Have you ever wondered that while you are trying to be patient in all things the all things are really trying out your patience.  The story I want to share begins with a man whose mother and wife loved him too much. One day the man's mother was hospitalized and the man was not worried at first. While in the hospital, his mother told him that she wants to go out of the hospital after four days. The man just thought this is because his mother just wanted to go home. On the fourth day at 12 midnight, the mother had a heart attack. The man was informed on the phone and he rushed into the hospital. When he arrived the doctors were trying to resuscitate the mother. One of the doctor came out to speak to the man and advice that they normally inject 10 vials to a patient within one hour on the resuscitation process. The man asked the doctor, "How many vials have you used on my mom?" The doctor said, "They were injecting the eighth vial when I came out." The doctor left the man and went in. The man who was left in the aisle of the hospital fell to his knees and began praying, "Lord, am I too evil that you suddenly make these things happen and caught me off guard. If there is forgiveness, please give me time to be able to talk with my mother." After praying the doctor came out and said, " The patient was resurrected on the ninth bottle. " The man went in and talked with his mother. He sang her songs from Psalms. In between, he would cry while singing. Though he is married with 3 children he felt helpless like a child in his situation now.  After 9 hours, his mother suffered from the 4th heart attack and left the world.  To make things worst, he paid his last money in the hospital and did not know what to do. As after the hospital comes the burial problem. The man remembered that his mother has bought a cremation plan before and when the man called up the funeral service, he was told that his mom paid for the service for 6 months and discontinued the payment. But as a courtesy they can charge the remaining balance amounting to 125,000 and his mother would be given a funeral and cremation. Although the man has no money left now he agreed with the funeral service and asked them to pick up her mother's body in the hospital. The funeral van came at 2 in the afternoon and they reached the funeral place around 3 in the afternoon.  The man was now contacting his relatives and family friends to inform of his mom's death. At 7 pm, having no money yet to pay the funeral, the man suddenly received a call from his mother's cousin who has just arrived the country from a travel in Europe. The uncle asked the man to go to the accounting room and when the man arrived the uncle told him that he has settled the 125,000 and asked the cashier to write the receipt in the man's name.  After that the man went home with his wife to take a rest. At home his wife told him, "When are you gonna change? Don't you know I am next after your mother. The man thought it was a joke just ignored it and slept. The next morning he went to the funeral first as his wife have to accompany the children to school. When lunch time came, he received a call from his wife asking him to come down and fetch her as she was exhausted.  So the man went down to fetch his wife. On the door of the funeral parlor he saw his wife sitting in the stairs looking exhausted.  The man borrowed a wheelchair and pushed his wife to the elevator and went upstairs.  When they arrived the room, he laid his wife in the big sofa and let her sleep. He went out to make a phone call and when he came back he saw her wife vomited. He quickly called for help and someone said that he should bring his wife to the hospital.  They brought down her wife and called a taxi.  Upon arriving the hospital, his wife was rushed to the emergency room and had an MRI.  When the result came out the doctor advised the man that his wife had suffered stroke. The wife was transferred to an ICU. Everyday for the next 3 days the man would go from the house, to the hospital to the funeral and back.  Until the last day of funeral, on the fourth day of his wife's confinement, the mother was cremated.  The cremation lasted from 10 in the morning until four thirty in the afternoon. At five in the afternoon while the man was locking the ashes inside the vault, the wife's niece called the man and ask where he is as the wife died already a few minutes before she called. The man was so devastated but what can he do. To make things worse, when he arrived in the hospital, he had no money to pay. So he tried to call his brother and ask if he can borrow the money they gathered from the donation they received from the death of their mother. The brother told him that they have talked before that this money should be used to pay the debts their mother left.  So the man continued to call on friends and relatives but there is no answer. It seems the heaven's door was closed. He and his eldest were running up and down the hallway of the hospital until he told his son, son we have been moving but not praying. They prayed together and afterward there is an impression made to the man to call his supervisor.  So he  called up his supervisor and the supervisor told him to stay calm understanding the situation. Then after twenty minutes the HR manager of the company called the man to inform that the company boss and manager have just had a meeting and agreed to send 100k to the man. But because of withdrawal limitation the man informed that the money cannot be withdrawn even if transferred. So they said they will have a meeting again. After twenty minutes, the man received a call again from the HR manager advising him that the HMO card will cover all expenses first so no need to cash out anything. This man has encountered simultaneous trial and there were some resolutions given by heaven but it always seems that trials always comes after some problems resolved. It seems like heaven is trying the patience of every person living on earth. But if we understand this, this is how heaven molds people into good character.  Is your patience being tested? Then rejoice.


           Try working a life of sin sometimes; it can be damn busy. Still can’t say Wake is loaded with stiffs, like some other jobs. I only have one boss to answer to, and he is rarely around. He has too many different clients to bother me.  As for me, a femme with slim hands serving coffee nine-to-five from a stand smaller than the box, I got my shoes –eh, there could be worse. Trust me, I’ve seen them devils and the damned in their suits, be-robed or otherwise. Dress codes don’t work for me; the robes never fit. And brother, they may be small material gains when I get tips, but it is hard currency nonetheless. I don’t have to wait for potential long-term spiritual gain; I make a quick buck and don’t even have to blink to see the benefits. Plus, the business is mine -- on all but paper. I make the goods, reap the quick and easy reward for practically an eternity until I grow tired of this shtick, or stop making a profit. But how could I? This is the business district; if anyone ever needed the unholy charge I serve up, it’s the suits in this soul-anaemic centre. All zombies without it, if you ask me.

I am puzzled by the fact that no one has ever thought of doing this kind of business so close to those who could use it. I remember walking through Pine Street a thousand times, heading for my job at a bigger coffee stand, and thinking how easily I could run a much better business if only I had the means.

There’s only so much hellfire I can dodge, making you antsy as the years stoke the flames. Seattle’s an excellent place to cool your heels for a couple dozen years.  The natural climate control must make it easier here, never too hot… almost.

It was one of those infamously hot days when the sun strikes tangible waves of fire off the asphalt and passing cars. On a summer lunch break, when I was seated across from the awesome sheeting spray of water those around here call a fountain, I finally got my chance.  I had just enviously watched a kid disappear into the fluid doorway that made up the fountain when Mr Molch walked through, the water distorting his image so badly that it made it look like he had just appeared there.

I blinked unfocused, wondering where the boy had gone, and then I saw him dart out the far side, laughing. The heat must have been getting to me. I was running overtime on my break. I thought about getting up, but something about the approaching gentleman made me decide to sit and wait just a bit longer. His fine-featured face was uncharacteristically open. Uncharacteristic for here, a place primarily peopled by soul-shirking puppets on invisible tethers that rarely let them sit still for longer than two seconds. With an ironic smile, he paused as if looking for a likely place to sit. His phone rang, and he removed it from his pocket. He was still looking around and then seemed to locate a small wall space beside me. He continued his walk in his impeccable suit, his briefcase under one arm, and sat fluidly about five feet away. As the conversation ended, his smile never left his face. Why was I bothering to watch him so closely?

I don’t know . My mind moved slowly, probably this insufferable heat, asphalt-like brimstone. The man opened his case as if it contained all the worth in the world. Again, I watched this progressive series of events with a kind of bemusement. Other handsome men were nearby, but this man’s actions suited him to the space. The suit, the briskness, the corruption -— he wore them exceedingly well.  They were more than a part of him; each movement shouted it.

He began casually looking through his papers. I was distracted for a second as one of the children shrieked. I turned to see a girl. One of her friends had leaned over the railing inside the fountain to scoop out a handful; the water where her friend’s hand had been sparkled pure white for a moment. “It’s damn hot, isn’t it?” A pleasantly rich voice came to my side.

I turned to see the handsome gentleman addressing me. He was sitting a few feet closer than I remembered. Surprised but not alarmed, I replied with a casually dismissive nod toward the fountain, “Not if you’re under there.”

“Try it in a suit sometime. If the water reaches you, it makes everything muggy when you return to the heat.” “Wouldn’t know. Usually, I wear shorts myself.” His gaze dropped to my legs as though by invitation. “Except when I want space from people, I stay at work where it’s air-conditioned.”

“Ouch.” He commented, jerking his eyes to mine. He almost winced. “Where do you work that you dress so formally?” I was used to the incessant flirting and occasional derogatory comments from businessmen and women, mostly men. Since everything I wore was styled informal, from my blackened lips to my fingernails to my dark cutoff shorts, I played with the inside of my mouth with the tongue ring and glared at him. “Across the street.”. He looked at the coffee shop, his small quirk of a smile deepening. “Ah, good. I was worried you had wandered in from Pike and gotten lost. I would have hated to escort you back. Never know what you might run into on the way.”

I tried not to roll my eyes at the bastard. “And on that wonderful note, it’s time to return to work.” I rose.

“Why don’t you run a place? You know enough to do it yourself.”

I couldn’t help it. Feeling disoriented by the heat, I retorted. At work, it was a requirement to take the simple come-ons from the lunch rush sleaze with at least a brittle glass smile.  But I wasn’t back at work yet; I was still on my own time. Any interest I had in this guy was fading quickly. “I suppose a moment’s discussion, the ability to toss an insult and a come-on together poorly, make you an expert. After all, you’ve got money and wear a suit well. What else do you need? Certainly not a fucking brain.”

He blinked as I turned to walk away, the sunlight now striking dazzling rainbows off the fountain. “Wait. I’m sorry if I came off that way. I was only trying a different sort of approach. I’ve been watching you for some time now and was waiting for an opportunity to talk.” For some reason that I couldn’t explain, I turned back to face him. “Great. Now I know to start carrying a bat when I leave.” He winced, but his smile brightened unsettlingly at my turning. “I have been thinking of going into the coffee business for a while now, so I’ve been looking for skilled baristas.” A smooth continuation of his first comment. It was not quite ‘you look like a model’ (like hell I did, not nowadays, I saw to that), but close enough that I just shook my head, getting ready to turn again. I didn’t find it worth the effort in this heat to growl further.

“Good luck. You’re sure to be a success around here. Maybe you can squeeze between Starbucks and Seattle’s Best in Pike Place. Yes, another café. They’re sure to flock to you. It would take something awfully addictive in your coffee to turn these souls astray from a sure thing.” “I’ve worried about that, but it’s just like you suggested.  I’m Molch. Jake Molch.  I can tell you’ve thought about this before.”

He kept his hand there, unflinching until I finally spoke without budging. He held out his hand, and I looked at it. It was a look I had perfected a long time back when I toyed with the academic scene. It let people know just how small a bug I thought they were.

“Lilith Ginwoskie, I go by Jinn, just now.” I turned and headed back toward work.

“You can call me Bub then,” he said. Just think it over. We could do very well. Give me your answer tomorrow. I’ll be here at the same time.” He paused. Just wear those shorts in case things stay hot.”  “Sure thing, Bub!” I called back. The guy was persistent.  It wasn’t much, but it was something. I played the scene in my head all day and into the evening. Damn, I was slow. Blame it on a few dozen years of relatively cool peace. But the heat was getting to me today. The way Bub, Molch, or Jake spoke kept nagging at me. Finally, as I lay ready for sleep, I figured out why and cursed myself. I knew the deal was genuine. If this were offered to me even a year ago, I’d have turned it down, but that day, in particular, things finally seemed to fit.

I wanted to skip work the next day and hurry to the promised meeting. But now that I knew just how big Mr. Molch was, I knew it would be no good to be there early. He generally kept exactly to his word.

It was an anxious morning. Only this time, Bub came behind me. “You ready to talk?” His voice sounded teasing and playful, but I took no offence as I turned to look back at his impeccably graceful form. “Depends. Were you serious and in earnest when you made that offer?” The smile from yesterday returned. “Lil-... Jinn, I am never serious but always honest and earnest. So, you think the idea may have some merit?” “There’s always a first. Besides, it was my idea. All it needed was someone like you for the backing. Were you thinking of a full-size café?” “Nothing that big. I was thinking of starting with a small stand, just enough elbow room for one person.” “You want me to run it myself?”

“Who better than Jinn? You could set your hours. Eventually, it could grow to every street corner; subtlety would be the key. But first, there is the matter of the contract.” He opened his case and withdrew a paper covered with clauses. I looked it over without hesitation, mentally marking parts that would have to go. “Let’s eliminate section three, paragraph two, section four, paragraph seven, and line eight. Twelve is clear out, or I’m walking now. I want a fair say on when and if I leave, though...” I amended, “...can’t see it will ever come up if this goes as well as I expect it to.”  He stared. My eyebrow ring rose. “I majored in business during my off years. I was biding my time here. Does that surprise you?”

For the second time in our brief personal acquaintance, he sat briefly, blinking at me. “No, I guess it shouldn’t. This is just new ground.  I never expected you to agree at all.” He took out a different contract and used it to replace the one in my hands. After I had looked it over, he handed me a pen. I signed it and marvelled at the iridescent ink that slowly dried to a burgundy red. *** Within a week, Wake was in business. It was an inconspicuous sort of stand. A somewhat laughable attempt at business if you didn’t know who ran it or who the backer was. It only took a couple of customers to get the ball rolling. A drink or two every other day for one or two people, and then, word spread like wildfire. My little space grew and was crammed with people every day till close. It became the most coveted drink of milk-foamed Joe in the area. Membership discounts soon followed—thousands of contracts with fresh red ink initials. “These drinks are practically unholy, Jinn, how people have taken to them.” Employees and customers toss the question to me while serving drinks behind the bar. “What’s in this coffee, anyway?” I grin as I consider what goes into the turbo-charged caffeine shots the machine brews. “Love,” I always say with a crooked smile.


My Dearest Ruth, I trust this letter finds you in good health. The thoughts of you and I are like a constant symphony in my mind playing the same song repeatedly. I yearn to feel you, to touch you the way we once did. I am saddened at the thought of laying my eyes on you, yet unable to encapsulate your body with mine. The tips of my fingers crave the shape of your womanly curves. To taste your sweet lips again is the reason for my living. I would love to run my fingers through your hair, pull you close to me and passionately kiss you, showing you how deeply I care for you. However, again, I must fold this letter and put it in this envelope and leave it in our secret place. One day soon, I will ravish your body and never let you go. With All My Love, Thomas Ruth’s tears hit the letter as she reads it for probably the hundredth time. She leans out of the window and sees him. Thomas is in his room in the building right across the street. He is lying on his bed reading a book. He must sense that he is being watched, so he glances out of his window toward Ruth’s. They link stares, then exchange smiles. Ruth gazes lovingly at Thomas. He raises his hand as a weak attempt at a wave. Ruth blows him a kiss. Thomas catches the imaginary kiss and holds it in his hand. He brings his closed fist up to his mouth and closes his eyes. Ruth watches him, then dreams of the day they can walk hand in hand again, go to a picture show again, or eat at a restaurant again. She always hated the rule of not living together before marriage, but especially now, having to endure this loneliness and isolation without her love, is just too much to bear. My Love, Oh, Thomas, how I long to inhale the scent of you. I feel as safe as a small child when being held in your arms. Your strong chest shelters me from all of life’s storms and tribulations. I deeply desire your loving kiss, your lips touching mine. Then, to delve into the ocean that are your eyes, the magnificent sapphires that stare into my soul. I cannot stifle my passions for you much longer and they will not be satisfied until we unite again. The words “I Love You” do not express how acute my feelings are for you, but I say these words as they are the strongest words in my vocabulary. With this I leave you a kiss and a scent to bring back the memories of the time we have spent and to look forward to the life we will spend together. Affectionately Yours, Ruth Ruth seals the envelope with a kiss and spritzes one spray of perfume on it before sneaking it down to a crevasse in the doorway on the outside of her building. This is the designated place for the love letters. Ruth must be careful, but to retrieve his letter, Thomas must not be seen leaving his building and crossing the street to Ruth’s building or he will be fined. He accomplishes this feat every night just to look upon, feel, and read the letter from his love. Upon recovering his letter from Ruth, he leaves a letter from himself in place of hers. Before pursuing his transit across the street, he revels in the captivating scent of his beloved. The next morning, Ruth awakens from a wonderful dream of her and Thomas at their wedding. She is disappointed as she recalls her current circumstance. She looks out for Thomas but doesn’t see him this morning. It’s not unusual since he lives with his family and they have family breakfast in the mornings. She patiently lingers by the window until she can see his face. The normal hustle and bustle of the city streets has halted and only an occasional car or delivery truck drives down the boulevard. Ruth, still awaiting her love, is startled when she hears a siren. She stretches her neck out of the window and looks as far left as she can. She sees nothing. Then she looks right. She sees an American Red Cross ambulance rushing in her direction. In the year 1918, the ambulance is an amplified version of the Model T Ford car and is Ill-equipped to handle life-threatening emergencies. Ruth expects the ambulance to drive past, but it screeches to a halt in between her and Thomas’ buildings, blocking the view of Thomas’s window. Two emergency workers fully clad with protective gear jump out from the back of the ambulance with a gurney. They rush inside. Minutes feel like hours for Ruth as she impatiently watches for the workers’ return. Her heart is pounding in anticipation. Finally, the workers emerge with a man on the gurney. The man is shaking violently, obviously seizing. Ruth recognizes him as Thomas’ brother, Charles. The emergency workers load Charles into the ambulance and quickly drive away. Ruth can now see Thomas’ window again. He is visibly upset. His antics of pacing and the throwing of his arms combined with burying his face into his hands, sobbing, scares Ruth. This is the first time it has been someone this close.

The city has been under the mandatory quarantine for thirty-six days now. The newspapers say the pandemic is only getting worse. It has been this long since Ruth and Thomas have had any form of touch. Being able to see Thomas through his window, yet not be able to hold him or comfort him, only adds insult to injury for Ruth. Their romance began like any other whirlwind romance. A little less than a year ago, Ruth was working as a bank teller. A chance meeting of the two happened when Thomas needed to make a deposit for his father. Thomas, having been born and raised in the city worked for his father who owns a pharmacy. For the two twenty-somethings, it was love at first sight. From that day on, they were inseparable. Ruth had no family in the city. She is an only child and her parents live in a small country town in the next state. As a child, Ruth always dreamed of living in the city. She had always heard such wonderful things. So, one day she decided it was the day, the day she would make her dreams come true. She made her way to the city with her entire life savings, which wasn’t much. She quickly learned it was not as magical as she had determined to herself it would be. After obtaining an apartment, unbeknownst to her at that time, right across the street from Thomas’, Ruth sought out to find work. She had been an excellent student in arithmetic so obtaining work at the bank was easy. Although alone, Ruth felt confident her decision to embark upon the big city was going to pan out after all. For six months, Thomas and Ruth were neighbors and didn’t even know it. After getting acquainted at the bank, the two lovebirds wanted to spend every minute together. Every morning, Thomas would walk her to the bank on his way to the pharmacy. Thomas’ parents and his three brothers also instantly fell in love with Ruth. So, it came as no surprise when Thomas set up an extravagant proposal event where everyone that mattered was in attendance. Ruth had been so enamored of Thomas. She felt as though she were dreaming. When walking, she felt she wasn’t even touching the ground. She and Thomas were so in love and had already planned the date: September 21, 1918. It was the same day they had met the year prior. Understandably, Ruth’s sadness turned to frustration, then to rage when the Spanish flu made its way into the city. Once the government set the mandatory quarantine into place, Ruth felt her life-is-perfect bubble pop. The quarantine order was that everyone other than medical workers and volunteers that had medical training, police officers, and other essential workers were to stay at home. Neither Ruth nor Thomas were considered essential. So, they would spend their long, hot summer days staring at each other from their windows and write long love letters to one another.

The next morning, Ruth wakes up and doesn’t see Thomas. Not a single soul has passed by Thomas’ window all day. Concerned, Ruth goes down to the secret place and finds her letter from the previous day had not been collected. A sense of fear rushes over her. While she is in hidden in the doorway, Ruth sees another American Red Cross ambulance. This time the siren is not blaring, and the workers are not moving as quickly. Like before, they take the gurney inside. Ruth realizes that she has forgotten to breathe. She takes in a deep breath and holds it again waiting fearfully for what she may see next. When the workers come out of the building, they have a person covered with a sheet. Ruth witnesses Thomas’ mother crying in a handkerchief. Panicked, Ruth scans the front of the building searching for Thomas, trying not to give up her location. She lingers in the doorway until the ambulance has loaded their patient and has driven away. Ruth is completely numb. She stands and watches for any sign of Thomas. Nothing. Walking past in another window, Ruth sees Thomas’ mother and father, now both crying and holding one another. Feeling as though she has no other option, Ruth walks back into her building. Heartbroken at the thought of her love having died from this horrible pandemic, Ruth walks up the stairs. She passes the floor on which her apartment is on and continues to the rooftop. It’s only five stories high, but high enough to do the job. Making her way over to the edge, Ruth looks down. She envisions the memories shared between herself and Thomas. She couldn’t, just couldn’t live without him. She knows her mother and father would be sad, but to Ruth she has nothing left to live for. She opens her arms wide. The thought of knowing she would be with her love in the next life gives her the courage to do it. Eyes closed, imagining reuniting with Thomas, she jumps. As Ruth’s body lies lifeless in the middle of the street, Thomas runs out to see what has happened. Everything becomes mute. The blood drains from his body and he forces himself to take a breath before willing his legs to walk over to his beloved. He kneels and scoops up the mangled mess that was once his beautiful fiancé. He holds her tight, then able to incite sound, he screams.


"I'm telling you, she's really your type. She'll want to see you, and she'll like you. Trust me, mate." My eyes travelled from the book back to my best friend Frans in one swift motion, like I was swinging the baseball bat. When my face wasn't shoved either in a textbook on psychology of crime, or in a fictional story, I loved getting exercise, accompanied by music playlists of all kinds of genres. Rock and metal really helped me get in the mood. And the hot baths after were the cherry on top of a good evening. All of that didn't leave much time for meeting with people. Or, at least, not as much time as I would have wanted to. I saw my friends from university every day, and we often hung out after classes, walking together to the dorms, or sending each other off when we were headed in another direction. But that didn't cut it. Sure, I had dated a few girls a couple of times before. I missed the way my heart would flutter at the sight of my date, I can't lie. And I missed holding hands and kissing and walking together talking nonsense under the stars - whenever there were any. The crush in the beginning that hit like a guy from the opposing team tackling you to the ground, the warm feeling of safety after you get used to your significant other, I knew both of these. But then again, when you mess up, no matter what you're doing, there's always the rain chasing away your sunshine, so to say. Perhaps my bar was raised too high. I had high standards for everything, including myself; I knew I looked perfect to some people, I had heard enough whispers in the hallways passing me by, and I had got a comment here and there about how devoted I am to homework and assignments and tests. And to writing. The truth? I had grown up afraid of failing. Not even thanks to stern parents (they lived in another country, too far to scold me, anyway). And no, I weren't made fun of. Not too much. It wasn't bullying, either. I didn't have a lot of friends, and in a while little me started thinking I would impress them if I knew a lot and was fun to talk with. Then I noticed other guys liked sports a lot, some of them loved football and basketball. So I tagged along. Up until now, if we put aside Frans, I didn't have a lot of friends. That isn't by any means a counter of happiness, of course. Though there were times all my friends were busy, wrapped up in something of their own, going out with their own friends, and I... I felt alone. The books and films I'd usually pick up felt boring, I had nobody to play baseball with. I'd throw myself into studying more, and more, and more, and when my friends would finally find time for me, I would realise my exams were coming too soon. That aside, back to the present. I raised an eyebrow. "Are you setting me up with some chick to get me off my butt, or what?" Frans threw his head back and laughed, and a grin made its way to my lips with a magical ease. It made me remember one of the reasons I liked him so much. No matter how many things were on my mind, his weekend escape ideas were the best. Just when I'd be at my busiest and most stressed and worried, Frans would pat my shoulder and stick a cocktail glass in my hand, paper umbrella and straw. Don't worry. Be happy , he'd say, ever the hippie. Chill. You're doing your part. Everything will be fine, bro. And it was. Every time. "I'm setting you up with a chick to get you off your butt - and into a better place." My friend brushed a hair the color of caramel from his face. His hair was so long that he had the looks of a hippie, as well as the character. Sometimes annoying, sometimes charming as hell, but, in any case, my best bloody friend. "She said she's got today off. Works at a resto down the road when she ain't being a bookworm like you." He gave me a nudge, and I snickered. "I figured you might find something to talk about for more than an hour." One hour. That had been the length of my previous, and last for the time being, date. A date with a guy, the first ever of that kind that I had had. Not the first of that kind; ever since high-school I knew I could fall in love with anyone. But it was the first disappointment in my short history of dates. On one hand, it was on me for getting my hopes up so high, being a star-eyed teen and all. But on the other, he was a bully. I'd seen him flirt with one of the girls in my chemistry class one day, then a girl from History the other, playing with them like toys. I'm not the rude type, but if there's one thing I hate, that's it. So, to get away, I lied I felt sick. Who knew. Maybe it wasn't a lie. One hour. And Frans reminding me of it felt like the memory was a still-warm cigarette butt snuffed out in my arm. I winced as loudly as possible and turned away from him in a pretended theatrical twirl. "That sounds like some faith you got in me. Thanks a dozen ." I didn't want to make him feel down as well. Hell, the more positive I was trying to stay, the less my mood was willing to cooperate. Frans is right. I should stuff my brain or soul's pockets with some courage and go see that girl. She can't be that bad. Frans bit his lip. After the proverbial slap in the face his words had delivered to me, now it was his turn to feel bad. "Ruben... I do have faith in you. More than you think. You look great, and you know it. I've told you I'd have dated you if things were a bit different." If we had the time, if he came to terms with liking guys, if we got drunk enough one night, probably... the future was built on possibilities. And one of them, right now, was that I didn't screw up, and that my date somehow went as smoothly as cream on top of a cake, like Frans the foodie would say. I cocked an eyebrow and got up. Tidying up could do itself on its own for now. If my friend was serious he had set me up for a date, it was most likely going to happen today, in a few hours. I knew the exact way Frans' thoughts ran. Something of the sort would be typical of him to do, surprise me on the same day he has got the gift ready. No matter if said gift was a pizza and video game night, or a cool shirt. "I... I thought that would cheer you up, Roob. You know, going out a bit. With someone new." He shrugged and stared at the floor. In the blink of an eye, good old cheery Frans had lost his golden shine and turned grey with disappointment over my reaction. A stab of guilt didn't take too long to catch me in the gut. "I know that's what you like when you ain't got the world on ya mind. But... what do I know? Your studies... could be the entire world for you right now." I put my hand on his shoulder, and our eyes met. Sigh . Good-with-words me, all of a sudden, had lost the little groove he had had. I found myself stumbling through them. What could I say? What on earth could I say to fix this and chase away the frown from Frans' face? "That's not true, and you know it. I'll like this date. I have a good feeling about it. Just..." Another sigh. I wanted to slap myself in the face. Why, why had I spent so much time overthinking and worrying about things recently, why? "I'm scared, man. What if she hates me? What if I fuck it up? Last time I-" "Last time you went out with the wrong girl, dude." His eyes, his face - no, his damn hair and cardigan are looking tired, drooping down from him. I'll owe him takeaway and a chill evening with some video games to make it up, I can smell that from here. "Live a little, Ruben, let yourself have some fun! Back in the first year you were the life of the gang, you... you were different, wanted to hang out with everyone and told absolutely horrible puns about criminals and stuff. Now acing the exams is all you've got your mind on. Made me real sad seeing you like that." I watch him for a beat, then I collect myself. "I gave her your contacts, by the way. She'll text you in a bit, if she hasn't already," Frans adds after me, half-shouting, as I have ran out into the corridor, full-on chaos mode, trying to find clothes that will match and look nice together. "Also, her favourite colour is red, so you're in some good bloody luck there!" Those are the last words I hear before I run into the bedroom to go through the wardrobe. As I'm finishing tying my shoes and pushing the front door open, I go through at least three different scenarios. Frans dropped some hints here and there last week, but they were so vague it took me this week - no, up to today, the day of the actual date! - to figure them out. I knew her name sounded like that of a Norse goddess, she was studying literature and had a blog for book reviews, and worked at a bookshop part-time to pay her semesters and rent. Frans is right; that's my type - or one of the many types I can have. And yet, my imagination is as rich as ever. In this very moment, quite unhelpfully so. Dammit, I worry too much, don't I? People don't really notice that, I hope. Or how dishevelled my hair might be when I finally see her; I forgot my hair tie, and so the entire mass of red fluff is all over my shoulders and face. Or the suit I put on. Is that too formal for a first date? Do first impressions matter at all? And what about my breath? Would she be into a guy who's nearly thirty but is still pushing university, because he spent his life travelling left and right, or would she laugh at me and tell me to be more serious? Right under the oak tree in the little park across the street, I see a pink umbrella with cat ears flutter in the air. The girl greets me with a hug and a wide smile that makes my heart jump. "Oh, hey there! I hope this doesn't scare you..." "Your friend and I started hanging out like, three or so months ago," she went on, and her voice struck a chord inside me, a chord I had forgotten how to play. "We got close pretty fast, and I noticed he'd mention you often, 'Ruben this, Ruben that'-" yep, sounds like Frans alright , "-and I- I got curious, you see, I thought we'd make good friends!" Oh, thank goodness. A new friend. Funny, it really does feel like Frans did set us up together. I could swear he knows the entire university by their first names, so I won't pretend I'm close to being surprised. In any case, it is curious how he finds this folk at the most unexpected places. Not everyone at uni is close friends with everyone. Boy, I don't even know all the people who are supposed to be my classmates. I hope this new girl does indeed earn her badge of friendship in my heart. And I - in hers, too. I don't think I'm close with any of the girls whom we are supposed to be in the same study group with. And that could prove good not just for getting my hands on any extra lectures, but also for my social life... I snap out of it and focus on the new girl's face once more. Hmph, that dreamy look my friends keep pinning on me might truly be there (as much as I don't want to believe my friends when they notice it). For someone so precise and careful with the things I do, writing or playing games or studying, this day has caught me being a complete mess, all over the place. Now what was she going on about, again? "But when he showed me some photos of you guys together, I..." Her eyes are watery. Is she about to start crying? Wait, what, why? "I couldn't believe it, Ruben. I thought I was dreaming. I was..." She pauses. For a few seconds, my heart is beating so fast I'm convinced it is about to explode. "I'm Freya. Remember? From high-school. I kept sending you all those Valentines every year from the time we sat next to each other in Literature. Then you started hanging out with other guys more, and I with other girls." She handed me a paper bag. "I still haven't forgotten you love cherries, though. Here you go!" " Freya ." I sweep her up into my arms in a heartbeat, closing my eyes shut. My lips kiss the top of her head. After all this time... "I know it's super cheesy, but, uh... my crush... I'd started to fall for you, Ruby." My high-school nickname. Oh my god. I can't believe this. She still remembers. "You were really cute, and you still are. I... I had no idea how to tell you back then." "Your cheesy is the best thing on earth, Freya."


        THE MYSTERY IN THE MALL Aisha and Ahmad are twins. They were well brought up by their parents. The parents made sure the twins never lacked anything especially EDUCATION because it is the key to success, the sword to conquer injustice, the tool for empowerment and the shield against oppression.  Nevertheless, the children on the other hand, also try their best in making their parents proud.  However, Mary the eldest of the twins always had a problem of concentration when it comes to studies. She prefers to play around with her friends around the neighborhood or visit her class mates from one house to another.  In the school, she fights with the weaker children in the class, tears their books, sometimes she even goes to the extent of misplacing her class mates books. As such this is the main reason why she is always flogged at school and at home. Therefore, Mr and Mrs Abdul decided to take Mary to a boarding school to complete her senior classes. Mary was really excited when she heard about the news of going to a boarding school at least to her own thinking she would be free. However, both parents called Mary and advised her. Mr Abdul told her to be serious and stay focused on her studies, while Mrs Abdul weeping the tears rolling down her cheeks, also cautioned Mary to stay away from bad friends and be a good girl. In the morning, Mr Abdul set out to Mary's new school, because the school authority ordered that parents should bring their children by 2pm .

Mary all excited jumped out of the car, when she sighted the gate of her new school. They went to the principal, who directed her to the school matron and they bade good bye The school gave her what she needed for her academics.

Initially, the new student behaved like a good one, she woke up early attended classes and did not fight with any students, not until after two weeks One day, while their teacher was in the class room, a student reported Mary of disturbing her with noise for the third time. Therefore, the teacher asked Mary to come out and kneel down since she was not serious with her lessons anymore However, with time, she started coming to lessons late, she don’t do her assignments as scheduled, even the extra mural lessons meant for senior students, she is always absent. Nevertheless, the two twins performed excellently and got promoted. This made the parents so happy, except Mary’s situation of which her situation worsened. As such the principal sent a letter complaining of her attitude, to her parents at home, this made them perturbed However, after three months in school, exams were scheduled and conducted as per the school curriculum. Parents were asked to come and take their children home and also to collect the results of their children. Like any other parents, Mr Abdul came for his daughter. They were so happy to see each other. He hope Mary’s performance has improved. Yes, to his surprised, despite all complains, she did averagely well. The principal encouraged the father on the girl’s capabilities, if she would change her attitude and concentrate. He also promised Mr Abdul, on the change of her attitude positively as the school would try its best to work on that.  A week later, the family decided to go for shopping at a mall nearby. All the children were so happy because its been quite long. They entered in to the car and off he drove. On reaching to the mall, the father asked them to behave themselves well. The twins were close to their parents following them anywhere they go. As for Mary, she was busy going from one section to another, entering from one elevator to another happily  Few hours ago, the family decided to have lunch, but were was Mary? Suddenly she appeared, the mother asked, were has she being all this while, but she said she was with one of her friends in her new school. They ordered for fried Rice and chicken and all of them sat and were eating peacefully. I want to visit the ladies she said. Alright be fast about it, because after the meal we are leaving because it is getting late. Thirty minutes had gone, and there was no Sign of Mary. Meanwhile, someone was in there enjoying the elevators again, going from one section to another. However, after she was fully satisfied, she decided to come down to meet her family.

Mary immediately entered the elevator, and pressed number [1] from the 7 th floor she was descending down from. She was so happy. What is happening, she said to herself? Why is the light off, why is the elevator static? Mary became afraid, she knew she was stuck in the elevator due to power off. She started crying, she was sweating profusely, she observed that she needs air and her breadth is becoming difficult. How long would this take she said to herself? My family must be waiting anxiously! She sat there all alone and no phone to communicate and others had got down already Nevertheless, Mr Abdul became suspicious, something must have went wrong. He asked others to stay in the car. When he entered the mall he too was surprised to see the place dark. All customers were asked to please be patient as the problem would soon be solved. After, waiting for thirty five minutes, the power supply was back and the elevators became active. Mr Abdul his eyes widely open looked around, searching for his daughter, but Mary was walking, slowly gasping for air almost collapsing.  Help, someone shouted! Mr Abdul turned and saw his daughter. Mary, what happened? Without requesting for explanation he lifted her and took her home. Shortly, afterwards Mary revived and told her Ordeal to her family members. They laughed at the naughty girl and at the same time felt sorry for her.


The school bell rings, indicating it's midday. I ram my books and pen into my satchel and hurry down the brown corridors, keeping to my left as per school rules. I push through the swing doors and hold one open with my foot as the boy behind me grabs the handle. I pick up my pace and move past the chatting hordes of bustling pupils and make my way down the sloping playground to the main road entrance. I walk sideways, looking for a gap between cars so that I can cross the road. Once over, I walk a few paces and run a few all the way home. It takes about twenty minutes. The sooner I get home, the more time I will have in which to splash some water on my face and under my arms to refresh myself, have some lunch, and play with my beautiful dog Sue. I hurry down the main road, turn left at the bridge over the railway line, cross the road, turn right and into the street where I live. Our house is the second one down, but first, you have to pass the long, tall fence of the garden on the main road. A smile begins in the corners of my mouth as I anticipate the welcoming soggy licks Sue will give me as soon as I open the door. The warmth of her softness as my hands plunge deep into her fur and give her a gentle squeeze. I put my key in the lock and open the door. I am greeted not by a fluffy bundle of love but by a convulsing, thrashing dog lying in what looks like a war zone.

I'm sure I don't go inside in slow motion, but it seems that way. My eyes grow wide, and my jaw drops open. Mum is kneeling on the floor with the lounge door pressing on her back. Dad made the door, so it automatically closes itself. You have to prop it open. Mum was keeping it open with her back. I lean forward, push the door and wedge it with the slab of green marble we have for this purpose. Sue is lying on her side in the throes of a convulsion. "She's been fitting for at least twenty minutes," Mum says. I throw my satchel onto a chair in the backroom and rush back to Mum and Sue.

"What can I do?" I say as I glimpse around the room at the poo on the furniture, walls, and ceiling where Sue has messed herself, and her long bushy tail has lashed out like some cowboy's bullwhip and spread the mess everywhere. The foamy saliva and blood from her bitten tongue have mixed with the urine and poo. It has all spattered around the room.

The whole room stinks. If ever there is a smell of death, then this is it. It fills my nostrils. Sue's head, legs, body, and tail are thrashing a concoction of body fluids and excrements over Mum and the walls. I gawp in disbelief. "You'll have to call the vet. I don't think Sue is going to come out of this fit." Mum says. "Take some money off the mantlepiece. The number's on a scrap of paper behind the commemorative mug on the windowsill. Go to the phone box and tell the vet Sue has not come out of her fit for at least twenty-five minutes." I hurry into the backroom, take the money from the mantlepiece, find the scrap of paper behind the commemorative mug, steer myself around Sue's thrashing legs and body and instinctively put the door on the latch. I run the short distance up the road, around the corner, and to the shop on the next corner, where the red phone box stands tucked into its indent in the long wooden fence. The feeling of urgency rises in me, and my pulse quickens. I dial the number marked Miss M. Vet on the piece of paper. A young voice answers immediately. "Miss M's veterinary practice, how can I help you.?" Between short quick breaths, I tell the voice on the other end of the phone that Sue has been fitting for at least twenty-five minutes. I slam the receiver back down and run home. I run past the open front gate with the sign that says, 'lease shut the gate.' The 'P' fell off the day Dad nailed the metal plate on and then closed the gate too sharply. Sue is still convulsing. Mum is doing her best to keep an old flannel across Sue's teeth so that she does not bite her tongue anymore.

Mum is holding her tail down to stop even more mess going up the walls and onto the ceiling. I stand looking, feeling helpless. I turn to the window as I hear a noise outside. The vet arrives. She must have been in the area. There is no way she could have got from the practice to our house amid the busy town traffic unless she had driven at ninety miles an hour. These thoughts add to my feelings of-this is an emergency. More panic rises from within. I open the door for the vet. She is a short, plump lady and out of breath as she comes up the steps to our house and kneels beside Sue. Her saggy black bag next to her.

I know I have to get back to school. We have a maths exam. No one asks me if I want to stay. I can think of some excuse to tell the teachers if only someone would ask me to stay behind with my dog. My eyes grow big as I watch the vet reach into her bag and take a big syringe from a box full of long needles. My mind flashes back to when I was about five years old and was having my tonsils out—the nurse standing by my bed with a massive needle. I grab the barrel with such force that it breaks the glass syringe attached to the needle. Now the vet is going to stick an enormous needle in Sue. I know Sue is going to die. She is not going to come out of this fit-ever. I know the syringe does not contain some magic potion to help Sue recover and be a normal fit-free dog again. I rush to the back room, snatch my school satchel off the chair and quickly walk back to Mum, the vet, and the still fitting Sue. I feel helpless. There is nothing I can do. I am not wanted or needed here in this world of mayhem.

The only way out of the room is by half stepping over Sue and scrambling over the kneeling plump lady vet and then out the front door. I stumble on, and as I look behind me at the gruesome scene, Sue still convulsing on the floor, blood, wee, poo, and froth everywhere, I hear the plump lady vet say, "what a horrible child." I close the front door. Hold back tears and run just over a mile back to school. As I run, I relive Mum, all on her own, trying to do all she can to help Sue. I relive opening the front door and a scene reminiscent of the last days of Gettysburg hitting me in the face. I am oblivious to the main road, the lunchtime traffic, the heat, the fumes, and the noise. All I have echoing in my ears are the words of the plump lady vet. "What a horrible child."

I slow my pace and catch my breath as I go through the school gates up the incline, through the tarmac playground, and into the school corridor. I compose myself. I think I'm okay. I try to appear normal.

My friend is coming toward me on her way to class, "What's wrong?" She says. "Nothing," I say and realize I'm going the wrong way. I turn and follow her into class and sit down at my desk. Tears erupt from eyes. I cannot stop them. They blot over the page of the exercise book on my desk. I wipe the book with my sleeve, but the page still warps under the wetness left behind. I spend the rest of the day crying and do horribly at my maths test. The teacher asks my friend why I am crying. "She's had her dog put to sleep, sir." My friend says. When the final school bell of the day rings out, I put my bits and pieces in my satchel saunter to the exit and out onto the main road. I slowly walk home. My best friend will not be greeting me tonight. At home, no one mentions Sue or the day's happenings. No one speaks her name.

I push my supper around my plate and apologize to Mum for not being hungry. I go up to my room and lay on my bed. I want sleep to claim me so that I can wake from this nightmare. I close my eyes and drift off into a dull, grey ache that will not go away.

In the greyness Mum is talking to me. "There's a man at the top of the hill, near the church, who has some puppies for sale. If you want one you'd better hurry as they'll sell fast. He wants two shillings and sixpence for them." I think "that's the total amount of my week's pocket money." I'm not sure what to do. Has Mum forgiven me? It's been a whole year since I went out with my friends, climbed the school gates, and ran around the school roof. It's been an entire year since I forgot Bunty was with me, and she went looking for me and got run over and killed. Was I ready for another dog? Was I responsible enough to know how to look after another dog? I take my pocket money out of the little container in my bedroom cabinet drawer and place it in my cardigan pocket. I walk down the road, turn right, cross the road, and go up the hill to the church: the hill, the opposite end of the road where Bunty was run over. I knock on the battered front door of the house next to the ancient church. A withered old man silently greets me and beckons me into the kitchen, where there is a box full of puppies. The puppies squirm when they see me. "Do you have any girls?" I say. The withered old man takes the prettiest puppy in his gnarled hands. "This is a girl." He says. "The others are all boys." I take two shillings and sixpence from my pocket. The withered old man holds the tiny puppy in one hand and opens the palm of the other. I place my pocket money on the deep dark lines of his skin. I take the girl puppy from him, go out of the kitchen, out the front door, and carry her home in my arms. I name her Sue. Still in troubled sleep I'm playing with Sue, reading books on dog training, and putting the lessons into practice. Sue sits, stays, rolls over, and plays fetch.

I throw a ball down the long, narrow garden path. Sue chases it. The concrete path becomes a beach, and Sue is running into the sea. I call her, "Sue, Sue. Come back, Sue." I wake from my dream and enter my nightmare.


Ansel was an introvert who gave birth to an extrovert. Her son was Teddy Glenn, unquestionably the most popular person in town. He had owned a record store that regularly hosted local musicians. Many untalented groups performed at “Teddy’s Tunes” and even a few talented ones, but no matter the caliber of music, of persons playing, or the size of the crowd, Teddy would heap praise. His door was open for everyone. And he would talk to anyone, would lend a sum of money to a stranger without questions. His mood was constantly bright and infectious- but now he was dead, killed by a rare poor decision.   What angered Ansel most was the nature of his ending. He was beyond that age, she thought, where one smashed drunkenly into a tree and kills himself. She got to see the car— it was turned into a pitch fork. The pine wasn’t injured beyond a few smashed bark plates. That damn tree, she had to see it everyday, or at least pass it, because Ray Road was her only route to work. She avoided looking directly at it, but it was hard to keep it out of the peripheries due to the circus that was wrapped around the evergreen conifer. It stood right at the bend of Ray Road, and cars were slowing at that bend now to get a look at the display of flowers surrounding the tree. Her son’s popularity became a great nuisance for her once he was killed. He had a lot of friends, but they weren’t

her friends . For a while it was a daily burden. At the grocery store heads would bow, arms would wrap her in hugs, and tears would wet the eyes of strangers showing their grief for her loss. Perhaps their loss too, but if so, keep it to your damn self, she thought. After almost two months this was still happening, this excessive display of mourning, and she had become prone to barking short, cold replies. “Alright! Are you going to offer me your apologies for a century?” She said to a group of ratty looking musicians in line at the grocery store. The young clerk, who dressed in leatherpants and a boys t-shirt, said, “You know, Teddy was down with everybody, that means a ton of people are still hurting...and I think—“ No one saw it coming, because it was a perfect move.  Ansel controlled her purse like a dungeon master does the whip. There was also a can of soda in her purse, which surely supplied the knock-out. To add to the violence, she also followed back with another blow to the other side of his head. The clerk went down in an awkward fashion, his leather pants seemed to delay his fall by a few seconds. There was a great inflexibility around the knees and this caused him to stumble and nick his head on the counter, supplying an extension to his unconsciousness. The manager made his way over to the scene. His pace was calm, slow even, considering what he’d been told about the incident, and where things lay. Ansel was by the side of the young man on the floor. The manager said, “It’s always something with this guy,” then he bent down and waived a small pepper stick in front the young man’s nose. “Just head out, Mrs. Glenn. You don’t need to deal with this type of thing right now.” “I forgot about the drink in my bag.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he wasn’t even looking at his employee on the ground. “Here, lets put those groceries on the house.” She’d never knocked a man out before, and she herself was in a daze as she floated out of the store to her car. Before she could put the car in gear, the manger came running out, holding a bouquet of flowers. “He’s back on his feet, and he wanted you to have these. For the memory of your son.” She thought about charging back inside the store and giving that little punk-rocker the one-two again. Instead she smashed them and then began grinding the bouquet on the dashboard, yellows and pinks were left behind on the rubber. She floored it out of the parking lot. When she got to the bend of Ray Roadshe drifted over the other lane and slammed on the breaks on the gravel shoulder. Ansel got out and furiously tore the flowers from the tree, kicking the ones that surrounded the trunk at the ground. Her palm was sliced open by a piece of windshield still lodged in the bark from the accident. There were vinyl records too, and she started chucking those like frisbees across the street.There was a teddy bear on the lowest branch and she tried to pull its head off. She thought about burning it down, the whole scene, but she settled for picking up a card with a woman’s lipstick kisses all over it and shredding it up. She  scattered the blood stained litter above her head and got back in her car. 	The sun was almost down as she drove home. There were headlights behind her dimly switching on and off, flagging her, but she didn’t care- didn’t care if her trunk was on fire; she wasn’t in the mood. Finally, the honking started. That didn’t do much. Then the driver pulled up next to her. It was the grocery clerk. “Hey! Can I just say…. Fuck you!” He struggled with the wheel and aligned himself again, “and I didn’t send you those flowers lady. I’ll be takin your ass to court.” “So you would take Teddy’s mom to court?” Yelled Ansel. She noticed his mouth start to quiver like a hurt child’s, unknowingly she took her foot off the gas and he sped past her.

On her way to work the next day, there were cars parked along the bend of Ray Road. People were getting out with both arms full of bouquets, some ribbons, and teddy bears. Ansel wanted to speed by but a young woman was crossing the road and she had no choice but to stop. The young woman recognized her and ran over to the window.

	“Don’t worry Mrs. Glenn,” she said, “We are gonna fix this. Some jerk shredded everything to bits. But you know, we got Teddy’s back.” 	“It was me,” said Ansel. “Enough with the goddamn flowers.” She sped away from the freak show, feeling righteous. Spring was in bloom, and she took the brief pleasure of breathing it in through her open window, a tiny intermission from her sorrow. Only when she made the return drive, she saw that there were so many flowers pinned to the bark now, it had become grotesque. It looked like an invasive species. She said aloud “Clown Ivy, brought to you by clowns.” There was a moment when she thought vomit was coming, but she overcame and made it home. On her couch was a gift basket wrapped in plastic. She punctured it for the wine bottle. After one glass her mind went to the image of that tree being suffocated with flowers. Those would have to go away at some point, but was there always going to be an emblem there on the trunk reminding her that her son had smashed into something and destroyed himself? Would he forever be a totem?

To herself she said, “Nope.” Teddy’s chainsaw was in her garage. She’d almost finished the bottle of wine, and the idea was shinning brighter and brighter. The sky was night-blue, the air was cool and comfortable, and the chain-saw started without much of a sweat. Ansel had scraped away a section of clown ivy low on the trunk to make her cut. It went stop-and-go for a while, but she’d made her diagonal slices in the right spots, and the tree finally fell, away from Ray Road A cop car came from both sides of the bend, they were answering a complaint of noise pollution. Their sirens washed the jagged stump and the surrounding flowers blue and red. Ansel had just put the chainsaw back in the trunk, the officers were being calm and understanding with her. “Sorry for your loss,” said one of them. It seemed as if they were tip-toeing around the arrest. Then the sound of an engine farting in the distance was heard, and quick little chirps of tires on the asphalt. “Get to the gravel,” an officer said. It was a wise command. The car came to the bend and lost the road. It flipped, rolling right over the stump, and landing upright.

The driver got out, panting, shaking both hands with rapidity. It was the grocery clerk. Ansel recognized that skinny frame and could hear his leather pants. She ran to hug him, to make amends, to celebrate his survival! “Hey,” she said, “Looks like I cut it down just in time. You would have killed yourself!” She started jogging towards the young man, with her arms spread open. “Please, let me check you out, let me give you a hug, please! I’m sorry!”  The clerk stepped backwards, and tripped over the fallen tree. He got back on his feet and bolted into the darkness.

When Ansel got out of jail, she went back to work, untroubled by flowers and memorials.


A giant snowstorm happened overnight and there was so much snow outside that you couldn't open the door without sinking into a giant snowdrift. This was a major deal since we haven't had that much snow well, in forever! Nobody would be going anywhere today, Kara decided.  Shawn and Adam would have to do some major work on the driveway before they could even venture out on the roads to go to work. She was excited! Not that she loved snow, on the contrary.  She hated the cold and the snow and would much rather be at the beach any day and have 90 degree weather but at times, it was rather fun to be snowed in when you didn't have anywhere you had to go and everyone was home with you. Never in her wildest dreams did she think her day would end up the way it did. It all started when Adam ended up being sick and Kara grudgingly helped Shawn with the driveway because she hated seeing him out there all by himself all cold and miserable.  Then, when they were done, he got some crazy idea in his head that they should sled ride over the hill since they were already cold, wet and miserable.  "Why not make some fun out of it", he said. "When was the last time we did anything in the snow?" She smiled and said "That would never" "Exactly he said, trust me, it'll be fun and we can get in the hot tub and warm up afterwards" "Ok, Ok, just for a few mins" Kara agreed. They dug the sled out of their shed and set off over the hill.  Before they knew it, they were going at a crazy, almost warp like speed and Kara thought to herself that something didn't seem right.  Then, they were spiraling through what looked like a portal and Shawn turned and looked at her for a split second with a look that said he was as confused as she was and the next thing they knew, they landed on a sand dune on the beach by their favorite vacation spot. And there were the kids, playing in the water and building a sandcastle.  They sat there for a minute looking dazed and confused and stared at each other.  Because the kids were little. Like really little.  And that morning when they left to go on their little sled ride, Adam was 20 years old.  Now he was 6.  And Abby was 4.  Somehow, they had traveled back through time and were on their first beach vacation together with the kids back in the year 2007, when the two of them first met! They both started talking to each other at once "What did this mean? Kara asked" "How did we get here and how do we get back? she said" and the big question "does this mean my dad is still alive?" and Shawn said " What happens if something doesn't go right and it changes the path of the rest of our lives if we don't get it right on the way back?" "OK, let's think" said Kara "The kids don't seem affected at all, they were just here, like nothing was wrong. Is this an alternate reality?" One where time stands still?" Shawn thought for a bit and said "I don't know, but let's try to find out what's going on and see how we get back." They went over to the kids and it was as if nothing was wrong or out of place or that they didn't just come from a portal where another world existed, which made it even more baffling to them. It was so strange to see the kids so little and so refreshing at the same time. Almost like starting over again! But they knew the outcome of how they would be 14 years later! It was so surreal. They were so proud of them and even more so knowing how good they were going to to turn out as adults. Kara asked Shawn if she thought that they had to remember everything they did on this vacation in order to get back home again to the year 2020 and he said that he thought about that and he didn't think so. He thought it was strange though that there weren't alternates of themselves in this reality, just of the kids. And they wondered why that was and the reason for that. Kara looked alarmed and said "do you think something happened to us?" and he said "no, or we wouldn't still be in our alternate reality of 2020." Then he asked Adam and Abby if we had been here all along and they looked at him strangely and said "yes, Daddy, why would you ask that?" He looked at Kara and said "well, that answers that, we now exist in two worlds." Somehow, when we took that sled ride this morning, we tumbled into this reality and got the chance to see ourselves in 2007 when we first met and on our first vacation with the kids when they were so little. Now we know that we will always exist in both worlds and life has new meaning. While we are here, you should call your Dad and see if he is still alive. Then we will really know" Kara looked at him pensively.  She said "Do you really think he is?" and he handed her the phone and said "call" she took it and called her mom and then her Dad's voice answered and she started crying and laughing at the same time. She looked at Shawn and said "This is the best day ever". After they talked and it started to get dark, they decided that they better try to get back home.  They took the sled and went back in the direction they came and gave it and giant push into the sand dune they arrived in and sure enough, they started hurtling through the portal once again and they looked at each other in amazement. Before they knew it, they were back in their snowy backyard and back home. It was dark and almost midnight! So much time had passed.  Adam had been frantically looking for them and was about to send out a search party.  He looked at them and said "Where have you been? I've been so worried about you!" and Shawn said "you'll never believe us if we tell you but we are so glad to see you, son. We love you"


They had her kneel on the bare floor. Allie pulled the hood off her head and looked around. Three shadowy figures stood before her in the dimly lit room. Jason said, “Boo!” “Of course, Jason. I knew you had to be part of it. Where’s your goalie mask?” Diego pointed at him. “He forgot!” The three boys standing over her burst into laughter. Allie said, “Not wearing it doesn’t help you. Don’t leave home without it.” She and Jason dated briefly in their junior year. But his insecurity and immaturity formed a toxic gumbo. When they first led her in she heard keys rattle. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she spotted them lying on a side table by the door. Walter asked, “Did we scare you?” “Yeah, teenage boys always give me the shivers. Is there a point to this?” They laughed again. Offering his hand, Diego helped her to her feet. She brushed herself off. “Thanks… C’mon, guys. What’s this about? Where are we?” “Morfey…” They looked at each other with wide grins. “What, the old Morfey place? The ‘haunted farmhouse’?” “You got it…” They laughed again. She couldn’t believe it. “This is a haunted house?” “The ultimate haunted house, Allie.” She scanned the room. Once home to the Morfey family, only spiders had lived there for decades. Things went south and took the whole family in a single night. No perps were ever caught. Police sealed the records. Superstitions filled the gap and over fifty years, the stories multiplied. No one knew the truth. Allie didn’t believe in ‘haints,’ as kids called them. “I guess, if dust scares you...” Walter pointed to a wooden chair. “Have a seat.” She brushed off one of the four, straight backed chairs set in a circle and sat. “I hope you don’t think this will make me like you geeks. Kidnapping is a crime, you know.” The others sat too. The lantern, in their midst, lit their faces from below. Shadows loomed eerily against the ceiling and walls. They looked around at the sound of wind buffeting the house. Walter said, “Bear with us for a few, Allie. We have a challenge for you.” “How fast I can dial 911?” “No… This is the season for exploring the dark side of things. And you being the biggest skeptic we know, we wanted to scare you.” “Cut to the chase and ask me to marry you. That’d give me the willies.” Jason said, “We wanted the right atmosphere for our challenge. No point trying to scare you in the comfort of home. Why not someplace classic?” “An abandoned house? Charming…” Walter said, “Everyone agrees it’s haunted.” “Right. Everyone but me. So, it must be true.” Jason said, “Exactly!” Walter leaned in. “We’re going to give it a try.” “Gee, whiz. And here I planned to polish my nails tonight.” Walter unfolded a list. “Let’s get started.” Jason said, “We want you to feel like you have some choice, Allie. Which do you want first? The locked attic door? Or the rats?” Allie clapped her hands. “Oooh, I love to choose… Is that the Jane Eyre attic door? With the crazy lady?” “That very one.” Diego shook his head. “Amazing… So literate…” “How about I pick none? Rats don’t scare me, too cute. But I won’t let animals get mistreated for entertainment’s sake. And I don’t believe you locked someone in the attic. That would require organizational skills I’ve seen from exactly none of you.” Walter said, “We’ll warm you up with a quiz.” Diego said, “I’m sorry, Allie. Are you thirsty? Can I get you something?” “With poison or not?” “We have bottled water and Diet Coke.” “Coke. Unopened, please.” He pulled a can from the cooler and handed it to Allie. “Thanks.” She popped it open, tipped it back and gulped thirstily. Walter said, “So, which is scarier, Linda Blair in the Exorcist? Or a severed head?” “Yeah, that was kind of a career defining moment for ol’ Linda. She never reached her full potential after that. But scary? Not so much. Kind of laughable, I’m sorry to say.” “So, severed heads then?” “If they weren’t so over-used and unimaginative! The French Revolution went way over the line. But now you can’t watch the news without seeing some attention starved douche-bag getting his fifteen minutes.” The boys looked at each other. “Okay, next. Chainsaws? Or razor blades?” “Depends on the application. For shaving my legs, I prefer…” Jason said, “She’s not taking this seriously.” Walter held his hand up for silence. “We’re warming up. Give her time.” Diego offered, “Torture devices… The rack, or the Iron Maiden?” Allie couldn’t resist. “If you’re into metal music…” Jason blurted out, “Number of the Beast!” Diego did a fist pump and cheered. Walter shook his head. “Focus guys. We’re trying to wear her down. Scaring her, remember?” They settled and looked at the floor. Allie yawned. Walter continued. “Which would frighten you more… if the house was built on an Indian burial ground, or on a toxic waste dump?” “Don’t feed me tomatoes from the garden either way. But scared? I worry more if my make-up gets discontinued.” Diego offered, “Evil clown? Or evil doll?” “Guys, don’t you follow the news? Clowns are in fashion. I don’t get it, but not scary. And not sorry.” She cocked her head. “Evil dolls…? I never met one, but the best way to defeat them…? Don’t take them out of the box. Easy peasy… Though I’ll admit Barbie is formidable. That girl has style…” Jason grew impatient. “Allie, you must agree, Frankenstein’s monster is scary.” She paused. “Not as cute as King Kong. The classic monsters were either sympathetic, or boring. The Mummy? What a snooze fest. Face it. Mummies, zombies, vampires… all those ‘undead’ types are seriously not scary. What’s scary is how many clichés you guys love.” “Come on, Allie. Birds? Or sharks?” “Since you don’t even have running water here… Do you…?” They shook their heads. “…I doubt sharks are a threat. As for birds… too flighty. Don’t scare me.” Walter said, “How about psychokinesis?” “You mean like with Carrie?” Walter nodded. “Now, Carrie had it going. She taught those soshes a lesson they’ll not soon forget. You want envy? Sign me up. I’d love to rain vengeance down on some people.” She gave them a look. “But scared? Not really.” Jason said, “Hey guys, come here. Let’s talk for a minute.” He stepped into the gloom of the ancient kitchen. The others followed. Diego turned to Allie, “Don’t go away. We’re strategizing.” She called out. “Hey, guys?” They looked at her. “All that talk about sharks and running water… Is there anything like a bathroom around?” The guys looked at each other and shrugged. Walter pointed. “Around to the left. Past the front door.” “Great… I’ll find it.” Allie moved to the front door and waited until she heard talking. She grabbed the car keys from the table and ran out the door, into the storm. The rain hit her cold and hard. She ran blindly, as fast as possible, in complete darkness, until she slammed into the car. Groaning, she groped her way to the driver’s side door. ‘ Unlocked! ’ Allie slammed the door behind her and locked the other doors. “Whew!” She hit the wheel. “Yeah!” She jammed the key into the ignition and pumped the gas pedal. The engine spun, but didn’t catch. ‘ Did I flood it?’ Continued tries only drained the battery. Stuck. Surprised they hadn’t pursued her, she pondered her next action. The rain varied between hard and harder. Allie was wet and cold. But at least she was out of that house. ‘ Better alone than surrounded by those creeps.’ She felt the back seat for a blanket or jacket. She could sleep in the car until sunrise. The back seat was empty. And chilly. ‘ Why didn’t I grab a jacket? ’ She looked toward the house, unseen in the darkness. The sound of rain on the roof made her shiver in her wet clothes. Not afraid, she was more annoyed than anything. She knew her way home, but walking in the storm was out of the question. There wouldn’t be street lights for miles. In this rain, she might drown standing up. ‘ How stupid can people be? ’ Allie pounded the steering wheel and screamed in frustration. Her shivering had become constant. Her teeth chattered. She didn’t want pneumonia. At least it was dry inside. They weren’t threatening her. Just stupid pranking. ‘ What does it take for people to grow up?’ She thought, ‘What’s the point, guys? Why spend precious energy pursuing darkness and fear? Wouldn’t life be better working toward something better? Beauty? Or truth…? Free yourselves…’ “I’m telling them.” Throwing the car door open, Allie sprinted through the torrent back to the house. Drenched, she shoved the door open and called out to the boys. No answer. The house was silent. ‘ Trying to scare me again… ’ The storm raged. A loose shutter banged against the side of the house. The dim, but warm glow from the living room, drew her in. Allie called out. “I know you guys are in here. Cut the crap. Let’s go get some dinner.” She stopped in the doorway and stared in shock. Sounds gurgled from her throat. She gasped and leaned against the door frame. Feeling a warm wetness she looked at her hand. Allie knew the truth. She couldn’t stop screaming.


The balls drifted in and out of focus as James gripped the edge of the table. The cushion sticky under his fingers from years of spilled beer. He took a few deep breaths and bent forward steadying his hand on the baize, the cue tip wobbling in time with his breathing as he tried to work out which of the pairs of balls was the right one to aim for. Blinking quickly the balls merged into a single blurry shape and he took the shot. The white ball jumped as the cue tip slipped underneath, leaving a long stripe of blue chalk along the scuffed green felt. “Oops,” he belched, standing quickly to avoid the next burp spilling his last pint onto the table. The bar swam again with the sudden movement. James grabbed for the edge of the table, missed and toppled slowly sideways. He hit the mismatched sticky tiles with a thud and lay there staring up at the stained ceiling while spilled beer soaked into his Atari tee-shirt. “Dude you’re hammered,” Andrew said as he lurched from where he’d been leaning against the wall. He downed the last of his beer, putting the empty glass unsteadily down on the edge of the pool table. “Haven’t seen you this shitfaced since…well, last night. “Black in the corner pocket.” “Never make that, you’re crap at this game,” said James still lying in his puddle. The spilled beer had started to warm up and felt less clammy the longer he lay there. “Well, I’ll bring the ketchup, and you can—” “Yeah, yeah,” said James, his eyes closed, cutting out the harsh fluorescent light beating down on him. “Jus’ take the shot.” There was a crack, then the mechanical rattling sound of a ball rolling through the table, lining it up in the little glass window ready for the next game. Andrew’s head appeared over the corner, casting a shadow over James, who blinked trying to focus on his friend’s face. “Your round, piss-head.” “Double or nothing,” said James without moving. “No way, you lost, your round, them’s the rules. Same as always.” “Trick shot,” James said still lying on the floor, “I call trick shot.” “Ahh, balls… Okay, but something aerial after that last effort.” “No problemo. How many still on the table?” said James closing his eyes again. “Five. Now wake up.” “’m thinkin’ not sleepin’.” His eyes snapped open, “Got it.” He reached up gripping the corner pocket and dragging himself upright. Stumbling his way across the bar, he weaved in and out of the other regulars, nodding at those he recognised, smiling at those he didn’t. James clung to the juke box bolted to the wall, as he fed change into the slot. The music started, soft vocals at first, then the beat kicked in. He closed his eyes, nodding his head in time with the heavy baseline. The sounds of the packed bar faded into the background as the beat flowed through him. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck and down his arms. He smiled as the fluttering feeling settled in his gut, stillness spreading out across his body. His breathing steadied and he opened his eyes, the fuzz around the edges of his vision pulling back, leaving the bar in sharp focus. He walked slowly back through the packed room, more heads now turned to watch him. A few people got up from their tables and followed. He paused at a table, there were four young women tucked into the booth. Their makeup and hair done, tight low-cut tops and skinny black dresses. “Good evening, ladies,” James said, and bowed theatrically, the effect marred slightly by clipping his head on the edge of their table. They looked at him, like he was a huge cockroach dropping into their girls night out. The two nearest to him gave him a slow up and down stare, from his battered muddy work boots to his torn jeans. They weren’t fashionable ripped jeans, just old enough to be worn through in one knee. As he followed their disapproving looks, he hoped that the torn seat of the jeans would hold up the rest of the night and his arse wouldn’t be hanging out before last orders. Their gaze lingered on his tee-shirt, he was proud of the retro logo, as he looked down, he realised that he had perhaps been wearing it for too long and the kebab stains did little for his image. None of that really mattered, he was only after one thing, “Might I trouble you for an empty wine glass?” Without waiting for an answer; he lifted one of their empties and headed back to the pool table. When he glanced back, they were all watching him, looks of relief that this drunken idiot had left them alone. “You’re such a dick. You really shouldn’t bother the normal people, you know,” said Andrew. “I didn’t I just needed a wine glass, this is O’Flannigan’s. You see anyone else drinking wine? That white wine vinegar, those giggling girls are drinking, has been open behind the bar for the last three weeks.” He looked around, from the bar flies drooping over their stools at the counter, to the slightly orange lit area of cracked wood flooring in the corner, jokingly called the dance floor, a trendy wine bar it was not. The music from the juke box faded, the beat slipping from his mind. In the quiet that followed the fuzz started to return to the edges of his vision, his feet grew heavy and he leaned against the pool table. The next tune started loud and fast, clarity snapped back with the familiar beat, flooding through him, his fingertips tingling. A small crowd was now gathering around the table, he looked around at the familiar faces and small glow of pride pricked within him. He was crap at pool but his trick shots were legendary, a small break in everyone’s otherwise unremarkable Saturday night in the pub. As always there were a few new faces in the crowd, drawn by the pack of people, eager to see what happened next. His gaze caught on two people at the back, dark grey hoods drawn up, their faces in shadow. They were motionless in the jostling crowd. He couldn’t see their features but he could feel their eyes boring into him. As he set the shot up, four balls in a square on the black spot, his eyes kept flicking back to the two dark figures in the crowd. He flipped an empty pint glass, placing it in the centre of the table, the wineglass balanced upside down on the top, the final yellow ball was laid carefully on top of the stack. As he lined up the white behind the baulk line, he could see the dregs of beer forming a wet ring on the baize. Sandra, the landlady, would have his ass for this, again. As he straightened and looked around, he smiled at the four ladies who had come to see the drunken cockroach make a dick of himself in front of everyone. They didn’t smile back. The two dark figures in the crowd had disappeared, vanishing as if they had never really been there. “Four yellow balls, four pockets. And the rest, well you’ll just have to see,” he added with a wink. As he lined up the shot the cue came into sharp focus, the grain of the wood tight under his fingertips, he could almost feel how it used to be alive. The twisting lines in the wood marking the growth of the tree, a hidden record of its life, snaking together towards the tip. He looked up at Andrew who was standing at the far end of the table. “I’ll bring the ketchup.” “Yeah, yeah, and I’ll eat my hat.” Without looking he took the shot, the small white ball lifted from the table. It arced gracefully through the air clipping the base of the wineglass. The glass toppled forward and there was an audible gasp from the watching crowd, it flipped, landing perfectly behind the pint glass, the white dropping neatly inside with a ding. The yellow ball, knocked from its aerial perch, landed in the middle of the remaining balls sending them scurrying for the pockets. There was a hush as they slowed, the only sound the pounding beat of the music, his trick shot track. Then as one they dropped into the four pockets. There was a pause as the last remaining yellow continued to spin lazily on the black spot. The music ended, someone clapped and then the crowd was cheering. As he felt the beat leave him, he staggered sideways, sagging against the pool table. The yellow ball spun to a stop and the wine glass shattered behind him, the white dropping into the broken shards. Within moments the crowd ebbed away, their evening’s free entertainment over. Andrew reluctantly nodded and headed to the bar, leaving him unsteadily picking bits of glass from the table, dropping them into an empty pint. James felt someone move up close behind as he bent over the table. He hoped it was the blonde one, with the tight white top and the blue eyes. Had he seen a change in her expression after he made the shot? He tried to drag the memory forward, those last few seconds of clarity before the music ended. No, she had still been looking at him like he was a cockroach, a performing cockroach, but a cockroach none the less. A hand landed on his shoulder, dragging him upright, then one gripped the other side. He felt two people close up against him, his arms were gripped tightly. It felt like a steel vice was clamping down on them. “James Hale,” said a deep gravelly voice, “we’ve been looking for you for a while.” James twisted in their grip trying to look over his shoulder at the two shadowy figures, their hoods still pulled low over their faces. No-one in the bar was reacting, the noise and bustle continuing as if nothing was happening. He could see Andrew leaning over the bar, flirting with Amy, the barmaid he’d been seeing for a few weeks. His attention was fixed on her, not so much as a glance over his shoulder. James opened his mouth to shout, earning him a headbutt to the temple. It made the world swim even more than the pints of Guinness he'd downed earlier. “Enough of that lad, I don’t want to hurt you. But don’t test me.” The grip on his arms tightened, bending his wrists forward. He tried to push up on his toes to ease the pressure, but the hands on his shoulders prevented him moving. “Okay,” James blurted out, his voice high and squeaky. The pressure eased and he sagged in their grip. “That was a very impressive shot, Mr Hale. Would you like to know how you’re able to do that? And perhaps how much more you may be able to achieve? There could be so much more to your life than trick shots in some shithole bar.” “Maybe,” James said, his heart now beating faster as the cold feeling of panic spread through him. This was making no sense, why could no-one see these apes trying to break his arms. Only a few moments before. the eyes of the whole pub had been on him. “That’s good, Mr Hale. It makes no difference either way; you will be leaving with us now.” The grip on his arms and shoulders increased lifting his scruffy boots off the floor, they started dragging him towards the toilets. The fear now grew into blind panic as adrenaline coursed through his system, momentarily overcoming the excess alcohol he’d drunk. James lashed out with his work boots, the muddy steel toecaps connecting hard with their legs as he thrashed about. The hands let go. As he slumped to the floor a fist flashed out hitting him hard across the jaw. The world spun as he lay on the tiles. Then a boot hit him in the ribs with an audible crack. Pain, like fire, lanced down his side. The shadowy figures bent over him again, their loose grey smocks concealing any features. “Mr Hale, I told you not to test me,” came the gravelly voice again, “Don’t do this the hard way. It’s not worth the pain.” They took an arm each and dragged him through the door to the toilets, the chipped white wood swinging closed behind him, cutting off the sounds of the busy pub. His precious Atari tee-shirt caught and ripped on a cracked beige tile as he slithered across the filthy toilet floor. The fire door beyond the urinals banged open, the cold night air flooding the reeking space. In the orange glare of a street lamp, James caught a glimpse of a white van, the side door wide open, he thought he saw more shadowy shapes inside. They dragged him headfirst down the steps and dumped him onto the cold metal floor. As the door slid closed, cutting him off from the world, a bag dropped over his head, he heard zipping as his hands and feet were bound tight. The van pulled away. Through the hood, James could hear harsh breathing beside him, he tried to shuffle away, his bound feet kicking at the floor. His head hit something soft. “Watch it dickhead,” came a muffled female voice. “Sorry,” he mumbled in a half whisper and lay still. The adrenaline was now fading, the hot tight hood across his face, made him want to throw up. The van eventually came to a halt, the back doors thrown open. Harsh white light seeped in through the tight weave of the bag making him blink after what seemed like hours in the dark. “Wakey, wakey, ladies and gents,” came the gravelly voice once again. “Your new life is about to begin.”


“May I use the bathroom?” I waited with my raised hand for Mr. Westeadt to excuse me at the same time during his history class for the nth time. I never took more than a few minutes, so he was never suspicious of me doing anything bad like doing drugs or skipping class. He sighed and gestured to the door. I hurried out without my backpack or any of my belongings that weren’t already in my jeans’ pockets. I never took them; I already had everything I needed. I made sure nobody was in the hall as I stepped into the solitary unisex bathroom. Couldn’t let other people see me. Couldn’t risk getting caught. And the unisex bathroom was closer to the classroom than the girls was, so win-win for me. I didn’t look at the mirror as I washed my hands. I never did. Too afraid to see my expression. I dried my hands and emptied my pockets of most of their contents. Phone, cloth bandage, medical tape, a random piece of gum that my friend Ashley gave me that morning, and the razor. I set them on the counter and began to unbutton my jeans when I stole a glance up at the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, looking disappointed and sad. That was extremely odd. I didn’t think I was making that face before I looked into the mirror, but I ignored it. It wasn’t important. I looked down to where I should see myself unbuttoning my jeans in the mirror, but my hands were at my sides. My heart stopped when I saw the reflection shake her head sadly. I freaked and fell backwards, crawling until my back was flush with the wall behind me. I stared at the face- my face- that looked down at me on the floor. The last item that I had taken out of my pockets fell off the sink and rolled towards me: the pill bottle that contained the Vraylar prescribed to me on the label. It was fuller than it should have been, considering how long ago it was refilled by the pharmacy. My reflection, if I can even describe it as a reflection, looked down at the bottle before looking back up at me. I struggled to stand back up, using the wall as support. My face, or “it’s” face, I think…maybe “her”? I don’t know what to call the reflection, but the face I saw gave me a small smile and pointed to the bottle on the blue tile. I reached a shaky hand down and picked it up. She (?) pointed down towards the sink, or the faucet I suppose. I slowly approached and placed the bottle back onto the white porcelain. She gestured for me to open it and take one. I shook my head and quickly shook my jeans off, reaching for the razor. She slammed her fist against the other side of the glass, but only a little thud sounded. I avoided her gaze as I stared down at the hundreds of scabbed lines, all varying lengths, which littered the front of my thighs and stopped a few inches above my knees. I made one more little line no longer than a couple inches a quarter of the way down. I sighed at the feeling of relief it gave me, how it fed my addiction and sedated my craving. I looked up at her just as I was about to make another, and she…she was crying. At me? For me? For us? But why did it matter? Why did it hurt when she looked at me like that? Why did I even care? Like she ever even made herself known before now. “Well, what do you want from me,” I yelled. “You’re never here to stop me any other time. Why the fuck do you care now?” She opened her mouth as if she tried to speak, but I couldn’t hear anything and shook my head in confusion. She cried harder. I put the razor back on the sink and bandaged both thighs, even though I only did one in a tiny spot because she had distracted me. I rushed to put my jeans back on. I needed to hurry back to class before my absence was concerning, and I planned in my head to just do a few extra lines when I took my daily “bathroom break” in Miss Healey’s class later. But when I looked up again, she was furiously crying. She forcefully pointed at the bottle again, urging me to take some. I lost it as I grabbed the bottle and shook it in front of the mirror. “You think this will help? That isn’t even why I do it anymore. You think I will get better from these like they’re fucking magic?” My voice was practically a scream. I only then noticed the clear wet drops on the sink. She was making me cry now. I never cried when I fed my addiction. “God! You just..! You aren’t helping! You’re just-!” Anger overwhelmed me and I threw the bottle onto the tile and slammed my fists against the glass, where two spiderwebs grew from the spots. “You’re never here for me, dammit!” I fell to the floor in a crying fit, going into a fetal position and rocking back and forth. I sat there for what felt like hours, tormenting myself by desperately trying to figure out why I couldn’t stop. I never cared to wonder why before. She made me ask myself. She made me look for the reason I kept drawing my blood. It hurt to realize the answer. I had none. Not a single one. I felt cylindrical plastic tap my side. I looked down at the bottle, still sobbing and picked it up through my blurred vision. I struggled to stand again and looked at her. She put her small hand against the broken glass and nodded. I threw the cap off and spilled four pills, the necessary daily dose, onto my palm. I shoved them into my mouth and took a drink from the faucet. Raising my gaze, I saw her hand and tear-stained smile. I placed one of my bleeding hands to hers and felt the warmth emanating from her through the cold mirror. “Please,” I whispered, “just…please don’t leave me. Please.” She shook her head and silently mouthed the words “I won’t.” I picked the razor back up and glanced at her finger pointing toward the toilet. I took a few shaky steps toward it and threw the small piece of metal inside. It took much more strength than I want to admit to push the lever down and watch it swirl away with the water. I walked back over to the mirror and slowly put my phone, bandage wrap, medical tape, and the stick of gum in my pockets. I picked up the bottle and stared at it for a while. I heard a tap tap from the mirror and finally placed the orange plastic in my back pocket, covering it up with my baggy sweater once again. I took a few paper towels from the metal dispenser and attempted to dry the last of my tears and blew my nose. I made eye contact with her through the mirror once more. “Thank you,” I barely managed to say through my blurry vision. She gave me a loving smile. --- After confiding in one of my closest friends who knew of my past addiction, he told me to submit this story I write. He told me that this would be healing for me; that sharing my story was important and effective in my journey; that this will solidify in my mind that I have finally gotten through and beaten the addiction that ruled my life for eight years. I still feel the tiniest bit of desire every once in a while, when I look at the hundreds of scars on my legs, and I most likely will feel that need for the rest of my life; through writing this I have realized that I am strong enough to never go back. Because of that, and because of the good that writing this has done for me, I dedicate this story to everyone who has been affected by any method of self-harm, directly or indirectly.