:30 PM. I reached out and touched the planchette of the Ouija board directly in front of me, hoping the power of the other 12 in the circle would flow through it, and me. I felt the day’s bad luck, cursed actions, and general terrible vibes that I had so methodically gathered running through my veins. Confident in the evil and misfortune I had accrued, I reached deep into my diaphragm and began to speak the words that I had spoken, every night, at 8:30, for the past 391 days. “Hi, honey. If you’re out there--just know--I’ve been really awful today. I’ve broken mirrors, crossed paths with black cats, burned bibles, spit on the spirits--13 Ouija boards, I--I changed our house number--and… if anyone deserves to get haunted, it’s me. I would hate so much for you to come and throw around plates and appear in dark mirrors behind me and whisper evil things in my ear while I sleep and punish me for my transgressions against the spirit world--but I deserve it. I must be the most sacrilegious, evil person alive. I know how much you hated people who disrespect the religious, and how superstitious you were…” I waited. There was only silence. “I shot eight bibles today, hun. With a pistol. And I stomped on them.” Silence. I looked at the planchette in my hands and waited for it to move. Then I looked around at all the other Ouija boards, surrounding me, and looked for any tiny movement, anything. The silence only grew louder. “If you’re here, make a noise.” The icemaker in the kitchen gurgled a little. “Another. Please. I need to know it wasn’t just a fluke.” Silence came, this time pointed and thick, like she was doing it on purpose. “Please, baby--it’s a full moon tonight. I won’t be this unlucky for another month. Just haunt me. Please. Break something. Make the walls bleed. Make me bleed. Anything.” I closed my eyes as tight as they could go and kept my fingers distinctly uncrossed and thought about the number 13 and 17 and 39 and every culturally unlucky number I could think of, and I listened with everything in me for even the slightest noise in our little yellow house, and then I imagined Jesus being eaten by an anaconda, and then I slammed my fists on the Ouija board and begged for my wife to come back and haunt me in terms that are too pathetic to repeat here. Then I sat and listened to the silence for so long that I could hear my heart beating and the fluid circulating through my skull. I packed up all the Ouija boards without moving the planchette to ‘Goodbye’, slid them under my bed, and gave my new black cat a little kiss on the forehead. It was 9:30 PM. Slowly I lumbered into the computer room and sat down. For a split second I saw my reflection in the hazy black of my monitor. My eyes were worn and ragged, my beard patchy, my veins pronounced from the mental exertion of trying to will her ghost into existence. I focused on the gap behind me in my reflection, over my shoulder, hoping she would appear with black pointed teeth and red eyes and talons she would sink into my throat and use to drag me down to hell with her, or wherever she resided. Or maybe she would just walk in through the front door, somehow returned in perfect condition, and I could tell her about all my efforts to get her to haunt me through superstition and desecration for the past year since she passed, and she could laugh and laugh, and know deep in her heart that I loved her more than anything. Then my hand hit my mouse, the monitor flared to life, and the white light of the Amazon home screen obliterated my reflection and my thoughts. Slowly I moved the mouse, transferring my consciousness to my cursor. I forgot my body and my face and let autopilot take merciful control. It was 9:38 PM. I ordered mirrors, and salt, and ammunition, and religious artifacts, and bibles, and Quar’ans, and some cat food for next week. It wouldn’t be a full moon. I wouldn’t be as cursed. But I’d just have to try anyway.


Once upon a time, in a kingdom long forgotten, a girl was born in a suit of armor. Her name was Clang. This was not unusual. It was a dark era, fraught with violence, and the world needed warriors. To be born with armor was considered a great blessing, for it secured her a place amongst the kingdom’s greatest knights. The armor was silver, and covered her whole body from head to foot. It glimmered in sunlight like a freshwater pearl. There were little slits carved in the helmet for her to peer out of, and a sheath for a sword at the waist. Blades and arrows bounced off her as if she was made of stone. If a blow managed to dent it, the armor would mend itself like broken skin. But there was one problem. Though the armor grew with her, it never fit properly. When she took her first steps, clanking across the floor, the greaves pinched and nipped at her heels. Clang fell down in a heap, and cried and cried until her mother came to rescue her. “Oh, my sweet little knight,” her mother had cooed. “The proudest knights are forged in hardship. You’ll learn how to balance all that weight, eventually, and then you’ll be the greatest warrior that ever lived.” And balance she did. She spent hours practicing how to walk, so that the armor would no longer pinch her. She learned to stifle the winces of pain that others could not see. She no longer rattled and creaked with every step, but rather strode with the poise of a knight. Her whole village would come to see her practice on the dueling ground. As Clang wove her way through sword and shield alike, they would think to themselves, “Surely she must be amongst the kingdom’s greatest knights. What honor she will bring to her family, and to us!” All was good, they agreed. All was well. So what if the armor chafed her wrists and ankles until they were bloody raw? So what if the armor cracked and broke when no one was looking? Both children and warriors know instinctively to hide their weaknesses. Clang would often shut herself in her room until her armor mended itself. She knew in her heart that broken armor is not something to show the world. Once, as a child, Clang tried to take off the armor. She had wanted to if her skin was pale like the clockmaker’s boy, who seemed allergic to the sun and spent every summer indoors. She chipped away at her leg until a sliver of skin was exposed. It was the color of warm tea and softly fuzzed like a kiwi. Clang giggled while running her finger along her leg. It tickled! “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Clang dropped her sword in surprise. Her mother was angrier than she’d ever seen her before, angrier than when she had carelessly broken their prized glass window. “I - I wanted to see what color my skin was. I didn’t know anything could be so soft!” “Silly girl. You’re the same color as your father and mother, you know that. It’s unseemly for you to tarnish so great a blessing. Do you know how many people would do anything to wear armor like yours? What would the other families think if they saw you like that?” Clang learned to be grateful. She accepted a posting in the queen’s army, and fought bravely in many battles. She brought home to her family lavender and silver coins and other expensive things. The whole village grew used to the lavishness she bestowed upon them. A marriage was arranged between her and a Queen’s guard with copper plate. In sunlight, the two of them arm in arm were almost too bright to look at. Clang didn’t know the color of his eyes or the shape of his smile. Her parents were unbelievably happy. For a time, it seemed to all that she was invincible. She almost believed it was true. But the weakness of all armor, even the kind you are born with, has always been the person inside. It happened in battle, while she and her fellow knights were buried in muck and mire. One of her comrades, a boy in sky blue armor, had removed a gauntlet from his fist. It seemed impossible - the armor they wear is seamless, and cannot be undone. And yet there he stood, holding a pale, vulnerable fist up to the light. Laughing, armor falling to the ground forgotten, the boy ran between swords and mailed fists as if they did not exist. He was beautiful. She could not help but stare and gawk. It was a different kind of strength - the kind that does not fight wars, but stops them. It seemed she was the only one who felt that way. Anger was written on the faces of her fellow knights, not surprise. More than one of the blades that hacked at the boy were swung by former allies. “What foolishness”, they said. “What use is a sword not grasped? Armor not worn? Who would fight as they always had, if he did not?” The air was thick with their rage. Soon their eyes turned towards Clang. They seemed to ask, “Why do you not jeer with us? What are you?” Clang did not know what she was, nor what she should do. Seeing the boy had lit a cold fire in her belly. She didn’t know beautiful was something she could be. She didn’t know beautiful was something she could want to be. It hurt. It scared her, too, how quickly her curiosity spiraled into something more primal. A need she didn’t know she had. Suddenly, Clang could not breathe. She was confronted with a choice. She could keep on her armor; it was familiar, if not comfortable. Others certainly liked it. For a time, this is what she did. She wore her armor, polished it so that it gleamed softly and oiled its joints so that it moved with silent grace. But no matter how much it sparkled, it always looked lackluster compared to the human she wanted to be. When she was strong, and distracted, the suit was manageable. She got by. But it was in the dark moments, when the suit of armor seemed poor protection indeed against the feelings in her heart, that it became unbearable. The smell of oil and metal filled her mouth, and she wanted to gag. In private, Clang began to take it off. Initially, she needed to tear it open with her sword, but soon she found it fell off her body with ease. She found a whole world that was closed to her before - the feel of sand beneath her feet, the texture of stone, the glossiness of an apple. Her whole body was a riot of color and sensation. Without the armor to weigh her down, she was faster than ever before. She began to notice that she was not the only one who suffered. One night, standing guard for a wealthy merchant, she noticed two lovers sneaking across the grass - one armored, the other not. Clang wondered at their urgency. Without hope for a future, they made a lifetime of love fit into a few whispered words. There were others. A girl who snuck out at night to practice with a spear, and stared at Clang’s armor when she thought Clang wasn't looking. A knight who secretly confided to her that he would rather make music than fight. The simmering anger among farmers who could not raise weapons against the beasts and foul things that plagued their fields. Her fiance did not like that she took off her armor. “Where is the person I fell in love with?” he’d say. Though she tried, she could not convey to him that she was more herself than ever before. One day she found herself striding before the queen herself, armored only in courage. She was nervous, every thought a streak of lightning, every heartbeat a strumming thread of light. But there was no going back. The Queen was outraged. “What is the meaning of this facade? Where is the knight who brought us honor?” Clang bowed low, and held her sword aloft. “With you as always, my Queen.” “But how will you serve without armor? I do not need laymen and women - there are enough farmers and craftsmen in the world. I need warriors, and to shed your natural duties is not only dishonorable, it is deviant.” With a flick of her wrist, she commanded the knights of the court to drag her away. “Look how fast I am,” says Clang, dancing between spear and shield. Though she wore no armor, a sheen of magic covered her body. “Look at how brightly I shine!” She pleaded with the Queen. “I was born with armor, but not with the strength or skill of a warrior. I was not born with the wit that has led me to victory in so many battles. I was not born with the loyalty I have for you, my Queen - it was earned. I can serve the kingdom a hundred times better now that I am free.” It did not matter what she said. Though none of the knights of the court could touch her, she found it impossible to touch their minds in turn. Tradition, she discovered, is the strongest armor a person can possess. Clang was forced to retreat to the edges of the kingdom, hiding from the knights she once served alongside. But she was not alone. The legend of the knight who took off her armor spread from city to village and back again, until even the youngest child in the kingdom knew the name of Clang. Unrest grew. Candlelit conversations pondered the promise of freedom unclaimed. Some said that an unarmored woman claimed Clang’s armor. Others said that her fiance, stricken by grief, shed his armor and forsook his post to find her. There were rumors of Clang and the boy who once wore blue assembling an army to overthrow the Queen. All at once, the kingdom exploded in protest. Knights laid down their arms. Palaces burned, and there was violence in the dark of night. Many dreamed of a world where an individual could grow beyond the circumstances of their birth. Not everyone fought - not even most - but it was enough. The Queen relented. As people began to live more freely, the darkness in the world receded. The world no longer needed people in armor, and as generations passed less men and women were born with it. Instead, children brought into the world strange and beautiful things, as if they reflected the changing course of human history. Clang never returned to the kingdom. Some say she continued to fight for freedom in other lands and other times. Others say she and her fiance found one another, and spent the rest of their lives in peace. All agree, however, that she continued her first, final, and only pursuit - being unapologetically human.


Josephine was preparing sandwiches for Rich and Lily. Although well into their twenties, Josephine still doted on her kids as if they were still in gradeschool. “I’m making sandwiches- do you want one?” asked Josephine as she darted from cabinet to cabinet in the kitchen. Although nothing was urgent, her actions carried a hummingbird’s sharpness as she stabbed at drawer handles with lighting fast, almost panicked movements. Rich was immersed in his phone, furiously typing a message… then tapping the *backspace* key as fast as he could. The rhythmic tapping of *backspace* was distinct from other typing; when hitting it, there was no variation in the tone of his thumb striking the screen. Oddly, he seemed to type faster when his thumbs traveled the full keyboard than when he hit the same key over and over again. Maybe it was the variety of sound that made it feel faster and fuller and more rewarding. “I need to leave soon”, he said. Lily threw a scornful glance at Rich. He always did this. Home from university for just two days and already sitting at the kitchen table as if he owned the place. Their mother did so much for him- how dare he just sit there without helping. “Of course, mom” said Lily. “Cut mine diagonally.” Josephine pulled the peanut butter from one cabinet, a can of tuna from another, and the can opener from the second drawer down. She scolded herself for her mistake, quickly putting the can of tuna back in the cabinet before anyone noticed. She arranged the other two items next to the cutting board. “Rich, your father needs your help over the next few weeks. I don’t think you said you have anywhere to be, so it’ll be nice if you can help him”. She pulled a slice of bread from the bag: moldy. She threw it away and grabbed the next piece: worse. She threw that piece away, too. She grabbed the next few slices and put them in the toaster without looking. “Jesus Christ, Richard” thought Lily, fuming at her brother’s condescending attitude. Here we was, being asked to help- and outright refusing- while she herself was never entrusted with that kind of burden. “Can you get the strawberry jam from the pantry for me?” her mother asked, to which Lily responded by glaring at Rich with renewed hatred. “You people are unbelievable” she seethed. Lily went to the fridge for some orange juice. Something smelled wrong. It was a little like burning but with a sweeter aroma. She poured a glass, replaced the carton, and sat at the table with Rich. He continued to recompose that text message- from the sound of it, about 60 characters long- before deleting it with another 60 muffled taps of *backspace*. He began writing it again. The cat waltzed into the kitchen, soon snapping dry food between its teeth. “Oh- there’s no more water in the cat’s bowl” remarked Josephine as she spread jam on the toasted bread, repeatedly moving the can opener to make space for bread, jars, plates, and knives. Lily clapped back “you always blame these things on me and I’m sick of it.” Josephine put the sandwiches on the table. Lily said “I told you I wasn’t hungry” though it was difficult to hear as her mouth tore a corner off the sandwich. God, how she loathed Rich and his preferential treatment. “It’s just so nice to have my babies back together” cooed Josephine as she loaded the dishwasher, making sure to give the can opener an extra rinse before putting it in.